50° 53′ S 166° 21′ E

Hardwicke – the Enderby Settlement – lasted for just over two years from December 1849 until May 1852. Envisaged as a thriving centre for whaling in the Southern Ocean, the dream of Charles Enderby turned into a nightmare that his idealism rendered him blind to. The climate of Auckland Island proved too harsh for agriculture, and whales were scarce. Food had to be imported, turning what was meant to be solid business venture into a dismal failure. At the end of 1851, Charles Enderby was removed as the Commissioner, and in 1852 the colony was dissolved. All that remains of the settlement now are scattered bricks, the vague imprints of where prefabricated houses once stood in regenerating rata forest, and the graveyard.

It is still and quiet as we land in Erebus Cove. The water in the sheltered bay reflects bright clouds and scattered patches of blue, and apart from the steady thrum of the zodiacs, there’s nothing but the gentle wash of the tide against the tumblestone shore. The rata forest is a tangle that leans out over the water, and occasionally the songs of Tui and Bellbird sing through the trees. Wandering into the forest is like stepping into a whispering cathedral, wide open spaces beneath the trees, the ground barren of any megaherbs. Tough stands of flax and ferns persist the rooting of feral pigs, the bane of megaherbs on the main Auckland Island.

If you look, and you have to look quite carefully, you can see where there were once houses and roads – imprints that have been covered over by trees now. There are scattered bricks, broken and mossy, but Hardwicke has successfully re-wilded itself. It wasn’t just European settlers that once lived here – they arrived to find a group of around 70 ex-Chatham Island Māori. Conditions weren’t favourable for either group, but relations between the two were relatively smooth. The two chiefs – Matioro and Manatere – were given jobs as constables. However when the settlement was dissolved in 1852 and the European settlers departed, the Māori were left behind – despite their appeal to Sir George Grey, the then Governor of New Zealand, to take them with. Only in 1856 did they leave, on board a ship chartered by the Chatham Island Māori.

Hardwicke breathes quiet, and there’s almost a sense of mournfulness wandering underneath the trees. The Victoria Tree – a carved curve of rata – is a reminder of the shipwreck era of New Zealand’s subantarctic. In 1865, the H.M.C.S. Victoria was sent in search of shipwreck survivors. The wrecks of the Grafton and the Invercauld in 1864, and the stories of the survivors, led to a concern for castaways that initiated the search. The tree was initially painted a conspicuous black and white, but has suffered the persistent wet of the subantarctic climate, and is fading. In 1877, the New Zealand government began servicing castaway depots on the subantarctic islands, a practice that was discontinued in 1927.

It’s a stark contrast. I find so much joy in the wilderness of the subantarctic, but for those who eked out an existence here it was hell. While Enderby revelled in his role as the Commissioner and Lieutenant-Governor of the Auckland Islands, there was no shortage of trouble in the colony. Tiny Shoe Island was used as a prison – barren of any shelter other than a barrel for those unfortunate enough to be confined there. The harsh conditions claimed lives – the graves of two infant girls in the cemetery stand out from those of young men and mariners from various shipwrecks. Isabella Younger died on the 22nd of November 1850 aged three months, and Janet Stove died on the 10th of October, 1851, aged only 14 weeks. Isabella’s gravestone is though to be carved from a mill wheel – unable to be used for its intended purpose as no grain would grow in the subantarctic climate.

But Hardwicke is not all the gloom and sorrows of the past. You just have to look closely to see the fervent pace of life in tiny orchids, blooming in the subantarctic summer. They’re miniscule, barely the size of my (very small) fingers – and so delicate. Sheltered by the tougher vegetation and close to the ground, they’re safe from wild tearing winds and stand upright on spindly stalks. I’m not the only one flat on the ground, trying to take close-ups of these tiny gems. We take turns positioning ourselves to get photos. Lying prone under the Dracophyllum, I realise that I’ve been blind for most of my life to the joys of the floral kingdom. This voyage has opened my eyes in more ways than one.

If I’ve not identified these orchids correctly, please let me know! I’m going off my hurried notes from the trip, and the wonderful website New Zealand Native Orchids.