Passage to Stewart Island – Port Pegasus

[Kyle]Our sail to Stewart Island from Otago’s Retreat went pretty much as expected. Maryanne’s back was much better and we had enough wind to sail fast with way less canvas than we needed. That meant she was fine to conduct her night watch normally. She had no need to adjust the sails. She even deviated from the strict “Don’t do anything unnecessary” policy to make me a nice cup of coffee to start me through my night watch.

Departing Preservation Inlet - farewell to Fiordland

I had it mostly easy until we got in the lee of the island and the wind shifted, then I had to tack for a few hours until daylight. Maryanne slept through most of it, but was awakened by the noise of the last one. She knew it was supposed to be pretty dark when her day watch started, but it was clearly later than that. I was tired, but I had promised her she only had to do one watch, so I let her keep sleeping. I was too excited about our impending arrival to sleep anyway.

Our sail had started with five to six-meter seas. They gradually decreased to three to four by the time we rounded the southwest corner of Stewart Island. We would consider that a lot in the tropics, but here, we’ve come to think of it as mild. Still, we were pretty sick of it when we arrived. It was a great relief to go through South Passage into the flat calm of Port Pegasus.

Port Pegasus is beautiful! The wide bay is dotted with rocky islets and rimmed with tiny, picturesque little coves. Surrounding the whole thing are high, tree-covered mountains whose tops have been scoured away to bare rock by erosion. As we threaded our way to our intended anchorage, fur seals and Yellow-Eye penguins played around our boat. The place looks primeval, looking as if humans had not yet arrived.

Passing Solander Islands and on towards Stewart Island

Except that they had. A few hours earlier, we picked up an AIS target tucked way up in the farthest reaches. I had assumed it would be some dirty fisherman in his dirty fishing boat, hiding from the upcoming storm. Instead, it turned out to be a sailing yacht. It was the first one of those we have seen in weeks!

We pulled alongside to say, “Ahoy!”, but there was no answer. Civilization, such that it is, is WAY on the other side of the island, so we doubted the boat was being stored there. We scanned the shore and could see no signs of a tender. We moved off and set anchor.

Then an aluminum boat powered by a small outboard appeared from behind the corner of a small cove and started toward us. They were Kay and Gary. They and their boat Hornpipe were from “Up North”. That had originally meant Auckland, but they were both retired now, so they were taking it slower than we are. They had already been in Port Pegasus for three weeks.

Maryanne kindly told them I needed some sleep, but we all agreed to have them over later to hear the whole story.

Gary had been an accountant in Canada. He took time off to sail to New Zealand. Once he got there, he met Kay and decided to change his plans. He was fortunate to be in a profession considered desirable by Immigration, so he was able to apply for residency status. He got a job that got him some New Zealand experience. With that, he was able to obtain citizenship. He retired last year and they went sailing. Their boat is their only home.

Their journey seems like it has been a bit harder than ours, although they still seem optimistic. They sailed the same leg we did to Milford from Tasman, but their trip took seven days to our four. Most of the time, they were going backwards hove-to in gales. By the time they had endured that and other such delays, including one waiting in Milford for a month for a part, their “Clean Vessel” permit for the area expired. They were unlucky enough to get boarded by the authorities (we never saw anyone) and were told to go directly to Bluff, Do not stop at GO! They got everything sorted out there and made it to Port Pegasus, only to be pinned down by the weather until we finally arrived to brighten their day. They said we were the first people they have seen since they got there. AND, they don’t have heat! Ouch!

{Maryanne: It was lovely to meet some people spend time chatting, but I really shot myself in the foot with that invite. This was to be the ONLY nice weather we'd get in Port Pegasus, and I should have spent that time exploring ashore. But Kyle needed a nap after sailing much or the night, and then we had guests. Next time!}

That said, I kinda envied them. I think I would rather like to spend three weeks or even more in Port Pegasus. It is incredibly beautiful and wild and serene and remote and, best of all, NO SANDFLIES!! I LOVED being able to stand on deck in the freezing wind and take it all in. What a place!

Entering Port Pegasus - Plenty of bird life and some amazing geology

Unfortunately, I knew a little too much about the weather and, as such, knew we would have to be moseying on soon. We made tentative plans to meet up the next day, but the wind was WAY too crazy to think about going out in either of our tenders. We had to settle for a “How’s it over there for you?” chat on the radio. It was such a shame, because the place looked like the perfect place to spend a day in a kayak. Unlike Fiordland, I wouldn’t rule out Stewart Island for a return visit, so maybe someday we’ll be back.

As we were inside marveling at the strength of the gusts, a third boat came in and anchored next to us. It was Polaris II and on the side, it said “University of Otago”.

Hmmm… Maryanne called them up to say “hi”. The Captain answered and after a bit of chit-chat said that they were doing survey work. Maryanne’s eyes lit up! Their work was using very similar technology to what she had done while studying Marine Biology at the University of St. Andrews.

{Maryanne: Alert - what follows is only understandable if you know Kyle has a 'sense of humour' of a special sort}.

She started in with the questions. The Captain realized he was in over his head and handed the radio to the Professor in charge of the operation. They then had a long technical discussion about how they were using a Quad-Beam Multi-Phase Ensonarator Array that maps the bottom using elliptically polarized David-Schwimmer waves. They then went on to talk about how mud gooification ratios effect p-values in silt studies. The gist of it seemed to have to do with Stewart Island’s special position at the Southern bad weather/really bad weather interface. They were studying long-term north/south movements of the zone to see how it is being impacted by XXXXXX XXXXXXX. <-REDACTED!

Huh‽ Okay. …impacted by XXXXXXX XXXXXX. <-REDACTED!

Alright, Let’s try this: …impacted by the upcoming warmey time of which we must not speak. HA! Your search engines didn’t catch that one, did they? Stupid XXXXXXXXXXX <-REDACTED!

Ugh!

One sunny afternoon in Port Pegasus. Visit from a Fur Seal (who seemed to like scratching on the anchor chain) and research vessel

Some Thoughts on Fiordland

[Kyle]Now that we were done with our sail through Fiordland, it seemed like a good time to reflect on the experience. Maryanne did a recap of her own, so these are mostly my thoughts.

The first questions that naturally pop up are, “Was it worth it?” and, “Would you recommend it?” My answers to both are: “maybe” and, “maybe”.

Fiordland is unquestionably the most beautiful part we have seen of this beautiful country. I LOVE scenery, so there’s that. The first thought I have, though, when thinking about our trip through the region is that it was an ordeal. I wouldn’t go so far as saying we shouldn’t have come, though, for two reasons: The first is that most of the beautiful places we got to see in Fiordland, we only got to see because we were there on our own boat. The second is that had we not done it, I know I would be haunted by thoughts of whether we could have, or should have. Past Me knows what Future Me is like and Past Me knows Future Me wouldn’t be able to sleep wondering.

Knowing what I know now, I’m glad we came, but now that we’ve ticked it off of the list, I think we both agree that neither of us feel the desire to do it again.

A trip through Fiordland definitely requires advanced to expert level sailing all of the time. The weather at the high latitudes of Fiordland is generally worse than farther north. The winds are higher and the seas are much bigger. Storms are fast-moving, frequent and fickle and safe places to hide from them are far apart. Those places, when found, often require a lot more work to safeguard the boat. This work is often made even more unpleasant by having to carry it out in a cold rain while wearing bulky gear. Almost everywhere that is safe in one wind or sea condition is terrifying in another. That, and the fact that the weather can deteriorate so quickly means that much closer attention has to be paid to the weather, day and night. Most of Fiordland has no infrastructure and disaster means no help is going to be readily available.

As much as we may not appreciate it in the moment, the skills we developed and the experience we gained coming down here are not without some worth of their own. These have added to our ever-growing repertoire. We never know when that skill set and that well of experience may need to be drawn upon to save our butts one day. For that reason, it’s probably best that cruising isn’t all easy downwind sailing and sundowners in the cockpit. Difficult or uncomfortable experiences can have value that may not be fully appreciated at the time. That’s why the airlines regularly put pilots into the simulator while somebody tries to “kill” them. It’s a tremendously stressful and unpleasant experience, but it ensures that if anything like that happens for real, it’s not the first time you’ve seen it. That way, you can keep your wits about you and work the problem instead of wasting seconds panicking and wondering what to do.

Then there are the sandflies. I’ve mentioned them a few times in passing, but after leaving Milford they were ubiquitous and unbearable until they finally started thinning out a little for us at Lake Cove. Then they were just awful. It’s not just that they’re ravenous and make for an awful, itchy bite, it’s that they make going anywhere outside such a hassle, which left us feeling trapped inside our own home most of the time. The only relief we got from them was out in the open sea in big winds, where anxiety and the discomfort of big waves made us unsure which was better. For me, I think it’s safe to say the sandflies ruined the trip for me. Had it not been for them, I think I would have a more equivocal view about a possible return in the future. (As a side note, we noticed a marked lack of the usual birdsong while in Fiordland. My theory is that the flies drove them out.)

As for recommending the trip to other cruisers, I would say it depends. Mostly, I wouldn’t because from the outside, it’s hard to judge someone’s level of confidence, competence and tolerance to risk – or their ability to manage their own risk level. That means that on balance, I would probably tell some cruisers who are perfectly capable to skip it, because I wouldn’t want to feel responsible for tipping the scales. Even so, I would only feel comfortable recommending it to sailors with more experience and stouter boats than ours, not because of any deficiencies in us, but because someone I don’t know well would need to have inherently higher margins of safety than Maryanne and I do for the equation to balance out. For the most part, I know where our risks lie and what our procedures are for mitigating them. Not so with strangers. Even then, I would only recommend it to someone who knows what they’re getting into and is willing to put up with the risk/discomfort of the trip. I don’t see it as safe or sensible for the floating gin palace crowd.

For the others, I would whole-heartedly recommend a trip to Fiordland using the usual park-your-boat-in-the-North-Island-and-tour-the-South-Island-by-car method. Fiordland is the visual jewel of a gorgeous country and it can’t be missed. Boat tours are pricey, but they do see some amazing stuff. Most are fast enough to outrun the damn sandflies, so the only time you may encounter them are a few when getting on and off the boats. Even better, take a helicopter ride and squish a few in the process.

For me, I’m glad we came, on balance. I couldn’t have let myself sail all of the way to New Zealand without seeing what many say is the best part. Driving down would have seemed like a copout. Our trip had some unquestionably miserable moments, but we proved to ourselves that we could survive them and come out the other side as better sailors and ones who work even better as a team. Also, Fiordland really is stunning. We didn’t collect any jars of mud or sandflies so that someday, we can open them up and relive the experience. What we did get is lots of great photos. These are rare and precious to us because we could only get them by doing what we did. Ten years from now, those photos will be the most tangible memories of the place and we will have forgotten most of the suffering that even enabled them to exist. We’ll see them and sigh at the beauty and feel once again that we are incredibly lucky that our lives have allowed us to see such places.

Fellow cruisers? If you are thinking of a trip to Fiordland - see Maryanne's thoughts and Tips

Preservation Inlet (Fiordland)

[Kyle]It was back to my usual 4am wakeup for our next leg to Preservation Inlet. After hurting her back, Maryanne had spent the whole night wincing at the gentle motion of the boat so I decided she needed to stay in bed the whole day. I would be doing my stuff and her stuff while she convalesced.

We were lucky to be where we were. I had only the anchor to deal with, no extra lines and plenty of space to drift until I could secure everything and get back to the helm. Once out into Edwardson Sound, I was able to roll out ¼ of the jib. Shut down the engines and actually sail the length of the whole fiord on a single tack. When we got to the open ocean, the wind picked up. I was able to roll up the jib and sail along at five to six knots under bare poles alone while we made our way from Chalky Inlet to Preservation Inlet.

Departing Chalky Inlet and back to sea

It sounds easier than it was. Winds that strong make for big, scary seas and there were more than a few moments where I yelled inside my head to myself to “hold on!” I was glad Maryanne was wedged into her spot in the bed below, but I worried the motion was hurting her.

Relaxing and Recuperating at Otago’s Retreat

We had to cross several shallow patches where tide-rips made the sea a confused and scary mess. The last and shallowest was the narrow gap between the South Island mainland at Point Puysegur and Coal Island. This little gap is the very end of Fiordland. There is nothing left except exposed coastline until the harbor at Bluff at the bottom of the South Island. From Fiordland, it’s about the same distance to Stewart Island. I was well aware that if it didn’t look good, I would have to turn tail and bash back upwind to safety, all without Maryanne’s usual assistance.

When I got lined up on the entrance, it looked choppy, but doable. The engines were running by then and the headwind was keeping Begonia down to 2 ½ knots, so I had more time than I really wanted to fret as we entered. Just as the sea was starting to calm noticeably at the shallowest point, a lone wave hit and broke over the boat. It wasn’t a big, scary one like the one in Kelefesia, Tonga, but it came out of nowhere and doused everything. I had managed to stay dry up until that point, and here we were ½ a mile from our anchorage!

We anchored at Otago’s Retreat, which is the name used for part of the area of smooth water between Coal and South islands. It had the same virtue as Lake Cove in that I could set a single anchor just about anywhere over the uniform bottom and have plenty of time and room to let it out and set it without the need to be at the helm to control the boat. When I got everything shut down, I went inside and announced to Maryanne that we were here, which of course she already knew because of the noise. I assured her she hadn’t missed much scenery other than waves and rain.

She was starting to get cabin fever down there and despite my insistence it was not necessary, she offered to move to the main cabin so I could complete my usual post-sail routine of removing the bedding and inspecting the engines to make sure no new leaks or other surprises had developed.

{Maryanne: While at anchor a passing fishing boat stopped by to check on us. They offered us more crayfish (spiny lobster) and Kyle declined.. He'd promised to cook that night and he just couldn't face killing a crayfish. My softie!}

At Otago’s, we would wait for a weather window for the sail even further south to Stewart Island. We were fortunate, if you could call it that, that we had to ride out the rest of the day’s storm.

Without a functioning Torqeedo, I can only really make headway rowing the dinghy in winds less than about fifteen knots. We had way more than that and the long distance to shore meant we would surely be blown out to sea if we even tried. That took rowing and long, strenuous hikes off of the table.

Our next window for the trip to Stewart Island was a 48-hour period of twenty-knot winds squashed between days and days of fifty knot winds either side. We would be leaving in the calm before the storm, which was also the calm after the storm. The latter had heaped up six-meter seas, so we knew in advance it was going to be a rough one. Fortunately, that wasn’t happening until the day after tomorrow, so Maryanne would have more time to just sit and rest.

It would have been a nice luxury to stay At Coal Island until Maryanne was back to 100%, but the next fourteen days’ forecasts didn’t even hint at anything else approaching that would be suitable. Summers are short way down here and we needed to keep moving as best we could in order to avoid getting pinned down by increasingly frequent and violent weather. We focused on resting Maryanne as much as possible and I promised her that when we left, I would pre-do as much as possible for her so she could hopefully sit watch herself without having to do anything other than sit, watch and hold-on for one watch only. If she needed to reef unexpectedly or something like that, instead of doing it herself as usual, she would wake me up and let me do it for her. Then I would come on watch and she could go back to bed until we arrive.

Her extra day’s rest helped her tremendously, though, and she was almost back to normal the morning we left, although we still stuck with the above plan.

Fellow cruisers? If you are thinking of a trip to Fiordland - see our Tips

Edwardson Sound (Fiordland)

[Kyle]Our getaway from Astronomer’s Cove was easier than our arrival. We untied one end of each stern loop and pulled the other end home around the tree. Done! The only tough part was pulling in a lot of line in a real hurry. Without the lines, Begonia had a tendency to head for one riverbank or the other. Also, the current was flowing forward, so as soon as the loose line hit the water, it wanted to stream forward past the boat. Our propellers were both turning in reverse to keep some tension on the anchor rode during the procedure and we were both very aware that fouling a prop with a stern line would mean disaster.

Once the anchor was retrieved, we left the relative protection of Pickersgill harbor and pulled into Dusky Sound. There, the flat seas and light winds turned into their more usual three meter chop with gale force gusts.

Our wind was supposed to be flowing south down the coast, but the inlet, like all of them, bent the winds toward the path of least resistance, which in our case was very close-hauled. The wind and seas were too strong to make any headway against under power. Our only choice was to bear off and raise sail to keep the boat moving forward through the water. This blew us closer to the leeward headland than I liked. I knew tacking would send us pretty much back the way we came, so I had a tense hour pinching as far upwind as I dared and trying to take advantage of every tiny wind shift so that we would keep moving forward and away from the rocks.

When I finally left them astern, it was a huge relief to turn downwind and let out the sails. The ride smoothed out, our speed tripled and there was nothing in front of us to hit for miles.

Then the heavy rains started and didn’t let up for the rest of the day. When we entered Edwardson Sound at Chalky Inlet, our nice tailwind ride down the coast turned into an upwind, up-current bash to our eventual anchorage at Lake Cove, way up at the head of Edwardson Sound. Lake Cove is reached by taking a couple of sharp turns from the arrow-straight Edwardson, which effectively subdued all of the chop we had been fighting.

Lake Cove had the benefit of not only being very picturesque, but it was also a big, wide basin, which meant we could set our anchor in the middle and swing with the wind instead of having to run stern lines, etc. The two bends at the outlet eliminated the view to the sea, so it looked and felt like we were anchored in the middle of a big, tree-lined mountain lake, hence the name, I guess.

The rain kept us indoors for the evening, which was just as well, because I was getting a little worn down from getting up at 4:00am to download the day’s updated forecasts in time to be ready to depart at first light. I had us leaving early because the distances were long and we needed daylight to implement Plan B or even Plan C if Plan A didn’t work. The weather pattern was dictating that we keep moving, so once we arrived anywhere, we would have to cram all of our exploring into the same afternoon rather than making an easy day of it the next day. When I had a last check of the weather, I was actually relieved to declare that it would be a bad idea for us to go anywhere for 2 ½ more days.

We went to bed early and I was shocked when I looked at my watch the next morning. I was expecting it to read 08:00, but it said 12:30! It was still raining, so we felt no rush to go out and see anything just yet and took our time actually surfacing. I was still feeling especially listless, so after hoisting my mug of “morning” coffee to my face several times, I was ready for a nap. I held out a few more hours until an early dinner, but then it was all I could do to keep my eyes open, so it was back to bed for another 12 hours.

Aaahhh! That’s better! My sleep deficit was finally all restocked. The rain had stopped for the moment and we could even occasionally see a little patch of blue sky. It was time to get the dinghy down and do some ‘slporin’.

Exploring ashore and around

We started with the usual dinghy tour around the basin, including trips up both of the rivers feeding our part of the fiord. The second one, Cadman Creek, required several minutes of maximum effort rowing to overcome the fast current and get to a spot just downstream of the base of the falls, where we could land.

Our goal was to find a rumored trail up to the lake. There seemed to be nothing that even resembled a trail from our vantage point, but we decided I would scramble up the slope and have a look anyway.

The initial slope was one of those crazy climbs where all of the hand and footholds were really toe and finger holds. They were all slippery. I could feel each foot slowly sliding and each fern or branch I was holding was slowly losing grip of its roots. Below me was a fifty-degree slide and then rocks and then the rushing river. My strategy was to move onto the next step before the last one gave way. From a climber’s standpoint, this wet part of New Zealand has two kinds of trees. The first and best is the ridiculously hard hardwoods. I can’t say how many times I have been surprised to grab onto some spindly little one-inch branch to find it has about as much give as if it were made of steel. The second type is the rotten deadwood. These can be large and apparently stout tree trunks that are held together as if they were made of ash. During one stumble, I swiped a hand out to grab a four-inch tree and the middle came out, hardly slowing down my swing. The top of the tree just hovered in the air for a second like in a cartoon and then collapsed like a Vegas casino being demolished.

After a lot of crawling through a lot of undergrowth (why didn’t I bring the machete?), I found something that looked like it might have been some kind of a trail once. I made my way back to the cliffs above Maryanne and reported my findings. To my surprise, she wanted to join me.

We carry two painters for the Pudgy for redundancy. One is the short regular one and one is comically long for those occasions when the thing we need to tie it to is far away. Running a long line is easier than carrying the dinghy to within reach of the short one. In this case, the long one was long enough that I was able to run it above the scary part of the climb to a good, strong hardwood tree for use as a fixed climbing line. I had to do the trip twice to set the line, but it was long enough to retrieve from down at the dinghy. Once that was done, the scariest part of the climb became much safer.

After we were both ashore, we re-acquired the trail and headed out. It was rarely used and it was often hard to know for sure we were still on it. It was good to have two sets of eyes looking for trail clues.

As we were climbing, we couldn’t help but notice that the trail didn’t seem to bother with time-wasting switchbacks. It was straight up the steep slope and then straight down.

After much longer than we would have expected considering the short distances that were involved, we finally emerged at the lake at the top of the falls. Wow! There was A LOT of water going over those falls. That lake must’ve been a little full from the rains. It was impressive to sit there and watch the fast moving water plunge off of the drop. The grueling walk had been worth it after all, but it also seemed like a perfect example of where not to fall.

We went a little further and found a calm patch of the lakeshore, where the trail finally seemed to come to an end. As Maryanne was traversing a large log, she twisted a little too much the wrong way and wrenched her back. I don’t think the event caused too much strain in itself, but when added to the injury she got from falling at Alice Falls, she was suddenly in a lot of pain. It seemed to be like the same kind of thing I get every now and then when I can’t even stand up straight.

It couldn’t have happened in a worse part of the walk. There was a lot of tricky up and down to get back to the dinghy and she was looking pretty sore. I definitely couldn’t carry her, what with my back and all, which was fine at the moment, provided I didn’t do anything stupid, so we decided it take it as slowly and easily as we could. Eventually, we worked out that the best thing to do was for me to stand downhill of her, whichever direction we were going, and act as the Human Walker. She could put her weight on me to save her back whenever there wasn’t a tree convenient.

We eventually made it back to the dinghy and even got her back down the slope, using the fixed line to abseil down. The dinghy ride down the river was a water park ride – let go and let the scenery whiz by. Soon, we were back aboard Begonia. We got Maryanne’s muddy outer layers off and got her propped up on the settee. Her new favorite word was “Ah”, usually said in threes, “Ah, ah, AH!” That ain’t good.

Fellow cruisers? If you are thinking of a trip to Fiordland - see our Tips

Dusky Sound (Fiordland)

[Kyle]Breaksea Sound to Dusky Sound is the other inside passage possible in Fiordland besides Thompson to Doubtful. This one is achieved by going through the Acheron Passage on the inside of the large rectangular Resolution Island.

Our day started off with us throwing off our mooring lines in a light drizzle. That quickly turned into sheets of rain slashing at us from all directions. It was not possible to pop out of our cockpit enclosure for even a second without getting completely drenched. From inside, the rain-covered windows and the low clouds affectively reduced the view to a gray look at the nearest shore. The one bonus was that all of the waterfalls enroute were booming down the cliffs at maximum flow.

Move from Breaksea to Dusky Sound

While I used the radar to pick our way down the Acheron Passage, Maryanne stayed in the warm cabin and took advantage of our alternator’s electrical output by making a bunch of long overdue repairs to our dinghy cover with our sewing machine. I’m always amazed by how well she manages to work with large items in our little salon.

After a few hours of this, we pulled into Pickersgill Harbor and found our anchorage at Astronomer’s Cove. This is where our lucky run of finding moorings and lines all pre-placed finally ended. We dropped our anchor in the middle of the very narrow outlet to the Cook River and gingerly backed up as far as we dared. Maryanne then deployed the dinghy and, fighting the current, ran a line from each stern to a stout tree ashore while I used Begonia’s rudders and differential power to keep her away from the rocks on either side. It was pretty stressful. There were times when we both thought we were about to crunch a rudder on the rocks we could see on the riverbed.

The whole process took over an hour, but once our lines were secured, Begonia could only bounce around in a square about a meter each side bigger than she is. Now that we could relax, we took the dingy on a tour of the harbor and then went for a hike.

Exploring ashore and around Pickersgill Harbor

When we were done with our rowing tour, we landed the pudgy at a trailhead on the riverbank about ten meters from Begonia. It was strange. We were miles from any roads or human habitation in a remote part of Fiordland, which is the remotest, least populated part of the South Island, and our trail started with a big information board. It explained that Astronomer’s Cove was where Captain Cook moored for six weeks in1773 to observe a transit of Venus. The signboard and a brass plaque on the point were placed there to commemorate the occasion. There then followed a really well maintained boardwalk, complete with handrails and everything, that looped through the forest to what appeared to be a large observation platform, like the back deck on somebody’s house. It didn’t actually look out over anything. The view was blocked by trees that had clearly been there since before the platform was built. It was just a random deck in the middle of remote woods. I’m guessing someone at the DOC had to spend the rest of a yearly budget allotment or lose it.

At the completion of our loop, we broke off and took a much rougher trail, more in line with what we would have expected to find way out here. It was boggy and slightly overgrown, but had lots of orange DOC triangles to keep us in the right place. It was slow going, climbing over logs and pulling ourselves out of boot-sucking mud, but we finally emerged at Lake Forster. The lake is the source of Cook Stream, which was flowing under Begonia, keeping any saltwater growth on her undersides from taking hold.

Our timing was pretty good getting back. I had just got the dinghy stowed in the davits when the skies opened up again. We were pleased to have been able to avoid it while we sat cozy inside enjoying big, steaming bowls of lobstah chowdah.

Fellow cruisers? If you are thinking of a trip to Fiordland - see our Tips