Storm surge, Flounder Bay

In wild weather the storm surge would send waves right up over the beach and into the lagoon at Flounder Bay. I loved times like these; loved the perfect beach when the tide drew back, the tracks of birds in the wet sand, the fractal patterns left by water sliding off the sand, the arcs of wrack, the possibility of something strange washed up.

[7 July 2008, Canon 20D, 24–105 mm at 24 mm, ISO 100, 1/80 at f16]

All content © 2012 Pete McGregor

Tarapunga, red-billed gull

Red-billed gulls (Chroicocephalus scopulinus), until recently placed in the genus Larus as Larus novaehollandiae scopulinus, are one of the most common shorebirds in Aotearoa, although apparently they're classed as "Nationally vulnerable". They were certainly plentiful at Flounder Bay, where I photographed this one in April 2008.


[18 April 2008, Canon 20D, 300mm f4 L IS, ISO 200, 1/200 at f8]

All content © 2012 Pete McGregor

Resisting the quad bike hegemony

Quad bikes long ago replaced horses on most New Zealand farms, but horses still hang on in some parts. At Flounder Bay they still get a spot of work, between long periods of quiet grazing and insistent investigating of explorers from the campground.


[12 February 2010, Canon 20D, 100 mm f2.8, ISO 200, 1/40 at f8]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Is this a dragonfly?

At the Cove of Giants, late in the evening on the last day, the headless remains of a large dragonfly (Uropetala carovei) perched on the beached tree. How had it arrived there; how had it remained there? A slight breeze would have plucked it into the evening air. Is this still a dragonfly? When did it stop being a dragonfly?

I photographed it, and stood listening to the sea for a long time while the light faded.


[12 February 2010; Canon 20D, 24–105mm f4 L at 105 mm, ISO 200, 1/125 at f11]

All content © 2010 Pete McGregor

Hawke Bay, rain cloud, Te Mata Peak

Flounder Bay in February. We walked partway towards Driftwood Cove in the evening; watched the light change and rain showers drift across Hawke Bay. The distinctive shape of Te Mata Peak, the low cliffs leading to Cape Kidnappers, the expanse of sea — this could have been a thousand years ago, before humans arrived here, while moa roamed, whio swam in the lowland rivers and huia sang in the forests. Only the faint reflections from Napier's buildings and the tiny form of a ship said otherwise. But takapu still flew over the ocean.

[11 February 2010; Canon 20D, 24–105 mm f4 L at 105 mm, ISO 200, 1/125 at f13]

All content © 2010 Pete McGregor

Nipper, the red-billed gull

When we first saw him we thought his wing was broken. But he could fly reasonably well and our hopes rose. I have no idea why we decided to call him Nipper — perhaps it's that innate desire to name or to anthropomorphise — but name him we did. Actually, I say “him” but we have no idea whether Nipper’s he or she: the sexes are indistinguishable (to us) in tarapunga (red-billed gulls; Larus novaehollandiae scopulinus). Still, they manage to work it out, which is all that matters.
Admittedly a pretty standard close-up portrait. 



[7 February 2010; Canon 20D, 300 mm f4 L, ISO 400, 1/3200 at f8]

All content © 2010 Pete McGregor

Flounder Bay, dusk

A summer evening at Flounder Bay.

[3 February 2010; Canon 20D, 10–22 mm f4 at 10 mm, ISO 200, 1/15 at f16]

All content © 2010 Pete McGregor

Beached tree at the Cove of Giants

Nine months later, the old beached pine had sunk further into the sand and its trunk, bleached paler, had begun to desiccate. [This is a larger and slightly tweaked version of the photo on the most recent Pohanginapete post.]

All content © 2010 Pete McGregor

Wave within rocks, Flounder Bay

At the south end of the beach I looked down to see the edge of a wave rushing between the boulders, beneath my feet.

All content © 2010 Pete McGregor

Gullruffle, Flounder Bay

On a grim morning with dark rain out at sea and moving closer, we wandered the beach near the mouth of the stream. Anne-Marie did some yoga; I prowled for pictures. This tarapunga (red-billed gull) stood preening on a rock at the water’s edge, safe from the surging surf that raced and foamed upstream. Gulls appear in photos most often in their clean, sleeked-down state; this time I concentrated on catching a different look. (The shutter speed was 1/250 s).

All content © 2010 Pete McGregor

Life and death at the Cove of Giants

Signs of life and death, some recent, some long gone, littered the shore at the Cove of Giants (you’ll be able to read about my visit there when I finish and publish the post ; in the meantime, if you’re interested, you can read some other impressions of our Time at Flounder Bay).

All content © 2010 Pete McGregor

Storm and wave, Flounder Bay

"At the mouth of the stream, sunlight on breaking surf shines so bright and white it's hard to look at, but out at sea, dark cloud drops an ominous veil of rain on the horizon."

—from the just-published post Time at Flounder Bay, on Pohanginapete

By the time I photographed this, the veil had become a shroud. We got back to the cabin just in time.

All content © 2010 Pete McGregor

Wave over rocks, Flounder Bay

"Further out, the boulders and weed appear momentarily then vanish as the swell surges over; when they reappear, water pours off them in long, shining streams like a different kind of weed: unbranched, ephemeral, constantly changing."
—from the just-published post Time at Flounder Bay, on Pohanginapete

All content © 2010 Pete McGregor

Signs of (human) life at the Cove of Giants

At the Cove of Giants, someone, probably not recently, had built a fire against one of the big rocks embedded in the sand. All that remained was a barely discernible blackened, scorched patch on the rock; the ashes and charcoal had long gone, long been claimed by the sea (perhaps on the very next high tide). I found it both eerie and comforting — that signs of human presence could so easily be erased.

Update (23 Feb. 2010): I've just published Part I of some impressions from Flounder Bay on my primary blog.

All content © 2009 Pete McGregor

Pihoihoi, New Zealand pipit

Most mornings when we walked the track to the beach at Flounder Bay we'd meet these delightful little birds. Pihoihoi (New Zealand pipits; Anthus novaeseelandiae novaeseelandiae) seem relatively unafraid of humans; in fact, on one occasion we stood still as one made its way with that characteristic, tail-wagging walk, almost to our feet.

All content © 2010 Pete McGregor

Not going with the flow [rock in stream, Flounder Bay]

The mouth of the stream at Flounder Bay changes continuously. Sometimes it's too deep to cross comfortably; sometimes, as in this photo, you can cross in ankle deep but still swift water.That's a limpet clinging to the rock — an indication the sea's only a few metres away.

All content © 2010 Pete McGregor

Where old tractors go [Flounder Bay]

Just a couple of the old tractors and similar machinery that make Flounder Bay such a fascinating place.
The horses get ridden; they’re not just for looking pretty. Maybe one day, when all tractors (and cars) will be as functional as these, we’ll be thankful we still have horses.

All content © 2010 Pete McGregor

Jacob's Ladders, Hawke Bay

We knew them as Jacob's Ladders when we were kids but that usage seems rare now. They're one of the forms of crepuscular rays, which have many vernacular names: I've most often found them called "God beams". I still prefer "Jacob's Ladders" but admit a fondness for the word "crepuscular".

We saw these at dawn at Flounder Bay last week; this is a cropped telephoto shot. I’d have loved a gannet to have cruised past as I pressed the shutter, but they were too far away to be recognisable as birds. [No—please don’t suggest adding one in Photoshop. :^) ]

All content © 2010 Pete McGregor

Evening, Hawke Bay

About two thirds of the way from Flounder Bay to Driftwood Cove, the track above the rocky coast passes a point with a flat area about the size of a small room, where one can look out over Hawke Bay. When the weather's clear, the view extends from the Mahia Peninsula in the north-east to Cape Kidnappers in the south. But it's the view directly east that so often entrances me.

All content © 2010 Pete McGregor

Beached tree; the Cove of Giants

I visited the Cove of Giants on the last evening of our stay at Flounder Bay. The great tree still lay at the waterline, bleached whiter, buried a little deeper in the sand, missing a few more branches.

All content © 2010 Pete McGregor