Another Stewart Island day

January 9^th.

We set off this morning uphill toward another bay where our water taxi was preparing to take us to Ulva Island. This boatride was short and a blast. The waves and the boat were both half the size of the first experience and I could see everything, including where we were going. I didn’t experience any sickness and we all thoroughly enjoyed the ride, wishing it were just a bit longer. I thanked the boat driver profusely for an enjoyable trip--maybe a bit much for such a little trip. But some of the other passengers laughed nervously with me in remembrance of their own sea journeys to Stewart Island not long before.

The island was thick with jungle trees and lifted up with birdsong. Many of the birds here are unique to this area, some just to this island. They are rare birds living in a rare environment because they have no predators in this sanctuary. We were told to go quietly and stop a lot because that is what it takes for the birds to get comfortable with our presence and allow themselves to be seen. Right. We were traveling with small children. We saw very few birds.

We did, however, find a beach with a little river trickling down into the sea, perfect for floating wooden boats with rubber band paddles in. And we did find a rope swing that has been there for over 50 years, legend has it.

And we did catch a glimpse of a few birds, the most exciting was this large bird that looked like a cross between an owl from the neck down and a parrot from the neck up. It swooped like an owl with its back feathers wide and fanned out behind it. It ate like a parrot, tilting its head to crack open the bark on trees and dig for bugs. We saw another bird--a dark brown bird, the size of a small chicken right on the ground off the trail. It was digging for worms and we could stand right there next to it without it seeming nervous about our presence. That was very exciting. Until we found out, while we were eating our lunches, that this bird was the island’s pigeon or seagull, no fear and no tact. There’s one on every block isn’t there?

We stayed and played for a few hours, mostly on the beach, and then took our fun boat ride back to Stewart Island. At this point, Mark took off for the golf course. There was a 6-hole course a few kilometers away. Mark would do a much better job describing this but I’ll just tell you what he told me. He went to the airport depot/post office/golf club to rent clubs and buy a few balls. The clubs were older than Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus put together and mismatched with some left-handed clubs Mark didn’t notice until he needed to hit with one. He carried them the few kilometers from the rental place to the first hole with this carrier he showed me later. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was a metal scaffolding looking thing. You click your clubs in horizontally and then pick up the handle and walk. I can’t describe it but it certainly must have looked odd to see him walking down the road carrying this. However, it did look sort of practical—bare bones just golf clubs on this light-weight metal carrier compared to the over-sized suitcases that golfers have had to invent motorized push-carts in order to move them from tee box to fairway to green.

Anyway, once there, Mark said the course was rinky-dink but beautiful. From most holes, including the one that went straight uphill, he could see different bays on either side of the course. He played 2 rounds (12 holes) and enjoyed himself quite a bit. He would never tell you this but I can. He shot 53 on a par 42 for those 12 holes. Not bad for playing with left-handed clubs!

While he was playing golf, the kids and I visited the smallest aquarium I can imagine still being allowed to use the name aquarium. We walked in and paid the same amount we might pay for a multi-million dollar venture and got a private tour of the several fish tanks they had in the back of the jewelry store. The fish were all caught by this guy in the bay outside this building. It was fabulous! We learned all about the local sea creatures in a way that was very digestible for the kids. Gabe and the guide exchanged friendly banter regarding their shared knowledge of the life and habits of many of the creatures. Jordan was thrilled that she got to stick her hands in one of the shallow tanks to touch the anemone and a fish. I was happy to have the kids happy and to see some really big crawfish including an albino one.

After our visit to the aquarium, Gabe went and played a big chess game with a teenage boy who was out there and apparently willing to teach Gabe some strategies. I’ve never seen life-sized chess boards before but in New Zealand I’ve seen two. Mark rejoined us and we made our way to the airport depot which is different than the airport. Actually, there is no airport. We got weighed and our baggage got weighed (so I am left wondering, what did it all weigh compared to the average person? Did we have a lot of baggage or do we carry a fairly light load through life?) Then we were bussed about 10 minutes up to the top of the island along the jungle roads. Once we got to the airstrip, the bus stopped but we didn’t unload. And a few minutes later, a little plane came zooming in over our heads. Our plane was in. Those folks got off and we piled in. I never did catch when they sent us through security.

This plane was a 9-seater plus the pilot. It was exciting from beginning to end for all of us. It was gorgeous up there to see the multiple islands from just far enough away to get the idea of how many there were and what shapes they took and how forested they all were, etc. I couldn’t help but also focus on the white caps I could see but wasn’t being sloshed around in. Jordan was thrilled to be up in the clouds. It was a quick 15 minute flight and next thing I knew, we were back in our hotel room in Invercargill.

A quick note about Invercargill—a place we slept in twice, ate dinner in twice and each ran in once. It is a bizarre place to set up shop. It is so windy and cold that the thought of going out to the store would exhaust me. You are either being kept from reaching your destination by the head winds or you are thrown into the side of it by the tail winds. They’ve done a beautiful job decorating this wind-blown place but our hats fly off to the people who choose to or have to call this home.

We woke up on January 10^th and drove away.