In the Auckland Islands, nature rules

Brad Avery

Editor’s note: This is the third in a five-part series on OCC’s Alaska

Eagle’s 2,300-mile journey from Tasmania to New Zealand.

The Auckland Islands are devoid of humans. Atrocious weather and soggy

soil doomed several settling attempts during the last 150 years.

However, after our arrival from Macquarie Island, we discovered that the

Aucklands do have residents who lead an idyllic life. They keep

beachfront residences and live off of the sea. It’s a bigamous society,

where the males keep half a dozen females occupied, lolling on the beach

day after day.

So we shouldn’t have been surprised when were chased off of the first

beach we landed on by a male hooker sea lion. Rarest of the five species

of sea lions, he has a good thing going and doesn’t want anyone messing

with his slice of paradise.

The Aucklands, New Zealand’s World Heritage reserve, are located at 50

south and 166 east, about 250 miles south of New Zealand’s South Island.

Virtually no one visits. These lush volcanic islands are cold and

desolate. But they are also blessed with incredible topography and

biodiversity. There are dozens of coves, fjords and beaches. And each of

these sheltered places has a resident hooker sea lion family headed by a

600-pound bull with big teeth and a full lion’s mane.

The majority of the 6,000 hooker sea lions reside in the Aucklands. A

notable sea lion trait is the ability to move quickly on land, thanks to

front and rear flippers, which turn sideways and allow them to “stand”

upright and move, when inspired, about as fast as a jogger through rough

terrain.

After landing on the beach at Camp Cove in Carnley Harbor, I was sitting

on a rock up the beach when a sea lion emerged from the water and started

ambling toward me.

“How interesting,” I thought. “He’s curious about who this new animal is

on his beach.” Then the sea lion picked up his pace, and I realized he

was furious, not curious. Fellow crew member John was with me.

Fortunately, John had developed a limp after falling during a previous

climb. We scrambled off the beach onto some tussockhigh ground, confident

that the sea lion wouldn’t follow. He did, and quickly.

Soon we were making our way through the Rata forest over dead trees and

through bogs, looking back to see if the sea lion was following. He was,

a huge gray mass snorting and lumbering uphill with amazing ease. John,

fearful that his limp might cause a Darwinian result, climbed a nearby

tree.

I doubled back for the beach, then heard the rest of our crew returning

from a hike. The sea lion followed, and John snuck back to the beach

behind him. We all ran for the dinghy, followed by the sea lion.

The dinghy was launched just as the sea lion’s teeth nipped at the

outboard’s propeller. We paddled into deep water and started the motor,

getting back to Alaska Eagle as our adversary circled, his nostrils

snorting just above the water. This experience was duplicated at another

cove the next day. The crew was held at bay from the dinghy by a huge

bull who charged from the beach into the bush whenever someone appeared.

Finally Mac and Don got to the dinghy and moved it to where the crew

safely boarded it.

The most extreme sea lion encounter occurred today. We brought Alaska

Eagle into remote Musgrave Inlet, to hike one kilometer to Lake Hinemoa,

a beautiful body of water fed by a dozen waterfalls cascading from a

1,000-foot high cresent-shaped terrace.

For an hour, eight of us bushwhacked through dense forest, alternately

walking and crawling through incredibly thick barriers of Dracophyllum,

Rata and Myrsine. We forged streams and bogs every 10 minutes; the

previous day’s rains made everything mushy. Suddenly we heard a distant

roar/snort, then another.

We kept on going, finally reaching the lake, which was a beautiful sight

if a little overgrown around the edges. Andy began to lead us across a

major stream when we looked down and saw the sea lion glaring up at us

from under the water. He emerged and charged.

We all scattered. It was incredible that this beast would be this far

inland. Bruce Tice and I ran pell-mell to the north, and as luck would

have it, the sea lion followed. Bruce turned, waved his arms and roared.

The sea lion charged. We ran like hell, scrambling and crawling through

the bush, looking back and always seeing a quarter-ton of intent marine

life coming at us.

We finally lost him and met up with the others back at the side of the

lake. After a few minutes of gathering our wits, the sea lion suddenly

swam up and lumbered into the nearby reeds. This was getting old.

The chase was on again. We ran down a marked trail, Robbie and Lee out in

front. We stopped, breathing hard. From around the corner, the sea lion

came, snorting and wild-eyed. It was time to make a stand like men. Bruce

and Andy confronted him.

He hesitated, then lunged, jaws agape. Bruce hit him over the head with a

big Rata branch, which promptly broke in two and had no effect on the sea

lion. It did create the oddest look on Bruce’s face. We fled again, all

the way to the beach, where two more sea lions hastened our entry into

the dinghy.

From the safety of Alaska Eagle’s deck, we saw the pinnipeds on the rocks

gazing out at us, nobly standing upright on elevated flippers. The beach

was theirs again. The lake too. We never saw a human other than our crew

during our stay in the Aucklands. Wild and beautiful, these subantarctic

islands are dominated by the sea and its inhabitants.

Man’s makings have never taken hold here. Along with the weather, the

dense forest and sheer cliffs, that hooker sea lion was just doing his

part to defend one of nature’s last frontiers.

* BRAD AVERY is skipper of the Alaska Eagle.