A Wee Bit Rough: The Longest Ride

When we got our ferry tickets, we knew that there was some bad weather moving in over the weekend and that there was a good chance that our return ride could be a bit rough. Rough, schmuff.  We would be on a 120+ foot long catamaran that's about 50 feet wide, almost impossible to tip and a cadillac on the waves, so how bad could it really be? It's only an hour crossing. We can do anything for an hour, right?

The ride across the Foveaux Straight over to the island on Friday was idyllic. Loads of seabirds followed us across, and we were in great company with scores of oyster boats bobbing on the water. I don't think we saw a single wave over 2 feet tall.

Storms rolled in and out over the weekend, but the heaviest stayed mainly out to sea. We'd have a big patch of blue sky one minute, and it would be dumping buckets the next, only for the clouds to part and the birds start singing another minute after that. Until our final night on the island, when a mother of a storm came in, and for a while, I thought the house might blow down. There has to be something said for structures able to take gale force winds on a regular basis. 

While we were snuggled in at our cozy little house, we read through some of the guestbooks and notebooks that were lying around. We came across an account of the Foveaux Straight crossing written by a poor bloke that didn't have such a great time of it. He joked about how, in typical New Zealander understated fashion, he was told that the crossing might be "a wee bit rough." He then went on to describe in detail the panic inducing tilt-a-whirl of a ride that left the vast majority of the passengers snatching up the little white "just in case" bags that we've all seen on boats and airplanes. Who really uses those, right? In his case, he said, about 75% of the people on the boat. Let's say that he might have thrown in several expletives in his telling of the tale. 

Now, I'll never be sure if it was intuition or the power of suggestion, but thoughts of our impending crossing permeated my dreams all night. What if we did, in fact, get tipped into the water (see my last post)?

Morning came all too early. It was still dark when Elsie came and woke me up complaining of a horrible stomachache. Let's just say it was a bad scene for the entire morning. Not sure if it was food poisoning or a lightning fast tummy bug, but thankfully it was mostly passed before noon.

When it finally wouldn't be catastrophic to leave the safety of a place with a toilet, we headed out into a bright, crisp day. It was all a ruse though. See the disturbance/smudgy spot just to the right of the center of this pic? That's hail. Unfortunately, I did not realize that until I was barreling toward the car at breakneck speed. This is when I should have taken the dreams, bad belly, and flying ice daggers as omens and realized something big was cooking. But I'm not that smart.

We stopped at the market to grab a small bite of lunch before heading to the ferry. The clerk cautioned me that it was going to be a rough ride, but no matter how bad it seemed, to remember that once it started the bad part would be over in about 10 minutes, and the worst part would only be about 15 minutes after that. There were too many red flags at this point, but it was Sunday afternoon. Jeremy had to work on Monday. We checked in to find that the ferry scheduled to leave after ours was actually cancelled, so all those people were stranded on the island. We probably wouldn't have been able to find a bed even if we had opted to let the weather pass.

You'll remember that Stewart Island is surrounded by smaller barrier islands. You can see them way out to the horizon. As we were lined up to board the boat, I found myself watching the horizon between the islands, when I noticed it didn't really look right. The perfect straight line wasn't a line at all. It looked more like an EKG readout coming off the machine.



I gave each girl a dramamine so it would have time to kick in before we hit the rough water, and then we elbowed our way onto the boat, making sure we got seats on the starboard back of the boat.

It was pretty smooth until we got to the edge of the outer islands, but that was the end of that. The first substantial waves caught under the boat and sent us careening off the side of a wave. Cheers rose up from the cabin. Then more waves. And only a couple of cheers. By the time we cleared the islands completely, we were rising about 15 feet on the left side of the boat then plunging into the trough with the right side still on the crest. There was no cheering. A couple of times the boat actually came completely out of the water off the crest of a wave.

About 10 minutes into the ride, I noticed one of the crew chatting happily with the Captain, as she snapped on a pair of surgical gloves. It had taken all of 10 minutes for the first person to puke. After that, it was dominoes. The four crew-persons were then on steady patrol, sure-footedly gliding through the roiling cabin handing out cold towels and collecting parcels with their back pockets crammed with spare barf bags. And never did they lose their smiles or kind words for the afflicted.

About 30 minutes into the crossing we drove straight into a storm and everything changed. Rain and waves pounded against the windows so you couldn't even guess where the horizon might be. Remember that movie "Perfect Storm" where the boat was about a mile high then crashes into the trough of a wave? That's what was flashing through my mind. The waves were taller than our house. We'd hit the crest and then plunge like we went over the top of the hill on a roller coaster, our 120 foot cruiser feeling like a little toy boat on the 25 foot swells. At this point someone turned up the stereo as a distraction, The Cult busting out She Sells Sanctuary..."keeps me alive"... 

By the time we were 45 minutes into the trip, Elsie was crouched in the corner revisiting the morning's activity. I was absolutely impressed that she made it as long as she did. Lily was a frightening shade of green, clutching her own bag, willing herself with all her might not to get sick. Jeremy was wearing the same color as a cadaver, rethinking his decision not to take a sea-sick pill, and reciting The Cult as a mantra to keep himself centered..."keeps me alive"...

If we had been at it for even another 5 minutes, I would have lost those two as well. As it was, they'd get random waves of nausea for hours after their feet were on solid ground.

As bad as I felt for my people, and I did feel terrible for them, but I had a blast. I loved every minute of it. Well, I didn't really love people hurling all around me, but the rest of it was fantastic. Not once did  I feel unsafe or that there was any possibility that we could capsize. It was like a roller coaster on steroids that went on and on and on. It's a darn shame that the girls have vowed never to set foot on a boat again. 

Stewart Island: Jumping the Shark

The first open mention of sharks since we've been in NZ came as we were on a ferry to Stewart Island. The captain was explaining emergency procedure: 

"You will notice that the crew has a signal torch attached to their lifejackets. The rest of you do not. They have been trained how to use them as they attract sharks if used improperly," he said. Well, there you have it. The elephant in the room.

Stewart Island is a special place. The 400 or so residents that live there year round are a hearty, jovial breed. Thousands of people visit each year to enjoy the pristine islands and ocean. Oban is the little town, and the center of the action. There are museums, cafes, hotels, loads of eco tourism huts...and pretty much everywhere you go, you see a sign.

Now, I'm pretty interested in this topic. If you might recall, I am pretty attached to an avid surfer chic. 

See, the sharks have always been around the island. In fact, Stewart Island is near the part of the ocean that is considered the Great White capitol of the world. They have always lived alongside the islanders, and have co-existed for almost 200 years. The sharks are very curious, but also very shy and wary. The islanders have a good understanding of their behavior and know how to work around it.

But that seems to be changing. Several years ago, the Department of Conservation began granting licenses for operators to offer tourists the opportunity to go cage diving with the Great Whites. Since the sharks are a protected species and as such are required to not be pursued or influenced, no one is quite sure how it happened. Well, there is a pretty strong theory, and it isn't pretty. If one very influential entity, you know, someone like The Discovery Channel, was somehow granted a permit, then the government would be obliged to grant permits to various other entities. The fact remains that the residents, the commercial divers, and the Maori council that has legal say in ecological welfare, all opposed the licensing but it went through anyway.

Cage diving, if you don't know, involves a diver entering a cage and being lowered into the water. The water is then filled with bloody chum to attract the sharks, so the diver gets a front row seat to a thrashing shark. If the diver is lucky, the shark will bang his nose on the bars of the cage.

We've all watched Shark Week. We're all uncomfortably compelled to watch a shark's snout mere inches from the guy in the cage's face. Here's what you might not think about. The shark watches the divers in the cage, and they now associate the divers and the boats with food. They are able to swim up to 35 mph, and they can smell blood in the water for up to three miles. What happens when it follows the cage boat back to harbor (about 3 miles from where the chumming happens) looking for more food, where there is a swimming beach? And what about the divers that are in the water, not on a tour and in a cage?

The ecologists out studying the sharks are starting to notice an increase in aggressiveness and change in feeding patterns. I overheard a couple of the old fishermen talking about boat damage one of them had recently sustained from a shark that took a sample bite looking for chum. Turns out that sharks can't read, and don't know which boats are which.

I guess my point is this: as Americans, our thirst for the Gladiator's ring is leaving some damage in it's wake. Next time you sit down in front of the TV for a Shark Week marathon, please stop and think about how those shows come to be. And if you happen to change the channel when one of the cage shows comes on, I'll love you just a wee bit more.

Stewart Island: Waiting for Gilligan

This past weekend, we headed down to Bluff to hop a ferry to Stewart Island.

This signpost is much photographed, and gives you an idea of "you are here X". We are more than three times closer to the South Pole than we are to New York. We are closer to the South Pole than we are to the Equator, even.

There is a huge variety of bird life down here. These are Sooty Shearwaters, as seen from the ferryboat. They were using the boat to corral a school of fish, and were actually herding them from the other direction so they couldn't escape. Then they dive under the water to snack at their leisure. These birds can plunge up to 68 meters. That's 224 feet. Under water. Fun fact: they're also a Maori delicacy, and long before there were canning methods here, they had a method of cooking the bird and packing it in a basket woven of flax that could preserve the food for years.

The town of Bluff is famous for their oysters. It's actually oyster season right now, so there were trawlers bobbing on the water well into the Foveaux Straight.

Stewart Island is a special place. You can only get there by boat, helicopter, or tiny plane. The majority of the island is part of the National Park system. There are 28k of roads on the island, and 280k of hiking trail, if that tells you anything. Stewart Island is also surrounded by a large number of smaller islands, some are actually fairly large and you can take water taxis out to explore them.

If you can see the two houses in the center of this pic, we were staying right behind them. Our host's family has been on this land for 6 generations. That's just about as long as the island has been inhabited by European settlers.

This is the path through native bush that goes down to the water and then out to Acker's Point.

This is Acker's Cottage, the oldest building on Stewart Island. It's owned by our hosts, and you can peek about inside, as long as you respect the premises.

View from the front door of the cottage.

The cottage has had a couple of incarnations. Originally, in 1836, it was built by an American whaler who took a Maori wife and made the island his home. He was famously strong, and built the house stone by stone, by himself. If you can believe it, a family of 11 lived here. He was also a great boatbuilder, and that was how he earned his livlihood.

When the Crown came in and asserted it's ownership of the island, Acker was forced to move, and settled across the straight. 

Captain Harrold then bought the land from the Crown. The cottage became his blacksmith shop and brewery, but he also continued Ackers tradition of shipbuilding. 

I read somewhere that he may have even kept a bed down here, for the sake of marital bliss.

Set into the sand, there are still traces of the old pylons from the long-gone dock and boat ramp.

A tribute to Captain Acker.

Okay. I know I go on a bit about the Albatross and the Mollymawks. But they are amazing. They are the largest of the flying birds, and all species of Albatross are on the endangered or threatened list. Lucky for us, they call these southern waters home.

They are remarkably graceful, and skim across the water, occasionally even dipping the tip of a wing into the waves. They can remain at sea with no land in sight for years, and only come back when the urge to find a mate draws them home again.

Stewart Island is also a haven for Blue Penguins. They too are endangered, and are the smallest of the penguin species. And while we've been lucky enough to spot a Yellow-Eyed Penguin since we've been in NZ, the Blue Penguin remains elusive even though we can see their little cozy houses.

Stewart Island is riddled with lovely little coves.

View from our breakfast table.

View from the girls' room.

Looking out to the mountains as the weather was coming in.

Sweet little boathouses tucked into one of the little coves.

The whaling history of the island is still seen all around, and it's not uncommon to see massive vertebrae or rendering pots featured in gardens to commemorate that heritage.

The island has it's own museum featuring artifacts from the settlers' time and pieces that have been found on the island and donated by local families.

One of the historic cemeteries overlooking the sea. 

I don't even know what to say about these two.

Chancing the weather, we did take a water taxi over to Ulva Island. Ulva is a bird sanctuary as it has been completely rid of stoats, possums, and rats...all of whom were introduced to New Zealand and have been devastating to native bird populations.

With the predators gone, the birds are making remarkable strides in getting re-established.

This is a Weka. They are basically wild chickens. And funny as can be.

Several breeding pairs of robins were released onto the island. While most of the ones we saw were banded, we were lucky enough to see quite a few that were not, meaning they had fledged on the island.

They are so darling, and follow you around hoping you'll kick up a few bugs for a snack. We would actually stop and dig our boot heel into the dirt for them, and they'd quickly hop over to see what turned up.

We covered every bit of trail on the island.

This is a Bellbird, and is one of the most spectacular songbirds you will ever hear.

This is a Tui. They will actually imitate Bellbirds. In fact, they have such a range of sound that they have even been taught to mimic human words. Tuis and Bellbirds keep company quite often, and it can be hard to figure out who is serenading you.

Stewart Island is home to around 400 people, and around 10,000 Kiwis. 

While we didn't get to see one, we didn't come up completely empty-handed either. I was also able to hear one calling in the night. 

Being a close cousin to the Kea, the Kaka must be avoiding me too. Stewart Island Kakas are very common where people are, as they love hand outs. Even though you are NOT supposed to feed them, most people do. Someone was even telling me that one bird would come in the mornings and knock on their window until it was given something. They did not come 'round to our cribbie, perhaps because we were outside of town in the bush. Town=smorgasbord. 

The above pic is of a Kaka cafe on Ulva. Knowing they were probably close by, we started scanning the treetops, when we saw someone looking down at us. Another large body swooped past and landed in an opposite treetop. Then another. Then they started chatting to each other. It was very, very cool, and in the end I think I'm happier to have seen them as they are meant to be rather than begging on the corner.

Where's Waldo? Or the Red Crowned Parakeet? We were lucky enough to spot a group of these lovely little guys.

View of some of the outlying islands from West End Beach on Ulva Island.

From the land of the rainbows, more to come...

Eye Candy

After we left Arthur's Pass, we headed to Geraldine via the backroads. Just a note: no matter where you are going, if you have the time, take the backroads. Always. After Geraldine, we went on to Lake Tekapo and then through Cromwell on our last road home.  

I took an absolute cache of pics on this portion. I'm just going to let you look through some of them sans explanation, except where you might miss what I love about the pic. Most of them are self explanatory...

The scenery can be dramatically different even 10k down the road. Variety, it seems, is the spice of New Zealand.

Beds. Beers. Burgers. 

This is a gravel road shortcut. Fine weather only. It very well might be my favorite road in New Zealand. Bare minimum, it's in the Top 5. But just to be clear, if you happen to be traveling in New Zealand, DO NOT take random gravel roads that look like good shortcuts unless you know that they are safe. You could find yourself in a world of trouble. Our route was plotted out for us by a friend that knows this area very well.

Valley of the Gods

! Wandering Stock 

 Chukor. There were about 20 of them that walked across the road. By the time I could grab my camera, I only got the stragglers.

Wee little emerald pond

Wine country

I had not expected Cromwell to be such a cool town. I'll definitely be heading back to do more exploring.

 Old gold mining site

Still being used?

The dead forest; an attempt to control introduced species