30 July 2015 Back after ten days up North

My husband had been muttering about going “up north” for some time and while I had been putting no true barriers to the plan, I was not as excited as he. We had travelled north of Whangarei some years before in our previous motorhome, and while one can never dispute the natural beauty of the region, there had been some experiences that, quite frankly, did not encourage me to repeat the experience. My doctor had summed up the problem succinctly: “Pity about the people, their heads are all screwed.” And so it is with many of the inhabitants who enjoy the effect of The Weed more than the thought of achieving anything in life, but is an unfair criticism. It only relates to a minority who, alas, by their behaviour, are more visible than their more industrious, aspirational and intelligent brethren. 

And so when the excuses were exhausted, haircuts up to date, social engagements met, we headed off toward the Bay of Islands one Sunday afternoon after our granddaughter’s six birthday party.

Kerikeri is less than an hour and a half north of Whangarei, on good road through lovely countryside. In fact I had forgotten just how pleasantly rural the scenery was. We did not bother stopping in Kawakawa, now a much more appealing place than years gone past. Tourists pause to pee in the world famous Hunterwasser toilets; here rather than other public toilets along the way, because here they can spend time marvelling at the zany design and vibrant colour, which cannot help but put a smile on one’s face.

Kawakawa is a very small town of just 1,300 folk or less with little to offer but a refreshment stop on the way further north. Having said that, several of my good friends started their lives here and they all turned out brilliantly, so it is not all bad. Actually it is nearby Moerewa that is less attractive, with more than 80% of the population of just over 1,500 Maori and a big  freezing works that has shrunk over the last decade or so. The more discerning reside in Kawakawa, or have left the area altogether.

Back in 1861, coal was found at Kawakawa and the service town grew around the industry. Those days are long gone and today the town caters for the surrounding farms and the tourists who are drawn by the eye-catching architecture and the vintage railway that runs down the middle of the main street through the summer.

Unlike me, Austrian artist Friedensreich Hunterwasser found the town appealing, making it his residence from 1975 through to his death in 2000. In 1998 with the help of the local community, he transformed the town’s public toilets into a work of art. It is his legacy that has been vigorously debated over the past few years here in Whangarei. The people have spoken, or at least those who bothered to vote in the recent referendum; the Hunterwasser centre will be built in this city once the money has been raised.

But as I said, we breezed through Kawakawa that late afternoon, and on through Moerewa, soon arriving at Kerikeri, where we found the new NZMCA park over property, and joined four or so other campervans. Despite the fact that evening was falling as we arrived, I was curious to check out the sound of rushing water, delightfully surprised to find the Rainbow Falls just metres through the scrubby edge of the park. 

The twenty seven metre single drop falls are situated at the top end of the Kerikeri River Track which we walked the following day, all 4.3 kilometres down river to the Stone Store, Mission House and St James Store as well as Rewa’s Village and the historic Kororipo Pa, these latter sites visited for the first time. Alas these are poorly maintained, poorly signed and even less attractive in the pouring rain. I was glad we had forked out the entrance fee simply because it had been on our to-do list, but would have otherwise not bothered at all. The mini-museum in the building that acts as the ticket office is very interesting, but alas, not worth the tariff.

We picnicked in the park beside the river, sheltering from the intermittent showers under the simple structures, marvelling at the diverse collection of domestic fowls living rough in the scrub, along with a rather raggy lop-eared rabbit someone had abandoned. It is amazing how many chooks there are to be found about the country in such places; they are far more numerous than kiwis, perhaps they should be nominated our national bird? 

We spent a couple of days at Keri Keri, shopping in the smart modern supermarket and enjoying the upbeat atmosphere. This would have to be the most attractive civilised place in Northland; one would be hard pressed to find a downside to this vibrant and modern town. The one drawback of living here is that it is so very far from anywhere; hospitals and family, hence we will not be considering put roots down here anytime soon.

We both agreed that the Bay of Islands deserved more than a couple of days but were also keen to reach the most northern tip of the land on this trip rather than any other to be planned in the future, so we headed off north again, again through lovely farmland and sights that defied the reputation of this part of the country.

I was keen to travel via Matauri Bay, even to stay at the camping ground there; it was years since we had stayed here. The bay really is beautiful although the last time we had driven down the steep hill into the Bay, we had been greatly unimpressed by the shacks and rubbish lining the southern approach to the tourist end. Since then, there has been massive development, which has attracted controversy, financial ruin and little tangible success. The road now takes one through this new cleared area, and prescribes exact parking areas and specific behaviour. In all fairness, the land is all private, owned by the local Maori, so we should consider ourselves privileged to visit at all, but we found it all off-putting and left as soon as we had arrived.

Matauri Bay does have a long history, long before the more recent political and legal hassles. The first Polynesian navigators landed here, and it is also the site of contact between early Maori and the missionary Samuel Marsden in 1814. The infamous Rainbow Warrior, Greenpeace’s vessel bombed by the French in Auckland, lies off the bay and is a popular spot, now a natural reef attracting marine life and recreational divers from all over the world.

We drove on up around Wainui Road, the loop that hugs the coast and offers stupendous views of the offshore islands and charming bays one winds down into; Taiaue, Wainui and Mahinepua Bays are even more beautiful than Matauri although less publicised. From this road we detoured out to Tauranga Bay, a spot where the idle pass the winter. The motor camp here offers discounted prices for campers through the offseason, but it is a spot only suiting keen fishermen. A week here with no cellphone or internet, and no store even for the bread and newspaper would do our heads in, but we did enjoy the scenery while we lunched and the seagulls enjoyed the last of a stale loaf I was carrying about for such purpose.

Back on the road we headed on up and around, emerging onto the sheltered Whangaroa Harbour.  We didn’t bother stopping; some years ago we were subjected to locals with chips on their shoulders and a mind to claim their right to the public reserve over ours. It was such occurrences that had soured my experience of the north in the past; I was keen to be converted from that view but not so foolhardy to invite a repeat performance.

On we travelled, passing quickly through the charming seaside village of Mangonui, on past the growing seaside area of Cable Bay, soon arriving at Taipa. Here we checked into a club member’s park over property, backed up to the lovely Taipa River, the security of a host property and best of all, electricity to power our little fan heater to combat the low temperatures; 4 degrees on rising at Kerikeri to be repeated the following morning at Taipa. 

The string of seaside resort settlements along the coast of Doubtless Bay all run together and form a settlement with a combined population of over 1,600. Just north on the northern end of the Bay is the Karikari Peninsula and the settlements along that northern coastline are popular destinations for summer holiday makers from Whangarei, Auckland and beyond. Many of the motorists who clog the motorway further south at holiday weekend are making their way to these far north beaches. Personally I have always considered those who make the long trek for such brief sojourns rather foolish, although I had to admit the area is quite beautiful. Perhaps the trick would be to have a helicopter, thus avoiding the long and winding roads of the north.

The next morning we hit the road once more, soon arriving at Kaitaia, much maligned and described in our Rough Guide as having “a big problem with theft from cars here, meaning that leaving anything (even in the locked boot) of your vehicle is close enough to saying you don’t want it anymore. Or the car, for that matter”. Alas, the newspaper reports over the past thirty years have done nothing to dispel that reputation, and while our travel guide is now some years old, the habits of the locals have not changed much in the interim.

We parked up in the main street, close to the Police Station, and went for a wander up and down the main drag before lunch. These days there is little to draw one to do so apart from the tattoo parlours, the many takeaway shops and the buskers and beggars hoping for alms from the greater whanau. The Farmers department store seems to be the one remaining smart store, and The Warehouse located one block back is about to relocate to a new commercial area to the north, where we later found an excellent new Pak’n Save supermarket. But then this is so common of many towns where the large franchises set up a satellite shopping centre leaving the old centre in its death throes.

Kaitaia is the most northern settlement of the country apart from little Houhora and Te Kao where there are general stores for essentials. Its population has been diminishing over the past twenty years, a reasonably vibrant 5,280 in 1996, falling to 4,887 by the 2013 census.

The main industries are forestry, as demonstrated by the many logging trucks plying the roads, and tourism, fleeting and not helped by such negative press as this blog. There is a heavy population of Maori in the area, and it is no wonder that the area was so well settled over the past few centuries. The name itself gives it away, meaning ample food.

Well-meaning missionary folks established themselves about 1833 and formed the basis of the first European settlors who came after and stayed faming or to dig up kauri gum. There is now a lucrative industry in exporting kauri stumps, or rather the wood gleaned from such subterranean treasures. Legally tourists can buy little trinkets carved from this beautiful stuff, or illegally, as has been more recently exposed, large monoliths with token carvings which funnily enough end up being carved into little trinkets in far off lands.

Kaitaia has a sub-tropical climate which has proved to be conducive to the growing of grapes and avocados, and might also be a good draw card for retirees if they could find more attractions than the climate.

However this is again all very negative, and there is good reason for the traveller to come this way, and pause a while to buy takeaways, or stock up at the supermarket, refuel, and, as we did on our return, call into the Te Ahu Centre which houses the Information Centre, the Library, Museum and Council offices, to admire the wonderful totem poles representing the settlers of the area: the missionaries, the Dali-kauri gum diggers, the Maori tribes, all encircling a concrete floor so beautifully polished there are notices asking people to not move the furniture for fear of scratching it.

We drove on north, back tracking up through Awanui and on up the 116 kilometre Cape road, a road now sealed to the top, into the remodelled car park area for Cape Reinga. The wind was blowing a gale and visibility not great, so we decided to leave our walk until the next day. Instead we drove back a few short kilometres to the DOC camp at Tapotpotu Bay, settled into the prescribed area for camper vans, more a corral than a camp. From the comfortable interior of our home, we watched the sea birds wheel about the skies, the surf roll onto the shore and wondered about the walkway heading to our east. 

This wilderness camping area is part of the four day Te Paki Coastal Track, which we left for another day, the weather not a whole lot better the next day, but still good enough to enjoy the walk out to the lighthouse on the windswept Cape Reinga. 


Abel Tasman was the first European to record his presence off this coast, in 1643. But he did not visit. He was followed in late 1769 by Britain’s Cook and France’s de Surville. They led the first European expeditions to make contact with the local people. Cook’s and de Surville’s ships passed each other unseen while travelling through these waters. Neither expedition knew of the other’s presence.

From here one can look down upon the meeting of the waters; the Tasman Sea to the east and the Pacific Ocean to the north. In stormy weather the waves can be ten metres high, but on this day, while the sea was not in the least tempting for swimming or boating, that did seem to be an exaggeration. Beyond the lighthouse and access to law abiding folk, is the tip of the Cape where an 800 year old pohutukawa tree grows. According to myth, the roots of this tree hide the entrance to the Maori Underworld, and it is here the spirits of the departed head off back to their ancestral homeland. Given the awesome nature of the place, it is understandable that such myths have been born.

I recall visiting this spot some years back and being confronted by signs explaining the sacredness of the spot to Maori, and how all should respect it as such. That day, before all the barriers were about, there were several young Maori youths sitting down in the tapu area, drinking and discarding their rubbish about them; so much for respect, eh?

Since that time, before the sealing of the last section of the road and the erection of the very tasteful entry-way and paths, there had been some issue with land ownership access and the like. Because of these partial memories, I had expected an entrance fee this time and so was delightfully surprised to find the whole area transformed to a free welcoming tourist attraction, with excellent signage, good facilities and all round, a reward for the long road from Kaitaia.



The lighthouse itself is actually not that old, having been switched on for the first time in may 1941. This was the last attended lighthouse to be built in New Zealand and replaced the light on nearby Motuopao Island, south west of Cape Reinga, which was built in 1879. It is one of the first lights that shipping observes when arriving from the Tasman Sea and the northern Pacific.

The concrete tower stands ten metres high and 165 metres above sea level. The light flashes every twelve seconds and can be seen for 35 kilometres. The light was fully automated in 1987 and the lighthouse withdrawn. The keeper’s house and the ancillary buildings have all been removed since we were last here.


We picked up a hitchhiker as we left, an American graduate, Christopher from Minnesota, the kind of young person who restores one’s confidence in the future. He was backpacking around the country, at the mercy of buses and motorists goodwill, and here on a winter’s weekday might have found it a long wait for a ride, hence us breaking our code about collecting random folk from the side of the road.

He kept us entertained as he told us of his travels through South East Asia and explained his world view. We detoured off our track and drove into the Te Paki Reserve, through farmland on gravel road, where we dropped him off below the high sand hills noted for their tobogganing attraction. This is where the tourist buses which travel up and down Ninety Mile Beach come in from the sea and where we found several other tourists who would be able to take our guest on to his next destination.

After leaving our Minnesotan, we travelled to the east of the main raod, across to Te Hapua, the most northerly New Zealand settlement on the shores of the Parengarenga Harbour, home apparently to 200 people although most seemed absent that day. The school has a role of about twenty three which is about the same as the first and third primary schools I attended in my far off childhood.

Te Hapua is famous for being the birth place of Matiu Rata, Cabinet Minister in the Labour Government in the 1970s and the starting point for the 1975 Maori Land March. I had an expectation of being unwelcome in this very remote spot, incorrectly so, because we spent a peaceful couple of hours parked up beside a broken down wharf of bygone years, lunching and reading, before heading away again leaving Te Hapua to the discreet residents.  

We drove back out the windy gravel road, to re-join the main road at Waitiki Landing, and headed south once more, pausing at Te Kao for delicious and generous ice-creams, and then on again a further ten kilometres before turning east again into the Rarewa Beach camp. Again my expectations were low, imagining a windswept sandy beach camp; instead we found ourselves in a delightfully quiet grassy camp, sheltered from the beach although within walking distance, with cattle grazing across the creek and masses of birds oblivious to our presence. 

In the morning we found two other parties had joined us, but the camp is large enough for all to pretend they were absolutely alone; such spots I love.

Once more on the road, we headed south pausing at Pukenui on the edge of the Houhora Harbour for a newspaper, then turning off in search of the Wagener / Subritzky Historic Homestead. Instead we were distracted by the charming little peninsula beside a campground fabulous for boaties, the intimacy of the place and the view of the Heads. The homestead was forgotten, even as we made our way back to the main road.

Roads travelled a second time, even in reverse, can seem so much shorter, and we soon found ourselves back in Kaitaia where we replenished our supplies, before heading west to the coast, Ahipara at the southern end of  Ninety Mile Beach, fourteen kilometres from the metropolis and populated by the more discerning drivers of the Kaitaia economy (or at least that is the impression). Here we stayed at the Holiday Park, a quiet camp with some charm, power, hot water and a tariff too expensive for tight gypsies (but that was our problem).

The next morning we checked out the beach access, drove around to Shipwreck Bay, then headed south through to Awanui and Broadwood, admiring the countryside through the rain showers, intersecting State Highway One at Mangamuka Bridge, south a little to the little coastal road that takes one west down the southern shores of the Hokianga Harbour. Arriving at Horeke, we pulled in beside the pub and lunched while watching a flock of Spoonbills feeding in the muddy shallows.  

On we drove, regaining the coastal road and heading further east to Omapere and Opononi. This day we did not stop, having examined the statue of Opo the dolphin in the past, and sand-surfed the dunes across the harbour when our youngest was still our charge and obliged to holiday with us.  

On south through the Waipoua Forest, stopping briefly for the third or fourth time to see New Zealand’s largest kauri tree, Tane Mahuta, estimated to be between 1200 and 2,000 years old. This tree is in fact not the most impressive ; we actually prefer Te Matua Nghaere, which has a girth of over five metres, the lovely Four Sisters and the Yakas, but all requiring more than a few minutes rush back and forward from one’s transport.

By now it was late afternoon, rain was still about and we were keen to reach the Trounson DOC camp, however as we set off down the wrong road, missed the turn off and emerged once more on the main highway, I read in the DOC brochure that the camp was closed during the winter, and so we decided instead to head through to Dargaville. I rang ahead to the Museum concerned that they might be closed by the time we arrived, however we made it in time, just as the museum was closing. As it happened, the gates to the park don’t close until later in the afternoon and the volunteers were happy for us to settle up our overnight parking fee when they reopened in the morning. And so we settled in for the night, too close to “home” to fit with our plan, and decided to nut out a completely new plan in the morning.

Waking up in the morning, the misty views over the town of Dargaville as impressive as always, and not yet ready to head for home, we set off east to Tangowahine, then up through the delightful Valley Road emerging on to the Mangakahia Road just north of Pakotai, on up to Kaikohe past Twin Bridges, that set of bridges that spans the convergence of the Mangakahia and Awarua Rivers.

At Kaikohe, another unappealing spot, we parked up at the sports park to lunch, then headed across the lovely farmland of Waimate North to Puketone and on down to Paihia. There we found our way to the Bay of Island’s RV Park where we spent the next two nights for an incredibly fair tariff. It was not the most sunny position, but beggars cannot be choosers and our NZMCA discounted rate of $12 per night was not to be sniffed at.

Our first full day in Paihia was spent walking the six kilometre path from Waitangi to the Haruru Falls along the bush clad banks of the Waitangi River; the first section to halfway and back in the morning, and then down from the Falls to the same point, the bridge across an inlet and back in the afternoon. It is a lovely walk, through bush, across mangrove flats, and along the river bank where shags nest high in the pohutukawa trees overhanging the bank. Tui, kingfishers, fantails and other birds abound; this is indeed the kind of walk we love.

The Falls themselves are worth stopping off to see if you cannot bother doing the walk. They are five metres wide and not nearly as high. Haruru means “big noise” and they are certainly audible from some distance. We have seen them in flood some years ago when we stayed at a caravan park at their base, an unadvisable exercise in time of flood because the basin below has been known to fill and drown all the structures there. Here, in the early days of European settlement, was once New Zealand’s first river port and important transport junction. Now it is a popular holiday spot and tourist attraction and yet another Northland spot where motorists are warned to lock their cars and keep their valuables with them.

Whilst in Paihia, we spent time wandering around the remodelled waterfront, all completed during the time we were across the ditch in Australia. Despite the fact that car parks have been lost, we had to applaud the efforts of the councillors and good folk of Paihia. It is indeed charming, even amid rainy squalls and cold winds. Imagine how lovely it will all be in the summer!

On the morning of our departure from Paihia, we drove over to Opua, further up the harbour, or bay, and parked down on the shore beside the high fences of the boatyards. There I donned my Sarah Ulmar cycle pants, my helmet and gloves and set off on my bicycle behind my husband to sample the Twin Coast Cycle Trail. Alas this is still to be completed, having come up against uncooperative land holders, but it will on completion at some time in the future, be one of the many excellent trails constructed during John Key’s prime minister-ship.

The seven kilometre trail between Opua and Taumarere follows the old railway line along the Opua Harbour and the Waikere estuary, crossing the Kawakawa River on a timber railway bridge. We stopped at the Taumarere Station; from there the trail skirts around the rail line on up to Kawakawa, leaving the line for the heritage train that still runs for the tourists and tired cyclists.

The rail line here and all the way through to Otiria the other side of Kawkawa was originally constructed as a bush tramway in 1868 and converted to a railway in the next decade. The tramway was constructed to carry the coal from Kawakawa to the river so it could be shipped from the wharf at Taumarere. When a deep water port was proposed in 1876, the government purchased the line so that when the new town, imaginatively baptised Newport, later becoming Opua, they were quickly able to further develop the rail, opening the extension to the port in 1884. Interestingly it was still some time before this line was connected to the national rail network. In fact it was not until 1925 that the North Auckland line was finally completed and the Whangarei – Opua section was linked up.


Passenger services ran for many years, as well as the line being used for freight purposes, including meat and dairy products from Moerewa, however the last passenger train ran in 1976. By the 1980s, regular freight services beyond Kawakawa were erratic due to the decline of shipping to Opua as a result of containerisation, and so became only a route for the vintage train enthusiasts. Personally I can recall travelling by rail from Whangarei to Opua with a group of other kindy mothers and their offspring in the mid-eighties – perhaps that was the last passenger trip ever? My Kit would have been about four years old.

This day on our bikes, probably fitter and slimmer than those days but more than thirty years older, was possibly enjoyed more than the last time this section of mangroves was passed. I prefer the sight and sound of wild birds to the noise of children. But then our memories play tricks and preferences change over the decades.

And so after a satisfying airing of our bikes, we headed for home south toward Whangarei, pausing at the Waro Lake in Hikurangi to wash the dust off the motorhome. We shared the reserve with a school group racing in pairs around the choppy waters camouflaging what was once a quarry; I watched them in the spaces between fetching bucket loads of water. Initially the vehicle looked wonderful after Chris had finished but on later inspection we found the lime in the water had left an unwelcome film and decided that we had not been so clever after all. 

And so we once more settled into our more mundane life plugged into power, among like souls, entertaining our friends and being entertained, spending time with parents and grandchildren, and waiting out the winter. I looked forward to heading up to the Far North again when the weather was better, when we did not feel the need for un-rationed electricity and when we would not allow the odd cold blustery shower to deter us from walking out in the wilderness.