An early start. The morning fog finally lifts to reveal a freshly washed village with the blueish sky holding the promise of a sunny day later.
Bacon and eggs for brekkie (did I mention the last whitebait?) and we are back on the road, destination, the Waita River, just north of Haast, and hopefully a catch-up with "Honest" Barbara McAlpine, whom I had met a few weeks earlier.
She lives on the banks of the river, buying and selling whitebait from the multitude of campers and cribbies who swell the population every season.
Barbara also sells great jams, pickles and veges, but was sad to report she was reluctantly putting her place on the market, partly because the rising cost of diesel fuel made running the big generators to keep her refrigeration system going uneconomic.
But it's a fair hike from Fox to Waita and before we get there we are delayed by a trip up the valley to view the glacier from the southern side of the Fox River; a couple of obese wood pigeons on a saggy tree branch above the road near the Ohinetamatea River; the various bird life who call Lake Paringa home and the breathtaking panorama of the coast from the lookout at Knights Point, where, if you use your imagination apparently, you can see all the way to the Antarctic.
But Barbara isn't home.
Should have guessed because there was no sign on the main road advertising whitebait for sale, so we backtrack from her back door and take a well-worn side road which leads down to the river where we introduce ourselves to Stan (80) and Thelma (79) Knight, of Oamaru, who have been Waita "locals" for more than 30 years.
They have parked their 4WD at what seems to be the prime spot on the southern banks and with high tide due in an hour or so, we have timed our arrival well.
If there is to be any action, any big lifts, then we are in the best place with two of the most experienced baiters in the business.
Time was when we wouldn't have had Stan's company.
On the rising tide, in years gone by, he'd have been on the other side of the river, up to his midriff in the surf, battling the waves to scoop the prized bait.
"But you need two good strong legs to do that," he says quietly, looking across the river, "and I seem to have lost a lot of my strength, for some reason.
"So now I stay here - it's a bit more relaxing."
The regret in his voice is palpable as he unfolds a sun chair from the back of the vehicle and plonks it down in the shallow water beside his net.
Thelma nods knowingly and shifts her net a few metres back up the river.
It's a familiar routine of sit and wait and watch and, every so often, move the chairs back up the sand to escape the rising tide.
Warm sun, blue sky, fresh air sweeping in from the Tasman; it's an idyllic scene, enhanced by the excitement of what might come swimming up the river.
Except Stan and Thelma are too long in the tooth to get too excited about might-be.
In their own words it's been a "very, very poor season" so far with lots of big seas spoiling conditions.
It's been that way since the season began in the last week of August and they'd be lucky to have totalled three or four kilos so far.
Is it the worse season they can remember?
"Oh yes, I think so," says Thelma, as she pulls her net out and shakes a handful of bait into her bucket, "but, the season's not over yet.
"We have had some really good seasons," she adds, ever the optimist.
She looks back to where Stan is also on his feet, knocking what seems to be more than just a token amount of bait into his bucket.
So, who usually catches the most bait? "He does", she whispers, then gives a mischievous chuckle.
Wouldn't want him to hear that admission.
The couple, who have 13 grandchildren and are expecting great-grandchild No 4, will be celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary in December 2009.
And, all going well, that will be after another season - hopefully a much better season - spent on the banks of the Waita, a family tradition that their own children are now continuing.
"Oh yes, they love coming over," says Thelma, "Although I think it's just my cooking." she says, laughing.
"Hopefully, we'll keep coming here for as long as we can."
Amen to that Thelma, we say, and reluctantly slip away.
We could have stayed all day.
As we cross the Haast River, home very much on our minds, we realise there's just enough room in the back for a pack or two of whitebait, but where to find it?
Turn left on the road to Jackson Bay and our question is answered by a "Westbait" sign and an arrow pointing up a dirt road, at the end of which we find a large, new-ish looking shed and a couple outside having a coffee in the sunshine.
The ODT signage on the side of the 4WD helps break the ice.
The woman, Sue, is pretty sure Stephen photographed her dad once.
Barney Tisdall, with a budgie on his shoulder, at an Otago Mounted Rifles reunion dinner.
And I know for sure that I used to write about Barney when he trained some pretty good pacers, especially the cup class mare Idolmite, on his Dunback property back in the late 1970s.
Sue and partner Laurence McGuire run Westbait, which they bought from well-known whitebait buyer Colin McKinney this season.
Laurence built the 18m x 15m shed, a stone's throw from the Haast airstrip, to house his Robinson helicopter and provide a base for their whitebait buying, selling and packaging operation.
Most of what they buy goes to the North Island.
The 20kg bags that leave this shed at 4.30am, bound for Wanaka and a bus connection to Queenstown airport contain the same delicacy served at some flash Auckland restaurant at 12.30pm the same day.
Fresh as because "it's the fresh bait they want".
Towards the end of the season it will be sent frozen so that customers can enjoy the delicate flavour for months and months to come, the extended shelf life possible because ammonia-free whitebait freezes well.
Laurence and Sue's catchment for procuring whitebait is huge, stretching from Big Bay in the Deep South to Fox Glacier in the north, vast distances that become more manageable in Laurence's helicopter.
They've also got a couple of stands on the Waitoto River.
Given that some stands have been known to sell for $100,000, it all adds up to "quite an investment" for a couple who confess to not being whitebaiters.
Their involvement is as much about a change of lifestyle as anything.
In Laurence's case it was also about putting the past behind him as he recalls the terrible day back in January, 2003 when his wife Jan was killed by a runaway trailer while out walking on Riverbank Rd, Wanaka with her dog.
The couple had been childhood sweethearts in Palmerston, were married for 31 years and had three children.
After the court cases that followed months later, Laurence and his children spoke openly to the media about the devastation and grief caused by Jan's death.
Laurence, for his part, sold his Wanaka home and moved to Alexandra.
Then about four years ago, he was reunited with Sue, an old family friend, at a pig hunting competition at Dunback.
"We've been good for each other," Sue explains quietly.
Somehow it doesn't seem necessary to pry for more details, so we talk instead about the whitebait season (known also as the "fightbait" season, Laurence says laughing) and the fact that so far catches haven't been that great, which has an impact on the price.
The sign of the front door says they are paying $55 a kilo, minus 25% withholding tax to those who are GST registered, and on-sell it taking into account expenses for flying the product to the North Island.
Then there's the cost of labour in ensuring the whitebait is clean before being sent north.
"People turn up here with two buckets of bait, that's their problem; when we buy it, it becomes ours," Laurence says.
Regular suppliers know the drill and don't have gutties (whitebait with innards) in their catches, nor do they overdo the water content of their offerings.
One good way to find out is to tip a 20-litre bucket of bait upside down; if it holds its shape like a sand castle then it's fine; if it falls apart, it's too wet.
Our chat is interrupted by the arrival of a couple of sellers; then, out through the hangar doors we spot a light plane circling to the south then drops down to the grass runway and taxis up to the boundary fence.
The pilot, in shirt and tie, wanders over to arrange a refuel. It's all go here on the Haast.
And time for us to go as well but not before we get some generously-discounted whitebait, packed in newspaper in the chilly bin.
Soon we are winding our way up the steady climb to the Gates of the Haast then down towards Makarora, leaving behind the rich greenness of the rainforest but taking with us some never-to-be forgotten memories of some never-to-be-forgotten people.
