Saturday morning started early, because we had to be at the airport no later than 8:30 a.m. for our flight to Stewart Island. I awoke a little before 5:30 a.m. and posted Friday’s trip report and worked on a manuscript that needs to be submitted by Monday. It wasn’t until I read an email from a friend checking to see that we were OK that I even knew an earthquake had hit Christchurch.
Invercargill was far enough south to escape even feeling the quake. We were thankful that the reports said there were no major injuries. We finished packing our bags, checked out of the hotel, and made the ten-minute drive to the airport.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Stewart Island Flights 151
IVC-Stewart Island Airstrip
Scheduled Departure/Arrival: 9:00 a.m./9:20 a.m.
Actual Departure/Arrival: 8:55 a.m./9:20 a.m.
Britten-Norman Islander
Seats two rows behind the pilot
We pulled into the parking area for Invercargill Airport around 8:00 a.m., and finding a parking spot was easy. We got our duffel bags and backpacks and left our larger luggage in the trunk of the car. There were only a few other people in the terminal building, and they were all watching coverage of the earthquake:
We called home to let family know all was well with us. Around 8:30 a.m., the check-in desk for Stewart Island Flights opened and we got our tickets and checked our duffels. We were told that boarding would start around 8:45 a.m., so we waited around.
Boarding the eight pax was quick,
and we rolled out about 5 minutes early. Taxi down the runway was speedy, and we turned around and took off. Neither Mr. FB nor I particularly like small planes, but we can handle just about anything for 20 minutes. The flight went a bit west of Bluff as we left the South Island:
We flew across Foveaux Strait. Seeing how rough the sea looked, we were grateful that we did the flight instead of the ferry. Before we knew it, we were flying over Stewart Island:
Our approach gave us some great views, but it looked as though we were descending into a forest. Actually, we were—a forest with a landing strip in it. There is no airport on the island, and the “terminal” was a coach waiting to take us to Halfmoon Bay:
The drive into the village was very short, and Brett from the Bay Motel was waiting for us. He warned us that our room was not ready, but we anticipated that. Brett gave us a brief tour of Halfmoon Bay on the very short drive to the motel and introduced us to his wife Jenny. She told us that the room we had reserved was not ready, but she offered to show us two other rooms that were. Satisfied with the accommodations and the views, we took Room 5. We dropped off our bags and relaxed a few minutes while Jenny fetched some milk and flashlights for us. She told us that we would need to flashlights if we went out after dark.
We walked back down to the waterside and inquired about the 11:00 a.m. Village and Bays Tour. We booked the tour, because we realized it would be our best opportunity to see the parts of the island that were outside of the center of the village. While we waited for the tour to begin, we admired the village’s “main drag” from across the bay:
As it turned out, we were the only ones on the tour. We had Gary, our tour guide, all to ourselves, and he did a great job of introducing us to the island. The highlights were the views from Observation Rock:
and the cul de sac of a subdivision overlooking Halfmoon Bay:
The weather was very changeable: sunny one minute, windy and rainy the next. When the 90-minute tour ended, Gary dropped us at the Rakiura Museum for a quick look at the history of the island. From there, we went to the South Sea Hotel for a hearty lunch of battered blue cod and chips.
I’d like to tell you that we spent the afternoon exploring the different walking tracks on the island. However, we relaxed, watched reports of the earthquake and plane crash at Fox Glacier, and enjoyed the views from our room:
I worked a little more on the manuscript, and somehow our appetites came back. It must be the salt air. We went back to the South Sea for dinner. More fried food for dinner. The Stewart Island mussels were too tempting not to order:
Stuffed with food, we walked back up the hill to the motel and enjoyed the peaceful night. When the only sounds you hear are the wind blowing against the window and the birds calling (and you can’t get a signal on your mobile phone), you know you’re someplace special.