Best sleep yet! Turns out the bed in Marcus and Tam's cabin is very similar to my own, so much so that there was a moment when I was waking up when I thought I was back at home. I was a little sad not to be able to give Bard and Mum a cuddle, but I was excited to still be on the trail--and looking forward to a boat ride this morning!
I dressed and went up to the house to thank Marcus for taking me in before he headed off to work at 7. Tam and I then sat and had a chat over a cup of tea and breakfast. Fresh fruit and yoghurt...mmmm. We weren't sure what time David would come to collect me; he had said between 10am and 11, but it turns out he is also the fire truck driver and the immensely loud siren from the fire station across the street had gone off at 3am (also similar to home but much closer and therefore much, MUCH louder), and we supposed he hadn't got back home until well past 4. But David is apparently a man who keeps to a schedule and just before 11 he came to get me. I quickly packed up my gear, thanked Tam so very much for taking me in, and then David and I headed off in his truck to the boat ramp in the next bay over.
David expertly backed down the boat ramp (he'd certainly done this before) and then I kicked off my boots and waded out to hold the boat while he parked. We then jumped in the shiny new aluminium dinghy and within a few moments the outboard was roaring and off we went, out across the bay, passing a pair of little blue penguins that were dabbling at the surface. Once we got out into the main channel David kicked it up a notch and off we shot, bouncing across the slight chop of the water. I sat on my pack and hung onto the side of the boat to cushion the blows, remembering a time when Dad had a boat and we'd do the same as we went out to fish in Otago Harbour.
Within a few minutes we entered the channel entrance to Marsden Point Marina, and slowed right down, putting into shore. David nosed toward the beach next to the marina entrance and once the water was too shallow for the outboard I jumped out. I thanked David very much, gave him a koha and wished him all the best with the new boat before donning pack, grabbing my boots and wading ashore. David took off to explore the harbour and no doubt put his new craft through its paces.
An elderly chap was walking his dog on the beach and sat down to watch me wade ashore like some failed auditionee for Castaway. I said hello and sat on the berm nearby to dry and de-sand my feet before putting on my socks and boots once more. The man and I had a good chat about technological advances and the related rise and fall of civilisations. He was of the opinion that there was no way the ancients managed to accomplish such great feats without help...what kind of help he didn't specify but seemed to hint that it was of an extraterrestrial nature. We speculated on why people like the Romans had such things as indoor plumbing whilst medieval Britons literally returned to the dark ages. I ventured that it had less to do with divine or extraterrestrial intervention and more to do with politics, but I don't think my companion was convinced. His aging jack russell didn't seem to care either way and was just content to lean heavily on my leg, budge my hand for pats, and shed generously all over my trousers.
As I readied to go the man bid me good walk and headed back over the street behind the beach to his house, and I set off up the road toward the oil refinery. The track supposedly goes around the coastal side of the refinery, but I could see no sign of a route past the logging wharf that preceded it. Knowing the road would get me where I wanted to go in about equivalent kilometers I followed it, passed the up-and-coming coastal property developments and on past high-security fencing surrounding the refinery and related facilities. One of the workers pulled over in a van to talk to me, asking about the trail and musing on the possibility of one day doing it himself. Turns out there is a public walking trail around the coastal side of the refinery but it goes under the wharf; no wonder I hadn't been able to see it from the beach.
Before long I reached the beach south of the refinery, heading down onto the sand at the same time as a young guy and his too dogs: a fat black lab and an energetic Sydney silky. We all kept pace with one another for a time and so chatted for a bit, about pets, about the trail, about boating on the harbour (my friend was not a fan, apparently getting seasick even on a flat calm). I was chuffed when he commented that I was keeping a good pace despite my pack. After a couple of kilometers he and the dogs turned around and I had the beach to myself.
Despite its proximity to the oil refinery the beach south of Marsden Point is lovely. In the afternoon sunshine the sea was a bright tropical blue and the beach itself is fine white sand and positively littered with an assortment of large marginal subtropical species of shell, several of them in tact. I was hard not to fill my pockets with shells of all different shapes and sizes and pretty colours. I finally settled on one perfect little scallop shell, slipping it into my trouser pocket along with a large native snail shell I had found on the bank of the Waipapa River (I must remember to post these home before they get broken!).
Of course several of the shells are broken and in some places their fragments are concentrated so that the gentle waves lapping the shore cause them to rattle in a soft and prolonged clatter that is extremely peaceful to listen to. In places there are obviously many shellfish burrowed into the sand and where a wave would come up the beach and the water would drain into their burrows, the beach would bubble furiously for several seconds, sounding like a cauldron on a rolling boil.
At one point I thought I saw a spout out at sea, but looking again saw a large white bird emerge from the water and recognised it as a gannet. The fishing can't have been too good however as it didn't plummet into the water and send up the splash of water I had seen again, but flew on up the coast. Every now and then another loan gannet would come cruising up the beach, riding the air currents that rise up off the sand dunes.
Upon reaching the Ruakaka River I walked upstream a short distance, diverting around a pair of nesting oyster catchers, to meet a man named Simon. He lives on the river at Ruakaka and helps hikers cross by coming to fetch them in his tandem kayak (the alternative is to walk a ways upstream and cross via the road bridge). I'd txt Simon earlier in the day to see if he was free. Happily he was and came to meet me. Donning life jacket I hopped in the back of the kayak (being the heavier of us two) and wedged my pack between my knees and the back of Simon's seat. We pushed off and a short paddle later saw us beach in front of the campground on the south side of the river. I offered Simon a koha for his help, but he refused, saying he just enjoys taking the kayak out and meeting the hikers. I was heading to the dairy to get a cold drink before setting off again and when I offered to shout him the same he accepted. We hauled the kayak out of the water and then set off over the short grass walkway into Ruakaka town. Not far along we came to the dairy and I emerged with a fresh up and a diet coke for me, and a cheap bottle of white wine for Simon (at his request). I was a little concerned at first, but glad when he didn't open it and drink it right there and then. I downed my juice and coke (I couldn't decide which I wanted more so just bought both) and then decided rather than resupply here and waste more time to press on to Waipu. Andy had txt me that both he and Nathalie were there and that they had the backpackers to themselves. Keen to catch them up I bid Simon farewell (he made me promise to come back and visit again) and then set off down the beach.
There weren't so many shells on this section of beach and I passed a few more walkers as well as a fisherman and his son, sitting on deck chairs with rods cast out into the waves and a portable radio going at their feet. Having not walked all that far today I still felt fresh and set a good pace, topping 4km/hr (yeah okay, this is still slow, but its a good pace for me!). When there wasn't any other people around I sang. You'll be pleased to know I've exhausted my Disney and stage musical repertoire for now. I started out with traditional walking songs such as "It's a Long Way to Tipperary" (and my own personal version "It's a Long Way to Skara Brae"--devised during an unexpected walk to the prehistoric village due to a lack of other transport options) and "Pack Up Your Troubles" (and my own personal version "Pack Up Your Biscuits", coined on the same trip). I then switched to Maori waiata songs I learned back in my Kapahaka days at high school. I first started singing these on the walk from Waikare, possibly inspired by having walked on a Maori road, and was pleasantly surprised then at how much I remembered. Now, walking down the beach, I remembered even more songs...so much so that a sing through of the full set plus a couple of repeats of my favourites (including a rather commanding women's haka--minus the actions...I have a pack after all) saw me reach the Tip Rd entrance to the beach and my cue to head inland. It had taken me an hour and twenty minutes to walk 6km down the beach; I'd budgeted an hour and a half so I used the spare ten minutes to have a boots off break, sit on a rock in the carpark and enjoy some cordial and cookies. It quickly grew too hot out of the breeze so I sun-blocked up and set off again along the road, determined to pound out the final 4km into Waipu in record time. I half thought that if I got to the backpackers by 6pm the others and I might all go out for dinner together.
My plan sort of worked...I got to Waipu bang on 6 and was at the backpackers within ten minutes. Waipu is a nice little town with a clear dose of civic and historical pride, particularly to its community members who served in WWI and WWII. I spied a busy-looking pub, a chippy, a Chinese takeaway, a bakery and a 4-Square on my way past and made plans to have dinner at one of the former three alternatives, possibly breakfast at the bakery and to resupply at the 4-square when it opened in the morning (it was still open then, but I had a backpackers to get to).
I got to the Waipu Wanderers hostel just after six to find Andy sitting in a deck chair outside and Nathalie relaxing on the couch. Apparently Steve, the owner, had gone out. I had phoned ahead so I was expected and Steve had given Andy instructions to show me the ropes, and also anyone else should show up if he liked the look of them, or tell them they were full if he did not. My kind of hostel keeper.
I had a quick shower and threw all the clothes but the ones I was newly dressed in into wash (complimentary washing powder--yes!). Andy was keen to seek out some dinner, but Nathalie, ever prepared and fully food-stocked was content to cook in. Andy and I first tried a pizza place that Steve had recommended but it wasn't open tonight. We next tried the pub but weren't entirely inspired (Andy said afterward that it had felt a bit too 'local'). We settled on the Chinese takeaway and were initially inspired by the roast dinners they had on the menu...but they don't have those tonight either. I instead opted for sweet and sour fish on fried rice. The portion when it came in a plastic tub was enormous. I first looked at it thinking it would do for at least two, possibly three, meals...but within half an hour of sitting on the bench outside and chatting with Andy I'd polished off the lot, and he his own tub of food.
We wandered back to the backpackers to find my load of washing only just finishing even though we'd been gone for over and hour; I must have accidentally put it on the epically long cycle. It was threatening drizzle outside and there was no drier, but the others said they didn't mind if I hung my stuff up round the living room. Faced with the potential of hanging stuff on every chair I suddenly remembered I had packed 6m of rope and went to fetch it, as Andy commented "Why am I not surprised you have 6m of rope?!". Andy's opinion of my unnecessarily heavy backpack has lead to many discussions about gear and weight-saving options, all of them meant and received in a very helpful and positive way. Happily he seemed to think the tiny bundle of 6m of fine paracord that I produced was not actually that excessive, and when I rattled off the things I'd had and might yet use it for I rather think he and Nathalie had the impression that bringing it along hadn't been a bad idea (so far I've used it to lash my sleeping bag to a railing so it could air without blowing away in a strong wind, and now I've used it to hang washing, but it may also yet see use as quick-fixes for broken pack straps and replacement shoe laces. Call me Sam Gamgee, but I always like to pack a length of rope!).
The three of us hung out for a bit, discussing the next section of trail. I found out from Nathalie that the reason Jo and Scott have taken such a long break in Whangarei is that Jo fell somewhere along the roadwalk leaving Ngunguru, jarring her ankle and breaking her thumb! Poor Jo! I got her mobile number off Nathalie and will txt her at a more reasonable hour (by the time I found out it was pushing 10pm). I find myself counting my lucky stars that I've had no serious injuries to delay my trip...yet (touch wood!).
Anyway off to bed...tomorrow we're all bound for Mangawai Heads! It's going to be nearly 30km so I'm not sure I'll make it, but we shall see. Distances seem easier since that epic 33km day with Andy. Now is my chance to see if I can do it all by myself!
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