Stewart Island

When negotiating our cancelled boat trip yesterday, I foolishly booked an 8.30am departure to Ulva Island with four hours there till our return. When we returned last night we both agreed this was a bridge too far: too early and too long - neither of us has the energy, and I know I just won’t cope. We decide to forfeit our payment and sleep in - and it’s very beneficial. 

So when we emerge, it’s time to organise our one full day on Stewart Island - not helped by the weather forecast of heavy rain. Eventually, we decide to hire a car - illogical in many ways as it has only 28km of road but 280km of walking tracks! But it’s inexpensive, it means we have an escape from the expected rain, and it eases my way on a day of limited energy - though I’m feeling so much better than last night. 

We feel a trip to Ulva is still essential, and make our way to Golden Bay to catch the ferry. The small blue boat is very much a Stewart Island institution, and we love the use of local leaves as boarding passes! It’s threatening rain, so we clamber down into the lower deck of the wheel house, cosy with its rugs and cushions. The boat fills up and off we go, quickly moving into choppy waters as we leave the shore. I begin to understand now why our pelagic trip was cancelled; the boat is being tossed around dramatically by the choppy sea, and those on deck are quickly soaked through by waves breaking on the boat. 

Needless to say, we arrive safely and begin our walk around Ulva, an island of great importance in conservation in NZ in that it has undisturbed native vegetation and has pioneered the idea of a predator-free sanctuary for endemic birds. 

As soon as we step ashore we’re plunged into a world of ancient forests and bird song, and, having learnt out lesson from our earlier visit to Kapiti, we just walk slowly, listening and watching. G spots a rare South Island saddleback, but before I can get a shot, some other visitors charge past noisily, frightening it away. Needless to say, we’re less than happy, still, we carry on, spending time watching the antics of kakariki or New Zealand parakeet, and of Stewart Island robins - the toutouwai. These latter birds, though dark grey and white, are very similar to our red breasted variety - inquisitive and keen to interact. Of course, we hear so many other birds, and see them flitting through the leaves and branches far too quickly for identification - but songs suggest both tui and bellbird. Then G spots a flash of yellow, and I’m delighted to capture a yellowhead or mohua - not the best shot ever, but so challenging in such thick vegetation. 

Our visit is just shy of two hours - too short to do Ulva’s bird life justice - but I don’t think I can manage a further two until the next ferry, and besides, I’m aware of the increasing  wind strength in the forest canopy; it’s time to return to the main island. 

And as suspected, the crossing’s definitely rougher than before - ‘exciting’ as our characterful skipper says. Apparently the wind is now gusting at around 35 knots - the ferry can still sail in up to 40 knot winds - theoretically 45, ‘but it’s terrifying’ he tells us reassuringly! 

We then set about exploring every cm of the road network, calling at viewpoints, bays lined with quaint boat houses, beautiful beaches draped with washed up kelp and home to gulls and oyster catchers - one of which entertains us for  some time desperately trying to open a mussel while his companion looks on. And blissfully, the rain largely holds off, sunshine and blue skies giving the impression of a tropical paradise at times. 

We eat a decent meal tonight in the busy South Sea Hotel, overlooking Oban’s Half Moon Bay. It reminds me of Pierowall in Westray, and there’s much that’s similar in island life it seems. There’s something very calming in this close-knit community surrounded by such beauty. I’m so glad we included it on our itinerary, even though our plans were forced to change. 

Todays main is a karariki - having failed to give parrots top billing in previous blips, I thought I’d better give the parakeet a chance, though I think the South Island robin may be the better shot. He’s joined in extras by the little yellow head, plus collages of the industrious but ineffective oyster catcher and views of the island.