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| Whanganui River |
The plan was to spend three days paddling down the Whanganui River in canoes, but Mother Nature wasn't playing along. March 16 was a complete washout, with rain all day. We spent the day indoors reading and repacking gear for the river trip, then slept a second night at the AirBnB. We had debated whether the $180 per person for canoe hire and transport was worth it, but in the end we were glad that we shelled out the cash for a fabulous experience.
March 17 dawned crisp and clear and we drove over to the canoe rental spot to park our car and be shuttled to our put-in point at Whangahoro. There were two parties in the truck that morning: ourselves and a Spanish-Belgian couple, Pieter and Veronica. The boss of the rental agency, Trev, was a fount of local information, and told us that we were the first wave of canoeists to put in at Whangahoro since disastrous flash floods ten days before, during which the river level had risen 12 metres overnight. The road leading to Whangahoro had been closed for repairs ever since, and had just reopened the previous day. The launching site was under a thick, gooey layer of mud, and the river's course had shifted, resulting in an unexpectedly tough rapid about 10 metres after putting in. Terri and I capsized here, hardly an auspicious start to the trip!
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| The Bridge to Nowhere |
From that point on the river was much more placid in terms of rapids. What it lacked in adrenaline, though, it made up for in scenery. The Whanganui River is deeply incised into soft mudstone, resulting in sheer-sided cliffs. This stretch of the river has no road access, and the early settlers in the area depended on river steamers to transport their sheep and wool to market. It was a perilous existence in an unforgiving environment, and over the 25 years between the end of World War One and 1943 almost all of the farmers (who were allotted the land as returned veterans of WWI) ended up abandoning the struggle; the last three families were evicted by the government in 1943. This has left a large swathe of land to return to native bush and provided a large nature reserve for tourists to paddle through. We drifted and paddled along for much of the day, oohing and aahing over the landscape, before making camp at John Coull's campsite. Despite being one of the last canoes to arrive (about 20 canoes from 6 different outfitters spent the night there), we got the best campsite. We fried up delicious steaks, had a bottle of fine red wine and watched the rare native New Zealand bats (both the long-tailed and short-tailed) flying insect-catching sorties in the gloaming. It was a perfect evening.
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Layers of history that we were paddling through
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| Paddling bliss |
The second day was more of the same, except even more fun. It was another day of placid rapids and sheer cliffs, but enlivened by a midday walking excursion to see the Bridge To Nowhere, built to extend road access to the isolated farms in the late 1920s, but which was insufficient to save these economically unfeasible endeavours. The road was abandoned because of persistent landslides--hardly surprising given the terrain and weather!--and now the bridge stands as a memory of a white elephant. It's used now as part of a hiking and mountain biking track from Whakahoro to the Bridge To Nowhere river landing; this stretch is part of both the Te Araroa and New Zealand Cycle Trail routes that stretch the length of New Zealand. Hikers and cyclists are usually picked up by jetboats that take them to Pipiriki, although they can also arrange to rent canoes to avoid using internal combustion engines. Refreshed by this break, we rejoined the canoes and paddled to our campground at Tieke Kainga. It was an idyllic setting and was also an active Maori marae, so we had a welcoming ceremony that risked being silly and touristy but instead was strangely moving. There were only four canoes staying there that night (many others had camped across the river at another spot) and we sat around at supper (and at breakfast the next day) discussing travel, life, nature and possums. The young son of the couple that run the marae went out with his father carrying a big stick to bash possums, but had no luck; a Spanish woman staying in our camp saw one later at night, but didn't have the heart to try to kill it, despite the fact that it is the most destructive predator on indigenous birds.
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The steep cliffs enclosing the Whanganui River
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| A punga tree |
Our last day of paddling, March 19th, was also the most action-packed in terms of rapids. There were four rapids that we were warned gave us a reasonable chance of capsizing. After a wonderful morning of paddling through the most vertical canyons yet, we fell in on the first major rapid, the aptly named Fifty-Fifty. Luckily everything was in (mostly) waterproof barrels, as we were in the water for quite some time before being able to right ourselves. This experience made us hyper-cautious on the next two, evading the main stream and its standing waves by slithering over rocky shallows. We did manage to shoot the last rapid successfully, though, which gave us a sheen of respectability with the canoeists watching from the landing point just beyond. Overall, the canoeing was a major highlight of our New Zealand adventures, especially as Terri had never done it before and we were both amazed at how utterly wild and remote it felt in the middle of the densely-settled North Island.
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| Headed up Tongariro |
Our next port of call was the prosaically-named National Park, a small holiday town just west of Mt. Ruapehu and its ski fields. Terri's friends Ross and Debbie have a small chalet there that they let us use, and we ended up sleeping there for three nights, glad to have a roof over our heads with cool nights and forecasts of more rain on its way. The weather held good on the first day for our hike up Mt. Tongariro. The Tongariro Crossing has become a mass tourism phenomenon, with thousands of hikers a day walking the trail, many inspired by the fact that parts of Lord of the Rings were filmed here. We had heard of the crowds, the expense of catching shuttle buses and the restrictions on parking, so we decided to modify the classic route. We parked at the Ketetahi trailhead at the north end of the crossing, the usual ending point, at 6:45 in the morning, and were amazed to find hundreds of cars already there. Rather than following the hordes and catching a shuttle bus around to the other end of the trail, we set off to hike an out-and-back walk from where we were.
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A New Zealand pipit
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| Steam rising from fumaroles at Te Maari, on Tongariro |
The weather was perfect, with clear skies and cool temperatures, and we had the entire trail to ourselves. We didn't meet another soul for the first three and a half hours as we climbed up through dense bush, then low scrub, and finally, at the top, alpine terrain. One benefit of this was a series of encounters with birds, both the inquisitive, trusting fantail and the rarer endemic New Zealand pipit, both of whom followed us for long periods across the slopes. To our left the steam vents of Te Maari puffed steadily; in 2012 they erupted and fired volcanic boulders onto the Ketetahi hut; we could see the damage, preserved for scientific purposes, in the structure as we walked past it. Once we had crested the initial relentless climb, we peered out across a volcanic desert towards the craters near the summit of Tongariro, and to the symmetrical steep cone of Ngarahoe behind it.
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| Mount Ngarahoe, with a line of hikers crossing below it |
We started to meet our first early-bird walkers as we crossed the plain towards the Emerald Lakes, and there we ran into Pieter and Veronica from our canoe trip, heading in the opposite direction. We had one final steep grunt up a loose scree incline to the highest point of the Tongariro Crossing, where we stopped to admire the spectacular views up to Ngarahoe, down to the Emerald Lakes and across to the dramatic vents of the Red Crater of Tongariro. It was a wonderful payoff for four hours of brisk hiking to stand in the middle of such natural dramatic beauty.
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| At the high point of the Tongariro Crossing |
The return journey to the car began with a descent of the scree. I love scree running, as it's a lot like skiing powder. The pebbles of volcanic debris slide and roll under your feet, making it easier to slide and run than to walk slowly. We both raced past long lines of slow-moving hikers, some paralyzed by fear at the unsteady footing; one unfortunate Korean woman was wailing uncontrollably as her boyfriend tried to talk her down. At the bottom of the scree we stopped to devour a cold roast chicken that was the perfect picnic lunch, seating ourselves on the shore of one of the Emerald Lakes. From there we joined the long lines of walkers stretched across the landscape, marching down to our little Mazda Demio eight and a half hours after setting out.
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| The tourist hordes descending the scree agonizingly slowly |
We drove back to National Park a bit tired and a bit footsore, but elated at having seen such an iconic landscape and at having (half-) escaped the crowds. In high season, it's said that over 3000 hikers a day undertake the Crossing, and it seemed like an underestimate that day. I fear that with the growth of tourism and the global middle class, areas of famed natural beauty like the Tongariro Crossing will drown in the vast crowds that they draw. Venice, the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, Banff and Mount Fuji show the future awaiting many of the grand vistas of our planet.
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Emerald Lakes, Tongariro
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| Terri and her first house, Taupo |
We had planned to hike to the summit of Mt. Ruapehu the next morning from the top of the ski lifts at Whakapapa, but we awoke on March 21st to rain and low clouds, so that plan had to be scrapped. Instead we drove to Taupo to see some of Terri's past life. Our first port of call was the National Trout Centre, but we weren't there for the fish. Instead, we had read that the Centre was helping in the conservation of the endangered endemic whio, or blue duck, and we wanted to see. Whio are bred in captivity in several locations around New Zealand, but the chicks all end up at the Trout Centre for some survival training before they are released into the wild. We were lucky; that was the last day that the chicks were in residence, and we watched them being captured by the staff to be shipped off to various rivers around the country. We had looked in vain for whio during our canoe trip, so we were happy to see the 8 residents of the training program. When we went for a short stroll along the river next to the Trout Centre, we were pleasantly surprised to see a wild whio swim by. It was heartening to see this iconic species being preserved with the help of so many conservation-minded New Zealanders.
The town of Taupo is on the shores of the lake of the same name, and has become the epicentre of campervan tourism in the North Island. The town is pleasant but not spectacular, and the crowds at sights such as Huka Falls left me unimpressed. I did enjoy seeing the first house that Terri ever owned, along with the various houses (and a motel) that Terri's parents owned over the years. I even saw the site of Terri's youthful thrill-seeking in swimming holes below a dam that would release water every afternoon with Terri and her friends in the pools. There's a prominent "No Swimming" sign there now, probably as a result of her reckless exploits years ago.
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| A whio, or blue duck, on the Whakapapa River |
March 22nd found us cleaning up the ski chalet and driving north to our next adventure, the Timber Trail, a mountain bike trail that we had heard a lot about. We took a room in an AirBnB in the town of Manunui run by a Czech ski instructor and her Kiwi partner, a professional pianist, both of whom made for interesting conversations. We spent the afternoon on a hike through the Owhango Reserve, a small patch of native bush beside the Whakepapa River. The hiking was enjoyable, but the best part was seeing no fewer than 12 whio bobbing in the river, an encouraging sign for an endangered species with only a few thousand surviving individuals. There were also other endemic species like the tomtit and the North Island robin present too, all testament to the efforts put in to rid the reserve of possums, stoats and rats; we saw many traps and poison bait stations beside the trail as part of this endeavour.
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| Riding the Timber Trail |
Our ride along the Timber Trail was a lot of fun the next day. We rented bikes from a South African family whose son drove us to the midpoint of the trail at Piropiro, telling us entertaining tall tales the whole way. We had 45 km to cover to get back to the car, and it was slow going, with lots of climbing, mud puddles and narrow tracks to contend with. Most of the trail ran along the route of a narrow-gauge railway built to carry logs out of the forest. The bush has had numerous decades to regrow, and is now a dense tangle of native trees and plants. It felt wonderful to be back in the saddle exploring a beautiful corner of the world, and I felt the call of the cycle touring world again; Terri and I hadn't toured in over two years, since
our trip through Paraguay in January, 2016. We got back to the car, muddy and elated, mid-afternoon and headed back to the AirBnB to recover.
March 24th found us driving east along the Forgotten World highway, a road connecting remote farms that history has more or less left behind, between Taumaranui and the Taranaki region. These farms are near the farms abandoned along the Whanganui River, but were not quite as remote or as rugged and managed to survive as going concerns. We drove along beautiful stretches of river (including the upper Whanganui), over steep "saddles", or passes, and through the quirky town of Whangamomona, a self-declared independent "republic".
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| Crossing one of the big suspension bridges on the Timber Trail |
We stopped for a bite to eat at the Whangamomona Hotel and behind the gimmicky nature of the "republic", the deep roots of local history shown in serried ranks of photos on the wall of the pub bore testament to the spirit and determination of generations of settlers, loggers and farmers in this remote pocket of the country. We made it to the other end of the Forgotten World and entered the prosperous farming territory on the slopes of the conical bulk of Mount Taranaki. A lovely beach house renting out rooms on AirBnB was our home for the next two nights, and we walked along the wild black sand beaches of Oakura before returning home to eat and catch up with the American horse enthusiast running the place.
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In the woods of Taranaki
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| My alien radio antenna, New Plymouth |
I really liked the Taranaki region, perhaps more than any other corner of the North Island except for Northland. We spent the next day poking about the regional centre, the city of New Plymouth, and I found it an appealing place, with an artsy feel to the downtown core and a well-engineered Coastal Walkway leading out of downtown along the ocean shore that provided a focus for strolling, running and cycling, while surfers and fishermen cavorted below us. We stopped in at the local museum for a stunning display on life in the long-ago Permian period, and on local Maori history. Around the corner from there, the Len Lye Museum highlighted the "kinetic sculpture" of a
New Zealand-born artist of whom I had never heard, but who impressed me. The focal point of downtown New Plymouth was another Len Lye design, the Wind Wand, a 48-metre-tall kinetic sculpture that flexes and rotates with the breeze.
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Enjoying our Taranaki hike
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| Hiking Mt. Taranaki |
Mount Taranaki provided our next outdoor pursuit, an overnight hike to a Department of Conservation hut. We drove our car up to Dawson Falls Visitor Centre the next day, parked and took to our heels, carrying our packs full of wine and steak and other goodies. We walked partway up the summit trail, having toyed with the idea of staying at the high Syme Hut for a summit attempt the next day, but swirling clouds and the number of people heading up ahead of us made us reconsider. Instead we traversed the tussock grass for a while, getting sweeping views of the surrounding countryside and occasional glimpses of the summit, then dropped steadily downhill into dense native bush to Lake Dive Hut. We had the entire hut to ourselves, although we had met a big school group who had told us they were planning to sleep at the hut too. The views were magnificent, and we heard the distinctive call of a New Zealand falcon close to the hut, although we were unable to spot it. It was an idyllic spot to spend the night, just Terri and I and the surrounding wilderness.
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On the slopes of Mt. Taranaki
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| Terri moving through the tussocks on Taranaki |
We took another, lower trail to return to Dawson Falls the next day and it was challenging, between the constant ups and downs across deep ravines, the washed-out sections of trail, the fallen trees and the general lack of maintenance of the path. It was probably more tiring than the previous day's climb and descent, but also enjoyable for the isolation and for the flora of the forest. When we got back to the car, we cooked up a big brunch of bacon and eggs before heading back to Oakura, this time to visit a Kiwi friend from our Leysin days who had returned to New Zealand to live. She and her parents lived in a spectacular location atop the cliffs of Oakura, and I fell in love with the spot. It was great to talk to her and to her mother and father about the area, about travel and living off the grid and fishing. We had a fabulous dinner and slept well, despite heavy rain overnight.
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Terri and the Marshalls, father and daughter
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| A flower on Taranaki |
We paid the price for a late, lazy departure the next day when we arrived at our next destination, a funky off-the-grid hippy commune AirBnB named Hakea, in pitch blackness. It was a deceptively long drive through miserable weather, but it proved to be worth it. Hakea was a pretty place, inhabited by an interesting family, and provided lovely walks (between the rain showers) and a chance to read the best travel book I had read in a long time, Colin Thubron's magisterial To A Mountain In Tibet, which I devoured in a day. We spent two nights there, resting and eating and relaxing.
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Morning view of Taranaki's summit
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| Proud property owner: Terri and her former house in Hamilton |
Our next, and in some sense final, destination was the city of Hamilton, where Terri had lived during her university years. We stayed with Ross and Debbie, this time in person at their house there, and spent a couple of days catching up with them, having last seen them in Bali last September. The first afternoon we were there we explored more of Terri's past by visiting the campus of Waikato University and the house she used to own close by, then went to the stunning Hamilton Gardens with Ross and Debbie. The gardens, subdivided into a dozen or more themed gardens, were wonderful, even with the hordes of Easter Weekend tourists overrunning the place.
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| Ross, Terri and Debbie |
We started the next day with a hike/run up the Hakarimata hills outside Hamilton, and it was a challenging hill to try to run; I had to stop for breath about two thirds of the way up. There were great views from the top as far as Ruapehu and Ngarahoe, and a fun atmosphere of dozens of other fitness enthusiasts running or powerwalking their way to the top. After a lazy afternoon, we had a big barbecue with Ross and Debbie along with their daughter and her boyfriend.
With only two full days left until my flight out, we were almost out of time. April 1st was spent driving back to Mt. Maunganui to pick up Terri's bicycle from storage at Jo Veale's place, with a pleasant hike around Lake Maclaren on the way home. April 2nd we said goodbye to Ross and Debbie and drove north to Clevedon, where we visited Terri's friends Angela and Adam, three of their four young boys and their collection of vintage Land Rovers. In their pre-child days, Angela and Adam had driven from the UK to Singapore, and we heard a few tales from the road and told a few of our own from Stanley's Travels. That afternoon we met up with Terri's cousin Stewart and his wife Nicky for a brief hike in the Hunua Ranges, hearing about Stewart's participation in the Tour Aotearoa a few weeks before. Then it was time to drive to Papakura and the only really dismal accommodation of the entire trip, a rather ratty AirBnB room. The next morning, after a few brief errands, Terri dropped me off at Auckland Airport for my flight back to Bali.
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Terri with Angela, Adam and three of their sons
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| Nicky, Stewart and Terri |
Overall, I really enjoyed exploring the North Island in depth. We managed to do quite a bit of hiking, with some paddling and cycling thrown in for good measure. We saw lots of endemic bird species, plenty of stunning beaches and dramatic mountains, and plenty of native New Zealand bush. We enjoyed lots of warm hospitality from Terri's friends and relatives (and my friend Eileen), and got a chance to get a feeling for New Zealand from the hours of conversation we had with people. New Zealand is certainly a lot pricier than it was when I visited back in 1992 with my friend Hans, largely a result of the incredibly expensive real estate market. Even staying as often as we did with friends and relations, we still spent a sobering amount of money, but we did have fun. If I went back to the North Island, I would want to be on a bicycle, or hiking the Te Araroa, or maybe on a sailboat, as I feel that we saw almost everything we would want to see travelling as we did in a rental car. Realistically, though, if we went back to New Zealand, it would be to see the wilds of the South Island next time. Farewell, North Island, it was fun!
