"I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I'll go to it laughing."
Herman Melville, Moby-Dick
We, M, Helen, Michael and I, are going on a whale hunt. We are headed for the famous whale watching trips in Kaikoura, and on the way we will spend a night in Hanmer Springs, famous for, well, its hot springs. Because all whale hunters and other such adventurous sorts need a good long soak every now and then. And a cup of tea.
We park up in our spot for the night, and from there walk through the woods to the springs. It begins to rain as we emerge, a little goose pimpled, from the changing rooms, but this is fine. The springs have many different pools, all at different temperatures and/or mineral contents, and it's rather nice to run between them and sit in warm water being peppered by cold. When we've finished we nip into the pub next door for one of those 'snacks to keep us going' which turns out to be about four 'snacks', each of which is about the size of all four of our heads.
When we roll back out again, burping a little and saying 'phew!' at regular intervals as though the act of eating was some sort of hardcore endurance exercise, we discover that it is pouring with rain and that the very idea of a taxi seems laughable to the locals at Hanmer Springs. Because, you know, everything's walkable. As long as you remembered to bring a torch, obviously. And some sort of coat.
In fact this is lucky, because we walk home turns out to be by far the most fun part of the day.
We have no rain jackets and our only light is Michael's phone. The forest path is totally unlit and goes, well, through the forest.
With no choice, we set off like slightly less glamorous versions of every horror film protagonist who has ever thought it was a good idea to investigate a noise in the attic without turning the light on or wearing anything more protective than a nightie.
Predictably, walking through woods by torchlight in the rain is quite creepy. The horror movie feel is made worse by Michael, who in lieu of an umbrella, is wearing his towel over his head like a cross between something out of The Blair Witch Project and an extra from a children's nativity play. As he lights up his face with his torch, full nostril illumination as per Blair Witch, it occurs to me, suddenly, that if we do encounter a werewolf, ghost or axe murderer, we may not have much trouble scaring it off.
Helen trips over a tree root. I scream.
We arrive home soaked through, whereupon we hang around in the rain a bit more. Because it's funny. And because Michael wants to get a picture of himself with towel on his head.
"...and Heaven have mercy on us all - Presbyterians and Pagans alike - for we are all somehow dreadfully cracked about the head, and sadly need mending."
Herman Melville, Moby Dick
The next morning we move on to Kaikoura. We are all excited. The whale watching trip involves going out on a boat, has rave reviews and tells us that we are actually guaranteed to see at least one whale!
Kaikoura is a small and friendly town, pleasantly reminiscent of an English seaside though without proper, fatty chips as previously bewailed. All looks very promising - until we arrive at the departure office and they tell us that the morning trip has been cancelled for safety reasons, but that we may be able to sail on the afternoon voyage.
Oh. The seas is too rough, apparently. I suddenly remember a cheerful TripAdvisor reviewer, "you WILL chunder", he said. I wonder if an anecdote in which I puke on a whale would be entertaining enough to be worth it. Possibly. Possibly not.
So we go into the town and we find a nice cafe and then we eat our body weight in rich cooked breakfasts. Because that is the only sensible thing to do when preparing for a trip on a rough sea.
We also have desert. Obviously.
"Why, thou monkey...we've been cruising now hard upon three years, and thou hast not raised a whale yet. Whales are scarce as hen's teeth whenever thou art up here"
Herman Melville, Moby Dick
We go back to the office. We are out of luck. There are no whale watching trips today.
Poor Helen has tried to do this several times including on previous trips to New Zealand. Maybe, I suggest, it is an elaborate con and no whale watching trips have ever actually gone. And there are no whales to be seen off the coast of New Zealand.
Oh well.
We are a little disappointed, but apparently we are in the right locality to possibly spot a few seals.
“It is not down on any map; true places never are.”
Herman Melville, Moby Dick
Of course the place for the seals is impossible to find. In the end we almost stumble upon it after parking up at a 'look out spot'.
"I am not sure we are actually gping to see any seals," I say laughingly, as we all get out of our vehicle/homes and walk to the lookout. "Never mind though. We've got card games."
We peer over the wall, down at the rocky outcrop below.
There are hundreds of seals.
Some are feeding their pups, lying out, tilted carefully so that the slippery, sliding pup can get a good grip on her teats. Others sit up straight, barking into the spray filled air to warn off any passing intruders. Some smaller pups are alone, their mothers out hunting, and they seem a bit lost, dragging themselves around rather plaintively, only to be warned off by a growl and a snap from the adults if they come to close to another, feeding pup. Other pups are curious and full of energy, fighting each other in the shallows. A natural circle of rocks a little elevated from the water, but nevertheless filled by the occasional high wave, forms a sort of seal swimming pool, and heaves with activity, the water in it churning with playful, diving baby seals. It's amazing. We all sort of lose each other a bit as we gaze down. We take numerous pictures and I take several identical videos, trying in vain to capture the sound, sight and smell of so many seals.
When we can finally tear ourselves away, we decide to go for a quick walk up the stream that leads to a small waterfall where apparently the seal pups like to go when they are old enough, to play.
I expect there to be some pups. But I expect them to be far away, small shapes in the waterfall perhaps, which we can view from behind a fence of some sort.
They are l literally at our feet. The walk along the stream is just that, we stroll right next to the stream, and every now and then a small shape appears, and bullets it's way smoothly and expertly past us in the water. One pup has paused in his journey upstream, and is turning somersaults in the water, alternately rolling and swimming, hiding and floating, comically, on his back, for all the world as though he is deliberately showing off.
As we reach the waterfall the seals are all around us. They slide down from the steep grassy banks into the waterfall, they writhe about under the falling water, the fight each other at the sides, once losing balancing and tumbling, together, into the pool, with all too obvious and abundant joy.
"The pups are curious," says a sign, "and may approach you. If they do, gently back away."
It seems to me we are intensely privileged to have the opportunity to 'back away' from a seal pup. We are all entranced and all of us, separately and on multiple occasions, point out that if we had gone whale watching today, we would have missed this, we would not have had time to see it in daylight. And the whales, if we were to have seen them, could hardly have been this close to us. At least not without a rather unfortunate capsized boat into the equation.
We stay there a long time, taking more pictures of our delighted faces with nonplussed looking seal pups in the background.
"Stupid seals," says the lady at the nearby camping ground that evening, "coming out suddenly from behind a rock to roar at you when you're trying to walk the dog."
Maybe adult seals, with their strong smell and their imposing size might not be the ideal companions for a quiet coastal walk...
But we don't mind. We don't see seals every day. We go out for a walk that evening on the exact stretch of beach she describes, hoping to see a seal. We do. (Though admittedly we keep it at a very safe distance.) We go back to our campers enormously happy.
And who needs a whale anyway?
I never did understand Moby Dick.
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