The view across the harbour from Omapere. Photo / Supplied
The view across the harbour from Omapere. Photo / Supplied
Helen van Berkel becomes a fan of life on the road as she tours Northland in style.
"If you show me yours, I will show you mine." I was feeling bold. He was an attractive older man. He gestured me to follow him into the soft, golden light. "Oooh," I marvelled. "It's so big!" He smiled modestly. Then it was my turn. "Blond!" he gasped, his hand exploring my curves. "Don't you just love," I whispered, "the way it matches the drapes?" I had left the big reveal to last: "And, it's made in New Zealand!" But he knew that. My new friend, his wife and their companions had owned campervans for years. For me, though, the fact that my Kea was made in New Zealand was quite thrilling. Parts are imported - my knowledgeable friend even knew which parts and spoke in detail about VW this and chassis that - but most of it, from the curved blond veneer cabinetry to the interior design - yes, it all matches in an attractive fashion - to the putting-together of it, is done in Albany. And that's awesome.
I'd picked up the six-berth camper from Albany's RV Supercentre, from where they are sold or rented, the day before. I immediately named her Toot Suite. (She went "toot" and, with her six berths, suede couches, gas stove, fridge, shower and toilet was, well, like a hotel suite on wheels. Plus, she was sweet.) My original plan had been to pack the tent, strap the kayak to the roof of my car and explore the nooks of crannies of Northland for a week. But geography got in the way: ain't no way you see the truckload of goodies that Northland has to offer in a week, then life got in the way. Then the glorious summer sunshine faded to the dreary wet of autumn, along with my dreams of the Hokianga. Then I was offered a Kea camper for a week. All of a sudden the weather mattered nix and I was free to go where I wanted when I wanted.
Armed with a list of must-sees in the north Kaipara-southern Hokianga - I got to do about one in 10 - Toot Suite and I trundled off up State Highway 1. I was a day later than planned thanks to a family member in crisis and the realisation it was a long weekend. I didn't want to be that person dawdling along at the front of a queue of impatient drivers (one of whom would usually have been me) honking and flashing their lights. In fact the most impatient drivers were the big rigs, who rode my bumper like they knew me very intimately indeed - or wanted to - their size limiting me to the rare pull-over spots wide enough for them and Toot Suite to safely fit side-by-side, until they passed by in a whoosh of road mist and mudflaps.
Toot was surprisingly easy to drive. Other road users noticed - I got the thumbs-up from at least two young couples walking about with backpacks on.
First goal was Port Albert and the Minniesdale Chapel overlooking the Kaipara. But I got diverted by a road sign just south of Warkworth pointing to the Harry Parry Kauri Park. On a whim, I swung right and parked outside a cute little museum with army huts from the American occupation during World War II in the front and a pretty little flower garden on the side. I'm more of a walking-under-the-trees kind of girl than a museum girl, so I skirted the impressive kauri presiding over a boardwalk that wound through a grove of native trees and entered the bush. I lived in Warkworth many years ago but I'd never crossed this threshold. Shame. We overlook the extraordinary gorgeousness of our own backyard for the boasting rights of a trip to Bali or Thailand or the United States.
I made a cup of tea before I left - because I could, I wasn't actually thirsty - and trundled off to Port Albert.
A pouwhenua in Northland. Photo / Helen Van Berkel
It took me a while to find it but finally we crested a hill and, oh my, there it was: Minniesdale, the prettiest little chapel you ever did see. Early Albertlanders are buried in its cemetery, their gravestones now crooked and overgrown, the epitaphs worn away. But here it has stood, for well over 100 years, a testament to the hopes and hardiness of people prepared to cross the globe to start a new life and, just maybe, found a nation on the way.
It was getting late by the time I plugged Toot into a power point at the Pahi Campground. And I met the Northlanders for whom campervanning was a passion. I invited myself to dinner and they enthused about the fun they had, travelling when the fancy took them, sometimes together, sometimes alone; taking every side road they met just to see there it went. They were fun, interesting, down to earth and damn fine makers of fresh fish cakes - the best I had ever tasted. I tucked myself in that night hoping it would rain so I could enjoy the sound drumming on the roof but sadly I woke to another day awash in sunshine.
I farewelled my new friends - I saw the boys later all packed into a ute coming back from a fishing trip to Tinopai, and they all waved enthusiastically, looking like naughty school boys bunking off for the day. I wanted to hug those larrikins in their cable knit jumpers and chinos and I hope they'll forgive me for the slightly exaggerated intro.
I skipped the Matakohe Kauri Museum and instead explored the Joseph Gordon Coates Memorial Church next door. The church is a stunning brick edifice with quite the picturesque steeple. On this autumn day, golden leaves dropping from the adjacent oak trees, it is charmingly handsome.
I pushed on to Dargaville, pondering whether to overnight in Baylys Beach, Kai Iwi Lakes, or on the roadside when I spy a volcanic plug on the horizon. I'm a huge rock fan so Toot Suite and I were soon negotiating winding gravel roads and avoiding farmers on quad bikes with their toddlers on the front and pulled up at the foot of Mangaraho Rock. It was sheer, fantastic. I walk a way around it but signs warned that I'd need ropes and equipment to climb it, which I had unfortunately neglected to pack, so I left, nonetheless impressed.
Baylys won as my destination for the night because Kai Iwi dropped from the road signs. I risked driving Toot to the beach as experience still hadn't taught me that just because there weren't warning signs, my decisions were sound. Locals in all manner of vehicles were driving on to the sands but I wasn't prepared to put flash Toot in danger. Having put myself in this ridiculous situation, Toot was much more manoeuvrable than I gave her credit for and, after a quick foray up a private driveway and only a four- or five-point turn, I turned her round and safely parked for the night at the campground.
Although I had expected the outside world to intrude through the thin camper walls, I slept as well as ever and was up bright and early.
I called in at Kai Iwi Lakes (peaceful without summer's madding crowds) and Trounson Kauri Park. I had no intention of going to Waipoua but you can't go to Northland without hugging a kauri, so I stepped into the shadows, planning to admire the trees for a few minutes and left. But as the cool green enveloped me, my soul calmed and I felt the wonderment of a relentless forest quietly thriving. I was drawn to a pale glow in the gloom - a kauri trunk soaring, boughless into the early morning sunshine, the rays reflecting off the white bark. These great trees captivated me and I stayed in their shadows for well over an hour. My tummy was aflutter with anticipation as we neared the Hokianga. Many years ago, I crested Pakia Hill and drank in a view that literally made my jaw drop. Would it live up to my memory? Oh my, yes. The winter sun turned the Hokianga into a plate of silver. My eyes drank in the sand dunes across the bay; the little settlements dotted around the shores. Out to sea, great black banks of clouds roiled, split with lightning. The coming storm put a metallic taste in my mouth and the air was electric. I had just put the camera down when a perfect lightning bolt hit the beach across the channel. I parked at the Omapere Wharf in what was now a dirty mid-afternoon twilight, and raced its length to revel in nature's tantrum, the wind trying to snatch my hair off my head. The sea, so calm just minutes ago was heaving and breaking; the tension in the air was heightening and then everything exploded. Rain! Wind! Thunder! Lightning! Oh joyousness, I was in my element(s)! Finally, bad weather!
A Kea campervan in Northland. Photo / Helen Van Berkel
I abandoned plans to drive to Horeke: bad weather plus unfamiliar vehicle plus metal road equals danger. Besides, Toot needed a nappy change.
I'd been dreading this bit. But it turned out much, much easier than I'd thought. Dump sites are dotted about the place and it was just a matter of plugging in the right hoses, turning little levers and removing a little tank. Everything tidily back in place and topped up with fresh water, we checked into the Omapere Motor Camp.
The only other camper appeared to be a woman travelling in a people-mover. She joined me in Toot for a glass of wine. She was an expat New Zealander, on the road for well over six months, reconnecting with her roots after about 30 years in Australia. The next morning I sang and washed my hair in my high-pressure hot shower, cooked fragrant bacon and eggs on my gas stove, then tucked away my dining table and swept my sun-dappled floor, the radio playing softly in the background.
I had left the Omapere and Opononi well behind me when a warning light pinged on my dash. Oh, dear Lord, I was just about out of diesel. I curse myself as I drove, scaling up to self-flagellation as I was forced to pass the sign to the long-anticipated Wairere Boulders at Horeke and finally, Kaikohe. Many years ago while tanking up a small moving truck I hit a sign warning about over-height vehicles. This sign then hit a lit petrol-station sign, smashing it. I learned an expensive lesson about taking big vehicles into small spaces. Finally convinced Toot Suite was safe after watching a stock truck tank up, we were back on the road - in the direction from which we came.
I hate doubling back but I'd heard so much about the boulders that I wasn't going to miss them. The road was lined with deciduous trees giving an unexpected bonus of autumn colour. It's well signposted, every few kilometres you're assured that you're heading in the right direction. I waited for the one that says "only a stone's throw now" but it doesn't come. Luckily, I met owner Felix Schaad in the carpark and he gave me the spiel about how a lava flow millions of years ago spread across this area and cooled into basalt rock and then broke apart as millennia marched by. Prepare to be impressed. Schaad has put a lot of time and effort into building bridges and walkways so you can get an idea of these massive, massive, massive boulders. I well exceeded my allocated time and my photographs did not do them justice but the boulders are well worth doubling back for.
Well behind schedule now, my next stop was the Ruapekapeka Pa. It was another wicked road and, when I first parked to explore the battle field, I was disappointed. But it was a lovely walk through bush and a carved archway.
Informative Department of Conservation billboards explain that the Maori were outnumbered four to one but, rather than meet the British on their own ground, came to this hilltop where they designed a pa to combat the British on their own terms. Yes, they lost, yet in a way they won. I am angered, once again, that these stories go untold in our schools.
I abandoned my plan to freedom camp here. Dusk had well settled by the time I returned to Toot. Ruapekapeka was eerie and I knew I wouldn't get a good night's sleep among the ghosts, thus I set Toot's headlights towards Whangarei.
I rang the council to ask if it was okay to freedom camp at Whangarei Falls but the after-hours people weren't sure. So I parked, fingers crossed. At about 1am I was awoken by the sound of a rubbish truck emptying the bins and dawn was breaking as a gardening team pulled in. It felt a little awkward to be showering knowing that only a thin skin of aluminium stood between my nakedness and complete strangers but no one bothered me and I emerged to admire the falls. I used my day in Whangarei to catch up with friends, including an old mate who takes as much delight as I do in finding off-the-beaten-track gems such as Ruapekapeka and Hokere. I detailed over coffee what I have seen and was smugly thrilled that he had been to neither, despite having lived there for at least 10 years. But he redeems himself with a recommendation to visit the Parihaka Memorial, the Waipu Caves and the Piroa Falls, at the foot of the Brynderwyns, and Toot and I head south to the caves. A lack of signs led me astray several times and I completely missed the Waipu Cave turnoff - it doesn't seem to occur to anyone that tourists may be coming from the north as well as the south. I'm not sure if it's my annoyance at the number of U-turns I'd had to make but I didn't like the Waipu Caves. Cool rocks, lovely trees but forbidding atmosphere. Darkness was gathering before I could take the falls turn-off, so I took the coward's way out. Toot and I head home, for a sad farewell.
I kick myself over the things I didn't see and I cannot wait to go back to Northland, even if it is in my tent with a kayak strapped to the roof, but especially if it is in a luxury suite like Toot.
