Friday - Tasman Bay

Pick up time: 7 a.m. 7 a.m.?! Since ours was only the second stop on the AquaTaxi route, we got to see most of Nelson’s hotels and hostels as the full-size bus rounded up more tourists headed for a day of adventures in Abel Tasman National Park. Apparently, all the outfitters that operate in the park hire AquaTaxi to transport their clients from Nelson to their bases, and then take clients back to their various lodgings at the end of the day. It's an efficient, incredibly cooperative way to do business.

Michael and Nancy were dropped off at the Sea Kayaking Company’s base in Motueka, about 50 km from Nelson. There we got into a smaller van and were driven several more kilometers to the entrance of the national park at Marahau. 

Next, we boarded a water taxi. The fact that there were no docks from which to load and unload passengers did not faze the resourceful Kiwis. They simply instructed us to climb into the boat while it was still on the trailer, then they used a farm tractor to back the fully-loaded 20-passenger craft down a ramp and far enough into the water to be able to start the outboard engine. (Further evidence of efficient Kiwi cooperation: clients from multiple outfitters shared the same craft, and each seat was filled before the water taxi left the shore.)

Our destination was Onetahui, about fifteen miles up the coast. Originally, we had been scheduled to hike during the morning and then go kayaking after lunch, but our outfitter decided to put us in the morning kayaking group instead—which meant that we had to change out of our hiking clothes and into our kayaking clothes in the equivalent of porta-potties. Though it was a warm day, both of us decided to wear long-sleeved tops—especially since Michael had developed hive-like bumps on his arms after an earlier day in the sun.

After a brief introduction to the basics of kayaking, including how to paddle and control the rudder, we squeezed into our two-person vessel, adjusted our kayaking “skirts,” and headed over the open water toward Tonga (a small island in Tasman Bay, not the country of the same name hundreds of miles away). 

As we circumnavigated Tonga and some other islets, our guide pointed out several mother seals basking with their pups on nearby rocks. 

On the way back to shore, we also spotted a couple of blue penguins, the smallest species of the penguin world (10-12 inches).

The coastline was beautifully varied with sandy beaches, rocky coves, wooded mountains, steep cliffs, and chiseled arches. The morning was fine and the sea was calm—which was fortunate, because if we’d had to paddle over rougher seas for two and a half hours we really would have been worn out. 

When we arrived at Bark Bay, we were ready to leave our kayak behind, shed our long sleeves, find a log to sit on and eat the lunch our outfitter had provided: chicken sandwiches on french bread with lettuce and sprouts, orange-apple juice, and carrot cake. After another visit to the porta-potties (where we changed back into our hiking clothes and shoes), we shoved wet items into our backpacks and started the eight-kilometer trek down to Anchorage Bay.

For the most part, the trail followed the coastline, anywhere from ten to a hundred feet above the water. We walked through woods, climbed over rocks, and crossed a number of ravines, most of which were filled with rushing water. 

One 35-foot drop was spanned by a 50-foot suspension bridge that tripped Michael's gephyraphobia. The only way he was able to make it across was to keep his eyes focused on a single object on the other side, breathe slowly and deeply, take slow, steady steps, and not let go of the cable until the other hand was in place. Nancy waited until he reached the other side before bounding across like a gazelle on the savannah.

When we got to Torrent Bay, we had two options: the regular trail through the woods high above the water, or the shortcut across one end of the bay, which at low tide was basically wet sand with a few pools and streams. Calculating that we didn't have quite enough time to take the easier but longer high road, we opted for the slog across the bay. Nancy slipped her water shoes back on; Michael thought he could do it barefoot, but after about a hundred yards he had to stop and put on his shoes on, too, because billions of tiny shells were jabbing the bottom of his feet.

 

Having taken the shorter route, we had nearly an hour to relax before the water taxi was scheduled to pick us up. We cleaned as much sand as we could from our wet gear, gave each other back massages, and enjoyed the chance to rest after a strenuous but glorious day.

Drying out wet things on a makeshift clothesline in our bathroom

The return taxi ride provided another example of Kiwi ingenuity. The boat dropped anchor fifty yards from the shoreline, and then was backed up as close to land as possible. Next, the passengers had to wade out about ten feet, then walk up a ramp to climb aboard. When it was time to depart, the anchor was lifted and then used to pull the boat out to deeper water, where the captain could start the engine. Back at the beach in Marahau, because the tide was at low ebb, the tractors had a much farther way to pull the boats.

We dozed during the multi-vehicle trip back to Nelson. This time, we were among the first to be dropped off at our hotel.

Nancy was in the mood for spaghetti (one of her comfort foods), so after a quick shower we strolled through town to find an Italian restaurant. Most restaurants in New Zealand do not have host desks where you check in and are led to a seat. Most do have hosts, but many expect you to just seat yourself, and often it’s hard to figure out which is the case. When we arrived at Pizza Bar (and found Spaghetti Bolognese on the posted menu), there was an open but uncleared table on the sidewalk. While we were checking with the host to see if we could take it, another couple walked over from the other direction and simply sat down there—so we had to wait twenty minutes for another table to open up. Michael had canneloni stuffed with spinach and ricotta while Nancy enjoyed her spaghetti. The staff at the frozen yogurt bar across the street were getting ready to close and had already put away most of the toppings when we walked in, but they told us that we were welcome to fill our cups anyway—as long as we didn’t mind eating frozen yogurt without all the fruit and nuts and crushed candy. (We didn’t.)