An abundance of nature's wonders in the Catlins

The sparsely populated Catlins is located on the far south eastern corner of New Zealand’s South Island. Named after Captain Cattlin who bought a section of the land from local Maori in 1840, the rugged coastline and mountainous landscape dare you to explore one natural wonder after another - each time thinking that this must be the reason that people visit.

We booked ourselves in at Nadir Outpost at Slope Point - which stakes claim for the most southerly accommodation of mainland New Zealand; nestled in the hills with sheep ambling past our window and, it seemed during our stay, a permanent gale blowing outside, we felt a million miles from anyone. I was lucky to witness a sensational sunrise from our accommodation, I awoke to a pink hue which intensified as I dragged myself out of the warm bed and into the Baltic morning air with the ten thousand curious sheep (there are definite benefits to pulling your jeans on over your pj‘s when it‘s that cold), well worth the effort to see a rainbow, which landed just at the point that two rolling hills intercepted; it was simply stunning, but gone in seconds, and  while I was quick enough to grab my camera, I wasn’t fast enough to whip out my tripod, which was necessary to do any real justice to the beautiful start to my day.

We stayed for 2 nights, and although we didn’t see every single sight the Catlins had to offer, we left feeling that we’d ‘done’ the region and could tick it off our list. The Catlins is remote, and we’d been forewarned to take enough fuel, food and cash for our visit as they’re not particularly readily available once you get there. We travelled from North to South, which for some reason seemed to be the opposite direction from all the guidebooks I consulted, but that seemed to make no odds, and there seemed to be an equal number of people travelling in each direction..

The first attraction we hit after entering the region was Nugget Point, where we took a short walk to a lighthouse adorned headland to warn passing ships of the picturesque rocky protrusions in the swirling waters below. The path is quite open in places and the drop down the sheer cliff faces to the rocks below, where we spotted Yellow-Eyed Penguins frolicking,  made me glad that the littlest hobo is generally happy to walk next to us and hold hands - I suspect I would feel quite nervous taking a more inquisitive toddler down this track… a theme that developed as our time in the Catlins continued - there are some nerve-racking paths around, but I am fairly confident that's the reason this place is so beautiful.

We munched our lunch in the car (the littlest hobo managed to contain her disappointment that chicken nuggets hadn't materialised from the sea...) in what is becoming our standard fashion when the weather isn't conducive to an outdoor picnic, with the littlest hobo using the car as a jungle gym while we urge her to sit still until she's swallowed her mouthful. A coffee stop is an unwritten rule in our travel day, so when we unexpectedly passed a curious looking collection advertising coffee, we did a u-turn and ordered our daily caffeine fix. I'm glad we did because it turned out we'd stopped at the Lost Gypsy Cafe - a  collection of ingenious inventions made from trinkets that others would most likely toss out with the trash, self-labeled 'fine acts of junk' all gathered in a groovy old bus. We grabbed our coffees and spent half an hour or so looking around. We would have paid the extra $5 each to look around the gallery, but little kids weren't allowed in, so we continued on with our journey.

Hobo, meet gypsy....

With the satnav claiming we still had a few hours to go (luckily we have now realised that a gravel road en route means that Gipps, as it is affectionately known, assumes that you will drive at 10km per hour) and the day drawing on, we debated whether we should really do another stop, but the weather forecast for the next day was rain, rain and more rain, so we pulled off the main road and headed to McLean Falls - in spite of it being the furthest walk of all the falls, we could hardly drive by a place with such a cool name. We weren't disappointed... while the walk was challenging at times and I wished more than once that I'd invested in some hiking boots, when we got to the top, the falls were spectacular.

Mclean Falls - she's not keeling over with boredom, honestly!

The next morning brought the predicted rain, that started soon after we rose, and continued all day. We headed to Curio Bay and Porpoise Bay, where we sat in the car looking out into the bay at the choppy waters in the hope that me might spot a dolphin through the heavy rain that was lashing the windows. When a lull came, we made a dash and spent a short while clambering around on the rocks at the petrified forest - we weren't lucky enough to spot any of the local wildlife (sea lions and penguins frequent the area) but the fossilised logs and rockpools were interesting to explore.

We gave up battling the downpour and made a beeline for the Niagara Falls cafe - I couldn't believe how many good write ups I'd read about this place, and we had to give it a try. The cafe is in an old school house and sells local crafts alongside the cafe - it was a great environment to sit and warm up/dry out while we watched the animals wander by the windows and a stream of hungry locals and tourists arrive for lunch. The food was delicious and filling; I ordered a bowl of seafood chowder and I struggled to finish it.

We battled over whether to do our next activity, as it was pouring with rain and we weren't very well prepared, but I am so glad that in the end we braved the rain because we had such a huge adventure at Cathedral Caves.


You can drive for half an hour in the Catlins without seeing another soul on the road, but at the same time, you will find that as there's an obvious tourist trail, you will tend to the the same people as you move from one of nature's great wonders to another. Having said that, it's certainly not crowded, and you can be standing with ten people around you one minute, then turn around to find you are all alone with only the bird song and the crash of waves to keep you company the next. There is undeniably a disproportionate number of sheep to people in the area - so much so that at long last and after several long months (since our trip to Ireland, to be precise) the littlest hobo has tired of shouting 'baaaaaaa' in a somewhat startling manner every time she sees a field full of the fleecy coated little creatures.

Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

There are lots of short (ranging from ten minutes to an hour) walks, which make it really attractive with a toddler, and some of the tracks are even stroller friendly too. I would definitely advocate a trip to the Catlins on a South Island tour, and there's too much to see in one day. We found that two days in the Catlins was perfect - we had something to do the whole time we were there, and left with a sense of having seen plenty in the area too.

Recapturing a sense of adventure at Cathedral Caves

We'd usually do anything we could to avoid venturing out in the rain, so we were battling with what to do in the middle of a torrential downpour on our last afternoon in the Catlins. Top of my list for our time in the region was a visit to Cathedral Caves, but a one hour round trip in the pouring rain with our less than adequate wet weather gear and footwear was less than appealing.

We drove to the car park, ummed and ahhed, drove half way down the road back out again, then screeched to a halt (much to the joy of the campervan behind us) pulled up our big girl panties and did a u-ey. With the caves only accessible two hours either side of low tide, this was our one and only chance - two and a half travellers were going down the mountain.

We parked Jucy and I ran over to pay the meagre entrance fee, while Mr T got the littlest hobo dressed in her decontamination suit (otherwise known as puddle suit and wellie boots). The attendant assured me that we'd be fine in our trainers, but warned me that we may need a torch at the back of the caves - we didn't have one. So we shrugged and made for the path. Under the canopy of the mountainside forest, the walkway down to the beach was a breeze, keeping the wind, and the majority of the rain, at bay - I kept glancing down at people's feet as we crossed paths, glad to see that they weren't knee deep in mud spatters or one shoe down on their way back up.

When we reached the beach, the rain had dulled to what Peter Kay refers to as 'that fine rain that get's you wet right through'. We headed across the sand in the same direction as the people ahead of us, noting that on a nicer day, this would be the perfect beach to linger on, and after a few minutes we reached the entrance to the caves, most apparent for the ten or so people hovering around the mouth, posing with cameras and looking up at the jaw dropping rock formations in front of them. It was pretty impressive.

Those two tiny smudges in the light area are people... these caves were HUGE!

I think it was the size that first struck me - i just hadn't realised that they'd be so big. And I'd imagined the cathedral-like shape to have been formed by looking at a large rock next to a cliff, when in fact this was two mammoth caverns, seperated by a rocky outcrop at the front, but joined at the back, where they tunnel back deep into the rock cliff face - it was quite amazing really.

We ventured inside, and were distracted from the awe of the place for a minute or two by a dead possum lying on the sandy floor of the caves, which had been suitably commemorated by a visitor. I stopped to take a photo, and when I looked up, Mr T and the littlest hobo had disappeared into the darkness at the back of the caves. I hovered nervously, suddenly acutely aware of my echoing surroundings, and that the only other person who had been in the caves had also vanished into the milky darkness...surely they would reappear in a minute or two.

They didn't. I called out. No response. I felt very alone, and somewhat stupid, standing in this cave, with the tide creeping ever nearer, waiting for my family to reappear. I took a deep breath and realised that I was going into the darkness too - my little girl and my husband were in there somewhere! I advanced slowly, and stumbled over a mass of seaweed. Suddenly, I heard the littlest hobo's voice ahead of me - I called out to them and in an unusual moment of ingenuity started to use the autofocus button on my camera, which couldn't focus in the dark, to set of the flash, lighting the way with a series of explosions of light, enough to see Mr T scrabbling around on the floor a few metres ahead of me.

The littlest hobo had dropped one of her boots in probably the furthest point you could reach back into the cave. I cursed myself for buying her black boots. But using the light from the flash we found it, replaced it, and made for the front of the cave down the second path - the opposite one to our entry route. This space  was even more spectacular than the first - whether it was our approach to it - from the darkness into the light, or the formation that the rocks had taken on from the continuous pounding of the waves; standing in this monstorous cavern left us completely awe-inspired once again at the wonder of nature's crafts.

One of my favourite photos of all time - Mr T takes full credit for this one

We spent a while taking it all in then took some photographs in this magical setting, running back into the cave as a particularly enthusiastic wave rolled towards us, and looking up just in time to see the other couple who had been standing close by wade around the entrance with their trousers rolled up to their knees. The tide was coming in, and we were standing all alone in the far cave.

Trying to keep our panic at bay (that was in the good parenting manual somewhere, right?) we backed up and watched the waves; the next few rolled in not far from where we were standing, and we thought about backing up into the cave again and coming around the other side. But mental images of the cave filling with water was enough to put me off that idea. I was reassuring myself that they had strict times when you could visit the caves to keep people safe, and we were still an hour before closing time. Suddenly there was an ebb in the waves, and we made a run for it, shoes soaking and spray flying into our faces, round the rock until we reached the other entrance, where people were still casually ambling into the caves, dry footed and definitely in no danger of that changing any time in the near future. I felt silly again. But the thrill of the adventure had been so exhilarating, and we headed up the beach, laughing, smiling, and with our hearts pumping and feet squelching.

A visit to Cathedral Caves? Yes definitely. In the rain? Don't let it stop you. With a toddler? They'll love the adventure (just as long as you're ready for them to hitch a ride with you back up the mountainside). I'd go so far as to say that if the Catlins wasn't on your South Island itinerary, you should think about adding it just so that you can visit cathedral caves.