On the beaches and under the water of Aotea Great Barrier Island, there are secrets to uncover writes Chloe Tonkin.
The coves of Palmer's Beach on the east coast, near my partner's family home, are built to hide mermaids, sea creatures and forgotten treasure.
We snorkelled its bottle-green waters in search of life, diving deep into a large rock pool, and startling a sleeping octopus who peered angrily at us through one, bottomless black eye. I understood his frustration.
We had disturbed his peace, disrupted the quiet. His joy in being still for a moment had been taken away. After six months in a busy new job, I could relate. I had come to this little pocket of New Zealand for the same reason; to disappear for a moment.
Great Barrier Island, the largest and most seaward of the Hauraki Gulf islands, has been home to my partner's family, the Grays, for over a century. It is also the home of mountains, multi-day tramps and rocky coves.
A plethora of never-ending adventures makes it the perfect playground for pirates, lost boys and everyone in between. But thanks to its empty beaches and limited phone reception, Aotea also offers its locals and visitors something different; the opportunity to take life slowly. To breathe.
I've had the good fortune of visiting Aotea more than once. My introduction to this baby-banana shaped island was by foot, when I hitch-hiked from Tryphena Wharf to Port Fitzroy via Mt Heale and the Aotea Track.
The second experience was alongside friends, when we danced our jandals off at the Wingman Festival at Claris Sportclub. This time, after the long and ludicrous lockdown of 2021, I wanted to relax and live like a local for a week. As our plane came to land softly on the grass alongside the airport runway, I finally let out the breath I had been holding in for months.
Three generations of the Gray family live closely together, atop a group of cliffs that offer unbeatable views of Palmer's Beach. From Nana and Grandad's living room windows, we spied the shadows of hammerhead sharks and bronze whalers moving slowly through the waters we planned to swim in. We spent ages each day with Granddad Gray's binoculars, watching the neighbours ride their horses through the waves and distinguishing the outlines of sharks from stingrays.
Claris, a nearby hub of small shops and cafes where three of the Grays work, is also close to Palmer's Beach and the ever-popular Medlands Beach. Claris itself is home to Great Barrier Island's Community Heritage and Arts Village. Here, we appreciated the local art and explored the Gray House, built 100 years ago.
The house, where Granddad Gray lived as a child with his parents and five siblings, was built by his father from the wreckage of the SS Wiltshire. The British steamship was destroyed on arrival at Rosalie Bay in May 1922. Hugh Gray and his brother, Frank, helped to rescue every one of the 113 people on board, and the ship's cat, before using the discarded timber to build the family home you can still view today.
Down the road from the Gray House is My Fat Puku, a little garden cafe where my partner's sister works. The sweet and tangy flavours of the cafe's feta and caramelised onion tart were very welcome one day after an afternoon walk, washed down with one of the cafe's excellent coffees. On Friday nights the staff serve up all the ingredients required for a leisurely evening out with family and friends; home-brewed beers and wood-fired pizzas.
Kai can be costly to import to the island, and often takes a while to arrive. Wherever possible, island dwellers grow and catch their own, which means boundless local produce. Right next to My Fat Puku, in the grounds of the small radio station, you'll often find my partner's father selling his white, red and purple potatoes. We enjoyed them for Christmas dinner, with freshly caught crayfish, and seasoned with little more than a splash of olive oil, and a pinch of salt.
We spent a day helping my partner's cousin gather seafood, pulling pink and briny paua shells from rocks, their black flesh sliced into strips and seasoned with garlic and coconut cream, or kept whole to be eaten as steaks. The creamy insides of kina are best extracted from their spiny shells and supped straight from the sea, when their rich flavour will melt inside your mouth.
A walk along the Gray Road to Claris unearthed the island's secret snapshots of beauty. The quiet roads were lined with eucalyptus, pine trees, karamu and invasive Spanish heath, through which we caught glimpses of the ocean, bruise-brown hilltops and pastel-coloured hives busy with bees. The warm island air was scented by the flowers these bees seek, the mean and prickly mānuka, and its kinder cousin, the kānuka.
Although some pest plants remain on Great Barrier Island, it is mostly free of animal pests making it a sanctuary not only for the locals and tired visitors like myself, but for native birds and wildlife that do not wish to be disturbed. Sounds like the clacking together of magnets rattle through the trees, signalling the presence of kākā, and electric blue kotare (kingfishers) pose as if for a photograph. Blink for a second, and they'll be gone. Just like my time on the island.
Feeling more peaceful and at home than I had in months, and as if I had finally disappeared to a place beyond anybody's reach, it was time to go back to the fast pace of Auckland life. I felt about as happy about the prospect as an octopus thrown out of water.
For more things to see and do on Great Barrier, go to greatbarrier.co.nz
For more travel inspiration, go to newzealand.com/nz.
Check traffic light settings and Ministry of Health advice before travel at covid19.govt.nz
