Coromandel Peninsula, where the real stars hang out

In the third of four articles set around the Hauraki Gulf, ANNE BESTON and photographer PETER MEECHAM leave Great Barrier Island for the western side of the Coromandel Peninsula.

At 6.30 am in a tiny bay at Nagle Cove, Great Barrier Island (Aotea), the only sound is of under-sized snapper hitting the deck followed by the rustle of a plastic bag used to throw them back.

No sooner does the line go down than another is hooked, but unfortunately only one makes the grade for a breakfast fish sandwich.

A kingfisher is patrolling the tiny beach, eyeing us suspiciously from his rock as if waiting to be rid of us.

On a glassy sea we cruise into Port Fitzroy, all dark, green bush falling steeply into a deep, black-green sea.

The island's main road runs up behind the general store and in summer it's one of the most popular anchorages in the gulf.

And it's here, in the still of a grey early morning, that the stars of the show finally decide to put in an appearance.

About 100 bottlenose dolphins weave busily towards us, smoothly scooping through the surface before darting through the shallows looking for breakfast.

We follow them through the harbour, the spray from their blowholes hitting our faces as they race just beneath the bow, turning sideways to look up with one dark eye.

Past Man-of-War passage we leave them behind and cruise past a clutch of islands, Motutaikao, Anvil Island and Flat Island, one of the most beautiful spots in the Hauraki Gulf. Good, sandy swimming beaches are hard to find around here, but it looks like perfect diving territory.

On Flat Island, the Walker family's sprawling settlement is the only sign of human habitation. They have lived here for generations but according to Barrier history they were not the first.

The island was once home to hard-drinking, hard-living Maude Hartnell, who, legend has it, once rowed to Leigh, stocked up on gin, and rowed back again.

Today the island provides a perfect contrast to the story as, early on this mid-week morning, a group of fishermen go quietly about their business, their helicopter parked on the hill behind them.

We travel past the Needles rocks into Whangaparapara Harbour, site of an old %whaling station, where a mill once processed %kauri logs and gold was mined in the hills.

A fisherman with a large brown dog in a small dinghy does his best to ignore us.

"Catch anything?" we shout. "Are the Kennedys gun-shy?" he shouts back, holding up half a dozen snapper. He introduces "Cap'n Littledog" but won't give us his name. We take up again with the gannets and petrels on the long haul to Te Kouma Harbour, the following sea constantly pushing the boat off course.

Colville Channel, at the tip of the Coromandel Peninsula, is notoriously rough - something about wind versus tide, skipper Fran Whitworth explains. While today there is only a moderate swell, surfing in an 11.6m launch is hair-raising. I reluctantly take the wheel to give the skipper a break and she laughs at my look of deep concentration.

Passing down the almost-deserted shores of the western side of the Coromandel Peninsula, we reach a group of islands that include the famous Elephant Cove on Motukahaua (Happy Jack) Island.

It's a small but perfectly formed horseshoe bay and tucked away inside is a sleek, white superyacht. Could it be Brad and Jen on a sneaky mid-week tour of the gulf? We cruise in to take a closer look, peering through binoculars, but see only grey-haired blokes with paunches and a sporty-looking woman on a jetski. Not Brad and Jen then.

Te Kouma is a welcome rest after slogging through a robust swell for six hours.

We drop anchor in a quiet bay where cows wander slowly along the beach and sheep graze the tame green paddocks.

We're joined by a Waiheke family on their yacht whose progress into the bay confirms my suspicions of husband and wife sailing teams - he directs from the tiller, she does all the work.

Their two children quickly launch a snappy white dinghy with matching oars and row off to explore.

Our dinghy has different-length oars, a leaking bung and the only bloke on our boat is from Otago where dinghy-rowing is not thought to be a vital part of the growing-up experience.

After all her hard work, Fran is the only one prepared to tackle the cooking and as it's our last night she cooks everything she can find - sausages, rice, eggs, broccoli.

The pohutukawa are silhouetted against the sky as the sun sinks, the cows leave the beach and peace is descending on our small bay when the sleek superyacht bustles past us to the front of the queue, closest to shore.

Its occupants now provide us with a fully rounded experience of boating in the Hauraki Gulf as we fall asleep to the sound of moreporks struggling to be heard over the whrrrrr of the superyacht's generator.

I toy briefly with the idea of grabbing the mismatched oars and circling over to have a word but instead fall asleep with the hatch above the bunk wide open, a kaleidoscope of stars swathed across the pitch-black sky.

* Tomorrow: Motuihe.

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