Whangaroa Harbor

[Kyle]From our spot in the quiet suburbs away from the busy anchorage at Rere Bay, we commuted in the next morning by kayak to the landing for the trail to the Duke's Nose. That's where everyone takes a left for the viewpoint. We have been up there (it's nice), but we have only done part of the access trail from the vehicle road at Totara North to the turnoff, so we hung a right with a mind to rectifying the ommission.

This part of the larger trail is not a destination itself, so much as the 8km or so that walkers have to traverse to get to the Duke's Nose summit trail. That is a somewhat misleading characterization, because this part of New Zealand is nice everywhere. Had the Duke's nose not been at the far end, it would still be a jolly nice trail.

What turned out to be just as entertaining was the interactions we had with others that we encountered as we hiked.

It seems that the vast majority of people going up the Duke's Nose (see what I did there?) get there via the long walk, while a much smaller minority get dropped off by organized tour boats where Maryanne and I landed. Those people, who are presumably short on time, all take the left for the short, but steep climb to the top.

Kayak ashore on for a walk off towards Totara (and back)

This means that everybody we encountered on the access trail as we were walking in the direction of Totara North automatically assumed Maryanne and I were early risers who were already on our return trip from the Duke's Nose. That last bit of the trail from our kayak landing to the summit of the Duke's Nose is one crazy-steep section of trail. In places, it is necessary to climb vertically using fixed chains and railings. Since we had suspected all along that we were going to skip that bit, at least for today, we were not kitted up for any serious mountaineering.

Maryanne, who usually walks in front when we hike together because it is much easier for me to see over her than the other way around, was wearing Crocs. Not only that, but her Crocs were the same shade of blue as a Blue-footed Booby's feet. It's adorable on her, but it also ensured that almost every person passing us noticed her footwear and could not help but to inquire as to how she had made it to the top with such inappropriate trail shoes. Since our explanation that we came by kayak didn't seem to make sense to anybody, most eventually discarded it and decided she either has mountain goat climbing skills, or that she is just really lucky.

More confusion ensued when we started encountering some of the same people on their way out, while we were headed toward the Duke's Nose on our return. I told one couple that we decided to do a second trip because we weren't tired enough from the first one. Maryanne broke the spell by re-explaining the kayak thing to them until they got it.

We got a couple of comments from people who thought we had just started. They were worried about our late start in addition to our footwear choices. It's true that we didn't see any other Crocs, but there were at least four people we saw who weren't wearing any shoes at all. Land of the Hobbit, eh?

We also couldn't help but notice that a lot of the walkers were really clean. It hadn't rained for a few day, but still, there were several sections of the trail where we had no choice but to skirt muddy areas that left at least our shoes and lower legs streaked. One guy on the return leg had clean, white sneakers. The next set of clean white sneakers was being carried by one of the barefoot guys. That made sense, but his feet and legs looked like he hadn't even started walking yet.

One guy passed us and Maryanne whispered to me that he smelled like he had just got out of the shower. Yup, he sure did. It wasn't cologne or strong deodorant. He smelled like soap and springtime, like he was wearing clothes that he put on warm, straight out of the dryer. Perhaps he had just parachuted in beneath a giant fabric softener sheet. Maryanne and I, after doing a moderate walk on a cool day, must have seemed like zombie movie extras by comparison.

At the widest water crossing, it is possible to cross by doing a very careful balance-beam routine atop a series of stones placed by other walkers for the purpose. The big problem here isn't the water, it's the muddy bank that has to be topped to get to the dry meadow above. It's about chest high with no footholds or trees to hold onto. On the way out, I was able to push Maryanne up, then she turned around and pulled me up behind her. We both knew that would be the easy direction, because on the way back, somebody was going to have to slide down the mud to be in position to catch the other.

Lucky for us, that's when we encountered what appeared to be a mother and daughter going the other way. Maryanne had scouted what she thought was a good non-mudslide way to get to the water. Then she would get into position at the bottom of the mudslide to help me down (I hadn't expected that!) Meanwhile, I extended an arm as an offer to pull the other two women up.

The daughter popped right up. Two quick steps and she was standing in the grass behind me. Mom, who was not significantly different in size or shape, got most of the way and then gave one quick pull, presumably in an effort to make sure she made it all the way. At that point, I was doing my best human impersonation of a stout tree. The karate move at the end threw me – literally. Next thing I knew, we were both in a muddy heap in the grass. How am I going to break the news about us to Maryanne? Luckily, the consensus seemed to be that the whole episode was amusing and we all parted with smiles and good wishes for the rest of our respective hikes.

Since I was muddy, I now had the freedom to dispense with the whole stone hopping routine and just splash through the middle of the river to the other side. That was actually quite refreshing. Now I just need to find the dryer sheet vending machine and I'll be good to go.

Back at the kayak, we met other kayakers who didn't seem to understand how we got our kayak there. We weren't staying at the DOC hut, we weren't on one of the boats in the anchorage, we hadn't been dropped off, where had we come from? I dunno, we'll just paddle toward the ocean and see…

The next day, while it was undeniably a good day to go up the Duke's Nose (I'm never going to tire of it), we instead opted for a long paddle in the kayak as far up the estuary as the high tide would allow.

Poking about in the Kayak at high tide

We actually ended up making it all the way to the crossing from two paragraphs back. The funny thing was that there was a whole family crossing just then. They had stayed overnight at the DOC hut by Rere Bay and were carrying heavy packs. They were all concentrating so hard on their feet during their river crossing that none of them saw that we had nuzzled up so close that they practically had to step over the tip of our bow. When the kid at the back noticed us smiling up at him, he almost jumped out of his shoes.

"Where did YOU come from?!"

"Oh, we've been here the whole time."

Once we explained that we had originally come from our boat, he asked if we were stuck. How were we going to get back?

"Oh, we'll just turn around and float home" I said. "Technically this is part of the ocean." I dipped a finger in for emphasis.

When we turned and paddled away, he had the distinct look of not believing us at all, as if he's met just one too many loonies from up north.

Back at Begonia, we climbed aboard and spent the rest of the afternoon lashing everything down tight. An ex-tropical cyclone was on the way and was forecast to take a pretty good swipe at the far north.

Indeed, it did. For three days, we had howling, gusty winds and biblical rain. We had several small waterspouts pass close by or even hit us.

I remember one in particular. I was outside in the cockpit and it was right behind in the space where the dingy rests when tied to the stern. An area a little bit bigger than Begonia was filled with churning water that was being sucked into a swirling funnel and the air sounded not just like it was blowing, but that it was being torn apart. Then it came towards the boat a bit. The wind and rain seemed to come from everywhere at once for a moment, and then the whole thing shattered into a bunch of smaller vortices that staggered off in different directions. The turbulence from hitting our rig seemed to break it up.

Another fun thing we saw was a waterfall that was just to the right of the Duke's Nose from our perspective. Before the storm, it had about as much flow as a kitchen faucet left to run. From Begonia, we had to struggle to find the slick of wet rock marking its presence.

During the deluge, the trickle became a torrent. This was impressive in itself, but what the wind did to it was even more amazing. Only about a third of the time did the water falling off the ledge land directly beneath. The torrent of the falls would be blown in arcs left and right onto the adjacent forest. Occasionally, it would be blown straight up for a few seconds. My favorite episode was when un updraft shredded the fall into mist. Then it blew the whole thing up and behind the waterfall before dumping it there. A few seconds later, the waterfall resumed at double flow. Wow!

Heavy rains created some waterfalls, and the heavy winds had them flying in all directions

The whole storm ended abruptly. In the middle of the night, within a three-hour period, the wind went from fifty-knot gusts to nothing. We awoke the next morning to flat calm water and Maine-style fog that was so thick we couldn't see any shoreline at all. Uyuh!

The calm after the storm

The good news was that we could now safely go outside without getting drenched, at least once the heavy dew burned off. The bad news was that I had a job to do.

During our initial maneuverings in Rere Bay on the day we arrived, our radar suddenly quit. After a few reboots and some more diagnosis, we finally determined that it really was broken somewhere deep in the circuit boards. Ugh! That thing is not that old. We're basically in the same position as a homeowner who replaces a slightly squeaky forty-year-old washing machine with a new, all-the-bells-and-whistles model, only to have the flippin' motherboard fail after a year.

VERY luckily for us, we still had six days before our warranty expired. The bad news was that they wanted us to remove it and send it in. They kept saying it like we had the thing sitting on a shelf in the garage and not bolted to the mast three stories up. Since the weather was now flat and windless, my first priority was now to go up there and get it without dropping anything in the process.

Kyle climbs the mast to remove the broken radar - in super calm conditions

Once that was done, we still had other problems. Where we were, in the Far North District, is about as close to 'out in the middle of nowhere' as you can get on the North Island. Still, it's way less 'out there' than Tonga or Fiji will be. If we need to get our radar to the service center in Auckland, we might have to cancel our Far North plans and high-tail it back to at least Opua, maybe all the way to Whangārei, then rent-a-car or something.

As I was poring through the forecasts, looking for a window to go back the direction we had just come, Maryanne managed to find a courier who deals with collectibles and antiques, who said he could pick up our radar here and deliver it gently to Auckland for us. That would save us time, money, and miles. We moved Begonia to wait out the next blow by the wharf at Totara North, where all we would have to do is row in and hand our baby over. Then we can resume our low-ambition cruising.

That didn't go exactly as planned. The day before, the courier told us that he was going to pick up our radar from Whangaroa, across the harbor. Since it was windy and blowing from that direction, we decided we preferred the idea of re-anchoring Begonia to forty minutes getting drenched on the long dinghy ride over from Totara North. From our new spot just outside the mooring field, it was a quick two-minute trip to the dinghy dock.

That short distance allowed us to time our excursions between cells in the next cluster of rain showers. There are basically two things to do ashore on this side of the harbor. The first is to climb to the top of Saint Paul's Rock. We have done that before, and what I remember from that experience was that the views from up there were very good, but also that the short hike gets a bit treacherous when the ground is wet. That brought us to Thing Two: Have a meal at the Fishing Club.

What a racket they have got going on there. After handing over our radar to the courier, we ducked into the club to avoid some showers over lunch, a game of cards, and the requisite coldies. After packing up afterwards to leave for a walk along the shore, the skies opened up again, which caused us to turn on our heels and retreat inside for more beers to nurse through the deluge.

We finished our walk as more rain approached. Maryanne suggested waiting it out in the pub again, but I demurred on the basis that I was beer-ed out and I thought we could make it back to Begonia in time.

We didn't quite make it. Maryanne was able to dive under the bimini before getting too wet, but I definitely got drenched while stowing the dinghy. I have the distinct memory of New Zealand's weather not being so annoying last time we were here.

Ashore at Whangaroa (between rain showers)

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Anchorage location - Bland Bay >> On google maps

Anchorage location - Waitepipi Bay, off Pekapeka Bay >> On google maps

Anchorage location - Off Taotara North Wharf, Okura Bay >> On google maps

Anchorage location - Off Whangaroa Marina, Whangaroa >> On google maps

Pushing Northward

[Kyle]Ah, the weather... What a pain in the ass.

Looking at the forecasts in Whangārei, our choices for continuing north were narrowing to either spend the rest of summer getting there, and then turn right back around, or do a couple of long days to get north, and then spend the rest of the summer there. Since we were looking forward to a more leisurely period of cruising that didn’t involve daily worry about how we were going to get the next twenty miles, and then the next, we decided to go for the latter.

Our first day out of Whangārei, I was hoping to be able to exit the Hatea completely and get as far up the coast as Tutukaka, which I remember liking very much from our last visit many years back.

Our day ended up being even more ideal than that. We were able to leave the marina at high tide, just when the lift bridge opened after morning rush hour. We then had a flat calm trip down the river, helped by a fast ebb. Almost as soon as we rounded Bream Head, a strong southerly filled in and started pushing us smartly up the coast. We passed Tutukaka just after noon and made it all the way to Bland Bay, just south of Cape Brett and the entrance to the Bay of Islands, right at sunset.

Despite the name, Bland Bay looked like it would be a nice place to spend a few days. The problem with that plan was that our strong southerlies were predicted to start fizzling out by noon. To make the best of them, we were already in the open sea again by sunrise.

After doubling Cape Brett and Piercy Island, we had a couple hours crossing a mess of confused seas coming from multiple directions. These were pushed by swirly winds tumbling over the mountains. Just after noon, as predicted, the wind started to back counterclockwise and decrease. The seas smoothed out, which helped us keep up our speed. We ended up arriving at the Whangaroa Harbor entrance in light headwinds that were just getting far enough forward that we were going to need to start tacking.

Inside the dead-calm harbor, we motored over to Rere Bay, the popular anchorage near the Duke’s Nose viewpoint. Two munohulls were already there, taking up most of the prime space. We poked around on the shallow edge, hoping for a large enough area of catamaran-suitable depth. After deciding it was too tight for comfort, we returned to the deep water at the entrance. We would need all our chain again, but there was just enough room for us to swing without encroaching on the others.

As we were slowing to a stop at our chosen drop spot, a British ketch, skippered by someone of questionable upbringing, came into the bay at speed, wedged up right behind us, walked to the bow, dropped anchor, and then returned to the cockpit, all while conspicuously avoiding eye contact so that he could not see my rude gestures of protest. Maryanne hadn’t even had time to press the ‘down’ button on the windlass controller.

Despite the fact that I was sure the correct response was to yell, “Towanda!” Kathy Bates-style (from Fried Green Tomatoes) and set the throttles to Ramming Speed, Maryanne (correctly, much to my dismay) reminded me that since the rude little wanker had lowered anchor before us, he now had right of way. If we still didn’t feel there was enough room for us to safely anchor, we were now obliged to make other arrangements. Oh, Grr!

Fine. Taking a deep breath, I put the engines in gear and we left Rere Bay altogether for the adjacent, equally deep, but much roomier Waitepipi Bay. With my adrenaline levels slowly returning to normal, I quickly realized Waitepipi was a much better deal. Rere Bay is usually overcrowded with a rolling queue of arrivals and departures, so that worry never really goes away. Waitepipi has plenty of swinging room, more privacy, and better views of the northern part of the harbor, including the Duke’s Nose. The extra distance can be traversed in only five minutes with a kayak. Later on, we met one of the occupants of the original two monohulls in Rere Bay. He told us that the ketch, which ironically has a name like Serenity or Quiet Time, has a really loud generator that they run most of the time. Sometimes, being run out by self-absorbed boneheads can be a good thing.

Arriving in Whangaroa Harbour

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Anchorage location >> On google maps

Whangarei – Again!

[Kyle]Our original plan for our cruising season did not include another stop in Whangārei. After all, we had already seen it plenty around the time of our long haulout.

During discussions about our plans after New Zealand, we realized we would need to be doing some heavy provisioning for long stretches in poorly-supplied areas. After looking at our various options among the towns going up the coast, it quickly became apparent that Whangārei, even though it usually requires a day each to go up and down the Hatea River, would still be by far the most convenient place to stop.

This is, of course, because Town Basin Marina has a giant store right across the street that is so close you can even wheel the shopping cart you used at the store right back to the boat. If they don't have what you want, there are other stores about 2km away (that also deliver), plus hardware stores, electronics stores, all within easy walking distance. There are also several nice eateries steps from the marina and parks galore for just plain ambling. Thus, it wasn't too upsetting to have to cross off a couple of the more remote stops northward to make room for another Whangārei visit.

We even got lucky, if you can call it that, with regard to the weather. It was forecast to be just terrible, although at least terrible in the right direction. While everybody else was hunkered down, trying to hide from it, we dug out our foul weather gear and took Begonia out for a sail.

Some sunshine on passage - A LONG day with a mix of motoring and sailing to make it back to the Hatea River

With more wind than we would ever need, we reefed the sails for medium-fast speed for the long sail from Great Barrier Island to the mouth of the Hatea River. We got there just before slack water, which gave us just enough daylight left to ride the flood all the way to the anchorage by Norsand Boatyard before dropping anchor.

This is where the second part of getting lucky with the weather came in. Since the weather was forecast to be just awful for the next couple of days, rather than go to the marina, where we would be paying good money to be outside running errands in the deluge, we would instead stay here for free until the sun starts shining again. Days off in the rain with nothing enticing us ashore was just what we were getting low on. Our backlog of less-than-desirable, bottom-of-the-list jobs was growing and now we would have a chance of chipping away at some of it. Maryanne started making scary-long shopping lists and I filed our tax returns, for example.

Once the weather cleared and we headed to the marina, we were rested and ready to go. It turns out Maryanne had not been just making lists, she had been ordering stuff and scheduling deliveries. Three quarters of the stuff we were going to be spending a whole day shuttling back and forth to the boat was now being dropped right at the gate, leaving us with only one or two easy trips, which we could squeeze in whenever was convenient. We were able to cordon off Pi Day as a no jobs zone, and even had enough time left over after all our remaining arrands that we had nothing left to do except socialize on our last day there.

Collecting mail and groceries - and squeezing in some time for a wedding anniversary stroll on the Hatea loop Trail and into the forest

A big thank you to Helen Shrewsbery (a fellow sailor that lives in the area) who accepted a stash of parcels on our behalf.

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Anchorage location in the Hatea River >> On google maps

Town Basin Marina >> On google maps

Great Barrier Island

[Kyle]Another strong blow was about to arrive. This one would be the only period of southerlies in the forecast for over a week. Despite the fact that Maryanne and I eventually decided we really liked Whitianga, it was time to get up early and clock up some miles towards our next general cruising region in the far north. This time, we would be leapfrogging over our last anchorage at Great Mercury Island and continuing as far again to Great Barrier Island.

Our sail was much better than the last one. We left the anchorage and sailed the first ten miles under spinnaker. At Needle Rock, we switched to working sail and slowly accelerated away in the building wind on a fast broad reach. We passed Port Jackson, leaving the protection of the Coromandel Peninsula into a building sea, where we would find ourselves occasionally surfing with speeds the low teens.

About the time we were starting to get weary of being constantly thrown around, we arrived at Wellington Head, where we were able to make the downwind turn into the smoother waters of the bay at Port Abercrombie. At this point, we were still far enough from our planned anchorage at Kiwiriki Bay that we didn't need to start warming up our engines for anchoring just yet. Since our speed had been so good during the day, we had the luxury of not being in a hurry to beat the sunset, so that we could take our time crossing the two-and-a-half miles to the entrance to Port Fitzroy, at the far end of Port Abercrombie.

The problem was not the wind. We had plenty of that. The problem was that the surrounding high terrain was making the wind act like a blindfolded toddler on a sugar rush who was playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Sailing Begonia across the bay was like sailing a dinghy. Gusts, lulls, and rapid wind shifts required large rudder deflections just to keep us moving. A gust would hit, Begonia would lurch a hundred meters or so at nine knots, then coast to a stop at the other end. Then another one would come from the other side. There was no time to gybe everything over, so we would just go the wrong direction on the wrong tack for a while until that one petered out. Then the whole process would start all over.

After averaging all of these little sprints into a general eastbound movement, we finally made it to the point where we really needed to start the engines and get them warmed up. We had a forty-knot gust, where we held on for the ride. That was quickly followed by a two-knot lull. We used that last one to douse our sails neatly, as if we were demonstrating the process for a boat show inside a big hangar. Whew!

Sailing past Needle Rock (again), and eventually arriving at our anchorage (just before some more rain!)

At Kiwiriki Bay, all the good, shallow spots were already taken by other boats trying to find shelter from the weather. After poking around a bit, we let out a collective groan and resigned ourselves to the big, deep, empty spot in the middle of the bay, where we would need to deploy all the chain we have.

That actually turned out for the best, since the subsequent storm had its wind shredded by the mountains above into what reached the water's surface as everything at once. I think Forrest Gump may have said something about the winds at Great Barrier Island

A total lunar eclipse was a good excuse to be up in the middle of the night and despite being on a moving boat Kyle managed some star photography

Two days later, when the rain stopped and the wind died to nothing, we emerged to a glorious bright morning. Most of the other boats left. Maryanne and I rowed ashore for a hike to the summit of nearby Maungapiko. To make things more ambitious, we cobbled together a loop from several different trails so we could make it an all-day event.

It didn't take us long to wonder what we'd gotten ourselves into. The short connector trail from Kiwiriki Bay to the main one was a bit overgrown. That's to be expected. After that, we had steep climbs and descents through miles of gorse, which is the last thing you want to grab or fall into if you lose your balance.

Even though it is less 'Outdoorsy Mountaineer', I think we were both glad when our scratchy gauntlet changed to a 4WD road for a most of the rest of the climb.

A well enjoyed hike ashore

My favorite part of this section was when we came upon a sign directing us to a Kuari tree a few meters off the road. An old growth Kauri is always a joy to see. Even though they are less massive and don't grow quite as tall as California Redwoods, their long branches and enormous canopies make them seem at least as majestic. Populations here are suffering from Kauri Dieback Disease, so it's always a pleasure to find and share a little bit of time with one of the ancient ones.

Near the summit of Maungapiko (280m), we left the 4WD road and took the short stub trail to the viewpoint at the top. That trail got increasingly perilous as we scrambled over the last few boulder faces to the top. When we got there, we were delighted to find not only amazing views, but an actual bench, where we could sit and enjoy our reward meal of apples and water. Not only that, but the DOC also resisted the opportunity to display an ad for a personal injury lawyer. Good on them!

Having left our 4WD road behind, Maryanne and I joined a regular walking track for the descent back to Kiwiriki Bay. This trail did not have any gorse, but it was also not good. The storm of the previous week had downed several trees and even washed out a few areas, making the going harder than just plain walking. There were also several really steep sections that went on for ages. Doing our loop the other way would have been pretty disheartening through this section. As it was, even though we were going downhill, there were several patches that were bordering on treacherous. It was with great relief that we finally reached the valley floor, where all that was required of us was to occasionally hop over a downed tree trunk.

Back at the dinghy, it was now low tide, requiring a fairly long drag over the mud flats to the water's edge. Coming the other way were a few kayakers who were coming ashore BAREFOOT! Going barefoot is pretty common for Kiwis (and Aussies), but this was nuts! The tidal mud here is impregnated with hundreds of oyster shells, which will slice you open before you even realized you have even touched one. Also, the mud that enters your new incisions is most definitely NOT sterile. You might as well apply the tourniquet now.

They asked us about the trail we had just exited. After a bit of back and forth, they eventually decided against it. We got the feeling that it had less to do with Maryanne's and my descriptions of how perilous and easy to lose the trail was in spots, as it was that there just wasn't time to make it back before dark.

With our muscles and joints telling us that we have walked far enough for a while, thank you, Maryanne and I spent the next day exploring everywhere we could reach in the kayak. New Zealand is interesting from every perspective and, so far, Great Barrier Island seems to be its own mini–New Zealand, filled with chirping birds, interesting plants, and fascinating geology.

During a potter about in the Kayak we met a penguin (a little blue penguin)

We had been given a lead by a friend (thanks Rick!) about a guy who rents out a car in Port Fitzroy, the next bay to the north of Kiwiriki. We had hoped to reserve it over the upcoming weekend, but the guy said the only time he had available was tomorrow. That meant we were up first thing the next morning to get Begonia anchored and secured in time to get the car. It turned out all the nearby space for anchoring was taken, so we needed even more time to anchor way on the other end of the harbor and then do the hike into town.

Our rental agreement was very informal, basically: The keys are in it. Leave the money in the agreed location when you're done.

Unlike Great Mercury Island, Great Barrier Island has an actual paved road that runs most of the length of the island. That makes a day of tourism nice and straightforward, particularly since there aren't that many side roads that aren't driveways. We drove to trails for mountain viewpoints, sleepy surfing beaches, and little, three-road villages. All were stunning.

We visited Windy Canyon (and the ridge just beyond) twice on the road trip - and it was well worth the short walk from the road

Kaitoki creek and the beach/sand-dunes beyond

Blind Bay

Iona Gold mine, long abandoned, the mine is now home to plenty of cave weta (large native insects)

Medlands Beach housed a cafe and an irish pub, both of which we share our money with

The island was home to scattered art (even dinosaurs) but Maryanne was especially delighted to come across so many fun mail boxes

There was a beautiful trail off Medlands Beach

Aotea Brewing Company (an off-the-grid brewery/bar), near Medlands

Back at Port Fitzroy for sunset and a drink at the Boat Club

During our day, we were able to alternate stretching our legs in the hills with nice meals at outdoor cafes and restaurants. After parking the car back at Port Fitzroy we were able to pop in for drink (without worrying about who would drive) at the Port Fitzroy Boat Club. On the trail back to the bay with our dinghy, Maryanne even spotted a Morepork (an endemic small owl) in one of the trees above.

With one more day in Port Fitzroy before the next change of weather, Maryanne and I decided to take an easy day by going to Glen Fern Sanctuary, just on the other side of the bay from Port Fitzroy's ferry landing.

In 1990, Founder Tony Bouzaid bought Glenfern as an 83-hectare farm. He and his wife Mal then set to eliminating invasive predators and reintroducing native species to the peninsula surrounding the farm. Now it is a haven for many of Great Barrier's endemic species.

Glenfern Sanctuary had some hidden gems and viewpoints

Maryanne and I thought a visit to Glenfern would be an easy day, compared to our all-island excursion the day before. What we didn't initially appreciate was that what Glanfern lacks in area, it makes up for with gradient. Collecting the full set of the sanctuary's trails turned out to be quite a thigh-searing workout.

It was worth it, though. We got some one-on-one time with a pair of fearless endemic ducks and finally got to see a whole flock of Kakas. That last one was a bit funny because after spending the whole day peering carefully into the forest at any movement, we found them in the tree right outside the visitor's center.

The highlight was way in the back of the sanctuary, at the top of all the trails, where they had not only a giant Kauri, but they had built a swinging footbridge connecting the adjacent hillside to the tree at canopy level. That was definitely worth the climb!

Boats were now pouring into the deeper inlets of Great Barrier Island in search of protection from the next blast of rough weather. Shimshal anchored next to us and even managed to get in a brief visit as they tried to squeeze in a shore visit before the rain. We hadn't seen Simon and Sally since they left their boat behind to go spend the winter in Scotland. It was good to catch up. Not surprisingly, our complaints about what an inclement, non-summer-like summer we have been having back in New Zealand were met with chuckles. We had a few nights where the temperature got down to almost 10C. They had actual snow. Perhaps we are getting a little soft...

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Anchorage location >> On google maps