Stewart Island is an often ignored paradise, writes Andrew Tait.
It's only a 50km stretch of water but that's far enough to be an impenetrable barrier for many New Zealanders. For all that I was raised in the deep South, within sight of Rakiura, I had never been to the third of New Zealand's ‘‘triple stars''.
I've travelled from Bluff to Cape Reinga and back but had never pushed past the hard-bitten, wind-battered town. ‘‘I'm rough and I'm tough and I come from the Bluff'', the children used to boast - and it was true. But Bluff had a glamour that Invercargill never did - the romance of the ocean. I was curious to see what lay beyond New Zealand's southernmost port.
Foveaux Strait has a notorious reputation but I half-feared the water would be flat and calm, even boring. The furious wind and horizontal rain that lashed the car as we drove into Bluff suggested otherwise.
I takes about an hour to cross to Oban, Stewart Island's only town, but for many poor seasick passengers it must have felt like an eternity. This trip was unusually rough, we were told, but evidently not too far out of the ordinary, as the crew members moved efficiently across the heaving deck, dispensing sick bags and comfort.
It's a terrible thing to say but, as I stared out through sea-spray rainbows across the gigantic back of the sea to the misty horizon, I couldn't help feeling smug. In this age of air travel, few of us have been on the ocean, even though, in these islands, so many of us are descended from seafarers, British and Polynesian. Riding the waves was exhilarating but then, as I felt traitorous nausea in my own gut, I reminded myself that even Captain Cook, the greatest of mariners, was a martyr to seasickness.
As we passed Ruapuke - the stronghold and trading base of the Kai Tahu chief Tuhawaiki, from where, in the 1800s, ships set forth to trade around New Zealand and across the Tasman - the courage and endurance of those early sailors struck home.
Imagine crossing the open ocean on a sailing ship, let alone a waka.
Oban is as unlike Bluff as can be.
Where Bluff faces foursquare into the southerly breeze, Oban is sheltered by the bulk of Stewart Island, nestled at the foot of low hills.
On the mainland, windbent macrocarpa and harakeke predominate, but in Oban, native trees, even ponga ferns, grow upright.
We were met at the dock by Jenny Twaddle, of Bay Motel. A South African, originally from tropical Natal, she had found a home in the far South. She took us on a 10-minute tiki-tour of the town,
pointing out the school, the sports centre, the South Sea Hotel, which sits at the centre of the bay, and the Presbyterian church, which commands the hill.
The Bay Motel itself is spacious, bright and - with double-glazing and radiators in every room - proof against the worst weather the Southern Ocean can throw at it. Our first surprise came no sooner than when we had settled in when kaka appeared at the window, warbling and cawing. A ladder and a platform had been built for the birds, which we soon learned liked apples, tearing them apart with clever claws and wickedly curved beaks.
More birds were on the agenda for that night, with a trip across Paterson Inlet with Bravo Adventure Cruises to see the tokoeka, the Stewart Island kiwi.
With an hour in hand, we strolled down to the South Sea Hotel for dinner. Part-cafe, part-restaurant, all pub, South Sea Hotel sits at the centre of the waterfront and, one suspects, of island life. Grey-haired tourists and youthful travellers rub shoulders with grizzled fishermen in a warm, bustling and good-humoured atmosphere. The impressive menu, surprisingly enough, given the captive market, is not unreasonably priced.
Stewart Island has only 20km of sealed road, so the sea is still very much the street, even though the heyday of fishing is done.
We sailed across the inlet to Ocean Beach aboard MV Wildfire, with Dave Goodin, Greg Northe and skipper Philip Smith. Greg is from Napier but has lived on the island since the 1980s, working for much of that time on the salmon farms. He said the beauty and peace of the island kept him here. As we sailed across the twilit inlet he waved his hand across the water.‘‘This is my backyard. On a fine day, I'll take the dinghy out and sit here with my missus and have a beer and do some fishing''. What more could you want?We moored at the far end of the inlet and, after a briefing on the habits of the kiwi - including recordings of its bone-chilling screeches - we 20 or so tourists, armed with torches, set off up a bush track across the spit to Ocean Beach. Sensible shoes are advised and much-needed as the track can be muddy and slippery. The tourists, most of whom seemed to be German retirees, were cheerful, despite the dark and wet, the hope of seeing one of the world's rarest birds spurring them on.
On the beach we spotted deer tracks but no signs of kiwi.
We walked the length of the beach then stopped for a breather while Dave and Greg discussed strategies. Success is 99% guaranteed but the 1% of doubt does make you wonder whether the iconic bird will remain in the realm of souvenirs and storybooks. But as we trudged back along the beach, our sharp-eyed guides spotted not one but two birds feasting on the sandhoppers that live in the kelp. With a sense of achievement we returned to the boat and sailed back to Oban.
I chatted to Phillip Smith, who is as local as they come, about the sea and its harvests - fish, crays, whales and titi (muttonbirds) - and its price, sometimes measured in lives, as for instance one year when the ‘‘death wind'', a rare nor-wester, scattered the waka of returning muttonbirders, costing a season's harvest and a generation.
Muttonbirding is a living tradition on Stewart Island. Indeed, titi could be New Zealand's oldest trading commodity.
Preserved in fat and stored in kelp bags, the delicacy could be traded across great distances. It is a family tradition and harvesting rights are restricted by descent.
Lania Davis is one of the lucky few. Like most muttonbirders, she is descended from Kati Mamoe as well as Kai Tahu. Her uncle, Tane Davis, is chairman of the Rakiura titi committee, an organisation that regulates the harvest, making sure protocol is followed to protect birds and people. For Lania, her family's island is home, although they only live there during the April to May season.‘‘It's like going home.‘‘It's quite spiritual. I would live there if I could ...
I love the simplicity. I like living in a hut. We don't have cellphone coverage so don't have the worries of everyday life.'' Her son, Winiata, perhaps unusually for a child of the digital age, also loves the simple island life ‘‘away from all the electronics''.
Rats are a constant threat to ground-nesting birds. Lania's island was recently invaded by rats, with devastating impact.
On Ulva Island, a bird sanctuary in Paterson Inlet, Doc wages unceasing war against rats. Lania hoped their numbers could be controlled and loved the idea of the predator-free Rakiura project, so long as it could be achieved without a massive poison programme. ‘‘The by-kill [from poisoning] is ridiculous,'' she said.
Ulva Island is an amazing redoubt of bountiful birdlife, which we visited aboard a Stewart Island Experience ferry after an informative cruise around Paterson Inlet. Old logging camps and the remains of a Norwegian whaling outpost are evidence of early settlement and industry, but Ulva Island is a lasting memorial to early ecologist Charles Traill. The island's first postmaster, Traill campaigned to keep Ulva free of logging, resulting in a sanctuary that draws pelagic pilgrims from every corner of the world. In an engaging guided tour, we saw a multitude of birds and plant life in forest as ancient as any in the world.
The early days of whaling, fishing and forestry have given way to tourism as the main earner and Traill's stand, which no doubt made no economic sense at the time, has been vindicated. Still, tourism here has none of the glitz and glamour of resorts such as Queenstown. This is due in part to the type of tourists, who visit in search of unspoilt nature, often motivated by a passionate interest in birds. It is also due to Stewart Islanders' own enjoyment of the wild beauty of sea and forest. Those who settle here, like Greg Northe and Dave Goodin, share the same interests.
Besides guiding kiwi-spotting tours, Dave offers pounamu-carving courses. In a day, tourists can learn the basics and create their own toki (an adze-shaped pendant).‘‘I love to see people who have come from London or wherever, and they have no confidence [in carving] learn their creative side and then walk away with a toki,'' Dave said.
His Rakiura Jade workshop overlooks the harbour and, he said, although he has not lived on the island for long, ‘‘I just seem to fit right in''.
