Doug Hamilton
In the first article, I chronicled the kayaking adventures of Teresa, my wife, and myself while vacationing on New Zealand’s North Island. In part two, I will provide the highlights of our kayaking experiences on the South Island. On this leg of our New Zealand adventure, we continued splitting our time between cycling, hiking, and kayaking.
After four days of tramping the Queen Charlotte Walkway, followed immediately by another four days of fairly hilly cycling, we looked forward to spending a couple of days resting leg muscles by kayaking along the coast of Abel Tasman National Park. Abel Tasman is one of the prime attractions in the northern part of the South Island, and one of the busiest parks in New Zealand; although by North American standards it seemed uncrowded.
Tourists are drawn to Abel Tasman to explore golden beaches, clear water, and its luscious, green, bush-clad hills. The park is named after the Dutch explorer who first visited the area in 1642. Although kayaking is popular along the outer coastline, the park is known for its coastal track – a 51 km hiking track that snakes its way through tropical rainforest and beech-clad ridges to link a series of sparkling beaches, lagoons, and bays. The other main attraction is the weather. Abel Tasman boasts one of the mildest and sunniest climates in the country, which makes it ideal for water sports of all descriptions.
We decided that we wanted to explore the park both by boat and by trail, so we opted to do a two-day paddle along the coast and then continue our journey northwards by hiking on the coastal track. Eventually, we would arrange transportation back down the coast to our starting point in Marahau.
We signed up for an organized trip with Ocean River Adventure Company in Marahau. It would give us an opportunity to meet other travellers and we thought it would be helpful to take advantage of a guide’s knowledge of the local waters and history, especially for our first time in this area. We found the staff at Ocean River to be very accommodating.
Having spent most of our previous kayaking time in single boats, we wondered whether we would enjoy paddling in a double. We had learned from a previous trip to New Zealand that double kayaks are nicknamed “divorce” boats. Double partners obviously need to work together to maximize stroke efficiency, avoid obstacles, and set a mutually satisfying paddling tempo. We’re happy to report that our marriage weathered the experience unscathed. We actually both enjoyed paddling in the double more than we anticipated as it gave us a chance to paddle together and share responsibilities. Furthermore, as we discovered, these beamy doubles handled the big waves and surf with aplomb, yet they still clipped along at a good pace.
Our guides, Julie and Tucky led our first-day exploration of sea caves, rocky islands, and bush-fringed lagoons along the Tasman coast under a cloudless, sunny sky. Along the way, our only interactions were with other groups of kayakers and a large rogue bull seal which had claimed a small beach as his own and was perfectly willing to enjoy as much sun as he could. Although we were curious why he had travelled so far from his permanent home in Antarctica, we gave him a reasonably wide berth, not wanting to disturb his “vacation” in the tropics.
We spent our first night camped on a small beach that was only accessible from the water. It was ominously called Mosquito Bay. We learned quickly, however, that mosquitoes were rare and quite passive. The real scourge came in two varieties – the sand flies that attacked in droves and the cheeky “possums” that ate anything not packed effectively away after dark. Fortunately, a good dose of bug repellent kept the sand flies at bay. The possums, however, were more of a challenge.
I spent the early hours of the evening fossicking in the tidal pools of the camp-side lagoon where I discovered quickly that the ebb-tide current was strong enough to suck me out of the lagoon and deposit me out into the bay on the other side of the campsite. The water was shallow enough that this kept me entertained for most of the evening while my wife kept a watchful eye from her beach chair. I found playing in the lagoon’s golden sand and crystalline water to be one of those “magical moments” from our time on the South Island. I often define these moments to be those unique interactions between time and place that can never be duplicated, no matter how hard one tries to do so.
Later, we spent the twilight hours swapping stories with the rest of our group above the din of the noisy possums. Jules, an English doctor who had been working in New Zealand for a few years, kept us entertained with fascinating stories of his residency years in England and Africa. Apart from helping to deliver a baby in a taxi in London, he had once flipped a coin with another resident, while on a placement in Kenya, to determine who was going to climb down into the hole of a latrine to retrieve a newborn infant whose shocked mother had just prematurely delivered. (He won the coin toss by the way.)
On the next day, we were fortunate that the weather conditions were favourable enough that we could make four kilometre journey out to visit the fur seals on the Tonga Island Marine Reserve. We then explored the Tonga Arches, large holes in the white granite rock at sea level along the coast which made a great backdrop for picture-taking. After a lazy lunch stop at an old abandoned quarry perched above another of the innumerable golden sand beaches, we paddled to the water taxi pick-up point at one end of a three kilometre beach. The water taxi was an unusual feature of the coastal walk. There is a series of taxi pickup points situated about a half-day’s walk apart along its entire length. This gives hikers a lot of flexibility in trip planning as a water taxi can be used to join different sections of the trail. It is a very handy service because some of the sections of the trail can only be crossed during low tide. We learned that carrying a tide table in our backpack was a must.
As we discovered firsthand, the water taxis come in very handy for transporting kayaks as well. We helped the taxi driver (captain?) adeptly stack six kayaks on the stern of his small 30 ft. launch. We marvelled at how he strategically positioned his full load of passengers and gear to offset the weight of the kayaks for his return trip to Marahau.
About half of our group had opted to trek onwards along the coastal track with our loaded packs to the Awaroa Lodge where we had pre-booked bunkhouse accommodation. After camping for almost a month, we looked forward to staying at the lodge – a serene getaway that was only accessible by foot, boat, or small plane. Terry, the lodge owner, had gone to great pains to ensure that the lodge’s design and accoutrements integrated well with the surrounding natural environment. He had even used local driftwood as lamps, clothes hooks, toilet roll holders, and other assorted accent pieces. The lodge’s food was marvelous and a welcome relief from our usual staples of pasta, rice and beans.
For three days, we explored a good portion of the coastal track, featuring pristine lookout points, sweeping swing bridges, long beach walks, emerald-coloured lagoons and numerous stream crossings. It was tempting to lose ourselves for another week within the park, but other adventures beckoned. So, on the fourth day, we caught the water taxi from Awaroa for a two-hour return trip to the park entrance at Marahau.
Cycling and hiking were our predominant activities over the next two weeks as we made our way down the west coast of the South Island, eastward across the Southern Alps into the Otago region, and then southwest into the magical region known as Fiordland National Park. Our destination was Doubtful Sound for our final opportunity to sea kayak.
Doubtful Sound is a 40 kilometre long fiord that stretches from the Tasman Sea deep into the remote mountains of Fiordland National Park. It was named by Captain Cook in 1770 who refused to enter its confines because he was doubtful that favourable winds would blow his ships back out to sea.
Again, we opted to go with a guided trip, this time run by Fiordland Wilderness Experience. Daphne and Bill are not just “tour operators”. They spend much of their time, especially in the off-season, helping other community groups, commercial services and a variety of associations pursue and support environmentally-sensitive practices that will ensure that this national park remains one of New Zealand’s finest treasures.
Teresa and I boarded our support van in Te Anau at the stroke of 6:00 a.m. Our guide, Ian, quickly introduced us to our fellow travellers from Germany, the Netherlands, Japan, as well as another Canadian. After trading greetings, we hunkered down for three-hour trek to our put-in. Getting there was an adventure itself. After a 20 kilometre drive to the town of Manapouri, a small launch took us across Lake Manapouri, often described as New Zealand’s “loveliest lake” with a 360 degree view of granite-cast mountains and forested shorelines. It is the second deepest lake in the country reaching depths of over 400 metres. Unfortunately, it was completely enshrouded in fog and mist for our trip to the far end of the West Arm, where we boarded a small truck to climb over Wilmot Pass, the mountainous neck of land that separates Lake Manapouri from Doubtful Sound. This road features the steepest grade of any road in New Zealand and our truck’s engine complained constantly as we negotiated the seemingly endless switchbacks. At the summit, the fog gave way to a clear, azure sky, revealing a stunning view of Deep Cove and Malaspina Reach, over a thousand metres below at the end of the Sound. We were very pleased to see the sun and the clear skies. Many visitors to this region are not so lucky, as it rains four out of five days at any given time.
Our kayak adventure started with a paddle up Deep Cove to its junction with Hall Arm. Again paddling in a double boat, we quickly learned to take advantage of the strong current created from the huge discharge tunnel from the Manapouri Power Station. This controversial power scheme was built primarily underground and features a 10 km tailrace that connects Lake Manapouri to Deep Cove. It was the last overt sign of human intrusion into this glorious wilderness that serves as a playground for bottlenose dolphins, fur seals, rare penguins, and other forms of unique animal and aquatic life.
We spent the morning making our way down the length of the arm while observing the seals. When the seals weren’t curiously circling our boats, they enjoyed restful sunning sessions on the rocks at the base of the steep-sided fiords. Periodically, we would stop below one of the many waterfalls that twist and cascade down the sides of the fiord to fill up a water bottle or to enjoy a quick (and cold!) head shower. We learned that there is a permanent four metre layer of fresh water over the salt water below – a testament to the large volumes of rain that descends upon the Sound.
After a brief lunch on one of the few rocky beaches that jutted out from the granite cliffs, we proceeded down Hall Arm. Ian, reading the favourable winds, suggested that this might be our only opportunity to try a bit of sailing. With the excitement of school children, we quickly responded by rafting up in twos and threes and quickly unfurling our “spinnakers” to catch the winds. Our sailing time gave us a chance to get to know some of our partners as we tacked our way down to the end of the sound. We quickly realized, however, that our wind-borne frolicking had come at a price. Our night’s campsite was at the other end of the arm! Lots of vigorous paddling against a strong headwind eventually led us to a small bush camp located at the entrance of the arm. Setting up camp brought out the hoards of sand flies that plague Fiordland. Rumours abound that it was the voraciousness of the local sand flies that exempted this area of New Zealand from colonization, not its remoteness and unforgiving nature. One learns quickly here that exposing skin to the elements brings on an immediate feast.
The next morning revealed the intense moodiness of the sound. In stark contrast to the weather conditions day before, we awoke to low-lying cloud that concealed all traces of blue sky. The brisk wind had been replaced by a windless stillness accentuated by the wisps of mist suspended lazily over the glass-like water in the Sound. We awoke early in anticipation of seeing the resident pod of bottlenose dolphins as they make their rounds through all of the arms of the Sound on routine feeding runs. Unfortunately, our vigilant watch while sipping our teas and coffees revealed no trace of these boisterous creatures.
Many of us had hoped for rain today so that we could experience another one of the Doubtful’s many moods. Our wishes were realized when a light rain began to fall as we broke camp and headed out onto the water. We spent the morning making our way down the arm into Malaspina Reach exploring the flora along the banks as we paddled. Periodically, we would stop and take photos of each other’s kayak in the mirror-like surface of the water. As the morning rain continued, we could see countless rivulets and waterfalls form and stream down the surface of the high cliffs. I couldn’t imagine a more pristine and tranquil spot to enjoy a rainfall.
By early afternoon, we started our return paddle to our take-out in Deep Cove. The rain had stopped, the skies were clearing, and the wind had started to awaken. We returned for a final visit to the seals perched on their rocky promenades. As we neared our take-out, we had one last opportunity to surf the wake of the only large tour boat that is permitted to ply these waters.
It had been only a two-day trip, but for many of us, the journey had taken us into a special world that few are lucky enough to enjoy in their lifetimes. With equal parts of humility and awe, we rode the truck back up Wilmot Pass with privileged recollections of Doubtful Sound’s many moods.