Guardians of Tamatea: the social enterprise changing the future of Fiordland

Ask anyone who has spent time in Tamatea / Dusky Sound and they’ll tell you it’s an extraordinary corner of Aotearoa. Mountains drop straight into deep water, birds call from ancient forest, and the weather can swing from calm to brooding in minutes. But with this beauty comes the knowledge that Fiordland is a special home for our native wildlife, and that keeping them safe from predators takes plenty of work.

Pure Salt might technically be adventure-tourism, but that title vastly undersells their kaupapa. For co‑founder Maria Kuster, Pure Salt exists to turn interest into action. “It all comes down to people,” she says. “It’s about connecting people with self and place and then encouraging action to look after the places that they live in. All the activities we offer are just a conduit to get there.”

Maria & Sean, Pure Salt Co-founders

Conservation is not a side project of Pure Salt - it’s the heart of the operation. Before Pure Salt, Maria and partner Sean spent six years running charter boats in Fiordland. Over that time they saw first-hand how the fishery changed.

“It went from pulling up anywhere and in half an hour having a bin of cod to actually having to think about it for a day to accumulate enough for dinner,” says Maria. “That’s a really tangible change. And to think we were part of that - we didn’t want to be anymore.”

So when Pure Salt launched, they made a rule: only fish for the table. No extraction. No chilly bins. A small decision that marked a new way of operating in Fiordland.

That value-led approach led Pure Salt to the Department of Conservation (DoC) and its ambitious vision for Tamatea / Dusky Sound: restoring the entire archipelago as a biobank for Aotearoa. When Maria and Sean asked how they could help, DoC pointed them toward an island and told them to start there. It ended up as the first step in a long partnership. In a unique approach, Pure Salt funds, plans, and carefully carries out restoration work under DoC’s strategy.

Now, the team works across islands ranging in size from 200 to 20,000 hectares, plus areas of mainland. Days on conservation adventures begin early, end late, and follow the weather rather than a schedule. On those days there are traps to reset, to service, SD cards to collect, steep tracks to clear, and long bush lines to walk. But most journeys are simply adventures in the wilderness that connect people to place and help fund the conservation work. In other words, those charters are the engine driving the social enterprise.

Maintaining a trapping line

“We do a minimum of three trips a year for Tamatea on land,” says Maria. “Quite often that turns into six. It’s lots of walking up and down hills, trap checking, track clearing, there are always tasks!”

The M.V. Flightless serves as the base of operations: a floating field station, classroom, bunkroom, and community hub.

“We have no schedules, we have no itineraries,” says Maria. “We just make it up as we go, which unsettles people no end for the first day or so.” Before long, the group shifts into what they call ‘nature time.’ Without phone reception, conversations run long, people stay present, and the environment becomes impossible to ignore.

The results of the work are remarkable. On Mamaku / Indian Island, cameras and sound recorders revealed a hidden story. “When we started, nobody knew there were kiwi on there,” says Maria. “They were translocated in the late 1800s by Richard Henry, and they hung in there all this time without protection.”

Now, under Pure Salt’s care, kiwi numbers have surged. “We’re getting kiwi in front of 11 out of 12 cameras. And we recorded about 240 kiwi calls across four recorders in only six weeks, including duets.”

It doesn’t stop there. Oystercatchers are massing again. Penguins are doing really well. Robins are holding on. Kākāriki are nesting more. Even seabird colonies are returning.

“It’s a privilege to even think that we get to see any change within a lifetime,” says Maria.

Volunteers are the backbone of much of this work, including from Meridian, which operates the nearby Manapōuri Power Station. The company has long emphasised its responsibility to protect the environment it relies on, and supporting Pure Salt is one way to turn that belief into action.

Meridian’s Head of Sustainability, Tina Frew is one of several Meridian volunteers who’ve joined Pure Salt in the field. She first went south because she loved the outdoors but left with a deeper connection to the work and having had her understanding of ground-level conservation reshaped.

“I went there for adventuring, and I met this crew, got into pest control, and learned how strategic it is,” says Tina. “It’s good for someone in my role to get hands‑on again. Seeing the community good - that’s what sticks.”

The alignment with Meridian’s values is obvious, and supporting Pure Salt allows Meridian staff to contribute directly to the wellbeing of the same region where the company produces so much power.

“We’re a renewable energy company operating in some of the most sensitive natural environments in the country. We have a responsibility to be part of the solution - not just because it’s the right thing to do, but because our communities expect it of us,” says Tina.

Many Pure Salt volunteers return from having formed a stronger sense of purpose, and several have gone on to participate in other conservation projects. Some bring their teams back on board for leadership development, combining environmental work with shared experience. Maria describes it as a ripple effect, with similar partnerships taking off elsewhere.

“I’m very hopeful. Other operators have started linking up with trusts. Some local businesses have approached us and asked, ‘how does this thing work?’ The truth is it takes guts and it takes commitment in the long term. It’s real money off your bottom line. It’s not something nice to do on the side as a one‑off campaign.”

Despite all the progress, Maria emphasises that the job is far from done. She points to the three pillars of conservation tools - detection, attraction, and dispatch - and notes that the first two are still underdeveloped. Tracking tunnels and cameras provide signals, not certainty. Attraction tools rely mostly on food lures rather than behavioural science. “Would you start anything in business without knowing whether your tools work?”

That’s why Pure Salt is looking for thinkers as well as walkers: engineers, coders, designers - anyone with a fresh approach. A new charity is underway, and a second vessel is being built to expand the work both in Fiordland and across the Pacific. The aim is more adventures, more coverage, more capability. “We need to get going,” says Maria.

She says that what makes the work so special is how human it feels. The boat is full of lists and data sheets, but also shared meals, wet socks, and long conversations. People arrive as visitors and leave as guardians.

“Imagine every single business in New Zealand giving something back—that’s where I’d love us to end up.”

Pure Salt tour group