The Department of Conservation hut sits back in the kānuka, and between it and the waterline lies a beach that seems engineered for stillness. The sand is fine enough to squeak beneath your boots, littered with the calcareous tubes of serpulid worms and the occasional cowrie shell no bigger than your thumbnail. At high tide, the water laps within metres of the hut's veranda; at low, the bay reveals sandbars that glow amber in slanted light.
“Port William offers the rare combination of multi-day track access and water-taxi service, making true wilderness accessible to both trampers and day visitors.”
Credit: UnsplashLong-tail boats moored in clear water
You arrive either salt-legged after tramping the coastal section of the Rakiura Track or fresh from a water taxi that's left you on the jetty with just the slap of wavelets against pylons. Either way, the bay's shelter is immediate and profound. Rimu and miro crowd the slopes, their canopy so dense that even midday sun reaches the forest floor in coins of light. Weka patrol the tideline, mechanical and fearless, flipping kelp fronds in search of sandhoppers.
The water is cold but swimmable, especially on the bay's northern side where the sand slopes gradually and the tannin stain from inland creeks thins to transparent green. Kayakers use Port William as a staging point for exploring the island's roadless coastline, their boats drawn up on the sand like bright fibreglass seals. At dusk, you might hear kiwi calling from the bush—a sound that transforms this beautiful bay into something rarer: a place where the island's nocturnal heartbeat is audible.
