Colac Bay to Nugget Point

After breakfast we explored the beach at Colac Bay, where we discovered strange creatures lurking in the tidal pools.



We drove to Riverton in search of Something Special, a craft store recommended by a weaver in Colac Bay. Sawyer wanted to find some yarn for Grandmum Chris to knit him a new sweater—one that “looks like a sheep.”

Riverton is an old whaling town and the only safe harbor in the Foveaux Strait, which separates the southern tip of the south island and Stewart Island further south.

For $5 we filled our water tank at the Riverton Caravan Park & Holiday Homes. “So, it’s your campervan making all that noise!” said the proprietor on her way to the laundry room (probably to notice someone’s pocket change rattling in the dryer). I had thought the engine sounded a little rough, but I was hoping it was just my imagination.



At a local petrol station down the hill we relieved both tanks: the grey and the brown, which to this point had remained yellow. Don’t let my gleeful countenance deceive you: next time we are packing waders and a gas mask.

Across the bridge and into town we stopped for fish and chips and diesel.
Brandon, a friendly but green mechanic, diagnosed our excessive engine noise: a loose serpentine belt. He confirmed his diagnosis by spraying the belt with noise enhancer. Unfortunately, his shop had no tensioner—whatever that is—and sent us squealing to the Ford dealership in Invercargill where Bruce, a truck whisperer, stuck his head in the engine.

“Careful!” I almost said, but stopped myself when I remembered he was a mechanic.

“Do you have a tensioner?” I asked smartly.

“Nah, this van has an autotensioner,” said Bruce with his ear on the engine block.

Autotensioner? Sounded like a marketing campaign in need of a product. What’s next? Memory foam?

Bruce removed his head from my hood. “You need a new belt.”

The dealership had no replacement belt in stock, but Bruce removed the belt and ran it over sand paper. When he put it back on the noise was gone.



We were soon on our way through the Catlins, a mix of hilly wood and pasture, to Roaring Bay to look for yellow-eyed penguins, the world’s rarest. A newly build blind on the steep hillside above the beach affords a glimpse of these rare birds, which come ashore in late afternoon to feed their young.



Yellow-eyed penguins don’t march in flocks. Like tuxedo-clad marines, they stealthily emerge from the surf, only to preen for a minute or two before disappearing into the bush.



A stone’s throw up the hill is Nugget Point, site of the Nugget Point Lighthouse. We had dinner in the parking lot before taking a walk to enjoy the panoramic view from the lighthouse perch. As night fell we watched seals and sea lions lounge on the rocks below and a fishing boat, lit up like a Christmas tree, haul in its catch.



When we returned from our walk, our van was the only vehicle left in the parking lot. Too tired to obey the no camping sign, we turned in for the night and listened to the eerie call of the morepork owl.


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