Getting My Feet Wet in Whangarei
First, I’m absolutely sure you’re noting the alliteration in the title of this post, because I know that’s the sort of thing that everyone picks up on. If you don’t know what alliteration means (Dad), it’s when words start with the same sound.
Second, let me tell you that you’re probably wrong. Most likely, if you’re like me a few days ago, you’ve paired wet and Whangārei. Well, Whangārei is not pronounced with a W sound.
Third, I am not a title-creating amateur, so there is still alliteration present, just with the word feet. Yes, Whangārei is actually pronounced with an F sound: Fan-guh-ray.
Now you’ve learned something 🙂
Rolling Along (Swiftly)
Recently, I left my adventures on Great Barrier Island, which you can read about here, to head back to Auckland. I had one mission in the city: buy a car.
I have been privileged in my short life to have never had to buy a car myself. My parents bought both of the previous cars I’ve used. So, I did a lot of research on buying a car in New Zealand and got lots of advice from my parents and my WWOOF host on Great Barrier Island. Also, because I relied so heavily on blog posts and internet advice from previous travelers, I wish to contribute to that wealth of shared knowledge so the next me can benefit from my experience, as well. So, I will be creating a short post myself on what I found to be the most useful method of buying a New Zealand car.
But you don’t have to read that if you don’t need to buy a car in New Zealand. So, let me skip ahead to the end result of 5 days in Auckland: I bought a New Zealand car!
My New (Zealand) Car
Specifically, I bought a Japanese car in New Zealand. A Suzuki Swift.
It’s big enough for me, my backpack, and groceries. The back windows are tinted pretty dark so I feel confident leaving my items in it while heading off to do a hike (vehicle break-ins are very common in New Zealand). It does alright on the gravel roads that are found all throughout New Zealand, and it makes it up the big hills, even if it only does it at 70 km/h.
I bought my car on Wednesday morning, and by Wednesday noon I was already zooming out of the city. The person I purchased my car from was nice enough to talk me through my first few minutes on the road, since I had to drive on the opposite side!
Thankfully (and this was part of my strategy), I had been studying the cars around me for the past three weeks and I took a practice NZ drivers ed test online that presented a bunch of scenarios and diagrams, so I could think through what to do at roundabouts and who has the right of way at T intersections and so on.
So I was definitely ultra-focused driving out of the city, but I felt good. I felt free.
We’ll see how far the wings of this Suzuki Swift take me.
Real Life in Whangārei
Whangārei is located about two hours north of Auckland in the Northland region of the North Island. I stayed three nights in a hostel called The Cell Block Backpackers, which is a refurbished jail. (It is much nicer than it sounds!)
This (as I consider it) is the true start of my backpacking experience. Auckland was simply “traveling.” I stayed in hostels. I went out to eat for almost every meal. I saw the sights, but it felt like a temporary situation. This, now, is real.
I bought groceries and cooked in the communal kitchens. I purchased shampoo and conditioner. I organized my car so that everything has a place (my mom would be so proud, and not at all surprised). I bought laundry detergent and visited the laundromat.
I feel like a real person, rather than Traveler Maddie. I finally am beginning to feel like New Zealand Maddie.
New Zealand Maddie’s Adventures in Whangārei
New Zealand Maddie is here to see the sights. In fact, that is her primary objective at this time. Her only responsibilities are to keep herself and her belongings safe, achieve an average accommodations cost of less than $35 USD per night, be a kind and responsible (unofficial) ambassador for her country, and keep up this blog.
So, in line with the fourth responsibility, let me tell you what I got up to in Whangārei.
Piroa Falls
Located on the way to Whangārei, in the middle of picturesque farmland, is a “scenic” gorge road. I am sure the gorge is beautiful, but the native New Zealand forest is so thick that I couldn’t see much. However, I caught a few glimpses of the river below when I crossed bridges, but I didn’t have a lot of eyesight to spare since this was my first (very windy) gravel road in my Suzuki Swift.
However, when I pulled over where my GPS told me, I could already hear the falls.
Piroa Falls is a ten minute walk down into the gorge and there was not a single other soul in sight, so I got to enjoy the beauty of the path and the roar of falls with no interruptions.
What I most enjoyed about the falls was the endless stretch of farmland and rolling hills that cradled the short, sudden gorge and large waterfall. The lack of other people, though probably due to it being winter, lent a “hidden” quality to a beautiful spot and truly encapsulated a large part of what I was hoping to find in New Zealand. In fact, this is the primary reason I wanted to buy a car instead of relying on buses, shuttles, and tours.
Whangārei Heads: Te Whara Loop Track
The next morning, I rolled out of The Cell Block at 8am with hopes of getting in a hike before the rain that was scheduled at 2pm. First, I had an hour drive down the coast toward Whangārei Heads, which is a volcanic promontory near Whangārei. I passed through several small towns. The on-coming traffic was constant, cars evenly spaced along the curving road like a beaded necklace, but I encountered almost no one on my side of the road.
The trailhead for my hike was off another farm road and I parked on a narrow shoulder between two blocks of cleared grazing land. The trail shot straight between the properties and then up a mountain. I’ve noticed that New Zealand trail makers really like going straight up mountains. Stairs are the favorite type of hiking path.
Once I got into the forest and higher on the ridge, the trail did have parts that meandered, following the curve of the mountain rather than a straight shot to the top. I carefully stepped over thick tree roots, scrambled over (and through) high rocks, and plodded up even more stairs. The occasional overlook showed beautiful farmland and the coast stretching away on each side. The top of the hike promised spectacular views over the ocean and towards several islands in the bay.
Alas, the clouds rolled in early and instead the final overlook on the Bream Head opened into grey skies and grey sea and not a single way to determine where one ended and the other began. The wind was whipping, so I didn’t linger, as I felt the strongest sense that there wasn’t anything out there at all. That there was no world and even the slippery rock under my feet would momentarily cess to exist.
So I got out of there pretty quickly.
New Zealand doesn’t seem to have thunderstorms (at least, I haven’t experienced one despite all the rain), but my Colorado-attuned senses were telling me to vacate the high ground just in case.
I completed the loop, descending a plethora of steep stairs, and then emerging on a bare ridge along the sea. I had good views back toward the Bream Head as the clouds had lifted somewhat, but the many many stairs I’d come down and the probability of more clouds drifting in kept me from heading back up for potentially improved views.
And it’s a good thing I continued on my way. I left the trail and began to walk back to my car. It was only a ten minute walk through a neighborhood and then on a country road, but it was then (when I was less than 5 minutes from my car) that the sky fell. The water came down like hammer blows and instantly everything not covered by my raincoat was soaked.
The rain had come early. And it didn’t let up for the rest of the day.
Luckily, I was very close to the car and the radiator in my room at The Cell Block worked admirably to warm me up and dry my clothes and shoes.
Mount Parihaka
Again, the next day promised rain, so I found a much shorter hike to do. Walking directly from The Cell Block, I wondered through town while the sun shone, and then into a park where I ate breakfast. Then, the hike.
Again…stairs.
Because of the rain the day and night before, the air in the forest was extremely humid. Instantly, my shirt and pants were damp and, even though it wasn’t very warm, I put on a headband because my face was melting into rivulets of water and sweat.
And the locals ran past on their morning jog, not even a drop of sweat to be seen.
Clearly I belong in a dry environment!
The walk through the native forest was gorgeous. As I’ve experienced, winter in the Northland means a lot of rain, so it’s probably greener in the winter than the summer. The trees, so different from what we have back home, are thriving, and birds flit from branch to vine, constantly tweeting and peeping. I wish I knew what birds I was seeing, but I do know one is a fantail, which is a small brown bird whose tail, when spread wide, is as big as it’s body, and looks like a lady’s white fan. Other times I catch glimpses of blue or green and red, but whenever I try to get close enough to take a photo, or even get a good look, the bird takes off into the trees with an annoyed cry.
Like many old volcanoes, Mount Parihaka was once home to a Māori pā. In fact, that’s how it gets it’s name. When a rival tribe came to attaack, the Māori who called Parihaka home stood on the terraces, called pari, and performed their war dances and chants, called haka.
This is an old volcano, so the forest has completely reclaimed the inner crater, but a memorial to the Māori has cleared a few trees, providing a lookout over the town of Whangārei.
I took a different trail back and was pleased to find the path followed a small river and waterfall. I’m not certain if it’s a natural spring or if the river is only present after heavy rainfall.
Canopy Walk
In the afternoon, I drove to the A. H. Reed Memorial Park. The park isn’t very big, but there is a short canopy walk among native kauri trees, which are one of the longest living and largest growing trees in the world.
Paranui Falls
Also part of the A. H. Reed Memorial Park, the trek up to the Paranui waterfall was a short add on to the canopy walk, but again, I was alone atop these beautiful falls. The vibrant green of the moss, the joyful surge of the water among the rocks, and then the cascade…
I sat at the top for several minutes just embracing the energy of the water, the joy of being here.
Moments like this make me take a deep breath and think: I’m here. I’m doing it.
Months ago, I planned this trip. (And by planned, I mean I applied for the visa and bought a flight…). I told people about it. I announced it like it was a plan, but it was still just a dream. An impossibility. Nothing about it felt real. Sometimes, even though I’m here, it still doesn’t feel real.
But, in moments like this, it is completely real. And that thought–I’m doing it–seems to fill my lungs with a breath of the freshest, sweetest air. I feel, for a few moments, the true weight of my feet on the earth. I feel both my roots–my feet connected to this earth and the earth back home–and my wings–that carried me so far.
Whangārei Falls
I walked upstream along the Whangārei River from A. H. Reed Memorial Park. Damage from the cyclone that came through last February was evident in some places, but for the most part it was a lovely, peaceful walk.
I could hear the falls before I saw them, and then suddenly there they were. My favorite thing about waterfalls, other than the noise, is how peaceful the river can be on either side, and then so much violence and fury and energy encapsulated in a tiny stretch of the much grander river.
Waipu Caves
These free caves are located outside of Whangārei. Closer to Piroa than Whangārei actually. I should have visited them just after Piroa Falls if I was being efficient. However, Waipu Caves is (and it’s in the name) a cave.
That means venturing underground, into the blackness of night, into a twisting, turning cave. Alone.
I wasn’t sure that I felt comfortable doing that by myself. In fact, the Department of Conservation (DOC) sign at the entrance to the caves says DO NOT GO ALONE. So I was being very smart.
Instead, I waited until Saturday around noon to circle back to the caves, hoping that I wouldn’t be the only person there.
When I rattled up in my little Suzuki Swift, there was a camper van parked in the parking lot. I got out my headlamp and put my water bottle in my bag, then ventured over to the campers. I asked them about the caves–they’d already visited last night–and if they, by chance, wanted to go in again–they didn’t. But they assured me that they felt very safe and it would be fine for me to go alone. You don’t have to go in very far, they said. Though the better glowworms are deeper.
Well.
What to do…
So I walked over to the cave entrance. Like Piroa Falls, I drove on 12 km of gravel road through rolling farmland to get here. From the road, the cave area simply looks like a patch of native forest, but you crest a small hill and there is a crack in the earth. You’d never know it was there if it wasn’t on the map.
So I walked in. The entire cave floor was rock covered in an inch-thick layer of mud.
So I walked out, returned to my car, and put on a pair of pants that already had mud and dirt all over them.
The universe was looking out for me though, because at that point another car pulled into the lot. It was a dad and a little girl of maybe eight. He said they were planning to go into the caves, but he had to get the little girl into different clothes and shoes first. It appeared that this would take a while, so I wandered back to the caves. I slid down on my butt into the shallow river running through the cave and crossed to the other side. I could see big rocks placed stride-length apart just under the surface of the water, so most likely in the summer people can enter the caves without getting in the river, but the water was just too high.
When I reached rock on the other side, I walked along the curve until I could no longer see the cave entrance. I knew the dad and daughter would be coming in after me, so I felt pretty safe being just inside.
I turned off my headlamp and settled in for a wait. I thought I would definitely be too close to the entrance, but it took only a few seconds for the first of the glow worms to begin giving off light.
It wasn’t much, just a scattered line of them, but it was enough.
All I could hear was water bubbling in the back of the cave, echoing so that it sounded like voices calling. My feet and calves were damp, but it wasn’t cold. Water dripped from stalactites on the ceiling, and glowworms glimmered like stars. I’d had my light on mere moments ago, so I knew the cave ceiling was at least ten feet above my head, but they looked so close, like I could almost reach out and touch them.
After a few moments, lights flashed and I waited for a while as the dad and daughter, as well as a New Zealand couple and a group of four Germans also entered the caves. The dad and daughter left quickly, as the cave was not child friendly in the least, but the others poked around for a half an hour and I followed along, feeling much braver in a large group.
The New Zealand couple stayed the longest, as they were looking for a larger cavern. Apparently reviews on TripAdvisor had said there was a large cavern with more glow worms but you had to crawl under a stretch of stone that was only a meter high.
In all the exploring, I found a second spot deeper in the main cavern where there were many more glow worms, but neither the German group nor the New Zealand couple stopped to enjoy them, caught as they were in searching for the bigger (and presumably better) cavern. So, when they finally left, I stayed longer in the spot I’d found and enjoyed the larger spread of glow worms without the flashing lights.
Even though I knew exactly where the entrance was, and even though I hadn’t crawled under any low rock outcroppings and I didn’t have to pass through any deep sections of river to get out, and even though I knew the batteries in my headlamp were fresh and I had my phone flashlight as back up, the darkness gets to you. Being underground…
alone…
Complete darkness except for the glow worms. Quiet that isn’t quiet (as I said, the water gurgled and bubbled and it felt like sounds echoed from half a mile away), yet it was so still inside the cave that it felt quiet.
I stayed for ten minutes, enjoying the beautiful glow worms, and then I got out of there too.
As soon as I stepped from the entrance, I rolled my eyes at my folly. Of course I was fine. I could hardly get lost. And the entrance hadn’t mysteriously closed up while I was inside. It hadn’t started raining, the water wasn’t moving any faster or slower. The ceiling hadn’t begun to shrink. But the darkness, the stillness, the mere idea of being in a cave alone begins to eat at you.
But it was beautiful. So I’m not done with New Zealand caves. But I definitely will go with a group next time.
What’s Next?
I’m going to continue making my way north up to the tippy top of New Zealand. You can keep an eye out for my next posts. I’ve got a photo diary “One Year of New Zealand Selfies” in the works, if you’re interested in peeking into my day to day. There will also be the post about my car buying experience and advice (I’m not insulted if you’re not interested). And we’ll see what else!
As a reminder, if you want to be notified via email when I post new articles, you can subscribe here.
Thanks for reading!
2 Comments
Beth
Hey Maddie sounds like you’re having fun exploring. If you want help with quick and easy bird ID, try the Merlin app by Cornell Lab. It has options for sound and visual observations and is pretty accurate when you download the local bird list via the app. Good luck!
Maddie
Thanks Beth! I will do that 🙂