Journey to Farewell Spit

Farewell Spit, the longest spit in Aotearoa, curves around Golden Bay.

Beyond the first four kilometres, access is only possible with a specially guided tour. What once began as a handful of additional passengers hitching a ride on the weekly mail run to the lighthouse has transformed into a full-scale eco-tourist experience. Today, specially modified red buses take tourists and locals deep into this wild landscape, as expert guides reveal its stories, natural wonders, and birdlife. I was lucky enough to join one of these tours this winter. Here is how the journey went…

It is still dark when we set off from Collingwood, the eco-tour bus a welcome refuge from the 6AM chill. Allan, our driver and guide, welcomed us warmly. Around me is a mix of photographers and bird enthusiasts, some returning for a second trip. As Collingwood fades into the distance, a light appears out the window. One second, every fifteen seconds, it shines, the lighthouse that is waiting for us.

As he navigates the road, Allan begins by telling us about the early mining history of Collingwood. “People came for the gold and stayed for the coal,” he says. Golden Bay is named after this gold, not the sunny weather or beaches, as some might think. The mineral-rich land has drawn people from all around. He also recounts stories of Wiremu Kingi Te Koihura (Billy King), who was once the chief of Pakawau. The landscape feels alive with history as we drive along.

Soon, we venture off the road onto the sandy estuary. Allan expertly drives around the softer, muddier sections of ground. The farmland suddenly falls away, and we emerge onto the expansive spit, the only spit in the world to be a protected nature reserve. The never-ending expanse is a sight to behold.

Our first stop is an overturned tree trunk, half-submerged like the sun trying to push through the cloud. It appeared on the beach in 2010 and is now a favoured spot for shags to perch and dry their oil-less wings in the wind. Cameras click as we wander around before continuing down the spit. We travel further and further beyond the four kilometres open to the public.

As we move, new shapes begin to emerge. Black smudges suddenly transform into dedicated couples: tōrea (oystercatchers), who mate for life, standing sleepily on a single leg, rotating with the wind. Allan is clearly an expert, knowing all the English and Māori names for every bird we see. He is able to distinguish between juveniles and adults with a glance.

"Allan is clearly an expert, knowing all the English and Māori names for every bird we see."

Then the lighthouse, whose beam we spotted so far away, comes closer. An oasis of large trees is a stark contrast to the dunes. We stop for morning tea at one of the light keepers’ houses and hear tales of isolation, hardship, and dedication. Out here, everything required more effort and time: a trip to collect mail was an overnight affair, and gardens required bags of dirt carried all the way from Pūponga one at a time. As technology advanced, three keepers became two, then one, and eventually none. Now the light shines on without assistance.

Not far from the lighthouse, we can make out New Zealand’s newest and fastest-growing mainland gannet colony. Overhead, gannets soar and swoop toward the ocean, diving to collect their kai. As they age, they can become blind from the seawater, and they depend on the sound of the others to know where to find food.

The next stop is a sand dune. Ripples of fine sand wrap around my shoes as we climb, until I am transported to a barren prehistoric scene or even an alien planet. I relish the feeling of insignificance in the face of kilometres of land where nature is still truly king. Allan tells us tales of the sand dunes swallowing things whole: a shipwreck sunk underneath, a keg of whiskey lost, and whale bones hidden away.

Then we are off to admire the rocks at Fossil Point. They show layers and layers of time, oyster shell on top of oyster shell. Allan points out the holes in the rock, the work of tiny worms. The waves hit the reef in a steady rhythm as we watch on.

Our final stop is Cape Farewell. It is a poignant end to the trip. It is the northernmost point of the South Island. Seals lie lazily on rocks, unfazed by the waves crashing beside them. The bold arch shape etched into the rugged cliffs frames the landscape.

As we journey back towards Collingwood, we discuss the day. The keen bird spotters in the group were hoping to glimpse a rare kōtuku (white heron) on our trip, but it seems luck was not on our side. Then, mid-sentence, Allan suddenly stops the bus: a lone kōtuku stands in a field surrounded by cows. The bus is full of excitement. This special moment is the perfect end to the day.

Farewell Spit Tours is a locally owned business. Tours have been operating on the spit since 1946, originally as part of the mail contract to the lighthouse. When the lighthouse was automated in 1984, the company shifted its focus entirely to tourism and has been sharing the beautiful landscapes and wildlife of Farewell Spit with visitors ever since.

You can book tours via www.farewellspit.com