52° 32′ 24″ S 169° 8′ 42″ E – 46° 35′ 30″ S 168° 20′ 0″ E

Campbell Island is vanishing behind us. There are birds in our wake, skimming the rising swells. The cliffs of the eastern coast are wrapped in clouds, writhing with seabirds. There’s always sadness in leaving a place. And I shouldn’t feel sad, I should feel excited and so so lucky to have visited our Subantarctic islands. I do. It still overwhelms me that this dream has come true so suddenly. It’s unreal. And what is even more unreal is that I will be back here soon. But I’m still sad to be leaving.

As we head north along the coast, the cliffs are peppered in white. Every spot an albatross. The sprawling colony of Campbell albatross wraps the cliff edges, spilling down towards the sea. There are rafts of them on the water, hundreds in the sky. There are even a few circling the ship, attended by Cape petrels and Northern Giant petrels. I can only imagine the noise that must ring from those cliffs, thousands of squawking birds and begging chicks. Out on the bow, there’s only the whipping wind, surging sea, and the constant hum of the ship. 

As the Campbell albatross skim close past the ship, their piercing golden eyes catch mine. They are unique among albatross in this feature – all of the others have dark eyes. It gives them a serious, searching look. In most other aspects, Campbell albatross resemble the Black-browed albatross, but whereas Black-browed albatross breed all around the Southern Ocean, Campbell albatross are endemic to Campbell Island, breeding nowhere else. 

Campbell Island looks like a castle in the sky – all wrapped in pale clouds, the horizon bending as the swells rise. The ship is rolling gently from side to side. I only took my seasickness medication with lunch, and it’s making me drowsy. That and the very little sleep I’ve had put me to bed for some of the afternoon, listening to the ocean, enjoying the steady motion of the ship.

I’m woken for dinner, and as soon as I’m done I’m back out on the deck. Campbell Island is long behind us, and we are forging steadily into the mist. The water is rippled glass, undulating softly, broken only by our wake. As sea fog closes in around us the horizon and the birds all vanish. We are enveloped in a darkening cloud, and the quiet wash of the still ocean lulls me to sleep.

The next day is our last – but we make the most of it. The joy of being at sea gets to me quickly – the ocean is wide and perfect. It’s not weather for seabirds, stormriders, but it is weather for basking in. After that hike on Campbell Island, I’d almost forgotten what being dry was. Towards the end of the day, as we approach Stewart Island/Rakiura, the birds come back in their droves. A pastel sky and flat light, and they’re flying so close. Skimming along the sides of the ship. Cape Petrels close enough to pluck out of the air.

We come in to anchor for the night. The sea is flat. The sky is bruised, rippled clouds in blue hour. One by one the albatross come in to land, giant absurd ducks in the water. As we watch, they lean over to preen one another – and it doesn’t seem to matter that they’re different species. Albatross always look so content.

Our last day comes to a close as the light fades, and the world around us disappears into a clouded night. Tomorrow our adventure will come to an end, steaming in to the port of Bluff at dawn. Back to the real world. The more I think about it, the more I realise that where we have been is the real world. Everything else just seems like a distraction from what is really important. All journeys must end. But for me, another adventure is just about to begin.

Previous adventure here –