|St Paul's church, Whangaroa harbour, opened for business in 1883|
We've made it to the far north. Or as far north as we have time to come. Whangaroa. Sounds a lot like Whangarei, doesn't it? How does it sound though? I hesitate each time about whether to pronounce the Wh as an F, or a W. My brother Nod says it's always the F sound now. Fangarei. Fangaroa. Only recalcitrant Pakeha (white New Zealanders) continue to say W. Wangarei, Wangaroa. (not to mentions the many other New Zealand place names beginning with Wh). Yet Whangaroa used to be spelled Wangaroa. I wonder what the missionaries and settlers and timber millers who raised the money in the 1880s to build the wooden church up behind the wharf called this place they had made their home so far from Home?
Getting back to the journey.
It seemed like we were stalled , but hey, once you get underway, it's not so far after all.
|Before we left Whangarei, we hired a car. Here's Tutakaka from the road...|
|...and here's how much fun you can have on the road.|
|The quiet life - walking the dog near Tutakaka marina|
|Matapouri is one of a string of lovely sandy surf beaches between Tutakaka and Whangaruru|
It's just one hop from Urquhart's to Whangaruru harbour, and then another up to The Bay (of Islands, that is, but apparently it's just called The Bay these days). We needed to sail half way around the world to round Cape Brett on our own boat. You go past the lighthouse and kaboom, there they are, all those islands flung across flat sparkling water, begging to be visited. Isn't that something?
|The northern cliffs of Urapukapuka|
Who knows which anchorage is the one to head for when you first come in? Everyone says, 'oh, there are so many places, don't ask me to name a favourite'. We found ourselves in Paradise Bay on the west coast of Urapukupuka. With the wind blowing from the east (again), and our deep draft, there actually weren't that many choices. About 20 other boats had made the same call. It may be late February, but there's still a reasonable crowd in the Bay.
|A couple of yachts prepare to sail through the small channel between|
With the wind in the south-east, we scooted north after only a couple of nights in The Bay. Why leave Paradise, you ask? Well, this summer hasn't encouraged complacency. The latest scare was that nasty Tropical Cyclone Winston (which beat up Tonga first and then moved west to give Fiji an even deadlier thumping) would do a U-turn as it approached Australia and come roaring back across the Tasman to slam into Northland. Then the meteorologists pushed its course down to Wellington, and now...well, Winston is a spent force who will be wandering lamely near Cape York by late next week. So they say. But we're a bit jumpy about what's out there, so we put our sails up (a pole even) and headed for Whangaroa while we could. That was until the Cavalli islands came into view.
The Cavalli islands are the site of a mythical fishing expedition in my childhood. Nod and I were comparing memories of the steel barge, and the thick schools of blue maomao and trevally when we were at Great Barrier. I didn't imagine I'd ever go back there, let alone be able to stay overnight - the Cavalli anchorages are generally recommended only in fair weather.
This counted as fair weather, we reckoned. We dropped anchor in Waiti Bay on the south side of Big Cavalli island. I landed my kayak in a hint of surf and climbed to the top of an old pa on the southern headland. For that evening at least, and later, when a startlingly clear full moon rose over the island, my dream-like Cavallis made good on their old promises. The guide book suggested we might hear the sound of kiwis at night (Northland seems to be sprouting Kiwi zones). "What does a kiwi even sound like?" Alex asked. I still don't know.
By morning, the spell was broken. Sometime during the night, the wind shifted further into the south and as day broke Enki was rolling and kicking, pleading to be gone. We too. We hadn't slept well.
And that's where Whangaroa comes in. This is the harbour where you sleep as if on land. Not even a ripple under the hull where we have parked the boat, behind Milford Island. It's eery. The tricky part of course is Whangaroa's comparatively small entrance with its racing tides, but again, local boats go in and out all the time. Except when they know not to.
|Looking back at the entrance to Whangaroa harbour....|
|....and towards its upper reaches with Peach Island ahead of us and St Paul's rock in the distance.|
|The view from the top of St Paul's rock, down onto the marina at Whangaroa township and across to Totara North|
|The better view, out towards the harbour entrance with Stephenson Island on the horizon.|
|One of the prizes at the Marsden Cove fishing comp|
|Whangaroa Sport Fishing Club wharf|
I put a line down yesterday in the harbour. Nothing even nibbled at my bait. Don't need flags to tell me there are more fish in the sea.
|Whangaroa marina - mostly fishing boats|
|Luisa plums, bought in Whangaroa - my Dad's favourite, and now, it seems, a popular crop in Northland|