Our journey into the heart of Fiordland continued as we left the successful fishing grounds of Nancy Sound and ventured into the majestic expanse of Doubtful Sound / Patea. The scale of the landscape here is difficult to comprehend — a place where mountains plunge vertically into the sea and silence is broken only by the call of birds and the cascade of waterfalls.

Precipice Cove via Thompson Sound

After rounding through Thompson Sound, we pressed on into Precipice Cove for the evening. Matariki was tied off on a mooring buoy, and Greg, ever the hunter, climbed the steep surrounding hills in search of deer. No deer were found, and no deer sign was seen — but the effort was rewarded with a spectacular photograph of Matariki looking like a tiny white speck in the immense, mist-wrapped landscape below.

Why Is It Called Haulashore Cove?

Nearby Haulashore Cove, at the southwestern end of Crooked Arm, carries a name that is a direct echo of the age of sail. The name was bestowed during the first detailed hydrographic survey of New Zealand, conducted by HMS Acheron between 1848 and 1851 under the command of Captain John Lort Stokes. According to the New Zealand Gazetteer, the cove is "where the Acheron anchored during its survey" — and the name almost certainly records the practice of hauling ashore, the old mariner's term for careening: deliberately beaching or heeling a wooden vessel to clean and repair her hull below the waterline. It was a vital maintenance task in an era before dry docks, and these remote, sheltered coves were exactly the kind of place a ship's carpenter needed. The name has stuck for 175 years.

Fishing the Shelter Islands & Into Deep Cove

The following day was spent fishing around the Shelter Islands before we made our way to Deep Cove — the innermost reach of Doubtful Sound and the western terminus of the Wilmot Pass Road. It is a quirky, remote outpost, home to the tailrace outlet of the Manapōuri Power Station and, apparently, a bus stop with a healthy sense of humour.

The 5th of March: A Very Good Trade

The morning of the 5th began with a small act of Fiordland camaraderie — we retrieved a fellow sailor's dinghy that the tide had quietly liberated overnight and returned it to its rightful owner. Good karma, as it turned out, was about to arrive in spectacular fashion.

Brendan was due to fly out that day. A helicopter arrived at Deep Cove laden with beer, wine, and fresh food — the best kind of resupply. Once the provisions were safely aboard, Brendan climbed in, and the helicopter lifted away into the Fiordland sky. On balance, a pretty good trade.

With outboard petrol topped up and the ship's stores replenished, we cast off from Deep Cove and headed for Crooked Arm — in search of deer, solitude, and whatever else Fiordland had to offer.

Into Crooked Arm

We dropped anchor in a sheltered corner of the arm, surrounded by the profound silence of the fiord. The hills above were steep, bush-clad, and promising. The rifles were cleaned. The dinghy was readied. The deer, wherever they were, had no idea what was coming.