21 November 2016 - Rae’s Rest, Seabird Coast, Thames Estuary

Four day’s on and we have progressed south, further than I might have expected when I last added to this blog. 

My father duly arrived back at the Whangarei hospital, and my mother, sister and I traipsed up to check he was in one piece. He looked as good as new, or at least as good as a man of eighty seven can, having had a hard working life. We returned to our respective homes satisfied life could return to normal, so long as he did heed the warning that he was no longer fifty, or forty, and did slow down a little. 

Chris and I called in at their apartment the following day after he was discharged and settled, not staying too long, but long enough to satisfy ourselves we were no longer needed. Alas the news was still not great; my mother’s brother had suffered a stroke and was closer to the end than his existing terminal cancer had suggested. Such news is never cheering no matter what spin is put upon it. 

The third placed Gold Bears: Our grandson far left

Despite all this, we headed off south and spent a good part of the next day at a sports ground in West Auckland, watching our middle grandson play softball, frequently distracted by chatter with our son, his partner and our youngest grandson who had to spend his seventh birthday attending his older brother’s sports tournament. By way of dispensation, his father had taken him out for a couple of hours chasing Pokemon critters, as you do. (I still have no understanding of all that, and should have consulted the birthday boy to find out; instead I spent my time more involved in adult talk).

Toward the Coromandels from Rae's Rest

We left late afternoon and headed to the NZMCA Park at Ardmore, a spot we have frequently made use of. There we swapped a few books; hard copies are so much more user friendly than e-books, don’t you think? Then this morning we shopped at the excellent Pak’s Save supermarket in Takanini and had the chinese man at Manaroa do our laundry. He remembered us from past visits, a fact that delighted us; he is such a gem even if his English requires patient attention.

After lunch we decided to come further south, via the east coast road, round through the charming rural village of Clevedon, on down around the hilly winding roads to Kawakawa Bay, the Hauraki Gulf sparking in the bright sunshine, up and over the slip scarred road immediately to the south, following the Orere Stream toward the sea, past the lovely ARC park of Tapapakanga, and over more hills past the scene of our Isuzu accident of many years ago. (Then we had taken part in a 4WD course, up into farmland on the side of the Hunuas, and on our descent encountered slippery clay tracks, and slipped right over the edge and slid to the bottom, fortunately caught up in a fence. Rescue had been by winches and we, with the rest of the party, had been detoured through a neighbouring far on a safer route. Amazingly the damage was superficial, apart from one wheel being rather munted and requiring replacement. Olly and I had been shaken while my dear husband had remained staunch. But that must have been more than fifteen years ago and I digress).

View north toward Kaiaua

This afternoon we came on down to the western shore of the Firth of Thames, the mussel beds bobbing about in the white horses. The shoreline was bright and white in contrast to the blue-green of the sea, the flame trees already out while the pohutukawas still struggling to bloom this far south. The road hugs the shoreline all the way to Miranda, this area known as the Seabird Coast. North of Whakatiwai, the slips were more recent and council machinery and staff were busy clearing the way through. This route from Clevedon to Kaiaua must indeed be a nightmare for the Keepers of the Roads.

We paused at Kaiaua and used the public conveniences, briefly considering we stay the night by the boat ramp, all within walking distance of the Fish’n Chip shop, rubbish facilities and toilets, but instead elected to continue further on to this familiar camp site, available only to fully self-contained campers, with absolutely no facilities, but isolation and peace, apart from the other motorhomes seeking the same, the whistling wind and a small group of students who were frolicking on the beach when we arrived. The latter have now gone and we are left only with the wind and an obscured view of the Coromandels across the Firth, but I would have it no other way.