South Island Saga continued: "The sea was angry that day, my friends." (George, from an episode of "Seinfeld")

Our bus journey to Invercargill, on the South Island of New Zealand continues...

Once again, into the hills. The radiance from above, seemingly on a rheostat, constantly changed as the valleys passed below us. We'd move from brilliance to gloom and return again over the course of a kilometer.  Barely a sign of the snow that had fallen earlier in the day, except for the traces that flashed by in the grass on the roadsides, was now evident, but our windows were occasionally spotted with rain from passing squalls.  A reminder.      

This stretch was no place to rush through.  The roads were winding and the grades, whether ascending or descending, required constant shifting through the gears and adjustments to our speed. I felt that I was taking part in the efforts of crossing this impressive landscape as I was shifted about in my seat almost continuously. I think that all of us on that bus shared a common bond during this startlingly beautiful passage.  

I caught glances from some of my fellow travelers now and then, one of them mouthing a "wow," which I agreed to with a nod of my head and a grin. What a place, indeed. I turned back to the window, tried to hold steady, and clicked. You see the picture below. 

A final descent took us to the coast yet again.  The area we had come through is known as the Catlins. The untamed views of the those heights now gave way to equally impressive vistas of the sea in turmoil.   

Notice the angle of the bus. We descended here rapidly. I think that many of the roads here are Baldwin Street wannabes. (But no, not even close) 

As we drew level with the ocean, we were surprised with it's level of turmoil. Well, I was, at least.  

Had the place we were passing at the time even remotely resembled a firth, instead of a straight section of rocky coastline, I would have dubbed it, 'The Firth of Froth.'  

Sadly, we were not, it did not, and so I could not.

Before long, our driver has pulling over into a carpark. He normally opened both front and rear doors to let his boisterous bunch spill out the more quickly, but this time, he turned and cautioned us before easing only the front one open.  

He warned of very high winds. We could tell that they were significant, since the bus was rocking slightly in the blast, but until I stepped out, I had no idea just how wild it was.  I immediately pulled up my hoodie, not so much to keep warm, but to keep my hearing aids from blowing off my ears.  

Jeanne had told me that her phone's weather page was reporting 90 kph (54 mph) gusts.  I could easily believe it was at least that.  I have never before felt such a strong wind.  And, since the temperature outside was not that far above the freezing point, by whichever scale you choose to define that, the wind chill was not pleasant.  

Once, on Kerikeri Beach, during an outing when my grandsons were small, we ran into what I thought were high winds.  The stinging sand forced a retreat inland, back to our car.  Allie grabbed one boy, I grabbed the other, and we lifted them up so they could bury their faces in our chests, and we beat it.  

This wind was twice that. I think it could have been dangerous to small children to be out in it. A great experience for me though.  

I did get a few shots before retreating to the comfort of the bus.  

In this picture, notice the height of the buildings you see just to the right of center, and compare that height with that of the cliffs.  

Now, let me zoom in on the waves and cliffs.  

I can't say for sure, but I think those waves are splashing up several times the height of that house.

I had the cliffs framed in the center of this shot a split second before I took it; then a gust shoved me and I got this.  It's a wonder that it's in focus. 

All of this normally would have been merely interesting and exciting to us. The issue though, which was on all our minds at this point, was that we were due to ride out to Stewart Island, 30 kilometers off shore in the morning.  

Hmmm..."Hey Hon, how's our supply of Sea Legs holding up?  I think we might  really need them tomorrow."   

The next morning, anticipation was running high at the 8:00 breakfast meeting that Barry and Alan hosted.  What were the conditions like?  Would we be able to make the crossing?

Jeanne and I, when we signed up for the tour, had opted to fly out to the island.  It had been a long time since we had flown in a small aircraft and we thought it'd be a hoot.  

Unfortunately, the plane was already booked by enough people that there was no room for us.  We were scheduled to take the ferry instead. 

Alan rapped on a glass and the breakfasters immediately quieted.  Here it is, the announcement from Alan we had been waiting for. 

"Good morning folks, I trust you had a good rest last night. Barry and I have been in touch with the folks that run the ferry.  They tell us that the waves out there are running about 4 meters (over 13 feet) It is not advised that we try the crossing.  If we did anyway and conditions got worse, we could even be stranded out there on the island until conditions improve. The plane is grounded." 

We had mixed feelings. Disappointment of course.  Jeanne and I had really looked forward to seeing Stewart Island and also the stop and walk on tiny Ulva Island, a wildlife sanctuary.  But relief that we would not be subjecting ourselves to very disagreeable, and possibly dangerous conditions. We all knew the right decision had been made.    

Instead, we piled onto the bus and went to at least look across the strait to Stewart Island.  

We did this from the small town of Bluff, which is south of Invercargill and from which the ferry would have left, had conditions allowed it. 

I know you, McKenzie and Fred, are oyster fans.  New Zealand's Bluff Oysters come from the straits beyond this area. They're all wild-caught and are said to be among the best in the world.   

A pretty blue from high above those 13+ foot waves.  

And it's a very long way out there.  

The latitude of Bluff, NZ, is 46.59 South.  Right in the middle of the 'roaring forties.'  This name was given to the area to describe the often gale force westerlies that circle the globe between 40 and 50 degrees, South latitude. 

Those of you who know Marquette, Michigan, might be interested to know that it lies at 46.54 North Latitude.  

We're leaving the coastline in the next post, and climbing into the mountains. Come along with us.  I promise it'll be worth a look.  -djf