PIHA

"Travels in the west coast of New Zealand"

FRIDAY 10th APRIL

The drive to Piha was a quiet and ominous. Tina and I had made an unspoken agreement to remain in �silent mode� for the duration of the trip, having found ourselves still annoyed at each others actions the night before at the �end-of-term� drinkies. When we passed the last of the tangled trees at first caught sight of the ocean and the majestic �Lion rock�. We both seemed to relax. It had been quite some time since we had the opportunity to �get away from things� and both of us were determined to enjoy the break

The Piha domain campsite was some hundred meters from one of the best west coast surf beaches (though neither of us had waves on our minds). We had come to relax and perhaps explore some of the numerous walking tracks available. Our Hosts, Gerry and Melanie Boortman were only new to the area. Another camper, and elderly gentleman with his grandchildren, had conveyed his indifference toward them as we cooked dinner later that night. Melanie informed us that we could pick our site, and $32 dollars (for 2 nights) later we started the car only to immediately return to disturb Mel a second time. Tina had noticed the multitude of unoccupied caravans that littered the grounds and we had decided to indulge in a little luxury. Mel informed us that all the caravans were booked until Saturday night.

We decided to rough it in our tent for the night and move into the warm haven of a caravan for the next two nights. After driving around the grounds, we noticed there were only a few tents erected. Apparently most of the patrons preferred comfort to adventure in a tent. We settled for a tree-lined clearing near the toilet block but we found we had inadvertently selected the closest site to the camps only water pump. During the afternoon, the noise had paled next to that of the neighbours children (who were jumping up and down on a sheet of metal in a challenge to see who could make the most noise. )

When it grew darker, however, we were to realise how truly annoying the rhythmical pumping of water could be. But we were not to know that there would be far noisier things in the night yet to come. When we had set up our tent (a task we are becoming quite apt at) we went for a quick exploration of our new surroundings. Across the field were two other tents belonging to a couple of young surfers and their girlfriends. Tina wondered if the girls parents knew where they were. Three unsuccessful tries, all ending in her sprawled out on the grass whilst her boyfriend watched on in a drunken stupor.

We still had quite some time before the obligatory �dinner-time� so we moved our explorations down to the beach and the mountainous �Lion Rock�, so named due to its uncanny similarity to the king of the beasts. Tina couldn�t see it, she said it was simply a �big rock�. Two girls took the last few steps of their decent of the rock as we passed it. Tina inquired as to the ETA topside. "15 minutes" was the reply. Both of us heard 50 and we decided to wait until tomorrow to attempt the climb. It was nearly 6pm amd the sun was slowly vanishing beyond the distant waves creating a deeeelitefully romantic sunset. We walked the beach hand in hand and talked about the night before. We spoke of our fears and regrets, and of our love. Now that we had made up, things were seeming a whole lot better.

The kitchens were well lit and a welcome sanctuary from the darkness that was our tent. The torch was sufficient for our needs, but the light wavered, inducing sleepiness (and I never sleep before 12). A longhaired french camper was the only other person in sight, cooking steak and veges and entertaining his little boy. I racked my brain for those �french phrases� I has learned from my stint in the tourist industry, but my addled mind failed me. I made do with a smile before returning to my simple task of stirring that Tina had set me. Dinner was bland and not so satisfying. We opened and mercilessly devoured a packet of crackers upon return to the tent.

We had both brought books with us. The time away from auckland was to be put to good use. I was starting a book by Josie Due entitled �Travels in a strange state�. It was about a young girl who biked around the US. I found myself engrossed and read through 2 sets of batteries before giving in to my sleepiness near midnight. Tina was not so resilient with her Danielle Steele novel "Jewel" and she was out by 9pm.

Suddenly, as if the world had gone mad, we found ourselves upright in our tent. A deafening roar filled the early morning darkness. A shrill pulsating sound, perhaps an alarm, but it seemed to be right outside our tent. Without realising it, we were clutching each other for dear life, both lost as to what to do. Still the noise continued, and now I had regained my bearings and my minds, I jumped out of the tent to discover the noise was originating from across the road. Figures could be seen sprinting about in the shadows. I had imagined some national emergency (perhaps we had gone to war) but after a few minute the noise stopped and , cold and tired, we both climbed back into the tent to drift again into sleep

SATURDAY 11th APRIL

We woke to an overcast west coast sky. The weather report we had listened to days before was becoming less and less convincing. It suddenly occurred to me that the rhythmical drumming of the nearby pump had ceased at some point during the night. Both hungry, we headed to the kitchen with a plastic bag of tinned spaghetti and muffins. Whilst preparing our veritable banquet, we met a young couple with their children who informed us of the previous nights interruptions. Apparently an arsonist had set the university tramping hut alight in the wee hours. Piha has no full-time fire officers but instead provides a vehicle and relies upon volunteers to operate it on a �first-come first-serve� basis. The running figures we had seen several hours earlier, were those diehard action men who probably had been hanging out for such a rare occurrence.

Breakfast was filling, I greedily consumed more than my fairshare of the muffins. Between us we ate our breakfast for 2 days. (I promised to buy a loaf of bread at the first opportunity-A promise I failed to keep) Shortly after, on a trip to the mens room, I was accosted by Mel who told me that our caravan was ready, before rushing off with a mop in hand. Skilfully we disassembled our trusty tent. Once again I marvelled silently at home small it was when packed up, and how quickly it could be converted to that state. More and more I wanted our next OE trip to include additional campsites, rather than so many hostels Tina longs for.

Our caravan was pleasing, a fridge and gas stove were just two of the bonus items contained within its warm and well lit interior. Most exciting of all was the retractable double bed. We has slept (suffered?) on thin deckchair mattresses the night before and we had forgotten to bring pillows with us. This would be a welcome change and we began to feel quite decadent. After a brief examination of the myriad of cupboards and drawers, Tina noticed a trio of export golds hidden in the top of the tiny fridge, perhaps left by the last residents. Silently we thanked our unknown benefactor as we drank his beers and marvelled at how we had �moved up� in the campground hirachy. We decided we were very lucky indeed.

Soon it became apparent that all this luxury had trapped us and we ventured out intent on braving the treacherous �50 minute� climb up the great lion-like guardian of the bay. The plaque at the base of the path proclaimed the rock as a tribute to those soldiers from the Piha area who had died in WWI and II. There were 22 names listed. The walk was quite intense, the beginning being simply chiselled footsteps in the sheer rockface. Once past this initial deterrent, the path was much more inviting. About halfway up we rested. Most of the other weekend mountaineers, who also were making the effort, took their time. It was generally and silently accepted by all, that the climb was a tiring one, so no one seemed supprised to see us puffing and red faced and still only halfway up. It occured to me that perhaps the plaque at the base refered to those who died attemping to get to the top.

After what seemed like 50 minutes (probably closer to 20) we were there. The reward for our effort was a suprisingly good view of the magnificent bay and the thunderous ocean pounding the rocks that line it�s length. We took the time for a few pictures of each other, attempting to convey in the image the height we were above the beach below, and to some degree the effort we had made to attain this height. The walk down was with shaky legs. We were both nearly spent on the way up. Near the base we met three Yugoslavians. We discovered they lived not so far from our house. I decided this was indeed a large rock for such a small world.

From the spendid view above, Tina had spotted what looked like a huge cave in a distant outcropping peninsula far below. She had made it known that it was our mission to seek out this cave. I agreed enthusiastically. To get to our destination we passed the main Piha surfing beach. The waves there were notorious, the beach had a silent and deadly rip that can suck an unweary swimmer out to sea, or worse, to the jagged rocks that adorn the outskirts of the bay. The surf lifesaving club was on duty and we passed two of their unmanned and ready boats on the beach. An indication of the danger this beach hid�

A short walk over the rocks lead us to a sandy outcrop where out cave was. It had seemed enormous from the top of lion rock, but what lay before us was no bigger than me. What appeared to be the entrance of an old abandoned mine mine concealed a disappointing (blasted shut) shaft covered with webs. Knowing this dark dank setting to be agreeable to the native Katipo spider, I avoided any further investigation. Meanwhile Tina had continued around to rocks to the next bay, determined to salvage something of this disappointing venture. I quickly raced after her. In the distance (and beyond a knee deep barrier of rushing water) was the �blowhole�. The jagged rocks that littered the area were the last bastion of the land against the thunderous ocean as the waves crashed down upon them, sending sea spray meters into the air. The ocean would then retreat dragging all it could back into itself before repeating the procedure again. A dangerous area to those who get too close. I suddenly recalled a NZ TV show on which this place featured. I recall the focus being some footage of a young man who foolishly got too close and was snatched away by the sea only to be thrown back upon the rocks again and again. I am sure (in retrospect) the program was about the local lifeguards, as it was them who rescued the unfortunate soul from his fate on the rocks.

Returning toward the campsite (suitably awed by the blowhole) we decided to take a shortcut by wading around the rocks. Little did we realise the ground gave way so quickly underfoot. We were forced to replace our shoes and socks upon our now wet and sandy feet (my pet hate) in order to return across the sharp rocks that were our only retreat. Back at the caravan, Tina decided to rest her weary body and read a few more chapters of her book. I was not yet done with adventure and I decided I would brave the local shop. I arrived as they were near closing. I quickly selected a few items. As I expected, everything was at least twice what would be standard in the city. I grumbled a silent protest as I handed over an unfair and immoral amount for a coke, two magnums and a 30gm pack of Port Royal. On the way out I noticed a local council warning

BEWARE OF THIEVES
Be sure to report any strange activity
to the police. There have been 14 robberies
in the last 2 weeks....

I returned to my sweet Tina anxious to supprise her with ice cream, yet to realise I had forgotten to purchase the bread for dinner and breakfast on Sunday. We decided to settle on noodles for dinner. Relaxing back in comfort, we read our books before drifting of to sleep...

SUNDAY 12th APRIL

Quite actually living up to it�s name, Sunday welcomed us with warm and golden rays. The caravan had made us lazy and we noted the time as being 10-30. A late start, and we had so much to do. A quick breakfast of toast and spaghetti (tina had visited the only local shop whilst I woke up) and we planned our day.

First, a bush walk to the Kitekite falls for a swim (we had become deelited by the waterfalls based on our frequent visits to the Hunua falls for swims) The afternoon at the beach would cap of the first sunny �do stuff� day of our trip. A short drive later we found ourselves at the clearing that contained the starting points of the multiple tracks that weaved their way through the Waitakere forest.

Finding the one that led to our falls, we set off. I carried my pack, loaded with essential supplies and Tina�s cell phone (just in case). The track was in good condition and well signposted. We were surprised to find 2 signs (quite far apart) both stating there was only 15 minutes walking left. They both lied. We met several people on the way, mostly families, but we had the unfortunate displeasure of being stuck behind a family who had decided to bring along Nana and Grandad as a break from the retirement home. The track was difficult toward the end and led to the few rocks that were to be our viewpoint of the falls. Not quite so spectacular as the Hunua falls, but nearly twice as tall.

The water hole at the base looked small, cold and uninviting. After a quick test with my hand, (and the obligatory snapshot) we headed along a not-so-secret track to the top. We had been informed by Melanie of a secret track that would take a hiker to the spectacular views and swimming holes that lay beyond. One swarm of bees and several hundred tiring steps later we reached the destination. The view was excellent , but the many holes looked at cold as those below.

Tina was the first to brave the icy water cheered on by a group of young christians who were resting here to eat their lunch. I was not so brave, and it took the fact that our audience was about to pack up and leave, for me to leap helplessly into the numbing water. Five seconds later I was warming up on the rocks, wrapped in a towel as we both checked out the lovely view.

Suitably warmer, and still considerably wet, we retraced our steps on our near uneventful return to the car. At one point , confidently pacing ahead, I clumsily stepped and twisted my ankle. It can�t have been to bad as I managed the remainder of the Journey.

Back at the car we met an elderly man who was waiting to pick up a group of foreign trampers who were about to leave the country at seven that night. I mused upon the unusual way those people had chosen to spend their last few hours in auckland.

We drove straight to the beach to find it packed with both local surfers and Aucklanders who had driven down for the day. Depositing the car on a grass bank as close to the sand as we could, we walked down to check out the scene. It was windy and cold, perfect weather for the boogie boarders and surfers who crowded the water. Tina declined my offer to have a swim, so I went alone to take on the might of the sea. I was supprised by the strength of the rip and found I could not get more than about 20 meters of the shore (waist deep) before I had to give in to the waves that would push me back toward land, much like a mother punishing an insolent child. Glad of the fun experience, and desperately looking forward to the camp showers, we returned to the caravan.

The showers were bliss, apart from the need to sprint naked across the room to insert another 20 cents when your 4 minutes expired. Feeling much better I went to join Tina, who had surprised me with her recent acquisition of hot chips and a fishburger for me. Munching down the food, we both discovered how tired we were. Tina decided to take a quick nap and I took the opportunity to catch up with my journal.

As the evening approached, pushing away the last traces of light, we both became inspired by the rather bizarre concept of scaling Lion Rock by night. Still unsure who drove this crazy notion, we reached the bottom of the mountainous silhouette. I had seen a flash of light from the midpoint when we had approached along the beach. Apparently we were not the only ones to have this idea.

The initial phases of the climb were difficult, lack of lighting proving indusive to misplaced feet, but we reached the first flight of stairs without mishap. There we met a young man descending, but he had no torch. We were not yet alone. The final stages of the climb was a paranoid one for both of us. Dancing shadows and strange rustling sounds just beyond the edge did little to put us at ease. Finally, just near the peak, we encountered the flashlight I had seen from below. It was being held by a youthful man who was leading his girlfriend down the stairs having finished whatever it was they were doing at the top.

We passed them to claim the peak, feeling like a third rate Hillary and Tensing. The view was disappointing by night. The moon was full, but it had lost all sense of height. The view, however, was not the only reason we had accended so late�..

Some time later we mad out way down the precarious path , lead by flickering torchlight to the beach below. Back in the caravan Tina started the book I had just finished, and I layed back to relax after a hard days physical activity. Tommorrow we would have to vacate our sweet caravan for the next tenants. I had decided (selfishly) not to leave any treats in the fridge for them.

MONDAY 13th APRIL

Waking up late, we were left with little time to welcome the sunny day that was Monday. We had to vacate the caravan by ten oclock and only had 15 minutes left. After a quick clean up, we had the car packed and had a quick breakfast made up of the various leftovers. Finally, we had a last look arround at our home for the last few days. Sadly we accepted the inevitable and we began our journey home....

The Piha domain is located 45 minutes west of Auckland. It is close to large scenic reserves with extensive walking tracks. The breathtaking west coat beach offers opportunies for surfers, swimmers and fishermen alike. The Piha Moter camp has powered sites, tent sites and on-site caravans for hire. We paid 8 dollars a night for a tent, then 15 dollars the second night for a caravan.

Gerry and Melanie Boortman run the Camp
and can be contacted at
Ph. (09) 8128815

Po box 52
PIHA
Waitakere City
AUCKLAND
New Zealand.