Who could have imagined even a month ago that we would be in this situation;
relative prisoners in our own homes? It feels as if we are at war, but the war
is raging beyond our view, beyond our immediate understanding and we are all
living in some kind of limbo. Of course we, most of my fellow Earth dwellers
are in this together, so there is nothing I can write that cannot be trumped by
other’s dilemma.
Its over two months since I posted anything here; the hot dry summer
continued, glorious for sun seekers who frequent the beaches of the north, but
not so good for the farmers desperate for growing conditions to improve. And
even for the amateur backyard horticulturalists such as myself, I was not
tempted to replace my exhausted vegetable plants until threatened closures of
the plant nurseries just last week. I had thought I would wait for autumn to arrive
before I tried again, but circumstances have changed that plan.
Despite the lack of gardening activity, we seem to have been forever
busy and our trips away have been few and far between.
Back in
January we took ourselves out to dinner, which in itself is hardly a subject
for this blog, but what I should mention is that we wandered down stream along
the Hatea River after dining, the sun low in the sky, and delighted in the
scene, so often just taken for granted. The old almost dilapidated boatsheds
along the riverside are quite charming from the Loop path, no matter what time
of day, and even more so at that later hour. Alas the nights are already
drawing in as we move further away from that longest day back in December.
Another day, my
mother and I wandered along the other side of the river, admiring the scene at
an even slower pace, sitting awhile to rest on one of the many seats placed for
just that purpose. This city we live in has some lovely features and is well
worth spending time in rather than just passing through as so frequently
foreign travellers do.
On yet another day,
we went out to tidy up our section at Parua Bay rewarded ourselves with a drive
further down the harbour, past lovely McLeods Bay, and on out to Reotahi which
sits between the foot of Mount Aubrey and the narrower passage of the harbour
directly across from the log port.
Reotahi is the
access point to that part of the Whangarei Harbour Marine Reserve around
Motukaroro Island, and is popular with divers and snorkelers who wish only to
look and not touch. Alas the parking facilities are minimal, a fact that has
always put me off doing as we did this time. In a past life I had often stayed
with a friend there at Reotahi, but never ventured beyond my friend’s boundary,
thus never exploring the “old abattoir” which I knew to be somewhere around the
corner.
From the beach at
Reotahi, there is an easy pathway on around the harbour all the way to Little
Munroe Bay, or easy at least to the ruins, which is as far as we walked in the
blazing sunshine. What an amazing discovery! Such a massive site now mainly
overgrown and in part, decorated by more adventurous graffiti artists.
There is no signage
at all about the abattoir; the only signs being about the marine reserve, but a
little research provided me with some of the following details.
The project was the
brain child of one Alfred Bevins who should have known better than to establish
a freezing works exactly there, although there was a dire need for an
alternative to shipping cattle and sheep all the way down to Auckland by scow.
But the site at Reotahi, perched out on the narrow sea edge of Mt Aubrey had no
level land of any size, no road access and no fresh water of sufficient
quantity. Sheep had to be brought around the bluff on double deck barges, coal
was barged in from Ngunguru up the coast but there was the plus of having deep
water close to the works for all that to-ing and fro-ing.
The fact it went
ahead, albeit for an abbreviated time, is quite astounding. Construction commenced
during 1911 and the first shipment from the Reotahi Works occurred in June
1912. The business suffered financial woes and ownership changes through the
intervening years until in January 1920, fire destroyed the whole main block of
killing house, chillers, freezers, stores, cannery, and the pelt and hide department.
While the cause of the fire was never discovered, one cannot wonder whether it
was lit deliberately to put all the struggles to be put to bed once and for
all. In August of that same year W&R Fletcher, the owners by now, decided
to dismantle what was left of the works and close down the site.
Seventy three years
later, the historical significance of the former freezing works was recognised
by Heritage New Zealand with the placing of a plaque at the site to commemorate
the site of the Northland region’s first freezing works. Alas we did not stumble
over that plaque and were piqued that there was nothing further on the site to
explain its importance. Perhaps this is part of the plan to encourage people to
use the internet more?
In late February,
more particularly, on 29th, noting the date, my husband and I remembered
that it was his old friend’s 16th birthday and wondered how he was
getting on, as you do cast your mind toward friends of the past. Late in that
same afternoon, while I was in the kitchen preparing dinner and Chris was
upstairs watching one of several international cricket tests played over the
summer, the doorbell rang. Given that our solid door requires the key to unlock
it and we have very few visitors, I peered out of the window to see who dared
come.
There was a nut
brown little man of senior years, who looked harmless enough for me to venture
downstairs to greet him. “Hello”, I said.
He looked at me
with a broad smile and said, “It’s Stan!” The very man we had been thinking of
earlier in the day!
“Happy Birthday”, I
cried, “Come in!” and yelled up two floors for Chris that he had a visitor.
He too was at a
loss to recognise our visitor, because in truth, it was a very different apparition
from that which greeted us five years ago in England’s Preston. Then Stan had
been preparing from an operatic production in which he was required to be particularly
hairy, head and face, and given the weather had been most inclement, had also
been clad in woollen beanie and bulky jacket. That had been my first meeting so
it is not surprising I did not recognise him.
It was this Stan who had met Chris in Perth back in the very early seventies when they had been fellow Ten-Pound-Pom Tradies, with whom he had travelled and worked his way around Australia and subsequently travelled back to France overland through countries that had little facility for backpacking Englishmen.
Amazingly Stan was still
now travelling without phone and internet savvy, with just the odd Lonely
Planet or Rough Guide picked up along the way, and a modest rucksack; not the
norm for a modern Westerner in his early seventies. Without the technology and gadgetry
that we all take for granted these days, he had had a few misadventures and
disasters that would have been otherwise averted, but here he was, and we were
delighted to have him stay for a couple of days and the opportunity to show him
around our lovely region.
Apart from
partaking of far too much food, all washed down by too much wine (especially
since we had put ourselves on a regime of reduced calories and no alcohol), we
spent one full day doing a comprehensive road trip about the Whangarei area. We
drove out to McLeods Bay, pausing briefly on Jumbo which has since sold, then
out to Pataua South where we wandered across the estuary bridge out toward the
ocean beach and stood contemplating the expansive of the Pacific. Back on the
bridge we chatted with juvenile fishermen and watched fearless children, and
some older bulkier sorts, jump off into the swift flowing tide. One young dare
devil told us there was a stingray lurking below, warning others to watch where
they put their feet as they emerged out of the cool briny for another round of
raucous fun. 
Back on the road,
we returned to Parua Bay and then took the inland route back across to Whangarei
through Whareora and on out to the 26.3 metre high Whangarei Falls. There we
sat under the shade of big native trees enjoying the filled rolls, muffins,
apples and thermoses of tea and coffee I had managed to scrape together for
such an event.
From here we drove
on up to the coastal settlements of Ngunguru and Tutukaka, taking a detour to Wellingtons
Bay where we walked barefoot along the sand. We thought the beach rather crowded,
even for a Sunday, but for Stan, used to English beaches, especially those up
around Blackpool, it was almost desolate.
On up the coast
through Matapouri to Sandy Bay where we stopped again to wander along barefoot,
an activity that without Stan’s prompting would never have occurred. My husband
hates the feel of sand between his toes, but somehow that day, it didn’t seem
to matter.
Turning inland, we
returned to Whangarei via Hikurangi, then drove up to the top of Parahaki from
which there is the very best view of our city, and then home for more food and
drink after an excellent day of playing tourist in our own backyard.
It was with sadness
and a little anxiety that we saw our guest off in his rental car the next day,
hoping he would not have any further misadventures. Even then at the end of
February, he was sensible enough to realise that his scheduled home flight
through Singapore may not be the best option. He planned to phone the airlines from
his next motel in the hope of flying via a safer and virus-free route. We have
yet to hear from him and can only hope he made it home safely and remains so
there in Preston. Perhaps he will respond by snail mail when I eventually post
off a few photos I think he might like to remember his time with us, and
hopefully we will all catch up again sometime in the future, next time back in
Preston.
In early March we
drove down to Auckland to attend a matinee performance of The Book of Morman, this the second time we had done so, the first
being in London. Then we had so enjoyed it, laughed ourselves until we ached
and had been so looking forward to a repeat experience. Of course it is a
brilliant production and this in Australasia is no less in its standard of
talent. However I did not find myself laughing out loud to the same extent, the
crudeness seemed just a little more so, taking away with it the comedy. There
is a fine line between acceptable and unacceptable filth on stage, and this
seemed a little too much. Perhaps the last couple of years have caused me to
become more prudish, perhaps my deafness has worsened; who knows exactly what
it was, but I would still encourage folk to go see it (when the theatres
reopen). Alas our daughter and her family were booked to see it two weeks after
us, but by then Covid-19 had closed the theatres.
One week later we
drove down to Auckland to attend the annual Covi Motorhome Show. (Note “Covi”
is the motorhome insuring arm of the NZMCA and has nothing to do with “Covid”).
I had been a little anxious as to the wisdom of going as the Covid-cloud was
already hovering over our lives; I think there was only one case in the country
at that stage. Of course we enjoyed the show as we always do, Chris
particularly so. He has a capacity to ooh and ahh over dozens of beautiful caravans
and motorhomes in a purely window shopping manner, unlike me who wants to buy
anything that impresses me that much. Despite his avid interest in hydraulic levellers,
electric bikes and a multitude of other gadgetry, we managed to spend nothing
but the entry fee and the lunch we brought from the food caravans offering a
variety of wares.
Having at last dealt
with property matters that seemed to have been taking up every day apart from
those mentioned above, and my mother being in good health, we decided to head
off for a ten day holiday. We agreed we would not call on anyone while away,
even our own children who lived along our possible route, as Covid-19 was
closing in and we had already self-isolated to a certain degree, something
which is not very hard for introverted folk such as ourselves.
On Friday 20 March
we set off south in our motorhome, stopping at Wenderholm for lunch and then on
through Auckland and out to the coast east of Clevedon, out to Kawakawa Bay and one down
that absolutely lovely but recently repaired road to Kaiaua where we parked up
with several other self-contained motorhomes at the Boating Club. I had packed
a bottle of bubbly, despite our months of abstinence, and we drank that with
our fish and chips to celebrate the property sales of the previous week. In
other times we might have dined out to celebrate, but these were already
becoming strange times, although not as strange as those to come.
It’s a lovely spot
there by the launching ramps although on a Friday night the returning fishermen
like to party in the adjacent hotel so it’s not as peaceful as Rae’s Rest a
little further south. That afternoon the Coromandel Range had stood out with
great clarity against the eastern sky, quite different to the following morning
when it was a mere silhouette as is no often portrayed in paintings.
Travelling further
south and around the bottom of the Firth of Thames, we ran into fog, such as I
have not seen in years, but by the time we reached Thames, it was beautifully
sunny and promised a glorious day. We shopped there before heading up the west
side of the Range, along what must truly be one of the most beautiful routes in
New Zealand, and would have been even more so several months ago when the
pohutakawas were in full bloom.
It was our intention
to stay in Coromandel for a day or two, and so apart from stopping at the top
of the ridge before one heads steeply down toward the town of Coromandel to
enjoy the elevated views, we did not linger on that twisty road.
The Coromandel
NZMCA Park is in a most convenient place, right in the centre of town. While
the idea of the entry behind a service station and high residential fences on
the perimeter may not excite some, you cannot deny the fact that it is so close
to everything. The bars, the bay, the restaurants and shops are within a few minutes’
walk, as is the dairy where we bought deliciously decadent ice-creams.
But that evening
came the directive that we should all be home, and while there was yet to be
the absolute official directive, the guidelines were clear, we would have to
abort our trip. So the next morning we headed back north exactly retracing our route,
and travelled as far as Wenderholm. It is some years since we have overnighted
at one of the Auckland Regional Parks, and we no longer have an annual pass.
Chris has been averse to staying in these parks since they put their tariff up,
but I was adamant; I wanted to wake up to the sound of a thousand tuis. So I
spent nearly an hour first on the park phone being given totally wrong
information and then on my cellphone talking to another Council official who attempted
to guide me through their “new” on-line system. Of course it did not help that it
was a Saturday and they were working with a skeleton staff, but I persevered
and finally we won!
So we were back in
Whangarei on the Sunday after just three nights away, and just three days
before the official lockdown was decreed.
Social isolation is
not a great trial to us, but it is a worry to have my mother with whom I have
visited nearly every second day and helped attend to her administration, alone
in her apartment. We text several times a day, and I did this morning try to
telephone her having pre-warned her so that she could put her special little
microphone up to the telephone receiver, but quite frankly it was all a bit hopeless.
Tomorrow we will drop groceries at her door and perhaps we shall wave to her
from the parking area below her windows.
Shopping is not as
easy as the government would have us believe. Yesterday we walked down to the
village with a short list of five items. I posted a letter then took a seat up
on The Green from where I could observe the queuing folk at the pharmacy, the
two dairies and the supermarket. Chris joined the queue at the latter and waited
to be let in, one at a time. He emerged fifty minutes later with just two of
the items, unhappy with the poor organisation. But I guess we are all learning
how to cope in this new environment. Tomorrow we will try a supermarket in the
town and I will take my book to wait in the car while Chris tests his patience.
Online shopping seems impossible, at least for now; the slots are all booked up
for weeks and until there are more staff and more delivery vans, I guess it
shall remain so. Still there are only 416 confirmed cases in the country and
the increase looks about the same as yesterday. If we all follow the directives,
we should theoretically manage to contain the disease and the increased cases
will decline incrementally. Fingers crossed and hands washed.
And I reckon there
will be some great looking gardens in the neighbourhood by the time the
lockdown is lifted.
Stay safe all.
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