🗓️ November 03rd, 2025

🏁 Kilometers : 263

Today's plan: 18 km kayaking in the Bay of Islands! We'll depart from Paihia, paddle along Opua, and head into an inlet to the hamlet of Waikare. I could have chosen another option: crossing the bay by ferry for 1 kilometer and then walking 13 kilometers along a road. Kayaking was the obvious choice. The kayak rental company instructed me to meet them at 10:30 a.m. a little further down in town. When I arrived, I met up with Greg and Ashley, the Americans, Teresa, a German woman I had met during the "Safe River Crossing" training in Auckland before starting the trek, and six other hikers I hadn't met before. The instructor admits he made a mistake with the tide times and that we won't be able to start for another hour and a half. We need to time our arrival in Waikare with high tide for two reasons: first, the last kilometer through the mangroves is shallow, and if we arrive too early or too late, we won't be able to paddle. Second, if we arrive too late, the outgoing tide will make it difficult to reach the back of the bay, as the current will push us out to sea. So, we have time for a coffee.

At noon, we push the kayaks into the water and set off. Due to the strong winds, and to make our progress easier, we're given double kayaks. With eight pairs and two solo paddlers, it's only natural that I team up with Lachlan, a 26-year-old Australian. I sit in the front, and he goes in the back. From his very first paddle strokes, I knew he wasn't some tourist out for a bit of fun. I could feel the power of his strokes propelling the kayak forward as if it had a small motor. He was giving it his all; I couldn't just do half-heartedly, so I paddled as hard as I could and we sped off. We'd been instructed to avoid spreading out too much, so we paused briefly to wait for the others. I turned around and was surprised to see they were hundreds of meters behind, tiny specks offshore… it really did look like there was a motor under our kayak!

We continued on our way when the others caught up with us. We passed Opua (a small coastal village) and, after turning slightly to the left, we came face to face with a vast straight stretch of water, the coastal inlet extending inland for kilometers. The wind is picking up and blowing straight in our direction, which isn't making things any easier. Worse, waves are starting to form with troughs 50 to 80 centimeters high… it doesn't sound like much, but with our canoes, it's a wild ride! The instructor gave us some kind of spray skirts that we could have put on and adjusted over the top of the kayaks to prevent water from getting into the boat, adding that he was providing them as a matter of principle but that it would be pointless today—sir, you're the expert, we'll follow your advice. But when I realize how much water is pouring into the kayak with each wave, I curse him for discouraging us from wearing them. Every time the kayak is in the trough of a wave and hits it head-on, a spray of water stings my face. I put on sunglasses hoping to avoid getting seawater in my eyes, but they proved utterly useless as water streamed down my face! I tried closing my eyes to relieve the stinging iodine, which resulted in me paddling in the dark—I didn't care, Lachlan is steering anyway! I can hear him laughing every time a wave crashed over me. I am quickly soaked, dripping, completely drenched—and find myself sitting in water almost up to my hips. A little more, and it would have been the sinking of the Titanic, followed by the raft of the Medusa!

It's hard to believe, but I am enjoying these conditions. I imagine myself as one of those trawlers caught in a major storm in the Roaring Forties, with waves 10 meters high. I wish I had windshield wipers to improve my vision, or maybe a snorkeling mask. I'd look pretty silly! And I paddle, paddle, paddle, to reach the small island in the middle of the inlet, which will be our lunch break. It's there in front of us, seeming to approach only too slowly. And finally, we land on the small beach. It's magnificent. It's idyllic. I'm soaked, but happy. The other pairs arrive gradually, all glad to have finished this first half of the regatta. We all have to turn our kayaks over to empty the accumulated water. We take advantage of the break to dry what we can, knowing it's not really necessary, as the second half of the journey still awaits us. I eat some crackers with peanut butter, and then we're off again for the afternoon's cruise. Fortunately, the wind has calmed down, and now that I've put on my kayak spray skirt, it proves unnecessary. We head inland, the scenery gradually changing: the mangroves become more prominent, the surrounding hills rise gently, and the water becomes shallower. As we approach the bottom of the bay, we feel the muddy bottom with some strokes. A wall of mangroves looms before us, with several possible entrances to venture into its labyrinth. According to the instructions, we must take the second one from the left. We venture in, and suddenly, all sound seem to fade away. The thick mangrove envelope us, offering its tranquility, punctuated only by a few birdsongs and the sound of our boats gliding across the water.

And here we are, at the end of our excursion, in a grassy field bordered by a road, where we swap our kayaks for our beloved backpacks, which we hadn't missed much. I had booked a small place with a magnificent view overlooking the bay for a blissful evening; hot shower, washing machine, comfortable bed.The winning trio!