An island of rough chivalry

Children caught eels while adults nabbed wild pigs and possums at the annual Chatham Islands hunt. Photo / Clare Gleeson

Clare Gleeson shared the lonely and lovely Chatham Island with a handful of tourists.

Knights in shining armour come in all shapes and sizes. Ours was driving a ute, not riding a horse; he was dressed in jeans and a bush shirt, not shining armour; and his weapons were a tow bar and rope, not a lance and a shield. However, no medieval damsels in distress could have been more grateful than we were to see him come driving down the lonely Chatham Island road.

While our husbands were out fishing for blue cod, we thought we were following the hotelkeeper's directions to the cliffs for a view of the island's coastline. Unfortunately we misunderstood him, but confident in our 4WD we ploughed on until we realised we were entrenched in mud.

We walked to the road, hoping someone would drive past. There are only 640 residents on Chatham and we knew that many of them were at the Red Hut, the collection point for the annual eel, possum and pig hunt.

We'd been down that morning and seen the hunters' spoils. In the carpark there was a huge mound of dead possums that grew as utes pulled up with trays full of furry corpses. The arrival of a truck carrying a dead wild pig created a mild stir.

The tusked pig was lifted, one man to each leg, carried to the scales, weighed and joined others hanging from a metal frame. Nearby a line of eels hung from a wire fence, each labelled and grouped according to the age of its predator. A proud angler stood by his catch as I took his photo, and more eels arrived in buckets.

While driving around the island we saw people of all ages armed with buckets, nets, spears and guns. The eel contest was for the children, decided by who caught the longest eel in each age group. The pigs were judged on weight and the possum-trappers were judged on the number of possums caught.

But back to our Sir Galahad. As he drove us back to our stranded vehicle we were offered a celebratory beer, as it transpired that Glen, our knight, was the winner of the possum section.

Fortunately for us, he had just gone home to shower before heading back to Waitangi to join in the revelry. After 20 minutes, a rope and lots of mud we set off again, waving farewell to our hero of the hour.

We had a delightful long weekend in the Chathams, a place like no other. It is remote at 680km away from New Zealand (a one-and-a-half hour flight) but the friendliness of the people make you feel at home. On the large, old aircraft we flew over on we were the only passengers not personally acquainted with the flight attendant. As we tucked into the home-prepared food, she asked others about members of their families.

Street signs on Chatham Island. Photo / Clare Gleeson

We booked into Hotel Chatham, the only hotel on the island, although there is other accommodation. There were only eight tourists on Chatham when we were there, including two dentists from Hawkes Bay. All the tourists came to eat at the hotel every evening.

At breakfast one day the manager asked us what we'd like for dinner that night. Crayfish, we said. The crayfish were caught to order and we were the envy of other guests that night.

The hotel is in the main township of Waitangi, which has a general store that stocks a huge range of goods, a small hospital, a bottle store (in a garage), a Catholic church and an ANZ bank. There is no Wi-Fi on the island and no cellphone coverage, so you really are getting away from it all.

The hotel is right on the harbour and serves good food. The owner, Val, is the major tourism operator on the island. Not only did he provide accommodation, food and a rental car, but he was also the owner and skipper on the fishing charter. As well as this busy life, he supplies a Sydney restaurant with fresh fish every week.

In our rental car we spent two days exploring the island. Chatham was windswept, there was no getting away from it. Everywhere we went we saw trees blown out of shape, and we were glad of our jackets. There are wekas everywhere and weka stew is a popular dish.

The land is mainly farmland but there are stands of native forest scattered over the island. Most of the roads are unsealed, except for some around Waitangi.

We visited various places of interest, always completely deserted. One of the pilots who flies to and from New Zealand is restoring a Sunderland flying boat that crashed and sank off the island in 1959. It's a huge project, and by the look of it will take many years.

There is a lovely wetland area to wander through and we explored the JM Barker (Hapupu) National Historic Reserve, where there are tree carvings made by the Moriori.

Near the settlement of Owenga there is a statue of the last of the Moriori, Tommy Solomon, who died in 1933. One afternoon we went to the beach to hunt for fossils of baby shark's teeth, of which there are apparently hundreds, to no avail.

It has been said that Chatham is what New Zealand used to be like. It isn't, of course, but it is a fascinating place to visit - and I can vouch for the locals' chivalry.

CHECKLIST

Getting there: Air Chathams runs regular connections between the Chathams and Auckland.

Further information: Pukekohe Travel runs all-inclusive tours to the Chatham Islands.