Daily Photo – Someplace, somewhere, sometime.
Sitting on an Air New Zealand flight to Auckland at dusk, somewhere over the North Island, some time ago. It might have even been a Koru hour flight!
Rain on Willis Street in Wellington
Daily Photo – Rain on Willis Street in Wellington
It had rained most of the day in Wellington, so I stuck to indoor activities. By early afternoon, I found myself wandering down a wet Willis Street after a slow day of museums and art galleries. The city felt different in the rain, quieter. There was a kind of charm in taking it slow, lingering over art and history while the world outside dripped with rain.
Upper Hutt To Wellington By Train
Yesterday I mentioned I haven’t posted many photos taken from my phone. Well, so it’s not a one off, here’s one of Wellington Railway Station.
Daily Photo – Wellington Train Station
The mid-morning train from Upper Hutt to Wellington had been unusually full for a Thursday. Inside, it felt like a moving collection of private lives, commuters heading into the city, caught in their own little worlds. Some read engrossed, others stared blankly out the window, as if in a trance, the passing hills and suburban streets passing in a blur. Some wore headphones, their expressions blank, detached from the soft clatter of the carriage.
Others appeared restless, they needed somewhere to go, something to do. For others, just movement, just purpose was enough. In this quiet time, nobody had to think too much-it was the in-between hour, the hush before the city’s noise.
When the train finally pulled into Wellington Station, the mood shifted. The doors opened and, like clockwork, everyone disembarked, filtering through the terminal and dissolving into the city, each carrying on with a day that had already quietly begun.
Milton
Tokomairiro Presbyterian Church
The thing about small towns in New Zealand is—they really are just that: small towns. I don’t mean that in a mean, rude, or malicious way. I simply mean that’s what they are. Where once they may have been thriving hubs of industry with a lot going on, most of those big industries have long since moved. These days, apart from being home to people going about their daily lives, many of these towns have become more like places to pass through or maybe stop for a spot of lunch.
Take the small South Island town of Milton. I’m not saying Milton is a bad place, far from it. I quite like the town. I’ve stopped there many times and enjoyed wandering up and down the main street. But here’s the thing: with tourists flocking to the South Island to go bungy jumping, skiing, or hiking in the wilderness, strolling around Milton’s main street isn’t likely to make anyone’s top ten list.
Yet, I quite like wandering in small towns. There’s something rather splendid about ambling through with no particular purpose, then stumbling across a tearoom to rest for a while before continuing the journey. I hope they last for a long time to come.
Driving Through The Haka Valley
Fence post in The Hakataramea Valley
I spent the hours pre and post sunrise chasing interesting spots in the Hakataramea Valley. Tucked away in the Waimate District, the Hakataramea Valley sits at the foot of Kirkliston range in the South Island of New Zealand and is a wonderful spot. The Haka is a glorious location to be in the mornings, they can be unbelievably cold and have a deafening silence that seems to echo throughout the valley as the light appears over the Campbell Hills, bringing a new day to the surrounding ranges.
The Devil’s Staircase
Lake Wakatipu at Kingston
To get to Kingston, at the southern tip of Lake Wakatipu, you have two options. However, it must be pointed out that it very much depends on where you’re coming from. If you’re coming from Southland, then you’ll pass through small towns such as Lumsden and Lowther before reaching the lakeside village of Kingston.
The other option (and possibly more interesting) is to turn off at Frankton on your way to Queenstown and pass through what is known as ‘The Devil’s Staircase’. Roughly 35 km south of Queenstown, it’s part of the drive between Queenstown and Te Anau and is considered a must-do leg of any Otago/Southland driving itinerary, both for the thrill of the drive and the spectacular views. Exactly how it got its name has become part of local folklore — in other words, no one really knows!
Given the nature of the road, one can only imagine what it must have been like to tackle the narrow, winding, and steep terrain, with sharp curves hugging cliffs above Lake Wakatipu, without the aid of a motor vehicle.
One story tells the tale of Captain Frederick Burwell and the Southland Hussars. Formed in the 1860s in response to fears of a Russian invasion, the cavalry corps were intent upon defending the Otago-Southland coast. At the time, there were many volunteer militias throughout New Zealand, so it wasn’t unusual for settlers to sign up to volunteer groups.
So, in 1885, when an April Review was held in Queenstown, up to 258 men from surrounding areas were due to gather. In Kingston, Captain Frederick Burwell needed to take his 30 men from the end of Lake Wakatipu up to the review assembly point in Queenstown. However, instead of going via boat, for some reason he decided to travel overland — a journey that took him and his men via the notorious Devil’s Staircase.
Travelling on horseback, they negotiated their way over small, narrow, and rugged tracks next to sheer vertical drops, before facing near-perpendicular rock faces in spots over 1,000 feet high. Once they reached the summit, a magnificent view of the lake came into view. Having passed the famous Staircase, the Kawarau River was crossed by punt, arriving in Queenstown late in the afternoon, where Captain Burwell and his men were warmly greeted, having successfully completed an arduous 40-mile journey.
Just why Captain Burwell opted for the deadly overland trip via the Devil’s Staircase instead of the easier ferry trip was never fully explained.
On the Road to Mount Cook
The road to Mount Cook
Here in the South Island, once you get into the MacKenzie Country, there are literally thousands of spots you can explore to take photos. Lake Ohau, Twizel, Lake Tekapo, Mount Dobson, and Lake Pukaki are just some of the areas you could spend weeks in and never run out of subject matter—and I haven’t even mentioned Mount Cook yet. Heck, on the way to Mount Cook you can even simply stand in the middle of the road and get interesting photos!
The Orokonui Ecosanctuary
The Orokonui Ecosanctuary
One morning, I found myself at Orokonui Ecosanctuary. The warmth of the sunlight spilled over tussock and flax and caught the curve of the visitor centre like it was a natural part of the landscape. The nearby ponds reflected the still morning sky as tui’s and bellbirds tuned up for their morning symphony. Somewhere out there, a takahē waddled through purposefully looking for a spot of breakfast. I hadn’t even started walking the tracks yet, and already, nature was making me grin like an idiot.
War & Peace
The Shotover River n the Queenstown Lakes District
Let me assure you of this much (and it’s absolutely true)—only in the Queenstown Lakes District could you drive through traffic that was so insanely stupid and chaotic, yet be surrounded by scenery that was so breathtaking it could be the backdrop for a Hollywood movie. There I was, sitting in a seemingly endless procession of cars, buses, boats, camper vans, trucks, and motorbikes—being overtaken by grandparents with walkers out for an afternoon stroll, slowly developing a healthy dose of road rage as my knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel. And yet, all the while, I was encircled by majestic mountain peaks that reached up into the sky and stretched beyond the horizon, and crystal-clear blue lakes that sparkled and shone in the sunlight. Nowhere else had I ever found a situation that was such a shambles—and so spectacular—all at the same time.
The Brown Trout Capital of the World
Gore – ‘the brown trout capital of the world’
Gore’s claim to fame is that of being the brown trout capital of the world and the location of the country’s prestigious Gold Guitar Awards for country music. I was on my way home from Invercargill and decided to stop for coffee and a walk around. The town was quite delightful in the afternoon sunshine with flower beds and hanging baskets lining the town’s main street. In fact, it was almost charming, a pleasant surprise.
Kurow, Otematata and Omarama.
The former National Bank in Kurow
I was on the way to Omarama via lakes going by the names of Aviemore and Benmore, and small towns with names like Kurow and Otematata. By the time I arrived in Kurow, I was ready for a bite to eat and wander in the sunshine. So, having purchased lunch at a local bakery and eaten it in the sun – I enjoyed a quiet stroll around the rural town by heading off in the direction of Otematata.
The Lindis Pass
The Linid Pass in Summer
The Lindis Pass is another stunning area of New Zealand, offering vastly different experiences depending on the season. In winter, it’s often blanketed in snow and ice, with caution advised when the road is open. In summer, the landscape transforms into a sunburnt, otherworldly terrain, its dry textures stretching across the hills. Set between the Lindis and Ahuriri Rivers, the pass was traditionally used by Māori as they journeyed through the land. In 1857, surveyor John Turnbull traversed the area and named it after his homeland—Lindisfarne Island in northeast England.
When the Otago gold Rush took hold across the region in the early 1860’s, the moving hoard of miners who rambled from rush to rush eventually came upon the Lindis River in April, of 1861. An estimated 300 miners swarmed over the hillside as news of a find at the Lindis River spread. However by July most of the miners had moved on due to the remoteness of the area and the extreme climate.
On a fine summer’s day, I stopped at the Lindis Pass lookout and decided to join the steady stream of people heading to the summit to take in the view. From the peak above the Omarama–Lindis Pass Road in Central Otago, the view across the pass is breathtaking—a reminder of the natural beauty and history that define this unique part of the country.
Lower Hutt Street Art
Lower Hutt Street Art, created in 2021.
Before I experienced the madness and chaos that is the Lower Hutt traffic system—which seems obsessed with roundabouts—I went looking for some local street art. I had read, back in 2021, that twenty-one internationally acclaimed street artists had their work on show as part of The Most Dedicated: An Aotearoa Graffiti Story exhibition, held in the city. Intrigued and curious to see what was still around, I left the Queens Gate Mall and hit the streets.
The Organ Pipes in Dunedin
Mount Cargill from the Organ Pipes in Dunedin
If we take ourselves back in time, say, 15 million years ago, we’d find Dunedin to be a very different place. While such a journey would bring with it a number of issues, one of the most pressing problems would be that annoyingly active local volcano that just won’t quit erupting. During one of these eruptions, molten lava flowed across the landscape. As the lava cooled, it contracted and cracked, forming hexagonal basalt columns that can be found all over the region and at well-known local places such as Lawyers Head, Blackhead, and the Pyramids at the Okia Reserve on the Otago Peninsula. However, over the last 10 to 15 million years, erosion has shaped the landscape and features like the Organ Pipes into the forms we recognise today and love to climb over.
A Walk Along Lambton Quay
Wellington’s Lambton Quay
Instead of being where I needed to be, I’d taken a detour to check out Wellington’s Lambton Quay—as if I had all the time in the world. The city lights flickered in the fading daylight, and for a moment, I convinced myself this was a scenic, intentional choice rather than me just getting distracted again.
I was supposed to be at a restaurant 2.5 kilometres away—Monsoon Poon. With a name like that, how could I not be intrigued? Just off Wellington’s famous Courtney Place, it’d been a local favorite for years, known for its Southeast Asian cuisine. If the reviews were to be believed, I was in for a treat. I’d read that the food was delicious, the atmosphere was great, and the whole place had a vibe you just couldn’t help but enjoy. Either that, or the reviewers had all had one too many cocktails.
I was hungry, thirsty, and more than ready for a wander through the city—with the promise of good food and a cold beer waiting at the end. And honestly, at that point, I would’ve settled for a mediocre meal and a lukewarm beer, as long as it came quickly.
A Walk Up Harbour Cone
Otago Harbour from Harbour Cone
On an impulse, I’d decided to walk up Harbour Cone. Well, in actual fact that’s not totally correct. I looked it up the night before, so it wasn’t on impulse at all. I decided I was in need of a good walk, and now seemed as good a time as any to scale the 315 meters (or about 1,033 feet) to the summit! The previous evening, I’d looked up a local pamphlet, which said time: 3 hours, distance 4.5 km.‘Three hours? To walk 4.5 km? Even if it is uphill, surely that can’t be right’ I’d thought to myself. I’d noted it had stated: Difficulty—hard, very steep. I’d nonchalantly discarded this as meant for those people who were doing this sort of thing in jeans and sneakers and weren’t quite as outdoorsy as myself.
The next day, I woke up to rain. The clouds were dark and grey, a soft misty rain was falling. I’d read the track up Harbour Cone began from the suburb of Broad Bay. This is where I headed and undeterred by the changing weather, I parked my car and set off. Confident it wouldn’t take too long and I would be home in time to mow the lawns!
I hadn’t gone more than 50 metres—maybe 100 if I’m being generous—before my hands were on my knees and my lungs were already screaming. Clearly, this is something I’d wildly underestimated.
When I got to what I felt was about halfway up, I found a viewing spot and stopped there for a rest. Suddenly I heard the voices of two people coming down the track. When they arrived, they weren’t out of breath at all. In actual fact, they were in quite a spritely mood. They looked to be in their seventies and were wearing jeans and sneakers. I did my best to stand upright and pretend that I was just merely catching my breath in as manly a way as I could, trying not to act as if I was about to collapse at any moment.
“The lady informed me, ‘There’s rain in the forecast. I checked on my app—it’s meant to come down at 1:00 p.m.’ I looked at my watch—ten to one. ‘It’s a lovely view up there, if not just a tad windy.’
‘Enjoy,’ she added before bounding down the hill.
I trudged on. The rest of the walk up the hill was steep, very steep as it turns out. I wasn’t so much walking, as slowly trudging up the hill. Every time I looked up, just as I thought the summit must be near, I’d find in astonishment that another peak loomed further on. Wearily, I continued up the hill, wondering why I’d brought so much camera gear with me and cursing myself for bringing that extra lens and camera body that I knew I wasn’t going to need anyway.
At one point just as I thought that the top was in sight, I stepped over a row of rocks hoping to see the last few feet in front of me. “Oh, fuck,” I said, finding that instead of being at the top, I was still only three-quarters of the way up with another 20 metres to go.
At the summit, I stayed a while to take a few photos, enjoy the view and have a drop of water. It really was quite spectacular. I stood a moment, fixed my gaze beyond the horizon as the wind blew through my hair. Standing there, at the highest point on the peninsula, I suddenly knew what it must have felt like for Sir Edmond Hillary when he reached the top of Mount Everest. It was nice to have something in common with the great man. That’s when I noticed—it was spitting with rain again, this time a wee bit harder. And the wind? Oh yeah, definitely picking up. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now I was actually starting to feel rather cold. It turns out that pamphlet was right. It was steep, very steep and the weather was changing quite quickly. Who knew that the people that wrote these things actually knew what they were talking about.
I started my descent, taking in the view. About halfway down, I met a couple that were on their way up the hill. They were looking tired and exhausted. So I said to them in a spritely voice, “It’s a magnificent view up there. Starting to spit with rain a wee bit, though. Enjoy.” And off I went, striding down the hill like someone who hadn’t just been on the verge of collapse 20 minutes earlier.
Oban on Stewart Island
Dawn over Halfmoon Bay
The great thing about small towns is that they are so intensely quiet in the early morning hours. Oban, on Stewart Island is no exception. I had risen early to photograph the sunrise and with that task ticked off my list, I went down into the town. Usually in those predawn hours I see at least one other person, foolish enough as myself to be up at such time. But, on this occasion I didn’t see a single soul. I wandered the empty streets as the first hints of daylight crept in, it was almost as if I had the town all to myself. It felt like a world apart—silent, peaceful, and entirely my own.
Mount Allan, Powder Ridge and the Rock and Pillar Range.
Mount Allan, Powder Ridge and the Rock and Pillar Range.
Having made it to the Flagstaff summit, without the need of a deliberator or a rescue helicopter, both of which I took as encouraging signs, I pushed on along the Pineapple Track.
I wandered through the wide open tussock land and rolling hills until the view suddenly opened up in front of me. I paused for a moment, taking the time to enjoy the expansive views that looked out across Mount Allan and Powder Ridge, with the Rock and Pillar Range far off in the distance. It really was magnificent.
Dunedin City from Flagstaff
Dunedin city from Flagstaff
By the time I reached the summit the day had transformed into what locals call ‘a stunner’. The high cloud that had lingered in the morning had disappeared, leaving the day hot and fine with a zephyr breeze proving most welcome.
On a good day (and this was a good day), the view of Dunedin City from the Flagstaff summit, really is wonderful. You can see far out to sea and along the coastline as it stretches far to the south. In the other direction the track up the hill provides unspoiled views deep into the hinterland. It had taken me some 25 minutes to reach the summit- an effort I was reasonably pleased with given my lack of recent conditioning, and my reward was the all together splendid view that now sat before me. What’s more, at this point the track was free of dog poo, this gave me almost as much pleasure as the view.
The Flagstaff Track Looking Southwest
The Flagstaff Track looking southwest
Feeling daring, (and deciding to prove to myself how unfit I was) I went for a walk in Flagstaff Scenic Reserve. Set in the hills above Dunedin, the reserve features a multitude of tracks and paths that make up Dunedin’s Skyline Walk. One of these, the Flagstaff Track, was the one I intended to conquer.
When I arrived, the car park was already overflowing but before long, I found a spot and set off along a well maintained gravel path. The track I had chosen formed a loop that would eventually bring me back down a hill to my vehicle, but it started with a short but steep ascent up to a point known as Flagstaff. Within minutes I was passing through manuka scrub, which gradually gave way to tussock land. Occasionally I stopped to take in the view and give my lungs a rest, which didn’t really surprise me. What did surprise me was the sheer amount of dog poo on the track. Honesty, it was like an entire pound of dogs had been brought to the track and told to poo anywhere you’ll think someone will step.
Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against people walking dogs, I just don’t want to constantly dodge fly-covered excrement while trying to enjoy a walk through a scenic reserve!
The Bullock Track Walkway
Bullock Track Walkway
Leaving the town of Clyde, then Roxburgh, the drive to Beaumont and later Lawrence was uneventful. Having caught-up on all my podcasts and not feeling in the mood for music, I filled the time by making a list of random places and things in the area that I might like to visit.
By the time I reached the Beaumont Bridge, my list included:
Walk the Bullock Track Walkway.
Find that random shed in the Tiviot Valley I spotted.
Walk up to the Alexandra Clock.
Visit the Gorge Creek Memorial.
Explore Conroy’s Dam.
Walk the Old Reservoir Trail.
Walk up to Flattop Hill above Butchers Dam.
Visit the ‘Somebodies Darling’ grave near Millers Flat.
Visit the Fairlight Train Station.
Find the Horseshoe Bend Bridge
Now, you might think that visiting the Jimmy’s Pie Shop in Roxburgh should be on the list, however it doesn’t qualify. Firstly, it’s far too obvious and not obscure or random enough and secondly, whenever I drive past, I stop off anyway.
A Walk In Clyde
The Lord of Clyde in Clyde
The town, while small, was surprisingly quiet. I hadn’t expected there to be the large crowds that filled the town in early January when summer is at its peak; however I thought it would be busier than it was. After a leisurely amble up and down the main street, I deduced it might be an in-between period of summer when all the locals have gone back to work, while those still in holiday mode are away at more exotic locations like Queenstown, Taupo, or Rotorua. Over the years, Clyde has developed from a sleepy little town filled with construction workers who were working on the nearby dam to a popular holiday spot that swells on weekends as people escape the city rush to pack the tiny town for a few days before heading back to work on Monday.
I stayed in the town once during one of its more ‘busy’ periods. The summer evening was long and warm. It was really rather pleasant. In the evening, it took forever to find a free table at any of the various eating establishments and even longer to order food, which was very nice, once it arrived. Therein lies the problem with many of the more popular small towns in New Zealand: they become so attractive that they simply don’t have the infrastructure to handle the large crowds they attract.
On this occasion, the town was bathed in warm summer sun. It was quiet, meaning the streets were free to stroll around and enjoy all the lovely offerings Clyde had on display.
The Clyde Dam
The Clyde Dam
With plenty of time left in the day, I stopped at the Clyde Dam lookout. When the dam was completed in 1993, it created Lake Dunstan and proudly holds the title of the country’s largest concrete gravity dam. It stands 102 meters tall, with a base width of 70 meters and a crest length of 490 meters. All of which is fairly small by international dam standards when compared against the Tarbela Dam in Pakistan or the Fort Peck Dam in the United States. But, it is the biggest in New Zealand, and that means something.
The dam was constructed between 1982 and 1993 to reduce the country’s reliance on imported oil and to fuel industry, but it wasn’t without controversy. The decision to build the dam prompted vehement opposition, a court case, and even required an act of Parliament to get the project across the line.
All of which means we have a giant dam that produces lots of lovely electricity and a wonderful big lake for swimming, fishing, and boating. But there are some of us who would prefer to have the old Cromwell Gorge back, with its historic huts and plentiful fruit orchards. I thought about all this as I looked out across the dam. Then, deciding I was probably in the minority I got back in my car and headed down the hill into the nearby town of Clyde.
Lake Dunstan & The Cromwell Gorge
Jackson’s Inlet at Lake Dunstan
I left Queenstown Airport and spent the next 50 minutes driving to the town of Cromwell. I passed through the Gibbston Valley and the Kawaru Gorge and before arriving at the small, bustling town of Cromwell that was filled with people and bathed in bright sunshine on the shores of Lake Dunstan. Stopping for petrol and a bite to eat, a short time later I rejoined State Highway 8 and crossed the Cromwell bridge, now having the lake for company out of the right hand window. I rounded a bend and was greeted by a serene view of the lake. The lake looked warm, placid and tranquil as the summer sun took over the surrounding hills that once formed the Cromwell Gorge. Not being able to resist, I called in to an inlet for a closer look.
Traffic Chaos in Queenstown
Lake Wakatipu from Marine Parade
I spent the morning in Queenstown. For a short time I wandered through the botanical gardens, eventually following a trail that took me along the lakefront in Queenstown Bay and into the main shopping area. The place was filled with the usual assortment of tourists from various countries, taking in the mountain scenery, all dressed as if it was warmer than it actually was. I had lunch at a place called Vudu Larder which was nice before strolling around the various lanes that link the town centre, in due course arriving back at my car. So, with time marching on, and there being nothing else I wanted to see, I headed off to Queenstown Airport which is found in the nearby suburb of Frankton.
Well, nearby it might be, but easy to get to but it’s not. The traffic was insanely stupid. I don’t know how local residents put up with it, I really don’t! Not having any idea what the holdup was, all I could see in front of me was an endless procession of cars, buses, boats, camper vans, trucks and motorbikes. At one point it took me 30 minutes to drive a meager 2 kilometers. And, this was 10:30am on a Wednesday morning, hardly what I’d classify as rush hour traffic! As the traffic inched forward, I discovered the cause of all this chaos was roadworks at a roundabout that leads into the suburb of Frankton. I later read, the construction works to upgrade the intersections and Bus Hub in Frankton is anticipated to take four years to complete. Four years!! I’m sorry, but any traffic and roading upgrade that is taking four years to complete, better be a shining example in traffic engineering, an impeccable crowning accomplishment. A traffic utopia if you will, a place of perfect peace and happiness where all travelers can intermix in a state of nirvana. Anything less will be slightly disappointing!
Rain on Princes Street
Rain on Princes Street
It had been raining. Evidently it had stopped just long enough for the roads to begin drying, but now it started again and it quickly went from a light, mist drizzle to vigorously intense, all in a matter of seconds. One moment I was standing on the pavement admiring the far off street lights towards the top of the hill, next thing the road was a dazzlingly, shimmering glow as rain fell from the early morning gloom. It was all rather pretty, in a sleepy, low-key kind of way.
Corner of Rattray and Princes Street
Corner of Rattray and Princes Street
In the morning, I went to Dunedin’s city centre. It was early, and I expected it to be quiet, and it was. Apart from the occasional car that would cruise past or delivery van that would ignore almost every traffic law there was, I pretty much had the place to myself. The surrounding, dimly lit office buildings were mostly dark and empty, the occasional light beaming out across the early morning from some enthusiastic eager beaver who’d already got a headstart on the day’s proceedings.
Vogel Street & The Warehouse Precinct
Vogel Street in Dunedin
If you’ve never spent time casually wandering around Vogel Street and the Warehouse Precinct in Dunedin, you’re in for a treat. This area is packed with some seriously impressive Victorian warehouses, built on land reclaimed by the Harbour Board in 1879. With the harbour, railway and the central business district all within a stones throw, Vogel Street became a bustling hub of industry, home to some of the country’s biggest companies at the time—especially during the Otago Gold Rush, when Dunedin was actually New Zealand’s largest city for a while!
Dunedin Railway Station at Night
Dunedin Railway Station
If George Alexander Troup could see the elegant and grand Railway Station he designed, he would be very impressed. He would be even more astounded to see it lit-up at night. But, most of all, he would be even more stunned to be here at all since he died in 1941. When a new Railway Station building was needed for Dunedin, a competition was held to design the new building, and to the astonishment of presumably everyone except Troup himself, he won.
The station he designed is a grand affair, with a central entrance hall bookended by long, dignified wings. It was built from Kokanga basalt perched atop a base of Port Chalmers basalt, with Oamaru stone flourishes to keep things interesting. The basalt came from a quarry in Central Otago that was opened specifically for the project, because if you’re going to build something of this scale, you might as well not just be functional but suitably dramatic, as maybe all good railway stations should be.
Shipwrecks in Palliser Bay – II
Weather storm in Palliser Bay
While we’re on the subject of shipwrecks at Cape Palliser, another story is that of the Sydney based brig, the ‘Shamrock.’ Leaving Lyttelton near Christchurch in 1861, bound for Otago with a cargo of timber, and five passengers, the ship almost immediately hit inclement weather. Under the command of captain Thomas Dixon, the Shamrock hit violent gales and mountainous seas that threw the ship about and carried on throughout the afternoon and into the night.
By morning, the ship was completely off course and taking on water. The captain, fearing he couldn’t keep his vessel afloat much longer, made the decision to beach the ship in an attempt to save the passengers and the cargo. Striking a bit of luck for the first time on the journey, the ship ran aground onto a sandy beach in Palliser Bay, thus ensuring passengers, crew and cargo were safe. While the ship eventually broke-up on the shoreline, Captain Dixon later stated that the wind was so great, the beach was strewn with dead albatrosses, porpoises and other marine life. For many years afterwards, it was referred to as ‘The Great Gale of 61.’