Day 10 – The Bay of Islands
Early Roads, Missed Loops, and a Glimpse of Colour
The day began early, well before the city had properly stirred. With an island-hopping cruise booked for the afternoon, there was no room for drift. Alarms rang around six; bags were repacked with a practised rhythm; breakfast was quick and functional rather than indulgent. By the time we finally rolled out of Auckland, it was closer to eight than planned, but the road north was forgiving.
The drive itself unfolded quietly. A couple of brief wayside pauses punctuated the journey, nothing demanding attention, just enough to stretch legs and reset focus. It wasn’t until Whangārei that the day began to hint at what we were passing through.
We reached Whangārei around mid-morning. The plan had been a relaxed brunch, but at that hour the kitchens hadn’t quite caught up with our expectations. Instead, we wandered the Whangārei Town Basin, which immediately felt like a place worth lingering in — a pocket of creativity gathered around water.
From the outside, the Hundertwasser Art Centre was impossible to ignore. Organic lines, uneven surfaces, bursts of colour — unmistakably echoing the Gaudí-like, anti-straight-line philosophy of Friedensreich Hundertwasser. Even without stepping inside, the building announced itself as an act of resistance against uniformity. Nearby sat the Whangārei Art Museum, cafés, and signs for harbour cruises — all quietly suggesting that this could easily become a destination rather than a stopover.
Time, however, had other ideas.
We pressed on, making a short detour to Whangārei Falls. Ideally, this is a place for a slow, looping walk, but today it was reduced to a viewing-platform moment: the falls in full voice, framed, admired, and reluctantly left behind. It felt like a promise deferred rather than a box ticked — something to return to, perhaps on the way back.
By early afternoon we arrived in Paihia, earlier than expected. With time in hand, we checked into the hotel, oriented ourselves, and confirmed the practicalities of the afternoon: the cruise would depart from Pier 10, operated by Island Getaway. The weather, we were told, had turned in our favour — a quiet stroke of luck after days of watching forecasts with suspicion.
Lunch came first. A Thai restaurant near the waterfront delivered exactly what was needed: comforting, fragrant, unhurried. Lamb massaman for me — rich, warm, grounding. Others found their favourites too, and for the first time that day, the clock loosened its grip.
By the time we stepped back outside, the harbour had brightened, boats rocking gently, and the Bay of Islands finally felt within reach.
The afternoon adventure was about to begin.
Afternoon in the Bay of Islands – Salt Air, Stories, and a Softening Horizon
By early afternoon, the harbour at Paihia had shifted mood. The light had steadied, the wind had eased, and the water held that particular blue that feels more Mediterranean than Pacific. It was the kind of day locals later described as lucky — especially after the weather that had preceded it.
We boarded our vessel at Pier 10 with Island Getaway, a four-and-a-half-hour journey promised through the constellation of 144 subtropical islands that make up the Bay of Islands. Small group, unhurried pace, live commentary — it felt less like a tour and more like being entrusted with a story.
As the boat eased away from the wharf, the commentary began — not just geography, but memory layered over water.
First Landfalls and First Misunderstandings
Our first major landmark was Roberton Island, a small island with twin lagoons and a long view over the bay. From here, the guide traced the earliest recorded European encounter with this coastline.
In 1769, James Cook anchored nearby during his first Pacific voyage. The initial meeting with local Māori was tense — a haka that was both greeting and challenge, misread intentions on both sides, warning shots fired. No lives were lost, but the moment could easily have tipped another way.
Peace was eventually brokered with the help of Tupaia, the Tahitian arioi and master navigator aboard Cook’s ship, whose understanding of Polynesian languages and customs helped bridge the gulf. It was from these surrounding vantage points that Cook first comprehended the scale of the archipelago and named it the Bay of Islands.
Later, the island passed into private ownership — a man named Robertson attempting sheep farming on land that resisted being simplified. He died within a year. History, here, does not flatter ambition.
A short stop allowed those who wished to climb to the lookout. From the summit, the bay opens in both directions — water stitched with islands, beaches hidden and revealed with every shift of perspective.
Motukōkako — The Rock with a Breath
From there, the boat headed east toward one of the Bay’s most recognisable forms: Motukōkako (Hole in the Rock).
The vessel slowed, then threaded its way through the opening — rock walls close enough to touch, water darkening briefly, then opening again to sky. It was unexpectedly intimate.
The guide shared an old belief: if seawater dripping from the rock touches your skin as you pass through, it is considered a blessing — a sign of safe passage and favour. Whether or not one believes it, the moment feels marked.
Nearby, seabirds skimmed the surface. Beneath us, fish moved in flashes of silver. The sea here felt alive rather than scenic.
Beyond this lay Cape Brett Lighthouse, perched high above the ocean — remote, white, resolute — though we viewed it from a respectful distance, its presence more symbolic than central.
Urupukapuka — A Pause, Not a Performance
The longest stop of the day was on Urupukapuka Island, at Otehei Bay. Here, time loosened.
Mahi and Mayank hired a double kayak — the last available — and disappeared across the bay for half an hour, paddling quietly, choosing motion over immersion. The water was clear but cool. We stayed ashore, sitting, watching, letting the body catch up with the mind.
There were hill walks available — sweeping viewpoints promised — but fatigue won, and there was no regret in that. Some places are better absorbed horizontally.
Just before departure, a fish-feeding ritual drew snapper to the shallows in sudden abundance — bodies turning, mouths breaking the surface — a reminder that even the pauses here are shared with other lives.
As the boat turned back toward Paihia, the light began to soften. Some passengers disembarked at Russell. We continued on, arriving back at Paihia just after six.
Evening: Quiet Above the Water
Back at the accommodation, exhaustion arrived suddenly. A short nap reset the day. When there was still light left, I took the drone up — carefully, briefly — capturing the islands from above: scattered, calm, held together by water rather than roads.
Dinner became a practical affair — Woolworths before closing — stocked for an unhurried day ahead. Tomorrow held fewer plans: perhaps the Waitangi Treaty Grounds, perhaps simply rest.
The Bay of Islands had not dazzled.
It had settled.
And that felt exactly right.
