Dire straits
D'Urville Island is separated from the mainland by a formidable waterway (4 minute preview, 10 minute full article)
As I’ve been writing about islands, I haven’t considered the character of the water which separates them from other land nearby. I’ve considered the distance, as I did when I wrote about Niue and the islands in the Indian Ocean. I’ve considered the difficulty of landing, as I did when I wrote about Round Island near Mauritius, or Fuvamulah in the Maldives. But the water itself is important too.
When I visited Rangitoto recently, I gave no thought to what the crossing would be like, just as I never worry when I catch the ferry to Waiheke. The waters of the inner Hauraki Gulf are calm enough that even someone like me, who is prone to seasickness, can make the crossing without difficulty. On the other hand, as much as they fascinate me, I doubt that I will ever see New Zealand’s sub-Antarctic Islands. Spending a couple of weeks on a ship in the Southern Ocean sounds utterly miserable to me. I would love to return to Hauturu/ Little Barrier Island, but I dread the journey there.
Of all the waters I’ve crossed to reach islands, Te Aumiti, or French Pass, is the one which fascinates me the most. Te Aumiti is the passage between D’Urville Island, or Rangitoto ki te Tonga, and a finger of land on the edge of the Marlborough Sounds. At its narrowest, it’s only 500 metres wide, a distance I could walk in under 10 minutes. From the road on the way into the settlement at French Pass, the island is so close it seems as if I could shout a message to someone over there. Yet D’Urville Island is more inaccessible, and less often visited, than many of the islands I have written about.
D'Urville Island is one of New Zealand’s largest islands, between Aotea/Great Barrier Island and Waiheke Island in size. But while Waiheke has a permanent population of thousands and Aotea hundreds, D’Urville has only a few dozen residents. It’s one of the most remote places I’ve been in New Zealand.
At that time, my job routinely had me leaving home in Nelson before seven, driving a couple of hours to one of the local Department of Conservation offices, putting in a day of field work and then driving home at the end of it. Even so, the 2 ½ hour drive to French Pass, much of it on a narrow gravel road, stood out. I can still picture the road today. The first part was routine, north from Nelson and then inland along the Whangamoa Road, through exotic forest plantations. I knew every inch of that road, every interesting tree from the Mexican pines with graceful, drooping needles to the rimu trees with branches laden with native perching lilies.
But soon I turned off the familiar road and up a narrow valley, a thin belt of farmland either side of the river giving way to regenerating native forest. As I drove, I had half an eye on the weeds growing on the roadsides. Whenever I travelled somewhere new, there was always the chance of finding something which hadn’t been reported from the region. I’m proud of my ability to identify plants while driving – not once have I had a panicky passenger remind me to watch the road rather than plants, which is a common problem among botanists.
After an hour and a half on the road, I emerged from the forest and down to Ōkiwi Bay, which was the largest settlement I passed on the trip, with around 200 houses, mostly holiday homes. Then the road became much narrower and rougher, sidling along steep, forest-covered hills until I reached a low saddle where I could see the sea on both sides. From here on, the road followed a ridgeline, eventually emerging into farmland. Although I know that pasture on steep New Zealand hills is bad for the land, and our waterways, I was still exhilarated by the view. The sky was blue, the grass was green and the road a streak of yellow-brown clay. The sea was far below, in shades of azure and turquoise, and it almost felt like soaring, driving such a narrow road with the land dropping precipitously away. But I wasn’t soaring, because the road was rutted and twisting. I drove cautiously, and an energetic runner could have overtaken me.
Just before the road dropped down to the cluster of houses, campground and jetty which makes up the settlement of French Pass, I stopped to look down at the water. I was directly above Te Aumiti, and the water was so clear I could see the rocks beneath the surface. It was a calm day, but as I looked across to D’Urville Island, I could see a strip of water foaming and roiling across the narrowest point of the strait. This waterway is probably New Zealand’s most treacherous, with the fastest tidal flow in the country and a noticeable change of water level as you pass through on a boat.