c&k#36-0 ss - Canoe & Kayak

A Paddle in the Catlins
by George Lockyer
Quiet as a mouse I brew up some coffee while the family
send up more Z’s, wrapped snug in their sleeping bags. As I
zip the tent back up the bird’s dawn chorus is in full cry. I
carry my sea kayak down the concrete steps to the water’s
edge, not 20 metres from the tent. The sun has recently risen
above Cabbage Point and is just burning through some low
cloud, turning it from pink to white.
Spray skirt, life jacket and sunnies donned and I’m into it. Although it’s only
an hour past high tide, the water here is very shallow. It’s actually a huge
estuary fed by the Owaka and Catlins rivers.
I’d always wanted to visit the Catlins region. The banjo tune from the 70’s
movie Deliverance , would always enter my head like an annoying ear-worm,
whenever it was mentioned. Ding a ling, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding. It
would go, along with visions of a land that time forgot; rather like the West
Coast without the insects!
The Catlins were named after Captain Cattlan who bought a stretch of coast
from the Maori back in 1840. Historically the Catlins region was popular with
the Maori due to the abundance of sea food and moa which inhabited
the forests.
My palms press into empty cockle and pipi shells as I lever us into deeper
water. Gulls shriek overhead and a cormorant dives for fish, I lower my rudder
and strike out in earnest towards the west and enter the gentle waters of
what my map refers to as the Catlins Lake. It seems to be simply where the
Catlins River widens into the estuary.
On my right I pass an area of salt marsh with a large stand of virgin podocarp
forest behind it. The forest of rimu, kahitatea, totara and miro forms part of
the 38 hectare Pounawea Scenic Reserve, one of few remaining examples of
the transition of unmodified ecosystems from estuarine, through
saltmarsh to forest.
I know this because my wife, back in the tent has a Masters in marine ecology.
So there!
I begin to wake up as the caffeine from my early coffee kicks in mixed with
the familiar endorphin rush brought on by steady paddling. There’s a slight
chop in the centre of the lake but nothing to trouble the Tui. I smile when I
think of the kayak sitting behind our tent underneath a tree full of its
namesake feathered friends. Any thoughtful dropping would have been
washed off by now.
Ahead of me a couple of grey herons flap their wings languidly and rise into
the air as if in slow motion. I step up the pace. To my left I can see the Jacks
Bay yacht club that we passed yesterday in the truck on the way to Jacks Bay.
There’s a wonderful, sandy beach at Jacks Bay where we spent yesterday
morning boogie boarding with the kids. I also managed a little paddle round
the rocks through water thick with kelp, (in which wet suited locals dived for
paua) but being on my own I didn’t venture out too far. There’s also a
blowhole at Jacks Bay, which we didn’t bother to walk to as it only blows at
high tide.
The yacht club was built on the site of the ‘Big Mill’, which in the late 1800’s
employed up to 40 men. At the height of the operation up to 11 ships a day
would load their holds with timber from the native forests.
I love the different perspective one gets on the water. You can look at
something from the water and it will appear totally different from the thing
seen from the road.
Half an hour later I’m at the Caitlin’s river bridge where I take a short breather
on the rocky shore beneath it. I take a swig of water and stretch my back
muscles as a truck full of sheep shakes and rattles its way above me. On my
left the Catlins River meanders through the green rounded hills of Otago from
its source somewhere up in the Beresford Range.
Back on the water I muck around in the whirlpools and eddies beneath the
bridge before heading back.
The sun occasionally peeks through the low clouds, glistening off the greenish
water. I wonder what’s swimming beneath my kayak and a make a mental
note to throw a lure in tonight and try to catch dinner. I’ve been told it’s a
good spot for flounder.
Yesterday we had visited Cannibal Bay where we walked along the deserted
beach. Deserted that is except for half a dozen sea-lions basking
unconcernedly in the sun. Cannibal Bay is so named by Dr Hocken, who in
1892 discovered the grizzly remains of a Maori feast, including human skulls
and bones.
All too soon I’m back at Hungerford Point and the Pounawea Motor Camp.
I’m enjoying myself too much to stop and the troops are probably still
snoozing away. I press on towards the open sea. The water gets deep enough
for a decent paddle stroke instead of the flattish ones I’ve been doing for the
past half hour. I can hear the booming surf now and on the far shore the
small dots slowly morph into Hooker sea lions. Apparently, these are young
males, some of which have travelled from their breeding grounds in the sub
Antarctic Auckland Islands.
A small voice is creeping into my consciousness and is getting louder. It’s the
voice of reason and it’s reminding me never to paddle in the open sea alone.
With a sigh of reluctance I push my right pedal down and with a few good
strokes describe a nice 180 and head back. Reason has won out over valour.
Anyway the tide is retreating fast and soon the area I’m paddling in will be a
mudflat habitat full of wading birds and crabs.
Back at the camp I haul my kayak wearily up the concrete steps and detect
the delicious aroma of bacon and eggs. You beauty!
The sleepy town of Owaka or ‘Place of the Canoe’ a few kms down the road
(or up the river) is the commercial centre for the region. A couple of
restaurants, a backpackers and supermarket make it an ideal base for
exploring the Catlins. The Deliverance earworm has thankfully now been
banished from my mind. When the Catlins are mentioned now I’ll conjure
up memories of a stunningly beautiful wild coast, native bush, rainforest,
magic wildlife and spectacular views.
There is a pleasantly intangible air of differentness to the Catlins, which is
most refreshing in a world rapidly becoming homogenised.
I make a mental note to return here with a kayaking buddy, sans enfants.
So go on. Strap your kayak on your roof rack, take the Southern Scenic Route
south from Balclutha and see for yourself.
30 ISSUE THIRTYsix • 2006