Let’s take a break from the trip logs. They’ve been great fun to put together, and I will get to the second trip later on. For today, though, I’m just going to share a few highlights from the second trip.

Seriously? The first evening.

After a day of goodbyes, wobbling around on land and feeling very out of place in quiet old Invercargill, the sunset sets my heart alight again. We take an alternate route down the western side of Stewart Island/Rakiura, hugging the rugged coastline to avoid some pretty gnarly weather. The wind is icy, the sea a froth of golden foam on blue-black water, and the sky is on fire. Albatross dive and plunge, riding the air above the waves. Closer to shore there is a storm of smaller seabirds – Shearwaters, Petrels, Prions, the air thick with wings. It’s wild and perfect again so immediately, and I feel at home.

The Snares are still. The water is pale glass on the surface and so blue underneath that it hardly looks real. Rafts of Cape petrels bob on the water, dipping their little beaks in for krill and salps. I have a GoPro and one arm that is very wet (I wonder where I got that idea from!), and there are penguins everywhere beneath us. We cruise quietly for four beautiful hours – and not once does my awe in this place even remotely waver.

Another hike around Enderby – and it’s just as amazing as the first. The sealions are friskier this time, lots of the small males charging up to people. The island is so beautiful. The rata forest has me lost for words once more, the red blooms glowing through green foliage. And at the end of our day, we meet up with the rest of the group, and Tui de Roy, who has been photographing a pair of New Zealand Falcons. It’s the first time I’ve managed to photograph them in the wild – and in this special place, it is nothing short of magic.

We have an extra day at Auckland Island, and we spend the start of it exploring the history of the Enderby Settlement, the shortest-lived colony ever established by Britain. They lasted two years. Auckland Island does not lend itself to agriculture, and the harsh subantarctic environment had been completely under-estimated. Add that to no luck with the planned whaling industry, and you have a hopeless struggle. The regenerating rata forest where the houses once were is haunting, with bricks scattered in the leaf-litter. Slanting gravestones encircled by a peeling white picket fence tell the tales of those who didn’t make it through the two years. This one, carved from a unused mill-wheel, belongs to three-month old Isabella Younger. Buried among shipwrecked crew from the Invercauld, Dundonald, and General Grant, it’s a stark reminder of how inhospitable these islands can be.

The Enderby Settlement isn’t all gloom though – there are plenty of tiny little orchids that are easy to miss, but gorgeous up close.

We’re back on Enderby for the afternoon, and I’m lying on the hill overlooking the beach, photographing the sea lion action. There’s a gruff roar from my right, and this handsome fellow slowly lumbers towards me,  putting on all the bravado of a beachmaster despite being banished from the beach. He looks huge. And lying down doesn’t seem like the best thing for me to be doing right now. But the effect is rather ruined when he flops down a few metres away from me, scratches his neck, and falls asleep.

Stormy seas in Carnley harbour, Shearwaters spinning in the high winds. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced wind so wild. It’s funneling down the harbour, and we are ploughing into it. The Shearwaters are flying too fast to track individually, so I give up and try to capture their sheer numbers in frame instead.

Beautiful light on Beeman Hill. Being back on Campbell Island almost feels like coming home. It’s dryer but windier than my last visit, and I forgo the long hike to spend time really focusing on the photographic opportunities on the Col Lyall boardwalk. I don’t know that I’ve made the right decision, but I can’t help enjoy all the little details that I have time to stop and photograph. The megaherbs, the Pipits, and the light that pours through the clouds in patches as they scud across the sky.

The rain returns, but apart from having to wipe droplets from my lens element, I don’t mind at all. Everything looks lush and vibrant. I’ve finally found the megaherb composition that I couldn’t quite get on the last visit. A burst of flash highlights the rain slick on the green leaves and catches a few raindrops as they fall. The most beautiful gardens in the world are the wild ones, and Campbell has the best I’ve ever seen.

Rolling seas mean we’re not allowed out on deck. I spend all my time on the Bridge, watching seabirds (practising my identification skills!), and enjoying the light that comes at days end.

Most of all, though? I get to share the adventure with this guy:

And that’s pretty special.