The final dramatic hours of the steamer, Koronui

Suddenly, without warning Koronui struck New Zealand’s Beef Barrels in the dark and the ship became firmly lodged as water began to fill her holds andshe took on a list.

The 1880s were a time of development in the marine industry. It was commonplace to see sailing scows, paddle steamers and screw steamers alongside each other on the world’s oceans.

The American Civil War hastened the development of ironclads and even submarine warfare however little was being done to improve navigation technology. Most marine charts were lacking to say the least. Tasman Bay at the top of New Zealand’s South Island wasn't any different and, as a small trading port, Nelson barely sparked interest on the subject despite a regular passenger and cargo service between Nelson and Wellington at the time.

The Union Steam Ship Company was in it's infancy but growing fast with both cargo and passenger ships plying most of the New Zealand coastline
and the steamer Koronui had not long been acquired by them for the Nelson to Wellington route. Steaming north from Nelson the Koronui made for the treacherous French Pass that divides d'Urville Island from the South Island.

With its vicious currents and swirling whirlpools, heading for the Cook Strait and ultimately Wellington, the Captain and crew were oblivious to the d'Urville current slowly pulling them westward as the tide receded and ultimately orchestrating their final demise. As the vessel approached d'Urville Island the Captain could clearly see the lighthouse in the Pass and altered course to go through however three ominous rocks, barely visible during the daylight, now lay directly between them and the pass.

Suddenly, without warning Koronui struck the Beef Barrels in the dark and the ship became firmly lodged as water began to fill her holds and she took on
a list. The Captain and crew managed to safely load the passengers into the lifeboats on the lee side so they could make for safety. Over the course of a few days the Koronui slowly drifted off the obstruction and settled onto the bottom in deep water.

Unfortunately there were still seven bars of gold that went down with her and a recovery was soon underway, which must have been quite a sight not to mention a mission in those days. Records show that on one day the diver’s valve jammed on his equipment and rocketed him, feet first, to the surface like a giant balloon, before breaking the surface like a Polaris missile from a submarine. The gold was recovered and the Koronui lay in peace on the sea floor for nearly 100 years.

Alan Prichard, Lionel Orchard and Alan Black were extremely keen wreck hunters in those days. While fishing their crayfish quota they searched the areas where wrecks were known to be. They would spend hours being towed behind their boat on manta boards looking for signs of wreckage. This must have been extremely exhilarating with low visibility combined with strong currents and towering rocks leading to numerous ‘bail outs’ only to see the towing vessel disappearing into the distance.

By sheer luck the trio dived from the boat after a relaxing lunch to find that they were parked on top of it. From that point on they proceeded to remove the non-ferrous metal and sell it to cover their expenses as they continued to dive the wreck. Alan Prichard managed to find the ultimate prize of a brass signal cannon which he restored and still uses on special occasions in Nelson.

"Using the boiler as a reference point we made our way forward, passing the safe which once contained the seven bars of gold

Today the wreck is dived by a few keen divers but it lies broken on the bottom with only the boiler and remains of the triple expansion steam engine standing not much more than a metre off the sea floor in 25 metres of water. The visibility can be up to 10 metres at times but is mainly less than five. On our most recent dives it was less than two with a relatively strong current washing over the wreck as you descended. It was somewhat less on the bottom but enough to wash the sediment past us like an underwater snow storm in the video light causing almost a white-out situation.

Using the boiler as a reference point we made our way forward, passing the safe which once contained the seven bars of gold. The smaller donkey boiler has rolled off to the starboard side on top of the collapsed framework that was once the cargo holds and now provides shelter for a school of bigeye. After the half dozen ribs that stubbornly stand upright we reach the large anchor capstan complete with chain coated in pink coralline which signals that we have reached the bow that rests on its side perpendicular to the seabed.

The bow is adorned with thousands of daisy anemones, hydroids and bryozoans with a selection of clown and Jasons nudibranchs, circled constantly by schools of trevally and tarakihi. As we swim back towards the boiler a pair of boarfish bashfully blend into the murky water leaving us wondering what they are doing this far south. Passing the boiler the triple expansion steam engine stands resiliently in defiance of it predicament and a solitary crayfish takes shelter inside the structure.

A pair of magpie perch lead us over the remains of the aft cabins. They are barely recognisable but for a few holes where windows once were and the angular corners
of its construction.

There are a few frames that was once the stern prior to the unceremonious removal of its propeller with explosives.
Returning to the boiler and anchor line we pass over the davits which once stowed the lifeboats which saved all the occupants on that fateful night.

The Beef Barrels claimed two more vessels over a two year period and many more up until the present day and will likely take a few more despite modern navigation equipment clearly showing their position.