First, we drove waaaaayyy out west. When we got to the sheep paddock, we turned off the 'main' road and headed into the hills.
We were on our way to Whatipu, a beach on the farthest, wildest reaches of the Waitakeres. I would have described our one-lane bumpy road and its view as 'ludicrously spectacular', had I not been so busy foiling its attempts to actively murder us as we drove. This merry little gravity-trap path through the forest primeval involved a lot more vertical action than I had really been prepared for, and angles that were acutely attention-grabbing, all with sheer drop-offs on alternating sides with, naturally, no guardrails and far too much opposing traffic for my taste. Then it turned to gravel. And when we saw the sign stating, 'Road Narrows', we were all, 'How??'
But because I was too busy staying on my side of the road --at like 17 kilometers per hour-- to have the spare mental capacity to bother being unnerved, we arrived safely. Although before I got out of the car my folks had to fetch the tire iron to pry most of my fingers out of the steering wheel.
Here is a link to a map of Whatipu's place in the world. Along the way we stopped at a lookout to get a glimpse of the beach we were on our way to. There it is down behind the mountain.
The photo below was taken once we got to our destination, looking inland. This is the other side of that same mountain.
There are maybe a dozen little baches in this valley. Some of them are over a hundred years old, the remnants of a logging village that in its day was only accessible via a twice-weekly ferry. And here I'm waxing hyperbolic about this place's remoteness; times sure have changed.
The intervening years have also changed the landscape. When it was built, this little house was so close to the coastline that it was covered in salt spray. But the ocean currents shifted over time and deposited an immense amount of black, volcanic ironsand here.
When I say 'an immense amount of sand', I mean it. The spot where I stood to take this photo used to be underwater, yet today the foot track through the grassy dunes to the beach is a full kilometer long.
It's a really interesting walk because in addition to all the scrubby vegetation, there's all these cool outcroppings along the way.
And when we did make it down to the water, there was this big sleeping-turtle island.
Which was composed of rocks the texture of cheese-graters, surrounded by heavy surf. I created some dark amusement for myself by envisioning the fate of hapless shipwrecked mariners desperately attempting to clamber ashore here.
It looks like the landscape is composed of a cheap, chunky concrete. Dropped from some enormous, careless cement mixer.
It has a name--Piha Conglomerate--and it's a wild mix of high-iron-content volcanic stones held suspended in sedimentary mortar.
Some of the larger pieces were used as the foundation of the loggers' tramway, which is now pummelled into practically unrecognisable remnants by the waves.
Because it was there, I clambered up to the top of the cliff and had a look-around under the low, threatening clouds while the wind attempted to knock me off. (Turn your speakers down, the wind noise is maddening.)
And when I came back down the sun came out and suddenly Whatipu was a totally different place!
The big rocky whatevers looked a lot more friendly under the warm sun.
And I had a little flop down on a dune and was all, 'hello, sunshine'.
I especially liked Whatipu's lighthouse, with its Dr. Seuss entrance.
We were on our way to Whatipu, a beach on the farthest, wildest reaches of the Waitakeres. I would have described our one-lane bumpy road and its view as 'ludicrously spectacular', had I not been so busy foiling its attempts to actively murder us as we drove. This merry little gravity-trap path through the forest primeval involved a lot more vertical action than I had really been prepared for, and angles that were acutely attention-grabbing, all with sheer drop-offs on alternating sides with, naturally, no guardrails and far too much opposing traffic for my taste. Then it turned to gravel. And when we saw the sign stating, 'Road Narrows', we were all, 'How??'
But because I was too busy staying on my side of the road --at like 17 kilometers per hour-- to have the spare mental capacity to bother being unnerved, we arrived safely. Although before I got out of the car my folks had to fetch the tire iron to pry most of my fingers out of the steering wheel.
Here is a link to a map of Whatipu's place in the world. Along the way we stopped at a lookout to get a glimpse of the beach we were on our way to. There it is down behind the mountain.
The photo below was taken once we got to our destination, looking inland. This is the other side of that same mountain.
There are maybe a dozen little baches in this valley. Some of them are over a hundred years old, the remnants of a logging village that in its day was only accessible via a twice-weekly ferry. And here I'm waxing hyperbolic about this place's remoteness; times sure have changed.
The intervening years have also changed the landscape. When it was built, this little house was so close to the coastline that it was covered in salt spray. But the ocean currents shifted over time and deposited an immense amount of black, volcanic ironsand here.
When I say 'an immense amount of sand', I mean it. The spot where I stood to take this photo used to be underwater, yet today the foot track through the grassy dunes to the beach is a full kilometer long.
It's a really interesting walk because in addition to all the scrubby vegetation, there's all these cool outcroppings along the way.
And when we did make it down to the water, there was this big sleeping-turtle island.
Which was composed of rocks the texture of cheese-graters, surrounded by heavy surf. I created some dark amusement for myself by envisioning the fate of hapless shipwrecked mariners desperately attempting to clamber ashore here.
It looks like the landscape is composed of a cheap, chunky concrete. Dropped from some enormous, careless cement mixer.
It has a name--Piha Conglomerate--and it's a wild mix of high-iron-content volcanic stones held suspended in sedimentary mortar.
Some of the larger pieces were used as the foundation of the loggers' tramway, which is now pummelled into practically unrecognisable remnants by the waves.
Because it was there, I clambered up to the top of the cliff and had a look-around under the low, threatening clouds while the wind attempted to knock me off. (Turn your speakers down, the wind noise is maddening.)
And when I came back down the sun came out and suddenly Whatipu was a totally different place!
The big rocky whatevers looked a lot more friendly under the warm sun.
And I had a little flop down on a dune and was all, 'hello, sunshine'.
I especially liked Whatipu's lighthouse, with its Dr. Seuss entrance.
3 comments:
Thank you for your wonderful photo-journalism on this adventure! I would never have imagined such places like this existed on earth - both beautiful and forbidding.
Just imagining your drive up the side of the mountains makes me nervous - but the veiws from the top are spectacular!
Thanks so much for sharing!
I would have been a nervous wreck riding or driving up that road. I will think of your courage when I start driving to work daily for the first time in 34 years.
The images are just amazing. You are right about the sun bringing a new perspective of the land.
Wow! Far out! Really far out, LOL! Yeah, I don't even like the narrow scary roads in West Virginia with curves and mountains with no railings, so I sure would not have liked those roads at all. But since you went to all the trouble to get there, I did enjoy the views and thanks for sharing it!
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