Category Archives: New Zealand

Mar 13

The Volcano on the Beach

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[Photograph: View of The Mount taken from Papamoa Hills]

On the end of a 20km strip of sand, piled with civilization and surrounded by ocean, sits Mauao, the volcano on the beach. 

This spectacular peninsula, known popularly as ‘Mount Maunganui’, is a more recent addition to Tauranga, made directly accessible to the city in 1988 by the harbour bridge. The Mount peak (Mauao is its Maori name) is 761ft high. 

9am and the sun is already beating down upon Mount Maunganui as we walk along Pilot Bay; the harbour glistening on the left; The Mount looming ahead. The volcano itself is extinct, (so they say) and serves locals as a scenic exercise apparatus, and already the regular keep-fitters are jogging up between the trees that line the path. 

A short stretch of steps lead us upwards to a wider footpath, where sheep stand and stare, chewing over-elaborately. The path climbs gently, unveiling a gradual view of the port as we rise above the trees.

We pass through a gate, where the path tunnels beneath a green canopy, getting steeper and steeper as it spirals closer to the peak, stealing the breath from our lungs. The climb grows tough on our calves and just as the lactic acid starts to burn, the trees clear and open out onto a vast screen of blue.

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Glitter beads the surface of the ocean, blending with the clearest sky. Matakana Island slips off the horizon, its white beaches and emerald trees layered against the dusky mountains beyond. The path levels out for a moment, and then we reach The Goat Track.

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A rocky cliff with a vague track carved jaggedly upwards. The sign may as well not be there! Hands and knees in full action, we climb the side of The Mount, keeping our heads from swooning as we glance down the sheer drop to the Pacific ocean below.

Finally, the top is in sight. Staggering up over the edge, and feeling pretty glad to have our feet back on solid ground, we catch our breath, hands on hips and throats thrust at the sky. We pass a random picnic bench (how did it get there?) and under an arch of trees, and before us, a spectacular view unfolds.      

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You can see Mount Maunganui Beach on the left, famous for its surf and 20km stretch of beach. On the right is Pilot Bay, the humble harbour beach, which faces inland towards Tauranga city port. In the distance is Papamoa and the Papamoa Hills rising up from the horizon. Then there’s the little mound of rocks and greenery jutting out from the beach on the left – that’s Leisure Island. You can walk out to the rocks at the end and feel like you’re floating in the sky. 

I touch the trig at the top of The Mount, which marks the highest point, just as a ceremonial ‘I made it to the top’ sort of thing, and then we venture back down again… a slightly more sensible route this time. 

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“Of course, there’s the coming down too” – Tiggers Don’t Climb Trees 

Twisting back around the side of The Mount, feeling almost as though we are about to walk off the edge of the Earth, we give our knees a good pounding, greet some more sheep, and take the scenic route back towards Pilot Bay.  

Many an afternoon has been spent walking around Mount Maunganui, browsing the funky high street; reading on the beach; exploring and mouse spotting on Leisure Island; swimming and people-watching … it’s only three bucks away, or a scenic bike-ride, and the perfect place to be on a sunny afternoon with nothing to do.   

The Mount has a population of around 30,000, and the town is well equipped for young people and holiday makers, with cafes, bars and surf/skate shops lining the ‘mainstreet’. Mount Maunganui Beach thrives from day-to-day with various water sports: surfing; paddle-boarding; kayaking; swimming… and you certainly won’t fail to see a handful of tourists strolling or making their sunbeds on the sand.

Stick around for less than five minutes and you are bound to see hang gliders soar from the top of The Mount: giant arcing shapes that weave and somersault across the sky, landing in a cloud of sand on the beach nearby. In the evenings, the town’s long boarders congregate by the beach and take over the road that eventually leads towards Papamoa, and they skate barefooted without a care in the world.

Mar 8

From Land of the Small Wight Isle to Land of the Long White Cloud

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Sitting in the back of the land rover, sipping a cool L&P’s with the glare of the sun painting the marks on my sunglasses.

Cows grazing on golden grass along the roadside, while blueish black pukekos play chicken with the traffic.

Guitars whine on the radio – another rock god blowngs and twangs to the beat of steering wheel tapping.

The shining mirage of water as the heat rises off the road, shimmering in the sun and vanishing again.

This is New Zealand.

Late February: endless summertime. Of blues and greens like sapphire and emerald, and hazy black mountains on every horizon. Of longboard evenings and paddle board mornings, and gentle strolls in the shallows of the ocean while gulls placidly paddle nearby.

Soon, Autumn will dye the world ochre, and the horizons will be topped with white icing sugar, and the surf will grow fierce and impressive so that only the experts can ride it.

I met a man the other day. I was waiting at the bus stop and he was leaving his house on his pushbike.

“Have you seen the bus go past the other way yet?” he asked. I hadn’t. He told me his name was Rich and he was born just north of Auckland. His eyes were the blue of Paua shell, and he had a tinge of grey in his beard, but he was ageless. He told me about a lake just beyond the Rainbow Mountain; a mountain striped with a paint pallet of rocks and plants. The lake was called Waikaremoana. He’d picked up a German hitchhiker just around the Rainbow Mountain, and they’d carried on until they came across the lake, and they were both rendered speechless. He said it was the most beautiful lake he’d ever seen.

He told me about the time he did the Tongariro crossing in 100kph winds. By passers warned him not to venture up into the mountains, but he bypassed their caution and battled the great force of the weather. The rain lashed at his face and the air blew his weight around, until, losing track of his location, he found himself on a peak, gazing down upon sheer, brilliant blue. It was like he’d climbed to heaven and was looking down upon the sky, he said. He’d stumbled across one of the mountain lakes.

My bus arrived, and with that, Rich bid me a safe trip, and he cycled off.

Later the same day, I was waiting in a cashpoint queue behind a toothless Maori man. He turned to me and asked, “Hey, miss, do you like Bob Marley songs?” I nodded. Naturally. Who doesn’t like Bob Marley songs? The man then told me that he was a busker, and he sang Bob Marley songs for money. He told me his name, shook my hand and asked where I’m from. I told him and he grinned a toothless grin and said, “Well, Jaimie, if I see you in town, I’ll say hi but I shan’t bother you,” and he wished me a good stay in New Zealand and went about his business.

The next day, the toothless Bob Marley fan was working by the bus station – busking, singing songs and asking for a spare bob or two. He saw me waiting for my bus, pointed at me and with a big toothless grin, he waved and moved on.

The sky may be upside down, and north may be the new south, but it is still the same planet; the same sun; the same moon; the same stars.

Only two weeks ago I bid my island farewell; standing atop the red funnel ferry, watching the little seaside town of Cowes growing smaller. Yachts bobbed in the harbour, their rigging clanging against the masts they clung to. The white heads of the waves smashed against the seawall where we walked between shifts at the Yacht Haven. I saw all the pebbles on the beach by the green that I hadn’t skimmed across the sea, and the beacon on the corner, in the void between Gurnard and Cowes, leading beyond which the eye can see, to more secret memories.

It’ll all be there waiting when I return.

But for now…

I AM GOING ON AN ADVENTURE!