Out and About – Napier to Kidnappers

We walked out along the foreshore part way to Cape Kidnappers, (first place on the planet to see the sunrise) on a grey day with a howling wind for company. Through a caravan park at the end of the road, which had been rebuilt and chunks of roadway now laid on the narrow beach. Pigeons are nesting in the cliffs closer to vans. There is a skull and crossbones flag flapping, and I swear strains of duelling banjos are audible. “Wish I’d known it was all along the beach,” says Rod.

“I did tell you.”

Grey on grey – Kenny in the shadow of Cape Kidnapper’s cliffs

“Would have gotten organized and gone the whole way.”

Hopefully the day would have been prettier, and the wind less the sort that was set on tumbling us head first onto the sand. Waves biting into the already heavily eroded shore. Waters are churned so much that it look like miso soup.

It’s all very different from the solitary ranger’s hut, where you registered your walk and were warned if it was too close to the incoming tide. Now there are two caravan parks, albeit basic, substantial café and wineries in the area offered accommodation. There were several tours, but as usual we opted out, and were just doing our own thing. It all seems so ‘big-business’ to look at Gannets. “Oversized sea-gulls,” Rod calls them.

Famous birdlife on Cape Kidnappers

Several vehicles passed by, quad bikes, trail bikes, 4 WDs and small tractors with backpackers perched behind drivers. Awesome cliffs totally dominate. Wind forces us into a lean forward posture. Stronger gusts lift any loose sand, the back of our legs are grit-bitten. Recent rock fall and pine trees litter the scene, with giant rubble heaps. (Mccarthy’s The Road – ish) Water flows from under boulders, some gargantuan versions sit on the beach and we are sure these were washed there rather than fallen from above.

One overloaded tractor could not make the incline through the pebbles off the beach. So eventually everyone had to dismount and walk. Made for some interesting photographs with a half bogged tractor.

What do you do when the tour vehicle gets bogged?

I release some stones from being trapped on the beach.

“Don’t you think the tide would have done that?” Says Rod.

“Yes, but I got there sooner.”

Gisborne Glimpses

Strong in the memory store is our discovery of the Middle Earth Rivendell like Arboretum at Eastwood hill. It is easy to picture ourselves walking through a Hobbit scene, with Mr Frodo just up the trail a little.

Eastwood Gisborne or Middle Earth

Colored trails traverse many hills, and we get directions from the staff. Who adds to our store of NZers moving around the country by telling us, she is originally from elsewhere. We decide to opt for the purple trail that climbs up to a view point but is not the longest possible. I seem more worried about Rod/s trail walking ability than him. Cows wander towards Rod as he strikes up a moo-ed conversation with them. At the lookout point heat is radiated off the stainless steel plaque that identifies landmarks.

A well kept secret

While these gardens were a discovery we never expected they had been there since after WW1 when Douglas Cook was inspired by English gardens he encountered while recuperating after being injured in the Great War. Since it has become the National Arboretum of New Zealand. Like the leaflet says, ‘majestic oaks of North America to the prehistoric trees of Gondwanaland…’ we are suitably impressed by at least one specimen that has fallen and is now being dissected by gardeners

Enchanted forest

And the water feature/sculpture keeps Rod busy for a surprising length of time. I have an opportunity to engage my inner hippy and hug more than a few trees. There are facilities to stay in the Arboretum, and even though it would mean bringing all your supplies (no shop) we agree worthwhile future consideration.
We encounter touring cyclists on the road back into town and agree that today is definitely a ‘smiley face’ day for the group. They have flat roads, limited traffic and sunny weather. Produce is all around with corn featuring heavily, gapes and pumpkins are recognizable as well as the Gisborne citrus we have heard so much about. We buy a huge bag of Tangelos for $2 encountering our first locked honour box payment method.
Back in town we take a chance to restock at the huge Pack N Save. Finding it not only intimidating because of the height to which stocked shelves extend, but also the crowds compared to the two other people we had to endure at the gardens.
This was the day we had to change rooms too, after spending a night in a rather dark room that faced a garden wall, even if it did have some lovely roses, we are offered a much brighter, roomer version. After looking at the type of cabins in the large nearby caravan park Rod beings to utter what will become another mantra, ‘don’t let me book cabins over the ‘net, without seeing them first…’ Being school holiday much of the low cost options are full to capacity, and we pat ourselves on the back for having made a booking, even if it turns out to have been a bit of a fiasco. Summary: booked on line, given wrong room type, no kitchen, price paid wasn’t right, nothing else reasonable available until tomorrow.

This way to the Land of the Long White Cloud

Nearby the motel is young Nick’s statue, the ship’s boy who was the first to sight land. I see the additional information that “when Cook met with the chief the Englishman mistook a greeting which resulted in Maoris being killed”. So he had it worse than us.

How cold is that outside pool?

I find the swimming pool and have a couple of sessions. It is one of those big-top domes kept up with air pressure. Because a road construction crew has cut water supply pipes, compounding drought time water restrictions the hours or operation had been shortened. Plus the duration of showers shortened, but I did not bring coins do can only dry off and change. Unfortunately I leave “bluey” water bottle behind, returning later to see him standing forlornly, unloved and alone where I left him. A sad sight comparable to the brown, sun bleached hills that we never thought a trip in NZ would reveal.

all those trees onto a boat

Watching, indeed being awe struck by the port workings, much later I find a reference in Steve Lang’s An Accidental Terrorist which reminds of the giant tractors working with pine logs like they are pick-up-sticks…a D9 pulling logs up to the dump and a Volvo snigger, one of those four wheeled machines with an articulated wait and a great pair of horizontally opposed tongs on the front, a thing like an enormous demented yellow ant… great that someone can write what those things look like. Gisborne and Napier did seem to be their home towns.

Huge boats turn around and load

Our conclusions about Gisborne are that it is a strange mis-matched town. The pretty and quaint alongside the industrial. Train lines cutting through streets without logic, even a train line through the airport runway. Factories in suburbs, warehouses alongside paved riverside promenades. A great farmer’s market alongside fish, chips and fried eggs meals.