a far north road trip: part two

If you missed part one, check it out here! 🙂

I left Rob’s early in the morning after handing over the various things I still had – the torch, a book, a jacket. My first stop was just down the road: petrol and coffee.Then I went a further five kms down the road to Uretiti Beach. Coffee in hand, I watched the dark clouds get brighter as the sun rose behind them. I could see the Hen and Chicks islands off the shore, I could see the lights from the logging port and the refinery dim as the day grew brighter. I walked up and down the beach until my coffee was cold and so was I.

A few kilometres down the road, I saw a sign for the Mangawhai Heads. Now, I’ve seen these on a map and I like the ocean, most especially rocky beaches, so I decided to detour. It was perfection. Gorgeous.

My next stop was unplanned, as most of my stops are. Spotting a small sign for a waterfall, I swerved off the main highway onto a tiny gravel road. Six kilometres down the road, I parked in a lay-by and walked down to the falls. I’m a sucker for a waterfall, even if they’re not that impressive. I don’t have any clue why I love them so much but something irresistible draws me to them. This one was an unimpressive one.

After taking Rob’s advice on several must-see spots nearby, I knew I’d be stupid to skip his advice on the route to take to Piha (remember, I skipped the Whale Bay advice and I got an earful when I got back.) At Wellsford, I followed signs for the east coast route and Helensville. As with everything else he recommended, this did not disappoint. The Northland forests quickly gave way to rolling green hills, to vistas of the sea over vast sandy beaches and marshy estuaries. At one point, I spotted a collection of sculptures high on a hill and spent a half an hour searching for them before determining that I must not be able to access them. It turns out they are the private collection of Alan Gibbs, who opens the garden once a month to visitors – the waiting list for that is months long, so good luck if you want in. I did come across a large collection of pigs as well at the top of a dead end road. The piglets ran amok as the pigs tried to corral them down the lane. I laughed for a few minutes before trying to leave myself: the pigs were in the way.

{Side note, later I stopped at a rest area and the chickens guarded my car. Like, seriously. Chicken mafia. They are everywhere.}

A little while later, I cruised into the charming Art Deco town of Helensville. I had had no idea what to expect – really, I didn’t know a damn thing about Helensville – but I was pleasantly surprised. I made a grocery stop, knowing that Piha doesn’t have much, and then I browsed a used bookstore cum cafe cum op shop. I also detoured, following a sign for hot springs (again, I’m a sucker for those), but when it turned out that they were indoors and looked rather crowded, I turned around and kept going.

Somewhere along the Scenic Road toward Piha, I stopped for another waterfall, but the hike was over an hour each way, so instead I made some lunch and kicked back for twenty minutes. I was in the forest now, the road winding and narrow. I knew I was near Auckland – there were more towns, more houses, more cars – but I didn’t know how near until I rounded a bend and saw the city laid out below me, the harbours glistening in the cloudy sky, the Sky Tower a mere toothpick. I could see Waiheke and Rangitoto further out and I could see all the sailboats in the bay. The road got narrower, the trees thicker. I began to go downhill alongside clay cliffs. My car took the turns like a pro, I felt like I was a race car driver!

The Piha road appeared and I turned down it. The road was narrower still here, the brush on the cliffside lightly caressing the car as I twisted and turned down the curvy road. The famous black beaches were suddenly in view below, the lion rock rose majestically out of the surf splitting the beach in two. I went straight to the beach, parking at the dunes and walking out to get my feet dirty. Then, I turned around and went in search of the hostel I had picked out. It’s tucked away down a residential road about ten minutes away from town. It was a beautiful spot, a beautiful house. Floor to ceiling windows let in the late sun and showed off the marsh behind the house. Massive wooden beams formed an a-shaped roof. The kitchen was new, the rooms clean and comfortable, the bathrooms spotless.

 

I threw my stuff in a room and went back out to the beach. I wandered up and down enjoying the smell of the surf, the crashing of the waves, the clouds that were dissipating leaving glimpses of sun. Later that evening, I went out for sunset. The sky was a mess of oranges and golds, their colour overtaken by the dark grey of the brewing storm. The beach was deserted except for a few dog walkers and a group of boys up on the lion rock with some beers. I waited patiently for the setting sun. In a delectable moment, the sky was a bright red orange and dark black clouds across it.

That night, I made a light dinner and then went to bed early. Being on the road for so long was tiring. Around 3am, I awoke to sounds of yelling and hysterical laughing. At first, my sleep-hazed mind thought this was some drunks outside on the trampoline. As I listened further, it was instead a woman screaming obscenities at some unknown man. I drew my curtains aside and cracked my outside door. A man in a bathrobe was trying to get a young woman to quiet down and listen. He kept trying to pull her into a small house I had noticed earlier that day; she for her part was screaming, “I’m pregnant with your child, you f***ing b******.” And refusing to listen to him.

I don’t want to rehash that – I wrote a nice review on TripAdvisor. It was not fun. I was awake for another hour and a half listening to this.

In the morning, I didn’t see anyone associated with the hostel, no one that appeared to work there, no owner, no one apologised for the noise the night before. Even if you hadn’t been able to hear the distinct voices, I can’t imagine anyone slept through that cacophony. I packed up my Honda and went into town in search of coffee. Two coffees and a beach walk later, I slid into the driver’s seat and put on some music. I was aiming for Karekare Beach, a mere twenty minutes up the road – except that the road was closed, so I took a longer route.

The road was narrow, windy, it almost seemed dangerous. I could feel some oppressiveness hanging over the hills, a sort of apprehensiveness. In the car park, there was only one other car. There are few baches at Karekare, some houses, and certainly no town. These houses hang on the steep hillsides above town, well above the tsunami line. I got out of the car and walked along the path to the beach. I passed a local woman with her son and dog, we exchanged pleasantries and the dog jumped up on me. Further out, I passed the local surf club.

These are not unique to NZ, I don’t think, but they’re still intriguing. They started as life-saving teams but soon rivalries came into play. Now, they are combination life-saving and sport events – swimming, racing, boating – all with a life-saving purpose. Piha was the first Northland beach to have such a team; many of the original teams are from Wellington, Wanganui, and Christchurch.

I crossed the little rivulet and came upon a memorial. A list of deaths at the beach, with flowers, a peace sign created from shells, “we remember” written in the sand. The cliffs rose straight from the sand here, there is nothing safe about walking near them or climbing them. Behind me, the path I walked led back into the darkened valley. I felt completely alone, vulnerable. Anything could happen out here and there would be no one to see, no one to help, no one would know.

I walked further out on to the beach. My feet made a slight imprint on the packed black sand. It was low tide. The surf was two hundred metres away, the white water crashing upon itself for another hundred metres beyond that. The waves were higher than my head. I spotted something on the sand ahead and walked over. Four pairs of shoes.

At first I thought it was an unlikely memorial to a family that had perished out here – a weird spot, I thought, but I liked the concept. And then I noticed tiny figures in the distance. Four of them. I walked toward them, but they were a ways away. These were the people that the shoes belonged to. They were playing in the sand, taking pictures, enjoying the solitude of the beach. Behind me, the cliffs rose high and a sign posted that it was unsafe to walk around them at high tide. I went the other direction, not planning to walk around them anyway, but later as I turned around and walked back toward my car, I passed a girl coming from that direction. It was comforting to me that there were other people on this beach. Karekare ranks as one of the most dangerous beaches in the world, not for sharks or crocs, but for the surf. Relentless, pounding waves that can sweep away a surfer or a negligent swimmer in a second. It also ranks as one of the best surf beaches in the world, for precisely that same reason. While I didn’t want a beach full of people, nor did I want to stand on the edge of a country with nothing but sea at my feet where I could potentially be knocked down and dragged away by a silent killer.

I spent about a half an hour at Karekare. The sun finally broke through the clouds, the dark, valley no longer seemed forbidding. I passed a young couple on my way back to the car, they were pulling on hiking shoes. There is a network of trails through the hills, from Piha to Karekare to Bethell Beach and more. Instead of hiking, I made my way toward Raglan, another famous NZ surf town.

I actually hadn’t planned on going to Raglan at first. I was supposed to be at my friends place for the weekend, but Garret sent a message saying he was sick and could I just come on Saturday? So, I agreed and I swung down through Hamilton for lunch before continuing on to Raglan. It wasn’t the most direct route, but since it hadn’t been my first plan anyway, it was all I could do. It was a Friday, and I knew that Raglan might be somewhat busy as it was still warm(ish) so I picked a hostel and headed out toward the coast.

The drive was spectacular. The Waikato district is known for rolling green hills, farms, and one really nasty river, but the hills and farms were a treat to drive through. True to its nature, my little car handled the curves well and drove like a dream out along the tiny highway. I pulled into Raglan around 4pm and went in search of my hostel. I had picked one based solely on the fact that I’d be staying in an old train car. Google maps didn’t seem to pick up the address, however, so I ended up driving almost all the way there before paying attention to the maps and turning around (and then having to go all the way back.) I stopped at a look out point and was blown away. Just like Piha, just like Karekare, just like Bayly’s Beach, just like the shore at Hokianga, the waves rolled in on top of each other, their surf relentless against the sand.

Once again, I could have stayed for hours.

I finally found my way to Solscape and got checked in. I decided against returning to town; it was a fifteen minute drive and I figured I would do it in the morning. Instead, I finally relaxed. I’d been on the move for four days, always going, going, going. and I was tired. I made some dinner, poured myself some wine, and settled into the couches. Immediately, I made friends and was invited to town with them. I said I would think about it… but the lure of a really odd punk rock show sounded too good to miss. I decided to join them.

The next morning, I woke up early and packed up. I had a few hours to kill before I needed to leave for my drive back to Huntly, so I headed into town with my computer and camera. I parked near a short hike and found my way to the beach, walking up and down before deciding to climb the hill back to my car and head into town for a coffee. I poked around a bit before settling on Raglan Roast, down Volcom Lane.

After a second delicious coffee and a take away lemon cake from Raglan Social Club – side note, it was freaking DELICIOUS and you should totally go there if you’re ever in Raglan – I drove out of town toward Bridal Veil Falls. My first course of action was to make a sandwich and eat my lemon cake, which I did while tucked into the boot of my car with a book in my lap. There were so many cars parked in the carpark that I rightly assumed I would be better off waiting. As it turns out, by having my lunch then I avoided a mass group of five year old children, thank god.

Like I’ve mentioned before, I’m kind of a sucker for a waterfall. And Bridal Veil makes the list of “best waterfalls to visit in NZ.” For some reason.

Sure, it was pretty. One might even say somewhat impressive.

 

But it wasn’t drop dead freaking stunningly gorgeous. What did strike me, and what is not mentioned until you get to the bottom of the waterfall, all 261 steps down, are the basalt columns completely reminiscent of Giants Causeway and Fingal’s Cave. Those are what caught my attention, not the endless stream of white water pouring down the cliffside, or the random bridal couple taking photos on the only bridge at the waterfall base.

I have a soft spot in my heart for basalt columns, don’t ask me why. I think they’re cool. The ones at the Giants Causeway are so hexagonal that they look like they’ve been cut from a cookie cutter. It will always amaze me that nature can create these perfect patterns. Or, maybe, we have created these patterns because we see that nature has already done so. Anyway, the basalt columns were fantastic and I was keen to stay and stare but I felt like I was intruding a bit on the bridal couple, even though the entire thing was a bit odd.

261 steps back up, I returned to my car and went back into Raglan for petrol. Then I turned course for Huntly. After a relaxing night of pizza and wine with Garret, Char, and (no wine for) Jack, I spent the next morning doing domestic things like laundry and packing before saying goodbye and hitting the highway north back to Auckland. I’d been in touch with Bob, from Far North Rentals, and I was set to meet him at the airport for 2pm on Monday to return the car and then pick up my next one. I also had a meeting in Auckland with a friend of a friend and fellow travel person.

I’m finding it hard to end this post. It’s close to 2000 words, which is crazy long, but by ending it, I’ll officially end my Far North Road Trip and that sort of sucks. If you’ve been reading this blog over the last few weeks, you know I fell head over heels for the Northland, from the busting Bay of Islands to the ephemeral Cape Reinga to the quiet western Hokianga. Finally finishing this post will mean that I have to focus on other parts of NZ, and I don’t think I am ready to do that. But…….

until next time, Northland. I love you.

*Special thanks to Bob and the team at Far North Rentals for their generous assistance with a rental car and Bob’s flexibility in dropping off and picking up the car. You guys are amazing. I hope we can work together again this upcoming summer. Also thanks to Lois and Nils at Okopako Lodge for their charming hospitality, sightseeing recommendations, and delicious feijoas + cherry guavas + home baked bread. Plus the sheep. I loved the sheep. Hi Minnie and Minty! To the teams at Solscape and Haka Lodge Auckland, thanks for it all. Cheers to everyone else who made this portion of my southbound road trip so awesome. Your insider tips and hospitality made it a memorable trip. You know who you are.