In Iceland it is now frowned upon to put soap powder down a geyser to make it erupt for the entertainment of the paying audience but way back in the nineteenth century there was a mining prison camp under Rainbow Mountain, (Wai-o-Tapu in Maori) and the prisoners would lay their dirty clothes around the bubbling hole, throw in some soap and watch nature’s own top loader at work in front of their very eyes.
So maybe we were among the last visitors to sit waiting for the soap to disturb the layer separating two different types of water causing the hotter water underneath to release its pressure upwards. Anyway it was another experience ticked off the list and it might be the only geyser the children ever see.
“Granny, how many more countries do you and Grandad have to visit before you come home?” Ruby asked as we wandered through the hot water lakes and steaming craters hand in hand. A child’s honest question deserves an honest answer, so I listed the countries and we counted them together, but then I softened the answer by a promise to come home as often as we could including later this year.
I was telling her about the bushes around us (Manuka and Kanuka) that produce the flowers from which bees make excellent honey. When I asked if she thought any animals could live in this smelly place with its boiling water and hot muddy ground she mentioned birds who could fly away from it. Gary and Emily called to us to approach really quietly as they had found something, it was a tiny mouse like creature which stayed still just long enough for me to snap a picture through the twigs. Can you make it out?
Cyclone Cook was still moving over us. It was a vast system that was taking days to clear away. The forecast on Wednesday April 12th was for torrential rain and thunderstorms to cross the North Island until Friday with winds predictions up to 250kmph. Well fortunately those winds did not materialise but the rain came and was pushed along by gale force winds in places.
So when we arrived at our next campsite in the Wairaikei Thermal Valley near Lake Taupo Rob and I had to decide whether it would be wise to sleep in the tent or in a chalet they had available on the site. Also our two next excursions were weather dependent and we started praying for a break in the rain. The family were due to take a jet boat ride to the Hukka Falls that spill from the lake through a narrow ravine into the Waikato River but these don’t run if it is raining as the droplets of rain sting the skin of the passengers in these high speed craft.
Taupo got its name from a great chief and explorer, Tia. He arrived on the eastern side of the lake eight hundred years ago and noted a cliff formation resembling his heavy feathered cloak, known as a Taupo. He set up an altar and claimed the place as Taupo-nui-a-tia, the great shoulder cloak of Tia. Centuries later Ernest Kemp arrived on the scene and started the fishing trade and sport fishing on the lake, opening the first trading store to sell fishing gear and a variety of giant trout that thrived in the clear, pure and potable waters.
The little replica steamer we sailed in to the Maori rock carvings was named after Ernest Kemp and was run by a friendly couple and had by coincidence had been built back in 1980 at Whangarei. Dave our skipper chatted to us as we crossed the near calm waters towards the famous Modern Maori Rock Carvings. “That house up there was once owned by Rod Stewart and was part of his divorce settlement, made a good job of repairing the chain saw cut he made didn’t they”.
The Lake itself is the largest in Australasia at 660sq.km and was formed 27,000 years ago when the Oruanui volcano erupted and then collapsed forming this vast caldera. It is the fourth largest live, very live, supervolcano in the world and is roughly the size of Singapore. The eruption 1800 years ago was the biggest in 3000 years of recorded history and was seen by the Romans in Italy and the Chinese in guess where.
In more recent times, back in the 1976, a Maori grandmother, Te Huatahi Susie Gilbert, asked her grandson to carve the likeness of her ancestor Ngatoroirangi in the wood of a totara tree to create a permanent connection for her family to the land. Well this troubled him because he could not find a suitable tree. So one fine evening he set off in his canoe for a thoughtful paddle out on the lake.
Passing Acacia Bay and approaching Rangatira Point, Matahi Whakataka-Brightwell found a natural rock alcove in Mine Bay and over the course of four years he led his team of four artists to create this wonderful 14 metre high figure of their ancestor. There it stood before us as Dave very slowly turned his little steamer full circle so we could all get a good view. Rob recalls that the lines on the forehead represent the family members, there being more on the wife’s side and the two mouths remind us that the ancestor was a mimic who copied sounds and voices of those around him.
A mystery to me was that Dave pointed out a house where he said Zane Grey, the renowned American writer of the late 19th century, wrote some books including ‘Tales of the Angler’s Eldorado’. Well he may have written the book while staying there but in my Kindle version it contained no reference to Lake Taupo, only his sea fishing off the Bay of Islands on the North East coast.
Back ashore and in the Crafty Trout Family Brewing Company’s Austrian Alpine Bier Kafe we tucked into a tasty lunch after texting the family to see what they had been up to. A few minutes later they all joined us and our lunch became extended into a family occasion. They had been to the swimming complex and spent the afternoon at the Honey Centre, interesting but expensive. We went food shopping for all at Countdown.
Lauren was travelling by bus that night to Wellington to spend a few days with Caroline and her family, and Rob and I were enjoying the comforts of the chalet we had rented. We rose just after 1.00am to take her to the bus stop in Taupo during one of the wettest nights on record. Vicky bounced through the muddy puddles on the track back to camp (we were lucky no trees had come down) and we returned to our snug bed after checking our little tent that we had lashed down in the covered lean-to to dry.
The next morning dawned much brighter and we were hopeful the Huka Falls Jet Boats would be running. I pinned our camp host down and asked what sort of cream they served with their famous cream teas. Sad memories of squirty cream on hot scones when we were in Jersey came to mind. “Is it clotted,” I asked innocently.
“No,” answered the ex-marine and retired motorbike racer of Isle of Man TT fame, “Its whipped cream served by a clot!” Insinuating the clot was him and he also made the delicious scones we would enjoy later in the day, but first, to Huka Falls.
Our Delta Lodge Home in the Wairakei Valley Campground
The campsite suited us just fine. Its facilities were the gentle friendly animals, the secluded and beautiful location and the feeling of involvement of the owner, always around and tending the property and animals. We never did learn his name but he was an interesting man who had put together the site, with help, from its outset and made it as pleasant as he could for everyone. I guess he knew what he would like in the way of comfort and enjoyment and provided it for us. In the deep ravine by the campground was a little crinkly tin shed standing by a leat watercourse diversion in the raging stream. We suspected that he had installed a hydro-electric plant there to heat the camp water or at least to take water out and pump it into the camp’s wash water system. When I drew a bath in the lodge bathroom the water was clearly heated river water and very enjoyable to soak in too.
We often enjoyed the work of people such as him in the form of the camp sites they have created. After an interesting, well paid and perhaps dangerous past work history these folk come to a time in life where they have to decide what to do from then on. Some buy pubs and hotels, others may become invisible writers while others may turn to drink. We liked these campsites more than say the Top 10 ones because the latter are often run by people on salaries who appear to do as little as they can for their pay and have played no part in the creative history of the place.
In the New Zealand Government’s rush to encourage tourism to its shores many more camp companies have started up aimed in particular at families, this has affected the older more personal camps and what has suffered most is the antiquated plumbing systems that need replacing. I only hope they survive because they are the nicest places to stay.
Hell No not Huka Falls Today
The day dawned blue and the sun rose warm after the deluge the night before. I was full of optimism that the family would be able to take their longed for trip on the blue jetboat to Huka Falls today.
The water was deceptively placid at the mooring pontoon and I was astonished at the small size of the open boat that would transport its occupants to the falls through which spewed 250,000 litres of water a second, over an 11m ledge to foam in a semi-circular basin against the little boats. Some of my optimism was replaced with fear for them. I didn’t care how the company bragged about their experience and safety record; that was our family out there.
Rob and I drove to a viewing point towards Lake Taupo to film their experience. We knew the vast lake had risen in height by half a metre from the combined rainwaters of Cyclone Debbie and Cook but apparently dams controlled the flow out of the lake.
All the same, when we walked onto the footbridge that crosses the 10m wide chasm my heart made a painful leap, “Rob, we’ve got to go back and warn them not to go,” I gasped, Rob bless him read my fear.
“The boat only goes to the base of the falls love.” I knew that the yellow boats actually shoot the narrow canyon and then ‘muscle’ their way back up it but they would have been mental to do it on that day, I thought. At least our family was in the blue boat.
A few other folk were taking in the dramatic scene and soon the little blue boat appeared around the corner to our right. Our family occupied the rear seats and in the photos you can see Emily waving in a couple of the shots. It was exciting to watch their little vessel spinning and cornering over the creamy turquoise waters that boiled and erupted beneath them.
Rob was filming them on his phone and suddenly he said “I’ve been stung by a bee,” the ragged little sting was sticking out of his tummy and he flicked it away and put up with the surprising pain until he could take some Piriton tablets that were back in the car.
We sped back down to the jet centre in the car and it seemed Ruby had shared my fear as she cried for the first part of the trip until the driver took the boat to her own very special little waterfall which he said was named after her. Emily had held Ruby so tightly that her wrist ached for days after, but what really came out of the trip was that Henry had thoroughly enjoyed the thrilling experience. His fearless enjoyment of daring experiences was to reveal itself later on in their stay too.
We led them back to where we had watched and filmed their voyage just to give them a full picture of the scene, before heading off to Waitomo for our afternoon visit of the Spellbound Glow Worm Caves and our return to Juno Hall Camp, this time with a big campervan to squeeze into a small site.
Natural Spotlights and the Wrong Whanga
It was good to be back at Juno Hall Campsite and Backpackers Hostel and Dave was in good form along with his little side kick, Max the Jack Russell with a lion’s mane, although the weather looked very changeable. Our little tent was pitched in no time and we were enjoying a hasty lunch in the camper before setting off for the Spellbound Cave trip when the driver of another camper knocked on the window to say he needed room for himself and two other campers in a space barely big enough for one.
Well the juggling took a while and was threatening our arrival time for the trip, so Dave leaped to the rescue by emptying the back of his estate car and taking all six of us along with Max riding shotgun and Henry and I sitting in the back luggage area of the vehicle in to Waitomo. Jimmy was our guide once more and I was so happy about this because he was a perfectly laid back chap with a gentle way about him, I just knew the children would have a great time. Once in the people carrier he turned on his mike and treated us to a calm and relaxed commentary all the way to the caves and back.
“Welcome everyone, ok let’s see, what are your favourite animals, ok from the front, yeah?” His commentary was tailored to the conditions. The river that passed through the wet cave was raging after the rains and there was no way we were going to see the eels by the little bridge as we had last time. This river passes over a man-made dam in the wet cave so the water our little inflatable moved along was calm. But ahead we could hear the water crashing over the dam and as we moved closer it became louder. In the darkness this created an interesting sense of impending danger. Hang on to those ropes Jimmy!
Ruby was sat with me in the front row along with a couple. We held hands and gazed up at the ceiling of spot light glow worms, thousands of them and I treasured the fact that we were able to show the children something so unique and beautiful, the culmination of much planning and effort of all concerned coming to fruition.
In the dry cave Jimmy did not play the ‘turn torches off………..BOO’ game, perhaps he thought it might frighten the children. Instead he made Henry our leader.
Henry had to hold the handrail and lead the group forward in the darkness as we each held the left shoulder of the person ahead of us. Brilliant. We were all engrossed. Later we were sitting with a charming American couple and a family from Thailand whose young son is a pilot, he looked about 22 years old. While Jimmy dished up our hot drinks and biscuits in the sun shelter we chatted easily with the others and Henry and Ruby found their own level happily taking in everything around them.
We were lucky with the break in the weather so we could scramble along the hillside tracks back to the vehicle but it wasn’t to last. My hopes of a relaxing time with the family beside the beautiful little pool at the camp were dashed by a cool, wet change in the weather and as rain was forecast for all of the next day we decided we might as well spend it travelling back to Whangarei and giving ourselves an extra day around Zoonie and our ‘home town’.
After a few minutes on the road something did not feel right. The sun wasn’t in quite the right place for a journey north. I couldn’t find any of the little towns named on the roadside on the road map I was studying for our route. That morning I had gone through the usual routine of giving Gary the next address for the satnav. But you know there are just so many towns beginning with Whanga that when Gary relayed back to me Whanganui Top 10 Camp, I just said “yes” and could not have been more wrong. It was in the diametrically opposite direction. Then I found the latest town we had passed on the map and that confirmed it.
Rob overtook the camper and we turned right into a nice big ox bow car park so Gary would have turning room for the camper. I rushed to the window and gave him the correct name and we were back on the road, this time in the right direction towards home and the Easter Weekend with all that would entail!
The mighty Waitomo River had broken its banks and in places only the man-made flood banks prevented the water from flooding the road, the river level was at our eye level. Mature trees stood in impromptu lakes and the lashing rain glistened on shiny flax leaves. Rain caused a thousand riverlets down seeded fields depositing mud where it should not be. We must have been high up as we could see the Auckland Tower, 45 miles away where we stopped for lunch between Bombay and the Pukehohe Road. The sat nav took us on a number of detours, all it transpired were for good reason, road works, accident and floods. Mental note, I must trust the sat nav.