“There being nothing else to do, we brewed afternoon tea.”
Episode — 1975
In late September 2008, an uncle sent me a jpeg in email. A photo had been scanned slightly crooked and then mangled by incautious use of the “send as web jpeg” option, but it plunged my memory back 33 years.
Three boys stood in a sunny glade that also held a massive, weathered, wooden pole. One boy leaned nonchalantly against the pole. One boy, in purple togs, stood with his back to the pole and hands on hips. The third, smallest boy, stood on his shoulders, arms crossed. At the top of the picture was some sort of wooden apparatus that looked like a box around the neck of the pole.
Who the other guys were I don't recall, but the guy in the purple togs was me. The jpeg was named “rire-kore-1975-web.jpg”.
Back in the 1970’s, the uncle in question uncle used to shepherd groups of teenagers on summer kayak trips down the Whanganui River. The groups varied widely in size and composition. Most groups were all male, but some were all female, and some were mixed genders if there were members willing and able to chaperone their companions. A typical size was a dozen or so people, ages 14 to 18, with a couple of adults if the group was large. Some were children from hardship, some had disabilities, some were foreign visitors, a lot were boy scouts. I never figured out the process by which the groups were selected.
One year, whose date I had forgotten but which this photo said was 1975, I was chosen for that year’s group. The full circumstances are not clear to me now. Our family planned a stay in Nelson for the Christmas — Summer — holidays. Somehow my siblings were unavailable for the river trip, but I was able to descend the river and then join the family in Wellington to board the interisland ferry.
The fact that the river trip was in 1975 is not as useful as you might think, as it could have been in either December or in January, these being separated by 10 months. In New Zealand at the time, the primary schools broke up for Christmas in the latter half of December, and the secondary schools broke up a week earlier. Schools would recommence in the last week of January or the first week of February. My younger siblings in 1975 were in primary/intermediate, whereas I was in secondary school, so I was available a week before my siblings. This would account for why I was free and they were not.
Assuming the family holiday was four weeks in late December and early January, my river trip most likely happened in mid-December 1975. This deduction could be completely wrong, but it does bind all the available data and it conflicts with none.
Ignoring the minor uncertainty as to date, our group of a dozen, mainly scouts, rendezvoused in Taumaranui, where several double and single kayaks had been assembled. Experienced kayakers were matched with duffers and given doubles; a couple of lucky people got spare singles. I was in a double. We pushed off merrily for a week-long adventure.
My memories of that trip are blurred together now, but I remember my uncle shooting a goat off a ridge with his .303; we ate the goat that night. We paddled down broad, serene reaches with peaks reflecting in the mirror waters. We shot rapids, usually with a lot of shouting, frantic paddling, and fending off foaming rocks. We offered fronds on a rock to the taniwha (water dragon spirit) of the River at one notorious rapid. We swam, stargazed, yarned, learned the lore of the Whanganui, and burned our fingers in cookfires. We had a ball.
We stopped several places for excursions. One of these was Maraekōwhai, 39°02'19.8"S 175°03'48.4"E, where there are two famous Niu poles. The name of the jpeg my uncle sent me suggests we were making a human totem against Riri-Kore, the Peace Pole. If so, it has been greatly repaired and also painted since then. The pole in the jpeg had lost its arms. There is another Niu on the Arimatia Peninsula, 38°56'09.0"S 175°07'24.6"E (location is approximate), just a little further up the River, that looks more like it today (and is still surrounded by trees), but that pole has, and always has had, different upperworks.
We also stopped and explored across the Bridge to Nowhere, which back then really was in the middle of nowhere.
The 1975 trip ended at Pipiriki, and there my uncle left the seniors to manage things while he bundled me into a car and we set off on a mad dash down the single-lane metal-surfaced Whanganui River Road to Wanganui, and onward to Wellington, where I was decanted at the ferry terminal just in time to join the family aboard.
The only other notable memory I have from the time is that in the confusion of boarding I somehow dropped my glasses over the side of the ferry. I had a history of losing or breaking my plastic-framed glasses. After this my mother bought me a metal-rimmed pair, which I still own, though after nearly 40 years of abuse they are no longer particularly wearable.
The Nelson holiday was also great, but I remember little of that, just sunshine, surf and orange trees.
§
In 2008, my uncle mentioned in an email that was otherwise mostly dicussing family history:
I'm due to go up to taumarunui next week doing some historical work, And again with DOC towards the end of October, and another canoe trip in February. I can recommend retirement!
That piqued my interest.
Is the canoe trip down the Whanganui? I could be tempted into a February visit to NZ. Wanganui was easy enough to leave all those years back (with a fat backpack and a slim bank account) but it still has a place in my heart that no other place can fill.
He replied,
As for the river trip - there is ONLY one River! Yes, the Whanganui. Are you interested — seriously —, as I have only the one canoe now and will have to make another.
I was seriously interested, although we soon settled that I could afford and would happily rent a kayak, so there was no need for my uncle to make another. Our correspondence settled into ways and means.
The die was cast.
§
Email, 23 Jan 2009 16:39:
I’m about to be on the road again, probably the last time for a while as once this trip is over I’ll need to start looking for work — assuming I can find any, given the state of the economy.
I fly in to Wellington on the 29th of Jan and fly out of Auckland on the 28th of Feb. I need to be in Taumaranui on the 12th and then from the 13th to the 21st I'll be floating down the Whanganui River. The rest of the trip will be built flexibly around these fixed dates. My planned route (subject to alteration or addition at short notice) is Wellington, Napier, Gisborne, Wanganui, Taumaranui, Wanganui, New Plymouth, Auckland.
§
Note: I grew up calling city and river “Wanganui”. In recent times, fashion has changed. The city is and always will be “Wanganui” to me, though not to everyone, but the River is now “Whanganui”. I have used this distinction to direct purpose in this account. “Whanganui” on its own here is always the River or the district it lies in. “Wanganui” is always the city.
On the evening after writing the above Episode, I discovered the NZ film Pictures, 1981, a fictionalised account of two brothers in early NZ. The movie has a lengthy section set on the Whanganui that gives some idea of how the River was back then.
Contents WellingtonOn the afternoon of the 28th I once again locked up my Footscray flat, shouldered a heavy pack, and set forth. A taxi got me to the airport, and at 18:45, NZ758 took me away. I landed in Wellington at 00:15, 3.5 hours later. I used a taxi to whisk me to my selected accomodation, UStay Urban Apartments in Willis Street (Cumberland House now). I had told them I would be arriving late, and they had someone wait up for me. The building was quite new and my room was relatively small and plain, but the bed was comfortable and everything worked. It was still the 28th in Australia when my head hit the pillow around 1:30 on the 29th.
I woke late in the morning, but taking a scalding shower soon got me started. Walking downstairs, I emerged on Willis St. I don’t recall where I had breakfast; I probably walked across to Cuba Street. Then I went back to my room and unpacked the things I thought I might need.
I came out again about 12:30 and headed south towards the Railway Station. Somewhere along the way I stopped for lunch. At the station, I bought a ticket on an InterCity service to Napier on the Saturday.
Business sorted, I went down to Port Nicholson and took a wander along the old wharves. I admired some statuary and The Boatshed, then made my circuitous way up to Cuba Mall, where the Bucket Fountain was making its usual wet puddle. I picked an eatery and had dinner. And that was my day. I went back to my room and used the hotel wi-fi to go online and book my rooms for Napier, Gisborne and Wanganui, then read till I was sleepy.
Next morning began with an 8:30 fire drill. Or was it a drill? Thanks, guys! Once we were allowed back into our rooms, I grabbed my stuff and headed off to the Library to start my family research.
In the afternoon I took a walk past some of my old haunts, then on to visit my older brother and his family.
NapierI spent a leisurely morning till I had to check out, then killed time until my bus left. By 16:29, after a long meal stop, my bus was leaving The Square in Palmerston North. Fifteen minutes later we were winding our way through the Manawatu Gorge, considerably tamed from the twisting horror it had been in my youth.
By 19:26 I was checked in and standing outside the YHA in Marine Parade, Napier, just across from Marineland. Maybe I’d get there this visit. I went down to the pebble beach. It suddenly occurred to me that the jandals I was wearing were the same ones I’d bought in Crete in 2007 to replace the pair that had disintegrated on the path down to Sweetwater Beach.
After a long, gluttonous dinner (I had made do with a pie, coffee and choc milk in Palmerston North despite the long break, so by now I was ravenous), I took a walk through night-time Napier. Pania, personification of an offshore reef as a beautiful Maori maiden, did not look particularly Maori, and her grin looked sickly in the splotlights. The nearby Tom Parker Fountain with its coloured lights was garish by comparison, but the play of lights was pretty. I found a van with curtained windows, festooned with Hindu-themed murals. It had no branding (Wicked Campers was a big thing at the time), so I guessed the artwork was by the owners/occupants.
Out early after a Weet-Bix breakfast in the hostel courtyard. I had a look in the gardens, admiring a sundial. “Serene I stand amongst the flowers …” I found a war memorial to local troopers unveiled by Lord Plunkett — a name better known to generations of mothers in New Zealand, who have benefited from the Plunkett Society — one-time Governor, that had an outsized dedicatory stone to the great man. The memorial was shattered in the 1931 earthquake and re-erected in 1947 by deep-pocketed local citizens. And I located the Napier Public Library, for later use.
I took a walk up the hill behind St Pauls Hall. I found some of those flowers with the now-invisible blue-purple hue I could see in my youth. Someone had painted a dog facing away, with the slogan “Please Keep our footpath CLEAN”.
Bluff Hill and Sturm’s Gully, now Reserves developed as nature walks. Back when, a guy named Sturm had planted the gully with fruiyt trees, berries, and vines, and built stone retaining walls. The locals soon found this an agreeable spot for picnics, and for post-prandial swimming at a sandy beach then washing the foot of the hill.
The views from the top were excellent, and better still, I was waylaid by a friendly cat near a dry fountain. “this table’s location is 104.2m above mean sea level latitude 39°28'51" south, longitude 176°55'05" east — the tiles were made by i & f jenssen —”. The tiles in the fountain pointed to various sights of interest from this spot, such as the Mahia Peninsula and Cape Kidnappers. To make it easy, the vertical tiles around the edge of the basin showed artist’s impressions of the sights being pointed to.
I drifted back down the hill past a floral clock. Back at the seafront, it was now quite warm and people had found a use for the fountain.
I went to the Library and did some research. In the evening I sat in the hostel courtyard and chewed the fat with other hostellers. Then a big grey cloud suddenly flamed red. The setting sun was illuminating it from below. It was gorgeous!
The next three days were family matters. On the 2nd I went out to visit my sister, and her daughter and grand-daughter. My, how time was sweeping us all along!
I had also tracked down the graves of some ancestors, and later my sister drove me around the cemeteries.
Next day, more cemeteries. And the day after. Between cemeteries, I was doing productive family research in the Library
On the 5th it was time to move on, but before I did, I made sure to visit Marineland. I watched seals, sea lions and little blue penguins frolic, and made the acquaintance of a sulphur-crested cockatoo named Bobby. A pacific gull bulked among the petite local red-billed gulls, but was diminished by the gannets, who could also be found all around Hawke Bay on cliffs and beaches. A shag bathed in an old tyre. I watched a fur seal being fed.
And then it was time to board my bus.
GisborneAt Gisborne I walked across the river to the YHA hostel in Harris St, the same place I’d stayed in 2008. The tailless cat was still there, and still friendly.
I noticed a poster. Tomorrow was Waitangi Day! It seemed an omen. I had made contact with a 3rd Cousin on the other side of my family, and given that the local family had become entangled with the local iwi, it seemed an auspicious day to meet and greet my cousins.
It was an excellent day out. We visited many family haunts and I met several cousins from my and the other side. In fact, my cousin was able to show me the actual spot my great-grandfather had lived. Which turned out not to be the spot I had located him at in 2008. So that was fixed.
The next day was spent in the Library.
On Sunday, taking advantage of the continuing sunshine and warmth, I stretched my legs by climbing the hill with the Cook statues. I went all the way to the top, which featured the worst Cook statue anywhere. It looks like a recycled statue of some Italian. “who was he? we have no idea!” There was a pohutukawa decidated to Diana, princess of Wales. I chuckled at a plaque that delicately highlighted the play on the name of Nicholas Young, who first sighted the surrounding ranges from the Endeavour, and after whom Cook named a headland “Young Nick’s Head”.
I continued round the hill, past the James Cook Observatory — self proclaimed world's easternmost —, past a WW II coastal gun that never saw an angry shot, past a plaque praising the Returned Service Association for the establishment of the park, not forgetting the local Maori who donated the site of the old Titirangi Pa that once crowned the hill.
On the way down, I bought a watermelon. Back at the hostel, I consumed it by the plateful while doing some internet on the hostel computer at a sunny window.
Monday morning in the Library, but in the afternoon I did cemetery rounds to relax, tracking down more family graves.
WanganuiAt 8:39 I was admiring an old WW II pillbox and a totem pole from Canada beside the Intercity bus stop. At 9:00 the bus pulled out, first in a sequence of three buses I must take today to get to Wanganui. South to Napier, arriving 13:00. At 13:40, west to Palmerston North, arriving 16:20. At 17:45, west again to Wanganui, arriving at 19:10. I walked along Ridgeway Street to Somme Parade, then left along the riverbank to Braemar House B&B and YHA Hostel.
It had been overcast but dry in Gisborne and Napier, but by Palmerston North it was raining. I had considered a stop in Marton to visit a family grave, but wisely did not. By Wanganui the rain had stopped, and my walk to the hostel was dry.
I took an evening walk, down to Moutoa Gardens; where I noticed a statue — perhaps a fountain — I had overlooked. A girl, her little brother, and their dog, huddled beneath an umbrella. I walked on through the city centre to the Library, which was closed by now.
In the morning I visited the family graves and laid flowers. Back in town, I walked down to the Waimarie berth, noticing with a start that the riverboat getting up steam was the Wairua, not the Waimarie. Then I went up to the Library and spent the day in the Archive Centre, to little productive result. The river trip ws growing on my mind. I had arrived yesterday to ensure that if anything went wrong, I had slack. Well, that slack was wasted.
On the Whanganui RiverBy 12:20, the 12:15 Taumaranui coach was crossing the city bridge. In the rain! It rained all the way north. My uncle met me in Taumaranui about 15:30 and took me back to the friend’s house he was staying at. We spent the evening discussing our plans and speculating about the weather and the state of the River.
Cherry Grove to Ohinepane, 22 km, 4 hr
Back in 1975, modern tourism here was in its infancy and the Whanganui was little-frequented. There were few rules about use of the River, and people took pretty much as long as they wanted. By 2009, river trips were much more regulated. During high season the tourist trip from Cherry Grove (Taumaranui) was a maximum of 5 days, 4 nights to Pipiriki, and you had to buy a pass. Shorter trips started further south. However, my uncle had been part of the development of the River for more than half a century and had considerable leeway. His trips today were multi-purpose, reviewing the state of the River and keeping in touch with people and places. So we planned a leisurely 9 days, 8 nights on the River. A longer trip had been possible, but would require someone driving in to establish a food-cache somewhere.
The day was overcast but fine. By 11:00 we were finishing up arranging our gear at Blazing Paddles, from which I was renting my kayak, a sturdy fibreglass single, and other gear. My uncle had his own gear and hand-made canvas-shelled canoe. We towed the boats down to a Department of Conservation landing at the end of Cherry Grove Road (38°53'27.6"S 175°15'18.0"E), technically facing on the Ongarue/Taringamotu River (the two rivers merged just upstream from Taumaranui; the merged flow has been called the Ongarue from forever), loaded them up, and launched.
I didn’t note the time we pushed off (probably just before noon), and I had packed my camera in a waterproof sack, just in case. Which was as well, for at the very first rapid — a little rough water where the Ongarue entered the Whanganui — I capsized. I tried to right myself with a quick paddle twist, but my reflexes were rusty and so I continued downriver, upside down and drowning. I sadly remembered making a joke in email to my uncle about this very possibility while planning the trip:
I will probably rent my own canoe or kayak as that way I'll be the only one floating upside-down at the bottom of the first rapid 😉.
I gave up trying to right the kayak and eeled out of the cockpit. The paddle was secured by a cord, so my only concern was to grab the kayak and steer it past some trees (with one minor entanglement) and down to a shingle bank, where I was able to stand up in order to right it. A few cans of bailed water later, it was as good as new. The only casualties were to my dignity and to my watch. The latter came loose in the crisis and was never seen again. I have yet to buy a new watch. The former — well, it had happened in plain view of my uncle, and of two young guys who were covering the same leg with us today. How humiliating! But this was my only capsize during this trip. Like falling off a bike, you never really forget how to handle a kayak. And after this, I was properly cautious toward the River. It could kill me easily, if I did not take care.
The first dicey part was Herlihy’s Bluff, where the River swings around a gravel bank. We kept left, the river was not low, and we had no problem. Further down, at Te Whararae, the River ran fast, but a threatened rock did not cause any issues. Soon after that we passed under a bridge, the last we would see for quite a while. The only slightly dicey spot after this was at a couple of islands where the right channel looked temptingly smooth, but you ran the risk of running aground. The left channel was faster, rougher — and deeper.
At about 15:30, we pulled in at the Ohinepane Campground (38°56'33.9"S 175°08'44.1"E), near Otunui Stream. This is as far as we went on our first day. The two young guys who accompanied us this far were on a faster schedule, and after a late lunch they pushed off downstream.
Ohinepane was a relatively young camp, gifted to NZ by the late Harold Birkett in 1979. We would probably not have stopped here in 1975, but would have pushed on to Poukare, 14 km further on. Due to its road access, Ohinepane was now the terminus for day trips down from Cherry Grove. The landing had a couple of concrete ramps by the River, though one was mostly drowned today. From the landing we walked up a short path, past some information boards, then across grass to the campsite proper, a wide grassy flat, where there was a kitchen shelter. Two long-drop toilets overlooked the site from atop a bank.
The only irritant was that Ohinepane is accessible by road, and some guy in a doof doof car was squatting in the carpark. Around 18:45 some people in a Wicked Camper drove in.
We broke out our tents and settled in. I was using the small yellow one-man tent I had taken with me on the Overland Track. My uncle had an old-style peaked tent with poles either end. We were the only tent campers tonight, with just the Wicked Camper people up by the car park for company. They kept to themselves. The doof-doof car left at some point after I already tuned it out.
My uncle cooked dinner, with my awkward help. He had a smoothly polished routine that I had to learn before I could be of any use.
This may be a good place to cover our food supplies. They were fairly simple.
Back when you went down the river last, it [porridge] would have been augmented with spaghetti, bacon and eggs or something else. On my 2001 trip — the first since 1975, I found that those extras were too much for me to eat.
He no longer carried the rifle, so fresh meat and vegetables would be limited to the first few days. There was a lot of canned stuff, because it was compact and waterproof and would sit in the bottom of the boat, helping stability. The bread was supermarket stuff, sealed against air and saturated with preservatives. IIRC we picked up fresh bread at Whakahoro on Day 4. We drank tea or coffee and occasional wine according to preference, and milk for porridge and other uses was made up from water and powder as required and discarded at the end of the day. My uncle had put together a rough menu.
Breakfast was always porridge, lunch was BBJ and/or soup (BBJ = bread, butter, jam, etc) depending on the effort of having to unpack/repack a burner.
The night passed uneventfully. I don’t recall any bush noises, just an occasional engine sound trickling down the hill from Highway 43.
Ohinepane to Poukaria, 14 km, 2 hr
A warm, sunny day. I was up just after 8:15, looking around the site. Breakfast, as promised, was porridge. Eventually we packed up and took to the River.
First challenge. Last night I had noted a mostly submerged, slightly grassy drift in the River just downstream. The River had fallen overnight, showing more of the drift and allowing the rapid below it to fire up. A bumpy but not hazardous start to the day.
About 10:30 we pulled out at Arimatia (Aramathea), 38°56'00.4"S 175°07'02.3"E, where there was a Niu pole. We had to climb a steep bank and make our way through trees to find it. It wasn’t the one from the 1975 photo, as the upperworks were different. We got back to the River about 11:30. I could see a rapid just downstream, which was fun. We probably stopped for lunch here first, though.
By 15:30 we were setting up camp at Poukaria (38°59'29.6"S 175°07'11.8"E). There was no road here, so the place was absolutely quiet and peaceful, just the wash of the River, the rush of the trees, and the birdcalls. There was good water, and a long drop toilet on a ledge up some steps. I laid out some clothes to dry on a patch of clean grass.
And then, around 17:00, another group arrived. There were four of them, two couples about my age. They’d come from Taumaranui today. Suddenly, the place almost felt crowded.
Later I took a walk around the perimeter of the site. There was a wire fence. At one point, beyond the fence, was a sign, “Erected 1961”. For the rest, native bush.
My uncle was concerned about rain upstream. The River could rise overnight. So we heaved our kayaks well up the grassy bank and secured them there. The others had carried their canoes — one sporting a white bandage on its bow — to the top of the bank.
The sunny afternoon wore on, and the sun went down, and I heard possums crashing in the trees, and then I slept.
Poukaria to Maharanui, 18 km, 3 hr
The River did not rise, and around 9:00 our neighbours set off downriver. We followed somewhat later.
I grabbed a leafy tree frond and laid it on a flattish rock on the left as I passed by it a couple of rapids down. After my near-drowning at the start of our journey, it seemed wise to placate the taniwha.
About noon we pulled out at Kirikau/Pēhimāhaki (39°00'55.0"S 175°06'26.7"E approx). My uncle wanted to visit someone here.
On the way up the hillside, we passed the grave of Allan (Andy) Marshall:
“Captain Allan Marshall / Died 7th August 1915 Aged 63 years / Buried here at Pehimahaki by Mr. Reg Powell and the local Maori people / 1851 9th Nov born at Mercer in N.Z. / 1880 qualified as a steamer captain. / 1891 given command of Hatrick’s fist and famous steamer ‘The Wairere’. / 1895 transferred to the River Trust. / 1897 commanded the steamer ‘Ohura’ on a trip to the Tangarakau River. / 1904 took the houseboat from Taumaranui to Marae-Kowhai. / Captain Marshall was an experienced and highly respected river man who kept the channels clear. / Remembered by his good friend Titi Tihu (1976).”
At the top of the hill and across a field was a tidy little farm, but there was nobody home.
This was also the day we revisited the two Niu poles at Maraekōwhai, located where the Ohura River flows into the Whanganui. We got there about 13:00. From the top of the bluff I was able to look down on the Ratakura Fall, just above the exit of the Ohura. Somewhere over the other side of a swingbridge, a path from Tokorima Road provides access to foot visitors.
From 1904 to 1927, a 36-room floating hotel called Makere, aka “The Houseboat”, was anchored against the near bank of the Whanganui just where the Ohura comes out. Passengers on a 3-day Whanganui riverboat trip would stay there overnight.
The northerly of the two Niu poles here is Rire Kore, the peace (or no-war) pole. (39°02'19.8"S 175°03'48.4"E.) Riri Kore is the pole I had my back to in the 1975 photo.
South is Rongo-Niu, the war pole. (39°02'23.7"S 175°03'47.8"E.) It was erected by the Hau-Hau in 1864, when they had a major pa here.
The surrounding trees were gone now, and both poles were coralled by wooden fences. Both poles had been spruced up since 1975, but if you looked closely you could still see the graffitti carved into them by past visitors.
I have used a close-up of the four carved figures on Rongo Niu as the cover photo for this report.
Just down the slope was a visitors long-drop. Just in case. On the corner of the site someone once attempted to establish a mill, using water from the Ohura. It was never used, no one appears to know why, and I couldn't see any traces of it.
After this we resumed our descent of the River. We stopped for the night at Maharanui (39°04'26.0"S 175°02'41.5"E). Today there is a big establishment called Posh Pioneers just to the north of the campsite, but in 2009 there was just a derelict homestead for a neighbour. I didn’t fix the exact location of the ruined building, which was across a rude log bridge and up an overgrown track, but there was a beaten track to its north that Posh Pioneers may well have incorporated in their design. I have scanned around the area using Google Earth’s histrical imagery, and in 2007 I can see something about where the ruin would have been. By 2011, although the ruin was still there, a new building had been put up nearby, presumably the beginning of Posh Pioneers. Later they put another new building on the site of the ruin, which was on already-leveled ground in an attractive spot.
After exploring the area and having dinner, we pulled the kayaks high on the bank in case of flood. Curious, I stuck a tall stick just at the waterline, to track any overnight change.
Maharanui to Mangapapa, 15 km, 3 hr
I forgot to take a photo of my stick in the morning, but from memory the River had fallen. Mist was drifting along the hills above the River.
We had to battle up the Retaruke River (4 km downriver from Maharanui) to reach our first stop of the day. By 11:30 we were standing by Lacy's Suspension Bridge (39°06'31.1"S 175°04'30.3"E) across the Retaruke at Whakahoro (39°06'27.7"S 175°04'12.3"E). Maximum loading 100 people. Now, let me count - 1, 2 … I figured we were OK. The bridge was a sturdy metal girder suspension structure with boards laid down to brace the roadbed.
Near here is where The Houseboat was moved to in 1927. It burned in 1933.
We walked from the bridge to Whakahoro Campsite (39°06'30.9"S 175°04'16.7"E). The hut was an old schoolhouse, with its history on the walls. Nearby was the 3-star Blue Duck Hotel, which I assumed to be a restaurant.
Getting back down the Retaruke was fast, if hair-raising. Push the kayak out into the current, get positioned just so, and wheeee, let the current do the rest! By now this sort of rapid-running was routine to me.
Half an hour later we stopped in so my uncle could touch bases with friends. Here, or at Whakahoro, is where we may have got fresh bread; I can’t recall.
Half an hour on again, we reached Whitianga Marae. I have been unable to locate this precisely. It was above a wide section of river, with a sign nailed between trees identifying a path leading up to an open area with a log fence and another sign. The broad cleared area inside the fence had a campfire circle and a couple of small monuments, and a fair sized (if ramshackle on the outside) facilities building. It had a very civilised shower block that had been put in for a visit by the Maori Queen (That would have been Dame Te Atairangikaahu, who died in 2006), but the ladies dunny had a cardboard sign on the seat (the lid was broken), “Please put me over the hole. Stops the blow flies from getting in & out then joining us for kai.”
Whitianga gets mentioned as a stop and place for events on the Tira hoe waka. The Whitianga block was one patch of Maori land that the government never entirely stole bought out from under them, mostly because it seemed unlikely to pay back the investment.
From there it was a short slide down to our sleeping place, Mangapapa (39°07'44.6"S 174°59'54.6"E).
A stream ran in at the upriver end, and slippery steps had been cut into the papa banks there to provide jetboat access. The kayak landing was at the downriver end, with a long muddy path up to the campsite proper.
Mangapapa to Ohauora, 16 km, 3 hr
First stop in the morning was Kirikiriroa (39°07'31.3"S 174°59'34.1"E), where we struggled up a steep slope to a narrow neck where we could look down into the next reach of the River. My uncle snapped me pointing authoritatively down at the lower reach. I was just wondering how such rugged terrain could develop such an amazing set of meanders.
Three hours later we explored Tamatea’s Cave, so called because an early Maori explorer supposedly slept here. The papa at the back of the cave was well decorated with graffitti.
Just downstream of the cave, round a bend and on the right was our night stop, Ohauora (39°10'17.5"S 174°57'32.1"E).
Ohauora to Mangawaiti, 20 km, 4 hr
Another river morning. We got started early and by 11:15 we were landing at John Coull 39°13'59.9"S 174°54'52.6"E). The campsite looked typical, but turn left and you found clothes lines and then substantial wooden steps leading up a slope. Four impressive loos. Then John Coull Hut proper. Massive sleeping ledges with mattresses. A stainless steel kitchen with a row of burners. Running water! Such wonders!
The warden was present, and she chatted to us as we had our morning tea. Ploughman’s brand bread in the pictures suggests that if we didn’t get fresh bread at Whakahoro, we maybe got some here instead, but I doubt that.
In the visitor's book, I found part of a harrowing tale (see below). I have retained the original’s spelling.
The girl got stuck instantly her boat was full of water on its side I was close and managed to pull it up to her and calm her not knowing the full extent of the situation. Then realising I got one of her barrels and tied it for her to keep head above water. Then I managed to free 1 leg from in between wood and canoe, in prosses my canoe filled almost capsising me so I just managed to get to shore to empty it and I think I made it back to her after after attempting to wade out there. When I got there again in the boat her idea was for me to tie my boat to the end of hers and pull one end this didn’t work and my boat was filled with water again. So I went to the side and emptied all my barrels to make more boyant tied them to geather and toed them towards her but my energy had gone and I physicaly could not get [end of page]
[continues on facing page] to her. So made the decision to paddle as fast as pos down river hopefully finding a Speed boat. But at worst case have to get to the hut to use the phone this I thought would be to late as was very critical condition, but maybe help would come down river and help her stay afloat while I got help from hut.
No boats were seen apart from 3 canoests who could do nothing apart from give me water and tell me it was 15 kilometres to hut. I tryed the camp site no one there. Made it to hut at a guess 2 hours maybe.
That's all I have. To be trapped midriver, with your canoe and body apparently wedged by a half-submerged snag, your only resource a single flotation barrel, and to watch your only companion paddle away downriver in hope of finding help, must have been terrifying.
I believe these newspaper articles cover the incident, which dates to November 2008 (both are online as I write; I have linked to the Wayback Machine to avoid linkrot): 1; 2.
We pushed on some time after 13:00. The River today was on its best behaviour; butter wouldn’t melt in its mouth. By 13:30 we were at Mangapapapa Marae (39°14'13.0"S 174°53'39.0"E, location is approximate).
We passed a toilet on the way up the slope. The window faced the track. At the top was a ramshackle fence, with the main building of the marae visible beyond.
The front door was covered by plywood panels (easily removable at need; there was even a hammer on a window ledge), and some window panels were broken and boarded up, and nobody was around, but the place was open to visitors. This was a living marae (one still in use).
Inside, a whiteboard (“Pse sign visitor’s book!”) included an explicit invitation to use the pots, crockery and cutlery, and “if need be” food too. All they asked in return was to respect this place, where their people were buried, and to wash and return the gear after use.
The place was nothing fancy, but workmanlike. My uncle had been hoping someone would be here, but since there was no one, we didn’t stay long.
The local hoodlums were the possums, who had wastefully pillaged the local trees, throwing half-eaten food on the ground. Possums are a pest in NZ.
At Mangawaiti (39°17'05.1"S 174°54'19.5"E), despite the steep climb up from the River, we found a snug haven for the night. There was plenty of room even though several other kayakers were also here. The beach was crowded with kayaks!
The climb up included several steps cut from papa containing shells. These could have been deposited up to 2.5 million years ago.
That evening there was a nice crimson sunset happening far above us, but down in the valley we only caught glimpses.
Mangawaiti to Mangapurua, 9 km, 2 hr
By 11:20 we were at Mangapurua (39°16'58.2"S 174°57'49.3"E). Across the River, a set of steps climbed a hill. As we carried our stuff up to the camp, I watched canoes, kayaks and jetboats come and go from that spot.
About noon we started across. One jetboat was already there, another arrived as we crossed the River. It was loudly branded “Bridge to Nowhere”. For that was where we were going today.
We tied up at the slippery canoe landing, and climbed the steps. A sign beside the track announced “mathieson | roberts | ward”.
At the top (12:40), a boardwalk had been laid, and a signboard told us this was the Mangapurua Kaiwhakauka Track, times: Mangapurua Bridge, 40 mins, Magapurua Trig, 12 hours, Whakahoro Hut, 20 hours. Beyond the sign, from on the boardwalk, a smaller, more matter-of-fact sign told us “Bridge to Nowhere 40 min, Toilets 30 min, Mangapurua Campsite 5 min (across river).”
Up we toddled. At 13:10 I snapped a pic of the promised toilet. Nearby, a sign announced “wynne | hunter | dust | morgan.” To give emphasis to the sign, a rusty old plough had been placed in front of it.
At 13:14 we crossed a wooden bridge. “Funny, I was expecting the Bridge to Nowhere to be more impressive …” I quipped to myself.
“morgan,” said a sign. “lookout point 5 mins return,” said another.
And dead on 13:20, there it was. I had seen this in 1975. It had hardly changed from my memory! A big concrete bridge, apparently built to last forever. Narrow by modern standards, single-lane, but as today the only traffic came on foot, it was ample. Off to one side we could see the dangling remains of a suspension bridge that it replaced.
Jetboat tourists were hanging about on the bridge, and there was more to see, so at 12:35 we headed onwards. We had all day; they did not.
We walked around a big natural ampitheatre surrounded by pines, and came to a rope-and-wood bridge, two boards wide. Then another, and another.
A short but massive post announced “doug’s walk.” Further on, the path ran beneath a fallen monarch.
Something moved in the grass … A wild goat!
14:00 Looks like good land, but it didn’t pay. In other news, that Scotch Thistle should be removed.
We came to a house, just a few tumbled bricks. Beneath a tree on the other side was an illicit campsite, complete with the ashes of its fire.
Another bridge. You had to be careful here, not all the fencing wire had been removed when the valley was abandoned. It would be easy to get tangled in rusty wire with sharp ends.
We turned back. By the time we got to the big bridge at 14:37, it was deserted.
On the way down, we turned off at the “Lookout Point” sign. It led to a high view over the bridge. You couldn’t see the modern walking paths, the bridge swam in green overgrowth. The view on every postcard.
At the River, other canoists and kayakers were tying up. My uncle helped one couple that had been having trouble. A few minutes later, we were back at Mangapurua. We carried our boats up the bank a bit and tied them to sturdy logs, as usual, just in case.
The afternoon passed. Canoes and kayaks passed. My uncle dozed in the sun.
The site was small and our tents were pitched side by side for once, as far as possible from the loo. Normally we spread out more.
Mangapurua to Ngaporo, 23 km, 4.5 hr
Our last full day on the River started with mist. The radio was talking rain. We didn’t mess around; we packed carefully, positioning everything low in the boats, wedging it in place, and using every water protection measure we had. Our heavy cans of food were mostly gone, so our boats rode higher in the water than my uncle liked, but that also made them nimble. It depended how high the River rose. Up to a certain point, it made the rapids dangerous; above that point, it washed them out — except for the big spiky rocks some held. I filled my big water bottles, but I put them down in the bilges as ballast, keeping only my half-litre ready-use bottle convenient.
My last photo before launch was at 8:52; my next was at Bridge to Nowhere Lodge, at 11:42, where my uncle had another drop-in visit scheduled.
We pushed off into the River. It was not much changed from last night, but the rain was not long in coming. Fortunately it was not cold, so we only got soaked, not chilled. The rain made coordination at the rapids harder — usually we would pause above each and my uncle would tell me the best route and what to look for, which was not always the route I took; today the rain drowned his words. However, except for one horrifying moment when a monster rock grinned at me from right alongside and another when a snag wallowed by, we got through unscathed.
The Lodge had a touch of Australia in a birdcage — a rainbow lorikeet!
I went out on the verandah and watched the rain fall. The River was rising visibly. The shingle banks would go first, and then the logs lining the beaches, which was when the river would be at its most dangerous.
We had planned for a long day, and we were only halfway through it. We had planned a stop at Ramanui (S 39°20'08.43 E 174°59'29.62), but that was out of the question by the time we got there. From the Lodge, we now faced a 12 km run in the rain, to reach Ngaporo (39°25'31.1"S 175°02'08.2"E).
Nothing for it. We pushed off before noon.
The River was now in full spate, and we didn’t waste any effort trying to paddle faster; all our focus was on avoiding snags and getting set up for a minimum-effort path through rapids.
All the engines of the River were starting to pound: waterfalls thundered down every cliff face; the rapids were smooth torrents from hydraulic damming. And just above Ngaporo, a taniwha awaited us.
There are three major rapids in the few kilometres above Pipiriki, and the eponymous Ngaporo Rapid was just upriver from our destination. My uncle made it very clear that I had to be hard left entering the long S, but use the current in the middle to get over hard right to exit it. I would then have a chance of reaching the landing site instead of being pushed away downstream by the torrent. That would not be a disaster, as the River formed a whirlpool that would help me get back, but why risk it?
Back at Taumaranui, I couldn’t have done this. I would have fishtailed, got out of pace and out of place, and ultimately capsized. I was terrified!
I got in against the left bank, and let the current drift me right as it followed the deep water between drowned shingle beds. My right paddle glanced off a rock! I continued my stroke and then dug the left one in to correct an incipient fishtail and push my stern to catch the flow better. I was halfway through now and the cliff on my right was looming, but I followed directions and sure enough, the wash from the stone wall kept me away from it and hurtled me straight and true out the end of the rapid.
A shingle bank replaced the cliff face, and I was frantically back-paddling to bring my bow into the shingles. The kayak stopped abruptly, and then the current grabbed the stern and tried to swing me around; but I dug my paddle in on the left and pole-vaulted out of the cockpit. After that, it was easy to grab the handle on the bow and draw the boat out of the water. My uncle had led the way through, much more gracefully, and was already ashore.
I have no idea of the time. I took my first photo at 16:08 after we had lugged our stuff up and cached it in the kitchen shelter and set up our tents, when we came back down to ensure the boats were out of flood reach. I had already pulled mine well up, but my uncle's was lower and already looking a bit exposed.
There being nothing else to do, we brewed afternoon tea.
When the rain eased and I went down to check at 16:47, half the shingle was gone and the whirlpool was starting to carry the piled driftwood away. Across the River where the other side of the whirlpool hit the papa, there was a big arched cavity in the cliff. Sometime during the night, some part of that cavity would fall into the River with a huge splash.
By 17:44 the shingle and driftwood was gone and the water was encroaching on the sandy beach.
17:44 Gonna be fun tomorrow. Lots of new snags.
18:41 A jetboat pays a visit to move a collection of canoes and kayaks below us to higher ground.
Lots of people upstream hadn't secured their kayaks and canoes. The backwash from the whirlpool was collecting them just below Ngaporo.
By 19:11, the beach was gone and the water was washing through the grass on the bank. We went down and moved our boats to higher ground.
The rain stopped and the clouds broke around 19:52. The River continued to rise. When we arrived, the big cavity across the way had a big chin under it. That chin was gone by 20:34.
Ngaporo to Pipiriki, 9 km, 2 hr
By morning, although periodic showers continued through the day, the River had fallen quite a bit. The campsite’s beach was back, and even a glimpse of shingles, all washed clean of driftwood.
I have no memory of the two taniwha that we navigated in getting to Pipiriki. I rode with my rain hood over my head, except when we approached a washed-out rapid and I would put it down to focus on negotiating the passage.
The Drop Scene was lost in the rain. The Puaroto Caves were out of the question. The end of the trip came just below the last rapid, where we pulled our boats out onto the concrete boat ramp. As we approached the main road, my uncle pointed out a small green sign labelled “1904 flood level”.
I handed in my kayak and other gear, and my uncle packed his canoe atop his car, and we headed south beside the Whanganui. I took a last look at the mighty River, smiling in the sunshine, and watched a tiny jetboat run down towards me, like a tear across its broad brown face.
All over.
I have no recollection of the rest of the trip. I thought I might have stayed with my uncle, which was odd as he had planned to head back to Taumaranui immediately, but on the 22nd he emailed me some family stuff about New Plymouth and I replied the next day:
07:49 Thanks for this — I am on my way to NP today and will see what I can unearth there in the next couple of days.
Obviously we were not both in Wanganui. I took no pictures between the 21st at 13:43 and the 23rd at 12:25. I answered some email at 14:00 on the 22nd, after signing up with some mob called Zenbu. The answer has to be, my uncle dropped me at Braemar Lodge in Wanganui and since I had no booking, I paid using cash.
New PlymouthOn Monday at 12:25 I took a picture of the house I grew up in, which the family no longer owned, and by about 14:10 I was headed for New Plymouth on an InterCity coach. It had been a long time since I came out this way, so it was fun watching the landscape. Taranaki kept hiding his head in the clouds; I only bothered trying to get one shot of him.
At New Plymouth I made my way to Breakers Hotel & Hostel in Devon Street East, where I had booked three nights. I spent a while wandering the central blocks, locating sites of interest and looking for a place to have dinner.
I spent two days chasing family history at Puke-Ariki, the information complex. Frustratingly, they would allow me to photograph some documents but not photocopy them; my camera was not always up to the test.
AucklandThe seven-hour ride through the misty morning valleys and ranges of the King Country would usually have fascinated me, but the last picture I took on the whole trip is of mist in the valleys at 8:37, less than two hours into the bus journey. I still had two days left in NZ after this, but it was all leftovers and family research.
At Auckland I checked into the Choice Plaza Hostel in Wellesey St East, an oddly Chinese-pagoda styled building whose main virtue to me was that it was just across the road from the Auckland Public Library. In 2009, that amusing window mural still decorated the derelict building facing the Library.
Thursday and Friday were spent in the Library, scouring NZ Genealogical Society CD-ROMS. It was a very productive time, as the emails I wrote at the time show, but of no interest here.
On Saturday I had to check out of the hostel at 4 AM to get to the airport for my 7:50 flight to Melbourne. Victoria was covered by smoke from bushfires. My flight landed around 9:40 and by about 11:30 I was home to my smoke-smelling flat.
