Abel Tasman: Day 3
In the morning the phone rings: apparently a kayaking guide has been found who will take us. L and I get dressed and grab a quick breakfast (where I have to tell the wait staff to see to the coffee) before meeting with the other three kayakers at reception, the older woman from the night prior and a young honeymooning Australian couple. We are told to walk to Onetahuti Beach to meet our kayaker guide, so we all set out together.
After forty minutes of walking through beautiful native bush we emerge at the top end of Onetahuti Bay, only to find that the high tide blocks our passage with the inward flow of a deep lagoon. It’s short enough to swim across, but we’re unsure of whether to wait or send someone ahead. As we consider this, we spot a lone pied shag fishing in the lagoon. It emerges every thirty seconds or so in a different spot. Eventually it emerges quite near us with a fish in its beak. It disappears, only to be replaced by a lone seal pup who is also fishing, though with less success and a greater amount of time spent submerged.
After thirty minutes, and a mere five minutes away from my resolution to swim across to find help, an water taxi appears and pulls into the lagoon to pick us up. He takes us on to the beach proper where we meet J, a charming kayak guide who is delighted to see us and apologetic that neither he nor us were given clear instructions on how to deal with the tidal situation. In any case, he gives us a quick safety briefing and we get in our kayaks and head out towards Tonga Island. L is in the front of my kayak, and I try to synchronise my strokes with hers, but they seem to me to be following their own erratic, half-distracted rhythm. At the island we watch as seals caper in the high water, while their mothers sun themselves on rock shelves. J talks about the history of the area: the Maori settlements, the first European contacts and their gradual displacement of Maori, the clearing of bush for farmland, the capitulation and return to immaculacy. On the shaded side of the island, less active seals sleepily watch us drift by.
We cross back to the mainland and follow the coastline south, past Mosquito Bay and into Bark Bay, wending our way in and out of rocks. We land in a small bay south of the main beach, where we pull our kayaks up into the sand and grab our packed lunches. We have a muffin and a sandwich each, though I swap my muffin for L’s sandwich, as the carrot it contains puts L off the sandwich completely.
J tells us about some of the fauna, and the strange gossamer threads that can be found on some of the black trunked trees: these are the anal filaments of a particular type of insect, and the small bead of liquid at the base is their waste: a single drop of sugary water.
Our water taxi hasn’t shown up to pick us up, so J gets on his radio to find out what is going on: the transport has been misbooked, and we aren’t scheduled to be picked up until 2:30. It’s 1:30, so we have an hour to kill. J’s ride arrives however, so he leaves us on the beach. We walk around to the Bark Bay beach proper, passing through the forest along the way, where we find the anal filaments that J mentioned. I gather a few and try them: sugary, sticky and sweet. A few hundred and you’d have enough for a snack.
The taxi finally arrives, and we head back to the lodge. We pass through reception and the girl on the counter looks ready for a scolding, but I resist the temptation. We make a dinner reservation instead.
At dinner we find a table, and settle in, only to be told after five minutes that we need to move: apparently the table had been reserved for someone else (though there was no reserved sign to speak of). Once reseated, L had a steak, and I try the special: butter chicken, which is actually pretty amazing but lacks a naan bread: it is served only with rice. We skip entrees because of the Good Friday surcharge, which seems like a rort given the price of the meals and the rooms.
After dinner we borrow a torch and go in search of glow-worms. We find the grotto: it is dark and it has been a long time since I have been out in the wilderness in the darkness. With the torch off the glow-worms gradually begin to manifest: three or four brights ones, or are they merely a drop of moonlight on a serendipitously placed leaf? We aren’t sure.
We head back, and as I cross into the lodge to hand my torch back, I hear noises. I swing the torch around the ground, and then up behind me. A possum is staring out at me from the tree, munching on conifer needles: black eyes, pink nose, and big ears. As I move closer he disappears back into the tree.