16 March 2018 - Kaikohe A&P Showgrounds, Northland

Another month has passed with little to interest a traveller. We have spent the intervening weeks settled into life with fellow gypsies at the Whangarei Central Holiday Park, dealing further with property maintenance issues which further raises the question as to whether ‘tis better to be poor and investment free, relying solely on the goodwill of the government’s charity. My mother’s health issues have improved only marginally, although I am at this point in time more comfortable with the fact that we are heading off shore again for a lengthy absence within the next two months.  

We did venture south for a long weekend to visit our daughter and her family in Waihi Beach, again making use of the hospitality of the RSA Club perched on the hill above the village. My husband spent the greater part of the two days assisting with landscape work, while I attended to the more mundane chores of kitchen and laundry, all finishing our evenings with over-full bellies and heads that were less clear than they should have been. 

On our return north on the Monday we caught up with our youngest son in Takapuna, where he descended from his high-rise office to lunch with us in our humble home-on-wheels and share his life’s ups and downs in a more frank manner than he could when he was younger. This is one of the bonuses of having adult children; they eventually realise that nothing they do can shock the parents because they, the parents have experienced it all before too. They start to understand that the “words of wisdom” imparted during those formative years were wise after all.

Ex-cyclone Hola passed down the eastern side of the North Island, with less force than prophesied, but then one should never dismiss the warnings of the weather geeks. We did spend a whole day holed up in our motorhome, peering out at those less fortunate than ourselves but none requiring our assistance. However we were still able to head off as originally planned on our short sojourn around the north of the province. 

Walking through Trounson Kauri Park

After dropping our car off at my parents, a trial run for the six months storage they have offered while we are away in the UK, we headed westward toward Dargaville, lunching beside the Wairoa River before heading north thirty kilometres or more to Trounsen Park. The Chauffeur had expressed a desire to stay at the DOC Camp and I was happy to go along with that, although I had been thinking it would be nice to detour to Kai-iwi Lakes and swim in the shallow waters, hopefully warmed by the many months of summer. However when push came to shove, and when we charged past the turnoff and he asked if I still wanted to go, I could see that the idea was one sided and the skies were still dim with the residue of the ex-cyclone, and did I really want to swim?

So we carried on north up through the Kaihu Valley turning off toward the 450 hectare Trounson Kauri Park, which had been cordoned off to the public when we had last passed through. When we did drive into the camping ground, sporting our NZMCA / DOC Pass and considered that we would pay the difference between the non-electric and the electric, just $3 per person, we thought we had better read through our Pass conditions once more. The small print revealed that this park was excluded all year rather than just the peak summer holiday period, which meant we would be up for $36 for one night (with power). Looking at the facilities (or the lack thereof) we decided that this was a total rip-off and drove around to the day visitor park instead.

One of the dying giants

From here we walked about the forest circuit, now a single route, allowing for no deviation. The kauri die-back disease, more correctly the pathogen named phytophthora agathidicida, has been slowly attacking New Zealand’s giant trees. It was only discovered in 2009 and it must have been soon after that we first saw reports of it on DOC signs about the country. It affects the roots of the tree and for that reason, the custodians of the forests, the DOC and Regional Park wombles, would prefer to exclude the public from the forests entirely. The compromise is to limit the number of public tracks through the vulnerable areas, and have those walkers who do persist with their activities, to wash and brush their boots with special cleaning products. 

While I have sat outside the growing commentary making scoffing comments of my own, our wander through the Trounson Forest brought home to us how serious the problem really is and it was with great sadness we observed the number of dead and dying kauri within view of the path.

Views up the Hokianga Harbour

The walk through Trounson is quite lovely and I realised too that it was many years since we had actually come through here. There is a huge variety of flora throughout but I was most aware of the kauri, of course, the kiekie, the nikau and pungas. Fantails flitted about and tuis and bellbirds called from high up in the canopy.

A quiet night at the Kaikohe Showgrounds

Back on the road, we continued north through Donnelly’s Crossing on gravel road, emerging at the southern edge of the Waipoua Forest, and followed the Twin Coast highway through the same, navigating the twists and turns of the slow sealed road from where we could see more of those grand trees denuded of their vegetation, skeletons awaiting the next violent storm for their last hurrah.

We did not stop to see Tane Mahuta, the largest kauri tree in the country; it seemed there were plenty of other tourists to ooh and aah as we have done so often in the past. On we went until we came up over Pakia Hill from where one has marvellous views over the Hokianga Harbour and across to the expansive sand dunes. Just below the summit we turned toward the coast on a short road out to Arai – Te – Uru Recreation Reserve, site of an old Signal Station over the harbour entrance. A short walk out to an elevated point offers even better views than those from the top of Pakia Hill and I was glad we had made the detour.

Rainbow Falls

We returned to the main highway, if “highway” it can be called, and continued eastwards along the southern reaches of the Hokianga, past numerous Maori settlements, as close to one another as English villages are, and most of these here watched over by little white steepled wooden churches, their porches at one end and roofs so red as to suggest regular maintenance.

We spent the first night of this little trip parked up on power at the Kaikohe A&P Grounds, an excellent posse made available to financial members of the NZMCA all for the modest fee of $10 per night. We found ourselves alone, which for some travellers in this area, especially those familiar with the crime and dependency so pervasive in this part of the north, might be a problem. We reckoned the proximity to Ngwha Prison was probably a deterrent to would be mischief makers.

Wharepoke Falls below the Kerikeri River

Our following days turned into a history pilgrimage, following the advent of Christianity in New Zealand and the lives and times of the Maori who were subjected to this. I have been to the Bay of Islands many times over my life, and to many of the historical sites we visited this time round. I have also read both fiction and non-fiction about these times, but perhaps it is only now that I no longer have to retain so much extra in my head to provide a living, that I am able to collate and understand better the history of my own country.

Kerikeri Basin

Over three days we visited the Stone Store and Kemp House in Kerikeri, Pompallier House in Russell and Te Waimate Mission at Waimate North. There are two other places that should be included in such a task: Mangungu Mission on the Hokianga open only through the summer months and Rangihoua Heritage Park where Samuel Marsden’s first missionary onslaught began and ended soon after, now a series of information signs on a wide expanse of bare land.

Kemp House

At Kerikeri, we stayed at the NZMCA’s own park over property and found it busy with fellow members, all lightly packed into one small corner of the large area. The ground was boggy and ready to entrap foolish vanners. As a result we spent the night parked up far too close to our neighbour than I like.

But from this wonderful camp adjacent to the Rainbow Falls, we walked the four and a half kilometres down to the Kerikeri Basin where we were then able to enjoy New Zealand Heritage’s treasures, all freely accessible to us when we waved our English Heritage membership cards. The guide and the museum were wonderful and it was well on in the afternoon that we extracted ourselves and headed back up the river to camp. As a result we arrived late home and ate our own versions of BLATs for dinner, washed down with a good bottle of red. 

Sailing from Paihia

At Paihia we caught the ferry to Russell; lunch packed in the backpack, in training for our imminent return to the UK, and joined a midday tour of Pompellier House. We were too early, so climbed up the hill through the lovely gardens and sat eating our sandwiches with superb views out over the bay. 

After yet another excellent history lesson, we made our way through Russell and found ourselves in the thick of the BDO Tour of Northland, a cycle race made up of four stages making up a north-west-south-east circuit of about 250 kilometres from Whangarei to Whangarei. We watched as many of the almost three hundred contestants came in over the finish line, each contestant with their name and age group spelled out on a “bum-bag” arrangement, confirming the entrants to be aged from fit youth to fit young over-70 year olds. As we sat eating our ice-creams, nursing our gout and dodgy backs, we considered ourselves decidedly inferior specimens of the human race.

Peaceful Russell

The ferry back was laden down with tourists and cycling contestants, and piles of bikes both fore and aft.  Paihia would be busy that night even if the revelry might end earlier and less drunkenly than with other like-minded crowds. We decided not to stay in town, even though the car park of the RSA probably would have been available to us. Instead we headed out to Waimate North, west of Paihia and backtracking some of the morning’s route. We set up camp at the Bay of Islands Pastoral & Industrial Showground, amid expanses of green and a multitude of mature trees.  As with the Kaikohe Showground we paid the modest fee of $10 for the privilege of peace and power. Here it was the magpies that woke us in the morning with their melodious song, although never as melodious as their Australian cousins.

We found the Georgian Mission house just up the road, most impressive; Chris particularly taken with the smoothness of the pit sawn kauri interior walls. In fact he wandered about the whole place, including the cellar, amazed at the workmanship. It was interesting to learn that Charles Darwin spent the Christmas of 1835 at this model farm and mission station in the heart of this Ngapuhi land. However he would not have found it to be as attractive ten years later when the retreating British forces came through and caused mayhem and desecration.

Pompallier House

Off-loading cycles and cyslists

Over those educational days we learnt more about how the position the missionaries, both Anglican and Catholic, was considered by the “natives” who were more interested in learning about the world beyond these South Pacific shores and how quickly they could stock pile firearms in return for sacks of potatoes, with a view to blowing the heads off their enemies. That latter statement actually demeans the grasp of the written language and of English the Maori were so motivated to master, and master they did. That crop of New Zealanders, albeit a bloodthirsty lot, were a whole lot smarter and ambitious than those that may or may not have completed the census a couple of weeks ago.

Did I mention the census? Probably not. Earlier this month we had both the obligation and opportunity to complete the countries five yearly census, and this time we were here to take part. (last time we were part of the grey nomads drifting about Australia). Of course the census is very important, not least of all to keen genealogists such as myself who use past documents to understand those that came before. It is also a tool here (and no doubt in most countries) to ascertain the health and other social services required to cater for the aging and growing population. This year there has been a push for the census to be completed on-line, easy enough for us and even my parents who are fast approaching ninety. But for many languishing in the remote corners of Northland, who choose to spend their welfare surpluses on dope and other mind numbing substances, instead of joining the modern digital age, they will not be counted and we will be short changed on hospital beds. We will cry out in frustration when our day arrives, forgetting it was all our own fault.

Waimate Mission House

And continuing on a note of lament, news of the Syrian War continues. It was seven years ago when I started my travelling blogs and made mention of this and still nothing has changed! Is it any wonder we tend to shut off from the horrors of the world? But this has also been the week that Stephan Hawkins and Ken Dodd died. What a strange and various world we live in.

But back to our own gypsy life, we are once more back at the Kaikohe Showgrounds, this time in the company of five other vans; safety in numbers so they say. The weather forecast for the next week is not great but we do not need to be back in Whangarei for another six days. I guess we will decide which ways to steer the motorhome wheels over breakfast tomorrow morning.