This is the story of a voyage to Stewart Island at the bottom of New Zealand at Christmas 1980. This is a wild and sometimes exciting place to get to, but well worth the effort.

"I have a postcard! Peter will be in Dunedin next week." Arvita blurted out excitedly.

"Where is he now?"

"He's on the South Island, traveling with Claudio."

"Claudio?" I asked.

"Claudio.....well.....he's Peter's friend. They've finished cycling the North Island and they came over on the ferry. I'm going to see if I can take my vacation when he is here. We can take them sailing."

I thought about it for a while. We had launched Laivina the previous April and had spent the last six months sailing in the Otago Harbour gaining experience and we had even made a couple of day trips outside of the harbour. I was looking for something more.

"Why don't we go to Stewart Island?" I asked. "You have a couple of weeks vacation due."

"Sure, when will we leave?"

"Let's see, he'll be here next weekend, why don't we leave the Saturday after that. It will be near the end of November, so it will be getting warmer and the weather won't be that bad."

Arvita shrugged. "Sure."

The next week we were joined by Arvita's brother, Peter and his friend Claudio, neither of whom I had not met. We shook hands and I watched as the conversation flowed, noticing familial traits in looks and in speech between Arvita and her brother. The difference between Peter and his friend Claudio was stark. Peter was over six foot and lean, whereas Claudio was six inches shorter and heavily muscled. Peter chatted and Claudio listened. The two had been cycling in New Zealand the past weeks, slowly making their way down from Auckland to Dunedin.

"So we should be able to leave November 22, on Saturday. I have a few things to do before we go and I want to mount these mast steps, that just arrived from Auckland."

Claudio spoke. "Sure, I'll help you, whatever you need."

By Friday night we had stocked Laivina with enough food for a crew of five as my friend Marc was coming along as well. The mast steps had been fitted and we had screwed an extra track for the trysail that ran up besides the mainsail luff track. I had not finished painting the dinghy, but the wood was sealed with epoxy and it would keep it in good shape until I could finish the job.

Saturday came quickly and it dawned a beautiful blue sky morning. It was six o'clock when we drifted out of the little boat harbour into the cool morning air. During the morning, the wind increased steadily and by the time we neared the mouth of the Otago Harbour at the end of the sixteen-mile long and winding channel, it was blowing a moderate gale from the northwest. We had been broad reaching fast to the east under full sail and with the strong spring tide ebb, but the channel turned to the north and we had far too much sail on. Things settled down after we had changed the #1 Genoa for a #2 jib and put a reef in the mainsail and we shot out of the smooth harbour water into the Pacific Ocean.

As we sailed around Taiaroa Head, we could see the nests of the albatross colony pocked into the grassy hillside. It was a little after noon and it would be a good time to grab some lunch before we headed out of the shelter of the cliffs and into more exposed waters. As the wind was a nor'wester, I had hoped to hold a close reaching course down the coast to the southwest, however around three o'clock in the afternoon, it was still a moderate gale and the wind was backing to the west. We were now about five mile off shore, close hauled on the starboard tack and leaping over the steep short seas created by the off shore wind. The wind continued to back the rest of the afternoon until it was blowing southwest, head on from our destination. The sun was going down and as it would be dark, we stayed on the starboard tack and headed south.

"Marc, what's the barometer doing?"

"Just a sec..."

I watched him, carefully work his way down the companionway and along the sloping and kicking cabin sole. A couple of minutes later, he returned.

"I gotta get up on deck and get some fresh air, I'm feeling green." He crashed down beside me, surveyed the horizon for a while and then spoke.

"It's 998 milibars, it's dropped four points since this morning."

I wasn't too worried as the wind had already moved to the southwest and the drop was not fast. I passed the tiller over to Arvita and went off watch.

Laivina was moving safely out to sea so I could get some rest. Before it got too dark, I organized some watch food, mostly crackers and oranges and clawed my way up to the forward berth. As there were five of us, we were keeping two hour watches and although I now had eight hours off, I could expect to be called if there were any sail changes or changes in the wind direction. I didn't expect to sleep in the violent motion forward, but as I had assigned the two quarterberths to Peter and Claudio, there was no where else to go. I dozed fitfully, in my damp clothes, occasionally being thrust against the side of the hull as the bow came down hard off a large sea.

It was a little after midnight, when I came out of sleep. It was caused by the motion which had become considerably worse, accompanied by the faint calling of my name. I was being pressed against the side of the hull and had to claw my way up to get out of the forward cabin. As I inched forward, my foot banged into a body lying on the floor. Marc was still in his wet weather gear and was resting on his back trying to avoid the pool of water that was sloshing up from under the cabin sole. He spoke first.

"I pumped the bilge and it's as dry as I can get it."

I grabbed the pump handle, slid it into the opening and started pumping. A half dozen strokes and it was sucking air. I knew what the problem was, the small limber hole draining the water that was working down the hawse pipe was staying between the frames, forward of the bilge. I lifted a board and poked at the hole with a screwdriver until I heard the satisfying trickle of water flowing into the deep bilge compartment. A few more strokes of the pump and the bilge was empty. I was feeling the effects of seasickness now with the punchy motion, my disorientation and the faint odour of traces of diesel mixed with sea water. As quickly as I could, I peeled on my wet and clammy wet weather gear and forced my feet into my sea boots.

In the cockpit, Peter was steering through the crashing seas, turning his head quickly every time the spray launched itself at him from the gale. His friend Claudio, was lying on his side, draped over the aft hatch and feeling very seasick. The wind was shrieking and wrenching at the fully reefed mainsail and the small #2 jib, corkscrewing the boat over the steep seas which had built up to around ten feet in size. I slide open the main hatch and called into the dark interior.

"Mark! Can you pass me up the storm jib."

I closed the hatch quickly just before sheet of spray lashed over the cabin. After a couple of minutes the hatch slid open and Marc's head appeared, followed by a small sail bag. I quickly grabbed it as he slid the hatch closed. A full moon poked out between the scudding clouds illuminating the white sails and deck. My stomach protested as I carefully worked my way forward holding onto the sail bag with a strong grip. Ten minutes later the sail was hanked on and I let go the jib halyard. The loose jib started cracking in the wind as I clawed at the stiff cloth trying to pull it down the forestay. As soon as it as down, the motion eased and we wallowed over the waves. I set the jib fairleads a little further forward and prepared to hoist the storm jib. The heavy cloth went up quickly assisted by the wind and crackling as it whipped from side to side. Once the halyard was tensioned, I moved back to the cockpit and sheeted in the storm jib.

"I'm going to put a tack in, can you sheet in the jib on the starboard side, I'll do the release and the tiller work."

Peter handed me the tiller and carefully worked is way down to the lee winch.

"I'm ready"

"Lee Ho!"

The bow swung quickly over in the trough of the waves and the storm jib backed hard as Laivina swung over onto her starboard side. I eased the sheet carefully as Peter winched.

"That's good."

The change of tack had brought Claudio up into a sitting position.

"What time is it?"

"Three o'clock, time for your watch. Have you slept?"

"No. I'm not going down there. Oh man, am I ever sick."

"Peter, why don't you get into your bunk and get some rest, I'm on in a couple of hours, I'll stay up with Claudio."

"Sure, do want anything to eat?"

"Just grab me an orange."

"Okay"

Peter launched himself at the hatch, peered into the gloom and judging his moment, slid the heavy hatch forward and clumsily dragged his legs over the storm board. He managed to close the hatch before a wave slammed against the topsides sending sheets of water over Claudio and myself. I shivered as I settled in for a long wait. The first traces of dawn would start in about an hour and a half and I would get a fix. The one hundred and twenty miles of coastline from Dunedin to Stewart Island has no real shelter from a southwesterly or southerly wind except behind Nugget Point about half way. All of us were seasick and feeling miserable, wet and cold from the uncomfortable conditions to which the gale was delivering. We would head for the Nuggets and shelter there until the weather improved. The barometer had risen back to 1002 millibars and it could go up further.

It was getting light when I took over the tiller and watched Claudio crawl back to his favourite spot draped over the aft hatch. With the sunrise, I started to feel a little better although I was still being ravaged by seasickness. Through the day, the wind stayed strong as we tacked towards the coast and it was just after noon that I picked out Nugget Point about ten miles distant. By two o'clock in the afternoon, we had dropped anchor in the lazy low swells behind the point. Quickly, our appetite returned and we put on a huge pot of beans and vegetables, though as hungry as I was, my stomach was sore from the heavings it had endured. After eating, we decided to explore the area, launching the dinghy to look at a cave that we spotted at the base of the cliff. Above the cave, there were sea bird nests marked by stains of guano. The cave went in at an acute angle, about fifty feet high at the entrance and thirty feet wide. We were able to land the dinghy near the entrance and walk for a distance along the side. It was a large cave inside with plenty of light illuminating the clear, green water that surged back and forward with every swell.

The next morning the wind had died down to a mere ten knots and it was getting lighter. We weighed anchor, worked around the point and down the coast about twelve miles to Long Point before the winds dropped completely. As we lay about in the rejuvenating sun waiting for a breeze, a seagull visited us, hoping for a few scraps of our lunch. The gull was quite indignant when we tried to feed it by hand and flew off leaving us rolling from side to side in the lazy left over swell. In the early afternoon, a gentle breeze came up from the east and we started moving again. As our course was in a southwesterly direction we were able to head directly towards Oban, the one and only village on Stewart Island. By five o'clock in the afternoon, we had passed the Tautuku Peninsula, the site of the wreck of the Maruffa, a 67-foot mahogany ketch. The Maruffa had been traveling from Dunedin to Stewart Island as we were and encountered a storm during the night while under power with a reefed mizzen to steady her. Soon after her backstay parted and the skipper tried to find shelter along that inhospitable coast. Unfortunately the vessel's radar failed to pick out the low profile of the Tautuku Peninsula and she was driven aground. Although no lives were lost, one member of the crew lost his leg below the knee when it was crushed between the hull and the rocks. The peninsular was a sobering reminder of how vulnerable we were in our little boat.

When it became dark, we altered course, more to the south to allow for the one knot current that flows between Ruapuke Island and Stewart Island. Foveaux Strait, the main strait between Stewart Island and the mainland is riddled with reefs, shoals and islets, Ruapuke being the largest at about four miles long by two miles wide. None of these dangers had beacons or lights and the only lights were the Dog Island lighthouse, a powerful light ten miles to the northwest of Ruapuke Island and the Ackers Point Light near the entrance to the harbour at Oban.

The wind held steady from the east as the barometer slowly dropped from 998 in the morning until 995 at midnight. The wind backed from the east to the northeast and then faded away to nothing as a fog drifted in shutting out the moon and the powerful Dog Island light. As we drifted in the dark gloom, I plotted our dead reckoning position and worked out our estimated position from the effect of the strong tidal current. As I was concerned about getting too close to all the reefs, I tended to overestimate the current towards the reefs. As the gloom changed slowly to a light gray pall in the pre dawn, a gentle breeze filled in from the southwest. I estimated that we were about three miles from the nearest reef so Marc went forward and kept a bow watch listening intently for the tell tale sound of swells rolling over a reef. The depth sounder was near its limit of 300 feet reading 295 feet sporadically when the weak signal managed to make it back to the transducer. We would need to exercise caution when it dropped below 60 feet. A little after seven o'clock, the fog thinned and lifted and islands appeared about four miles way. The Ackers Point Light poked out from behind Bench Island and with another transit bearing, I was able to get a good fix. Our route through the night had been a safe one and we were well lined up to pass through Abbot Passage on one tack and on to Oban, which was now about ten miles tacking distance away.

It was around ten thirty when we had anchored in Half Moon Bay, the head of which lay the village of Oban. We looked around at the other anchored sailboats and spotted a person on the deck of a large black steel schooner.

"Ahoy!" I shouted.

He looked up and waved.

I cupped my hands around my mouth. "Do you know a good beach that I can dry my boat out between the tides to scrub the bottom?" I had noticed that small patches of slime were beginning to appear on the hull and I wanted Laivina to be able to perform at her best.

"Yeah... take 'er down to Bravo Island, there's a good beach there."

"Is it sheltered?"

"Oh, yeah, it's in Paterson Inlet so it's pretty good, and it's on the eastern side so it's sheltered from the northwest and southwest winds. The beach is shingle and it's steep, the fishermen here use it."

"Okay, that's great, thanks!"

We went ashore and visited the small town, walking along the only road that ran a mere three miles along the coast past Horseshoe Bay to Lee Bay. We planned to stay the night at anchor and catch up on the sleep we had missed out the previous night.

We slept well and in the late morning, lifted the anchor and headed out of Half Moon Bay towards Bravo Island about five miles away. Our course was mostly south and with the wind blowing from the west out of Paterson Inlet, we had a nice reach arriving a half hour after noon. Just as the person in Half Moon Bay had said, the beach just south of the eastern point of Bravo Island, looked steep and although it was exposed to any easterly wind, these winds were not typical at this time of the year. We gently sailed Laivina into the small beach until the keel touched. Marc and Peter were lowering the dinghy over the side while the rest of us tidied up some of the gear.

"Who's coming ashore on the first trip?"

Marc was already standing in the dinghy holding onto Laivina's lifelines.

"I'll go and Peter can come with me."

I watched the two climb over the lifelines and lower themselves carefully into the small Optimist class sailing dinghy that we had just built from a kit. I had needed to shorten the design by six inches so it would fit on top of the cabin between the mast and the compass mounted on top of the main hatch cover. By the time Marc came back to pick up Arvita and me, I had about a hundred feet of the long anchor hawser out of the rope well in the fore peak. Marc rowed us ashore and I returned alone to lower the anchor and the hawser into the dinghy. I rowed ashore letting the rope pay out behind me until I heard the scrunching as the dinghy beached onto the shingle. Marc buried the anchor into the ground beyond the beach, while I rowed back and secured the hawser to a stern cleat. As I pulled the line tight, Laivina swung slowly around. I had to wait for the tide to rise a little more before she was facing stern towards the beach. Should the wind come up from the east, we would be facing the right direction.

Peter, Marc and Claudio had wandered off looking for mussels on the rocks nearby and they soon came back with a bucket full. We still had to wait for high tide which was around four o'clock in the afternoon, about an hour's time, to continue pulling Laivina against the beach as the tide lifted her up. The high tide the next day was about six inches lower, but we weren't worried as the steep shingle was loose and it would be easy to work her back into deep water. Just in case there was a problem, we decided to dig a trench six inches deep in front of the keel when the tide was low. It would be enough as it would drop a little over seven feet. Laivina needed five foot nine inches to float so there would be plenty to spare.

"Hey, how many did you find?"

"A good bucket full. Here have a look." Marc showed me the brown bucket, full of large mussels.

"I'll get a fire going. Who wants to gather wood?" Claudio looked from one to another.

"Okay, I'll go this time" Peter said.

"I'll grab a pot from the boat"

Peter came back with an arm full of bleached and dry driftwood. Soon the smoke curled lazily around us as the water in the pot started steaming. Marc, since he was originally from Senegal, was voted our French chef and designated the supervisor of the cooking.

"Claudio, have you eaten mussels before?"

"No, but let me try one, Marc."

"Here is a nice one! Guaranteed fresh from the sea my friend, and for you... no charge!"

After four o'clock we had finished lunch and had hauled Laivina up as far as it would go. Now we just needed to wait for the tide to drop. Slowly she started to heel and more of the bottom became exposed. I rowed out in the dinghy to scrub the higher parts while I could easily reach them. After five o'clock it started dropping fast and three and a half-hours after the top of the tide she was high and dry.

"Here's a couple of brushes, that's all I have, but you can use these sponges to take of some of the loose muck. Use this bucket to splash sea water on the hull to keep it wet, it makes it easy to scrub."

Arvita glanced at me. "Do you want to sand paper the hull as well?"

"Sure, there is some six hundred grit wet and dry sand paper beside the tool box you can use, but just rub it lightly."

Before we launched Laivina seven months before, we had painted the bottom with a hard copper anti-fouling using a roller which gave it a mildly dimpled finish. I wanted to smooth it a little without removing too much paint and also expose a fresh surface.

"Hey! Watch where you're tossing that water, matey"

"As if you're not already wet!"

"Yeah, but I don't want to be completely drenched and it's salt water."

Soon it was all done except for the starboard underside of the hull that rested on the shingle and we had reached some of that with our brush on a long handle. There was still an hour to go before sunset at nine thirty but we were tired and ready for dinner and a good sleep.

We dragged the dinghy down the water's edge and loaded in the anchor attached to its length of half-inch chain and nylon hawser. I rowed the anchor out into deeper water so Laivina could swing out when she lifted off the bottom. After I returned, I dragged the dinghy to Laivina's stern, tied the painter to the pushpit rail and climbed up onto the steeply sloping deck. It was going to be an interesting night since the tide would be low around ten o'clock in the evening and would not start to lift Laivina up until around two o'clock in the morning. It would be four thirty before it was high tide.

We had an interesting meal, perched over at over forty-five degrees and washing the dishes afterwards was a challenge. Sleeping was a problem since we had not yet built any lee boards or lee cloths to hold us in our bunks. Marc dragged a squab off the uppermost quarter berth and laid it on the cabin sole up against the engine box, Claudio was reasonably comfortable on the narrow settee berth, which was on the lower side. Peter's six foot plus length was fitted into the six foot six inch quarter berth, while Arvita and I were squeezed together on the starboard side of the forward berth. Needless to say, we slept reasonable and I don't remember Laivina straightening up as the tide lifted her.

My alarm clock woke me at four thirty and I went on deck to find that Laivina had drifted away from the beach and was lying to her anchor in deep water in a stiff southwest wind. The low nimbus clouds were scudding overhead and we decided that it would be unwise to tack our way down the coast against such a stiff wind. As I was concerned that the loose shingle bottom would not hold the anchor very well if the wind were to back to the south, we decided to head for Glory Cove a mile an a half to the east of us. It would be an excellent anchorage as it was protected from all winds, as it hooked around as it narrowed and the innermost bay was about two cables across. In the shelter of Bravo Island we readied for our scoot across the bay.

"Hoist the mainsail!"

"Full main?"

"Hmmm... sure!"

A flash of arms in quick motion and the white sail slid up the track.

"Weigh anchor!"

"It's up and down!"

"Okay, break it out."

Out into the wind, we heeled over and took off from the force of air that was gusting out of Southwest Bay. My log entry read:

"Left Bravo Island for Glory Cove. Reached eight and a half knots under mainsail alone."

After anchoring in Glory Cove, we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and during the day while the gale raged overhead, we slept, played cards and read books.

The next morning, the wind had abated to a moderate breeze and by ten o'clock in the morning we had the anchor up and were sailing fast out of Glory Cove towards Anglem Point at the end of the four mile long Bradshaw Peninsula. Our destination was Port Adventure that lay ten miles to the south of Anglem Point, a quick trip averaging around six knots as we slid down the coast in the lee of the land. We passed close by East Point and once we had cleared Weka Island and Stirling Head was abaft the beam, we tacked into Port Adventure and worked our way around the edge. This enclosed bay is about a mile wide and two miles deep and has four coves at its head, affording excellent anchorages. After poking our bow into Oyster Cove, Redsand Cove and an unnamed cove we sailed to a spot deep inside the entrance to the Heron River. Nearing Kaka Point, the channel narrowed to between one and two cables for the last mile. It was a very sheltered anchorage, the last cable we worked Laivina in fitful puffs of wind to a spot where we would anchor for the night before heading further south.

The next morning we sailed out or Port Adventure in a moderate southwesterly breeze towards Lords River about five miles further down the coast in a southwesterly direction. We would need to tack our way there after rounding Breaksea Islets at the southern flank of Port Adventure. We left our anchorage around ten in the morning and passing clear of the Breaksea Islets. Outside the port, we ran into the heavy swells of the Southern Ocean that smashed against the exposed reefs decorating this unforgiving coast. When Owen Island, the eastern entrance to Lords River, was abaft the beam we went about onto the port tack and sailed due west into the entrance. Lords River is navigable by sailboats for the first mile and by dinghies for the next two miles at which point there are rapids and fresh water.

"Hey Peter, how far do you think we can get up the river?"

"I don't know, maybe another couple of miles."

As we tried to work our way up the river under sail, it closed in to a narrow channel ten boat lengths wide with the trees on the step banks hanging over us and robbing us of wind.

"Let's launch the dinghy and see if we can pull the bow around at each tack."

"Who's going to row?"

"I'll do it"

We launched the dinghy and pulled Laivina against the fresh water flowing down to the sea until the keel was a few inches above the bottom. It was fun exploring but now it was time to head back to find a suitable anchorage for the night just inside the entrance. We chose a well-protected spot on the southwestern side of the entrance. There was a lot of kelp around and as I was uncertain of the quality of the bottom, I set the anchor with a trip line and buoy tied to the crown. Occasionally, gusts of wind blew Laivina around as it lay to anchor, however the anchorage looked good. Across the entrance, the heavy Southern Ocean swells broke against the northeastern shore. We rowed ashore and explored the small beach washed by the remainder of ocean swells that managed to reach into the river. The high annual rainfall allowed an abundance of life, however the strong winds that continuously raked Stewart Island allowed trees to only thrive in the river valleys. The high ground was nutrient poor, leached from the constant rain and mist and supported heather like plants that clung to the decomposed granite soil. Eight miles to the west of us, rose Mount Alan, 2,459 feet high, the highest point of a north-south running range. This small mountain range caught the rain bearing clouds that swept out of the Southern Ocean driven by westerly gales.

After we had exhausted our exploratory desires, the cool November weather was driving us back to the relative warmth of food cooking on our two-burner kerosene stove. It was around five o'clock and we were getting hungry. Back on board, we cooked up our usual staple of rice and vegetables in the pressure cooker. It wasn't Cordon Bleu cooking, but Marc never seemed to mind.

The next morning, we left at six o'clock for Port Pegasus, the last sheltered harbour on the eastern side of the island. We were keen to explore it as it is like an inland sea, with four openings cut out of the coastline to give a mariner access. Three of these openings, Whale Passage, Boat Passage and Narrow Passage, being between one and two cables wide, are just as their names suggest. As we passed between the steep cliffs of the narrow Whale Passage towering over little boat on either side, the heavy swells heaved us up and down until we reached the sheltered waters inside. Just in time as we encountered a strong squall from a heavy cloud that passed overhead. We first headed for the waterfall at the end of the North Arm of Port Pegasus. The chart we were using was the most recent that we could purchase and although it was reprinted many times, it was based on a survey done by Captain J. L. Stokes and the Officers of the H.M.S. Acheron in 1849. The soundings in Port Pegasus were sporadic and we often climbed the newly fitted mast steps to scan the water ahead for shoals. Near the waterfall at the head or North Arm, the chart showed a settlement which must have existed in 1849. All that remained was some concrete foundations. We dropped anchor near the remains of the settlement, lowered the dinghy and proceeded to explore.

"Wow! Look at the waterfall, it's really rushing down."

"Hey! At the top there is a dam, it looks like it's made out of concrete."

"The miners must have used it when they were looking for gold."

Having not found any gold, the miners turned to mining for tin, which although it was more plentiful, was not enough to sustain them physically and spiritually in this harsh land. The many decades of rushing water had worn away the crude concrete and stone dam, so only a little remained.

We climbed back down the waterfall to where our dinghy sat on the rocks at the base. We traded places with Peter and Claudio so they could row over and explore the waterfall as we had done. On the way back, they decided to do some fishing.

"Did you catch anything?"

"Naw... only got a small perch, it's to small for anything."

"Chuck it away, we won't be able to find it when you put it into the frying pan."

The weather over the last few days had generally been cloudy with moderate breezes at times and the temperature was low for November. We were always pleased to return to the warmer interior of Laivina where we cooked our large one course meals in the pressure cooker, washed down by cups or tea or coffee (for the Canadians).

The next day, we set of in a southwesterly direction towards Shipbuilder's Cove about six miles away. We tacked through Steamer Pass and Acheron Anchorage and out into the wider expanse of the South Arm. In the distance we could see Frazer Peaks and decided we would do an inland expedition to climb them. We anchored carefully in Shipbuilder's cove again using a buoyed tripping line on the crown of the anchor in case it were to become stuck under a rock shelf. As it was now about three-thirty, we had time to climb up to the top of Bald Cone, a granite outcropping nearly a thousand feet high.

At the top, we were exposed to a steady mist blowing across the inland moor. The highest point consisted of a huge granite boulder the size of a large house resting on the bedrock so as to leave a small low cave under it for shelter. Around it were numerous wind and water worn rocks of decomposing granite with small water worn rock pools in the shape of a bowl.

From our vantage point, we could see the route we would take the next day to reach Frazer Peaks to the west. It looked reasonably straightforward with just one small stand of trees in a gully to negotiate. From this height we could see our little vessel safely at anchor below us in Shipbuilder's Cove. It grew cold being in the wind without moving so we headed back down to the water's edge, traveling a lot faster than the slog uphill.

The next day, we packed some food for the day along with a topographical map and compass in case we encountered thick mist or fog. It was a steady hike with either Marc or myself route finding. What we had seen as low heather from the top of Bald Cone the day before turned out to be a thick underbrush that at times was up to five feet high.

"Where the heck are we going?"

"Just follow me Claudio, I can see where it is."

"That's okay for you to say, you tall streak, I can't see a damn thing."

Claudio grumbled as he struggled along, staying in the shadow his friend. We bunched up to work our way through the thicket of low trees that grew in a gully separating us from the final slope of Frazer Peaks the taller of which rose 1,400 feet above sea level. On the way to reach the final ridge we passed three huge boulders balanced on top of each other.

At the top of Frazer Peak, the view was expansive. We could see the west coast of Stewart Island and the Tasman Sea to the west and the Pacific Ocean to the east. To the south, blocking part of our view of the Southern Ocean, rose Smith's Peak, higher than the spot upon which we stood at 1,758 feet. Marc and Arvita wanted to visit the lesser peak about a mile further to the west, while Claudio, Peter and I came off the mountain to explore some interesting rock formations bear the base. We waited until Marc and Arvita returned, watching them work their way down the east ridge of the mountain. The hike back to Shipbuilder's cove was straightforward and we arrived in plenty of time with about an hour of daylight left.

We were running out of time and as it was Wednesday and we were allowing ourselves three days to return to Dunedin in case of bad weather, we decided that we should leave. At nine in the morning, we weighed our anchor and made our way out through Narrow Passage into the open sea. The barometer had risen considerably while we were at anchor in Shipbuilders Cove and was now steady at 1020 millibars. There was a gentle breeze blowing from the west so we set the spinnaker and quietly moved away from the land. The breeze did not last for very long for by lunch time, we were becalmed in an oily swell rolling in from the southwest. When the wind filled in an hour later, it was from the east, not dead ahead but nearly so. Visibility was good as we made our way, close hauled across Foveaux Strait in a northeasterly direction. We were able to get good fixes, even when it grew dark, from the two powerful lighthouses. Close to midnight we were five miles east of Ruapuke Island. The wind dropped to a light air and backed to the north and with the barometer having dropped seven millibars in the last twelve hours, I expected the wind to strengthen and settle in from the northwest.

During the night, we moved very slowly in the light air, sometimes becalmed as watch after watch passed, rotating through all of the crew. It wasn't until three o'clock in the afternoon that the wind strengthened a little to a gentle breeze. Unfortunately it veered to the northeast and was almost dead ahead. This was frustrating, as we had only made thirty miles in the last fifteen hours.

What's the barometer reading?" I called down into the cabin, where Arvita sat, with her eyes fixed on a book in her lap.

"It's just sitting there, I'm the only one reading."

"Smart Alec! Seriously, would you tap it and see what it is at now."

"1007 millibars" she called out.

It still continued to drop and I was expecting a fresher wind but it never came. The afternoon became evening and the evening slid into night with the wind constantly sifting from between the east and the north and fluctuating in strength, but never much more than a gentle breeze. We met each shift with a tack, making our way slowly home until dawn when the wind at last strengthened.

"At last! The bloody wind decides to blow, just when we are almost home" an exasperated Marc spat out.

"I'm not complaining, I didn't get seasick this time."

Marc glanced at Claudio before he nodded.

"True, true."

He tightened the Genoa sheet to compensate for the hardening wind. Up ahead, Taiaroa Head came to gret us at a steady five knots.

"Ahhhh, this is better" I heard Peter speak.

We rounded Taiaroa Head and quickly made our way up Dunedin's Outer Harbour until we were in sight of Carey's Bay and its little store.

"I'm going to have a big ice cream cone as soon as I get ashore," Claudio spoke up.

"Just the cone? Don't you want any ice cream?" Marc chided.

"You New Zealanders are weird!"

Arvita dropped the Genoa onto the side deck as the rest of the ships crew resurrected the mooring lines from the aft hatch. Peter and Claudio popped the fenders over the side as we sailed along side the wharf under mainsail.

It was a little strange walking on land again and when we went into the narrow confines of the little store, the floor appeared to be surging up and down.

"I think I better get back on the boat before I get land sick!"

"See if you can run in a straight line!"

"Beat you back!"

"You're on!"

Feet pounded the heavy planks on the dock as we tore out towards Laivina. Marc was the swiftest, leaping over the lifelines with a cheeky look on his face. He disappeared below and re-emerged a few minutes later with his backpack.

"Well, my friends, This was a great trip, but I have to leave you. Bronwyn will be missing me, so... goodbye."

His arm rose and he waved just before he turned and strode back down the dock towards his home on the hill that overlooked Port Chalmers. The rest of us readied Laivina for the wind and untied the dock lines. As I looked over my shoulder, Marc was still in sight, walking down the road, his receding figure getting smaller as we drew away.

With just eight miles to go, we moved swiftly along in the fair wind and tide, reaching the little boat basin and easily crossing the sand bank inside the entrance. We were home.