The joyful spirit of the Hector’s Dolphin.
On the trail of dolphins in New Zealand.
Laura and I had travelled to New Zealand dreaming of having a closer relationship with nature, spending more time outdoors, and seeing some wonderful wildlife. Early on in our trip, visiting Akaroa gave us a chance to see one species that was a priority for both of us — dolphins.
The interior living space of our van had been lovingly crafted (not by us, I must confess). Timber floors. Wood-panelled walls, where sliding wooden hatches allowed us to peek out from our cabin-like cocoon. Kitchen cupboards and countertops that could only have been constructed by a skilled carpenter.
These features contributed to her beauty as a home but came with a cost. Weight. As we soon discovered, she did not love hill climbs.
The Banks Peninsula is an extinct volcano jutting out into the Pacific Ocean, just south of Christchurch. Steep-sided, with winding roads snaking their way to the summit. This was what we needed to cross to reach our destination.
It was our first test of Tiger-Lily.
After the long, flat stretch of roads leading away from the city, we found ourselves at the foot of Banks Peninsula. We started to climb, making steady progress to begin with. Then, the road became steeper. We found a direct correlation between an increase in the road’s gradient and a decrease in our speed.
In low gears and gathering a tail of traffic, our engine groaned as we crawled up the hill. Passing lanes were a godsend. We stopped several times to allow a fleet of cars and motorbikes to flood past us. It wasn’t a long stretch of road, but we certainly took our time.
When we finally reached the summit, we were rewarded with our first view of Akaroa Harbour. A gorgeous scene of tranquil, turquoise waters encircled by forest-edged, rolling green hills. We had to stop to take it in and take a picture.
Before long, we were back in the van and starting our descent. Here, we found out that all the extra wood weight meant she enjoyed going downhill, and heavy use of the brakes was needed to tame her.
Roads with names of Rue Jolie or Rue Balguerie are lined with tempting bakeries and chic cafes, giving the small town of Akaroa a distinctly French feel. A cultural legacy from a time when the French laid claim to the area. It sits nestled along the shoreline of a natural harbour bearing the same name. At the free camping spot on the edge of town, we parked Tiger-Lily and called it home for a few days.
We went to Akaroa intending to see dolphins. More specifically, Hector’s dolphins. One of eight species of dolphin that live in the seas surrounding New Zealand. These charismatic mammals are scattered across the coastal waters around South Island, their highest population density around Banks Peninsula, giving us our best chance to see them.
With a maximum length of around 1.5m, Hector’s dolphins are (along with the subspecies Maui dolphins, found only around the North Island) the smallest marine dolphins in the world. They are also amongst the rarest, with their population estimated to be around 15,000.
Short and stoutly built, they are best known for their dorsal fin, which gives rise to their nickname of Mickey Mouse dolphins. A jet-black rounded dorsal fin, looking like the ears of the famous mouse, sets them apart from other dolphin species.
The Marine Mammal Reserve surrounding Banks Peninsula was set up in 1988 to protect Hector’s dolphins. It was designed to minimise the impact of set nets. Dolphins would become entangled in these nets, unable to return to the surface to breathe, causing them to drown. Restrictions on this type of fishing have allowed population numbers to rebound, and the area has become a favourite haunt for the pint-sized cetaceans.
The sky was overcast. Drab grey clouds smothered the sky, and a chilling wind blustered at us from the water. Was this the best day to be looking for dolphins?
We needed something to encourage us.
Watching a huge ray gracefully glide through the water around the dock as we waited to board the boat lifted our spirits. We took it to be the omen we were looking for.
Once on board, the crew further allayed any fears we may have held, informing us that the conditions in the water were ideal for dolphins and there was a good chance of spotting some that day. On top of that, they had a secret weapon to aid in our search.
That secret weapon came in the shape of Albie.
Albie was a black and white springer spaniel. He was the boat’s specially-trained dolphin spotter dog. Working on the vessel since he was six months old, he loved nothing more than being on the water, interacting with guests and keeping a lookout for dolphins. As the boat cruised the waterway, he stood vigilant, nose to the bow, ears flapping in the wind, his keen eyes scanning the water, ever watchful for signs of Hector’s dolphins.
I don’t recall whether it was by human or canine eyes, but it didn’t take long before the first glimpse of a dolphin was spotted. Flashes of their distinctive dorsal fin poked through the surface of the water. It looked to be a pod of three or four individuals. The captain slowed the boat and waited to see how they would react. Were they curious about us? Were they in the mood to play?
Good fortune smiled on us; they were.
When we first spotted the pod, they were about 40 meters away. They disappeared below the surface, briefly popping back up at regular intervals, getting closer and closer until they were right next to the boat.
They fizzed through the water, weaving in and out of each other’s paths. It was hard for my eyes to focus on them; they moved so quickly. Torpedo-shaped blurs of black, white, and grey rushed one way and then the other.
In the moments when they slowed down, I could see the intricate colour markings across their bodies. The bulk of which were shades of light grey that faded to white on their undersides. Fins, flukes, and flippers were solid blocks of black. A black eye mask swept forward, down to a short dark snout. So, snout may not be the correct word there, but I’m not sure how best to describe it. Every other dolphin species I have seen has a pronounced beak. Hector’s dolphins do not.
When the dolphins became comfortable around us, the captain gradually accelerated the boat. As we picked up speed, they gathered at the bow in anticipation. A pressure wave began to build in front of us. Once it reached a certain threshold, the dolphins no longer needed to use their powerful tail flukes to propel themselves. They simply rode the bow wave. Their flukes now becoming a rudder used solely for steering.
It is thought that dolphins use this technique as energy-efficient transport, hitching a ride from one place to another. But, from my vantage point, they also seemed to enjoy the experience.
Repeatedly, individuals would break off from the bow wave, pumping their tail to surge forward and away from the boat, only to circle back around. They would swim alongside us before plunging back into the pressure wave. Jumping on the ride again and again like kids at a fairground.
As we watched the playful scene unfold, it seemed like the dolphins were multiplying.
Two, four, six, seven — there are definitely more now.
Another pod had joined in the fun. It was difficult to keep track, such was their speed and how often they changed position, but my best guess was they totalled nine.
The two pods merged seamlessly, their interactions showing no signs of confrontations or squabbling. All there for the same reason, all there for a good time. They would shoot off alone, in pairs, or in groups of three, chasing one another off into the distance, returning a minute or so later to repeat the cycle and play with a different partner.
They held us spellbound for over half an hour with their joyful antics. Then, without warning, they were gone. Whether they grew tired of the game or an irresistible shoal of fish passed by, we will never know. But, on some unknowable signal, en masse, they sped away for the last time.
Our tour continued out of the harbour with the lure of a possible migrating humpback sighting. We knew that was a long shot given the time of year, so we contented ourselves by visiting a New Zealand Fur Seal colony a short way up the coast. The first of our many encounters with these boisterous animals.
We turned and headed home, stopping only when a White-flippered penguin paused to preen at the surface nearby. After we docked, a boatful of smiles disembarked. Each one knowing that any day you see a dolphin is a good day.
Thank you for taking the time to read this article.
