A Marlborough Sounds Cruise

We were soon underway, moving further up the Sounds for the night. Over dinner, we got to know each other. The boat can accommodate 18 passengers; that there are fewer of us on this journey contributed to the ease with which we connected. The crew, too, proved relaxed, generous company.

The following morning, we climbed onto the tender to visit Foote farm, one of only three water-access-only farms left in Marlborough Sounds. It’s been in the Foote family since 1881, for five generations. Now it’s the turn of Kelly and Trevor, who led us to the woolshed to share stories of the farm’s history and today’s operation with its mix of Romneys (an ideal breed for exposed, coastal land) and tourists, including some who stay a few days.

We walked ten minutes along the coast to – incongruously, in this remote spot – Te Rawa Lodge, where we feasted on locally farmed green lipped mussels, served in delicious ways. 

Up toward Nydia Bay we landed at Pipi Bay, where some of us sampled the Nydia Track, trekking an hour or so into ancient beech forest, tree trunks black with honey dew and nīkau palms the height of construction cranes.

We visited D’Urville Island, landing for a stroll through bush filled with birdsong. We’d begun that day tied to the wharf at Elaine Bay and while the Explorer was replenished with fresh water, we followed the Piwakawaka Trail to a perfect little beach.

Early the next day we left a sheltered cove for nearby French Pass, offloading by tender to visit the small settlement and climb the hill for a view of the notorious stretch of turbulent water between the mainland and D’Urville Island. Here, the narrow passage, depth variance and clashing tidal rates create a volatile marine mess.

At the boat ramp we chatted to a fisherman from Havelock, happy with his morning’s haul. An old black dog wandered over for a pat, heavy tail swinging.

Back on board we swung around to a shoreline lit up with morning sun. We were off, to another Sound. Up and out of Pelorus. Time on the water meant time on the bridge, time sitting outside with binoculars, time tucked out of the wind on the aft deck watching gulls, petrels, shags, sheerwaters, occasional penguins. Watching, always, for dolphins and whales. 

The closer we got to Picton, the more evidence of civilisation. More houses, more intriguing little jetties, more boats swinging on moorings. More impact on wildlife, too – although that is widespread. I was told sea mammals that used to call into the Sounds to give birth now struggle to find a safe spot with the mussel farms strung along so much of the coastline.

Human impact on the ocean is also archived in the ruins of an old whaling station we visited on the edge of Tory Channel, handy to Cook Strait where whales once passed through in their thousands.

A mass of children swarmed Curious Cove where several school parties camped, at full volume, bombing off the wharf, comparing sunburnt shoulders, lining up for turns on small yachts. We edged around them, a bunch of oldies, off to explore and take a quiet swim out of the way. It was our last day and while it was a noisy blast of reality and I was pleased to get back to Explorer. But among that crowd of kids, I just knew there would be several who would go on to be expedition guides, marine ecologists and conservators, inspired by their love of this part of the country.