You reach Hakepa Bay by arrangement with one of Pitt Island's handful of residents or by chartering a boat from Chatham Island. The crossing takes about forty minutes across waters that can turn from calm to challenging within an hour. As you approach, the bay opens like a secret—steep hillsides tapering down to a beach where the sand holds a faint pinkish tint from crushed shells and volcanic minerals.
“Hakepa Bay exists entirely outside road networks, offering a beach experience accessible only to those willing to negotiate sea conditions and local knowledge.”
Credit: UnsplashCliff-edge cove with emerald water
The bay's orientation offers protection from prevailing winds, creating a pocket of calm even when whitecaps churn offshore. You'll hear the soft percussion of wavelets against the hull, the rustle of flax bushes on the slope behind the beach, the occasional splash of a fish breaking the surface. Wading in, the water feels degrees warmer than the exposed coast, though still bracing by most standards. The seafloor drops away gradually, revealing patches of swaying kelp and schools of butterfish darting through the green.
There are no facilities, no tracks leading in from the interior. You bring everything with you and take everything back. The isolation is absolute and temporary—you're here for the length of low tide or the patience of your boat operator. Fur seals sometimes occupy the rocks at the bay's northern end, watching you with dark, curious eyes before sliding back into the swell.
