Heading out on the Rock |
Originally, The Rock was a ferry. Now, the first floor houses a bar, game area, room to share a large, communal meal and adventure water sports gear stored in every possible nook and cranny. The second floor is the sleeping quarters for crew and guests. Six of us girls share a room that barely fits three bunk beds. The top bunks are so close to the 2x4s in the ceiling that I repeatedly hit my heading getting up and down from the bunk and experience a moment of claustrophobia as I'm trying to get to sleep. Yet, I sleep the sleep of the happily exhausted.
Fishing off the back of The Rock |
After getting settled in and getting to know each other a bit, the crew invites us to try our hand at catching our evening dinner. The crew makes it so easy by baiting our hooks for us and even removing from the line any fish that we catch. Not that we're very successful. The fish are wise to our bait, which they careful nibble off the hooks without getting hooked themselves. We reel in hooks missing bait. Among all of us, we manage to catch three fish, which make pre-dinner sashimi. During our fishing the sun sets behind the islands in front of us.
After dinner, we have the choice to go late night kayaking. It is completely dark on the water in the Bay of Islands. We are far from any city lights. It is also quite chilly. I'm wearing all of my layers; and, still, I'm cold. It doesn't help that our feet are constantly wet walking barefoot around the boat. After being gung-ho about kayaking, I change my mind when they say that we'll get wet butts in the kayaks. Instead, I stay on the boat, gazing up at more stars than I've seen in years. We search for the Southern Cross. Unfortunately, part of it is hidden behind the islands surrounding the Bay of Islands.
In the morning, I don't awake until it's light out (6:09 am); and miss my chance at sunrise. I stumble out of bed with high hopes but see no bright colors behind the islands.
Attempting to see sunrise |
After a breakfast where I try my first "weet-bix" (think bigger shredded wheat), it's time to get ready for snorkeling. Now, I've decided to brave the cold weather and cold water since we'll be given wet-suits, albeit not full wet-suits. After we get zipped up in our suits, we huddle together, waiting for our leader. Finally, we've listened to all the instructions; and, he gets us moving with the "penguin dance", getting us to move our arms and legs so that there's some circulation going before we plunge into the icy water. The water comes as a shock to my system. I gasp and then move out of the way of the people entering behind me. Every portion of skin not covered by the wet-suit is screaming at me from the cold. I tread water until the last person enters the water. Then, I swim back to the edge and have the crew haul me back out, sitting gasping in cold on the edge of the boat. That's one way to wake up in the morning. The rest of the guests survived much longer in the frigid water, some even assisting in the collection of mussels from a rock outcropping.
View from the top of Roberton Island |
Once everyone is back and dried off, we are dropped off at Roberton's Island, one of the seven main islands making up the 140+ islands in Bay of Islands. To be considered an island in the Bay of Islands, the land form must be at least three meters tall and have something growing on it that is not from the ocean. From where we stood on the top of Roberton (Motuarohia) Island, we could see Moturua, Motukiekie and Okahu Islands along with the Black Rocks. While Roberton Island has some houses along with the Project Song to nest kiwi birds, many of the islands are strictly wildlife reserves. In order to protect the kiwis, there are no pests allowed on the island, including rats, dogs and cats. This is because before the arrival of the Maori and the Europeans, the only mammals (aka "pests" in this part of the world) were three types of bats. Therefore, none of the traditional wildlife in NZ had any defenses against all the imported pests brought by immigrants.
Mr. Roberton bought the island from a Maori chief in the 1800s. The story our guide told us was that Mr. Roberton and his son died in a sailing accident. Then, the Maori chief sent his 13-year-old son to take care of Ms. Roberton and her kids. However, The Roberton's hired hand tried to lord it over the Maori chief son, who killed the hired hand, since it was a great sign of disrespect for a Maori chief or his son to be treated in such a way. The son returned to his father, the chief, who praised his actions except for leaving the Roberton wife and children alone and unguarded. The Maori son then returned to the Roberton's, who were found at the bottom of the cliff on the island. No one knows what happened. Perhaps they thought that the Maori son was going to kill them next and committed suicide? The Maori chieftain, wanting continued peace with the Europeans, handed his son over to a European tribunal to be tried. His son was found guilty and hanged at the age of 15. His name, Maketu, means "cursed child".
Fresh mussels! |
Once we arrived back at the boat, we enjoyed a filling lunch of sandwiches (with lots of beet root. I'm going to like NZ food.) followed by enjoying the fresh mussels the snorkelers had gotten in the morning. The first one that I choose still had a bit of seaweed in it. It's last meal.
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