A DARING CRUISE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3672, 29 July 1924, Page 67

A DARING CRUISE.

By

A. Leader

(For the Witness.) (See Illustrated Pages.) [This plain narrative tells the story of an adventurous cruise in a 30ft launch, with a 4-h.p. engine, over 60 miles across Foveaux Straits to the mutton bird islands. On the long route there are considerable stretches with no known safe anchorages, and the voyager, Mr A. Leader of Riverton, has established a record.—Ed. O.W.] On Easter Saturday I sailed from Riverton at 2 p.m., and although calm there was a heavy swell in Foveaux Strait. Stopping at Tiaka Island to get a bundle of flax for use on the mutton bird island, I than proceeded to Centre Island to land a lady passenger, wife of one of the lightkeepers, who, on arrival, invited me to spend the night at the lighthouse with them prior to sailing for South Cape. I was sorry to refuse their kind offer, and after drawing their attention to the west, I pointed out the signs which indicated a prolonged spell of very wild weather, and sailed again at 5 p.m. in a direction due south. A little after 6 o’clock I was alone in darkness in the middle of Foveaux Strait, the moon being obscured by the clouds. The compass then proved my best friend until reaching Codfish Island at 9 p.m. After passing Codfish by about two miles I encountered a strong north-wester with a heavy sea, which commenced breaking over the launch, and I was obliged to put back to Codfish for sprelter, dropping anchor in a little nook called Roderique’s Anchorage. I turned in for the night. On rising at 6.30 a.m. next morning, the wind had died away, leaving a nasty heavy cross sea. No sooner was the anchor up and the little blue launch under way again, when a shoal of something like a hundred porpoises started frolicking around the launch and kept me company the whole journey, a distance of about 32 miles, until reaching South Cape at 11.20 a.m. They disappeared from view on the anchor being lowered and were not seen again. I was satisfied by the actions of the mammals that my prediction of a spell of bad weather would prove correct. It must have- been a splendid sight for the .people on the three islands which I passed close by to see the spouts of the porpoises, rising’ to the suri face to blow, with the froth and foam like boiling water all round the launch as she steamed along. The Maoris advised me never to interfere with these fish on such occasions. They term them “He Kai Arahi,” meaning the ships’ escorts. When nearing the group of islands the sight of the code hoisted half-mast was sufficient for the Maoris that the little craft conveyed sad news. An old muttonbirder known as “Mitihao” (Mr John Davis, of Colac Bay) died at the Riverton Hospital just prior to the launch, leaving the mainland. Mr M. Collision. boarded the launch on arrival and with others remarked that during the twenty-seven years that he had been visiting South Cape annually he had never known porpoises in such numbers to follow any vessel and act like they did oil this occasion, stating that the sight was worth seeing. The mutton-birders had been at work about a month before my arrival, and mine being the first vessel to arrive since they had landed, I was invited to dine with them. Sunday is reserved as sacred by Maoris on these islands, and my arrival on a Sunday afforded them interest for the remainder of the day, listening to all the latest news and hapoenings on the mainland, including the railway strike, etc. That same day the death of Mr Davis was made known to the people on adjoining islands by Morse code signalling. Some ot the returned Maori soldiers from the (Ireat War are experts at signalling either bv night or day. On Wednesday, the 23rd., 3 days later, at 9 a.m.., the schooner Britannia arrived in charge of the owner Mr Wm. Dixon, with the news that the railways were at a standstill throughout New Zealand, which prevented us from sending fresh mutton-birds to our many friends at home. The commencement of a fortnight's very stormy weather set in this day. Southerly gales with tremendous seas made matters nupleasant for both the owner of the Britannia and myself. The “Brit.” disappeared on the 27th. conveying the news to my wife “All’s well.’ On the 29th, the gale reached hurricane force, and hail stones fell at times nearly the size of sparrows’ eggs. The next vessel to arrive, on May 6, was the schooner Ivekeno, in charge of Captain Hausen, of Halfmoon Bay, but disappeared again same day before a nor’west gale. On Sunday the bitterly cold southerly gale reached huricane force with heavy showers. This wild weather caused all the birds to leave the islands from eight to ten days earlier than usual, and together with a poor season resulted in tile pursuers only getting small catches this season. On May 19, the schooner Hekeno and ketch Lily arrived to pick up their passengers and cargo for the return journey. At 8.60 a.m. next morning the little blue launch after weighing anchor, set sail with cheers and farewells, she was first to leave the .South Cape for home, and within a few hours disappeared from view, passing Rugged Island at dusk, where some of the Stewart Island fishing fleet were sheltering for the night. Again entering the Straits in darkness, with a loppy heavy sea and strong north-easter, she entered the Riverton Harbour at 10.20 p.m. The sounding of the fog signal as I steamed up to the wharf brought my wife out of her bed. She met me on the wharf with the nerw3 that the rumour in Riverton a few days before was that my launch was wrecked a week ago in the last soutlierly gale. But our little launch had safely returned to home, sweet home.