Noelle McCarthy: Something spooky in Tuhoe land

Something in the air.

I read with a shudder about the so-called guerrilla training camps hidden deep in Te Urewera National Park. Not on account of the camps themselves; the idea of Tame Iti and a lot of crusties running around the bush in cammo gear doesn't exactly freeze the blood. Rather I was thinking about what else might be lurking in those mountains. I made an accidental visit to the Land of Tuhoe recently and it is not a trip I will be repeating in a hurry.

Not without my own supply of napalm to hand at any rate.

I hadn't thought myself a stranger to the region before then. I've had more than one good time in Gisborne and taken at least two breakfasts in that hairy café where they play the trance music in Napier. Hawkes Bay in particular is a blessed part of the world, so bountiful and gorgeous I'm surprised visitors ever deign to abandon it for the dubious charms of Auckland and a photo in Metro magazine. But just as every rose has its thorn, every yin its yang, every Pippa her Paul, so too does the East Coast have its dark side, and on the other side of the lovely looking glass are the deep forests and lowering hills of Tuhoe, as my road trip revealed.

It was a perfect scenario. Two girls in a borrowed VW fitted out with a selection of refreshing carbonated beverages and a mix CD starring Bonnie Tyler. We were ready for the road. Suddenly that long straight barrel from Napier to Taupo just wouldn't do. We needed a distraction, we wanted excitement. What about following that road out of Napier to Rotorua? Look it even goes through mountains! And there's a lake as well. Pretty! Of course we were asking for trouble. But off we went, over green hill and dale, past the frolicking spring lambs of Wairoa. The unsealed road, when we hit it, was the first (literal) jolt to our sensibilities. Still, we pressed on in the trusty Golf, climbing higher into the mountains, Bonnie blaring lustily all the way. When we finally reached the highest point and looked out over the full extent of Lake Waikaremoana I felt like bursting into applause. The enormity of it! The blueness! I was rendered speechless by The Nature. Not surprising, considering the closest I come to it usually is the plant centre on Ponsonby Rd. We got back in the car and continued on along the unsealed road and I think it was shortly after that I first began to feel afraid. Leaving the lake and its tasteful trappings of tourism behind, it felt as though we were driving away from a place of safety and into something else entirely. A typical knee-jerk from two pampered Jafas perhaps, but a definite sense of foreboding took hold.

Afterwards we couldn't quite be sure how long it took us to get over those hills. Two hours, possibly three. Bonnie bit the dust pretty early in the piece, music didn't seem appropriate. We tried talking, telling each other stories, laughing at how much we'd have to drink if we lived here, and what we'd do if we ran out of cigarettes. But that didn't last either. Eventually we gave up and drove on in silence, past empty fields of rushes, the atmosphere growing ever more oppressive. The welcome committee provided by the Land of Tuhoe didn't much temper the unease. A crazy looking bull lurched out onto the track and made a half-hearted go at the bonnet. He was followed by a young boy on horseback (trainers, no saddle) who slowed down to eyeball us as we drove past. Most terrifying of all, the sight of a stillborn foal lying in a perfect crumple in the ditch.

I do not consider myself a particularly spiritual or sensitive person. I've never dreamt something that later came true, never picked up the phone knowing who would be on the other end. I've never even had my cards read. But as we drove for hours over that hidden old place we locked our doors and rolled up the car windows, as much to keep everything else out as to keep ourselves safely within. When we left those mountains behind us the shift in our mood was as palpable as the car changing gears. Hitting the straight road into Rotorua we dissolved into the hysterical laughter of relief. Months ago, I interviewed Tame Iti for TVNZ's Frontseat. Grinning he told me if it was up to him, he'd mount sentries on horses and seal off his beloved Land of Tuhoe so that none could pass through.

After that little tiki tour I say he's welcome to it, mad, sad, beautiful place that it is. The fact that that little white line between Napier and Rotorua isn't already marked "Here be Dragons" is an oversight by the ordnance survey department I'm sure.