I followed up my visit to the far north with a few days being guided
around the Coromandel Peninsula, east of Auckland across the Firth
of Thames. Although European settlement began up north, it seems to
have made more of a
success of it down here; I saw a lot more towns than I had in the
Bay of Islands. Captain Cook's time here is recorded in the place
names: Mercury Bay, where he recorded the transit of Mercury as part
of the great attempt to calculate longitude; the Bay of Plenty,
named for its ability to feed his men; Poverty Bay, which turns out
to be as fertile as the Bay of Plenty. (Hey, nobody's perfect.)
The coast boasts beautiful beaches, dramatic cliffs and the most
amazing blue water. No Photoshop tricks here, folks.
Coromandel is a great place to commune with nature. There's still a
bit of native greenery that hasn't been supplanted by cash crop
Monterey Pines. And the locals are working to undo some of the
deforestation of the past couple of centuries. It'll take a while;
New Zealand trees are not the speediest of growers. But in a few
hundred years a lot more of the country will look like this. And
it's not just giant trees and ferns, although I heard plenty about
them. No, I also got introduced to lots of the things that crawl
around inside damp caves. Like the weta, large native spiders that
were as happy to leave me alone I was to stay away from them. (I
hate spiders.) And glowworms. And little frogs hiding
under rocks or bits of wood. All of which remind me of why I don't
normally spend my free time exploring damp caves.
New Zealand split off from the Gondwanaland supercontinent well
before the development of mammals. That's why there weren't any
predators to bother all the flightless birds that developed there:
the kiwi, the takahe, the giant moa to name just a few. Then man
arrived to screw things up. And then European man made things
worse, by introducing pests like rabbits, possums, wallabies and
deer. But the lack of predators does have its occasional funny
side. Where else can you see chickens wandering the roadside? Or,
as in this case, following an errant tourist along the path to a
good viewpoint, hoping in vain for a handout?
Gold has a big place in the history of the Peninsula. A lot of
towns in the area came into being to support the miners, many
disappearing just as quickly when the gold ran out. The mine at
Waihi was operated from 1879 to 1952, digging out twelve million
metric tonnes of ore in the process. Twenty years later, high gold
prices and a more wholesale approach to getting at the ore led to
the reopening of the mine on/in Martha Hill. Which has led to some
interesting conflicts, as the pumping of huge amounts of water out
of the mine and the development of sinkholes in the area have been
joined in the minds of some conspiracy theorists. Lost your house
in a hole? Coincidence, say the miners. Not our problem, says the
local council. Leaving the homeowner, as usual, in a hole not of
their own devising.
As tourism has grown in New Zealand, towns all over the country are
making their bid for the attention of visitors. The little town of
Katikati took a novel
approach, memorializing its history in a series of murals along the
main drag. And not just paintings; there are mosaics, bas relief
and sculpture. Including the fellow at right. Barry is intended to
represent a typical Kiwi, although he's perhaps a bit more tan than
is currently fashionable. And he has an unfortunate tendency to
lose his head. Sadly, vandalism is not unknown in the Antipodes.
My one great disappointment with the land of the Kiwi is that I
never got a chance to sample a really good kiwifruit. Wrong time
of year, they tell me. But I did get to see some on the vine. It's
pretty clever, really; the vines are suspended on wires attached to
high posts, making it easy to walk underneath and pick the fruit.
At left are the familiar fuzzy green fruit we all know. The fruit
at right belong to a new breed they call
Zespri Gold. Gold fleshed, not
as tart as the original and a lot less fuzzy, they're the Kiwis'
attempt to take back some of the market from all those non-Kiwi kiwi
growers. I for one am looking forward to trying one.
My tour of the east coast ended when my guide dropped me off in
Rotorua, somewhere near the center of this misshapen island. But
first I had to take a wander into the bush to watch the river
rafters at play. I took my position on the observation deck with
the other intrepid photographers and waited for the wily kayakers
and rafters to reach the falls. It's rather a shame I encountered
this scene so early in my trip. Another week or two and I might
have tried it for myself. Then again, who would be there to take
my picture?
Arriving in Rotorua is a distinctly olfactory sensation. As the North Island's centre for geothermal activity, the place has a certain fragrance that lingers on the senses. But it's something
you get used to, neither so strong that it upsets your enjoyment of
the area's many pleasures nor so gentle that you stop noticing. And
the sight of those plumes of smoke rising from the
Whakarewarewa Thermal Area,
just beyond the local
golf course at the
far end of town, adds a certain drama to the landscape. Just think
of the fun for the golfers, who get to add hot gas jets and boiling
mud pits to the usual sand traps and ponds and such. Imagine
trying to get your ball back from hazards like that!
Whakarewarewa is also home to the
Maori Arts and Crafts Institute,
which works to keep Maori culture and skills alive. The Maori have
grand traditions of weaving and of carving wood, greenstone (jade)
and paua shells; lacking a written language, they used their art as
an adjunct to their oral history. Even the most mundane objects
were decorated beautifully, like the pataka at left, the traditional
food larder. One surprise to me was the carving at right, which
combines the traditional stylized figure of a warrior with a much
more accurate depiction of a rifle. Clearly, the Institute has an
interest not just in preserving a heritage but in permitting it to
accept influences from the larger world.
Whakarewarewa was my first stop on a whirlwind tour of several area
tourist sites. Next was the
Paradise Valley Wildlife
Park, where I got a closer look at many native and introduced
species. I'd seen pukeko wandering the fields in Coromandel; this
was my first chance to photograph one up close. The pukeko is
related to the larger, flightless and nearly extinct takahe. (The
pukeko can fly; it's just not all that enthusiastic about
it.) The park also breeds trout for sport fishing. Believe it or
not, the only way to taste trout in New Zealand is to catch it
yourself. The government is so concerned about poaching that it
allows no commercial fishing of trout at all. A pity; I like
trout. But I prefer mine grilled rather than poached.
Stop number three was at the Agrodome, where the focus is on sheep,
sheep shearing, sheep herding and other family-friendly activities
involving sheep. The herding didn't go quite according to plan; one
particularly determined sheep managed to avoid being corralled no
matter how hard the dog tried. Fortunately, he'd already done
better herding a couple of ducks around the stage. Now that's
entertainment!
My last stop of the tour was at Mt. Ngongotaha, where the
skyride takes you up
to nice panoramic views of Lake Rotorua and the surrounding area.
(Lake Rotorua is a redundancy; Rotorua is Maori for "the second
lake". It's a little like talking about the La Brea Tar Pits
in Los Angeles; literally "the the tar pits tar pits". But
I digress.)
I guess a
beautiful view isn't enough of an attraction for a Kiwi
entrepreneur; there needs to be a little excitement too. So the
mountain is also home to the luge, where you ride a low wheeled cart
down the hill on a concrete track using a combination steering
wheel and brake. And try to avoid getting airborne when you take a
curve too fast. At the bottom there's an open air skyride that
carries you and your cart back to the top to do it all again.
Which, I am proud to say, I did.
I've been to Hawaii several times and have never felt the desire to
attend a luau. (I did sit through Don Ho's show, which was every
bit as awful as you might imagine.) But I was advised that the
hangi, the Maori version of dinner theater, was worth experiencing.
The trick is to pick the right one. And all the folks I met in
Rotorua agreed that the
Tamaki brothers put on
the most authentic and interesting hangi and show. We were
delivered by coach to the outskirts of the village, waiting in the
darkness to be welcomed with the traditional challenge. We then
filed into the village, wandering among demonstrations of
traditional skills and entertainment. This was followed by a
concert, where more of the Maori traditions and culture were
explained. The meal itself was cooked in the traditional covered
pit, although it involved many ingredients that arrived with
Europeans. All in all, a fine experience. But if you're like me,
you might want to consider smuggling in a bottle of hot sauce. A
little extra seasoning couldn't hurt...
Never underestimate the value of luck to the photographer. Here are
two images that are interesting in ways I never expected, much less
planned. At left is the
Rotorua Museum, housed
in the city's former public baths. A guide in my hotel room
described the museum as the most photographed building in New
Zealand. So I took a walk downtown on my last afternoon to take a
look at this landmark. I arrived near dusk, and somehow captured
a golden glow on the structure, the vast lawns and the trees with the
early signs of their autumnal color change. I'm particularly proud
of this scene. Proud enough that it's now one of the
desktop backgrounds I use on my
PowerBook.
The next morning, I took a walk down to the lake to catch a last few
sights before my flight to the South Island. While walking along
the shore and admiring the seaplanes and the cruise boats, I noticed
a pair of black swans. And watched as they entwined their long
necks in an embrace. A perfect heart-shaped embrace, something I
wouldn't have believed if I hadn't seen it. Fortunately, I managed
to snap a picture before the swans reconfigured themselves. I
wonder: Is that heart shape a regular occurrence? Or am I just
luckier as a photographer than I deserve?
On occasion I supplement my
couch potato
adventures with something a little more strenuous and exciting.
Like the day I went to visit Mt. Tarawera, a volcanic crater thirty
miles east of Rotorua. Tarawera blew its top back in 1886,
burying several villages and leaving behind a chasm four miles long
and over 800 feet deep. The authorities closed the mountain to the
public after a few motocross riders misjudged the road and sailed
off into the crater. But there's a
tour company that offers 4WD and helicopter access. Two other hardy souls and I took the 4WD option to the crater that crisp, clear morning. Then we went for a little walk inside. But first I had to snap the picture at right, a view toward the Bay of Plenty to the northeast. That island just left of center that looks like a whale is called Whale Island. (Really.) And you can just barely see the volcanic White Island in the far distance to the left.
Hiking up to the lip of the crater, my immediate reaction was "you
expect me to hike down that?". The trail looked awfully
steep. And to make matters even more interesting, it was composed
of a thick layer of scree, bright and colorful volcanic rocks
ranging in size from ball bearings to racquetballs. You don't so
much walk on scree as you slide your way down through it. As I got
comfortable being buried ankle-deep in little rocks I started to
enjoy myself. And then I'd stop and try to turn around for a
picture and discover just how stable my position wasn't. At right
you can see where I've just come. Except it seems to me that the
trail was a bit steeper than it looks from here.
We finally reached the end of the scree and enjoyed the sensation of
walking the rest of the way down like normal people. Total vertical
distance: around 300 feet. Then it was a pleasant walk along the
floor of the crater, with a brief stop to remove the bits of lava
rock from our shoes. Next came the steep climb back up, this time
thankfully with relatively sure footing. Although I emphasize the
word relatively; there was a fair amount of loose dust on
the way up to keep me from getting too complacent. Still, it was
all worth it, both for the feeling of accomplishment on such a
perfect day and for the spectacular view back to where we'd come. A
definite high point of a trip that didn't have much in the way of
low points.
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