Seems as though as soon as we rounded the bottom of New Zealand's South Island, passing through Invercargill and up the east coast, things have become a little more mellow. Not so much of the tourist hype and adrenalin-rich money-gobbling stuff going on. It's still here, but more subtle, and you can breathe a bit more.

We've focused the last number of days on animals and beaches and rocks, and spent very little money. After the stunning mosaic rocks of Purakaunui, we headed for Kaka, where a nearby yellow-eyed penguin colony is rumored to be, as well as a nice hike out to a lighthouse on a stunning point.

The yellow-eyed penguins, the rarest penguin in the world, is normal penguin height, with beautiful, delicate markings on their heads, and clear yellow eyes. There are about 20 pair of them at Nugget Point, well-protected in an effort to increase their numbers. They come in from fishing at about dusk, and we were only able to view them from a hide -- a shelter built by the Department of Conservation, up the hill quite a ways above the beach. Through binoculars, we spied 4 of them, in their moulting stage now, although that wasn't apparent through our lenses. It was exciting to see them, for real, even though they were far away. It's quite a different experience to see a penguin up close at a zoo vs. one in the wild, no matter what the distance. It's thrilling, when you first spot an animal like that. It's real.

We hid in the wind-protected hide for about 30 minutes, but the light was waning and we wanted to check out the lighthouse, so we climbed the hill and continued our drive out to the point. The walk to the lighthouse was beautiful, with steep, rocky cliffs dropping below the edge of the path, and a spectacular view of land across the bay in the early evening light, with rainstorms in the distance and the sea strangely lit, almost as if from below. The view from the lighthouse was equally stupendous. We returned to our little grassy campground in the sleepy beach side town of Kaka at about 9pm, and focused a few hours on Internet and computer issues.

The next morning after laundry, washing the van clean of all it's muddy off-roading, and posting all those pictures to the photo gallery, we were off to Dunedin, where our primary focus was to buy Harley Davidson t-shirts for a friend. We had a nice surprise encounter in town with Steve and Trish from s/v Curious, who have gained a daughter and son-in-law for a few weeks of South Islanding, and were about to board a bus for a 6-hour nature tour. We opted for a self-guided tour of the wonders of the Otago Peninsula, and on a tip from Michael and Gloria, who are a day or so ahead of us now, we headed to a beach halfway up the picturesque peninsula to hopefully catch the little blue penguins feeding. That turned out to be a flop, we were way too early for the return of the little penguin flotillas from their day of fishing, but we had a nice romp down some deep, soft sand dunes, and even spotted Michael and Gloria walking back on the beach. We climbed the sandy hill back to the parking lot together, then they went off towards Mt. Cook and we towards a campsite for the night.

After securing the last powered spot in the campground in the little town of Portobello, we drove out to the Royal Albatross Centre to, hopefully, get a close-up view of those magnificent birds. When we first arrived in the parking lot a few were soaring overhead, getting the last of the lift off the dying breeze, but in short order the wind died, and the birds flew out to sea. We signed on for the last tour of the day at the centre and learned quite a bit about these beautiful birds. Once they fledge, they head off across the southern ocean and don't set foot on land for 5 years. With a massive 3-meter wing span, and a mechanism on the innermost wing joint that allows them to lock it in a gliding position for hours and days, they're made for speed and energy-conservation, wind permitting. They're not good flappers, really, and as we moved on to the observatory on the top of the hill with our guide, we witnessed that reality: numerous birds were down on the water gliding and flapping, trying to get enough lift to come back up to the top of the hill to feed their young. They would gain some altitude, soar awhile, then drop back down, right to the surface of the water where they glide in ground-effect for a bit of rest, then begin the tiring flapping again. One bird, who we watched on a screen thanks to a camera mounted on top of the observatory, sat atop the hill, waiting for a breeze, testing the wind, walking this way and that. At length he walked around the corner into our view out the windows, and we watched as he sniffed for a north wind. Nothing. He'd stretch his wings and flap, testing the lifting capabilities, and then tuck them back, mechanically folding the 3-part wings behind him. Finally he decided to give it a running start down the hill, flapping like mad, running awkwardly down the steep grassy slope, only to end in a comical but embarrassing tumble. It took him a few minutes to get back up and compose his pride, shaking his head and seeming to hope nobody noticed. He clambered back up the hill and paced for awhile, until it was time for us to go. We did see one chick, sitting unattended in a nest, waiting for parents to return with food, nervously pulling grass into his nest with his outstretched beak.

By then we were hungry, and drove back to town for a delightful meal at one of the few restaurants in Portobello, passing the time until dusk, when we headed back out to the point, this time for another attempt at seeing little blue penguins. The blue penguins are the world's smallest, standing about 12 inches tall. We're at the end of the nesting season, and as such the number of penguins coming ashore to feed their young is waning. We were told by the DOC guide as we arrived at the beach that we could expect to see only 20 or 30 of them that night, as opposed to a hundred or more a few weeks earlier. We stood in the dirt a few hundred feet back from the beach, and were instructed on how to behave so as not to scare the penguins. If scared, they return to the sea and do not feed their chicks that night. So no cameras, no flashlights, no movement, no talking. As darkness fell we were told to sit down in small groups, leaving space between us in case the returning penguins needed to pass between. It was an amazing experience to sit silently on the wet sand, huddled into our jackets in the cool night air, with 30 other people all as quiet as a breath, waiting.

On the little mound in front of us, in the faint light mounted on a pole by the DOC, bunnies hopped about, and 2 little penguin chicks waited in a hole for their parents to return, one only about 8 inches tall. After 20 minutes or so the penguins started arriving, toddling in from the beach two or more at a time, teeny-tiny adorable little things that we could barely see in the darkness, save for the glow of their brilliant white breasts and their characteristic side-to-side movements. A few of them came right up to us, I think it must have been quite confusing for them to have us all there, still as stones, blocking their path. They would come up within a foot or two, stop, look left, look right, turn around, make a call to their mate, and then, taking a deep breath I imagine, forge right in between two people. I was proud of us as a group, not a whisper was heard, not a gasp of delight as we watched as silently as we could while these lovely little critters came right within our reach.

The most beautiful part of the night was hearing their calls. A good number of them got by us without our seeing them, perhaps behind us, or over the little mound behind the bunnies, because we began to hear their calls to each other in the scrubby hills around us: almost meow-like calls, answered by a warbling chatter. More and more of them began to call, until the hills all around were rich with the echos of tiny penguins. It was -- I don't know -- I'm running out of adjectives and superlatives in this dang country, and at the risk of unavoidable redundancy, I have to say it was awe-inspiring. Amazing, beautiful, delightful, and truly special.

After all that phantasmagorical stuff, we had a long, deep sleep in our icy-cold camper van under piles of blankets and our $5 sleeping bag, and spent a bit of time in downtown Dunedin the next day. I decided I love Dunedin, and would like to spend more time on another visit. It's got a very sweet downtown, busy and city-like but old-fashioned, hilly, cosmopolitan, casual, fancy -- all mixed up and quite intriguing. So intriguing, in fact, that my senses cried Uncle and we ducked into a movie theatre in the afternoon and saw "The King's Speech." (Fantastic!)

After that diversion, we drove north a bit farther to see the Moeraki Boulders. More redundant superlatives and adjectives are coming ... stand by, I have to check which ones I haven't used lately ... oh, here are a few: Other-worldly. Inexplicable. Big, round boulders, perfectly formed, like little planets -- two feet high to as tall as 5 feet high, dropped on the beach like celestial croquet balls. Some cracked open on landing, maybe, looking like huge eggs from which a prehistoric dinosaur or baby space alien climbed out of. Most stayed intact in perfect spheres, nestled in groups or strewn apart, taking up maybe a quarter of a km of space on an otherwise normal-looking beach. This rock-lover was struck almost speechless, if you can imagine me being speechless.

And now, after another chilly night of camping, we're off to the Mt. Cook Glacier. Whew! Ouch! It's all so fantastic it hurts!