Written by Cristina Barraclough

Multi-day Sea Kayaking: Part 1

Part 1 - an insight into camping in the Remote Wilderness of New Zealand’s (NZ) South Island. The article’s purpose is to invoke a sense of wonder and curiosity to spur others on for their own adventure with a refreshed sense of appreciation of the Great Outdoors post lockdown.

I stirred awake feeling stiff after spending the night in the back of a mate’s car on a hard bed of folded down seats. Someone was shining a bright headlight right at me. It was time to get up.

The morning sky still pitch black. Nerves flittered in my stomach, I hadn’t slept well and the day ahead was long and full of the unknown. With a coffee now in hand and looking out across the dark bay I could see the elusive D’Urville island only 500m across the sea: a stone’s throw away. 

So, New Zealand announced Level 2 a few days before. The world of Covid introduced us to almost sci-fi-like lingo: level 2, bubbles, lockdown. Here, in New Zealand we were fortunate to have reached Level 2 by Mid-May. Freedom!

Finally, we could return to the great outdoors and interact with other humans outside our ‘bubble’. It was not an opportunity I was about to waste. I had vowed to myself during lockdown that I was going to seize the days. 

Dawn was breaking. I rounded the first headland with my fellow kayakers. In front of me flowed French Pass, a tide race infamous for its raging waters and whirlpools.

It hadn’t helped that my buddy Whitey had recalled a story the night before about divers who were sucked below the waters of the French Pass and were lost forever. 

Planning in accordance with the tides was crucial for a safe crossing. Still nervous, I paddled as fast as I could and dared not stop, in case the waters suddenly turned on me.

I made it across and arrived, feeling somewhat triumphant, at the southern tip of D’Urville. Let the circumnavigation begin! 

Six days flew by. In that entire time, we saw no other soul on D’Urville apart from our smiling friends paddling along in our little pod of kayaks.

Oddly enough, the first day was the most tiring. A day of packing unfamiliar gear and the unfamiliar territory had tired me. 

Appropriately named, Sandy Bay was the first wild beach we spent the night on. Each brightly coloured kayak was dragged up the black sand all the way onto the copious amounts of driftwood; safely tucked out of the tide’s reach. Like ants shuttling back and forth, we began to create camp. 

Feeling exhausted and a little overwhelmed, I started to set up my tent, while battling some harsh wind. Luckily my fellow paddlers were all awesome people - and Sophie suddenly appeared to give me a helping hand. 

I continued the act of kindness by lending a helping hand pegging down others’ fluorescent flapping tents. Sure, they didn’t need the help, but that’s not the point. 

Life was simple living out of a kayak. Days were spent waking up by the beach, drinking coffee, looking out to sea and spending the day paddling along new coastline, dodging and weaving into caves where aqua sea water revealed the sea floor below and the cave walls harboured purple algae. 

The Maori god of the sea, Tangaroa, had granted us unusually blissful paddling conditions. Whilst the wind and waves can pound the exposed coastline of D’Urville, turning the caves into washing machines and beaches into technical surf spots, we experience glassy calm waters. With bluebird skies and warm sun on our backs, it felt like a tropical paradise. 

Each night, before dusk we would set up home for the night, just a bunch of friends, spending the evening chatting and laughing by a long fire. The ‘invention’ of the long fire blew our minds. Camp-hacks like this instantaneously enhance camp life. It meant we did not have to break up the long branches and even better, we could all be warm whilst facing out to sea. 

Our catch of the day was smoked, cooked in foil or cast iron pans on the amber embers of these esteemed long fires.

Halfway around the island and in no rush, we all agreed to have a rest day: roaming the hills, drinking whiskey and sharing snacks. Clinging to the thought of days like this in the wilderness was what had spurred us on through the lockdown. It was one of those timeless summer days. 

Pitch black. My tent was down and packed by 5:30am. Considering I am not a morning person and having stayed up by the campfire until 1am, I was surprisingly energetic. The nerves were brewing again. Hells Gate loomed ahead. The name did little to instil confidence. The final tide race to pass. 

Sun broke. The sky filled with glorious pinks and golds amplified by its reflection on the sea.

A speedy pace set by the strong early birds, meant I had broken into a sweat and was undeniably feeling it in my arms and abs. As we rounded the next headland, the grand archways and steep cliffs of Hells Gate slowly unveiled themselves.

Suddenly, I forgot all about my sore muscles. Here, floating on the liquid sunrise, a sense of stillness washed over me and I knew that I was exactly where I was meant to be.

One final night lay ahead and I was determined to provide dinner that night. Kayak fishing was the last remaining hurdle I had yet to overcome on the trip. And so in order to be self-sufficient - a true wilderness woman - I prepared my fishing hand reel. 

It is a bit daunting to feed a line down over your kayak – what if the fish pulled me in?! The first bite tugged. I hauled up a dogfish – which is a type of shark! Mark, who was rafted up next to me for support, and I both hastily agreed to release it. I couldn’t kill a shark.

At the next secluded beach, we filleted the blue cods that we caught - and with the mouth-watering image of dinner spurring us on, we paddled hard on our final stretch to camp. Lemon pepper, butter and fresh fish cooked on an open fire was an unbeatable combination and quite frankly the best fish I have ever tasted. 

The final day was over all too quickly. We made the most of being back in civilisation and celebrated in the only fitting way – pumping ourselves full of chocolate, chips and cold beer supplied by the store at French Pass, appropriately named ‘Shop’: a converted room of a house fitted out with shelves of snacks for hungry passers-by. 

The lovely owners even offered me a freshly baked cookie. The good fortunes just kept on coming. Another aspect I love about adventures is how you often encounter unexpected hospitality from complete strangers. 

It was an epic personal adventure and one I will cherish forever. It’s days like these, where you’re pushing your boundaries in the outdoors, breathing in the clean air, relaxing and laughing with friends, that you realise - this is what it’s all about. 

Disclaimer: This is not a definitive guide. Any reliance you place on such information is therefore, strictly at your own risk. This is a trip for experienced paddlers who have experience in dealing dealt with tide races and surf beaches etc. The information contained in this article is for general reading purposes only. Undertaking sea kayaking is strictly at your own risk. 

*Always follow fishing regulations on catch allowances and leave no trace principles in the wilderness. 

*There was of course always the need to be aware of surroundings and the potential of the seas to change on us and rage howling winds or throw crashing waves onto beaches. 

*The weather was forecast for exceptionally good conditions. It is often surf landings/launchings, off-shore winds, exposed sea, etc.

About Cristina: I did a degree in Business Management with English Literature and since graduation have spent the last four years working and travelling abroad. Working as a Sea Kayak Guide has taken me to Norway and New Zealand so far. 

Follow me on Instagram: @cristinalbarra for more outdoor adventures & travel 

If you loved this article, check out Cristina’s other article:
Kayaking in Abel Tasman National Park

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