7 April 2016 - Whangarei Central Holiday Park, Whangarei, Northland

So here we are back in our comfortable safe haven in Whangarei, on power, near modern and functional sanitary facilities, washing machines within metres and rotary clothes lines that spin in the sunshine, unshaded by totara and puriri trees. I make mention here of these particularly wonderful native trees because it is those which obstruct the autumn sun from reaching the solar panels of  our roof early in the morning or the yellow rope clothes line I had strung between the cabbage trees on our section out at Parua Bay.

We returned to Northland in mid-March, soon busy with maintenance on our remaining rental properties and involved with the juggling of childcare and school schedules for our grandchildren, although I should take little credit for the latter. It simply happened that we were in the right place at the right time when the more involved and committed in-law-grandparents chose to spread their attention to progeny beyond the New Zealand shores.

This modest contribution to senior involvement proved to be rewarding beyond expectation, as had been our longer contribution last year to the family further south. Alas my maternal tendencies are hugely lacking , and so even the smallest positives prove an absolute delight! This is meant as a criticism of me, not of our delightful six grandchildren.

And even more, as we moved north from South Auckland, we were again in the right place at the right time, and found ourselves roped in to caring for our two very active and more alien (if for no other reason that we see so little of them) grandsons, after school, while their parents coped with the transition of a new job for our son and the first week of a uni-course for our daughter-in-law. This too turned out to be most enjoyable, although given my low tolerance levels and generally selfish nature, was not enough to make us change our plans for the year, even the term.

Family gathering occurred unexpectedly, apart from those with useful purpose. A weekend at Waihi Beach serendipitously brought our oldest and youngest children together along with their families. The opportunity lent itself to a rare grownup dinner out, now our oldest grandchild is old enough to be left in charge of her sibling and cousins. We drove through to Waikino and treated ourselves to a three course feast at the Falls Retreat. How lovely that was!

 

We were also about to share our youngest grand-daughter’s birthday, now turning four and as most modern young girls of similar vintage, bedazzled by princesses and fairies. On her mother’s suggestion, we bought her a Cinderella dress which delighted her no end.

My elderly parents, who are racing through their eighties and now embracing the fact they are no longer super-young after having held out for so long, were delighted to have us back, close enough to call regularly for morning coffee, an impromptu chat or simply a diversion from the mundane routine of life.  With them we have shared the delight of movies viewed at the local cinema: Mahana and Hunt for the Wilderpeople, both brilliant locally produced and filmed films, swapped book recommendations and learned more about their travels in England nearly thirty years ago.

It was in their charming apartment that we reconnected with my younger sister and her husband, after six months at the very least, a fact I should be thoroughly ashamed to admit.

We found time to catch up with several friends, sharing meals and morning teas, checking in on work sites while pleading our own work commitments as we left, and sadly not catching up with others. We spent some weeks out on our section out at Parua Bay, before Daylight Savings ended, although that specific fact had little to do with our departure. We weeded and whacked plants considered to be weeds often only considered so because they are not recorded in the list of native plants. There on the edge of the bush we had the absolute delight in spotting a pair of North Island weka rummaging for grubs about a weed covered stump; that was before we cleared the weeds away.

We had several days of rain; the temperatures barely dropped. It was perfect weather for the proliferation of mushrooms; these I gathered and feasted upon for three consecutive days, alone because my cautious husband was fearful that they might be toad stalls rather than edible fungus. I did exhibit a little caution, consulting Friends on Facebook and my mother by text. The former were encouraging, that latter suggested I discard the lot, all of which says much for the measure of love one’s own mother has, in contrast to friends who would have been sad, but had such a story to tell!!! They were delicious; I live to tell the tale!!

Owning a bare section, at least bare of dwellings and formal gardens, requires as much work as the domesticated sort; the bush creeps forward throwing out preliminary growth – bracken, ink weed, woolly nightshade, regular black nightshade and thistles. The latter just need to be grubbed out but Chris takes the weed-whacker to the rest, then we gather it into piles to dry, later carrying it all to another pile to be burned, along with trees and branches that have succumbed to age. On one clear morning when rain was forecasted to fall by 11 am, we set fire to such a pile and watched with alarm as the smoke billowed out across the nearby road, then swung around to the neighbouring house, finally heading directly skyward as planned on such a calm day. The rain did not arrive so we hung about raking and poking at the fire as one does; I fear there is a little of a pyromaniac deep within my psyche.

 The last three nights spent out toward the Whangarei Heads were spent camped at the Parua Bay Yacht Club, or more correctly at the Whangarei Cruising Club trailer sailer grounds. There backed up to the bay, we watched the sun come up in the east early in the morning, and set over the hill to the west, groups of Maori youth dive off the jetty into the cooling water, boaties setting out to fish early in the morning, seagulls dive for bread too stale to serve to my discerning husband and so much more.  Within metres of the compound, my husband had little option but to visit our own trailer sailer, a Farr 6000, which has spent the past eighteen months gathering dust and cobwebs with dozens of other like craft which do likewise. “Goldie” was given a couple of hours of attention, love and no doubt assurance that she would gain more of the same if she would be patient for at least another six months.

Within walking distance of our friends’ home, we lured Liz and Graeme to dinner in our little home and feasted and drank and sent them home to rest before they set off for work the next day; we rose slowly to nurse overfed and watered bodies.

Here too we were gifted a bag of scrummy feijoas, a fruit I look forward to every autumn when in New Zealand, but alas a fruit Chris hates; the texture, taste and scent repel his senses. The donor was a fascinating man who had a wealth of local political knowledge, gossip and opinion about those who leave their trailer sailers to languish in the compound. I re-donated half of the feijoas to those more appreciative but not before I had gorged myself of their plump ripe flesh.

And so now we are parked up in this familiar posse, familiar for our hosts, Brad and Claire, as busy and welcoming as ever, our fellow campers, some permanent and some who happen to swing by as we do, and the staff , the same friendly folk now in better heath than when we last were here.

At this point we have received confirmation that our caravan, a 2006 Sterling Jewel, and our vehicle, a Kia  Sorrento of the same vintage, are now waiting for our arrival in the United Kingdom. Chris’s brother, John, who has been instrumental in securing these items on our behalf, will be at the airport on 21 April with his special friend, Mary, to meet us on arrival.

There is little now to done; the suitcases to be uplifted from my parents apartment, our children and their families to be caught up with in West Auckland and Waihi Beach before we leave, and of course, our motorhome to be tucked away safely in its storage spot at Paeroa. I am counting down the days, and if I were of a more mathematical bent, I could tell you how many sleeps were left before we fly out via HongKong.

16 February 2016 Still somewhere in South Auckland

What a difference a day or two can make! We were out to dinner, that referred to in my earlier posting, delighting in the diverse and spicy menu options at Manukau’s Sanjeet’s Indian Restaurant when we received confirmation from the real estate agent that the latest fickle buyer had signed the last round of negotiated terms. Most of the problems encountered in the process, once the offers started to flow, were the fact that while we might be in Kiwi-land, selling a house in Kiwi-land, the buyers carry their own commercial culture and the normal expectations of timing and “a final counter is final” simply do not strike a chord. And as much as one might cry “but this in New Zealand”, if you want to buy and sell in South Auckland, you have to accept you are dealing in a multi-cultural environment. However for all that, we have a deal, one confirmed tonight three days after that delightful dinner out.

That night, after lamenting that Sanjeet’s larger premises were not as intimate and ornately decorated as their earlier premises frequented in years gone by, and then called into MacDonald’s for our favourite desserts (a dreadful habit of ours!), we drove to the shores of the Manukau Harbour, hoping to catch the sunset. Alas we were too late, but it was still quite lovely and we lamented too that this area of New Zealand’s largest city is under appreciated  for its natural beauty; alas the social negatives have overridden the natural positives.  

We sat about in the intervening couple of days waiting for confirmation of the sale, watching the death throes of the Black Caps in Wellington, and then today picking up on our abandoned expedition to Mount McLaughlan.

After lunch we set off for the Puhinui Reserve, a very well hidden park, kept for equestrian events for those who either appreciate or participate in such events. We followed our noses after further research, heading for the airport from Papatoetoe, then turning off the Puhinui Road onto Prices Road (and I say this to encourage other non-equestrian folk to find this park) and driving directly down to this Auckland Council park, 199 hectares of rural landscape occupying the southern portion of the Puhinui Peninsula.

Maori first settled this area many generations ago as was evident by archaeological sites on Matukutureia adjacent to Puhinui Reserve. In 1991 the area, subsequently owned by Missionary William Thomas Fairburn and W McLaughlin, was purchased by the council.

The whole area is part of the Auckland Volcanic Field and has some very unique geological features and an explosive volcanic past. Within the reserve is a cluster of three small volcanic maar craters – flat bottom, roughly circular volcanic craters of explosive origin, similar to those we visited near Atherton in Queensland, Australia. It is not known when the three craters exploded but they were originally encircled by tuff cones that have been partly breached and eroded over thousands of years. These craters are called the Puhinui Pond Crater. McLaughlins Mountain (aka Matukutureia) to the east of Puhinui is a volcanic cone that erupted approximately 25,000 years ago in a violent and explosive manner. 

Arriving at the reserve, you would think you are calling at a working farm regional park, as many others within the region, but after setting off along the walkways, the first impression is one of being in a giant sculpture park. It is fact a massive equestrian centre.

I was curious to learn more about this, but found a paucity of information. The original proposal suggested that the centre would generate $109 million in revenue to the Auckland economy annually . This was to justify input from the public purse to meet the estimated cost of the project of $19,479 million (these figures were extracted from a publication called “NZ Sport Horse” dated 2016.)

Interestingly a headline in December 2012 on Stuff.co.nz reported “A proposed $47 million national equestrian facility based in South Auckland will not be backed by Auckland Council who have said the sector needs to find its own funding.” 

As an Auckland ratepayer, I was happy to read this!

We wandered all over the area, this afternoon populated by sheep and cattle, marvelled at the challenging and torturous jumps, climbed up the tower that is apparently only for event officials, there being no easy access to the first floor, however that did not allow for over-sixties with an adventurous nature and a reluctance to be forbidden anything. From this tower we could see the extent of the area allocated to equestrian events, leaving only a small area along the coastline for conservational purposes. 

This area on the shoreline is around 39.5 hectares in size and has the largest area of salt-marsh meadow and manuka grass scrub on the Manukau Harbour. It is fenced off from the public; we did heed the notice and left it to the birds and other creatures that call it home.

On our return to the car park we took particular note of the development being done to the north of the reserve. This is apparently a controversial project, part of the push for more housing in the Auckland area. I have no opinion on this although I would have to say that those who end up living here will have an excellent park on their doorstep.

On our way back home, we made another attempt to reach McLaughlins Mountain, having had further clues as we had looked across the Puhinui Creek and the growing industrial area at the mountains foot. This time we were more successful, although actual access to the mountain is fenced off, probably due to the fact that the scoria sides could well subside, and we noted rather strange cave-like holes on the northern side. Better to look rather than explore further, better safe than sorry.

Back in the motorhome, enjoying a glass of wine as our modest meatloaf cooked in the oven, we had word that the contract for sale had gone unconditional.  Strangely, after all the to-ing and fro-ing over the last few weeks, our excitement was rather subdued. But at least we can now look beyond the immediate weeks ahead, and even more importantly, plan more positively for our departure in April for the United Kingdom. We have been rather stuck; now are free to plan ahead.

13 February 2016 Somewhere in South Auckland

So here we are, almost three months since arriving in this part of New Zealand’s largest city, and still here. We came with the intention of returning this rental house to the pristine condition it was when we purchased it about twenty two years ago, and hopefully more desirable for a tenant willing to pay greater than the very modest rent we had demanded from the last occupant. In fact, it would seem from comments made to us since, that we had been charging little more than fifty percent of market rent for such a property; such is the nature of a soft generous hearted landlord! 

But as the work proceeded, the fences pulled down and replaced, old decks demolished to make way for new, the driveway repaired and re-shaped, we were wooed by land agents to consider sale rather than re-letting, and so the property was listed over three weeks ago.

Still parked up in the driveway, we spend our days dusting and vaccuming to present the house in the best condition possible at all times, and even more so for the twice weekly Open Homes, watering re-grassed lawn, checking for graffiti  on the fence each morning, picking up rubbish outside the fence deposited by the unthinking passengers waiting for the bus, and hoping for the elusive sale.

Our bikes which carried us up and down the Otago Rail Trail all those years ago, up and down less demanding cycle routes, and which had ridden around on the back of our motorhome during all the intervening years, were stolen by brazen thieves while we worked not metres away, and the motorhome itself was tagged during the short time it was moved to a different position on the section while we dug out the metal driveway by hand. The fence was also hit, all of which caused untold grief, resulted in lengthy but futile police reports and subsequently, sheer anger.

The positive that came from this was the discovery that the “graffiti removing truck” cited in my last posting is part of the Manurewa Beautification Trust and notified by calling the Auckland Council who logs the callout schedule. Within an hour of my call, the valiant angel turned up with paint to camouflage that on the many-times-painted fence and a waterblaster to clean the unpainted new fence. Alas, that on the bonnet of the motorhome required a more personal effort; fortunately Chris was able to clean it off with turps and compound. We were thus armed with the knowledge of the solution to this scourge by idle disrespectful youth.

And as for our bikes? Yes, we are insured but the age of the bikes and the size of our excess makes any claim a waste of effort.

And so the prospective buyers come, hover, admire, praise and sniff around. A couple of investor types have offered and negotiated but in the end the deals have come to nothing. This all makes us reconsider the re-letting of the house, until we decide not to as we observe the efforts of the agents who come and go with mainly new-New Zealanders.

We have taken the opportunity to see three movies to date and there will be more in the next weeks. “The Danish Girl’ impressed us greatly with the brilliant cinematography and equally brilliant acting by the two leads, even if the subject matter did not excite so much. “The Hateful Eight”, the first Tarantino movie that either of us had seen, fulfilled its promise of blood, guts and violence, but still managed to impress with the clever story line and the brilliant acting; we were glad we went. Then finally and more recently, we saw “The Revenant”, a hideously gruelling  recounting of history set in the cold uncharted wilderness of Montana in 1823, cinematically a brilliant movie, but so tediously brutal, just as the reviews had suggested. 

All this movie going reminds me of the summer we passed north of Brisbane waiting for the sale of our landcruiser and caravan before returning to New Zealand. In fact there are many similarities to our situation now. And that did end up with satisfactory success; I should hold that thought!

The plus side of this is that now the full scale efforts of work here are completed, I now have the pleasure of my husband’s company as I shop, visit the library and go about my daily business. We are now starting to venture out together in an effort to gain some exercise now the hard labour is done, although Chris is still exerting himself in the regular lawn mowing necessary to present a property for sale.

The other day in an attempt to reach what we incorrectly had called Roscommon Knob, for want of any other identification on our maps, and after driving down roads close to this strange geographical feature to find ourselves at the gates of prisons, we found ourselves on a track behind the growing Wiri industrial area beside the Puhinui Stream. Crossing the waterway and wandering downstream we fought our way through a wilderness of plant life, seemingly untouched for years. Below us, when we could see through the great mats of foliage lay a wide tarmacked path. Bridges over side creeks were derelict and required careful crossing. Birdlife and butterflies abounded. Great fields of ripening pumpkins bounded our route along the western edge of the reserve, and then we abruptly arrived at a gateway marked “Private: Do not enter” thus were required to return by the same route. We had just decided to attempt access down the other side of the creek when we received a call from our agent that he had an offer for us. Naturally the day’s walk was abandoned although this too resulted in the ping pong negotiation of try-hard investors.

We subsequently did more research regarding our postponed expedition and found that this strange little knob does have a proper name and a history. Matukutureia or McLaughlins Mountain is one of the many Auckland volcanic cones, this rising seventy three metres above sea level. Once it was the site of a pa, originally crescent shaped and featuring Maori terraces and kumara pits. This before extensive quarrying in the area reduced it to the pyramid shape it is today, when it was left just big enough to support the summit water tank for Papatoetoe. The tank was finally removed in 2010 when the land was passed over to the Department of Conservation.

This small cone and nearby Wiri Mountain are collectively known as Matukurua.

Closer examination of our map shows that we should be able to access the reserve area, the Puhinui Reserve via a side road off the major access to the airport. This will at least give us access to the 199 hectare reserve, if not to the wee mountain itself. 

According to the information finally gleaned from the internet, there is a variety of rare or endangered species of birdlife, including the black stilt, New Zealand dotterel, fernbird and wrybird, all sharing the coastal flats with flocks of migratory birds. We should also be able to see oystercatchers, godwits and less knots if there are not crowds of vocally delighted children about, and with this in mind we should call on a week day rather than the weekend. But then this is obligatory, given that we have to be about to prepare the house for Open Homes on the weekend; ventilation, dust spotting, ambient lights to be turned on, leaves and litter to pick up and generally attending to our security role.  

Despite this weekend duty, we did get up to West Auckland for a couple of part days not long ago where we spent time doing stump removal work. When our youngest and his partner purchased their home just over a year ago, there was a charming maple near the front entrance, a tree that did not endear itself to Jess. Finally they had cleared the stones and other plantings from the garden, cut the tree back to a mere sad stump and started with its removal. They thought we would enjoy helping them, which is true indeed, but apart from the social aspect, it was a fruitless exercise. The tree would not be budged by rope or chain, man, woman or 4WD, so we finally departed agreeing that they should employ a stump grinder chap to save the day. We have yet to learn the outcome.

We have also played host to our daughter and her family more than twice since being here, but these were the days when her father was busy, busy and available only for mealtimes to pass the time of day. I was free to accompany her on a few retail therapy trips and with them, discovered great “barns” of beautifully presented second hand clothes for sale. There is absolutely no need for anyone living in this city to be poorly dressed, what with this “chain”, the charity shops and the plethora of Australasian chain stores no further away than the nearest Westfield.

And here, even if a little out of context, I should mention that we have employed a “home staging” company to “dress” our house, and that they have, up to the nines! In fact our modest little house almost looks overdressed! The rooms could grace a fancy interior design style magazine with pride, and as such looks far grander than anything I have ever lived in. But still no sale as yet.

Since our days have been more about security and presentation rather than hard graft, Chris has taken back dinner duties; he is therefore no longer subjected to my preferences. Today he is enjoying the second day of the cricket test between the Black Caps and their across-the-Tasman rivals; perhaps it is a reluctance to leave the screen that has prompted his suggestion we go out to dinner tonight? Or perhaps it is a subconscious realisation that it is Valentine’s Day tomorrow and we did not get to celebrate our wedding anniversary in January due to our busy-ness? No matter the reason, I am always open to a dinner invitation!