Travelling the Blue Road

Photographer and writer Chris van Ryn journeys to the wilds to sail the waters and hike pest free islands

First published in Life and Leisure Magazine

So remote is the south-west corner of the South Island - home to an archipelago of 700 islands - that there are moments when you can feel entirely alone in the universe. And when the wild beauty, enhanced by rain-laden clouds or mirror-glass waters or a sultry mist drifting over white-capped mountains elevates the soul and sends you soaring, gravity seems to fall away.

The U-shaped valleys and mountain ridges truncated by glaciers form a land and seascape unchanged for centuries. Cook saw it this way, when he sought refuge in Fiordland in 1770.

With a beauty and grandeur hidden far away from the usual tourist routes, this is as pristine an environment as anywhere in the world.

But there is a problem.

Seen from a distance, the bush is a canopy of virgin variegated greens - silver beech, totara, rimu and miro. On land there is the subtropical damp smell of regeneration: rich earth and composting vegetation. But there is also an eerie silence - vastly different from Cook's time. The birdsong, he reported, was “deafening.” Rats, stoats, deer and possum have since ravaged the forest understory and devastated bird life.

Slipping through these mercurial waters - at one time calm, the next white-tipped by wind - sails Flightless, a 27-metre ex-Navy expedition vessel with international survey and extensive safety equipment, watermaker, diesel stove, airconditioning, three bathrooms, and a huge heatable back deck with dining table for communal and convivial meals of venison or crayfish or paua, caught within metres of the boat.

Flightless - only slightly smaller than Cook's expedition ship with its crew of 70 - is “home” to Sean Ellis (35) and Maria Kuster (34). It is upon her decks that this plucky entrepreneurial couple built from the water up their charter business “Pure Salt.” And it is in this remote wilderness that they developed and honed their life values, growing a passion for conservation, people and this remote corner of the South Island.

Flightless (after its original Navy name, Moa) caters for up to 12, “and everything aside from alcohol is included: catering, bedding and towels, fishing rods and tackle, dive cylinders and weights, as well as kayaks, paddle boards, free-diving gear and of course a hot tub on the top deck. But no internet,” adds Maria.

Born in East Germany six years before the wall came down, Maria excelled at school. Her parents had expectations.

“In Germany, things are structured. I was headed for medicine or law. For me to jump off the wagon and do what felt good, didn’t make a lot of sense for starters.”

At 19 she headed offshore to improve her English. While friends went to America, Maria decided on New Zealand. When people said, “Go to Auckland,” she went to Christchurch. It was the start of following her own way, a trajectory she maintains to this day. It guides her life, loves and business.

It's a familiar story. She planned to stay eight months. That was 15 years ago. She fell in love. With New Zealand, the South Island, diving, remote corners - and Sean Ellis. In that order.

The South Island has always been home for Sean. He grew up one of five, a shy kid who was homeschooled for his formative years.

“I studied in the kitchen and was used to pots and pans clanging away,” he laughs. A lot of his childhood was spent on the water with his bare feet planted firmly on the deck.

“I grew up on boats. As a toddler, Mum would tie me to the railing so I could trot around the deck.”

His brother fell in once. His father leant over the railing and said calmly, “Let's wait for him to come back up before we jump in. No point until we see where he is.”

At 14, Sean went to college. The transition was hard.

“I love to get out and do stuff. For me, it’s about getting my hands dirty.”

It was not one single step that led Sean and Maria to Flightless and Pure Salt.

“At the time, a lot of the things I was doing didn't make sense,” Maria says. She loved diving and did the dive masters and instructors courses. She spent a lot of time around boats, so it was a natural step to do a skipper’s ticket.

Sean was pursuing similar qualifications - before he knew Maria.

“It wasn't planned,” says Maria. “We were individually pursuing our passions.”

Together they studied marine engineering in Nelson. Later, they worked in engineering workshops, gaining hands-on experience.

“If you’re driving boats, you want to know how they work,” says Maria.

On the rare occasion when they're not on Flightless, they combine engineering and diving for underwater construction: maintaining hydro dams, inspections for biosecurity and video work to show deterioration of equipment.

Still with bare feet planted on the deck, Sean appreciates what Maria brings to the business.

“I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her. She set up the website, does the marketing and organising and brings everything together.”

Sean has his own business skills, mind you. He had a profitable racket on fishing boats while putting time towards his skipper’s licence.

“I'd buy loads of packets of cigarettes and drinks and chocolate, and when the rest of the crew ran dry, I'd sell them. $50 for a large slab of chocolate. I made a fortune!”

Together for ten years, their relationship has been built on honesty.

“That’s what brought us together. When you’re honest, there’s no room for ego. It’s a waste of time.”

Pure Salt isn't seen as “tourism.” “We are dealing with Kiwis so the mentality is locals checking out their backyard.” says Maria.

They provide a mix of charters: fishing, hunting, diving, as well as specialist trips like photography, all-girl charters, and conservation, where volunteers assist in pest eradication.

“On all charters we are not here to plunder the place.” Sean leans forward. “It’s about raising awareness and being inspired and taking ideas home. Looking after New Zealand.”

It aligns with New Zealand's goal to be predator free in 2050. Pure Salt sponsors DOC for pest control in Fiordland.

“Rats and stoats can swim up to 2 km. They island hop. We're constantly monitoring and setting traps,” says DOC Head Lindsay, running his hand over a map of Indian Island, showing a grid of traps.

After the first day of setting taps, a rat is caught. Everyone is jubilant. Later the rat is used as fish bait.

There have been challenges for Pure Salt and Flightless.

“We once nearly lost a propeller,” recounts Maria. “That's a disaster in these waters. And there was the time we hit an unchartered rock. We had some business offers that almost went ahead. But we looked at each other one night and said. You know what? This doesn't feel right. It’s taking too much twisting of ourselves.’ So we pulled out.”

But this is life, they say. Don’t get stuck on things. Deal with it.

Sean looks through the window at the prow of Flightless as it hums through the early morning water. Destination: Supper Cove - a cul-de-sac at one finger of Fiordland. Point of origin and departure. The wind is sharpened by snow and the granite mountains softened with white. Plumes of light rain drift across the layered surface: fresh water for 2 metres, then the darker saltwater, reaching down 100 metres. But then the sun opens the day, and flashes of light sparkle on the water like freshly poured spumante.

It’s the end of one charter - the new about to begin. Maria, Sean and crew Brad and Anna begin dashing in and out of cabins and clambering up near vertical ladders, preparing Flightless for the next intake.

“The most difficult thing when you come to the end is letting go of people,” says Maria. “You have a week together. No email, mobiles or social media. It's all about each other. You really bond.”

The thrum of the ship’s generator can be felt on deck where the outgoing party are assembled. For most, it’s a time of reverie. Someone walks over and leans on the railing, staring into the water at the little orange rubber raft that bobs behind the boat, leaving a wake of white froth. In the distance, the beehive-shaped silhouettes have turned monochrome. Something is coming to an end. No one quite knows how to wrap words around it. Soon, someone will try.

The whirring and thumping of rotating blades echos around the mountains and the downdraft whips the water around the cove into a frenzy, thrusting out a ripple of concentric circles. The helicopter from Te Anau with the new group arrives.

This is a story about Maria and Sean. But also, it’s the stories of others.

Pure Salt and Flightless and Fiordland is a place where people share their “stories.” If they want. Where you've come from and where you're going, no one minds. Somehow this place, this ship, this rugged piece of windswept nature, this experience outside the everyday, levels the field, and breaks through barriers. People open up and share unpolished anecdotes of life.

There’s dreadlocked, grinning Rusty, who’s as wild and adventurous as Fiordland itself: “I saw it on Facebook, so I just came.” And 85-year-old “I've-had-a-great-life” Max whose wife went in for an operation he thought she may not return from and life became startlingly fragile, and the moments - this moment - pure and precious. And his sons, Roger and Craig, who manage to squeeze a week from work to bond with family, aware five decades of life’s moments have passed in seconds and fewer remain, and discussions unfold on the importance of paying attention to what's going on right in front us. And their brother Grant, who leans on the shoulder of anyone nearby for help. No one says a word but everyone has a shoulder ready. And everyone stares jaw-dropped, as videographer Fez, seduced by the environment and loaded with camera gear, sets off to thrash his way through dense understory and up a mountain on Indian Island for that “I'll never forgive myself if I don't get that” shot. And Anna the “throw-it-together” chef who at 23, in between stirring a chowder, says she thinks the key to life is an open mind, and that everyone’s got life lessons; it just means you don’t have to learn them yourself and that life is richer when viewed through others’ lenses as well as your own. And the DOC huge-bowls-of-morning-muesli mountain men with their passion for conservation and trapping pests which inspires everyone. Because everyone wants to hear, once again, the kākā call and the tui warble and the robin chirrup - the “deafening” sound that Cook heard.

On deck, the departing group prepare to leave. Roger stands. He's about to speak. Maria and Sean lean against the railing smiling, relaxed, despite the mad rush. They've been here before. They have any inkling of what's to come. This is the moment, the reason they do all this.

“Can I just say ...” Roger clears his throat. Suddenly, he’s speaking for everybody. “... what a fantastic, special time we’ve had. This,” gesturing toward the mountains, “was on Dad’s bucket list. And everyone knows my brother is unwell. On this trip, he really opened up.” He smiles, looks at the group, then at Sean and Maria.

“And,” grinning now, “he’s eaten more than I’ve seen in a long time.” Someone behind says, “That’s because of Brad’s caramelized paua. Tenderised with a dive tank. Fresh from the ocean floor”. Everyone laughs.

Sean kisses Maria on the forehead. People hug and leave. They step out of Fiordland and back into their lives. “We’ll keep in touch,” they say.

The story of others. This is the real story of Maria and Sean. The important story. They wouldn't want it any other way.

END