Halfmoon Bay

Once back in town--while the village is called Oban on maps, it's correct name seems to be Halfmoon Bay, but everybody here calls it simply "the Bay"--I walk wearily back to my comfortable lodgings at Peter and Iris Tait's guest house, Sails Ashore. Perched on a scenic hillside just above the village, with an unobstructed view of the Foveaux Strait, the Tait's place is truly a luxurious refuge in a very rough part of New Zealand. Iris lays on some hot soup, and laughs when we tell her of our trials going up Thomson Ridge.

"Twelve hours for me last time we went up there," she says, knowingly. "Worst weather I ever saw." It's a relief to know we weren't the only ones to be tested by the island's infamous ridge.

Peter and Iris not only boast perhaps the finest accommodations on what is otherwise a pretty funky Stewart Island, they know the place as well as anyone. For decades,(well not QUITE that long) Peter Tait WAS the government here, acting as sole park ranger for the entire island. His encyclopaedic knowledge of the place is reason enough to stay here, as he can tell you what you need to know. If I had known that before, I would have let Peter plan my visit, start to finish, and could have made even better use of my time in this remote spot.

The other guests that night included a doctor and his wife from Auckland (both had left India to escape the stigma of a mixed caste marriage), who had a bottle of Laphroaig Scotch whiskey to share. That inspired Peter to get out the Talisker and Oban, and me my duty free Glenmorangie, for comparison, and our impromptu single malt tasting moved into full swing. It's the kind of evening you'll never have at a hotel, the kind of socializing that happens even on a backcountry trip when you're at the ends of the earth. The Tait's have a couple of border terriers, Piglet and Penny, and, as I'm partial to the breed, the dogs increased the sense that I had found a home away from home during my long stay down here at the bottom of the world.

Life in The Bay is pretty relaxed. A ferry from Invercargill, and surprisingly frequent air connections to the tiny hill-top strip, bring hardy travellers, backpackers, birdwatchers, fly fishermen and kayakers here in small but growing number during the summer season, October through April. There's a couple of restaurants, including a famous fish and chips place run by a German woman who discovered on a visit she liked Stewart Island so much she moved here. The bar at the venerable South Sea Hotel, right on the water, is the centre of the action, and the post office next door also serves as the airport ticket counter.

Peter Potterfield...... (Excerpt from an on-line article at http://www.greatoutdoors.com/