12 February 2019 - Parua Bay, Whangarei Harbour, Northland

Since last putting fingers to keyboard, we have managed a more serious break, although hardly serious by our scale. This time it meant venturing beyond a leisurely day’s distance from Whangarei  but still remaining within the daughter-guilt range; I am sure there will be some readers that understand this rather bizarre measurement.

In the last few weeks before we headed away, we had the power installed on to the section which  enabled me to indulge myself in activities I enjoy beyond travelling, walking and reading; blogging and genealogy to name but a few. I spent time editing through my blog notes of our last trip to the United Kingdom in the hope that when it arrives in book form, it will be in a better state than it was when it first hit the blog-sphere.  National grid power means unlimited armchair sportsmanship for my husband and while the Tour DownUnder is now finished, there was then the Australian Open and cricket to be followed. While we have had a fair electricity source from our more than adequate solar panels and an excellent generator, my husband, always over cautious as regards electricity usage, has been even more concerned with the house batteries coming to the end of their lives.

We walked The Loop in Whangarei a couple of times, once with our granddaughters and their father, a lengthy affair where every climbable tree and all playground equipment was checked out, bicycles discarded for such distractions. This walk is as wonderful sauntered along in such conditions as it is done at a brisker pace in an attempt to reduce the recently acquired weight gain. Of course that, the weight gain is not helped by the muffins served by my mother for morning tea whenever we call in, or the delicious meal we had out to celebrate our 16^th wedding anniversary, this latter at The Quay and an excellent evening it was, albeit keeping within our early routine.

Then finally we set off on Auckland Anniversary Day, joining the throngs heading back from the northern beaches in readiness for their children’s school year to begin. We were disappointed that we were unable to touch base with our youngest in West Auckland, but promised to remedy that on our way home if possible.

So with no social rendez-vous planned, we carried on through Auckland and out to the eastern shores beyond Clevedon, to Kawakawa Bay still on the edge of the Hauraki Gulf. There is a lovely spot at the northern end of the main bay where one can picnic and enjoy the outlook, however Anniversary Day was also an opportunity for all those from South Auckland who had not headed to one of the city’s excellent Regional Parks to do the same.  Alas there was little peaceful about the scene on this particular day; a little like heading to the beach in Queensland on Australia Day; perhaps that is a slight exaggeration.

So we did not linger there but carried on down the coastline, following the winding road up and over the hills and through lush native bush, alongside rushing streams,  until we came down to the Firth of Thames, mussel farms laid out before us as we reached Matingarahi. It is probably a couple of years since we have travelled this road; the scenery is familiar but the massive amount of road works was not. Evidence of erosion all along this road that hugs the coastline all the way to Kaiaua was quite astounding; what a nightmare for those charged with keeping the road open. In many places portable traffic lights were in use to marshal the traffic into an orderly one way system, so we were not at all inconvenienced although we might have been had we chosen this eastern route to hasten our journey. It was obvious that much of the northbound traffic resulted from conscious decisions to avoid the motorway south of Auckland.

Just south of Kaiaua, we pulled into Rae’s Rest, a wonderful camping spot for fully self-contained vehicles; there is nothing here but the white sandy beach and the plethora of shore birds protected in this sanctuary. We have stayed here on numerous occasions, listening to the gentle swish of the tide as it changes, and one night some years ago treated to nature’s fireworks display; a lightening extravaganza over the Coromandel Range just across the Firth. As night fell we could see the lights of Thames far across the water and the silhouette of the mountain range. We shared this lovely spot with a dozen or more campers, some who braved the salty brine and some who preferred to toast their bodies in the scorching afternoon sunshine. Since our last visit, loads of seashells have been added to the parking space and finding a perfectly level spot is not as easy as it used to be. I guess time and wear will eventually sort that small problem out.

The next morning we headed away south again, soon passing the Miranda Hot Pools where there is a lovely motor-camp for those who don’t balk at paying commercial camping fees. Here one has the use of the lovely pool complex as opposed to the plainer affair open to day-visitors, which does justify some of the tariff.

We came through to Ngatea, that tidy little rural service town on the Hauraki Plains, and popped in to check out the facilities near the Council Offices. The travellers in the whizz-bang vans were still crawling out of their sleep; it is a popular spot for the budget travellers to pull into and serves to keep the otherwise feral free-campers in one manageable spot. We have stayed here ourselves on a few occasions.

It’s less than an hour to Waihi Beach from here, travelling on through Paeroa, then Waihi where we nearly always stop to buy groceries at the very smart but small New World supermarket. At Waihi Beach we set ourselves up at the RSA, booking in for a couple of nights in their car park. Alas the Club has spent considerable money tarmacking the car park area where they welcome motorhomers, and it has been contoured so that rainwater runs into the centre and down into the revamped drainage system. While this is excellent from a drainage perspective, it does little to please the motorhomer who seeks an achievable level. Some of our fellows appeared to be set up at rather odd angles; maybe they are not as particular as we are.

We spent quite a bit of time with our daughter,  her husband and son when they were not working, but even teachers on holiday have to put in some hours at this late stage of the school holidays, so we were left to our devises some of the time. We used it sensibly, walking a couple of the tracks about the area. I had been up to the Trig on an earlier visit but Chris had not, so this time we set off up with Larissa and Sirius, the dog, on one of the hottest afternoons of this summer, tackling the hill and many steps, but mostly in the shade of the native bush and then the pine forest near the top.

The Trig walk is quite wonderful, although those with dodgy knees or hips are best left down on the beach. The views from the top are just spectacular, down the coast to Bowentown, across the Matakana Harbour to Mount Maunganui, out to sea to Mayor Island, and of course below, the long strung out seaside township of Waihi Beach. At a high point, above the Trig, there is a great tree stump cut out as a giant’s seat, and we gathered about that to rest before making the descent.

The following morning when we were left to our own devices, we were encouraged to take Sirius with us when we informed the family we were intending to undertake the Athenree Estuary walkway. This is a very flat walk well patronised by cyclists, dog owners and walkers, in that order. Alas our hearing is not very receptive to polite bell ringers, so we were nearly mowed down a few times, which is all the more serious when one has a poorly trained dog on a leash. However no one came to grief, and we enjoyed the birdlife on the mudflats and that in the scrub along the track; herons and gulls, tuis and swallows.

From Waihi Beach we travelled through to Tauranga calling on a cousin on whom we have been promising to call for some years now. She and her husband Brian are motorhomers like us, and like us have spent time travelling around both the UK and our own country DownUnder. We spent a delightful afternoon with Colette, and also found time to check out the coastal path at Matua Peninsula starting from Fergusson Park.  It’s a real bonus to find a new attraction in a city or area you think you know well, to prove that there is always something new under the sun.

We walked toward the city centre along this pathway, the mudflats revealed by the low tide starching toward the narrow channel that separates Matakana Island from the mainland, and the deeper one separating Mount Maunganui from Tauranga. Across the water, the port cranes stood tall, although not as tall as the peak of Mount Maunganui itself.

The coastal path passes some splendidly appointed homes, no doubt sporting million dollar price tags when they change hands, but more interesting were the places of historical interest along the way. Here can be found the remains of Otumoetai Pa which was the most significantly populated site in the Western Bay of Plenty between 1600 and 1865, its demise a result of the New Zealand Wars of 1864 when the land was confiscated by the government. Of course this is only part of the story and should only whet one’s appetite for further research.  

Here too are the sites of an old Catholic Mission and James Farrow’s Trading Post, Farrow the first permanent trader in the Bay of Plenty who traded Maori harvested flax for muskets and gunpowder from the 1830s. Later when the flax trade declined, more nutritious commodities were traded; salted pork, potatoes, wheat and maize.

I spent a few years living only kilometres from this part of the city in the mid-1970s but knew none of this. I guess I had other interests in those days….

After staying the night at the NZMCA Park in Tauriko, we pressed on along the Bay of Plenty coast, some of it on the “new” toll road that bypasses Te Puke, and what an excellent road it is! We pulled into Whakatane and wandered about the lovely CBD after chatting with an unlikely looking local who had recently purchased a smart new motorhome and was interested in where we had our tow-bar fitted. We learned that he was still a couple of years off retiring and had borrowed rather heavily to finance his new toy, much to the consternation of his more financially savvy children. But he and his wife wanted to practice using their motorhome before they set off on the road when he finally qualified for his hard earned pension. We were inclined to sympathise with his children but then we all come from different financial places and until one has walked in the shoes, one should not dare to judge. (Although you will have noticed that I constantly do so!)

Continuing on around the shoreline, bypassing folk we should have called on but had decided to do either on our return or on a subsequent trip, we arrived at Opotiki, which makes for a poor sister settlement to Whakatane. But then there is a very different population base here and the heydays of Opotiki are long gone.

We found our way to the new NZMCA Park here and joined the many others who had sought out the same level of security as we did. From there it is just a short walk up into what was once a thriving town.

Opotiki is the western gateway to Eastland so has captured the tourist trade for some decades now, whether the traveller decides to take the coastal route or the much shorter inland route across to Gisborne.  

After centuries of itinerant and warring tribes up and down the coast, the area was visited first by Captain James Cook in 1769, then in the 19^th century by traders and whalers from far across the sea. The missionaries arrived and began the business of “civilising” the natives, although in all fairness literacy always had to be a boon to any convert. Through the mid-19^th century there was fairly peaceful coexistence between the Maori and the European settlors, the former inhabitants embracing the European style of agriculture, but then through the 1860s came the Hauhau, hangings and all the bloodiness that followed. Eventually things settled back down and civilisation resumed, with it schools, banks, churches and hotels. Some of these still stand, such as St Stephen’s Anglican Church, but most of those that do are tired looking, reminders of yesteryears, with little hope of tomorrow.

Having said that, the people of the area are now doing their utmost to put some life into the place, developing cycle tracks to tempt the most active and intrepid and providing basic services for those who do bother to venture this way.

Refuelled with diesel, water and fresh food, we set off around the coast bright and early the day after arriving intending to travel only as far as Te Kahu and stay in a Council blessed free camp just north of the village centre, if it can be even called that. Chris and I have travelled this coast twice before together, and separately once before, but I have to say I had no memory of that south west of Te Kahu. It is quite lovely, with wide open bays between each rugged headland, and with tidy marae complexes  tucked into each of those bays. It was a Saturday and as such a good day for the locals to be gathering at their meeting places, giving evidence that community is still very important in these semi-remote areas. At Torere, we passed a posse of about ten police cars, and were overtaken by a patched Mongrel Mob motorcyclist, but otherwise there was nothing to support the reputation that has plagued this area in the past.

We crossed the bridge over the Motu River after travelling a few kilometres up the gorge and enjoyed the incredibly picturesque scenery immediately about us. This river is a surprising 110 kilometres long and rises 487 metres above sea level.  Years ago we drove “The Motu” in a car, a very rough road through the rugged interior which required some repair along the way; we were able to do this with a few fallen logs and breath holding as we crossed our rudimentary bridge. It is not a road to be taken in much more than a 4WD and certainly in nothing like our current motorhome!

At Te Kahu we dumped in anticipation of our overnight camp, paying the required $5 to the commercial camping ground to use their facility. While it is years since we have had to resort to using (and paying) for this service, we acknowledged the fee has remained at the same level for the past twenty years, and is fair enough.

Alas when we pulled on to the reserve and checked out the small area allocated to self-contained motorhome campers, we were unable to find any space that was near enough level, even using all our levelling blocks, so instead decided to press on again after lunch. It really is a delightful spot as will be attested by those others who managed to arrive before we did, and especially the owner of the very large bus-car rig who parked sideways taking up about three spaces. We watched tractors come and go as they launched their fishing boats, some of these old ex-agricultural vehicles held together with bailing twine and very little else. There were plenty of swimmers enjoying the apparently safe bay but we were satisfied to just wander about and observe.

East (and north) of Te Kahu , the bays are more intimate and rocky, offering less access but more appeal. Over Christmas they must be even more of a treat, when the pohutukawa trees are in full bloom. At Raukokore, we pulled onto the roadside to join twenty or more motorcyclists, this lot of the Ulysses Club variety, and checked out the charming Anglican old church which stands on the promontory. Years ago we called in here and were greeted by unfamiliar smells which were explained by a notice introducing us to the penguins nesting under the floor boards. This time the smell had gone but a little family of stuffed knitted penguins gracing the rail at the entrance support the remaining sign.

Access to the lovely bays along this coast is mostly through private land and while there are directions and contact details for those from whom permission should be obtained, one would have to be quite keen to bother. We satisfied ourselves with the drive-by. And once we reached Whangaparaoa, the road headed east and inland, much bordered by the scars of milled pines.  

Thirty three kilometres after leaving the coast, we arrived at Hicks Bay where there is evidence again of bygone activity, prosperity unlikely to be replaced even by the tourist trade. We had spotted a few signs saying “No Port here” in the same way one finds “No Mining here” in the Coromandel. This suggested to me that there is a move to have the timber being milled right through the area to be shipped out rather than transported out by the many logging trucks we were soon to encounter. Once these areas, from Hicks Bay down to Gisborne had abattoirs and wharves that welcomed shipping trade and transport. Now the abattoirs are crumbling concrete shells, relics of lost prosperity. And with greater distance to abattoirs, it must be a lot more costly to transport livestock out to those that do remain, costs that kill profits. It is from here at Hicks Bay and onwards that the large sheep and cattle stations exist, or did in better times if they are not now reverting back to native bush and scrub.

Nine kilometres on is Te Araroa, a wide bay with more services than anything since Opotiki, but still hardly enough to warrant the moniker “township”. Here is a long beach piled high with driftwood, even more than others passed along the route, a small grocery store, an expensive fuel outlet, a school and another NZMCA Park where we set up for the night. This one is very new, the plantings barely out of their nursery pots and has nothing but a flat surface and lock on the gate to offer security.

The next morning we woke to a lovely view back up into the hills and the promise of yet another superb day. Our written guides suggested that the best time to visit the lighthouse on the Cape was before sunrise, but we had still been abed; after breakfast would have to do.

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The twenty kilometre drive out to the lighthouse is quite picturesque, half of it on mostly sealed road and the rest on gravel. It is a slow road and has been subject to erosion as so much of the country about this region. The countryside opens out to good farming land at the end of the road, and we were greeted by a herd of pale coloured horses immediately below the hill on which the lighthouse stands. We parked up, proceeded by just one party, and set off up the eight hundred steps to the top, the lighthouse sitting 154 metres above sea level. Two further parties passed us as we struggled up, although we arrived soon after they did; slow and steady sometimes wins the race.

The East Cape lighthouse was originally erected  in 1900 out on East Island just offshore, but after years of earthquakes and subsequent erosion, it was decided to relocate it in 1922 to this hill at the end of the Cape. The cast iron tower stands 14 metres high, and the light which flashes every ten seconds, can be seen for 19 nautical miles. The light was fully automated in 1985 and the lighthouse keeper out of a job, as has happened all around the country, and no doubt all around the world. I guess there are not too many ex-lighthouse keepers left but there are probably an awful lot of grownup children who spent their early years in remote places such as this.

We pulled off the road on the way back, and spent a good part of the day just enjoying the sea raging on the flat rocks below us, reading the weekend paper and the last of our library books, the stock of which was quickly dwindling.

Back at Te Araroa, we wandered along to check out the giant pohutukawa tree, reputed to be the oldest and largest in New Zealand, supposedly over 350 years old and standing in excess of 21.2 metres tall, measuring 40 metres at its widest point. It is so massive and complex it is impossible to gauge if it has grown since we last checked it out. That too must be quite a picture at Christmas time.

The following morning we headed south across more scarred forestry land, coming down toward the Pacific Coast at Tikitiki, then staying inland as we continued on past the turn off to Ruatoria, once notorious as a den of crime, now location of the first New Zealand company to secure  a license to cultivate medicinal cannabis.

 

We had thought we might stop at Te Puia and have a swim in the hot pools there, as we did many years ago. In more recent years the hotel and the pools have been revamped which has no doubt been a good reason to up the price for a little dip. At $10 a head we thought it too much for a half hour or less in thermal water although I would have been happy enough paying three quarters of that; Chris not at all. So it was just as well we did not have to debate this matter further but instead pressed on down to the coast emerging at lovely Tokomaru Bay, yet another once-upon-a-time town. It does seem to offer more than Te Araroa by way of commercial enterprise, and the seaside reserve and facilities are most attractive. We parked up and lunched, Chris having a wee snooze while I wandered about the old part of the town and across the river.

 We had called into the Council Information office at Te Puia, to follow up on a matter discussed with the people in the information office at Opotiki a few days ago, this the camping permit offered by the Gisborne District Council during the summer months in specially allocated sites, starting from Tokomaru Bay and all along the coast as one comes on down to Gisborne.  At first glance it seems such a brilliant idea – permission and a rubbish bag for a series of options, the smallest being for two nights, the longest 28 days; $16.50 to $71.50 respectively. There is a long list of rules but mostly they are just matters of common sense health, safety and common courtesy, but the problem we have with the system is that offers little flexibility. The specific site must be selected for specific dates, which does not suit freedom campers in the true sense; we do not know for sure where we will be on any specific day, although I do acknowledge we had to conform to the rule when in the UK.   We had thought it might be nice to camp at Tokomaru Bay and then after Gisborne, Doneraille Park further south, but we did not exactly know which nights we would be there. As it turned out, it was just as well we did not go down this track because of having to abort our plans.

The other crazy thing is that you can go online to apply for the permit and they will post it out to you within so many days – what good is that? However there are places along the route you can purchase the permit over the counter, and the Te Puia office was one such. I would suggest this permit arrangement is best suited for those who go to one place for several days, or a week, normally a relatively local person or family, and not for the freewheeling tourist.

Instead when we arrived at Tolaga Bay, after checking out the free camping area, we decided to park up beside George & Mildred’s Supermarket, Thelma offering members of the NZMCA a relatively level and clear site for the modest fee of $5. Perhaps the location could be considered dodgy on benefit night, or over a weekend, but it was a Monday night and we figured that the good would spend their night sleeping and the bad were still sleeping off the effect of the weekend.

Tolaga Bay is of significant size and while having little to offer but food and fuel, it does have the feel  of civilisation, and it is after all, only 55 kilometres from Gisborne.  The name of the place seems to be a mystery because there is no bearing to its Maori name of Uawa, and has no relevance to any European who happened upon the place in the early days, however Tolaga Bay it has remained. I did read one explanation;  that Tolaga may have been a misinterpretation for the word te raki referring to a north wind blowing into the bay, but it sounds a bit tenuous to me.

Back in the day, here too was an abattoir and more importantly a significant wharf to accommodate the ships that came in. Sheep were introduced to the region in 1863 and have remained an important part of life here ever since.  In the early years of the land clearing, and establishment of the sheep and cattle stations, sea transport was the only efficient means of transporting produce away from the region. Initially small wharves in the Uawa River were used as loading out points for small boats carrying cargo to larger boats moored in deeper water. However as quantities grew this became very inefficient and an alternative solution was sought.

By 1875, Tolaga Bay was the largest European settlement on the East Coast, and the local port, that had begun its life servicing flax and whale traders, quickly developed into a critical component of the farming business that had grown up around the regon. 

In other places along the coast, a surf landing service was used to load cargo, which sounds very dodgy from this end of history. Here in Tolaga Bay port matters were a little more formal with the construction of the Hauiti Wharf up the river. But silting problems from inland floods restricted the use of the wharf and other remedies were considered including the use of Cooks Cove , more of this place later.

The political discussions regarding the establishment of an open sea wharf arose after the First World War, helped along by post-war resettlement of veterans, and in 1920 the newly formed Tolaga Bay Harbour Board decided to approach the Minister of Marine for recommendation of a suitable engineer to report on required harbour works, and so the slow process of bureaucracy began.

Cyrus Williams was the lucky man to be appointed to design and control the proposed construction works, and after tenders were invited, the contract to construct the 660 metre long wharf was awarded to Gisborne based contractor, Frederick Goodman, in 1924. Work started the next year and continued intermittently until 1929 when the entire structure was completed. At the time its completion was considered a technological and engineering feat of gargantuan proportions; never before had such a large and audacious project been attempted in an open and particularly hostile marine environment.

Obviously the completion of such an amenity changed life in the area. Records show that the busiest year for the wharf was in 1936 when 132 vessels visited Tolaga Bay. But global carryings on soon changed the glory years; the Great Depression of the 1930s effected primary industries such as pastoral vessels visiting, and then came World War II. By the end of the war the roads had improved significantly and there was no longer such reliance on the wharf. Less trade through the wharf removed maintenance funds and in by the mid-1960s the cost of shipping produce out of Tolaga Bay exceeded trucking costs. In 1968 the port was closed to shipping.

The wharf remained a tourist attraction but directly generated no income, thus damage by the elements slowly eroded the structure of the wharf until such a point there was a call for major restoration. At a cost of five and a half million dollars, the work was carried out in three stages, the first completed in the summer of 2001-02 by an outfit from Tauranga, and the second and ongoing maintenance by an Australian contractor, the second phase completed in 2006. Signs explain the complexity of the work in an attempt to justify the cost, all paid for by the Tolaga Bay Save the Wharf Charitable Trust who launced  what was probably the biggest fundraising campaign, per head of population, the country’s history. None of this is appreciated to the level it should be by the tourists who venture out to walk it’s length or those who fish from the end. Nor, I suspect, does the investment in the restoration even begin to be justified by the income these visitors bring into the town; the odd icecream, a loaf of bread, a bag of fish bait? Still I suppose the same could be said for many such works of restoration, especially in places of low population like New Zealand.

We checked the wharf out ourselves that afternoon we arrived, then gave the little town the onece over while eating icecreams, before settling in beside George & Mildred’s. The next morning we got away promptly returning to a spot neat the whar from where one can set off on one of the area’s loveliest walks.

The Cook’s Cove Walkway  is a two and a half walk up through farmland, then steeply down through manuka bush to an abosolute gem of a cove, one that Captain James Cook found refuge in 1769. Here he and his crew hauled their ship, the Endeavour , ashore and cleaned two years of weed and barnacles from its hull. Here too they were able to restock their water and fresh food supplies. To the north of the cove, there is a natural hole in the rock cliff giving one a framed view of the open sea;  a depiction of this scene painted at the time is shown on the interpretative panel in the cover. Little but the vegetation has changed over the almost 250 years.

Here on the walk we encountered John from Ruatoria, a man with a smooth complexion belying his years and his lifetime occupation as shearer.  We spoke of the maunga (mountains)  of the area to the north; the North Island’s highest non-volcanic peak of Mt Hikurangi at 1754 metres, and the surrounding maunga of Aorangi, Komapara, Aoparauri, Raukumara and Pungarehunui to name only those over 1000 metres. We spoke of erosion and forestry, and the juxtaposition of the two.  

We left John fairly early on the track, even though he was so obviously fitter than we were despite his relatively recent knee replacements. Later we encountered other walkers who we encouraged to walk to the very end of the trail, and others, foreign and obvioulsy time poor, just up to the lookout over the cove about half the distance. We decided the route was much changed from that we walked twenty four years ago, more strenuous but probably offering more options for shortening and certainly offering more in the way of seating and viewing platforms.

Back in the camper, a little before midday, we headed south again, and travelled through far more civilised countryside (if one considers evidence of serious farming practices as civilised), steep inland geography; we emerged once more to the castline at Pouawa, the site of one of these Council campsites and the most southern extent of the Te Tapuwae O Rongokako Marine Reserve and the equally protected sand dunes. Here we parked up and lunched, with the sound and distracton of dozens of logging trucks heading toward the port at Gisborne.

And then we went on again, soon approaching the one and only seriously populated place in Eastland, joining the queues of slow traffic causing mayhem with flying chip metal. The road had been recently sealed but the contractors had done an appalling job, and the rain of stones, upon the underside of the vehicles and flying at our windscreen, invited insurance claims and irate road rage.

Arriving beyond the worst of the stone-blizzard, we checked out the beach to the north of the city and the Taruheru River which forms the eastern boundary of the main city. Kaiti Hill sits above that entry route, and over the massive log storage yards, and more importantly for the campers arriving in the city looking for a free place to park their wheels, Kaiti Beach. We found this a most attractive and desirable place to stop over, but were also keen to go out to dinner and the walking distance from here to the middle of the CBD, ignoring the precise location of any would-be dining destinations; this would not suit. Instead we found our way to the Cosmopolitan Club, a place we had stayed some years ago, offering NZMCA members a secure park over spot, and their club facilties. We paid the requested $10 for the privelege of such convenient and secure overnight parking, and then without feeling any obligation to patronise the club, given we had paid a “camping” fee, walked out into the city early in the evening to dine at Bollywood Star, an Indian restaurant (of course) offering beautiful, bountiful and well priced meals.

The next morning while we dealt with household matters; dumping and laundry in a rather dubious suburb, we learned my mother had activated her St John’s call out alert and was in hospital. We completed our laundry task in an excellent little laundromat, shared with a Mongrel Mob patched mongrel who was there doing his washing with his two little children, conversing in the foulest language with a fellow mongrel. I wondered about those children; what kind of future could they hope for?

Over lunch after refilling with water and dumping our waste, we decided to abandon our travel plans to head further south along the coast to Wairoa, Napier, then up through Taupo, Rotorua and Hamilton, calling upon friends and family along the way, and head for home where we were needed.

Our route took us back up to Opotiki, this time up through the wine producing valley immediately north of Gisborne, reputedly the Chardonnay Capital of the World, on up through the land of the Tuhoe, through the Waioeka Gorge, this latter a fifty kilometre steep, narrow and extremely beautiful drive through bush and rugged terrain. The gorge cuts through ranges of steep sided hills rising from 400 metres near the coast to 1000 metres inland.

Through here since the 1890s, people have attempted to farm the Waioeka but a combination of depression, falling prices ad extensive erosion forced many to abandon their farms. By the late 20^th century, the government progressively added retired farmland to the Waioeka Gorge Scenic Reserve to protect water catchments. Regenerating bush helped reduce erosion, improve water quality and protect the Opotiki plains from flooding. Today anglers, kayakers, trampers, hunters and walkers enjoy the recreational aspects of the area.

Despite the late departure from  Gisborne we made good time through to Opotiki and set up once again at the NZMCA Park for the night. Next morning we set off promptly planning to drive through to Ardmore, a distance of over 300 kilometres, with the final leg back to Whangarei planned for the following day.

But life is rarely as one plans, and while our drive up the coast, pausing at Matata for morning tea, then through Te Puke, delibately avoiding the toll road travelled a few days ago, was all on track, as was the bypass of the expanding city of Tauranga travelling up through Maungatapu, the edge of Greerton heading for the Kaimais, our trusty camper went into limp mode on the steep hill as we approached Tauriko. 

I am sure I have documented here the previous like events, this being the third time this has happened, and we were confident the problem was yet again a wheel  sensor, the super sophisticated electronic Mercedes system screwed again. We managed to limp into the Gull self-service staton at the top of the hill and then spent a few hours on the phone convincing Mercedes that their f ancy components had failed us yet again. Eventually, after a false start with a too-small tow truck arriving to assist, we were transported through to Mount Maunganui to the Mercedes dealer, Ingam-Sears, who replaced the sensor, updated the onboard computor and we were free to leave late in the afternoon, the drama havng us nothing but delayed time. 

Our ride to the garage was quite something; the towtruck driver not having enough space in his cab for the two of us,  we rode in our own vehicle, safely strapped in our own seats atop the towtruck with elevated views, and a rather strange  wobbly ride, no doubt looking quite ridiculous to those who bothered to check us out. 

We returned to Tauriko, this time to the NZMCA Park, and the next morning headed off for home on the final leg, via Matamata, Maramarua, Auckland and on up the highway through to Whangarei. Despite having cut our trip short, we had had a wonderful time away, and planned to return to Gisborne as time and circumstance allowed and continue on our intended route.

Since then I have spent time with my mother who probably is more stricken with delayed grief than physical infirmity. Matters are no further resolved and for now my role has reverted to part-time carer, a role I learned late last year when my father’s farewell taught me so much. My husband has made the most of the hiatus to strip our trailer down to bare basics and rebuild it. I am impressed with his efforts and thankful for the good weather we are enjoying as our Northland summer progresses.