Wind, calm, wind
The second half of March picked up right where the first left off—two days of wind, two days of calm, and then right back to wind again. It became a rhythm whether we liked it or not. Rather than making miles, we spent most of our time shifting from one anchorage to the next, always looking for the best protection from whatever system was next in line. By the end of it, thanks to both persistence and a healthy respect for not being dragged onto rocks, we had managed to visit nearly every anchorage in the greater Port Fitzroy area of Great Barrier Island. Each one had its own character, its own quirks, and its own way of keeping us just comfortable enough to stay another night.
A short hop from Smokehouse Bay brought us to Kiwiriki Bay, where fellow cruisers had enthusiastically recommended what they called “the best trail on the island.” That was enough to get us moving during the next weather window. The following morning we loaded into the dinghy, landed ashore, and set out to see what all the hype was about.
The trail began innocently enough, leading us to the valley floor and following what was supposed to be a lively creek. In my head, I had already pictured clear water, birds, maybe even a few moments of actual wilderness serenity. What I had not pictured was my wardrobe choice. Shorts turned out to be a mistake almost immediately. The trail narrowed quickly, the brush closed in, and within minutes my legs were being introduced to every thorny plant on the island. A quarter mile in, the “trail” became more of a suggestion—just faint depressions in knee-high grass sharp enough to slice skin on contact. Another quarter mile later, now scratched and bleeding in multiple places, we made the call to turn around. We never even made it to the river.
Later, talking it over, we figured one of two things had happened: either we had somehow found the wrong trail despite matching the name and location perfectly, or we had been handed a classic cruiser initiation—send the newcomers off to the “best hike” and see how long it takes them to come back. Personally, I’m leaning toward the second theory. Naturally, we made sure to pass along the same glowing recommendation to the next cruisers we met.
Our next stop, Kaiaraara Bay, gave us access to a small ferry landing with a burger shack, a tiny store, and just enough infrastructure to get things done. We needed to rent a car to reach a pharmacy on the other side of the island, and we weren’t entirely sure how that was going to work from a remote anchorage.
As it turns out, island logistics are refreshingly simple. A quick phone call, a description of the car, and a license plate number was all it took. The keys were on the floor of the vehicle, parked at the store. No credit card. No deposit. Just a photo of my license and a promise to leave cash in the glove box when we were done. That was it. Car rented.
We drove across the island to sort out the prescription, and along the way the rental guy had suggested a couple of “must see” spots. One of them involved hot springs, which meant we were absolutely going. The hike in was about a mile and a half, flat and easy, and—most importantly—free of bloodshed. At the end, tucked into the landscape, were quiet natural hot springs. We soaked for a while, letting the accumulated aches of the past weeks fade out in warm water, and had the whole place to ourselves.
The second recommendation came with a warning: “some stairs, but the view is worth it.” The word some carried just enough hesitation that we should have asked follow-up questions. The stairs, when they arrived, went straight up between two towering rock walls. After finishing that section, expecting the view, we were instead greeted with… more stairs. Twice as many. Same steep angle. Same narrow rock corridors. Eventually, after far more climbing than I had agreed to, we reached the top. The view, to be fair, was worth it. We stood there for a while, taking it all in, before carefully wobbling our way back down, legs reminding us exactly how many stairs we had just conquered.
The next day, we were back on the move again, shifting anchorages to stay ahead of yet another incoming blow. Life on Great Barrier had settled into a pattern: find protection, wait it out, move when you can, repeat. April was approaching, and based on last year, that wasn’t exactly encouraging. If March was unpredictable, April had a reputation for being outright unpleasant.
Still, for the moment, things were working. We were afloat, we were adapting, and between the storms there were just enough calm days to explore, reset, and enjoy where we were.
