Wonderful Sounds (South Island holiday)

Sometimes it is a mistake to revisit places that you once called home.
If you have moved on, ploughed fresh furrows you did so for very good reasons. If you lived life to the full in that place there are bound to be a few regrets when leaving and a twinge or two when you return. No regrets, is a good maxim for life but not a very honest one.
We left the Marlborough Sounds in the late seventies, now we were to return on a trip of nostalgia. Maureen booked a bach that would give us three days in a peaceful bay in the Queen Charlotte Sound. My decision to recall some of the ‘not so good’ memories would dispel any regrets and it was with this intention we boarded the Cook Strait ferry for passage to the South Island.
It is April 1976 and the day of our final departure from the Sounds. You know it’s going to be rough in the strait when the crew start fixing shutters over the forward windows. As the Aratika nosed anxiously out of the relative calm of Tory Channel the first huge wave hits. Half way across the Strait another monster smashes into the stern with such force, the steel vehicle doors twist. For our family, two toddlers and a baby it was the trip from hell. The sailing took twice the usual travelling time and then we were stuck on board for another three hours while engineers tried to release the damaged doors.
March 2010, We could not have asked for a better Cook Straight crossing. There was hardly a ripple on that sometimes notoriously rough piece of water. The Sounds followed suite, dead calm, the only waves being the surprisingly passive wake from our passenger ferry.
1976 Picton was nothing more than a sleepy hollow. Oxleys Hotel, the main watering hole offered traditional Kiwi fare. There were a couple of other non-descript restaurants and a chicken take-away. Water transport included a three-day-a-week mail-boat and, a couple of water taxis. Most vehicles coming off the ferry ignored the town and headed south to Blenheim and the Christchurch highway.
2010 Picton is an exciting gateway to the Sounds. The character facade of Oxleys has been cleverly and tastefully integrated into a modern three storey accommodation complex. The quality of boats and launches speaks of opulence with a touch of one-upmanship. Older timber hulled work horses of three decades ago have been replaced by luxurious sea-going thoroughbreds with flying bridges and state of the art twin four stroke outboards. Travellers now appreciate the uniqueness of the sounds and many launch companies vie for the tourist dollar.
A number of the tourist enterprises of our day, Furneaux Lodge, Portage and Curious Cove (which we owned), are still in business. We look back on mostly good, sometimes bad days. The winters were our quiet time, wonderful except for the frequent storms. The insurance company hated us. Most years meant a claim for damaged buildings and lost boats. I remember one blow being so strong a frail lady guest went into orbit.

Remembering the fickle Sounds weather, it was prudent to check the forecast. ‘Fine for a couple of days then strong Southerlies’. They say Wellington is windy; the Sounds will out-blow it anytime.
The first two days are sunny and very warm the water is like a mill pond. We have found the perfect bay with bush backdrop, sandy beach, peace and quiet, just cicadas for company (they start up at 8am). This is heaven; the regrets are nagging a bit. Maureen is boasting about catching two fish this morning. I’m on the deck ignoring her and watching a fast moving black cloud. The temperature drops dramatically, the cloud looks ominous. I move the boat off the beach while Maureen clears the deck and shuts doors and windows. Here it comes, a southerly blast across from Port Underwood over the Tory channel and straight into our Bay. Violent, angry waves with white horses force small boats to seek shelter. Huge willy-whirls rise like dust storms off the water. Wellington City cops the bulk of the storm but the Sounds get a good battering. For Maureen and me it brings back memories, but no regrets.