Northland

Back to Auckland

In Auckland we met up with Bob, who had had some difficulty tracking us down, due to Russian Steve at Ponsonby Backpackers taking it upon himself to protect our (Simon's and my) identities by denying all knowledge of our existence, let alone our recent stay at his establishment. The lovely Selina (seen left, in an intrepid moment) had also found her way to Kiwiland, and we all (except Bob, whose duties kept him in Auckland), climbed into the Corolla, cranked up the local radio ("Classic Rock That Rocks!") and set off for points North. Wehey!

Paihia

It rained. We stood about under a tree. Nuff said.

No, wait. There were the ten dollar burgers-in-bags.

They were good.

"Zzzzzzz."

The Bay of Islands

is a gorgeous place - all blue water and white sand and green... well, bushes. It is also the home of many dolphins, and like complete suckers, we of course couldn't resist taking a boat trip in the hope of being formally introduced to a few of them. We did indeed see some (apologies for the incredibly boring photo - I don't care if the internet is littered with pictures of dolphins jumping and twirling and cooking linguine pomodoro, or whatever tricks they get up to these days - these are my dolphins, for all that you can only see their fins). We were offered the opportunity to pull on wetsuits and join them in the drink, but since we were also told by the Maori "cultural guide" (an amazing bloke who sang songs and did hakas and generally embarrassed people) that the dolphins were in fact asleep at that precise moment, it seemed rather unnecessary to wake the poor buggers, particularly since it was unclear what exactly they would get out of the encounter, if anything.

Dolphins, apparently, sleep by shutting down one half of their brains at a time, so that the other half can continue to swim and breathe and all that. They are conscious breathers (as opposed to people, who are lucky enough to be able to breathe without thinking about it), so if their entire brains were to go to sleep, they would drown. You can see (but not in this shitty picture) them swimming along with one eye shut. Aww.

Waitangi

is, if you believe the hype and the multi-media presentations, the cradle of modern New Zealand. After petitioning Her Majesty for protection, 45 Maori chiefs signed a treaty with Great Britain here in 1840. These events lay the foundation of the relatively good relations between the indigenous and the arriving population that remain to this day.

Ngatokimatawhaorua also lives in the Waitangi National Reserve, in a long house by the waterfront. No, this is not the Lord of the Possums, or some such Kiwi flummery, but a fantastic waka or war canoe, modelled after the legendary waka that brought the great chief Kupe to New Zealand. It is 35 metres long, and it is launched once a year, on New Zealand Day, which must be an awesome sight. The little red head is at the very front of the canoe, in the waterline.

Below, you can see a fairly poor photo from inside the whare runanga or meeting house - well, it's not so much a house as a work of art you can step into. Meeting houses such as this are used by Maori tribes all over New Zealand to discuss community matters (such as the current conflict over coastal rights, for example) but also have spiritual significance. The other picture shows the lawn in front of British Resident James Busby's house, where the actual treaty negotiations (probably) took place.

All these things are part of a thoughtfully created, if somewhat excessively politically correct, museum in the National Reserve. The experience involves a covered walkway where the Maori answer to Simon & Garfunkel is piped at you as you approach the museum doors.

Kaitaia

Continuing north, you pass all sorts of lovely little bays and harbours, including Doubtless Bay, but there are no settlements to speak of until you get to Kaitaia, gateway to the northernmost peninsula. (Kaitaia is a fine town, inhabited by some fantastic people. If you ever find yourself in Kaitaia on a Sunday morning, I suggest you tune into the local radio station, where a man named John, who likes lawnmowers, will bring out a passion for Wurlitzer tunes and accordion waltzes in you that you didn't know you had). It is also The Place of No Car Insurance (no hire car can go north of Awanui, just north of Kaitaia), so we joined a nice man who had himself a little bus, and went to see the North Cape.

Cape Reinga

is the northernmost point in New Zealand, and while it is beautiful from land, it is a seriously scary place to be if you are in a boat. Just below, the Tasman Sea meets the Pacific, and you can literally see the waves crash into one another just below the precipitous rocks. The sea turns white as the water boils and churns, a process that brings lots of nutrients from the sea bottom up to the surface, making these seas particularly rich in marine life - and awfully dangerous to fish in.

As you can see, there was some awesome-looking surf at the beach just below. In Maori tradition, Cape Reinga (which means 'place of leaping') is where the souls of the dead depart for the afterlife in Hawaiki, the land of the ancestors. There's no doubt you'd be departing, too, if you tried to surf here.

90 Mile Beach

is in fact nothing of the kind - it's more like 100 km, or, if you are familiar with imperial measurements, approximately 16 gills, which of course is the same as six and a half stone.
Details aside, it can be said with some certainty that it is a long beach. It stretches all the way down the Tasman Sea side of the northern peninsula, and is the home of many gulls, oystercatchers and other birds, as well as small herds of wild horses. Having driven down a creek (and hopefully avoided the patches of quicksand) to get to the beach, tour buses drive the length of it (it is officially classified as a state highway), through the spray, which is lovely on a sunny day. This was not a sunny day, except for the few seconds when I took this picture. Below you can see a selection of photos of this area, including one of Selina sand tobogganing (a thoroughly worthwhile pursuit that should be made into an Olympic sport without delay) and one of Simon looking thoughtful and dramatic on the beach itself.

"Hey. I want parachute silk, and I want Ralph Fiennes, and I want them now!"

"Big, isn't it."

Trees and men

The oldest living kauri tree in New Zealand is in the Waipoua Forest Reserve between Hokianga and Dargaville, and I am not even going to pretend that any picture can do it justice. The Maori call it Tane Mahuta, God of the Forest. This much-loved tree is probably about 2000 years old, and the trunk measures almost 14 metres around. In the 19th century, the economy of the North Island, and particularly Northland, was largely based on this tree, both on logging and on digging for kauri gum, a sort of amber, which was exported in huge amounts. This industry offered employment to thousands of immigrants. It is downright heartbreaking to think of trees like this one, who have truly travelled the milky way with us, being cut down in their thousands. Anything this old has an identity and personality of its own, and it is almost as if one of the indigenous populations of the North Island has been made extinct, or very nearly extinct.

Today the slow-growing kauri is protected, but since lots of ancient trunks are found in peat bogs in Northland, it is still possible to own and enjoy items such as bowls, furniture and knick-knacks made from kauri wood. Although over 40,000 years old, the wood is still as good as new, and it almost glows when polished.

Coming back down the west coast of the peninsula heading for Dargaville,
we skirted the Hokianga Harbour and came upon a place that was so lovely that it deserves its own page.