Southern Star

Looking straight down from the deck of Wild Fire, starfish are clearly visible on the sea floor. I ask the skipper how deep the water is, here at Stewart Island’s Oban Wharf where we are tied up.

“Oh, 20 feet?” he says.

Such is the clarity of the water that an hour later we watch a yellow-eyed penguin diving and swimming to shore, its little bullet-shaped body vivid deep under the surface. We can hear its chick calling. It’s quiet dusk, the sky is pearly pink, the sea is glassy calm. Soon, we’re at the far reaches of Paterson Inlet from where we walk across a peninsula to Ocean Beach to spy kiwi in the wild. We see four pecking for grubs in the sand, oblivious to us holding our breath and shaking our heads in disbelief at the magic of it. On our walk back through the dark bush, another kiwi wanders across the track.

On Ulva Island, earlier in the day, I had watched a tui land at its scruffy nest, triggering three frantic, open-beaked babies into action. It’s bird paradise on Ulva, with great care taken to keep predators away, and many species thrive as a result. Even on the way out to the island bird watchers are treated, with clumsy big mollymawks flying low around the boat and, when fish heads are thrown out for them, landing awkwardly, feet-first, to squabble over them.

The cruise also provides historic perspective, taking in the signs of early settler habitation and the detritus of whaling bases. The wind-blown tree line merges green, brown, yellow and a catch of red from blooming rata. Pale sand beaches are scooped out below the bush. Dotted around the coastline, boatsheds squat; houses with fantastic views are tucked into the bush. Beyond the settled areas, the national park stretches back and away.

I walk, one day, from Lee Bay to Port William – a four-hour taste of the three-day Rakiura track. Through stunning, bird-rich, clean, lush bush with views along the coast and down to lonely coves, it’s a glorious place to be. The track takes me along gold-flecked beaches, including one with an anxious oyster catcher fixed to her nest and a gang of reeling, squawking cousins above. I take a wide berth. A slight, warm sea wind blows; the day sparkles.

At Port William hut I meet the water taxi, as arranged, and detour up the coastline to drop off some real trampers with heavy packs. On the way back to Oban, rain starts. The horizon fuzzes a little and everything quietens a notch.

Oban features a hotel, school, supermarket, community centre, museum, theatre, DOC office, and a handful of shops and tour operators. Behind it, Observation Rock rises. Short roads run away from it to various beautiful bays and stunning views and nearby settlements, and walkers are always on them, rain or shine.

In the bay, boats swing at anchor.

Local people, all 400-odd, are pretty friendly. Someone referred to it as ‘old school New Zealand’, living how people used to, with strong community togetherness, unlocked front doors and a willingness to share their cars. They say g’day with genuine warmth to visitors, who rent baches, take a room at the hotel or stay at quiet, small-scale places like Kaka Retreat, where I stay.

I see a short movie called A Local’s Tail, which tells the story of Stewart Island from a dog’s point of view. It’s warm-hearted and funny, and provides an insight into the fishing, hunting, hard-living culture of the island. When I leave the theatre, the rain has cleared and the air is clean and fragrant with wet bush. I walk the sharp, steep, hard walk to Observation Rock for an eyeful of utter beauty. Because that’s what this place is about – being rewarded for effort.