A quick recap: I spent my first day in New Zealand wandering blearily around Auckland and waiting for my body adjust to the long flight and the change in timezone. The trip really began with day two, on a coach trip to the northern town of Paihia in the picturesque Bay of Islands. Although, as I would be told repeatedly over the next couple of weeks, the best bits of the North Island are only picturesque if you haven't seen anything on the South Island. Why does this rivalry remind me of Northern vs. Southern California?
On our way north, we stopped to admire the native Kauri trees.
Before Europeans arrived, the northern half of the North Island was
covered by Kauri: tall, massive smooth-barked trees that live for
upwards of 1500 years. British seamen took to the Kauri all too
quickly, appreciating their straight trunks, tight grain and lack of
knotholes. (Kauri are self-pruning, dropping lower branches as they
grow and leaving only the smallest reminder behind.) And colonists
found Kauri ideal for homebuilding and furniture. The demand was so
great that the Kauri have all but disappeared. Now they're
protected, with efforts underway to increase their numbers. Five or
six centuries and some of the damage will be undone.
Interestingly, you can still buy artifacts made from Kauri. But not
from live trees; all the carvings and boxes and such come from what
are called Swamp Kauri: trees that were knocked down by some natural
cataclysm and buried in mud for somewhere between forty and sixty
thousand years. Enterprising souls have found a few of these
ancient forests and are using the wood to make some truly beautiful
pieces. (As well as a fair amount of junk, but I suppose that's to
be expected.)
The old house at left, hidden in the trees and the pouring rain, had
a starring role in the history of modern New Zealand. It was here
in 1840 that the representative of the British government and 43
Maori chiefs signed a treaty that defined the rights of both groups
of New Zealanders. (One can only hope that they had better
weather.) Eventually, over 500 chiefs would sign. The Treaty of
Waitangi is a unique document, giving the Maori a status that other
colonized natives would take a lot longer to achieve. Or perhaps
it's more accurate to say that the treaty acknowledges the Maori's
status. From everything I've learned, this was not a people to
submit easily to second class status. How different might history
have been if native Americans and aboriginal Australians shared some
of the Maori's more assertive tendencies?
Following my damp encounter with the Treaty House, I was delivered
to the teeming metropolis of Paihia. Paihia is the centre of
tourism for the area and has way more restaurants and shops than one
might expect in a town of its size. Heck, even my out-of-the-way
motel had a restaurant that wouldn't have shamed San Francisco.
Paihia is also home to
The Cabbage Tree, the
first really good tourist shop I found on my trip. My purchases
made, I wandered down the street to discover the pleasures of New
Zealand ice cream, in this case involving an interesting fruit
called a feijoa, which I was
told was local but actually
originated in
South America. And I quickly made a second discovery: stand
around with an ice cream cone for a minute or two and you'll be
surrounded by sparrows. They'll do practically anything to mooch a
bit of waffle cone. Even pose for pictures.
By the time the sparrows and I had finished our ice cream, the rain
clouds began to give way to a bit of sun. And I began to appreciate
the beauty of the bay, especially after I noticed a set of steps
leading up to a memorial with an excellent view of the beach, the
water and a few of the closer islands. Now if only they could have
done something about that big hill between my motel and the town;
I'm not used to having to walk up and down such steep inclines.
It's way too much like work; don't the city planners know I'm on
vacation?
Different tours have different energy levels. There are couch
potato adventures, workout activities and adrenaline rushes, all
with varying degrees of challenge. But sometimes you get a range
of excitement within the same itinerary. The boats at left are an
example. Most everybody who visits the bay will do a cruise among
the islands. But will you choose the smooth ride on the catamaran?
Or the high speed chase of an open air jetboat, complete with foul
weather gear and life jackets? As I was to discover later in my
journey, jetboats are good fun. But as photographic platforms they
are decidedly wanting. I preferred the low speed charms of the
Fuller's cat
as it slipped smoothly around the islands, a few with grand homes,
some with campsites, others barely big enough to provide a perch for
a few lazy birds.
The tour brochures make a big deal about visiting the Hole In The
Rock, which Captain Cook in a rare burst of wit named Piercy Island.
Pretty good pun, actually; it refers both to the island's
pierced state and to the First Lord of the Admiralty, Sir Piercy
Brett. Depending on whether the captain has timed the tides
properly, we get to run the boat into the Hole and out the other
side. Which is one of those "you do it so you can say you did it"
sorts of activities. After our penetration of the island, we made a
stop at Urupukapuka, the biggest island in the bay, where a
semisubmersible provided a view of some
local sealife.
At the start and end of the trip we made stops at Russell, the
oldest town in the country and former headquarters for the South
Pacific whaling fleet that was once celebrated as The Hellhole Of
The Pacific but in something of a decline since the 1830s. But only
in the degree of its lawlessness; Russell is a charming little place
with some nice buildings along a peaceful waterfront. I stopped off
for some lunch in a restaurant that used to be a cathouse. And then
took a little wander around the rest of town before I grabbed the
ferry back across the harbour to the hustle and excitement of
Paihia.
There's another 120 miles of New Zealand beyond Paihia. And about half of that is a narrow peninsula with miles and miles of perfect beach facing the Tasman Sea to the west. How could I not pay a visit to the official Ends Of The Earth?
There isn't much left of the giant Kauri forests that once covered
this part of the North Island. But there are a couple of protected
forests that highlight the diversity of native trees and plants,
with boardwalks that let visitors enjoy the sights and smells of
native New Zealand without risk of damage to the forest floor. The
Puketi Forest has some proper Kauri, grand trees over a thousand
years old. Imagine what can happen in all that time. Winds and
rain deposit dust and little bits of dirt on every flat surface.
And birds drop seeds into that dirt, which sprout into life high
into the air. After a few hundred years, the Kauri has become a
nursery for all sorts of other forest plants. At left is a Kauri on
its own; at right is a home for cabbage trees, vines and all sorts of
other life.
Cape Reinga isn't really New Zealand's northernmost point; the North
Point peninsula to the east extends a mile or so further north. But
it's close enough to satisfy me. Besides, this is where the Tasman
Sea and the Pacific Ocean come together to make life so very
interesting for sailors. And it has a lighthouse to keep things
from getting too hairy out there. Besides, there's a mailbox here
for tourists who want that special postmark from the top of the
bottom. And a signpost by the lighthouse that marks the distance
and direction to all the important places. Funny; I think people
took more pictures of the sign
than they took of the view.
Ninety Mile Beach runs for sixty miles down the west side of the
northern peninsula. Yes, you read that right; Ninety Mile Beach
isn't. (Something about measuring the beach by the travel time of a
bullock team. I guess somebody forgot to consider the effect of
beach sand on 19th century transport.) Getting to the beach is a
bit of a challenge; there aren't any roads. Instead, you race down
the bed of the Te Paki Quicksand Stream on its way to the sea,
preferably at a time when the stream isn't in flood. With time out
for a bit of snowboarding on the giant sand dunes that line the
stream. Or should that be sandboarding?
Racing down the beach in a motor vehicle is another one of those
"don't try this on your own" adventures. For one thing, you have to
be wary of the tides; time it wrong and you could find yourself
floating home. For another, there are a couple of narrow places
even at low tide where you have to time your passage very
carefully. Besides, all that sand and salt water and kelp can't be
good for your undercarriage. I'm told that car rental firms call
out Ninety Mile as a "Thou shalt not" in their contracts. Better in
one of the tour companies' specially designed coaches. And the
feeling of standing on an empty beach, the only sign of civilization
your transport and your fellow passengers, is hard to describe. For
a moment I can almost imagine what it was like for the early
settlers. Well, maybe not.
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