Quail Island can be seen from the Lyttelton Harbor on the Banks Peninsula.
The quails it was named after are extinct and been replaced with California Quails instead.
I thought if I went on a Thursday I might have a quiet ferry ride to the island and spend the day exploring it in peace and quiet. Instead, I rode on one of two boats carrying me, a group of 90 excitable ten-year-olds, and some brave parents who would be in charge of minding the herd.
While the group of school children was busy organizing themselves by the pier, I started off at a brisk pace to stay well ahead of them.
The first place I came to was the old pier were Scott had unloaded his dogs and ponies for training in Antarctica.
The island served as a quarantine station for recently arrived immigrants and had a small leper colony. Prisoners were brought there to build stone walls and former sailors quarried rock there for ship's ballast.
One one side of the island the remains of several old ship hulls are visible.
Past the old pier I came across a large group of students from the local poly tech who had organized themselves into tribes and were pitching camp around a barracks building. They were required to swim to shore and were doing a series of survival exercises.
I became rather smug about their efforts to find resources when I rounded a corner and came across a pear tree. I ate two of the fruits which were ripe juicy edible. The feeling of survivor queen was short lived however when I realized the the Department of Conservation had put out poison to kill rats and stoats. I spent the next few moments in quiet contemplation about smugness and comeuppances.
All along the trail I was followed and serenaded by fantails. They are fearless little birds who will flutter quite close in an effort to eat all the insects a walking human can scare up. They are also delightful in the way they perch nearby, fan out their tail feathers and make a small peep peeping sound to encourage you to keep moving.
Here are some pictures:
The next place I came to was the ship graveyard. I had to climb down a cliff to get a closer look but it was worth it. I discovered a small covey of quails foraging on the hillside.
The long grass beside the water was warm and soft and filled with black crickets. There were small lizards everywhere. Best of all, I was alone on the beach and it was quiet.
When I scaled back up the the cliff I could hear the voices of shouting children. They had stopped nearby for lunch and, unknown to the them, were being observed by a nervous quail. I managed to snap a few shots before he took off.
The quails it was named after are extinct and been replaced with California Quails instead.
I thought if I went on a Thursday I might have a quiet ferry ride to the island and spend the day exploring it in peace and quiet. Instead, I rode on one of two boats carrying me, a group of 90 excitable ten-year-olds, and some brave parents who would be in charge of minding the herd.
While the group of school children was busy organizing themselves by the pier, I started off at a brisk pace to stay well ahead of them.
The first place I came to was the old pier were Scott had unloaded his dogs and ponies for training in Antarctica.
The island served as a quarantine station for recently arrived immigrants and had a small leper colony. Prisoners were brought there to build stone walls and former sailors quarried rock there for ship's ballast.
One one side of the island the remains of several old ship hulls are visible.
Past the old pier I came across a large group of students from the local poly tech who had organized themselves into tribes and were pitching camp around a barracks building. They were required to swim to shore and were doing a series of survival exercises.
I became rather smug about their efforts to find resources when I rounded a corner and came across a pear tree. I ate two of the fruits which were
All along the trail I was followed and serenaded by fantails. They are fearless little birds who will flutter quite close in an effort to eat all the insects a walking human can scare up. They are also delightful in the way they perch nearby, fan out their tail feathers and make a small peep peeping sound to encourage you to keep moving.
Here are some pictures:
One of the little fellows was keeping watch over the island's only grave. It belongs to Ivon Skelton who died there at the age of 25 all alone and far from his home in Samoa. He had been sent to the leper colony and wasn't able to see his family.
His grave site is covered in weeds and the fence around it is in need of repair. There has also been a shift in some of the ground around the site which may have been caused by earthquakes.
I plucked a small purple flower and put on top of his grave.
The next place I came to was the ship graveyard. I had to climb down a cliff to get a closer look but it was worth it. I discovered a small covey of quails foraging on the hillside.
The long grass beside the water was warm and soft and filled with black crickets. There were small lizards everywhere. Best of all, I was alone on the beach and it was quiet.
When I scaled back up the the cliff I could hear the voices of shouting children. They had stopped nearby for lunch and, unknown to the them, were being observed by a nervous quail. I managed to snap a few shots before he took off.
The island is full of solemn places and tragic histories. Not even the charming fantails and comic quails could alleviate a lingering sadness at certain locations.
There were some brothers who bought land on the island and kept cattle there near a spring. Two of them drowned when they were returning to the island after collecting firewood.
The ponies that Scott took to Antarctica all died (as did Scott).
The lepers had to find ways of entertaining themselves and face the fact that they would never be part of the wider world.
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