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Published: November 19th 2014
The drive from Auckland to the Coromandel Peninsula was a transcendental one. The two-lane motorway rose and fell across farms more like a backcountry road rather than a highway. Never in my life had I experienced so many different shades of a single color in one landscape. I weaved through absinthe green farmlands speckled with grazing sheep. Unlike the endless mudbath pastures found in the States, cattle meandered through violently pigment fields of jade. Vineyards sprung from the ground, their early granny smith apple green vines weaving in perfect rows over ridges. Weeping willows caressed the fence lines with wisping tentacles and forests of pines crept into the fields only to disappear around the next ridge. Hillsides rippled into the horizon each taking on their own defining shade, from the light green of asparagus to the deeper greens of a jungle. Beyond this, mountainside backdrops majestically rose up in a fervent forest green I would only expect to encounter in the amazon.
After the three hour drive, I made it to the Coromandel Peninsula late in the evening. I checked into the Top Ten Holiday Park at Hot Water Beach where I setup my tent in the dark on a
carpet of grass. A wall of bamboo towered over the back of the site while a dome of stars encompassed the sky above.
Throughout my travels, I have found that it is just as expensive to stay in a campsite as it is to stay in a hostel, costing an average of $25 a night. With a campsite, however, I have the privacy of my own sleeping quarters and the fresh night air at my door. Most facilities in campgrounds are quite nice. At this particular one, there was a huge kitchen designed for a mad house of hungry tourists preparing meals. There were free showers which has not been too common out on the road. There were coin laundry facilities and a few carousels of drying racks twirling out in the yard by a picnic area complete with outdoor grills. A playground for children was right next to that and there was even a huge jumpy pillow. I of course gave this a try in honor of Spats and I's time on the one in Michigan.
In the morning, I attempted to make myself some oatmeal pancakes. These stuck the the bottom of the pan due to
Relaxing on my throne
At Hot Water Beach during high tidethe lack of cooking oil on site, so I vigorously scraped them off of the bottom, mixed them a bit, and created a sort of mush that oddly looked like hot cereal. I took advantage of their on-the-spot hot water and made myself some fresh coffee in a french press I picked up at an op shop (second hand store) for $3. In the end it was a very satisfying breakfast.
After I cleaned up, I packed my bag for the beach: swim suit, sun screen, journal and a canteen of water. The walk down to the beach path was therapeutic. The trail crossed a boardwalk overlooking a marsh. I saw a beautiful blue bird with long legs poking around on the shore (I later found that it was a Pukeko). The path wound through the small beach town, passing a cafe and private properties. Trees hovered over a small park, and brush ran along the fence lines. At the car park, the beach opened up to the left. There was not a soul on the shore. The sand spread out until it collided with the grass of the dunes. The water was a royal blueish-green that
deepened in color the further it sunk into the horizon.
I took off my shoes and walked out to a group of rocks that formed a sort of jetty into the ocean, blocking off the access to the further parts of the beach.
I sat on a particularly large rock and relaxed for a long while. I could feel the waves crash below me and shower my skin ever so lightly. The waves then rolled down the beach rumbling like a lazy thunderstorm. The morning sun was gentle, but I still wore a long sleeved shirt. The ozone has deteriorated over most of New Zealand and can cause brutal skin damage and burns in relatively short periods of time. When it is overcast, or when the sun feels cool with the breeze distracting you is when it gets you the worst. The rock I sat on was porous and jaggy. The texture was like a moon rock, spongy yet anything but soft to the touch. To my right, the beach was still deserted and to the left, the ocean crashed onto the adjoining rocks. A large grove of trees sprung up behind me, making creating my own secluded
corner of the earth.
Four hours later I returned to a completely different beach. I discovered that at low tide, the hot geothermal spots were right under the very waves crashing into my rocky throne. Over one hundred people with spades in tow had scouted out their personal spas in the sand. Some were already comfortably situated in a private hot tub, while others had dug massive pools for the whole family. As the tide went out, more sand spas sprung up in front of the existing ones like a terraced flower garden in constant flux across the shore. I found a spot in front of a couple from California. After they watched me struggle to build my pool by hand, they offered to let me use their spade. Constructing a self-contained pool in wet sand while the tide continues to breach the walls is similar to attempting to build a sand castle while waves topple over it. The whole experience was one of reforming and rebuilding, fighting with nature to relax for just a few moments of solitude.
The geothermal spots were just that, spotty. In my particular pool the right side was excruciatingly hot. If my
feet or hands broke the surface of the sand, they were scolded. However the left was almost too cool. I spent several hours shifting in direction to balance out the cold side of my body from the hot side. No matter how far I tried to dig into the sand, the depth of the pool itself was only a few inches. I had pools on three sides of me, but to the right, the sand was too hot for anyone to walk on, muchness build a tub.
The experience was intoxicating. My body was encased by sand and water heated from the remanence of a volcano that erupted millions of years ago. I was in a self-built hot tub overlooking an emerald Pacific Ocean. I didn't give up my spot until the incoming tide began to reclaim the sandy walls. Nature never ceases to leave me in wonder.
The next morning after I made a grilled veggie breakfast burrito topped with avocado. I packed up my campsite and headed up the road to Cathedral Cove. The drive was short, but stunning. The car park was on a hilltop at then end of a narrow road. There were limited
spots for vehicles, though many created their own spots due to the shortage. I drove around the loop several times with no luck.
If I have learned one thing, it is that New Zealand authorities are on top of their ticketing. I received a ticket on the day I bought my car. Not realizing that I had used the pay function incorrectly on the meter, I came back to a gift on my windshield. I was only about 10 minutes later than the time stamped on my ticket. The next day, two kiwi girls next to me at the grocery store had received a ticket on their car. They were also shocked to find it, as they had barely overstayed their time.
I learned my lesson the hard way. So, I pulled into a waiting zone, put the car in park, rolled down the window and read a book. Occasionally I would glance up in search of hikers returning to their cars. It didn't take long. A couple came up the stairs from the trail, changed their shoes and were then on their way, leaving me with my own legal parking spot.
The hike to
the cove started down a wooden staircase with views overlooking Gemstone Bay. The trail went down and around the bend of the bay and then went up. It evened out overlooking Stingray Bay. To the left, farmland spread out in rolling hills that seemed to go on forever. Cows grazed and a calf only a few days old clumsily followed its mother. Fields were marked by fences and brush that created zig zag patters over the hillsides.
I was going down again and then up around Marcus Leg Cove. I knew I was getting closer as I began to pass other hikers in their swimsuits carrying their jandals (flip-flops). The trek down to Cathedral Cove was a steep one with a narrow staircase at the end.
When I got onto the beach I immediately took off by boots and slipped on my own jandals. The sand was a dirty blond mess at my feet. A white rock-face sprung up to the right and beyond that, large vegetation-covered cliffs cupped the blue of the incoming water. On the left, the cathedral-like opening through the rock allowed access to the neighboring beach. The arch framed the deep colors
Rock Jetty
Hot Water Beach at high tide of the ocean majestically. I marveled at the ocean-carved canyon that had a sacred, sanctuary feel.
With each day and each adventure, I feel increasingly grateful. I often have to pinch myself to make sure that this is real, that I am here, and that this is actually my life!
After the hike back I was on the road again, headed south for Rotorua.
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Joe the neighbor
non-member comment
COROMANDEL
It certainly sounds like you are enjoying New Zealand!! What a fine adventure for you (or anyone, for that matter!)! Keep up the blogs and the wonderful photos!!