Beautiful Northland

Kiwi generosity is probably best typified, for us, by an afternoon jaunt up the side of an impregnable peak. No name, just a big challenge. Managed to flag down a boatie after a few minutes of frantic waving. The short five minute trip across the estuary ended with our stand-in captain off-loading bottles of Corona for us – and we’d asked for the lift?!

We left them to cool in a trickling stream and started our ascent through the bush – tramping, the kiwis like to call this. Not so much hard as pain-staking. Every few steps we were forced to stop and rethink the route.

It seemed we were the first to undertake this foolish stunt, though on summiting, an hour or so later, we discovered a handful had beaten us to it, their names scrawled on a large plaque marking the top.

The long stretch south west to Bayley’s Beach – NZ’s longest drivable stretch of sand, some 80ks – was one of the most enjoyable drives we’ve ever experienced.

Host to so little traffic, Northland’s roads afford the driver the rare opportunity to experience everything, from towering tree topped forests to slow winding streams.

The landscapes are majestic. 90 mile beach – actually it’s nearer 56 miles – is a wonderful sight, laced with dunes so offering sanctuary from the strong Tasman breeze. Silence is punctured, every now and then, by gas guzzling coaches, fitted with industrial strength tyres, filled to bursting point with package tourists – big shame.










One of Northland’s largest townships is Kaitaia, a dusty mismatch of flat-packed builds and fast food outlets. For some reason kiwis seem to live for KFC, especially the Pacific Islanders, and Maccy Ds. All that wonderful red meat and fresh seafood, and yet, queues of vastly over-weight natives spill out onto the street. Stopped long enough to top up on supplies and quickly got the hell out. After all, where’s the attraction in watching a load of obese islanders wipe mayonnaise from their greasy chops?

A few beach pit-stops broke up the beautiful trip south to Opononi, where the road turns inland and weaves through the majestic Waipoua Forest and hugs the Kauri coastline, home to Tane Mahuta, 1250 years old still stands and grows, the country’s oldest, not to mention widest, tree. Worth a stop and a picture, of course, but at the end of the day it’s a tree, albeit a big one. We’ve never seen roads like these, so driver friendly, yet so few cars. In a seven hour stretch we passed less than a dozen fellow motorists – imagine that in England or Holland?

Never happen. Steaming along at 120kph, you get to throw your car into bends with little thought for oncoming traffic. After all, there is none! The only obstacles are sleepy lambs, obviously bearing some kind of death wish, but with 60 million of the woolly fuckers the fields aren’t going to miss one or two.