The Marlborough Sounds: Kelp in the Drowned Valleys
New Zealand's Marlborough Sounds are drowned river valleys where kelp beds, mussel farms, dolphins and a famous shipwreck share startlingly calm water.
Tom Okafor ·
Granite headlands, golden sand and golden kelp: New Zealand's smallest national park meets scallop country at the top of the South Island.
At the top of New Zealand's South Island, the land relaxes. The granite ridges that tear the weather apart further south slump here into a warm, low coastline of golden sand and headland arches, fronted by two very different seas: the sheltered coves of Abel Tasman National Park, and the broad, tidal expanse of Golden Bay — Mohua — sweeping north to Farewell Spit. For paddlers, snorkellers and anyone tracking how golden kelp makes a living, this corner is a small, complete classroom: forest over reef, reserve beside fishery, fresh water of legendary clarity pouring in from the hills.
Abel Tasman National Park, established in 1942, is a slip of a park by local standards — at around 237 square kilometres, New Zealand's smallest — but its coastline packs in more granite headlands, lagoons and golden beaches per kilometre than almost anywhere in the country. The rock is Separation Point granite, weathered into the smooth whale-backs and twin-domed islets, and split apples (Toko Ngawhā / Split Apple Rock at Mārahau is the postcard), that make the coast one unbroken sculpture garden.
East of the park the submerged valleys of the Marlborough Sounds take the water inshore; north and west, beyond Separation Point, the bay becomes Golden Bay proper — tidal flats, eelgrass meadows, the broad scallop grounds for which the region's fishery was named, and at its head, the 34-kilometre Farewell Spit, among the longest natural sand spits on Earth, which the wading birds of the East Asian–Australasian Flyway use as their wintering pile.
Between and beneath it all run extraordinary fresh waters. The Tākaka karst system gives up Te Waikoropupū Springs — some of the clearest natural freshwater ever measured by science — and the visibility ethic of this coast comes from those springs as much as from the sea. In calm weather, over kelp off a granite point, 15 metres of green-gold clarity is common.
The canopy species of these shores is golden kelp, Ecklonia radiata — flexible, shallow, tolerant of the moderately warm summer water here at almost the northern limit of its range. It dresses the subtidal granite from the low-tide line to about 20 metres in the clear water, thinning wherever urchins or sand-scour gnaw at its edges, and backing up into pockets of flapjack and musk kelp on the more exposed points.
Around the heads toward Separation Point, and on the roughed-up rock of the outer Golden Bay coast, southern bull kelp takes over, surge-set and head-high, the kelp that the sea lion and the surfer both argue with. Between the reefs, in shelter, the bays hold eelgrass flats: meadows that are the coastal counterpart of the kelp forest — nursery, carbon bank, godwit larder rolled into one.
Where grazing runs ahead of forest the subtidal story turns urchin-shaped: northern New Zealand knows the kina barren well, and kina are here doing the same patient work when the system tilts. The healthy patchwork — golden kelp over most of the park's reefs, barrens on some Golden Bay ledges, forests elbowing back in the marine reserve off Tonga Island — is exactly the kind of before-and-after experiment the whole coastline runs for free.
Golden Bay was scallop country. The commercial fleet moved tonnes of New Zealand scallops from these flats season upon season, and the fishery's boom and collapse — and the long closures that followed — is one of New Zealand's canonical lessons in how a seemingly inexhaustible bottom fishery can run out of bottom. The scallops are still there, patchier now, revealing how fragile a sand-flat harvest is against dredge pressure and sediment change, and the flats' recovery is a decades-long study of doing less.
Halfway down the park's coast, Tonga Island Marine Reserve declares a 1,835-hectare piece of this water as no-take — one of the national network's older members, gazetted in 1993. Within it, the golden kelp stands thicker, the snapper larger, the crayfish bolder, and on Tonga Island itself a haulout of several hundred New Zealand fur seals — kekeno — drapes the rocks through winter and spring. Kayaks drift past at a respectful distance; snorkelling the reefs adjacent to the reserve on a calm summer day, the water goes from empty to crowded across the boundary in the span of a single fin-kick. It is one of the easiest no-take before-and-afters you'll ever have handed to you in flippers.
The coast track gets the postcard covers, but it's the kayaks that make this an ocean place. Abel Tasman has one of the most complete sea-kayak networks anywhere — operators out of Mārahau, Kaiteriteri and Tākaka Golden Bay put you alone on water so calm the kelp canopy mats the surface like a second, living tide-line, and the coastal reef drops off into forest within a few minutes of anywhere.
The day classics are world-standard: Mārahau around the Adele and Fisherman islands' predator-cleared bird sanctuaries; Anchorage to Bark Bay over the kelp-covered ledges of Tonga Quarry and Medlands; and, across the bay, the short hop from Pōhara to the honey-coloured archipelago of Tata Islands. When the water's flat, kayaking over kelp here looks exactly like the brochure: dark canopy against white sand, fish shadows moving underneath, kekeno lazing alongside.
The Abel Tasman Coast Track — a 60-kilometre Great Walk taking three to five days — strings the coves together with swing bridges, estuaries and a hut per beach. Book everything; it is among New Zealand's most walked trails, and deservedly. The tidal estuaries, Awaroa and Torrent Bay chiefly, turn the walk into a tide-table exercise at low water and a swim or a boat at high; crossings are a delight when timed, a soak when not.
Into Golden Bay the road ends at Collingwood, and from there the shore walk reaches the start of Farewell Spit; guided tractor-and-bus tours run to the Spit's lighthouse and its gannety bird-life, and the flats at low tide are one of the best places in the country to watch bar-tailed godwits, fresh from Alaska most Septembers, feeding up for the way back.
The hills give back too: a community restoration effort across the park with the Department of Conservation and a private trust has pulled possums and stoats off the headlands, and the coast's birdlife — kākā, tūī, tieke, weka — answers with what locals now simply call the dawn chorus.
Among the best in the South Island for casual snorkelling: the water is clear, the reefs are shallow, and golden kelp crowds the granite between 2 and 8 metres. Sites at Tonga Quarry, Anchorage and the mouths of the marine-reserve boundary are all reachable from the beach; the water reaches 18–20°C in late summer — fine in a spring suit.
Consistently. New Zealand fur seals — kekeno — haul out on Tonga Island in numbers through winter, and individuals loaf alongside kayaks around the park's islands year-round. Rule of thumb: 20 metres, no feeding, and let the seal dictate the approach.
Roughly mid-September, flying nonstop from Alaska; they feed through the New Zealand summer on the Spit's tidal flats and depart across March. The Spit is at its best in the warmer half of the year, and it's good to remember it's a Ramsar wetland and a nature reserve — go with the guided trips or respect the closures.
Yes — the Coast Track is a Great Walk; huts and campsites are booked through the Department of Conservation, and peak season (late December through February) sells out months ahead. Water taxis hold for you at any of the cove landings, and should be reserved alongside your walking days.
The tidal beaches inside the bay — Pōhara and Tata beaches especially — are among the South Island's warmest and calmest, with the bonus that the water is famously clear. Outside the spit, the open Pacific shore is another matter — wild, cold and serious, and best left to those who read surf as a profession.
New Zealand's Marlborough Sounds are drowned river valleys where kelp beds, mussel farms, dolphins and a famous shipwreck share startlingly calm water.
Tom Okafor ·
Golden kelp forms the backbone of Australia's Great Southern Reef. Learn to identify Ecklonia radiata and why this habitat-maker is on the move as oceans warm.
Dr. Mara Ellison ·
Kekeno — the New Zealand fur seal — was hunted nearly to extinction by the early 1800s, then recovered under protection. Ecology, biology and where to see them.
Dr. Mara Ellison ·