February « 2012 « New Zealand North To South

Hundreds of tons of steaming, sweaty, hairy, fly infested flesh closed in around me. They all wanted a front row view of the strange man walking through their turf. They all wanted a piece of the action. Moans escaped from the pressed-in beasts, froth spat from their mouths – snot hung from their noses.

I’d stop – they’d stop. I’d walk – they’d follow closely. They even jumped when I did.

“Get Back!!” I hollered “I shall not be frightened!”

I held The Stick out and felt like Gandalf fending off masses of goblins with his glowing staff. They seemed to understand and hung just out of reach. The ones in front of me hopped out of the way with heavy hooves. Steadily, with a false air of confidence, I advanced. I could see the exit stile less than a hundred metres away and was tempted to run. But then the thought of a bovine stampede on my heels put me off that idea.

A large black shape lurched up behind me, making me turn and raise The Stick up – “BACK!” It backed down and gave me a solemn sideways glance, red eyes menacingly in contrast to its dark hide. “Especially you there – now fuck off!” I barked while pointing.

I suddenly felt ashamed at my loss of control in swearing at a cow. How could I be so rude and stupid? I continued on through the curious herd feeling foolish. Were they really being that menacing and threatening, or had I overreacted?

First views of the other side

Safely in the next (empty) paddock I gazed upon the Bay of Islands and Pacific Ocean. I’d passed through the area a couple of times previously but never lingered. Kerikeri, the upmarket service town of the area, lay first, then came Waitangi, the birthplace of the nation, and just a little further south, the beach resort of Paihia.

A couple of hours later I was passing under State Highway 10, hugging the banks of Kerikeri River, gingerly hopping over electric fencing. Luxury properties backed onto the banks. The only inhabitants seen were astride ride-on mowers perfecting their lawns. Orange markers showed that I was on an official trail, yet I still felt like a trespassing tramp.

A few kilometres on I came to the top of Rainbow Falls, where I met dripping wet Maori guy with his white dog.

“Hey bro – what you up to?” I explain my trip and get a common reaction: “Your mad bro, but you’re going to see more of the country than me.” I comment on the simplicity of walking and the freedom of it.

“Yeah that’s all good, but round here you get restricted. Many big sea-front properties have been bought by foreigners and they close off access to beaches, making them private.” I ask about accommodation in town – “Well it’s all expensive round here. If you want to camp for free I can show you a quiet, out-of-the-way spot not far from here. You want electricity? Then your best bet is to head to the Aranga Backpackers Holiday Park opposite the BP.”

I thank him and march into town. I’m in a rush to make it to the post office before it shuts. Heading into Kerikeri I see signs for “Stone Store”, the oldest building to be made of rock in the whole country – 1832 being the year that the missionaries began construction. Samuel Marsden, the famous missionary from early settler days, who’s credited with introducing Christianity to the country, acquired land for the church in 1819.

The land was exchanged for weapons and tools with the legendary war-chief of the Ngāpuhi tribe – Hongi Hika. Linguist, traveller, trader, leader, he plays a huge role in that period of history. Known for introducing musket warfare to the Maoris (and using it to deadly effect), he also protected and encouraged Pakeha settlement.

Kerikeri grew from these origins into the town it is now. Motels, a McDonald’s and a big-box New World supermarket greet you on the road in. Fancy cafes, real estate agents, lawyers, hairdressers and bookshops line the main street. A classier big brother to Kaitaia, it is also a an area famous for it’s crafts and orchards.

I feel extremely self-conscious to the fact that I stink like a pig and look like dirty vagrant. Standing in line to pick up my parcel, I notice other post office customers eye up The Stick. The unwelcome feeling doesn’t last long when a friendly gent points me towards the holiday park.

And what a nice, spontaneous find that turned out to be. I turn up, completely worn away by the tramping, and get led here. $30 for a single room – I can’t complain. Covered in sweat, humming like a hobo, legs aching, beard needing a trim – a cold drink, bed and shower is what I crave. I find number 43 and put the key in the lock. It doesn’t turn.

For five minutes my frustration builds until I have to stop myself kicking in the door. Two large guys sit a few doors down. They look half way between Maoris and Indians, have flat noses and frizzy hair, and speak a tongue unfamiliar. I ask them to watch after my bags while I run back up the hill. They nod and smile.

I quickly realise that I’m sharing this half of the holiday park with over 100 Tongans. They’re in NZ on a 6 month fruit picking trip, saving money to take back to their families. But one doesn’t seem to think that it’s so worth it – “I work as a truck driver back in Tonga and can get up to $500 a week. Here, after tax, accommodation and other costs, I only clear $200.”

The guys are all huge but generally laid back. The terrace-style of the rooms gives this half of the holiday park a ghetto-like feel. All the travellers and campers are on the other side with nicer, newer lodgings. I liked it and ended up staying about a week.

The Tongans had taken over a common room full of sofas. The first time I heard the music it drew me in. They sat me down and passed over a coconut shell of grey liquid straight from a huge container. Kava – I’d wanted to try this famous Polynesian stupefier for some time. It tasted rather bland and you could tell it was made with powdered root. I smiled and handed the shell back. Lazy grins were returned by red-eyed hosts who lounged around the room.

Three guitars gently started strumming and putting out melodies. On cue the whole gathering, excluding myself, start to gracefully sing in deep hymn-like tones. There’s a beautiful unity in their voices as if they’re all longing for the same thing.

Albert was definitely the most enduring character of the wing. Three years he’s been living here, down in his tidy little room. He worked in a local pack-house which dealt in lemons, mandarins, avocados and other produce of the north. I’ve known some drinkers, but he’s one who likes to get it down quick. Each beer averages about three gulps. At 51 years old he looks trim; muscled arms and shoulders, straight posture, His visage is not far from a boxer’s. High cheekbones, flat nose, sturdy eyebrows – all topped off by a close cropped Mohican. He’s a twitcher and rolls his laughs – haaa-raaaa-raaa-haaaa. He likes to swipe his hand through the air and say c*nt when describing something.

Don my Swedish neighbour, who speaks with a hint of an Irish accent, complains at his antics. “At five tirty laast nite he woke me up yelling.” I’d not noticed it. What bothered me was bass vibrating the wall next to my head at 7am. 90% of the Tongans had left for Hastings, my music-loving co-inhabitant happened to be one of those who stayed.

After a few days or organising and catching up on some stories, I embarked on the next leg of the walk. As I’d paid enough in the first 4 days to earn a week’s rent, I left most of baggage behind and headed off to the Waitangi State Forest. The Te Araroa Trail runs a long a gravel road through the pine plantation. With little native forest around I enjoyed the ever-enlarging view of The Bay and Waitangi.

Bluff doesn't seem that far away

In that direction I must go...

Over 1000 acres of Waitangi land were purchased by Governor-General Lord Bledisloe in 1932 and gifted it to the nation. They are a site of vast historical importance, where the British Crown and a collection of Maori chiefs officially turned New Zealand into a colony. The Treaty of Waitangi was signed on the 6th of February, 1840. The Waitangi National Trust now leases part of this land to a golf club, who on their website state “As many visiting golfers claim, particularly those from overseas, Waitangi is truly millionaire’s country for all to enjoy.”The recent Waitangi Day celebrations, like many previous years, were marred by Maori protests. These seem to be motivated by a mix of past grievances and modern issues, such as deep sea oil drilling and asset sales to foreign interests.

Waitangi, and beyond, The Bay of Islands

The treaty grounds are free to Kiwis to enter. Foreign visitors though have to pay $25. As I was only passing through, I continued onwards following a track past the Treaty House into a tiny patch of native forest. Boardwalks guided me into the souvenir shop and café.

The Maori War Canoes were impressive. One was at least 30 metres long, sleek, beautiful and deadly – not hard to picture a deadly payload of warriors on-board.

Beyond this lay an expensive looking hotel wrapping it’s way around the point. A bunch of 60-70 tourists were lined up in lifejackets, receiving instructions from their Maori instructor in traditional dress on how to operate the canoes they’re about to take on to the water.

I crossed the bridge and walked into Paihia just as the skies opened up. I had to rush the last few hundred metres into the closest pub.

Written on February 18th, 2012 , Journey So Far, Northland Tags: Hongi Hika, kava, Kerikeri, New Zealand, Rainbow Falls, Samuel Marsden, Stone Store, Te Araroa trail, Tongans, Waitangi, Waitangi National Trust, Waitangi State Forest

6 – Thirsty in the Puketi

<– Previously

Have I pushed myself too far this time?

I felt weak, woozy and thirsty – I craved rest and water. The tin of tomato tuna didn’t seem to be sitting well on my stomach. Keep Going!I shouldered the pack, grabbed The Stick and strode on. Step by step I moved from the ridge trail to the gravel road.

Not far to go now

Two hours later I enter the Puketi Recreation Area. Aching and exhausted I slumber over to three young blondes sitting by a people carrier. I ask a couple of innocent questions, receive yes/no answers. They look away, I shrug and bee-line it for the tap, fill my empty bottle and instantly down the rejuvenating water.

The young German backpackers are by the designated fireplace. I drop my pack nearby, grab a couple of sticks and ask them if I can create some flames. After a mumbled agreement, the three girls quickly pack up there stuff and lock themselves in their vehicle.

I pondered in surprise. I tried to come across as the well-meaning tramper, but that reaction made me feel like a dishevelled rogue. Did I really appear to embody the modern meaning of vagabond?

As the flames burst into life a rental campervan covered in colourful logos pulls up. The driver approaches smiling, asking me the same questions I’d put to the triplet of timid Germans about camping.

“Park up anywhere buddy and come join me at this growing fire.” He agrees and I can detect Dutch in his accent and looks. Marean is in fact a 36 year old Dutch mechanic who’s on a two week trip of the North Island. His wife had recently left him and he needed an understandable holiday.

“So do you want a cold beer?” he asks. In joy I almost fall off the stump I’m perched on. A real Trail-Angel! He didn’t just stop at that one beer, but later produced two more and also shared one of his steaks! I begin to recount the last couple of days and why these treats were so appreciated…

After completing the Raetea and sorting my stuff out in Kaitaia, I hitched back to Mangamuka Bridge. Heading off the highway I followed a gravel road eastwards and into the Omahuta Forest. Young kauris grew alongside as I gradually headed into the hills. A few hours later I was surrounded by larger specimens when strolling around the Kauri Sanctuary. The mightiest there was named “Hokianga” and is the 8^thlargest known in the country.

The Stick once again gets outshone

I camped nearby at a cosy spot known as “apple dam”, just off the road that leads to the sanctuary. I pitched my tent on the small patch of grass in the shallow valley, topping up my water from the nearby stream.

Descending into the the valley

I faced a big day in the morning and began by heading back up to a turn-off and continuing along the gravel road into a larger valley. Bee hives clusters lined the way and a concrete river ford allowed me to stock up on some crystal clear H2O. The descent into the canyon wound through gorse and razor grass then plopped me besides the Mangapukahukahu Stream (a fun name to pronounce.)

Getting my feet wet

What followed was first one of the most enjoyable parts, then the hardest of the trip so far. For about 3km I waded and walked alongside the clear stream. During and after heavy rain this route is “closed” due to the threat of flash floods.

Rocks and pebbles lined the way, with the occasional interlude of gritty sand breaking it up. Shallow cascades split the plunging pools. Along the steep banks a riot of greenery climbed the gorge. I stopped on a bank of stones, ate lunch, spread out the tent to dry the morning’s dew off, stripped off my clothes and jumped in. Fresh!

Eventually the stream joined up with the wider Waipapa River. The pools here were a deeper blue and very inviting. Along the far bank was a nice little clear patch to camp on. Very tempting, but I found a trail and followed it upstream.

The Waipapa River

I could hardly call it a trail though. Orange triangles marked the way, sometimes the only clue to the route. It traversed the sheer eastern slope, rising and falling as I slowly progressed. It was overgrown and much had fallen on to it. Footholds were rare and I had to throw The Stick from hand to hand to free them for grabbing. Vines tripped and dry earth slipped underfoot. Some angles were so steep that I had to lean in to avoid sliding down to the water below.

I should have been down there, not following those orange triangles

The water is where I should have been though. What I didn’t realise at the time was that this trail was the wet weather route. I should’ve been wading the Waipapa, not fighting through the bush. Instead I poured sweat and wore myself out.

I was happy to see the signs indicating the imminent Pukatea Ridge Track. With relief I left the Waipapa River and climbed into mature kauri stand, all while not thinking to top my water up. Idiot! I’d had 5 hours where I could’ve re-filled, or even drank, at any time, right at the source.

I regretted this mistake a few hours later when I only had a sip left. The ridge climb was exhausting. The only things to keep my mind busy were all the traps.

Possum killer

A couple of months previously I’d come across a Puketi Forest Trust stand at a local A&P show. They were raising funds and awareness for pest control and selling possum traps. The Trust works alongside the Department of Conservation (DoC) in managing the forest. Since 2003 they’ve ran a successful pest control program that has helped a lot of native bush regrow. Just last year they caught 3569 rats, 1321 possums, 460 mice, 200 stoats, 39 feral cats, 10 weasels and no ferrets (source). We’d talked about a possible volunteering position, but the long recovery from my foot injury meant that I was now too pressed for time.

Now instead of helping this program I was rushing through the forest with a major thirst on.

… Ahhh that beer tasted good.

Tbc..

Next –>

Written on February 17th, 2012 , Journey So Far, Northland Tags: camping, New Zealand, Omahuta Forest, Pest control, Puketi Forest, Puketi Forest Trust, Te Araroa trail, Waipapa River

5 – Raetea Birthday

<– Previously

Heading up from Takahue Saddle into the Raetea I knew that I’d enjoy my birthday. It had that real rainforest feeling – a wetness where growth blooms. Being the highest area around, the peaks were nestled in cloud. The track was the muddiest I’d encountered so far and my trousers quickly became coated in the slimy stuff.

Heading up to the Takahue Saddle

I took it easy on the way up, taking regular breaks and stocking up on water before I hit the ridgeline. It took me about five hours to reach the summit. Drizzle came down most of way, seeping into my clothes as I moved.

I shared the peak with a radio mast powered by an array of solar panels. I pitched the tent slightly on the south side of the patch of grass, just out of the wind that whipped in from the north. A scorched patch of earth showed where someone had recently had a fire. Chicken & port pate, triple cream, garlic & chilli cheese and a flask of spiced rum were birthday luxuries I’d allowed myself.

It was the first time I’d spent my birthday alone. I’d not brought anything to read or listen to, but after events of the previous couple of months, I needed time to think things over.

Having my mother and sister call from Europe were a nice treat. “Hey mum, I’m camping on top of a mountain in the middle of a rainforest!” Why not!

I felt good in the morning – revitalised and refreshed – and my legs felt strong. I moved quickly along the flax covered ridge, pushing my through the long leaves. A viewpoint stopped me in my tracks. The cloud temporarily lifted, revealing aspects of the Hokianga harbour 20km to the south. The Hokianga is steeped in early Maori and settler history, being one of the first places that the respective races settled. I’d been meaning to visit it for weeks, but had never got around to it. I guess this stunning view would have to do for now.

Peeking into the Hokianga harbour

As I once again became swallowed by trees, I had pay attention to the trail. Recently fallen trees blocked some sections. After taking the right turn at a fork in the trail things became easier. Someone had recently cleared that section. Green fronds and branches lay across the mud, neatly cut down by a big blade.

Friendly orange markers

The ridgeline continued for some time, then dropped onto a 4×4 track. Tea Tree, pig tracks and orange markers led the way

Dropping out of the forest I encountered a section of pasture and my first real navigation problem. After spooking some cows I had duck under another big tree that’d fallen across the path. The orange triangles disappeared and I ended up on a bit of a bluff that dropped down to where two streams met. It got steep and overgrown with no obvious path leading ahead. Checking the topo map I saw the trail bypassed the streams to the south. After much back-tracking and plunging my feet into a couple of bogs, I eventually found the path and the guiding orange triangles.

At least a dozen tied up dogs barked at me when I passed a local farmer’s house. From there it was all road-walking. 2km of Markene Road led me to State Highway 1. I’d been dreading these connections, but surprisingly actually enjoyed the change it offered. The traffic was light as I tramped along the right-hand verge. An hour later I reached the shop at Mangamuka Bridge, bought a soft drink and burger, then hitched back to Kaitaia.

The stick doesn't like the hard road surface so much

A utility town that services the Far north, Kaitaia has not much to offer in the way of entertainment. All the fun to be had is in the outlying area. 40 beaches with an hour’s drive – Surfing, fishing galore, forests.

Mainstreet Lodge is a good place to hole up. Recently take over by a northern Englishman, Mike, it is an oasis from the often barren streets. With a quiet room to myself I organised my affairs, ready to leave my base of the last few months. It was time to hit the Te Araroa Trail properly.

Next: Thirsty in the Puketi –>

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Written on February 15th, 2012 , Uncategorized Tags: camping, Mangamuka Bridge, New Zealand, Raetea Forest, Te Araroa trail, tramping

A Local History Carved in to Wood

The story and video were produced back in January, when I was staying at Long Flat Bottom. The pou-pou described has just been unveiled at the newly opened Te Ahu Community Centre in Kaitaia.

As well as being a knife maker, Pete works as a carver. Over the last year he’s been busy on an interesting project. Two massive wooden cylinders lie horizontal in his workshop, taking up most of the space. In a couple of weeks they’ll be propped upright, one on top of the other, rising 7 metres into the air. Their location will be the atrium of the brand new Te Ahu community centre in Kaitaia. It’ll be one of seven pou-pous (carved totems) reflecting the history of the Far North. Five of those will be from different Maori tribes, one Dalmatian (this region had a lot of settlers from that Croatian coastline), and Pete’s will be the story of the Pakeha.

Pete’s vision has challenged the ideas of those he’s worked with, but the result is a unique piece of art that’ll read like a story book. Over the weeks that I spent at Pete’s and in his workshop, countless people have called in to view his work. With charismatic flourish he’d run them through the story. With the Far North having a sparse yet connected population, many of these local visitors had ties to the images in the wood.

The 150 year old Totara tree used for the carving once grew nearby, witnessing the majority of local Pakeha history. The settlers enjoyed this timber, using it for general building work, constructing bridges and wharves, telephone poles and railway sleepers (although the tracks never made it to the Far North). It’s still used now, but mainly for carvings and furniture making. When Pete pushes his chisel through the flesh he makes the wood look soft. The timber was still green when he received it. As it began to shrink, cracks appeared on its surface. To combat this he bored holes into its centre along the length of its back. This allowed it to dry from the inside-out, keeping the piece workable.

A pou-pou is a Maori concept which includes a genealogical line. The stories told demonstrate the relationship between the ancestors and their environment, and how they end up shaping each other.

With the carving ready to leave his workshop, Pete talks me through his work:

“In this carving I’ve taken as our genealogical roots the Ionic column from Greece. This is iconic in the European tradition. It is outside a lot of our churches and public buildings – it’s very much part of our Pakeha culture. And as a genealogical line I have used the English rose, Scottish thistle and Irish shamrock, which work their way up the pou-pou, dividing it into different sections.”

The rose runs up the centre of the column, while the thistle and shamrock cross it at 45° angles, resembling vines wrapped around a trunk. The base of column, which effectively provides a launch-pad for the story, is imposing in its simplicity. The smooth and even finish applied to this section is in stark contrast of the nitty-gritty details that lie above. The Roman numerals MMXI mark the year that Pete created this huge carving. The story depicted begins much earlier with the ships and science that brought the first Europeans to the shores of New Zealand.

“These include the Spanish caravels that were wrecked on the Kaipara coast, Abel Tasman’s ship, James Cook’s ship and the scientific knowledge and equipment that brought him here and got him home. That includes the Harrison clock, the sextant, and of course the compass.”

“This side of the carving shows the economic reason for the initial settling of New Zealand, which is whaling. Whaling was critical to the genesis of New Zealand, bringing Europeans to its coasts. Whalers settled these areas and were closely followed by missionaries. One of the first was in the Bay of Islands, and it was from there that the first missionary came to Kaitaia. He was a gentleman by the name of Joseph Matthews who arrived in the town in 1834. He was followed a little while later by his associate William Puckey. Matthews was the theologian and Puckey was the man of practical skills. At the arrival of Matthews into Kaitaia at a place called Te Ahu – which is the name of our new centre – he was met, captured…. arhh… introduced, that sort of thing – a fairly moving story – by Panakareao who was the leader of the local tribes. The stories are sort of varied. Some say that Panakareao was going to boil Matthews in a pot, some say that Matthews arrived on a hill and said “This is where my mission will be, this is the place of my dreams”. However it happened I’m sure that Panakareao was deeply involved in it and was highly politically motivated in his actions towards the missionaries. In a very short space of time Joseph Matthews had a 600 acre farm, permission to proselytize the north and he’d saved the Aupouri people who were under threat from Panakareao’s warriors. There were only 14 of them left and there was a chance that they were about to finished off.

“Panakareao has his wife here Erenora – Ati. She was influential in the district – both she and Panakareao signed the Hobson’s Treaty of Waitangi. Puckey, who’d lived in NZ all his life, translated the treaty for the local Maori when it came to Kaitaia for consultation. Also the story says that Victoria Valley was named of Ati, but from what I’ve been able to gather, she wandered from the church for many years but then returned. On her death bed she cried out “Victory, victory!” – returned to the Lord and that’s where the name Victoria Valley comes from.”

Like a lot of history, stories evolve through different interpretations of events. Another version is that Panakareao nick-named Erenora Victoria – after the British monarch – and bestowed that name on the valley in her honour.

“With the signing of the treaty people started flooding in. The treaty was a signal to Europeans that this was a country, an empty land – theoretically – that was ready for a huge influx of people, so they arrived in numbers. One of the things that brought them to the Far North was the famous Subritzky s schooner, The Greyhound. It was famous in the north and one of the main means of transport in the early days, both for passengers and for cargo.”

“On the other side here… Once the mission had been established, Industry was… just amazing! The early settles worked, and worked and worked, and they built and built and built, and they cleared timber at a massive rate. Everything was done by hand. Done below you’ll see a picture of Puckey’s famous land yacht. He built a hospital in Te Kao, and to get there quickly he’d take his cart to Ninety Mile Beach from Kaitaia, un-hitch his horses, put up a sail and ride the winds to The Bluff, where he’d ride inland again. He was a canny man.”

“Here is a picture of a surveyor at work. New Zealand is unique in that it was the only country in the world that was settled after it was surveyed. The first Europeans to see most of New Zealand were in fact surveyors.

“Access was always a big problem for the Far North Pakeha Society, and this here represents the opening of the road across the Mangamukas, which was pretty harem-scarem . For many years the main road went around through Herekino and Broadwood, so this new road was quite significant.”

The Mangamuka Ranges – a unified barrier of high-rise forests – are an imposing geographical feature that separate the Far North from the rest of country. It has yet to be breached by rail.

“Here we have a picture of my genetic connection to the pou-pou. This is the M.V. (Motor Vessel) Anglia which brought the wireless cable to Cable Bay (from America) and connected New Zealand to the world for the first time. My grandfather was the bosun on that ship. I’d always known about it, but when I did some reading recently, it brought home just how familiar he was with this area. I came here 35 years ago which was quite by coincidence.

“This is a picture of Main street of Kaitaia as it had developed by 1926”

“This gentleman is Colonel Alan Bell, who was very influential in the early days of the township of Kaitaia. He ended up as a Member of Parliament and was very much a big name in the town. Now we go back to the bottom of this panel. This illustrates the hard work and hard times of the Pakeha of Kaitaia needed to pass through. This represents a woman outside her shanty home feeding the pigs – I’m sure not too happy about it! While she was doing that, her men-folk were out clearing forest and using bollocks to drag huge amounts of timber to the various mills in the north. There is one modern mill in Kaitaia now, but in the past there were up to six in the district.

“This is a representation of some of the amazing engineering that was used in the forests surrounding Kaitaia. This illustrates a bogie carrying a Kauri log across a viaduct down to the mills. There was a large one down in Kaingaroa. A very dangerous operation – if the log got to the bottom going too fast, the man had to jump off – so it was pretty spooky I think.

“At this stage we come to the wars that New Zealanders have been involved in. Over here is the voluntary militia, which began in the 1890’s and was in operation through to the First World War, when vast numbers of New Zealanders and their horses went to Europe. Out of 25000 horses sent, only 3 returned. New Zealand lost many in both world wars. In WWII Flight Officer L.A. Trigg was decorated with the VC and DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross) for bravery over the Atlantic, where he flew his plane into a German U-boat, sinking it. The U-boat’s captain was one of the few survivors and recommended the VC to Trigg. This is quite amazing as he is the only New Zealand combatant in history to be recommended for a commendation by an enemy officer.

“The district nurses kept a lot of people alive and comfortable throughout the district – much of the time from horseback.

“And of course he have farming, farming – farming! Once the trees were cleared off the land it had to be turned to grass. Farmall tractors were a big part of that. They were the first relatively effective tractor of the Far North – very popular up here with their steel wheels on the soft ground.

Farming defines the Far North. You are never far from a paddock or crop.

“The World Wars of course resulted in the formation of the Royal New Zealand Returned and Services Association (RSA), which is an important and influential group in Kaitaia as it is throughout New Zealand.

“The return from the War saw farms being developed. Small holdings, milking has developed in rotary sheds and tankers on the road. This has changed as time’s gone on, and nowadays cattle are milked by the hundreds in single sheds and their product is taken by truck to distant factories.

“The Co-op is representative of the best of NZ business. Fonterra is still a co-operative, which means its profits are owned by the country and its people – it is held and used by the shareholders.

“This here is a picture of Mike Beardsley who discovered the whereabouts of three of the anchors that were lost by de Surville on his expedition to NZ. This anchor is in the new museum after originally being installed in the old museum in 1974.

“Across this side you can see some of 90 mile beach and some of the events that took place there. Kingsford-Smith and his aeroplane, Wizard Smith and his car, and further up of course Star MiniTours, one of the real initiators of tourism in the Far north. Down beside them are the pine trees of the Aupouri Forest.”

Pine is still one of the major industries in New Zealand. The pine in the Far north is the fastest growing in the world and is mainly exported to Asian markets. The laden trucks that ply the roads around Kaitaia are un-missable.

“The genealogical lines that run up through the pou-pou join here to become a bouquet of the flowers of all the nations of the world. There’s Dutch and Chinese and Japanese, South African, Australian and all sorts. That bouquet is backed by the fruits of the Far North which include avocados, oranges, peaches and corn, the last two being classic fruits of the north. All this sits upon the Mamaku – the fern of the far north.

“We have then the capital, which is a slightly modified traditional design. That in itself has a heading of natural timber, which reminds us that we are within the natural world.

In the final few days, before the pou-pou left Long Flat Bottom, some finishing touches were added in typical Kiwi style. Pete whips the chainsaw out, bringing the snarling machine down into his work. For a worried second I thought his talk of wanting the carving out of his workshop had spurred him into drastic action. But no, he gently brings the whirling teeth down on the back side of the pou-pou, cutting a channel that runs along the holes bored to dry the wood out. “To facilitate the drying process once it’s erected.”

After over a year of having his workshop occupied by these massive logs, Pete has a farewell party with some mates to see off his monumental work. The following morning the two sections are secured on the back of a flat-bed truck and driven into town. A gang of big, strong guys help wheel the two halves into the atrium of the new centre. Glass walls circle a stingray mural on the floor, birds hang from the ceiling. Pete’s pou-pou is the first of the seven to go up. It’s long, delicate work manoeuvring the two cumbersome halves into place. After a hitch with the chain pulley system, and an over-night delay, the two parts become one.

A couple of weeks later they’re officially unveiled to the public in a dawn ceremony. Once the other carvings are installed the atrium will offer a power greeting to visitors. Pete’s legacy and work of history now stands tall.

Videos:

Peter Griffiths and his Pakeha Pou-Pou, for the Te Ahu centre in Kaitaia (Part 1 of 2)

Peter Griffiths and his Pakeha Pou-Pou, for the Te Ahu centre in Kaitaia (Part 2 of 2)

Written on February 13th, 2012 , Journey So Far, Northland Tags: Aupouri, Cable bay, Captain Cook, carving, Colonel Alan Bell, de Surville, Erenora, Farming, Greyhound schooner, history, Joseph Matthews, Kaitaia, L A Trigg, land yacht, M.V Anglia, Pakeha pou-pou, Panakareao, Peter Griffiths, Te Ahu community centre, Victoria Valley, William Puckey

4 – Herekino – The First Forest

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Dark, dank, dense, – forests can be places of foreboding mystery. Your vision is limited and the ears pick up strange sounds. It’s easy to get lost and panic – the hostile foliage swallows you up into a state of disorientation – will I ever get out?!?

It’s easy to panic when lost in these environments. Staying calm is key. Retrace your steps, take a compass bearing, or if you’ve a GPS – then finding your way shouldn’t be too much of a chore. As long as you’ve got spare batteries!

Forests/jungles hold a special place in my heart. Harbingers of life, their complexities are fascinating. New Zealand, like much of world, was not-so-long ago covered in trees. Humans brought an end to that. Both the Maoris and Pakeha played their roles, burning vast swathes to make room for agriculture and livestock. Valuable timber such as kauri was stripped in a short space of time. The pieces left are now well protected yet still face threats – namely from invasive pests.

Resting at the Herekino Saddle, I felt joy at being about to pass into this shrouded realm. Te Arai is the Maori name for this spot (The Door). Spirits of the departing take a breather here, before their voyage up Ninety Mile Beach to Cape Reinga. From there they continue under the sea to their final resting place – Hawaiiki, the ancestral homeland. The spot is marked by an eerie carving by my host of the last couple of months – Peter Griffiths.

I suppose I’d better backtrack here for a minute. After finally finishing The Beach, I spent a night in Ahipara and set off the following morning. The fractured metatarsal felt good, but I’d developed a strain alongside my toe of the same foot. On the edge of town I had a coffee and breakfast, contemplating whether I should be pushing myself. It began to rain.

I took that as a sign and hitched back to Pete’s in Takahue. Over a couple of days the toe improved quickly, but a niggle developed in the right foot. Damn feet!! Not wanting to delay any longer I hitched back to Ahipara. The 7km road connection from town to Te Arai passed quickly. Flats led me to a V cut into the hillside – the Herekino Gorge – where my starting point for the forest lay.

With a smile I left the sunlight behind and plunged inwards. First task was to scale up to the ridgeline. Due to this being a day-trip, I only had a tiny bag with a couple of kilos in it. Wow – the difference was huge. Taking a quick break on the climb, I looked up to spot a tiny plane flying northwards over the Herekino. I was in the mood to do the same.

I felt like a caged animal that’s just been released. Having the weight lifted off my back also freed my mind. After spending months navigating the jungles of Cambodia, I knew how to move quickly in this terrain.

The first part of the ridge was thin with scrub, affording me views of Ninety Mile Beach curving to the north-west. Hopefully the last I’d see of that for a while. As the trail angled downwards my feet began to trot beneath. Momentum pulled me into the thicker sections.

An hour in and Kauris surrounded the path. I leant The Stick onto a larger specimen, which completely dwarfed my walking aide. Kauris have been in resurgence the last few decades, but are now plagued by kauri dieback disease. To help prevent the spread of this, trampers are advised to not tread on their roots and to walk in clean footwear.

Leaving the mighty trees behind I sped into a gulley, stopping only to drink straight out of the clear stream. I slowed down on the hills, not wanting to burn up my energy too quickly. The trail was gnarly in parts, with twisted roots and gloopy mud forcing me to pick my steps. Vegetation grew thick around me, reducing visibility to a couple of metres.

On and on, up and down, I kept the pace going, pausing only to sip water or nibble dried dates. After suffering to complete that bloody beach, the liberation allowed me to vent all the pent up frustration that had built. I pushed myself as if possessed, almost jogging some parts. The kilometres flew past.

The trail abruptly popped out onto an old logging track. Bare, red mud now led the way, reminding me of the logging tracks in Cambodia. This is when I started to notice the growing pain in my right foot. Argghh – not again!!! I’d just fixed my left foot and now its partner decides to fail me! My fault for pushing it too hard after months of inactivity. I clenched my teeth and kept going, stubbornly not wanting to let this new problem slow me down.

After turning right at a junction, the straight logging track once again became a crooked trail. Pig tracks littered the area and many parts of the path had been turned over by the rooting swine. Evidently hunters rarely visited these parts. Two run-down logger’s huts pointed to the area’s past.

Varieties of ferns, including ones that grow the height of trees, jostled with other flora for space. Something snared me, stopping me in my tracks. I carefully took a step back and twisted free. Like rattan in Asia, this plant had barbed hooks on the underside of its leaves and stems. Known as Bush Lawyer by the settlers (due to it grabbing you and not wanting to let go), the Maori name is tātarāmoa. Similar to a rose plant, the fruit resemble blackberries and tea can be made from the leaves.

The final descent into Takahue valley was steep and treacherous. The Stick helped with balance and nearby trees provided hand-holds. Half-way down I noticed that I was no longer on the trail. Peering from side to side I couldn’t make out any of the orange triangles that mark the way. Back-tracking solved that problem. A few hundred metres later I popped out of the bush and was rewarded with views of Takahue. Rolling pasture opened spread far with fences criss-crossing the fields. Patches of pine forest mixed things up.

The trail now ran alongside a fence that traversed the slope, dividing forest from private grazing land. I spotted Tutu growing and cut a branch off to take home. Boiled until the water goes black, I’d make a foot-bath from it to help heal my tendons. It’d have to be handled with extreme caution though, because if ingested the powerful poisons within can kill. In New Zealand this shrub is responsible for many sheep and cows rolling over dead.

Walking that last stretch I suddenly felt naked. The Stick! I ran back up the trail and found it lying next to the Tutu shrub. That was the second time I’d slipped away that day. I’d also left it just further on the previous week, when exiting from another nearby walk. It seems that The Stick liked that forest and wanted to stay behind. Well tough! I’m going to keep carrying the bastard for another few months still.

The trail ended at Diggers Valley Road, and a sign put up by Sabrina told of the next road section being closed due to a logging operation. A rumbling truck kicked up a load of dust as it passed, emphasising the message. I’d have to leave that part of the walk for another time.

I started walking the gravel road towards Pete’s. Luckily a guy on a dirt-bike picked me up, saving me another 7-8km. My feet ached by now, no surprise considering I’d halved the allotted 8 hours walking time down to under 4. It made me even more determined to cut further weight from my pack.

Next up – The Raetea Forest – an even bigger and wilder, rainforest resembling expanse.

There’s little chance of New Zealand’s forests being wiped off the map in the foreseeable future. But many others face that very problem. De-forestation in Borneo is happening at an alarming rate, threatening the unique species and tribal people that call those rainforests home. Cambodia’s remaining jungles are plagued by illegal logging and poaching. If action isn’t taken now then future generations will only be able to experience these vital habitats through history books. To help preserve these threatened forests, please visit my donations page.

Hike route 1407212 – powered by Wandermap

Written on February 6th, 2012 , Journey So Far, Northland Tags: Bush Lawyer, Herekino Forest, Kauri, kauri dieback, New Zealand, NZ north to south, Peter Griffiths, Takahue, tataramoa, Te Arai, Te Araroa trail, tutu

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