Niue May 18-25

Niue! Known as the Rock of Polynesia, or just The Rock to the Niueans, the name is apt since the whole island is essentially one meticulously built and intricately sculpted chunk of limestone conveniently uplifted above sea level. Despite being only about 25 km across, there is a lot packed into this tiny little island (it was a great struggle to narrow my photos down to 50!). There is only one flight to and from the island a week and there is only accommodation for a little over 100 people at any given time. In a whole week on the island we never really had to share a track, forest, reef, chasm or cave with anyone else and it was easy to pretend you had the tropical island to yourself. This sense of isolation, of adventure and discovery is what really sets Niue apart. If you want to sit on a beach and drink maitais you are probably better off going to nearby Fiji or Samoa.

Niue supports a population of a little over 1000 people, with almost ten times more Niueans living in Auckland than on the island. Though self-governing, the country is essentially reliant on New Zealand economically and diplomatically. Virtually everyone on the island is bilingual, speaking both English and Niuean. The island was hit hard by a cyclone in 2004, after which many people left or moved. Abandoned houses can be found almost everywhere on the island, slowly being overtaken by vegetation.


Island life seems simple and generally carefree, well exhibited by the fact seatbelts are not required to be worn. Everyone waves or greets everyone else, almost without exception. After only a few hours on the island, you realized you were not being mistaken for a celebrity and are just another person sharing this beautiful place. Christianity is well-ingrained and the island underwent a unique transformation on Sunday. Pretty much everyone would go to church for pretty much the whole day. This meant the roads, stores, houses, the whole island, appeared a completely abandoned ghost town until you pas the local village's church. The island produces little more than vanilla, papaya, passion friut, noni and coconut, which means virtually everything is imported. The food on offer was rather limited, but thankfully we had planned ahead and brought most of our food. The best selection actually appeared to be at the gas station where watermelons and drinking coconuts were on offer. The handful of stores and restaurants on the island typically have "we are open when we are open" hours, with some restaurants requiring you to call ahead so they can be sure to be open for you. Chickens and dogs seem to have free range of the island, with many of the dogs so relaxed they were often mistaken for dead at first glance. Giant nocturnal coconut crabs called uga were a particularly surprising creature to run into in some of the caves. Along with the usual diversity of tropical fishes in the sea and geckos and skinks on land, the island is known for its abundance of poisonous (but innocuous) sea snakes, which we frequently found swimming about while we were snorkeling.

        Sara and the sea snake

        A clever gecko finds a warm spot (Photo by Sara)

Fishing is a popular activity for the men. On most evenings many of the men go to their stashed outrigger canoe (often in a cave or under a rocky ledge next to the sea) and paddle out to sea to fish until after sunset. At one popular spot where it is easy to get out to sea, there was a whole flotilla of men in canoes, seeming to do more gossiping than fishing as the tropical sun set behind them.


The island is roughly the shape of a dog bowl. The highest point on the island is a mere 70m high and forms a more or less continuous rim or ring around the island with a large flat depression in the center of the island. The island's morphology preserves its former history as a coral atoll, with its interior formerly a lagoon. Outside of this ring at about 30m elevation are a series of terrace surfaces representing former sea levels- it is on these surfaces that most of the island's population and infrastructure is located. Being composed purely of a porous limestone (and some dolomite), there are no surface streams on the island. Before the introduction of wells, the islanders had to retrieve all of their freshwater supply from caves and chasms that cut deep enough into the island to intersect the freshwater lens within it.

Almost continuous sea cliffs drop down 20-30m to the modern fringing reef platform. Every place on the coast was a little different. Along portions of the south and east coasts where there is no fringing reef, the waves batter straight into the cliffs. There is a finite number of locations where access through the cliffs is possible and it is obvious the routes used today are the same ones that have been used since the start of habitation here. In many cases collapses at the back of well-formationed sea caves provide the best access through the cliffs. We often stumbled upon little beachlets tucked against alcoves at the base of the cliff. Waves from the deep blue South Pacific crash on a narrow fringing reef around much of the island, which is exposed at lowest tide and generally makes for nice walking. Where ever we went I enjoyed the challenge of finding creative ways to sling a hammock in a picturesque spot.

 

 








        It does not take much beach to make paradise.


Although much of the reef is barren (which is thankful as it makes for better walking), channels, guts and pools in the fringing reef make wonderful oases for snorkeling. Many of the pools are overhung, sometimes with underwater archways that connect to neighboring pools. The diversity of corals and fishes was greater than anywhere else I have been. The water temperature was typically a perfect 27 degrees Celcius and we typically snorkeled at every opportunity that presented itself. In places where freshwater issues out of the island's cave system, a half meter thick layer of cool freshwater sits on top of the seawater. Fresh and salt water mixing in this layer gives it an almost milky quality and the visibility is much lower. It was a surreal experience to dive beneath the surface layer into warm crystal clear water beneath. Some of the better snorkeling pools were associated with sea caves, which was an added bonus.




        Snorkeling and cliff jumping in a cave!

Some of the longer tracks on the perimeter of the island cross beautifully rugged stretches of forest-clad karst. We past through mazes of karst towers greater than 6m high, with tropical plants wildly growing out of their pockmarked surfaces. The young nature of the limestone meant the coral fossils in it were incredibly well-preserved, and it was not unusual to see corals over 0.5m across protruding from the rock.





At the periphery of the island, particularly the rough east coast, the lack of soil means the forest gives way to low shrubs and vines, which coat the ankle-twisting and hand-and-knee shredding karst. Within the vicinity of salt spray, the vegetation gives way completely to a complex network of pinnacles, cracks, and crevices. It would be a hell of a place to lose your keys.




In places the karstic terrace surfaces around the island have 20m deep vertical-walled chasms, which resemble slot canyons. These chasms exploit fractures in the rock and seem to be solutional features rather than collapse-related as has been proposed. One of these chasms is floored by white sand and wide enough that a small grove of coconut palms live in the protected environment. Most of the chasms we visited however were narrower and floored by impossibly blue freshwater pools sometimes over 10m deep. Refreshing swims in these pools were often unsettling; the dark recesses below were certainly the things of horror films and the crystal clear water almost gave a sense of vertigo. Strange ancient looking fish inhabited these pools as well as the occasional freshwater eel. In one of these chasms it was possible to free dive the end of a pool and pop up into a blue-lit chamber where the only available light was filtered through the dive. Another popular chasm is connected to the sea and allows for swimming and cliff jumping. These chasms are certainly one of the more adventurous features of the island and I have little doubt some of them have yet to be completely explored...


 






A key requirement of my perfect tropical island would require caves and Niue does not disappoint. In fact it has at least four distinct types: freshwater caves, freshwater/saltwater mixing caves, the previously mentioned chasms (which are often roofed over), and sea caves. Many of them appear to have been more active in the past (associated with higher relative sea levels), which makes exploration easier. Although there is no surface water on the island, there is a significant amount spilling out of natural conduits all over the island. In some cases a cave entrance is obvious, in others it is only by diving that you can access the cave system beyond. Some of the caves with only one entrance had very high humidity making a plunge into any available water body very refreshing. Despite razor-sharp rocks, we carefully caved in only our bathing suits- a definite novelty. Many of the formations exposed to the outside were black or gray in color, but further in many of these caves had lovely cream-colored formations. In one active fresh/saltwater mixing cave, it was obvious after about 50m that we were the first people to explore it. I have never such dramatically serrated and networked bedrock in a cave before in my life. Certainly one of the weirdest caves I have ever seen (wish I had my camera).






The sea caves are enormous in some cases and largely inactive; it appears many of them date to a time when relative sea level was several meters higher than present. I got creative with some large formations and was able to set up a hammock in some places fit for a king. Although there will be no cave system immeasurable to man on this island, the ones it does have are beautiful, fun and very unique.










 

I did my research beforehand and managed to find most of the caves I hoped to visit. Along the way we found many more caves in pristine condition, without hardly trying. To my great surprise we found and explored a virgin cave longer than 300m located incredibly close to one of the island's most popular attractions. I am thoroughly excited at the cave potential remaining to be discovered on Niue. I keep telling myself it is a great big world, but Niue is a small slice of it I would not mind going back to with a more discerning eye. May it never change.

        Thanks to Sara for a very memorable week in paradise.

North Island May 14-18

We managed to have a great few days on the North Island despite some rather lousy weather for much of it. Ambitious hiking plans generally gave way to relaxing hot spring soaks- the best way I know of enjoying cold and rainy weather. I was a bit hesitant to be driving a tourist campervan around, but was surprised by the drivability and power of our faithful home on wheels. The clutch was oddly close to the steering column, such that the instinct was to hit the brakes when I was really looking for the clutch. Once I got used to that, it was no worries, and we took on the winding roads through the Waitakeres to stay at Piha Beach for a night. The storm raged through the night with full blown van shaking thunder. The weather improved slightly in the morning so we took a short walk overlooking Mercer Bay where we enjoyed the clifftop views between pelting fronts of rain and wind.

 
        Mercer Bay between fronts

We then drove south to sample some of the best hot springs the North Island has to offer, courtesy of the Taupo Volcanic Zone, a volcanically active backarc rift with thin, hot crust. All up we visited a half dozen hot springs including some of my favorites and one new one before driving around Lake Taupo to Waitomo. One of the mornings the back and side doors were frozen shut so we had to climb over into the cab to get out the front doors.

 

 

We were unfortunately pressed for time, having to be in Auckland at the end of the next day to catch a flight. We went for a night walk around the Ruakuri walkway, one of my very favorite short walks in New Zealand as the track meanders cleverly along cliffs, through caves and above a loud river. Being a dark night, we were treated to a galaxy of cliffhanging green glowworms contrasting against a tree-fern silhouetted starry sky. We drove the back way out of Waitomo (twice! oops!) to check out an area on Kawhia Harbour I had been drooling over on Google Earth. I pulled up to the farm house in our tourist campervan, dreading the farmer's response. Luckily he was a friendly sort despite a rough exterior and once he established that we were not lost, he was quite happy to let us hike across his paddocks to look at the strange rocks along the coast.

 
        Marokopa Falls

Due to limited time we only got to see a small proportion of the coast, but what I saw greatly impressed me. The stylobedded limestone has been carved in fantastical shapes, in places isolated towers, in places forming archways, and in places forming mazes of rock. It was like a Pancake Rocks that you can walk through (and kayak through at high tide). We had a great time exploring the nooks and crannies. I'd love to spend several days here. We drove on to Auckland and bandit camped near the airport in anticipation for our morning flight to Niue.

 
 

 



Sandfly Bay-Victory Beach April 24

Sandfly Bay to Victory Beach was the last major stretch of coast from Blackhead to Karitane that I have not walked, traversed, swam or kayaked (only the short Lawyers Head remains now). It is the longest solo open ocean kayak trip I have done so far and was one of those trips where I felt like I aged a year in a day. I had a couple good adrenaline rushes from unplanned excitements, but nothing that does not make a good story since I survived. Roundtrip it was about 31km: 17km of kayaking open ocean, 6km of paddling across sheltered inlets, 2km of carrying or dragging the kayak, and about 6km of walking.

I've had my eye on this one for a while, but knew it would be an epic trip unless the swell conditions were just right. Monday's swell looked too good to pass up so I left my intentions with friends and drove out to an empty parking lot at Sandfly Bay. From the carpark the shore break at Sandfly looked a bit bigger than I hoped, but beyond the waves the ocean was as calm as it could be. I carried the kayak and gear as far as the sand dunes, then attached webbing to the kayak and dragged it down the hill. It was even more effective than I hoped, but only served to encourage me onward with my kayak trip as I had no intention of dragging the kayak back up that hill!

I watched the waves for a while, noticing the bigger sets seemed sporadic and unpredictable. There were definitely good calm periods between them though so I decided to go for it. I stayed stationary in the kayak at a position I could easily paddle through the crumbling whitewash and watch the breaking waves beyond. I thought I saw an opening and paddled fervently. Then out of nowhere a large wave rapidly began to build in front of me. I was in the worst possible place and could already tell at this early stage that the wave would crest right where I was. It was too late to turn around or paddle away from the wave. My only choice was to paddle straight at this behemoth. As predicted,  the wave began to crest right as I approached it. I was a haze of instinct and adrenaline as the front of my kayak hit the wall of the wave. I had enough speed that the kayak went halfway up the wave and the nose punched right through as the wave crashed right on top of me. To my great surprise I was still upright a few moments later, bouncing on the turbulent whitewash as it carried me back towards the shore. I paddled to break through the whitewash and could immediately see the next wave. This one was not as big as the first but I did not want to take my chances and jumped out of the kayak and held on for dear life. I made it through that wave alright and one more small one. Seeing a flat horizon I quickly jumped back in the kayak and paddled feverishly. I made it past the shore break and into the calm ocean, more than a little shook up. It took some time for the adrenaline to dissipate.

        Offshore Lovers Leap

The Lovers Leap coastline was very impressive. I kayaked in the shadows of great towering cliffs of black rock with even blacker caves at the base. The natural arch at Lovers Leap was enormous from this lowly angle. I stopped in at the great cave entrance at Sandymount. I had to beach myself on a kelp-covered rock by riding the high point of a surge before the water drained back out. I had a look around the cave and ate lunch as the seal puppies watched or lounged. I then did the reverse maneuver back into the ocean. I had dreaded the 3km open ocean paddle across the bay at Allans Beach, but to my surprise it had the calmest seas and was actually really pleasant. I have never seen the southern ocean so calm!



         So calm!

I kayaked past Wharekakahu and the jumbly crags of Matakitaki Point. I kayaked through Teanaputa, the great catherdal-roofed sea cave tunnel through Cape Saunders. A bit further offshore was a small fishing boat, the first people I saw on the trip. I rounded the next point without much incident and landed on the south end of Papanui Beach for a drink of water and a snack. A large seal was swimming back and forth in the waves in front of me, innocently I thought. When I went to get back in the water he became more threatening- swimming towards me barking and teeth blaring directly in front of my so I would have to paddle through him. I walked the kayak a hundred meters down the beach and he followed, cutting me off from the sea. He was not happy. After this dance continued a bit longer it was clear he was not going to relent and I would have to make a move. I quickly dragged the kayak another hundred meters back, got in the kayak as fast as I could and paddled furiously past the small waves.

On land it was no worries. It was a slow moving blob of fat and I had a 2m paddle. In the water however the roles reversed. I was a small, delicate boat being chased by a giant-toothed torpedo! He caught up to me with ease and darted underneath and to the side of me with teeth on full display as I paddled as fast as I could. Before long there were two of them chasing me agressively and all I could do was keep paddling. I had never really felt threatened by seals before. They chased me for well over a kilometer but I kept paddling hard to the next point to be sure they were behind me. Along the last bit of coast and around the last point, Titikoraki, went smoothly but I kept an extra watchful eye on any seals I saw and made sure to give them their space.

        So clear!

        Papanui Beach

Victory! The channel inlet at Victory Beach was surprisingly benign and I was able to enter it without having to contend with any waves. It was however a rather long way to finally reach the far side of Papanui Inlet. Fortunately I had timed it well and the rising tide was in my favor, as well as the wind.
At the far side I decided to suck it up and carry my kayak and gear the 900m over the hill to Hoopers Inlet. The few cars I passed (including a school bus) seemed amused. I then walked the kayak out into Hoopers until it was deep enough to paddle and paddled across. At the far side I found a suitable place to ditch the kayak and walked the dirt roads up the hill and then walked the track back to Sandfly Bay. Sun was setting on the bay as I climbed the last sand dune before the carpark. I then drove to pick up the kayak and called it a day. It was a wonderful adventure!

        Papanui Inlet

         Back to Sandfly Bay!

Kaumira Canyon April 15

I awoke to the relative roar of birdsong. The others enjoyed waking up to see their surroundings, which reminded me of boy scout camping trips where we would often arrive and set up camp in the dark. It was a cold morning and the sun always seemed just out of reach. We had a leisurely breakfast and packed for the day. By the time we started walking up the hill we were all dripping with sweat. We reached the top of the canyon without incident and suited up. This canyon was a lot slipperier than I remembered! Perhaps it was a function of the low flow (lower than I had seen it before). Since my last visit Kaumira has been fully bolted which made things quick and easy, but took some of the fun out of it. I still really enjoyed the long abseil through the arch, which ended the first half of the canyon.

Intermission was a sunny lunch spot on the side of a hillside. I warmed rapidly as the sun baked vapor off of my wetsuit. We only had one mutiny back down the trail due to the cold and 4 of us continued on. Everyone seemed to adopt a variation on the same dance (utilizing a shoulder strengthening exercise) to keep warm. We said goodbye to the sun at the top of the next abseil (8m jump in my case). This is probably my favorite part of the canyon- two back to back waterfalls with two spectacular plunge pools at their bases.

        Goodbye sun!

We continued on past a few more jumps and downclimbs to the last short abseil. A short walk down the stream brought us to the trail back to the car where Kat was already basking in the sun. Thankfully much of my gear dried as we had a leisurely picnic lunch before heading back to Dunedin. It sounded like everyone had a great time despite being cold! I had an enjoyable time, even after 2.5 trips down this canyon. It is a fun canyon for being not too far away. I think canyoning season is over though!



Thanks to Aaron, Kat, Nina and James.

Woolshed Creek April 14


For a while I have been telling a few friends I would take them on a intro canyoning trip. Suddenly I found myself at the end of the canyon season and decided I better organize a trip quick. Five strong, we met in a light drizzle at the Woolshed Creek carpark near Mt. Somers. I opted to take the longer, but more scenic approach to the top of the canyon which the keen trampers did not seem to mind much. A steep hillside climb gave way to moist tussock tops. A last climb and steep descent around another one of the canyons put us in view of Woolshed Creek Hut. We passed through a beautiful mixed landscape forest, scrub, and rock outcrop and crossed a scenic swingbridge. We had an enjoyable lunch in the sun on the porch of the hut before suiting up and heading down the canyon. Downstream the benign creek became enclosed by outcrop of columnar rhyolite and began to drop in a series of waterfalls abseils. Shivers began almost immediately.



        The start of the narrow Woolshed Creek slot

This canyon was unlike any I had been through in New Zealand. For over a hundred meters the canyon was a true slot, often hands could be placed on both walls simultaneously. The dark grey rhyolite had remarkably good grip with very little algae which was a nice change from the weekend before. We worked our way down several abseils and little downclimbs to the second stream that pours in on the left. Here we climbed up to enjoy a 5m slide and I enjoyed a really nice 5m jump.



        The 5m slide

Often the slot would open up and flatten out before dropping down into another tight slot section. After the abseils, a couple more swims, jumps and slides continued to entertain. The canyon opened into a gorge, but a few more jumpable deep pools remained. Near one I found a 8m high jump into a bottomless pool that almost required a running start to clear the cliff below...great jump though!


Then came the seemingly endless walk down the creek. We were all cold and hungry at this point. Although the walk was very pleasant, I think we were all satisfied to reach the car, having had a really nice trip. I managed to navigate the maze of backroads behind Timaru to Mt Nimrod where we had a great camp spot, bonfire, meal and good night's sleep.

Mather Creek April 9

Power out at the Geology building, good weather and a keen friend prompted a quick getaway to Wanaka to finish off Mather Creek, a canyon I had done a partial first descent of a couple years ago. It had since been fully descended by a couple groups who raved about the canyon so I had to check it out. The canyon is next to Muir Creek and so by association is presumably named after Stephen Mather, the American conservationist. The flow was really low in the Haast River, which meant an easy approach on the riverbank instead of the bush bashing. We reached the creek in good time and then began the 1.5hr climb through steep bush to the start of the track. The going was quite easy until the end when we had to sidle across several small gorge-lets to reach the canyon. No sooner had we reached the start of the canyon had a moderate drizzle set in. We ate lunch and geared up and shortly encountered our first of many waterfalls. The canyon is essentially in three parts with more open streamway between the three segments. The upper section had a couple nice slides then rapid fire abseils. The anchors were kind of awkwardly positioned on the side of the canyon such that it felt a bit more like vertical bush bashing at times than actual canyoning. 






The canyon has many challenging downclimbs and jumps so it was nice to be going through the canyon in low flow and not be worried about the hydraulics. The middle section had some tricky jumps to 14m, which we mostly opted out of for abseiling. This section had some of the best waterfalls and particularly beautiful pools. The bottom canyon is by far the shortest but is probably my favorite. The deepness and darkness of this canyon was enhanced as it was past 5pm by the time we reached it. A couple tricky jumps into shallow water and a spicy downclimb across the full flow of the creek lead to the canyon's grand finale, a roaring 15m waterfall into a bottomless pool guarded by an impressive 6m high rock arch. The force of the waterfall rips misty spray through the arch. Unfortunately we managed to stick the rope on this last abseil. After 20 minutes of trying to free the rope by several strategies dusk had set in and we were forced to call it a day.

The following day we found a easy place to rappel just above the last drop and I managed to easily free my rope unharmed. We wrapped up the day with a pleasant gaunt down Cross Creek. It's too bad I missed most of the canyon season this year- it was not for a lack of motivation or ambition!

Wolf River Fieldwork Mar 2-5

Frontispiece: Young fossil (Taloclamys gemmulata) found in marine silts 580m above sea level, uplifted by the Alpine Fault.

With a narrow but promising weather window forecast over Fiordland, I quickly geared up at the last minute for what regrettably may have been my last bit of PhD fieldwork. This would be the first PhD fieldwork where I did not directly study the Alpine Fault. Rather the goal of this work was to re-find a deposit of young fossiliferous marine silts and sands exposed in large slips at the head of the Wolf River (580m/2000ft elevation) and drainages southward. We would collect any and all shells we found so that a paleontologist collaborator could determine the diversity, environment and water depth the shells were deposited in. I would then give a few of the broken fragments to another collaborator who would be able to date the shells so that I could determine an Alpine Fault-related uplift rate here. For the fieldwork I was fortunate to be joined by one of New Zealand's great field geologists who originally found the shell deposit almost 15 years ago.

An early start from Dunedin had us flying out out of Milford just after noon under overcast skies. We had a great but short flight up the Harrison and over into the John O'Groats to spiral into grassy "flats" near the head of the Wolf River, a large creek between the John O'Groats and Kaipo. In seconds we were out of the chopper and watching it fly out of sight and out of sound. A thorough search for a campsite found sparsely any flat ground but we settled on a sloping spot just inside the bush and set about making it comfortable.


We then walked up the creek towards the towering slip, noticing the occasional chunk of weathered marine silt in the creek. We followed deer tracks to the head of the slip where we found the marine deposit sitting on basement rock. The rock was strongly weathered with all the calcareous fossils gone from the rocks leaving only the imprints, which would be useless to me and of only minor interest to the paleontologists. Things were not looking promising and I began to think we had poorly gambled a helicopter flight to come here. I continued searching the area for fresher material and marking a stratigraphic section through the deposit. A couple hours later I heard a triumphant hoot- Mo had found shell material! I joined him to attack the more promising bluish gray silt outcrop where he found the shell. After digging in about 20cm we began finding fossils with regularity- apparently the calcareous shells had only been leached near the surface and were well-preserved (though delicate) within. A couple hours of careful work revealed over 15 species of molluscs including ones that would be useful for dating! Many were so well preserved they still had their iridescent  mother-of-pearl. Uncovering the fossils was great fun compared to my usual activities of structural measurements and oriented samples and reminded me of my early rock collecting days. Nearing the end of the day, we carefully wrapped up our finds and walked back to camp. We cooked dinner over an open fire in the creekbed as trails of smoke spun into the sky. I was much relieved by the day's eventual success.

The next morning we happily awoke to a cloudless sky and got an early start climbing up the slip past the previous day's outcrops and then headfirst into the bush to gain a well-deer tracked moraine ridge that we could travel to reach the edge of the Wolf River Tablelands, an extensive flat glacial surface beneath which lie the marine silts. We traveled about 1.5km to reach the rim of the next drainage to the west of the Wolf to take in the sobering view- a huge slip complex 700m across lined by 20-40m cliffs of moraine with waterfalls pouring over in places. Below we could see the marine silts we hoped to reach but it was not obvious how we were going to get down the cliffs to reach them. We continued for quite a distance along the rim before eventually finding a sketchy deer trail down through the cliffs to eventually reach the creek and walk up the next branch. Here we found a near perfect section through the entire silt unit with a 35m cliff towering overhead. I set about describing and measuring the base of the section. This time it was I that found the fossil-rich zone in the middle of the steep slope with well-preserved scallops in abundance on the surface. Here the exposure was so good that we could spend most of the time collecting the fossils off of the surface instead of digging through the silt looking for them. Over several hours we found a diverse fauna including scallops, clams, bivavles, gastropods, urchin, barnacles, chiton, mussel and others.

        Here be fossils.

As the day started to get on we headed back. To avoid the long circuitous route back up the cliffs we opted to try our chances at finding a more direct route. This went well for a while but the most promising place still had a 15m high bush clad cliff we would need to scale, including vertical roof-clinging for the last 5m. It looked do-able with care, though definitely with bad consequences if one of us fell. Using quite a bit of strength I pulled myself up the tree roots and shrub stems while wedging myself between a tree and the cliff. Eventually I reached the top and Mo followed, both of us feeling more than a bit triumphant. If only health and safety police could have seen us! We made great time heading back so collected a few more fossils at the Wolf outcrop before yet another great campfire evening.

The following morning we packed up camp and walked down the Wolf River to reach the coast. The day was beautiful and the going down the Wolf remarkably good thanks to low waters, good deer trails and grassy terraces lining the river. At the last turn in the river we abruptly received a beautiful view of Madagascar Beach guarded by a gateway of rock with a nice swimming pool beyond. We reached the beach without incident 2.5 hours after setting out. The sandflies were mostly civil and the warm sun exceedingly welcome on this beautiful and remote beach. We found a campsite and spent the rest of the day walking the bouldery coastline, examining old wave cut terraces that had been uplifted and abandoned. Nothing useful to date but it was worth a try. We had a great little driftwood-fed fire on the beach as the sun set and clouds rolled in from the horizon.

        Exiting the Wolf River

        Above and below: Several views of the remote Madagascar Beach



We had a lazy last day with a prolonged breakfast, then moved on to boredom fighting activities like moving rocks to make a good helipad and untying knotted crayfish pot lines. When those were succeeded we resorted to walking around in circles to avoid a cloud of sandflies landing on us. Eventually the chopper landed and we were whisked away on another beautiful flight back to Milford Sound with many kilograms of precious fossils carefully packed away.

Goodbye sandflies!

It was exceedingly pleasant fieldwork without complaints. Easy, beautiful, productive. Many thanks to Mo, my very keen, capable and accomplished field assistant for the trip.