Following a 7.8 magnitude earthquake in November of 2016, for almost a year the town of Kaikoura remained cut off from the rest of New Zealand and subsequently the world. Massive rock slides, or “slips” as the Kiwis say, covered the main highway in mountains of rock, locking in the small town. While the removal of debris allowed some routine traffic to resume, required permits and other limitations continued to make travel in and out of Kaikoura difficult, if not impossible.
Even in recent months, with some roads finally cleared and navigable, visitation has remained unreliable. In fact, when signing up for my GAdventures New Zealand Tour back in February, the CEO informed me the group might visit Nelson, a funky art town near Picton instead. There wasn’t any guarantee we’d have access to Kaikoura, so we planned accordingly.
While traveling the South Island, we received periodic updates on Kaikoura’s viability as a destination and the closer we got the less likely a visit seemed. In addition to earthquake damage, a few cyclones had passed through, exacerbating the wreckage and halting any re-construction. Knowing this, and little else about Kaikoura, I didn’t feel overly concerned missing it. What’s more I began wondering how enjoyable a visit would be following such natural disasters. Uncertainty hung over the final few days of the trip, with no one quite sure where we’d land. We only learned a few hours in advance that the necessary road had been sufficiently cleared and so we made our way to Kaikoura.
As we approached the town, I saw signs of the earthquake in all directions. Cones diverted traffic into makeshift lanes squeezed along the water’s edge. Rocks, once submerged, now loomed above the water. Men hung high on cliffs to cover the ridges with protective netting. For the first time, I understood the true extent of the damage and the impact it likely had on the town. I began to wonder… How much would be operational? Would our activities run smoothly, if at all? If this much work continued one year post-earthquake, was visiting even worth our time?
With these questions lodged in the back of my mind, we arrived at our first activity. Pulling into a small parking lot just outside of town, we leapt out, backpacks in hand. Catching sight of our upcoming transportation, I stopped in my tracks, gawking at the machines before me. Despite severe motion sickness, a scenic flight with Air Kaikoura, and actually piloting said flight, had seemed like a good idea a few days ago. I now, however, felt dread seeping in. The closer we got to the planes, the larger the lump in my throat grew. Yet, with reassurances from the staff and our GAdventure’s guide, we split into two groups. The plan was to alternate between piloting in the front and sightseeing from the back, landing between everyone’s turn.
Racing down the runway for our first flight, Maria sat comfortably in the driver’s seat. We quickly left the ground behind us, climbing higher and higher, my comfort level growing with each bit of elevation gained. I prepared my camera and started taking in the sights. Pods of dolphins spotted the turquoise water below. Jagged mountains lined the horizon. Lush green farms covered the rolling hills and flatland. The large peninsula on which Kaikoura sat jutted out into the ocean, dotted with houses and the occasional seal. Our pilot took control momentarily and before we knew it, we were looking directly down onto the waves below, spinning at such a rate we briefly felt the effect of G-forces. In the next second we roller coastered up and down, our stomachs in our throats, as we experienced zero gravity.
The sights and the sensations washed away any doubt I had about the state of Kaikoura and its appeal. In that moment I realized the earthquake had not lessened or altered Kaikoura’s majesty. It had, instead, simply hidden it from the outside, turning once well-known knowledge into the country’s best kept secret. Only now, a little over a year later, was it once again being told. I immediately knew, sitting in this tiny plane, that I’d become an insider. In the throes of experiencing one such secret, I couldn’t wait to uncover all that the town had to offer.
With feet firmly back on the ground, we headed to our accommodation. Adrenaline still coursing through my body, I eagerly swapped stories with those who’d opted for other afternoon activities. From swimming with seals to strolling the peninsula to fishing for cod and lobster, the genuineness with which my friends recounted their afternoons made me wish I had time to experience them all.
For dinner the group ventured to Cooper’s Catch. In such a marine-focused town, we simply couldn’t miss out on the opportunity to indulge in freshly caught fish n’ chips. The menu had everything: scallops, mussels, clams, squid, and multiple kinds of fish. All fried. They even offered to fry the fish that our group had caught earlier in the day. Piled high with seafood, we set off to enjoy our meal on the beach. On the rocks, we passed the food around, trying a bit of everything until our stomachs could hold no more. Taking photos with grease covered hands, we watched the clouds turn pink with the setting sun.
The following morning, the alarm sounded at 4am. Starting the final day of a three-week trip, my energy tank ran dangerously low and rising from bed seemed an impossible feat. As the fog slowly lifted, I remembered the reason for this early morning wake up and my excitement grew. While I couldn’t know how many or how often a dolphin might appear on our excursion, the idea of seeing a handful leap out of the water or swim past proved sufficient to finally lift my head off the pillow.
An hour later, equipped with snorkel gear and encased in wetsuits, we sped off into the ocean. With the sun rising behind us, we kept our eyes peeled for signs of wildlife. We spotted some solitary duskies and a few pods of seven or eight but apparently those didn’t warrant a stop. I guess we hoped for something larger, which only increased the enthusiasm. Finally, right when it felt as though we couldn’t wait any longer, our guide instructed us to prepare. Sitting around the edge of the boat, we threw on our flippers and strapped on our masks, ready to hop off at a moment’s notice. As we slowed, I looked up for the first time and lost my breath. Hundreds of dorsal fins had appeared, rising and then once again disappearing into the water. Duskies leapt fully out of the ocean, completing full flips in the air, before splashing back down. Every wave appeared to carry a dolphin along with it. We were suddenly and completely surrounded.
The horn sounded and in we jumped. Immediately I found myself encircled. The duskies’ curiosity led them to dive and spin in every direction, venturing so close that, at times, I thought they’d run directly into me. Yet they gracefully navigated around my body and each other. Watching them maneuver was like witnessing nature’s ballet. I felt both a witness, dumbfounded at their grace, and a participant, attempting to mimic their movements. Making eye contact with one, we started to move in unison, swimming in circles as quickly as possible, almost racing, trying to outspin the other. Of course, my equilibrium proved no match and after only a few rotations, failing to keep up and feeling exceptionally dizzy, I gave up. When or if a group lost interest, within seconds another inquisitive dolphin appeared. They played with me as though I was a dolphin, as though I had become a part of their pod. In the span of thirty minutes, I found myself solo for perhaps a only minute or two.
Eventually the horn blew again, signaling our reluctant return to the boat. Back on board, and back amongst humans, we recounted our experience, reveling in the proximity of the creatures, astounded by the sheer number we’d encountered. We hopped into the water twice more, with our second swim proving equally as magical as the first. As one of the first off the boat, having sat on the back, flippers dangling in the water, while in transit, I dove directly into a group of at least twenty. While the duskies disappeared sooner, their early exit only reminded us of how special our experience had been, that nature is unexpected. Our time below the surface hadn’t been mapped out or planned. We’d been swimming within a pod of truly wild dolphins.
Luck did not always favor my time in New Zealand. During one stretch of travel along the West Coast, we found ourselves in the tail end of a cyclone for days. Abel Tasman, known for its golden beaches and turquoise water was cloudy and, at times, chilly. A water taxi ride proved more roller coaster than shuttle. And we missed out on a gorgeous Greymouth sunset. But having soared above Kaikoura and now swum below it surface, surrounded by dolphins, I couldn’t help but feel lucky. Lucky that the road opened just in time. Lucky that I’d chosen the activities I had. And more than anything, lucky to have experienced the town of Kaikoura. It took just twenty-four hours to realize its magic, that the town and its offerings were a secret worth spilling.
What to Know If You Go
- Check out the town of Kaikoura’s website. Here, you can find up-to-date information on road closures, a list of local events, links to accommodations and the different activities available.
- If you want to go directly to certain tour companies’ websites, here are a few of the most popular:
- Whale Watch Kaikoura
- Air Kaikoura: for scenic flights, piloting, and whale watching
- Dolphin Encounter: for swimming with dolphins
- Seal Swim Kaikoura: to swim with seals
- Kaikoura Peninsula Walk: map, description and other useful information
- Because Kaikoura is a marine-focused destination, certain times of the year or day prove better for wildlife viewing.
- If you’re from the Northern hemisphere, remember the seasons are opposite! December – February are often the warmest and June-August the coldest.
