Doug Hamilton
It really is New Zealand’s fault that I’m now seemingly obsessed with sea kayaking. After all, it was the place where my wife, Teresa, and I had originally discovered the wonders of the sport. Three years ago, we punctuated our month-long bike trip across New Zealand with two short kayak trips; one in the Bay of Islands on the North Island and one in the Marlborough Sounds on the South Island. Our appetite had been whetted and since then, we’ve paddled parts of Georgian Bay, the north shore of Lake Huron, Vermont, and Northern California. But doing more extensive paddling in that magical place where we first put paddles to water had been extremely alluring to us, so when we planned a repeat trip to the South Pacific this year, we made sure we gave ourselves more time to paddle.
Our second trip to New Zealand was going to be different from our first. Although we love cycle touring, we decided that this time we’d spend more time hiking and kayaking, and less time on our bikes. We made a conscious choice to experience New Zealand from the water and from the tramping trail, as well as from the more familiar highway and mountain road.
Like last time, our journey began in mid-December with a flight into Auckland on the North Island. This time, however, we aimed our heavily laden bikes eastward and headed towards the marvelous playland of forest, mountains and beaches known as the Coromandel Peninsula, which juts out into the Hauraki Gulf and separates the Firth of Thames from the Pacific Ocean. The Lonely Planet Guide to New Zealand describes the Coromandel Peninsula as a “rugged, densely forested region with little flat land, where rivers force their way through gorges and pour down steep cliffs to the sea.” It is a very apt description for an area that seems quite isolated, yet is only a 90 minute drive from New Zealand’s largest city.
We spent the first five days exploring the undulating coastal roads by bike as well as venturing high up into the coastal mountains to do some day hiking. Despite having foot and tire firmly planted on the terra, we were always within sight of the craggy coastline, numerous sandy beaches, and many sub-tropical islands that dot the azure blue water of the Pacific Ocean. It didn’t take us long to go looking for our first kayak adventure.
We had heard that the coastal town of Whitianga is a boater’s paradise. The town rimmed a four kilometer expanse of white sand beach and its harbour was well protected from the elements. On most days, it provides a safe departure point for exploring the many coves, estuaries and islands of Mercury Bay, one of Captain Cook’s favourite ports-of-call during his many trips to chart the waters and landforms of eastern New Zealand. Whitianga is a very pleasant little town whose population swells tenfold during the Christmas Holidays as Aucklanders in the tens of thousands trade business suits for bathing suits. Luckily for us, the town was quite placid the week before Christmas!
Being still relative novices at kayaking and not knowing the local waters, we opted to find ourselves a guide who would take us exploring, instead of going solo. We arranged an evening paddle with Arnold who operates his Mercury Bay Sea Kayaking business from a Toyota van and kayak trailer. This gives him maximum flexibility to start his trips wherever the “good water” is at the time. It also meant that we could be picked up directly at our campsite.
As it turned out, Arnold’s preferred starting point was experiencing unusually heavy surf and, despite our efforts to find a place where we could avoid the worst of the imposing breakers, they found us anyway and we proceeded to get our first lesson on kayaking into metre-high surf. Before we started, Arnold spent some time teaching us to read the waves for recurring patterns. The waves were bunched in threesomes and if we timed our paddling well, we’d be able to punch through the relatively “quiet” water between sets. I volunteered to put the theory into practice. Unfortunately, my timing was a bit off and my bracing skills were quite rusty after a six-month hiatus. My boat broached on the third wave I hit. The waves toppled my kayak and unceremoniously spat me out of the surf like a stringy piece of inedible gristle. With my slightly bruised ego and my half-submerged kayak in tow, I waded back to our starting point to regroup and refocus. My wife looked at me with some trepidation. She was probably wondering what unanticipated excitement awaited when it was her turn. Arnold, with the patient expression of an experienced teacher, offered some more advice, “You might want to try attacking the waves a little more aggressively so you’ll punch through them next time.” Hmmm . . . it sounded like good advice. I hoped it worked. Fortunately for my tender male ego, my second attempt was more successful. I timed my entry into the surf better and “attacked” the breakers. After paddling 200 metres I had successfully cleared the surf zone and could turn my boat around to watch my wife’s exploits. Teresa, with her substantial athletic prowess, tends to excel in this type of pressure situation. As I expected, she made the surf entry look easy and quickly paddled along side of me. “Glad to see you learned from my mistakes,” I cheekily commented.
We spent the rest of the evening exploring the coastal waters of Mercury Bay. Korea, or blue, penguins ignored us as they searched for small fish at the bay’s mouth. These eight-inch, beautifully coloured birds are the smallest members of the penguin family. After unsuccessfully trying to snap a photograph of two of these elusive swimmers, we turned our attention to the incredible views of Whitianga from the centre of Mercury Bay. We gazed back towards the beach where the setting sun was painting a mural of pastels over the mountains behind the town. Watching the wisps of white cloud hugging the tops of mountains across the bay, it is easy to see why the first Maori settlers called New Zealand Aotearoa, the “Land of the Long White Cloud.” Eventually, we headed closer to land and followed the coast back to the beach. Colonies of seagulls squawked noisily as they made their last swoops over the rocks for the evening. We gazed longingly at the abundant mussels that attached themselves to the shoreline rocks and wondered whether they’d be our prizes at the next day’s fish market.
Below the brilliant sky, we could see large white cliffs that overlooked the town across the mouth of the Whitianga harbour. Arnold informed us that before Captain Cook arrived here, the cliffs had housed a large Maori pa (fort) that was well protected on three sides. However, a neighbouring tribe had attacked the fort and killed most of its defenders and dispersed the tribe. Today the site is a local park with guideposts that describe the fort’s main features. According to Arnold, many of the local Maori still consider this site tapu, or sacred, and refuse even to walk there.
As the last light of day was squeezed from the incandescent sky, we let the wind and a favourable current carry us gently back to port. Despite my initial dunking, the evening was a wonderful way to re-introduce ourselves to the sport we had first enjoyed here three years ago. We eagerly anticipated our next opportunity to paddle.
Less than a week later, we headed inland for a different kind of kayaking adventure. Our journey included three bus rides and 400 kilometres of undulating green hills dotted with sheep and cattle through the prime farming area known as King Country. We had booked ourselves into a campground in Okahune on Christmas Eve, a quaint resort town in the shadow of Mt. Raepahu on the edge of Tongariro, New Zealand’s first National Park. Raepahu’s current placid state belied its recent eruption two years earlier that restlessly spewed ash and steam across the central plateau and, effectively, cancelled the ski season. Our plan was to restock our supplies in Okahune and spend Christmas Day riding the bountiful mountain roads and trails before our next water adventure, kayaking the historic Wanganui River.
Unfortunately, we awoke Christmas Day to the sound of rain and wind beating incessantly against the side of our tent. As a result, we cancelled our plans for riding and spent the day huddled in our shelter planning our Wanganui trip.
Our journey down the Wanganui was technically not a “sea” kayak trip but the idea of negotiating a river that winds its way through forest-clad mountains and steep-sided gorges for three days sounded too attractive to pass up. The Wanganui River travels 329 km from its headwaters on the plateau surrounding Mt. Tongariro to the city of Wanganui, a port on the Tasman Sea. A good part of the river’s journey is through the Wanganui National Park, a wilderness area devoid of major roads and bisected by the river. Historically, the river had been a key route for commercial and pleasure travel by both the Maori and the Pakeha, the Europeans who first settled in New Zealand. Before roads and railroads connected the towns and cities in the south with the large cities of Hamilton and Auckland, the river had been the key route into the central interior. Now, the river serves as a base for recreational canoe, kayak, and jet boat operators who have capitalized on the burgeoning market in New Zealand for ecotourism and wilderness trips.
Our trip was going to be a paddle down an 87 km stretch of river known as the “Wanganui Journey.” In the early 1990’s, this voyage was added to New Zealand’s “Great Walks System” – a series of wilderness trips through various national parks across New Zealand.
Sunrise on Boxing Day brought the return of excellent weather. We were greeted by a brilliant golden sun and a cloudless sky. In fact, this weather would stay with us for our entire trip down the river. After breaking camp, we arranged a pick-up from Alan and Beth, who run an outfitting company not far from Okahune. Alan drove us back to his farm where we selected our boats and packed away our cycling gear in the back of his barn. Over the phone, I had been skeptical that all of our gear would fit in the stern of the four metre plastic kayaks, but Alan showed us how to pack them expertly with four dry bags each to preserve buoyancy and maintain boat balance. Beth then took us by van to the tiny riverside hamlet of Whakahoro, where we would commence our trip. Even this part of our trip was stunning. We descended from the plateau via a winding gravel road that snaked its way through lush forest and pastureland. Our considerable descent was on a road, that at times, was little more than a rocky trail that clung to the side of sandstone cliffs and offered panoramic views of the river gorges below. Luckily, car traffic heading in the opposite direction was very light, although we did have to share the narrow road with large flocks of sheep that a local farmer was moving from one paddock to another.
As we approached the boat ramp at Whakahoro , we wondered how the mini-monsoon from the day before had affected the river. We had been warned that, because the river drains such a large area of the central plateau of New Zealand, it could rise incredibly quickly. As it turned out, the rain had resulted in about a three metre rise in the water level, which translated into a faster current but fewer tricky rapids to negotiate. I had purchased a guidebook that detailed almost all of the more than 100 sets of rapids we could anticipate over the length of our trip. These rapids were mostly grade one or two and we were informed that the journey was easy enough to be enjoyed by beginner and veteran alike. We were relieved to learn this, as our whitewater paddling was limited to a one-day outing on the Saugeen River south of Owen Sound.
Due to the river’s speed, our main challenge was trying to land our boats at the riverside campsites as we fought the fast moving water. Another challenge was avoiding snags and submerged rocks as we made our way downstream. Fortunately, park rangers have cleared most of the really dangerous snags from the shoreline but we had to be constantly vigilant in our search for logs and rocks that could potentially pin our boats or snap them in two. Our first lunch spot featured remnants of previous mishaps – various parts of fibreglass canoes that were an eerie reminder not to take the river too lightly.
Because we were in the middle of the busy Christmas Holiday season, we were not sure how busy the river would be. We were pleasantly surprised to have few encounters with other kayakers and canoeists. We looked forward to camping alone out along the river and therefore avoided the busy sleeping huts, maintained by the park and spaced about a day’s paddle from one another, that attracted most of the other boaters. We found the other campsites almost deserted. These were situated at least 20 metres above the river level to keep campers dry during floods. We heard from one park ranger that at times even these heights were not safe from the floods.
Beth also had warned us to give the few jet boats that plied the river a wide berth. Although they would try to avoid encounters with kayaks and canoes, their steering ability in rapids was limited. Fortunately for us, the whine of their jet engines gave us plenty of time to move to the sides of the gorge to avoid direct encounters. Other river trippers were not so lucky. As we set up camp on our first night, a life jacket and food cooler floated by in the main current of the river. Teresa and I looked at each other with some uneasiness and shock. We learned later that a large inflatable raft had capsized when the wash from a jet boat had panicked its occupants. The capsize had scattered gear in every direction. Fortunately, no one was injured but the group was still recovering barrels of clothes, food, and other supplies two days later.
We spent most of our time on the river gazing at the walls of steep-sided gorges, exploring the many tributaries that emptied into the Wanganui, and watching for the wild goats and wood pigeons that are abundant within the park during the day. At night, we heard the cries of the moorepork owls and the chatter of possums as we drifted off to sleep. The native bush consisted of dense forests of broad-leafed trees and abundant ferns that had reclaimed the land from earlier attempts to settle and farm this region. We also spotted the remains of many former Maori pas and kaingas (villages) as we made our way downstream.
One of the reasons I wanted to do this trip was to visit the “Bridge to Nowhere.” Pictures of this bridge that I had seen on our last trip to New Zealand had intrigued me. The Bridge to Nowhere had been built in 1936 as part of a road that led to the river from the high plateau. It spanned a deep gorge over a river that eventually made its way to the Wanganui. The road was intended to open this area up to farming and increased settlement in the years after World War I. However, isolation, floods, road washouts, and poor soil fertility eventually took its toll and the farms, and the road, were abandoned. The bridge now juts out of the surrounding fern-covered forest like some silent monument to the efforts of these past generations. Today, the only way to find the bridge is to take a 40 minute hike through dense bush along the remnants of the old road to the gorge. This was definitely one of the highlights of our adventure!
Another highlight was finding a privately run campsite that featured an outdoor shower built into the side of a large hill. The shower was extremely well timed. Teresa and I had managed to encrust ourselves in mud trying to drag our boats up the riverbank to a safe stowage area. We learned rather quickly not to struggle too much as the mud was like thick quicksand. It quickly gobbled up our surf shoes as we sunk into the waist-deep quagmire. Ropes anchored into the banks eventually enabled us to pull ourselves free and make our way up the six metre bank with our loaded kayaks in tow. It was not the type of exercise we relished after having kayaked 32 kilometres that day!
The only other inhabitants of the campsite were Dave and Jeanette, a seventyish couple from the city of Wanganui. After we had set up our tent and gulped down our well-deserved dinner, Dave strolled over to invite us for tea and dessert. We learned quickly that they have spent much of their summers over the last 40 odd years camping out along the river. Dave is an avid outdoorsman and has spent many a season hunting deer and wild goat in the local mountains. I was fascinated by his stories of lugging freshly-killed full-sized does and bucks on his back across the tops of the local mountains as had made his way back to his hunting camp. I remembered reading in the Lonely Planet Guide that hunting deer and wild goats in the park is actually encouraged because these animals are so efficient at killing the native vegetation. This is a concern for an island nation with many unique species of trees and plants.
Dave and Jeanette’s portable “camp” would put many established Ontario cottagers to shame. We were truly amazed that they packed a double bed, a mini-fridge, a porta-potty, a full-sized woodstove, a chest of drawers, various chairs and other assorted items into the back of a jet boat and then negotiated 30 kilometres of rapids upstream to get to their campsite! Some folks will go to any extreme to get away from their neighbours! Nevertheless, this lovely couple kept us thoroughly entertained for the rest of the night with stories of their exploits over their many years of visiting this river.
Our third day on the river featured several tricky rapids interspersed with long sections of meandering water. The generally slower current here gave us much time to dawdle as well as mentally prepare for the next set of rapids. It was quite the adrenalin rush finally to negotiate the turbulent sections after anticipating the furor of these rapids for the previous two days. Although the Wanganui is classed as only grade two, the sheer volume of water of this great river, especially after heavy rains, made for a sometimes daunting experience. We knew, however, that we would be much more proficient sea kayakers after this experience. Our skills of anticipation, manoeuvering, bracing and ferrying had been greatly enhanced. Most important of all, we had learned to remain calm and confident in adverse conditions while demonstrating the healthy respect that any large body of water deserves.
We eventually left the bush-topped gorges, and the river valley opened up to reveal broad vistas of predominantly Maori-owned farmland. As we came closer to the boat ramp at Pipriki, our final destination, we saw increasing signs of civilization like eel weirs and jet boat docks along the side of the river as well as small cattle ranches on the banks above.
Despite our need to discover the special magic of solitude along the river, it had been experiences like the evening with Dave and Jeanette that made our entire New Zealand experience so memorable. The incredible Kiwi hospitality was one of the main reasons we were drawn back for a return trip to this country.
With three days of incredible scenery and vigorous paddling firmly entrenched in our memories, we made our way by bicycle and train to the South Island where we had planned further kayaking adventures – this time in bigger boats and on bigger seas! A future article will feature descriptions of these sea kayaking experiences.