Musgrave Inlet

Musgrave_Splash_EAW_2048-Edit6x4WEB 50°39’S 166°10’E

Musgrave_Zodiacs_DSF5236-Edit6x4WEB The next morning feels a little surreal. Maybe it’s the weather – overcast with bright rays of sunlight in the distance, or maybe it’s my sea-sickness medication. Either way, descending into the zodiacs after breakfast to cruise the calm waters of Musgrave Inlet brings back the overwhelming weight of wilderness that I began to feel at the Snares. The cliffs are huge and vertical – and this lets something amazing happen on Auckland Island, which is otherwise torn up by feral pigs and roamed by cats.

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Megaherbs bloom, clinging to sheer rock along with grasses, mosses, Dracophyllum, and Hebe. In their pinks, purples, and pastels, Anisotome latifolia and Pleurophyllum speciosum grow to huge sizes where they are protected from rooting pigs. They don’t seem to need much – a crack in the cliff-face will do for a perch.

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Tucked into these hanging gardens are Light-Mantled Sooty albatross nests. Pairs of these graceful birds synchronise their flight as they soar along the cliff edges, those perched voicing their two-tone wailing cry. At the foot of the cliffs in tumbled boulders fringed in kelp and algae are small bunches of Southern Rockhopper penguins – a mere remnant of the population that once bred on the Auckland Islands. Their numbers have been steadily declining, but between 1942 and 1985, the Campbell Island population crashed – losing around 94% of the breeding birds. They are the smallest of the crested penguins, and to me they look serious and uncertain – not comical, as everyone else comments. Light-Mantled_Musgrave_TW7_5816-Edit6x4WEB Rockhoppers_Musgrave_TW7_5877-Edit6x4WEB The swell is gentle, and we navigate in and around the thick kelp which lines the shore, watching rockhoppers fly through the clear water and propel themselves up on to the slick rocks. I’m always struck by the resilience of penguins. Even the biggest ones are tiny compared to other ocean inhabitants, and they travel massive distances with such grace and ease, braving pounding waves to get ashore in some places. The rockhoppers regard us with wary red eyes as we photograph them and comment on their impressive hair-dos.

Musgrave_Seacave_DSF5259-Edit6x4WEB There’s a surprise for us today, but we have to dash across to the other side of the inlet to find it. Cruising along the wave-worn rocks we dip in and out of sea-caves, disappearing into the dark, cavernous spaces that echo with the rise and fall of the swell. Our eyes have to re-adjust as we emerge each time. The last cave we enter isn’t dark. Above us is the sky, rimmed with a circle of rātā. Musgrave_Seacave_DSF5268-Edit6x4WEB Musgrave_Sinkhole_GOPR0730-EditGPcropWEB

A perfect hole, cut right out of the earth, accessible only by water through a small opening in the cliff. It’s so wide only my GoPro can fit the entire circle in its frame. Giant stalactites of moss hang over the edge, vibrant green against the ochre of the rocks, and there are megaherbs in here too – sheltered and safe. The water is completely transparent, and turquoise blue. Beds of kelp heave with with the swell. We cut the engines and drift around together, breathing in the quiet. Musgrave_Sinkhole_GOPR0741-Edit7x5WEB

All too soon, we’re back out in the wind. It gets stronger as we head for the middle of the inlet – channeling down the glacier-carved valley and throwing spray up over the zodiacs. There’s time for a few photos, and then I cover my gear and wrap the rope grip around my hand until it goes white. We plough into the wind, heading for a small beach guarded by a large bull sea lion.

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There are only a few mishaps (No, don’t run away from him, he’ll chase you) during the disembarkation process, and no limbs are lost. I think he may be a little angry because Katja stole his lunch – Crab_Musgrave_Katja_EAW_2141-Edit6x4WEB

Sealion_Bull_Musgrave_EAW_2145-Edit6x4WEB — “Give me my crab back!”

We set off into the tangle of rātā. The differences between Enderby and Auckland Islands are quite apparent. The forest is quiet, with only distant calls from tūī and korimako, and the occasional raucous chattering of starlings and blackbirds. The megaherbs are nowhere to be seen, and the undergrowth is sparse, dominated by hardy ferns. The botanists still manage to spot tiny orchids as we make our way towards Lake Hinemoa, along a track that doesn’t really exist.
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The forest is sheltered but the wind tears at the canopy, and as we emerge on to the lake shore it presses us back into the tussock. I hunker down on the shoreline, thankful for my Grubb boots keeping my feet dry while I attempt some landscape shots. Wavelets hurl themselves against the red rocks, tussock, and alpine daisies that rim the shore.
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We don’t stay long, driven back into the shelter of the trees by the chill blasting winds. The way back is easier, now that we know where to go – and there’s less frantic calling through the bush and more stopping to take photos. Some are faster than others – the lure of a warm lunch back on the ship is quite strong! The forest is full of twisted tree compositions and glowing ferns though, and I hang right back to make the most of it.

Musgrave_Rata_Beach_EAW_2306-Edit6x4WEB Eventually, though, we do have to leave. Macquarie Island is calling to us, and we have a day at sea to get there. Our sea lion friend is nowhere to be seen when I finally exit the forest, but soon appears from behind us. It’s probably best to leave him in peace as well! We pile on board the zodiacs and are sped back to the ship by a tailwind. And once more, we’re off into the wide wild blue of the Southern Ocean.