We had a perky first mate who regaled us with local history as we made our way past the lighthouse and into the real waters of Foveaux Straight. Within minutes we were crashing through swells of 20ft or more. My bum repeatedly lifted clear of my seat as we hammered through the walls of white water. I adamantly refused to get seasick (I’m from the coast after all!) but the water pouring off the windows from the roof of the boat made it hard to catch sight of the horizon and when I did it was heaving to a different tempo from the boat. Fifteen minutes into the trip the nachos I’d had for lunch were lurching uncomfortably in my guts. The free coffee and tea offered onboard seemed laughable as there was no way tourists could stagger to the aft and back to their seats holding onto anything other than the support beams or backs of seats. I was alternately laughing at the thrill of the watery rollercoaster ride and guestimating the speed at which I could reach the life vests and don one in the hopes my body would be found when we capsized. Apparently we were at the edge of what the ferry company considers reasonable weather. I’d truly hate to see what ‘bad weather’ entailed and in one hour of cushy ferry crossing my awe and respect for fisherman quadrupled.
We arrived safely in Halfmoon Bay and wobbled out into the perpetual rain to claim our soggy backpacks. I had hoped that the dry weather the South Island had been enjoying would mean relatively dry trails, however the four days of solid precipitation forced me to entertain the idea of mud…lots of mud. Halfmoon Bay is the only permanent settlement on Stewart Island and most of the community is five minutes walk or less from the wharf. Our hotel was a wet two minutes away and we quickly stashed our gear in our room and headed into the pub for a pint to toast our upcoming adventure.
The pub was a typical small town watering hole. The majority of the patrons were local fisherman still in their rubberized rain coats and green Wellingtons. They were rosy cheeked, silver haired and sporting day old stubble or full bushy beards for the most part with the exception of one or two young men. Most of the men were gossiping around the bar like roosters, each one trying to outdo the next with tales of bravery in the Straight. Having seen the water I don’t think they were exaggerating…much. The rest of the people in the overwarm bar were tourists. Most people were older folks on the island for the bird watching, but there were one or two intrepid hikers like Iain and I. The main difference was in the clothes – the birders wore starched and pressed Patagonia and Tilley Endurables gear while the hikers wore a motley assortment of stained and worn clothing, battered boots and drank the cheapest beer on tap.
Iain and I were only going to have one drink, but we made it through two pints then a third seemed like a good idea when we met one of the local fisherman. Before we knew it midnight had rolled around and we were staggering back to our room giggling and shushing each other. I have a hazy memory of completely unpacking my backpack and repacking every item I had carefully stowed away just that morning. I’m sure it made perfect sense to me at the time!
The morning arrived much faster than either of us was prepared for. We stumbled around the room packing the day bags we were leaving in the lockers at the DOC office, enjoying our last shower for a while then after checking out we went looking for a ride up the trail. We didn’t want to start the hike from the town; the first two days of the North Circuit Trek are muddy with little scenery of interest so we wanted to start where the views got good to keep us motivated. We found a cheap helicopter ride and by one o’clock we were sitting on the porch of Christmas Village Hut.
The rain had let up a little bit but squalls kept moving across the island hammering the coast with wicked winds and sideways rain followed by little pockets of yellow sunshine and rainbows. The helicopter that picked us up was an R-44 piston engine and I hope I never have to ride in one ever again. I’ve spent a lot of time in helicopters but I have never been bucked around as badly as that flight. I felt like maple leaf in Winnipeg in November. The best part of the flight was landing in front of the cabin and getting out!
We spent the rest of the afternoon gathering fire wood for the hut and meeting fellow hikers. There were seven of us in total that night, two Kiwis, three Canadians, an American and a German. I was taught a new card game while Iain cooked up our last fresh food for a while. Once the sun set everyone crawled into their bunks for a good nights sleep, looking forward to hitting the trail in the morning.
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