7 December 2016 - Kaitoke Regional Park, Greater Wellington

Our departure from the Carterton area this morning was delayed with a Messenger call from Chris’s sister from England, one we took on my iPhone, a first for us, always in the past having dragged the laptop out for the purpose. The downside is of course that the call becomes more private, which in principal, is the way such telecommunications were always meant to be.

Once back on the road, we headed south through the more elegant township of Greytown which caters to the spillover Wellingtonians rather than the plainer rural folk of further north. Had we not been more intent upon our final destination of the day, we might have stopped and walked about; it really is a charming spot although for us, a place to look rather than shop. Boutiques and specialist cafes fail to draw us in. 

On down past the Tauherenikau racecourse where we once spent such a fun day, and on through Featherston with its brilliant Fell Museum well worth calling into if you have not already done so. And then it was up and over the Rimutakas, the lower section of the Tararua Ranges. The road, although wide enough and with an excellent surface, is winding and steep and we frequently pulled off to one side to let faster traffic through. We did not stop at the summit which is marked as being 555 metres ASL; the parking and information area is on the outside of a wide bend and better suited for travellers heading eastward.

Posing at Rivendell

We have walked and cycled the rail trail that takes the fit or want-to-bes over the top a little to the south of this road crossing.  My enjoyment is more of retrospect than of the time; I found it tough going. But the wonder of that trail is the fact that trains ever managed the climb at all, although this is well explained in that Fell Museum in Featherston. 

We pulled off the highway after the descent and headed back into the ranges, or more particularly  this Wellington regional park here near the Kaitoke water works. I remember coming to the river for a picnic back in the sixties with my parents, sisters and another family. Those access roads are now closed and the shape of the park has changed over the years. In fact there have been changes even since Chris and I came here on a return trip from the South Island almost ten years ago. Then we arrived late in the evening after disembarking from the ferry. It was Wellington Anniversary weekend, a fact we did not realise until too late, and we found ourselves in the midst of most of Wellington’s camping types with trouble finding a flat open space to park our motorhome. There were hundreds of children, all of whom remained up very late, noisily running about or riding their bikes. It was a kind of bedlam and after that experience we swore we would never return here in the middle of the school holidays or on a holiday weekend.

Hence it has been a surprise today to find so many other campers here. There is a large party of gypsy types, partying at some distance but their music still audible. There are several tent communities of students now finished their exams for the year, and then there is us, the old fogies in the corner. Actually the weather is to pack up later so that should quieten everyone down. For all that, this park is absolutely lovely, offering camping for $6 per person per night and wonderful walks. 

The Kaitoke Regional Park covers an area of 2,860 hectares of steep bush clad hills, the Hutt River Gorge and centuries-old rata, rimu and beech forest. The area was purchased back in 1939 to supply water to the Wellington region. World War II interrupted construction works and it was not until 1957 that the dam-like water intake weir, an underground aqueduct and the first treatment plant were completed. Since that time, the Kaitoke area has been popular for picnicking and swimming although the park as it is today, began in 1983.

Swingbridge across the Hutt River

It was interesting to learn that up here in the rain forest rainfall averages 2.3m per annum while just down the road in Wellington, the rainfall is only 1.2m per annum.

From 1954 until 1987 all the treatment of water supplied from Kaitoke to the upper Hutt valley, Porirua and Wellington’s northern and western suburbs, happened here. Until 1971, water was distributed by gravity alone all the way from Kaitoke to Karori Reservoir in Wellington. Pumps are now used to boost the flow. Apparently on a typical day, 150 million litres, the equivalent of four baths full per person, are sourced from here, aided by four modern treatment plants, fifteen pumping stations and 180 kilometres of pipes. And Chris and I manage with 15 litres a day, although that does not account for laundry use! 

Today after lunching, we set out on foot long the Pakuratahi River walk which takes one from the camp to the car park, a very pretty walk through mixed podacarp broadleaf forest, across pedestrian bridges, all on a dry gravel path. Our intention was to walk the one hour Swingbridge Track once we reached the car park, however we also added in the little Rivendell circuit.

If you are a Lord of the Rings fan, you will know exactly what I am speaking about; Rivendell was the home of the Elves, and here beside the Pakuratahi River, the scenes at Rivendell were shot, with an awful lot of tampering once the initial shot was done; the waterfalls and cliffs of Fiordland were cunningly added in.  In the story, Gandalf tells the injured Frodo that it is October, the autumn, which of course is nonsense to folk from down-under, hence the import of truckloads of autumn leaves, real and plastic, to add authenticity to the scenes.

As with all the sets, apart from the reconstructed Hobbiton just out of Matamata, everything was removed and nature restored after the filming. However here in “Rivendell”, the farewell arch has also been resurrected, although at apparently half its set size.

Back to the waterworks

While this was all quite fascinating, we enjoyed the walk across the Hutt River on a long swingbridge and on down along the high banks through old rimu and rata forest, from where we had splendid views over the gorge and the fork where the Pakuratahi River flows into the larger river. Further downstream a high concrete bridge takes one back across the river to the waterworks and the massive pipes which I recall playing on about fifty years ago, linking back to the walk we had taken from our camp; all this in just under two hours.

 Well exercised, we returned to our now noisy camp and wondered whether we had again made a bad choice. No doubt we will know in another few hours, as night falls, whether the rangers here actually have any teeth.

6 December 2016 - Wairarapa A&P Showgrounds, Clareville

We left the lovely camp beside the Kiriwhakapapa Stream and headed back out to the main eastern road, soon finding ourselves in Masterton. As with most of these places we have been travelling through, this was familiar territory but still worth a stop. We shopped at the busy New World supermarket forgetting there were two other supermarkets in town offering better deals. In fact Masterton is a remarkable spot in that it sits at No 40 on the list of 67 New Zealand districts and is home to a mere 24,000 or so people, about one third of our own home town of Whangarei and yet it seems to have a much bigger commercial centre.

We found our way to Lake Henley, a rather small lake on the edge of the town which sports a network of flat walking and cycling tracks over wetlands and native plantings about this body of water. This day we found crowds of people gathered on the side of the lake, all part of a whaka regatta, the outriggers marked with club names from Porirua and further afield. While we sat eating our lunch, enjoying the activity all about, we were disturbed by the roar of grunty vehicles arriving,  a dozen of Mazda RX3s, 7s and 8s. The proud car enthusiasts pulled into the remaining few car parks, out with their cameras, bonnets lifted to exhibit the machinery and all swapping notes and compliments. It was a disturbance we could have done without, however it showed the diversity of activities being enjoyed here in Masterton.

After digesting the Sunday newspaper, we parked further up the street and walked up and down to check the shops out, always a good day to do so with temptation lessened. Then escaping with no more purchases apart from having replenished out well stocked pantry, we headed a little south then west back toward the Tararuas, but this time to the Mt Holdsworth DOC camp. This is much larger than the one stayed during the last couple of days, and is the starting point of more popular tracks up into the range. 

Above the Atiwhakatu Stream

We walked up through the camp and up onto the swing bridge which spans the Atiwhakatu Stream, but did not proceed further. Clouds were gathering about the surrounding hills and rain was forecasted. The ranger arrived to touch base with us and told us his history and how had he secured his posting there at the foot of the range. He was delightful and we could have stood all afternoon chatting however there were other campers who required his attention. We did however quiz him on the wisdom of allowing dogs into the forest. Here there are no ground birds so dogs are allowed although they do have to be under full control at all times. Yet elsewhere they are forbidden, treated as pests as are possums, stoats, domestic and feral cats. There is no clear ruling over all DOC camps and we were all for setting a blanket ban on dogs, removing the current confusion many dog owners no doubt plead in their defence when caught disobeying  the rules. 

During the night the rain arrived, not much more than drizzle but unpleasant all the same. We had thought we might take a walk up into the forest before leaving, but neither of us was that keen to get wet. Still we hung about with no pressure to head away, reading and drinking cups of coffee, getting colder and colder. I suggested we should leave before lunch after all, and that activity might warm us up, so we did head back to Masterton to fill our gas bottle that had run out the night before then came south to Carterton to dump, refill with water and to buy the days paper. We were walking around this lovely little town when I glanced at my phone and saw the newsflash; our Prime Minister John Key had just resigned. A couple of workers beside the road had just received the same newsflash and we all shared our shock and horror.

We came a little north again to this camp within the showgrounds, enjoying mains power to charge our batteries that have been limping along with little to support my computer habits. We often camped in showgrounds in Australia; this is quite nostalgic. We spent our afternoon listening to the radio and the political commentary most of it based on supposition.

This morning we decided to make use of the laundry facilities here given they are so much more reasonable than commercial ones; $2 for a machine load and $1 for forty five minutes of drying. But then you do get what you pay for. We were given a key to an outhouse which contained two washing machines and a tumble dryer of the kind I apparently used to own, according to my husband. 

Obviously I used it little because I was unable to identify the lint gathering area, and it was not until Chris came to check on progress that he took the opportunity to also check the lint filter. The slow drying was on account of the clogged filter and I had to sacrifice another $1 to complete the task. Matters were further frustrated by the dinginess of the shed and the photochromic  lenses in my glasses, causing me to drop washed socks onto the dirty floor and not notice and to leave something in the dryer which I shall not bother the caretaker about given that everything has since been padlocked up again. However for all this messing about I did get a chance to sit quietly in the sunshine and read my book.

It was lunch time by the time I returned to the camper and as we sat over lunch, I suggested that we stay a second night; Chris could enjoy unlimited power for the televised broadcast of the second cricket ODI match between Australia and New Zealand. It also seemed like an easy option, rather than apply ourselves to thinking about where to next head.

This last comment may seem rather off given that we know we are drifting toward the South Island, but Chris is keen to see the Joseph Parker boxing match with the Mexican pugilist on Saturday night and will only be able to do so by patronising a club or pub that has paid Sky television for the privilege. So he telephoned ahead to the Working Men’s Club in Petone and established that we could watch it there, and then with that time scheduled, we were better able to organise the days immediately before and after. I then encouraged him to ring through to Bluebridge and book our ferry crossing across the Strait; this is now set for Sunday 11 December. And I who may pretend to like this unpredictable gypsy life am a little more comfortable with some planning in the pipeworks.

And as I write this a Stuff notification has just come through about 13,000 salmon having been lost in a botched burglary on the West Coast. This is almost as upsetting as yesterday’s political news; we were planning to have salmon for our Christmas dinner.

3 December 2016 Kiriwhakapapa DOC Camp, Tararua Forest Park

We were of several minds as to how to spend the next couple of days but the rain and cold weather in Ohakune discouraged us from spending any further time about that area. I was keen to walk part of the Ohakune Coach Road, another part of that cycleway, but wanted to enjoy it in good weather; perhaps we could do it on our way north again.

Raukawa Falls on the Mangawhero River

So we headed south, back via Raetahi where we refuelled at the Truck Stop, then on down Highway Four  through the road referred as the Paraparas, although I am not exactly sure why. We have travelled this road several times, although probably in the opposite direction, because this day it seemed a completely new experience. The countryside through here is just stunning, the farmland steep and picturesque, as the road follows the Mangawhero River for some distance. A stretch of about twenty kilometres was severely damaged during the rains about eighteen months ago; the road was closed for a while and there is still widespread repair work being done. We noted at least thirty one work sites where the road is reduced to one lane while remedial work is being carried out or will be at some time in the future. I can well imagine the road engineers surveying the damage last year, and saying “What the hell are we to do with this!” just as another batch will have been doing with the earthquake damaged roads near Kaikoura right now.

Arriving in Wanganui, we tracked down a laundry, the first two in our directory long closed. Then we settled beside one of the three bridges over the river for lunch and the early part of the afternoon, the forecasted rain having set in, discouraging us for further exploration. Mid-afternoon we made our way to the park-over-property we had phoned ahead about. Our hosts have a delightful property tucked in a little valley well away from the hustle and bustle of the town, our camp spot private and well veiled by trees which obstructed our television satellite. Chris had to be satisfied with watching DVDs while I caught up with matters on the computer.

The next morning after farewelling our charming host, we extracted ourselves from our hideaway, and headed into the city. This morning the sun was shining and Wanganui looked so different to the day before. Then one could easily have kept on driving and forgotten any previous enchantment with the place. Instead we parked and walked up the main street in search of our bank, enjoying the clean cheery centre. The bank staff were super friendly and helpful, as were the staff at the supermarket we shopped at before leaving, so we left this riverside town feeling quite buoyed, although I had been disappointed by the calibre of some when I popped into the public conveniences just next to the rather grand wooden opera house. There I was treated to all the filthy language certain people use instead of everyday polite speech. I guess you get that everywhere, especially amongst people whose families have spent longer in the region that mine. Enough said.  

We turned south east, now on the road which in a very general sense follows the coastline all the way to Wellington, but paused at Turakino where we lunched at the Domain, a spot we had overnighted at some years ago. This is no longer on our camping directory maps so apparently some of our number spoilt it for others, however that did not stop us staying for just the lunchtime hour. 

At Turakino, we turned north east toward Marton where we spent the night in the NZMCA Park, this time with just three other parties. Previous visits have seen a dozen or so members’ rigs in and drinkies-at-five part of the routine. This time we were left to ourselves. We did make the effort to wander down through the rose gardens to the main street, and found Marton to have most of the shops and services the average consumer requires. We stopped briefly to pass the time of day with the security guard outside the WINZ office; a chap certainly more senior than us and surely unable to ac cost any gun wielding angry “client” of the Crown, such as he in Ashburton who will forever be blamed for such tax paid security. I suggested that it must be a very boring job, especially if the likes of us did not stop and chat; he agreed and I was silently thankful we had no need of such employment.

James Cook of Marton

We paused too to check the staue of Captain James Cook, curious at his presence. There we found that his birthplace was of the same name as this; Marton. Later we checked this and found it to be true; Marton in Yorkshire is now part of Middlesborough.

The following morning saw us drive across the lovely rural lands spanning the Rangitikei and Manawatu Districts, passing through Halcombe, Fielding, Bunnythorpe and Ashhurst before entering the Manawatu Gorge. As we drove through the narrow gap between the Ruahine and Tararua Ranges, the road often canter levered out over the Manawatu River below us, we looked for evidence of the extensive repair work that has had to be done over the past couple of years. Slips kept the road closed for six months at one time, and this erosion prone route has been referred to when reports have come up regarding the work required to restore the road in and out of Kaikoura. This latter route, Highway One south toward Christchurch has been closed since the earthquake and not likely to reopen during the time we intend to spend in the South Island, maybe not for years.

We stopped at Woodville and found it to be much improved since our last visit, although the greater number of businesses open were either cafes or second hand goods retailers, the former incredibly busy. We find it so mind boggling how busy these cafes are; it just goes to show how brainwashed folk have become to require a fix of commercially made coffee through the day. We spent some time in one second hand barnlike establishment, “Vikings Treasure” if my memory serves me right, and browsed the shelves and bins of books, but those dog-eared editions we might have considered buying were far too expensive. We wondered whether to suggest to the proprietor he would make more sales if he lowered his prices; obviously he was not doing too well, his hair had not been cut for years.

Entry to the Gottfried Lindauer Replica Studio

We also popped into the Gottfried Lindauer Replica Studio housed adjacent to the Information Centre. We had called there before, and I have to confess that I had not realised then that these hung here are only replicas. Perhaps the name of the studio should have alerted me, or maybe the name has been changed more latterly.

Gottfried Lindauer was born in Pilsen, Bohemia in 1839 and spent much of his adult life in New Zealand, settling in Woodville in 1890 until his death here in 1926, aged 86. During that time, he did travel extensively and so in my opinion, he remained a man-of-the-world, despite having been naturalized. But we do like to claim him as ours, and it is his portraits of Maori that are currently the basis of a grand exhibition in the Auckland Art Gallery. We actually prefer Lindauer’s portraits to those by Goldie, however each to his own taste.

Directions to Woodville

Now heading south, we passed the Tui Brewery at Mangatainoka, well worth visiting if you haven’t done so previously, on through Pahiatua with its wide open streets catering well for the locals’ needs and onto much smaller Eketahuna in search of the Domain for a lunch spot. We found this on the road to Alfredton, but the gates were chained and locked, so after driving about aimlessly for a while, settled for a flat spot next to the now defunct railway station and school.  

Further south we pulled into the National Wildlife Centre at Pukaha Mount Bruce, having debated about forking out for a repeated entertainment. As two oldies we got in for $34 and I have to say, did not regret the fee, although we did not feel generous enough to add to their donation jars. The Centre has grown since we were last there; the entrance way more modern and light, and a walk-in free flight aviary has been built, although this latter should have been delayed until more money was raised to pay for a larger installation. Both the Hamilton and Auckland Zoos have free-flight aviaries, much larger than this at Mount Bruce, and given that wild keas will fly from this sanctuary to the Zoolandia one in Wellington, this small cage is almost too cruel.

Eel feeding

We arrived just in time to attend the eel feeding where a couple of visitors clad in full waterproof overalls waded into the stream to feed a dead rat and a porridge of mince and other muck to the swarming monsters, all of whom had gathered in time for this daily ritual. We also attended a talk given by a keeper at the kea feeding station, this one for the two hundred or so wild kea who live un-caged on the forested hill. Apart from that, there were large aviaries containing a hand raised kokako, stitch birds or hihi and kakariki or red-crowned parakeets. The kiwi house is also a recent addition, containing brown kiwi who could not be spotted in the gloom, and a little white kiwi named Manukura who was hatched in 2011 and has a recessive white gene. She is certainly easy to see in the artificial nocturnal setting.

Kaka feeding time

Pukaha Mount Bruce was one of the last un-felled areas this side of the Tararuas, the land cleared for farming by the Scandinavian and English settlors who were offered tracts of land in return for clearing and roading efforts. The remaining bush area was officially protected in 1889, most of the ancient trees around it having been felled and thousands of native birds having lost their habitats, gone up in smoke in bushfires or been eaten by introduced predators.

The restoration of Mount Bruce to a living forest full of birds began with the release of the North Island kaka in 1996. Since then, other birds not seen in the area for over fifty years have been reintroduced. Kaka now breed prolifically and other wild native bird populations are increasing. Kokako is again to be found in the forest after having disappearing for forty years and North Island brown kiwi, missing for one hundred years, roam the undergrowth.

The tramway track from Kiriwhakapapa

But there is even a more fascination story about the birth of this Wildlife Centre. In 1958 a Wairarapa farmer and amateur ornithologist named Elwyn Welch secretly raised four takahe chicks at his farm. The takahe had been rediscovered in Fiordland in ten years previously after being thought extinct for more than fifty years. Welsch’s innovative breeding programme rescued the species from extinction.

Welch had trained a team of bantam hens to raise pukeko chicks, then conditioned then for a trip into the wild by carrying them around his farn in specially constructed pens. In 1958 the hens were taken into Taheke Valley in Fiordland, and the takahe chicks brought to the North Island under the wings of the foster mother bantams. The New Zealand Wildlife Service took over Welch’s work in 1962 setting up a native bird management reserve here in the Mount Bruce Forest.

I should mention here that there are takahe roaming around somewhere in predator fenced pens however they were too shy to venture out into any clearing yesterday, or it may have been the rain that kept them tucked away. It certainly drove us back to the camper, and we had seen these very rare birds down at Te Anau some years ago.

Fallen Rewawarewa flowers

So by the time we tore ourselves away from this magic place, the weather had well and truly packed up. The summer started on 1 December had already ended one day later, or so it seemed. We came on a little further south then turned westward toward the heavily forested Tararua Ranges, soon arriving at this little DOC camp which has changed considerably since we were last here in December 2006. Then we spent a couple of days over Christmas, avoiding the pallaver as we try to do every year. By the time we had set ourselves up, soaked to the skin running around with levelling blocks which in the end we did not resort to, it was too miserable to explore the camp further.

This morning we woke to sunshine and bird call. The wood pigeons or keruru are not as numerous as they were ten years ago, but the season is not yet as advanced. 

Our DOC campsite

Kamahi blooms

While we considered our plans for the day, I wandered over to the route map at the start of the tracks and fell into converstaion with a pig hunter who had recently emerged from the bush. I was anxious as regards my own safety around his dogs and called out to him. He thought I was asking after the one dog he was attending too and it soonbecame clear that this large brute of a dog was far too injured to be of any danger to me, and the other two were just wanting to be patted. The leader of the pack had indeed brought down a boar, who now lay in the boot of the car. The hunter opened the boot to show me his prize, a vicious strong legged beast whose teeth, soon shown to me, had been instrumental in this poor dog’s wounds. Blood was pouring from the dog, despite the white rag that was wound around it’s head to staunch the flow, and there was another ugly gash in his side. I suggested he seek help for his hunting mate as soon as possible, and soon he did leave for Pahiatua where he was confident he would rouse the local vet from his weekend activities. Hopefully the dog has since been attended to and did not bleed to death on the way, because later when we walked up through the bush, we found bloody evidence everywhere; one wonders that there can be so much in one dog. And even later, a man who drove in for a walk, returned soon after setting off to ask if we had seen the blood; he was concerned there might have been a murder.

Speaking of which, I did consider the macabre possibility that I could have been upended into the open boot by the hunter, or taken hostage; his gun was there on the roof. How trusting I was!

Late in the morning Chris and I set off for a lovely walk up through the bush, following an old logging tram route along the stream before heading up around a loop that brought us down further up into the ranges. We were back in less than an hour and a half and had enjoyed the walk enormously; the sparkling streams, the native blooms, the bird calls, and even the mud and blood.

We have decided to stay another night to enjoy the isolation and natural beauty of the place. The weather looks like holding for now, so I have felt easy about using power to update this lengthy diatribe, although now must close and cook up a batch of bologaise sauce for tonight’s dinner and the freezer.