Missing Red Rocks & A Few New Bruises

The Red Rocks Coastal Walk sounded like a good day trip. I hopped on the bus, making my way over the hills of Newtown to Island Bay. First off, the title is misleading. It’s actually two walks. Well, more than 2 walks, but two separate trails specifically referred to in the name. My guide book, which I haven’t been very impressed with, didn’t realize this as it gave no suggestion which to take. A map at the entrance to the ‘quarry turned car park’ showed the Red Rocks walk breaking off halfway down the Coastal walk so I figured I could decide when I got there which to take. For once I was actually in season to see one of nature’s attractions; another sign farther along directed potential seal watchers to the end of the Coastal walk, so I had my destination as well. It’s a good thing since I never did find the entrance to the red rocks. 

The beginning of the walk is uneventful, but the view is worthwhile. The land sits facing the Cook Straight’s entrance into the many Wellington Bays.  Eventually if you go far enough, you could see the South Island on a clear day. Since the tip of the South Island is actually farther north than bottom of the North Island that would mean you’d need a clear view to the west. Since the walk’s width stretches from the sandy beaches (in most places) 10 to 20 feet to the rock walls of the hills lining the coast, it’s not actually visible until you wind you’re way around the coast for some time. I actually walked in shadow most of the way despite it being beautiful blue skies and seas stretching out above and beside me. I’ve mentioned before that Wellington is known for its wind even in town, but here you get the wind coming off the sea both colder and stronger, which either blows you along or stops you in your tracks depending on which way you’re walking.  The easiest footing through small stones and sand is the compacted road used by tourists who have 4 wheel drive rentals to skip the scenery and go straight to the seals or the off roaders who flock because it’s a challenge to drive and has enough loose gravel to burn out in quite a few places. Drivers and pedestrians sharing the same road is always challenging, but throw in the wind and it becomes scary; me myself and I almost being blown into a passing truck on more than one occasion.  Thankfully the road necessitates slow speeds where this might be problematic, but bouncing off a jeep as it passes is still not high on my to do list, especially when I don’t think an ambulance could traverse the terrain to rush me to the hospital. 

The path was a series of bays and outcroppings. I walked along expecting to find something new, but rounding one gave only another to be conquered.  Eventually I came around on curve and saw in the distance what I thought I was looking for. It was more than 100 years ahead, but the hill curved in front of me cutting off the path on its way out to sea, tailing off in a large rock formation with lots of grown man size cousins sitting at its feet. A road had been cut up, over and through where the tallest parts came together. A small parking lot full of 4WD vehicles sat at the base of the incline. I took the time to read the sign proclaiming it Sinclair Head, home of a male fur seal colony from May to October. It’s their ‘haul out’ season, which sounds like the seal equivalent of 6 months at the gym to get fit before fitting into their swimsuits. The sign also gave helpful hints like never get between a seal and the sea, that’s their escape route. Also don’t make them angry, they can hurt you. This really shouldn’t surprise anyone, because even a goldfish with an average species weight of over 300 pounds could do some damage. These have teeth! 

With these cheerful thoughts in mind, I was side tracked by the ocean spraying over the rocks and the sunshine bouncing off the water in front of the rock formation whose back I was considering climbing up and over a moment before. I decided to post pone the inevitable climb and the seals for a few minutes to chase the sunshine so I started climbing out over the jagged rocks blanketed by shadow and over the stagnant water with its smelly vegetation. At least I thought the smell was coming from the water. I was picking my way over the rocks watching my step working my way towards the picture I wanted to take with my camera in my hand. I was looking for my next step off the rock I was standing on when I heard a loud bark/roar like a throaty German Shepherd and the thwack of slapping fins on rocks in front of me which was seconded off to my left. I found myself clawing at the wall beside me trying to get a grip on something having lost my footing or my maybe my knees wobbled, either way I was falling over. This is actually the point where I had the ‘they’ll never get an ambulance out here’ thought as I pictured my head smashing against one of the ax shaped rocks I was sure were below me somewhere. As it was I landed on my bum on a rather flat rock just a stair step down from the one I had been standing on. I could only sit, my hands shaking with the five seals directly in front of me, the leader staring me down in case I didn’t get his original message. My heart still thudded and it took awhile to slow its pace and for the instant adrenaline rush from the shock of pain or just missing it to run its course. Oh yeah, did I mention that I screamed the whole way down? Like a girl! But that’s ok because I am one. 

Once I recovered my wits, I got up with my legs still shaky and made my way back off the rocks. As I did I found another seal on the other side of my rock wall I had walked within 3 feet of without noticing. Their brown coats blend with the rocks on which they stretch themselves, but it gave me another thought to ponder. How often do I miss what I’m looking for because I’m distracted by something else (the sun in this case) or because I’ve decided ahead of time what (or where) it would be? How many times have I missed something because it didn’t bark in my face?

With these thoughts in mind I climbed up and over finding another 30 seals that preferred to bask in the sun. This time I was very aware of what was rock and what was not, making sure not to get between any furry animals and their water. For the most part though, they’re pretty used to humans coming to visit and didn’t get angry with their audience members unless they got too close or made too much noise. They really can pick a place. The rocks, the blue sea, the waves rolling in combine for a stunning effective, although I doubt that really factored in when they chose it for their winter home.