Cook’s Tours First There Again

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Days 43-44 12-14 March Coromandel Peninsula

Frost on the car as we left Taupo reminded us that summer is running out of time in New Zealand. One more stop before Auckland. Another p******e. Captain Cook had beaten us to it again. Is there anywhere that man has not been? His suitcase must be sticky as hell with all the bag tags from his travels. The Coromandel Peninsular, east of Auckland is spectacularly beautiful. We headed for most people’s must-go destination area: Mercury Bay. So named because Cook stopped off in the bay to observe the transit of Mercury for some reason. Round here, the NZ tourist board must love him. There’s Cook’s Beach and there’s the lookout point at Shakespeare’s Cliff with a well forged plaque to JC, complete with a description of QE2’s visit (that’s the woman, not the ship) who came ashore with Phil, the man, from Britannia to honour JC in 1979. ‘And what do you do? -I’m an explorer, ma’am. - And heeow lorng hev you been exploring? - About two hundred years, ma’am. -And have you found anything interesting? - Not yet, ma’am, but we’ve heard there’s some good pubs in Auckland, though. We might be there by Thursday if the bloody crew don’t mutiny. - Splendid! Carry on exploring! Plant the flags!

Apart from the convenient conveniences and the wooden steps, Cook probably saw the jaw-dropping beauty of Cathedral Cove in the same pristine state we did (30 mins walk, moderate, some mild gasping to be expected). I reckon the excuse to watch Mercury was just that - an excuse. What he really wanted was a chance to lie on the beach, take a dip, read a bit, watch the crowd of city kids going climbing and swimming where they shouldn’t. -Not up there, Scott! Come down, all of you! - I told you not to swim beyond that rock! I watched this with a mixture of amusement and empathy. Shades of Sean E & Darren G - remember, Mr Revilo? . Best moment was when about 20 kids rushed out of the water, screaming. Mystery solved when we overheard one of the kids saying, “We thought it was a stinger ray, but it was only somebody’s flippers.”

We stayed at Hahei, an upmarket Aucklanders’ hideaway village, in Mark’s smart B & B, with wrap-around decks and a garden full of overhanging green stuff hiding a lovely little pool, just a 10 minute walk from the beach. Hahei’s beach is another beautiful arc of yellow sand, backed by dunes and lawns and, a bit further back, smart real estate, with shiny cars and boat trailers parked in front. The view out to the horizon , similar to that from Cathedral Cove, is interrupted by a collection of rocky, gull infested islands, each as photogenic as the other.

Next beach along is Hot Water Beach, another must-see, must-do, must-dig destination. For an hour or so either side of low tide, hot springs leak just below the surface of the sand. You bring or hire for $5 a spade, dig in the sand to find or channel the hot water into your own little sandy-walled hot tub. Then you sit in it. That’s all there is to it. There are all these locals, Kiwis, globe-trotting Americans, French, Japanese and Yorkshiremen digging for themselves or their kids and enjoying being seven years old again, sitting in a pool of hot or tepid water, depending on how cleverly they’ve arranged their irrigation system. And most of them are talking to complete strangers, trying to share the childish joy of it all. I was thinking myself back on Filey beach, aged 7 or so, but here I was paddling in (R sitting in) water often too hot for comfort (90 degrees C). We used to build similar earthworks against the incoming North Sea tide at Filey, but we’d usually see Captain Oates leaving the beach, muttering ‘Too bloody cold for me. . I’m going to the café and I may be some time’. Shortly after this, our parents would rush us to Scarborough Hospital’s Hypothermia Unit. At Hot Water Beach, the potential danger was in sustaining 3rd degree scalds on already sunburnt feet.

A little golfing postscript to our Coromandel experience. A deserted 9 hole golf course sits in a valley just outside Hahei. The ‘clubhouse’ looks like the cricket pavilion at King George V Playing Fields, Winchester, which is like hundreds of battle-scarred cricket pavilions all over England. The only difference here was a notice providing instructions on how to pay for your golf if no-one was around, which, I suspect, was most of the time. Put your money in one of the envelopes provided ($25 for 18 holes, $15 for 9) and slot it into the green metal honesty box. Time, light and R’s patience were running out, so I scooted a quick 4 holes with 2 balls in 45 minutes, hit one wonder shot, lost one ball into a waterfall, and birdied the last hole I played, on a green so smooth and quick that most UK players would be talking about at least till next week. In 45 minutes I had vindicated the decision to desert Mr Big and Cape Kidnappers. If ever I return to NZ, then this little corner of heaven has to be on the itinerary. I might find that one James Cook holds the course record. I might have time to look for that lost ball. What’s the betting that bloody Cook will discover it before I get there, as usual?

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Comments

[Oliver]

Ah, memories! I burned my foot in t Hat Water, did you? come over when we get back and we'll compare photos.

[Alan]

Just caught up
Wow that was quick! All the way from South Island to North Island and now you are on your way back to Oz. Loved the pics!