Kayaking in Fiordland

Kayaking in Fiordland In March Allen, Sue and Katja visited Don and Josy at their Fiordland hideaway, Kisbee Lodge in remote Preservation Inlet. They strapped their kayaks to the next helicopter and popped in for some tea - and more… There are worse places to be I think, sitting under the Puysegur Point lighthouse sipping my 12-year-old single malt whisky. (It’s a Highland Park by the way, just in case you happen to be a whisky fan). I glance over the Strait of Foveaux, not much land between Antarctica and I. Puysegur Point is actually the furthest south you can get in Fiordland.

It is dark. I see the light of the lighthouse sweeping over the sea. A moment before it gave me the creeps when it rushed over the bushes and I thought somebody with a torch was walking there. But nobody can possibly be there with Allen and Sue neatly tucked away in their tent. I am alone in the whole wide world; well, at least it feels like that.

To the west of the lighthouse a full moon rises between some clouds and gives them a spooky appearance. Thank god, the little bastards of sand flies have finally settled down. They are such a pest. Just yesterday I gained 20 bites on my hands in the time it took me to cut one onion and two cloves of garlic. Believe me you really don’t want to do this with your only pair of polypro gloves on. But exposing some naked skin means inevitably inviting a whole Don & Josy kayaking under a dramatic sky in Preservation Inlet (Katja Riedel)

Tramping & Mountaineering 2004

Katja Reidel tribe of sand flies for dinner. Once out on the water the sand flies disappear but on land you are their favourite take away.

I think I am bit of a lighthouse buff, but this day is really the highlight of our 12-day kayaking trip to Preservation Inlet in Fiordland. Come to think of it, the day we paddled out to the entrance of Preservation Inlet was not bad either. We left our campsite in Cuttle Cove early in the morning. Cuttle Cove was New Zealand’s first whaling station, the ground being bought in 1829 from the Maori for the price of 60 muskets. Not bad eh?

It was dead calm and sunny this morning so we had enough time to explore the caves at Cavern Head. After rounding the head twice in our kayaks we finally found the entrance to the caves. In 1877 some sailors found the petrified body of a man in this cave. Drippings from the limestone roof had petrified the body over many years. The next time the sailors returned to remove the body - it was gone. Local Maori had retrieved the body to prevent it from falling into the hands of Pakeha.

Sunset at Pysegur Point lighthouse, NZ’s most remote lighthouse (Katja Riedel)

It feels quite weird to stand in this cave and look at the limestone slab where the body once lay. Just imagine it, preserving yourself for the future. I thought of all the years you would have to lie dead still, and decided to return to my kayak.

From Cavern Head we paddled out further to Gulches Head. From here we could see the open sea. The swell had increased and not much further out the waves were breaking, creating white foamy caps. Adrenaline was rushing through me. We had planned to make it into Chalky Inlet. The faces were tense. Finally Allen broke the spell: “Have you had enough now?” Yes, I had had enough. Thanks a lot. Relief after we turned the kayaks in the choppy water without tipping over.

It was back. The short rest at Prices Beach let us realize that the wind had really picked up. Exposed Cavern Head was still in front of us.

Well, let me put it this way. I didn’t take any pictures on our way back, because I bloody well needed both hands for paddling. Though there were some pretty exciting pictures you could have taken. The one when a wave threatened to crash sideways over Sue and Allen and they only managed to escape by a lucky sprint. Or probably Sue would have loved to take a picture when all they could see of me was the back of my kayak poking out of a wave at a pretty steep angle directly in front of them. During the paddle I had a mantra, it was: Do not capsize, do NOT capsize, do not BLOODY CAPSIZE!

Tramping & Mountaineering 2004 We didn’t, but it was unbelievably nice to have the Head and the wind behind us. Cuttle Cove felt like heaven and the brew that we made there was well deserved.

From here to Isthmus Sound it was a piece of cake. This part of the inlet was protected from the fierce wind that we were battling in the morning. Suddenly in the middle of nowhere some orange DOC track markers appeared on a tree at the shore. They marked the location of the old Tarawera Smelter with its reclining brick chimney. The chimney lies on the hillside and is in pretty good shape, especially if you consider that it has been sitting there since 1910. The ore from the mine consisted of a strange mixture of gold, copper, silver and lead. After only one trial run the smelter was closed down, since the final separation of the metals proved far too expensive.

You find the remains of old settlements, sawmills, coal and gold mines all over this part of Fiordland. It was once a thriving area, no more remote than Hokitika or Christchurch. This was before they built roads through the South Island. Nowadays, only a clearing in the bush, the overgrown remains of a wall or some wooden planks at the beach tell about this time. Preservation Inlet has fallen back into a Cinderella sleep. The white mailbox at Kisbee Bay is only used to collect shells. If you want to go to Preservation Inlet today you either take a boat or a helicopter.

A ride with a helicopter was exactly what we did and how our adventure in Preservation Inlet started. In

Tuatapere, a forgotten old timber-milling town, we strapped our kayaks to the skids of the helicopter. It was not reassuring when our pilot told us that he had never flown with kayaks before. Don’t ask me, I only paddled them. From time to time during the flight I had to poke my head out of the window to check if the kayaks we still firmly attached. That gave me the chance to admire the views of deep blue lakes, Fiordland mountains and wild deer. Never mind that it nearly blew my head off each time I did it.

After only half an hour we landed at the little clearing in front of Kisbee Lodge and were hugged and welcomed by Don and Josy who fled Wellington for three months and took up a job as caretakers in the lodge. This was what got us going and having the lodge as a base camp for our various multiple day trips proved absolutely fantastic. Two years ago I read in the WTMC journal Jeanine’s report about their trip to Dusky Sound. They were wet and tortured by sand flies for 13 days. We could escape to the lodge with all the amenities like showers, a washing machine, sand fly free areas and even a pool table. This made our trip so much more enjoyable. Not to mention Josy’s excellent kitchen. I think the best meal I ever had, I had there: fresh salad, grown in a little deer protected area in front of the lodge, Josy’s home-baked bread and smoked blue cod that we caught the day before. A very simple meal, nothing flash, but sometimes the simple things make you realise that it doesn’t take much to be happy.

Whitecaps at Sandy Point - after 3 hours of battling into the wind, Sue and Allen search for a campsite (Katja Riedel)

Tramping & Mountaineering 2004

We had an awesome time in Fiordland. We saw rare Fiordland yellow crested penguins on Cording Island, kayaked with curious seals, visited the caves on Steep-To-Island and Round Island where Maori once built a waka and where you can still see the planks on which they laid the keel. We bush bashed (with Allen, you always bush bash) through dense Fiordland bush, just to look into Long Sound. We went fishing with Master Don and his Princess (the boat, not Josy). We fought our way for three hours to Sandy Point through nasty headwinds that whipped water into the air and nearly ripped the paddle out of my hands, only to discover that the weather was supposed to worsen and that we had to return the next day. The return trip disappointingly took only one hour but it was spiced up with some thunder and lightning.

Fiordland is pretty unique, it gives you the experience of wilderness, the feeling of remoteness and if you’re lucky, you have some good adventures that you can tell tales about, and feel a bit like a hero. All that for the small price you have to pay in the form of a bit of blood donated to the flying locals – the sand flies, because without them Fiordland would be just another crowded tourist destination.

I can’t end this story without thanking Don and Josy for sharing their little paradise with us, for their sense of adventure and their urge to break out of the daily Wellington routine that made this trip possible!