That day, the Pacific Ocean resembled a slab of chipped greenstone. Smooth marbled jade interspersed with small, choppy peaks of white etched out by the whipping wind. Behind our speeding boat a fizzy trail reached back towards the waning shores of Kaikoura's South Bay.
When I first saw him our boat was bobbing in the swell beneath the gaze of olive green mountains, sprinkled with snow. We were in the vicinity of the Kaikoura Canyon, a massive deepwater trench where conflicting water flows meet and mingle and produce the marine smorgasbord that entices Kaikoura's most famous residents: whales, dolphins and seals.
It also - less famously - draws one of New Zealand's most varied selections of pelagic birds, from shags and terns to petrels, shearwaters and albatross.
He took me by surprise. So fixated was I on the frenzy of Cape Pigeons - little, mottled, black and squawking - feeding from the back of our Albatross Encounter boat that I could have missed his grand entrance. But Alistair, the skipper, points him out: "There - a Salvin's Albatross." And I see him, soaring playfully in the distance. "This one's probably come from the Bounty Islands, where they generally breed. You'll see these guys off the coast of South America too," says Alistair, whose staggering knowledge of seabirds makes the trip as much a lesson as an encounter.The Salvin's Albatross is now gliding, just metres above the water. Icy wind fills my mouth as I gape at his magnificent 2.5m wingspan. He gracefully tilts his sleek body sideways, exposing an underbelly the same stark white as the snow on the peaks of the Kaikoura ranges. His white wings stretch skyward and seaward, the tips black, as if dipped in paint. Watching the Cape Pigeons he circles the boat, tilting again to reveal the black upper side of his wings and body. He coasts effortlessly upon overstuffed cushions of air.
"He makes flying look so easy," admires Alistair, breaking the silence that the bird has awed us into.
Coming in to land, the Salvin's locks his gaze on the greedy, frenzied Cape Pigeons. Up close his perfection is surreal, like an airbrushed image in a magazine or an intricately drawn artwork. His flawlessly smooth head and neck are the delicate grey of spring time rain clouds whilst his thick, sturdy bill is a soft daffodil yellow. Immaculate strokes of kohl eyeliner give him startling Cleopatra eyes and a magnificent sweep of black eyeshadow forms an immovable frown. His moody expression belies the blithe way he freewheels through the air.
"He looks angry, doesn't he?" comments Alistair. "Out here it's all about intimidation."
Intimidation works. Looking every bit like a small aircraft the albatross drops his massive webbed feet and teeters slowly from side to side before gliding smoothly on to the rolling jade swell of the ocean. Cape Pigeons scatter and he bobs towards the 'albatross ice cream' (read: frozen fish guts) cast out the back of our boat.
He may've got his way but it turns out he's got nothing on the Giant Petrels - masters of intimidation. Swooping down to join the picnic these hefty birds ruffle their dark feathers and emit a disturbingly human-sounding growl. "The vultures of the ocean," says Alistair, as we watch two screech and squabble over a floating fish bit.The ice cream continues to work its magic: Wandering Albatross fly in, folding their enormous white wings into thirds and tucking them awkwardly into their sides before pushing their way to the front of the feeding frenzy; Black-backed Gulls whinge and cry as they circle the flurry; Little Hutton's Shearwaters dart about purposefully. And then there's the star of the show: "A Southern Royal Albatross," points Alistair. "Probably the biggest sea bird you'll ever see." The ornithological orchestra reaches fever pitch as the burly, big-footed bird flies in, landing centre stage.
His looks aren't a patch on the serene Salvin's and he seems smaller than the goofy Wanderers but the sheer size and grace of the Royal is astounding nonetheless. With a body larger than my pet Cocker Spaniel he breezes effortlessly on wings that span 350cm. Three hundred and fifty centimetres! That's over 11 feet, making each wing the length of a Dusky dolphin. Even as I watch him coast towards us, his giant wings never moving, my brain struggles with these inconceivable figures.Then Alistair throws another astonishing number at me: 100,000 - the number of albatross killed by long-line fishing every year. "It seems amazing, doesn't it?" he says to my bug-eyed response. "But some of these long-lines are 100km across with a hook every 10 metres or so. They may be dolphin friendly but they're definitely not albatross friendly."
Coupled with the land-based threats of stoats, cats, dogs and pigs, long-line fishing is significantly depleting albatross numbers, a tragedy exacerbated by the species' low level of reproduction - usually just one egg a year. Of the 21 albatross species, 19 are now considered threatened by extinction.
The cacophony of birds following our ice cream don't know how lucky they are. Right now their biggest worry is the shiny brown seal that pops up beside our boat, executes a beautifully lazy pirouette in the water, and dives off.As we course back through the moody ocean, past the snow-sprinkled peaks to the darkening shores of Kaikoura, the birds squabble and screech behind the boat for the last of the food. I snap photo after photo, suddenly aware that I could be capturing precious images of a dying breed.
Watching the birds gradually fly away in search of their next meal, I'm saddened to think that my own species, so technologically advanced and unreservedly capable, is on the verge of needlessly wiping out another: A species so extraordinary it can circumnavigate the world in 46 days; so exceptional it can glide for thousands of kilometres without flapping its wings; and so astoundingly beautiful that in the greenstone waters of Kaikoura's South Bay it took my breath away.
Amelia experienced the Albatross Encounter courtesy of Encounter Kaikoura and Kaikoura Information & Tourism Inc.
