For many people traveling around New Zealand, Kaikoura is a fun but brief stop on the agenda. Perched on the northeast coast of the South Island, about midway between Christchurch and Picton, it might easily be overlooked altogether were it not for its most captivating residents: its whales and dolphins.

Off the Kaikoura Peninsula, the cold waters of the south mix with the warm waters of the north and east in an elaborate system of deep trenches and troughs, creating an ideal habitat for a wide variety of marine life not normally found so close to a coastline.

The waters off the Kaikoura Peninsula are home to a variety of whales.

A perfect playground for large colonies of fur seals, it is also home to gigantic sperm whales, migratory humpback and killer whales, and huge pods of dusky dolphins. Yet as I discovered, although Kaikoura’s raison d’être may lie in the waters surrounding it, there’s just as much fun to be had in the skies above it.

I rolled into Kaikoura by bus, traveling north from Christchurch, and immediately warmed to the simplicity of the place. Although popular with tourists, Kaikoura remains far from overdeveloped.

The majority of activity centers around the few shops, cafes, restaurants and tour operators along the waterfront. Having run myself ragged in New Zealand’s adrenaline-soaked south for a few weeks, I was ready for some rest and relaxation. A day or two at most, I thought to myself: plenty time in a town with only one real attraction.

I checked into Top Spot Backpackers. With the mountainous backdrop of the Seaward Kaikoura Range on one side and the Pacific Ocean on the other, it was the perfect hilltop hideaway. I couldn’t stay hidden for long, though. I’d been eager to swim with dolphins all my life, and now that I was here in Kaikoura, my excitement soon got the better of me.

I’d been indulging in water sports for years, and was quite used to slipping in and out of wet suits, yet still I struggled, pulling at huge handfuls of rubber as I tried to pull the thick suit up and over my shoulders. I was one of about a dozen people in the Dolphin Encounter office who, though red in the face and cursing under our breath, were getting ready for what promised to be a magical experience. Due to the bitterly cold water in the deep troughs off Kaikoura, keeping warm was of utmost importance, even if it meant sacrificing one’s comfort, not to mention one’s dignity.

A friendly and enthusiastic crew led us onto our boat, welcomed us aboard and set a course for open water. Sitting on the deck at the back of the boat, we were told that once in the water the best way of attracting dolphins was to dive and turn and splash, as they do.

It would also help, we were told, to make high-pitched calls and noises, perhaps even sing nursery rhymes beneath the surface. I’m telling you, waddling around like an emperor penguin wrapped tightly in rubber, practicing your high-pitched dolphin calls is a great leveler of people. Before long we’d all been reduced to fits of giggles.

Once the boat stopped, we all slipped off the back into the water. Suddenly we were surrounded by a pod of about 200 to 300 dusky dolphins. They appeared before my eyes as if from nowhere, darting back and forth across my line of sight, criss-crossing each other as they raced past. I dived down to get in among them, spinning and turning in the water and squeaking with all my might.

Some shot past like silver bullets — one shot straight between my legs, merely inches beneath me — while others paused to circle us a few times before hurtling on, leaving us spellbound in their wake.

To cap it all, we caught sight of a huge sperm whale which, seemingly on cue, dived, thrusting its powerful tail straight up into the air before disappearing into the depths.