Beaches - and a bit of history

Having a birthday in February in the UK usually involves going somewhere wearing wellies and thermals.  Not so here.  Peak summer time, and this year we are having what is being hailed as the best summer in 175 years – which is as long as records go back.  Great for everyone, of course, except farmers and those without piped water.  It hasn’t rained with any purpose since just after Christmas.

This year my birthday fell on a Thursday.  Undeterred Roy took Friday off and booked us into a superb boutique B&B about 2.5 hours north of Auckland, just north of Whangarei.  East coast.  Pacific Ocean stuff.  In a district called Glenbervie, boasting New Zealand’s only Scottish dry stone walls.  

 [Lupton Lodge, a delightful boutique B&B]

[Not your typical Kiwi scene - Scottish dry stone wall encircles the pool.

Could easily be the UK]

Not surprisingly we have a sense of déjà vu as we enter the area.  This could be Somerset, but for the usual juxtaposition of names – we’re in Lupton Lodge, on Ngunguru Road, on the Tutukaka coast, in the Glenbervie district.  We head for Matapouri beach, as advised by our neighbour who spent many a childhood summer there, and then walk 20 minutes up hill and down dale to get to Whale Beach, a delightful tucked-away beach with crystal clear water. Perfect for a picnic, a swim and time with my Kindle…

 [Matapouri Beach, on the Tutukaka coast]

[Roy, emerging from his swim.  Very Ursula Andress, or rather Sean Connery!] 

[Whale Bay, secluded and surrounded by bush. Access on foot only]

Then this weekend we decide to head out west.  Ooh.  There be dragons…   Auckland is divided into ‘westies’, those who live in the Eastern ‘burbs (that’s us) and those on the north shore (across the bridge).  Don't think central city dwellers are included; nor those living in the south, come to that....  The west be wild, apparently.  It isn’t far in kilometres (we don’t do miles here), maybe 50km, but it takes an hour and a half, nonetheless, the last 25 minutes on unsealed track where the dust kicks up and covers trees and cars alike.  Through dense bush we catch glimpses of the Tasman sea.

Our destination is Whatipu (pronounced Fahtipoo), a remote beach with a history, at the southern end of the Waitakere Ranges Regional Park, beyond Titirangi and Huia.  It lies at the mouth of the Manukau harbour, near the treacherous bar.  

[The entrance to Manukau harbour, south Auckland]

In 1863 the bar did for HMS Orpheus, whose captain seems to have used an old chart and ignored local advice.  189 sailors lost their lives as a result, the worst maritime disaster in New Zealand’s history.  Roy attended the 150^th commemorative ceremony a few weeks ago.  Memories are long.  It still rankles that the Admiralty refused to accept an officer’s culpability and placed the blame on the local harbour pilot instead.  Whatipu Sands are now part of a Scientific Reserve, preserving them in perpetuity.

[Whatipu Sands]

[Ninepin rock with Lighthouse atop, Whatipu Sands]

Swimming is not advised, but there’s plenty of fishing going on.  Even on a calm day we can see the breakers on the bar.  The sea has retreated about 1km from the volcanic cliffs.  Sea caves are now high and dry, and filled with the dark grey volcanic sand seen all along this coast.  One of them used to be the venue for local dances, when the area was being heavily logged for kauri in the 19^th century. The words ‘rugged’ and ‘windswept’ come to mind, though triffid-like flax and (curiously) gorse persevere and straddle the sandy paths .

[The largest sea cave remaining] 

[A veritable 'sea' of volcanic sand nearly fills what was once used as a dance hall]

[The Tasman Sea (from the caves) breakers from the bar clearly visible]

[Triffid-like flax]

We save our swim for Cornwallis beach, further inside the vast harbour.  Even so I have an eye out for a shark fin.  We are all still reeling from the death of a local swimmer at Muriwai, just up the coast from Whatipu, only a week ago.  The first shark fatality here since the 1970s. 

Cornwallis, too, has a history.  In 1838 it was touted in England as a ‘magnificent Scottish settlement’.  For a hundred pounds you could buy an acre of land in the town itself, plus 100 acres of land outside; it also bought you passage on HMS Brilliant, and guaranteed wages for a year.  Yeah, right!  After 301 days at sea the first 27 settlers arrived to find ….. nothing!  No town, no houses, no jobs.  Just bush.  What a con.  They made a settlement of sorts, anyway, led by the intrepid Lachlan McLachlan, to whom there is now a striking monument up on the hill.  In spite of the timber mill and pub the settlement was unsustainable and closed three years later. In 1903 John McLachlan donated the land for a national park, in honour of his grandfather.

[Cornwallis beach, definitely tamer.  

The gap in the far cliff holds the McLachlan monument]

Living in Auckland it's easy to forget how unrepresentative of the rest of New Zealand it is.  It's good to break out at times and walk (and swim) on the wildside for a bit :)