I listened to the sounds of the game coming from the TV downstairs, just conscious enough to gauge that things were going our way despite some tense moments in the middle. I soon heard Ros's excited voice join the others and eventually I hauled myself out of bed and stumbled downstairs to see scenes of Kiwi elation and Aussie despair on the TV. The All Blacks had done it. They'd won the World Cup. Thank God...I can't stand how our country goes into mourning when they lose! (I once lost a patriotic slagging match with an Aussie friend when he asked if it was true if the NZ stock market went down by measurable percentage points when the ABs lose a big match...).
We had an enormous but hurried breakfast of cereal, fruit, yoghurt, eggs, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes and toast as Jonty and Andy were keen to wade across the estuary before the turning tide rose too high (Ros went with them to guide them across the shallowest place and lent them rubber booties to keep their shows clean). I opted for a more sedate start to the day, taking up Hugh's offer of a lift across in the dinghy at high tide. I was teetering on the edge of taking a zero day and asking to stay another night (I'd have been quite happy to go off back to bed!) but after a couple of hours found myself feeling better and resolved to press on.
So at 11:30 I packed up my gear and wandered down through the garden and out along a boardwalk through the mangroves to the jetty, where Hugh was readying the dinghy. Donning life jacket I jumped in with my pack and we set off on the short trip across the estuary. It's amazing the difference between high and low tide, and how quickly the water rises (and presumably falls) once the tide turns. I was faintly reminded of the tidal river we lived on when I was a kid, where at low tide the neighbours grandson and I would go out in our wellies and wade through the mud, hunting for crabs and any interesting flotsam the previous tide had brought in, and then at high tide we would be confined to the rickety jetty out over the water, from which we could fish or feed the eels that swam by.
I thanked Hugh very much for the lift, saying I hoped it hadn't been an inconvenience. He assured me it hadn't as any trip out in the boat have him an excuse to go fishing...and sure enough once I had de-life jacketed, donned pack and headed off up the hill, following the fenceline that demarks this section of trail, I turned back to see Hugh jetting off down the estuary, in search if snapper, but also keeping an eye out for any hikers who may have been caught by the tide and needed help with the crossing.
At the top of the hill the trail emerges onto a farm driveway and heads out to a road. Along this short stretch a man who appeared to be a contractor working on the farm I had just crossed offered me a lift, assuming I was headed for Whangarei. I replied with my by now standard reply to such offers: "thanks, but that would be cheating!". Besides in this case the trail does not go to Whangarei but after a short distance turns off onto a gravel road which it follows as it winds its way up Kauri Mountain. This is a bit if a slog in places, but the views as you climb up are spectacular. At the topmost house the road becomes a driveway, and then just before the reaching the house the trail veers off into a walking track up through a bushy paddock until it emerges at the trig station at the very top of the hill. There's a large wooden bench to sit on so I sat and snacked on museli bars as I looked back out over the Taiharuru Estuary in one direction, and out over Ocean Beach in the other, and the craggy hills of Whangarei Heads beyond. Natalie, Andy, Jonty (and presumably Paul) were all planning to attempt that climb as well today, however my intention was only to get as far as the settlement of Ocean Beach and leave the Bream Head Track (that Barry and Colleen of Helena Bay had described as "brutal") to be faced tomorrow. So I took my time enjoying the view from the top of Kauri Mountain. Presently I was joined by a Brutish couple who walked up from the southern side. They're recent immigrants to NZ, having moved to Whangarei in April, and by the sounds of it they couldn't wish their new life on our shores to be any sweeter. It always makes me happy when foreigners love New Zealand; I just wish more Kiwis could see it through their eyes sometimes. I'm sure in doing this trip my own perceptions of it will change.
I followed the couple down the steep track descending through native bush in the southern side if a Kauri Mountain, bidding them farewell when we reached the car park near the bottom. From here the trail follows a gravel road through farmland to the coast. From here I could see cattle on the road below so I stopped to break out my hiking poles, which I figure would serve as makeshift cattle prods should the animals prove too inquisitive. (Incidentally, the poles proved invaluable during the first week if this walk, helping me steady my weight and keep my footing as I got used to the weight of my pack. I use them less now, but they still come in handy on boggy ground and steep slopes, where they help you steady yourself and take a lot of the weight off your knees).
Moving on I came round a corner to find the cattle had scarpered and that there was an increasingly loud buzzing noise reverberating up the track. On the left stood a number of beehives, and above these was a swirling cloud of thousands of swarming bees. I stopped and took stock; had one of the cattle kicked one of the hives?! There wasn't any obvious signs of damage, but for whatever reason the bees were in uproar, the vast majority buzzing away in the main swarm while a few hundred others were flying randomly around and across the road or crawling through the grass growing on either side. Not sure what else to do I very slowly and carefully walked on along the shoulder if the road farthest from the hives and the swarm, taking extreme care not to step on any of the bees furiously crawling all over the grass at my feet. The last thing I wanted to do was for one to send out distress pheromones and bring the whole swarm down upon me!
Within several meters I had passed the swarm and picked up the pace as the ground became bee-free. One stray bee was determined to buzz in my face for a few extra meters before going on his way and allowing me to go on mine in peace.
Relieved and pleased to have cleared that hurdle I then noticed that the fenceline running along the road was in a state of extreme disrepair. The cattle I had seen now grazed in the paddock beyond, having obviously made their way through one if the many large gaps in the loosely ganging wire. Down the road a bit further there was no wire at all, only a lonely line of empty fence posts. I started hoping that I wouldn't come round the corner to find a whole herd blocking the road...
A few corners on I found not a herd but an enormous bull, two enormous bulls to be exact, standing idly just to one side of the road, with nothing but a stray fencing wire to restrain them. I looked at them and they looked at me. They seemed faintly interested but not really perturbed by my presence so I moved slowly and cautiously closer, walking as far to one side (the far side!) of the road as I could, whilst being careful not to look them in the eye (though my peripheral vision never let them out of my sight). I have no idea if this was warranted since I know next to nothing about cattle, but it seemed the thing to do at the time and I was able to go on my way without either animal raising a single cloven hoof. Unfortunately the same couldn't be said for the groups of young steers I met around the next bend.
Most of these more active animals seemed content to keep grazing and one even cleared off the road as I approached, but a feisty black and white one to one side did the while snort and stomp think. He was half the size of the bulls I'd just passed, but still he was no calf and I had no desire to instigate any kind of head on collision. Private property be damned, if the farmer isn't going to maintain a proper fence I reserve the right to divert across his paddock to avoid his livestock...which is exactly what I did, looping back to the road once I was well shot of the stubborn animal. Once I had passed, the beast lay down where he had stood and presumsbly spent a merry afternoon chewing the cud and musing on the effectiveness of his intimidation tactics on wary solo hikers.
Shortly after this encounter the road mercifully reached the coast. Passing by a random parked ute that had a grey, black and dark green fern-cammo paint job, it was a short rock hop down to the beach. Not far along was a knee-deep stream crossing which I boldly waded through, only thinking afterwards that it might have been an idea to take off my boots and socks first. Undetered I squelched off a few hundred meters down the beach, passed a flock of dotterels(?), before flopping down on the sand to have a late lunch. Ramming my hiking poles into the sand I stuck my boots over the handles and hung my wrung out socks from the laces, hoping the light breeze might do something to dry them in the overcast weather...which it did, maybe a little...or at least gravity got rid if several drips.
I hadn't been there long when I thought I might get some company as a family appeared, walking along the beach. However they baulked at the stream crossing and turned back so I was left to myself on the beach with the birds.
Fishing out a pair of dry socks, rebooted and set off, watching the steep slope of Bream Head draw slowly and steadily nearer. I reached Ocean Beach around 5pm, and debated trying to get at least some of the climb done before making camp for the night. But you're not strictly supposed to camp on the Bream Head track, and I needed water, so I walked up the beach in search of the car park and public loos I had been told would be there. I came out at the wrong spot at first, but after reading the memorial to the only ship lost to mines in NZ waters during WWII which I found there, went back to the beach and found the right path to the car park. I then had a wander through the town, what little there is. I was nervous about camping here all by myself and txt Joanne and Scott to see if they were anywhere nearby, but they didn't answer right away and so I decided to head back down to the carpark where a large grassy area signposted "overflow parking" looked like an ok place to camp. A man and woman were chatting in the yard if one if the houses so I asked then if it was ok and safe to camp there. They made enquiries about was I walking the trail and commented on the number of walkers they'd seen that week, and said that it should be alright to camp in the overflow carpark, especially since I dingy have a car to get broken into (it was partially the big "lock it or lose it " sign that had promoted me to ask in the first place). No other advice or offers were proffered so I thanked them and bud then goid evening before heading nervously back to the carpark.
The flattest grass was just on the other side of a small mound right by the road, but this felt a bit exposed, so I went right to the back and decided to pitch close to the farm fence separating me from half a dozen calves grazing in the paddock beyond. I'll admit I dithered a little, which drew some odd looks from a group of car-campers who appeared to have parked up for the night in the main carpark.
Without any better alternatives I finally threw down my pack and set about pitching my tent. I was putting in the stakes when a gaggle of young chickens came dashing out of the yard of a house bounding one side of the overflow carpark, closely followed by two rather more weary mother hens. The semi-feathered chicks fell all over my feet and my gear and dashed to peck at the ground as I rammed each tent peg home by hand. Clearly they thought I had food, but didn't seem to mind that I didn't, not did they mind being picked up and gently put aside (and tickled a little) so I could reach for things out of my pack. Soon the tent was erect and the chickens departed...meanwhile the calves had found the whole performance fascinating and stood by the fence gazing, and one in particular mooing fairly frequently. They too departed when a guy drove up in a van and dumped a sack of what I can only assume was some kind of calf food into the paddock. He gave me am odd look but did not say hello before driving off again.
I sat on the grass and made dinner, feeling a bit safer as the beach activity quietened down. The sounds of laughter rang out from a pair of people playing foosball in the garage of the house that was apparently the home of the chickens. I was glad of the inquisitive animals for company--except maybe the mooey calf. I only hoped he'd also quieten down as the sun set and I snuggled into bed. I'd need my sleep to take on brutal Bream Head tomorrow!
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