Waking to torrential rain was not in the plan. An annoyingly enthusiastic and damp Jono banging on the Enema's window at 715 was even less welcome, especially as he had his running kit on... I wheezed my way up the chest hammering route I'd discovered just 16 hours previously, trying to make it look easy but Jono evidently had a point to prove as we both tumbled into the clearing on the ridge with our hearts pounding. After an extended 'stretching session' we crashed back down through the wet undergrowth to try and tempt Bob out of her nest with Toffee-pops.

An inelegant dive off the pier into the cool waters of the bay was refreshing, followed by making the most the hot water remaining on the meter and taking a swift shower in readiness for departure. It was at this point that the monsoon re-started and the sudden sheets of rain and howling wind made watching Jono trying to collapse his tent very entertaining.

It was less entertaining however to find that the enema had a flat battery. Even less amused was the owner of the jump leads (and campsite) who begrudgingly came to our aid, watching us jump start the Enema pretty much underwater, from the comfort of his yute. Soaked wet through we wound our way back along the undulating spaghetti roads to Picton.

Bob got very emotional at saying farewell to Jono at the ferry terminal, it must have been due to getting her hair wet and nothing at all to do with being left with only me for company, but we left the Lone Ranger toddling off in search of a coffee as we prepared to set sail in HMS Enema with a depleted crew.

The rain was torrential and squalls battered us as we made for Nelson. A coffee pit stop in Havelock allowed us to watch the rain running down the pavement and the wind driving walls of water under the umbrellas of anyone foolish enough to set foot outside.

We stopped briefly in Nelson to book our sea-kayaking before Bob, returning to her alter-ego Gollum, was drawn to the maker of the 'one ring' who's collection, luckily, did not meet with her approval.

The rain eventually subsided and the sun started to break through as we cruised through the vineyards towards Abel Tasman. After 30km of winding uphill grind we pulled off at Hawke's look out point for lunch. Under the pretence of going to the composting toilet Bob actually ran to the lookout point, soon returning to drag me there. Munching on sarnies, and our finally ripe flat peaches, we tramped along the boardwalk, through the Madagascan style Tsingy, ending up at a stunning viewing platform which thoroughly reflected the Enemas efforts!

We finally reached the pass and coasted into Pohara. The campsite was deserted and we were just a hedge away from the huge crescent of sand and the noise of the surf. We sat and read under the now clear blue sky taking in the beauty and solitude of the place and making foot art in the sand.

The cool of the evening soon suggested we should run along the beach to the harbour and investigate its contents. Slightly sweaty we were stood on the end of the breakwater, looking out to where we were heading tomorrow and where we would be paddling in our sea kayaks the day after. The distant hazy coastlines made me feel very small but we were soon running back along the beach, retracing our sandy footsteps towards supper. A quick dip in the waves was the ideal build up to a sumptuous supper of sausage casserole and mash, followed by tea and chocolate-less Scroggin in the Enema over books and blog.

A final walk out to the beach revealed the tide just feet away, the waves highlighted by the shimmering moonlight of the clear sky which showed no sign of the promised storm due in the morning. We shall see what the morning brings.