The approach reveals why so few boats venture this far into the outer Pelorus Sound—the channels narrow, the navigation requires attention, and there's nothing here but the bay itself. Titirangi's beach runs along the inner curve of the cove, a mixture of sand and shell grit that crunches underfoot when the tide retreats. Native bush presses down to the high-water mark, untrimmed and dense with supplejack and ferns.
“One of the Sounds' most secluded anchorages where the beach exists only on the tide's schedule.”
Credit: UnsplashPalm trees framing a sunset shore
You won't find facilities, walking tracks, or even a Department of Conservation sign. This is simply a deep-water anchorage with a beach component, valued by cruising sailors and the occasional kayaker willing to paddle the distance from better-known launch points. The bay faces west, catching afternoon sun that turns the water amber as sediment glows in the shallows. At high tide, the beach nearly vanishes, reduced to a narrow fringe beneath the forest.
The quiet here carries weight—no road hum, no generator throb, just wind in beech canopies and water lapping against your hull. You'll spot oystercatchers working the tide line and, if you're lucky, blue penguins returning to burrows at dusk. The bay holds a handful of boats comfortably, and the unwritten protocol is to anchor with enough space that you're not examining your neighbor's breakfast choices through binoculars.
