I HEARD SOMEONE yell, “Dolphins!” A small group of people were staring at a pod about 300 metres from shore at Jenkins Bay, a popular boat-launching site near Titirangi, in the inner Manukau Harbour. It was after 5 p.m. on a weekday and I was launching my kayak—part of my get-fit programme—hoping to work up a muscle-building sweat. Instead, I was soon enjoying a close encounter with the sleek visitors from the Tasman Sea.

As I paddled towards the dolphins, they joined me, and for the next half-hour I was surrounded by them—a dozen 3 m-long bottlenoses. One jumped clear of the water 20 m in front of the kayak’s bow, perhaps to help the pod navigate its way up-harbour. Another repeatedly dived beneath the kayak and surfaced directly in front. This was a little unnerving, for a collision could have tipped me into the water. Two dolphins were so close that I could touch them with my paddle. One smacked the water with its tail. Perhaps this was a signal for the pod to get serious about looking for some dinner, for they soon broke away from me and headed towards Onehunga. For me it was a signal to take my kayaking adventures more seriously. I determined never again to venture forth without a camera.

Some encounters with Manukau wildlife have set my heart racing. Several times, while paddling over shallow water off Little Muddy Creek, near Laingholm, I’ve startled a large ray. I haven’t been able see the animal but have felt the turbulent water beneath the boat as it has beaten its wings in hasty escape. Perhaps the weirdest encounter was when I unwittingly rescued a large weta that was floating on the water’s surface. It climbed aboard under its own steam and began exploring the kayak’s interior. My legs were included in the inspection, a disquieting experience. I used my paddle to shepherd it onto the bow, where it accidentally fell back into the water but immediately climbed aboard again. I quickly made for shore, where I let it run free into the bush.

How had it ended up floating in the water? Perhaps it’d been caught out on a rocky shelf by the incoming tide. It isn’t hard to see how this might happen, for the area of sandbanks and shoreline flats exposed by a low spring tide can be about 145 sq km, large enough to contain a small city and almost half the harbour’s high-tide surface area of 340 sq km. The vast expanses of mud and sand laid bare at low tide provide good foraging for gulls and other sea birds.