Sail to Lyttelton

[Kyle]We had a medium-ish long leg to Lyttelton from Flea Bay. I had four different forecasts that said we would pretty much have to motor the whole way in tailwinds too light to propel even our boat. I was so pleased to leave the protected bay and find the ocean blowing with enough wind to keep us moving smartly.

I was happily enjoying the peace and quiet of not having to listen to engine noise and feeling pretty pleased that we weren’t leaving behind the expected trail of diesel fumes when it got even better.

We were then joined by a pod of Hector’s Dolphins. Four of them came up from astern and started playing in our bow waves. Hector’s are usually pretty low key, but these guys seemed to really enjoy splashing around the boat.

We had hours of fun joined by the playful Hector's Dolphins

At each cove we passed, new Hectors could be seen streaming in. Had their buddies somehow called them to come over? By the third cove, there were too many for us to count, they were changing position so fast. We were able to get to recognize the different markings on individuals and it quickly became clear that our group of ten to fifteen was made up of overlapping pods that would stay for a cove or two and then hand us over to the next group. In all, we had them with us for over an hour. Maryanne had discovered “burst mode” on her iPhone and ended up taking 13,991 photos in a 72-minute period. That’s about three a second for those of you counting. We’re hoping we can get at least five good ones out of that.

{Maryanne: Dolphin photography has always been problematic for me. Burst mode is great for getting that photo at just the right moment that I would miss otherwise - not so great when you have to deal with all those other photos - still - I've not found any National Geographic moments captured}

Around the Banks Peninsula - From Flea Bay to Ripapa Island in Lyttelton Harbour

Just before we got to Lyttelton harbor, we sailed far enough into the lee of the land to lose the wind entirely. We were almost there, so we started an engine for the last few miles to our anchorage at Ripapa Island.

When we came around the corner into Lyttelton Harbor, the wind returned. We didn’t have enough distance left to re-hoist our sails, but I felt a little chastened to be motoring through a perfectly good tailwind as we weaved our way through the Saturday afternoon racing crowd as they tacked their way to the entrance. I tried to remind myself that we had just finished sailing further than these boats would go all week, but the optics were not good for the boat with the American flag flying.

We ended up being the only boat anchored in the lee of Ripapa Island. This island is rich in both Maori and New Zealand history as it was a perfect location for defense (As a pa - Maori fortification, and in early settler history as a military fort and a prison). Its most recent fortifications (Fort Jervois) are from the WWI defenses, and it houses some (apparently) rare guns. During the various earthquakes of 2010/2011, it suffered major structural damage and has been declared unsafe to visit and is closed to the public. It remains managed by New Zealand's DOC as a Historic Reserve, but for now padlocked gates block the tunnel entrance. The high walls of the fortress effectively keep out most casual visitors thinking of arriving by kayak, so the birds have the island all to themselves for the time being.

Flea Bay (Banks Peninsula)

[Kyle]The tiny Flea Bay has lots of cool sea caves and a couple of interesting beaches, as well as a pretty healthy population of fur seals and one of the world’s few colonies of White-Flippered Penguins. These are a sub-species of the more common Little Blue Penguins. There are currently about 3,700 breeding pairs left in the world and they are classified as Threatened. They are the only species of penguin in the world to be known to be nocturnal (so we were lucky to spot some during our arrival).

The farm and wildlife in Flea Bay

We had hoped to get out in the kayak and have a paddle around, but heavy rains in the morning kept us thinking it would be better to have a nice, cozy day inside. We did spend some time on deck in the afternoon, after the rains stopped, scanning the area with our binoculars. We were glad to find a few fur seals and really lucky to find a few White-Flippers hanging out on the rocks before dark. The farmer who has the land surrounding the bay even went to the trouble to build them a few nest boxes, which he has protected with a predator-proof fence. I like that they know it’s not all about the sheep.

Passage to the Banks Peninsula

[Kyle]Barry, the Otago Yacht Club’s jolly Caretaker was there at high tide to help us cast off from the dock. The wind had not yet made it this far into the harbor and the basin was a flat calm mirror. He gave us a shove, we drifted sideways a couple of meters, and then I used forward on one engine and reverse on the other to pirouette around until we were facing the exit. Then it was both engines in forward and we started our slow getaway. Barry stuck around to give us hand signals if we needed them to negotiate the narrow entrance. When he realized we were okay, he waved both hands anyway and bid us fair winds.

About five minutes later, a northwest wind came screaming up the harbor and hit us head-on hard enough that it cut our speed by a third. We were both glad we hadn’t been trying to leave the yacht club just then. It would have been much harder to keep from bouncing our way out through the other boats while the wind had its way with us. Currently, we still qualify for a warm welcome should we ever return.

Once we left Otago harbor, we faced the full brunt of the winds and waves. As seems to be usual, our weather window was a bit shorter than we needed, so we had little choice but to put up with tacking into headwinds for a while. I tried my best to keep the noise down while Maryanne went off watch, but it’s hard to tack quietly, especially alone, because it takes time to run to the other side of the boat to finish the job (more so since we still have the enclosure on around the cockpit). Plus, there’s all of the wind noise and wave motion. I’m amazed she got any sleep at all.

I usually get her up for dinner and her night watch at 1600. I try to be especially quiet during the last hour of her off watch, because I know that’s when she’s likely to be sleeping the lightest and have the hardest time getting back to sleep after a disruption.

At 1540, right when I was in full tiptoe and whisper mode, I spotted our wind shift coming from behind in the form of an ominous shelf cloud that stretched from horizon to horizon. At 1552, I decided I couldn’t hold out any longer and made a bunch of noise bringing all of our sail down as a precaution. We coasted to a stop, and then the wind died and left us bobbing in confused leftover seas.

I woke her up just as the shelf cloud arrived overhead. By the time she came up the stairs at 1602, we had thirty-seven knot tailwinds and were accelerating. I unrolled a tablecloth worth of jib and we were soon going seven to eight knots directly on the course we wanted.

Oh... not sure I like the look of that!

Maryanne spent her watch grateful for our cockpit enclosure, because it spared her from most of the dousing she would have otherwise had to endure. The seas were a sloppy mess as the old southbound wave train collided with the new northbound one and she spent much of the time just trying to hold on.

When she woke me at midnight, the wind was still around thirty knots, but the northbound train had won, so the motion was generally fairly gentle surfing down a following sea. By morning, when I got her up, we were down to a gentle rocking in winds that hummed instead of howled and I was flying the spinnaker to keep us moving at a good clip.

We were doing so well, in fact, that it looked like our planned second night at sea may not be necessary. This was especially important to us because it was our sixteenth wedding Anniversary and we were both secretly hoping we could do more than exchange a high-five at watch change and go to the bed the other one had just vacated.

Sights from the passage - still plenty of albatross around

We had originally been headed for Lyttelton, the main port near Christchurch. There was no way we would be able to beat a wind shift there, so we briefly considered going to French Bay in Akaroa harbor. It was not looking like we would even have time to get that far up the bay before dark, so Maryanne did a little research and suggested we go into Flea Bay, the first bay to the east. Oh, Maryanne, I do spoil you. Flea Bay it is (for our anniversary)!

It was actually very nice. I had hoped it wasn’t named Flea Bay for a reason, like Sandfly Point in Milford. There turned out to be no fleas in evidence and it was nice to open a bottle of wine and toast sixteen amazing years and another successful passage together.

Arrival in Flea Bay - 'greeted' by a White Flippered Penguin

Dunedin Part 2 - Southern Scenic Roadtrip

[Kyle]On the advice of Rich and Cyndi (our neighbours aboard Legacy), and plenty of others, we set off in the rental car on the Southern Scenic Route.

First came Tunnel Beach; really cool rock formations reached by a ridiculously steep path, with a second hidden beach only accessible via a tunnel through the rocks.

Then we crossed the Taieri River and stopped at a few scenic spots before reaching Molyneux Bay and Kaka Point.

Stopping off to see ancient fossils (not so impressive)

And the old Gold Rush 'Sod House'

Molyneux beach was very relaxed and soothing.

Next on the itinerary was Nugget Point. We saw lots of Fur Seals, including several adorable little pups who were learning to swim in tidal kiddie pools. Another more upsetting scene was of an adult eating a pup it had just killed.

Nugget Point - lighthouse, dramatic rocks and fur seals

We hiked several trails to several waterfalls until it got too late in the day to do so. Then we pulled into our accommodation at Chaslands Farm Cottages. The cottages were built to accommodate farm workers in season. They were dated and no-frills, but clean and private, which was all we needed. It felt like a strange time warp watching Maryanne cook and then sitting town to eat in a big 1960s kitchen.

Parakaunui Falls

Florence Hill Lookout and a handful of the many 1000's of NZ Sheep we spotted during the roadtrip

We started our next morning with a trip to Niagara Falls. These were deliberately given the ironic name by a surveyor who had been to the big ones. I wouldn’t mind going over theses in a barrel, or even better, an inner tube.

The other Niagara falls
A tongue-in-cheek name that made it all the way to the tourist guides

We then headed to Curio Bay, home to a colony of Yellow Eye penguins and also one of the world’s largest and best-preserved petrified forests. The penguins eluded us because they were already out fishing by the time we left our cottage. The trees were a bit slower, though, so we had no trouble catching up with them.

Curio Bay and the scattering of fossilized logs

Afterward, we headed to Slope Point because it was nearby and therefore we couldn’t just drive past it. The Big Deal about Slope point is that it is the southernmost point on the South Island. It is reached by a windy path through a field owned by a farm called Antarctic View Farms. When I say windy, I mean blowy, not sinuous. There’s not much there except the canister of the automated lighthouse and various signs implying there was nothing out there past the sea until hitting Antarctic ice. It was just hazy enough that you couldn’t see Stewart Island, so the illusion was effective.

A windy slog to visit Slope Point... just because

We then drove to nearby Waipapa Point, which had a big, pretty, traditional lighthouse and a big beach where Sea lions haul out for a rest. We spent an hour or so there, watching them trying to find a comfortable spot in on the beach to nap. One poor female just seemed like she could not get comfortable, much to the chagrin of her mate, who was happily dozing on a lumpy pile of rocks.

Waipapa Lighthouse and sea lions

After Waipapa, we drove to Bluff, the South Island’s southernmost settlement. Most of the information we had said there wasn’t much to see there. The town only existed because it was a big port and because the ferries to Stewart Island left from there.

It actually had a little more charm than that. We got some really good fish & chips and took them up to a lookout for lunch with a view. We walked off our lunch with a hike on the nearby coastal path, which included the Big Chain. Some artist had made two big chain sculptures, one in Bluff, one on Stewart Island. They are supposed to connect the two islands, at least in spirit. I think it was based on a story about how Stewart Island is the anchor, chained to the demi-god Maui’s boat, the South Island. There’s a lot of Maui folklore around here.

Bluff by mid-afternoon

Bluff also has a small, but excellent Maritime Museum, to which we arrived thirty minutes before closing. It was full of a half a day’s worth of stuff to see. They had a big, open ship’s engine with eight-foot long pistons. For a 50¢ coin, you could walk around it and watch it run for two minutes.

In the yard out back, they had a retired oyster boat that you could crawl all over. It wasn’t cleaned up or anything, just put there pretty much as-is. It definitely took whatever lingering romance there may have been about making a life at sea in such a way. Accommodations below were miserable looking. The bunks were basically hard boxes in the middle of all of the machinery space. The galley and the engine room looked like they were designed by someone who was trying to burn-down the boat to collect the insurance. The engines were covered by and surrounded by pools of oil and fuel and the battery bank was sitting next to them on a shelf next to a bunch of open wiring. They weren’t strapped down or anything, just ready to slide into a puddle of diesel. Begonia looks like a regular German nuclear power plant by comparison. I don’t like loose stuff to chafe and Maryanne insists on everything being clearly labeled.

Also amusing were the displays of New Zealand naval uniforms. They seemed to be short on appropriately military-looking mannequins, so they used female department store fashion mannequins with too much makeup and striking poses like they were trying to show off wrists full of gold bangles.

When the museum closed in Bluff, we drove to the nearby “real” town of Invercargill. We came to see the water tower, but got waylaid by the Botanic Gardens.

At Invercargill Kyle was waylaid again by the Aviary in the Botanic Garden
And we had to follow the signs to the stumpery

The water tower is exceptionally nice. Rather than having open truss work beneath, it had a lovely, ornate, 19th century brick building, like a cross between a big power plant and an ivy-league university library.

We couldn’t park at the water tower, so we parked at the botanic gardens next door. We decided that since we were there, we would have a look around. The Botanic Gardens were far too vast to take-in in the time that we had, but we got to see a couple of good things. The first and best was that they had an even better aviary than the one in Dunedin. We got to see loads of friendly parrots including one Kea that really liked to ham it up. I also befriended a Sulphur-Crested Cockatoo who really needed an understanding friend to help him with all of his new head feathers.

New feathers grow out in a wax sheath that looks like porcupine quills. They are pokey and uncomfortable until the wax is broken and the soft feather inside is freed. Most birds rely on a mate to reach the ones they can’t, but this poor guy was in the cage alone. Once he realized I wasn’t going to hurt him, he let me sort out as many feathers as I could reach through the small grid work. Afterward, he scratched all of the wax out of his yellow crest and then proclaimed himself a “Pretty Bird”. It was all I could do to pull myself away, but we had a long way to go to get to our farmhouse, so we had to go.

Before we did that, though, we had to go see what all of the signs for the “Stumpery” were all about. I thought it was some arcane term for a grove of trees, but it was actually a big pile of stumps. They were arranged artistically into various shapes. The thought is that they will decay and become a base medium for lots of ivy, moss, ferns and the like to colonize. In its current state, the Stumpery looked like the perfect setting for the spooky forest in a kid’s book

Our main focus the next day was to see Cathedral Caves, which Rich and Cyndi had told us was not to be missed. The problem was that the caves are only accessible at low tide, which was at midday, so we had to kill some time.

To do so, we hiked to almost every waterfall in the region and then took in the Tautoku boardwalk, which goes over a marsh to where you can see some rare marsh birds. We met a nice Yorkshire couple there who had spotted some of the aforementioned birds. They lent us their binoculars for a look. I was unfortunately distracted by my first real sandfly experience since Fiordland and I was keen to get the hell out of there.

Koropuku Falls and McLean Falls

Tautuku Estuary (boardwalk trail)

That was fine. Cathedral Caves had just opened. The caves are on public land, but the only place to park and the trail down is in Mauri land, so we had to pay a small fee to park and use the trail down to the beach. The woman who directed us to our parking space seemed soooo done with the busy season of tourists in their rented RVs. My hilarious comments about such yielded only a blank stare of bitter resignation. Fortunately for her, she had her spiel down pat, so she only seemed fed up when we could get her off script.

We were given a detailed map to the two caves, complete with the specifics of the spelunker’s survey and a short history. We hiked the long trail down to the beach and followed the line of people to the big attraction.

We spent a couple of hours exploring Cathedral Caves, and the caves beyond

The two caves have enormous entrances that narrow as they get deeper. (The force of the eroding waves gets diminished with distance.) At the very back, the two caves connect, which makes for a nice loop trail. Since Cathedral Caves is such a popular attraction, it was filled with people taking selfies. There were groups of them. Does no one know how to point the camera away from them anymore?

Anyway, the little brochure implied there were just the two caves. Since the tide was down, it was possible to walk on the sand around several headlands to LOTS more of the same type of deep cave, each with fewer and fewer selfie-takers.

In the first one, we found an adorable Little (Blue) Penguin who was clearly wishing the tide would come back in so that all of the people would go away.

In the next, we found three juveniles hiding away in their nests. They won’t be able to swim and hunt until they molt their fluffy down and grow the smooth, waterproof feathers of the adults.

In all, we found half a dozen more caves in addition to the original two. It was a struggle to get back to our car before the lot closed, when a $40 fee is imposed for people who want to be let out after hours. I get a feeling that’s where the real money is made.

Lake Wilkie Trail - looking for Whisteling Frogs

We stopped for a late lunch at the Whistling Frog Café, where we had a real pizza from a wood-fired oven. Pizza has become such a rare thing in our remote travels that we hardly ever pass one by.

When we were done, we headed to Papatowai to see the “Gypsy Mechanic”. This guy has managed to make a living for himself by spending all day making quirky contraptions out of whatever he can find. Allen from Dunedin had a wind-up toy that he got there of a swimmer narrowly escaping the jaws of a shark that was just brilliant and convinced us we just had to go. The “shop” is a repurposed school-bus chock-a-block full of Rube Goldberg-style wonders.

The Lost Gypsy Gallery, at Papatowai

When he closed on us, we realized it was time to return to the real world. Before we did, though, we took a trip to Baldwin Street in Dunedin, which is reputedly the steepest public street in the world. Apparently, there are a few other places disputing this claim based on heavily nuanced arguments about how the actual grade is measured and whether it’s from each end of the road or only for the steep bit, etc.

A silly side trip to the 'steepest street in the world'
The slope (apparently) is about 1:2.86 (19° or 35%).

Whatever. Baldwin is a steep damn street. I’ve even lived in San Francisco, and I don’t remember anything that steep. Steep streets are tough to portray photographically because if you point the camera down at the street from the top, it just looks like a mild hill. If you keep the camera level, the street is way at the bottom and it just looks like you don’t know how to frame a shot. You’re just going to have to trust us. Baldwin is a crazy steep street. So much so that I actually became worried about the poor people who live there because I wasn’t so sure it would be safe to park an ambulance or a fire truck in front of most of the houses. We drove it, but then we parked at the bottom and took the steps to the top. Well, I think that was enough for one day!

When we awoke the next morning, Maryanne made it clear to me that she wanted us to dispense with our “jobs” with no undue delay so that we would be able to get in some “fun” before we returned the car.

So, I did all of my usual weather stuff, put the dinghy in lifeboat mode and got Begonia ready for a couple of rough days at sea. Maryanne went to the store(s) and spent hours buying a whole carload of provisions, as it would be months before a grocery was so close at hand. When she got home, we quickly loaded and stowed everything and then it was off to return the car before our deadline.

It would have seemed like “fun” slipped off of the list, but we managed to stop at the Otago Museum on the walk home. The main attraction there is the live butterfly exhibit, housed in a giant, three-story atrium. You’ve got to love New Zealand. The Butterfly Police here are called Docents. They were very informative about which species were interesting or rare and actually taught us how to gently pick the little guys up with our fingers.

Ahh, the Butterflies at Otago Museum special exhibit - a three story room where they were fluttering everywhere - magical

I’m so exhausted now, I’m actually looking forward to a couple of days at sea.