--- Archive files ---

Quiet Hamlet at the End of the World

The tiny plane I had travelled across Foveaux Strait came to a complete stop just before the end of the runway. I had by then seen there was a road going through the forest to the runway at the end we had landed on a low hill on Stewart Island. There was a van parked beside the runway. We were at the far end so the plane made a sharp turn around the spoon shaped end of the runway and taxied back to the other end. The pilot told us to get off the plane with our luggage and climb in the van on the sealed alcove next to the runway.

Once we were in the van the pilot climbed back in the plane and took off along the short runway climbing steeply into the sky to be enveloped by the clouds before heading back to Invercargill. Now we were in a van at the end of the runway set in the middle of forest. The van pulled onto the runway to drive along its remaining length before following the bumpy road towards Oban. The narrow road passing through the scrubby forest climbed down the hill for a kilometre before we stopped for the driver to let us through a locked gate. No doubt this was to prevent anyone else from going to the remote runway. The van trundled another kilometre before we started passing a number of small houses to the main road running along the foreshore. We stopped outside a few shops (one being the airport terminal) and we were left to go on our merry way to find our accommodation.

From the main street in Oban I walked up to my accommodation. I had booked it through the company I was going to be travelling with when I had made the bookings a few weeks ago. I had a map and realised they were a fair way up the hill.

I walked up the relatively steep hill road and found the nice three storey house. It had a small sign out the front confirming this was the right address. It didn’t have any spectacular entrance though, just some stairs going through the garage. I climbed them to the top reaching a small home office at the top. The lady there was the owner and she took me up to the next level where she showed me my room for the next couple of nights. It had two single beds and traditional wooden framed windows looking out over the bay a fair way below. She then took me to the kitchen and dining room where there were a few other people making dinner. It was her house that she had bought and converted into a share accommodation hostel. The top storey was her private area.

I settled into the room. It was rather cold and I noted there was no heating. Once settled I walked into the hallway and went out onto the balcony from where I had a really nice view across Oban, the main town in Stewart Island, and the closest permanent settlement to the magnetic south pole.

Oban sits in Half Moon Bay, Stewart Island’s main port. I recalled Foveaux Strait appearing very rough and angry from the plane. In stark contrast, the two sweeping headlands of the bay and several offshore islands ensured this was a very calm haven for the local fishing boats.

Now that I had settled, I collected my key and camera and walked back down the road towards the town centre. Despite the gentle breeze the water in the bay was almost flat with just a ruffling of the surface. There was a large white pub in the middle of the town with a large chess set on grey and white tiled squares in the grassy verge above the water. It was rather quiet here with few people around.

Towards the far side of the bay was the port, where a sizable fishing wharf with a few buildings stood out in the water. There was a small four square supermarket at the end of the wharf across the road. This was the only supermarket in town, and no doubt everything there will be quite expensive with needing to be shipped over from the mainland.

There were a lot of boats moored in the harbour. Whether these belonged to locals or to visitors I didn’t know, but for a town of 400 people the number of boats seemed somewhat excessive. The headlands of the bay were covered in native forest.

After a short walk through the town I returned towards the hotel. On the way I found a good fish and chip shop. Fish and chips are a New Zealand tradition, but it is widely known that the best fish and chips come from Stewart Island. I found a large caravan by the side of the road that had the reputation of selling the best fish and chips in New Zealand. I stopped there for dinner before returning to the hostel.

View all photos...

--- Archive files ---

© 2001-2020 walkaboutjeff.com - Copyright - Disclaimer - Who is Walkabout Jeff?