Sheep, More Sheep, and Penguins

Kristie Post
Monday (Chad has already written an entry for the day, but here's how I see it....)

We're staying in the southernmost part of the island known as the Catlins. We drove her from Te Anau on the southwest coast via the "Scenic Southern Route," which we were told is especially gorgeous and worth a bit more time than the more direct roads. The landscape in the Catlins is really different from anywhere else we've been on the island. We've traded the mountains for green, rolling hills that stretch to the horizon. And, of course, LOTS of sheep. It seems like the type of landscape one would expect to find in Ireland. It's pretty, but I'm already missing the fiordlands, glacier hikes, and mountains. I'm impressed, however, by the diversity of such a small island.

We book ourselves last minute at a quirky cottage right on Porpoise Bay in the southern tip of the island. We're done van camping. The beach here is pristine.On the other side of this cove begins a coastal petrified forest - mineralized wood stumps and logs strewn about chaotically.

One of Chad's goals for the trip was to see a penguin. This beach is home to one of the rarest types of penguins - the Yellow Eyed Penguin. Each evening around sunset, the penguins pop out of the sea, and march through the petrified forest to the hillside, where they spend the night and care for their young. We get to the ancient beach and speak to one of the rangers roaming around. He tells us there are only around six penguins in the colony here, but that only two have been spotted recently on their nightly journey back from the sea. We quickly discover this has become quite the spectacle - for both tourists and locals alike. As sunset approaches there are nearly 50 or so of us who have come to witness this homecoming. We wait and watch the sky. It is twilight. The sky now a powdery pink, and the pools in the cove are aglow. Not many seem to notice, impatiently awaiting the arrival of the penguins. 

Curio Bay at Twilight

Finally, a single penguin pops out of the sea. It stands erect before the crowds for a moment, then begins preening itself, sorting it's feathers. The ranger informed us earlier that this is vital for their survival on land. With cameras in hand, the crowd creeps closer, hoping for a better shot - even though the sun has already set and the low lighting will likely produce dismal results. I stay where I am and watch the spectacle. But, wait! Another one appears on the other end of the bay! This one has much further to waddle, and must pass through the crowd to get home. Half the crowd abandons the first penguin, and closes in on the new arrival. The information panel informed us that these creatures get stressed by contact with humans, and yet, here we are obstructing their nightly march back home. I can't help but feel bothered by this, and a little ashamed as a participant. I am reminded of a scientific theory known as the Observer Effect, which states that the mere act of observing something changes it. This can certainly be seen here, and in tourism in general. Makes me wonder what this place will look like in another ten years. What will become of these adorable and rare creatures? I take a picture from where I stand. Chad and I make our way back to the cottage, walking along the beach. As the crowds behind us gather, the clouds above us part - and the southern constellations start taking shape. It is the Southern Cross, not the northern star, which orients us. We recognize Orion by his bejeweled belt. The other stars and constellations are unknown to us, but we are grateful for their brilliance. Chad makes a fire in the wood-burning stove, than cooks eggs for our last backpacker meal of the trip. We eat happily, and are soon lulled to sleep by the sound of fire and water.