Around 950AD, Kupe left Hawaiki in his waka, Matahourua. With Kupe, were his wife, Hine-te-Aparangi, their four daughters, and Pekahourangi, the tohunga. Their daylight voyage path followed the flight path of Pipi-wharauoa, and relied on their knowledge of wind, waves, clouds, birds, and drifting seaweed. Dusk and night navigation were dictated by Te Putranga-mai o te Ra (the setting sun), the rising stars, and lapa-lapa (phosphorescence).
The month long, 2960km voyage was successful with first landfall at what is now known as, Whitianga-o-Kupe, Kupe’s crossing place. At the sight of a cloud-covered Moreau mountain, Hine exclaimed, E Kupe, he aotea, kua u tatou! Oh, Kupe, yonder is a cloud, we have landed!
After a round of brave-faced farewells in Christchurch, I arrived in Auckland all very easily. The aeroplane wasn’t even nearly full and it didn’t feel as odd as I thought it would to be flying again. I was chuffed with my merino-lined jacket and trail-running shoes that had me looking like a resident Kiwi too. There was some confusion about how to get to the car hire place once I was out of the airport, but I had landed in sunshine and my greatest concern was how to stuff the layers I had begun to peel off into my already over-stuffed bag.
For this leg of my journey, I’d booked an economy car. Because it was cheaper. And because my North Island plan didn’t involve snow or ice or any wildly mountainous roads. So I was delighted to find I’d been upgraded. Not to a big blue beast this time, but a silver one. It just feels nice to be in a big car on these endless roads. But I would have to try harder not to lose it in car parks. I loaded in my over-flowing luggage and headed north out of Auckland to a place called Leigh. I chose Leigh because it was only a couple of hours drive from the airport and I’d heard it was close to a marine and nature reserve called Goat Island. I hadn’t planned on diving there but was making my way up to Tutukaka and savouring the idea that diving was coming very soon.
But during that first week in the North Island, wild off-shore weather and accommodation kerfuffles conspired to keep me out of the water. So I made myself busy in other ways. I did a lot of driving, a lot of walking, and a lot of beach-combing. And I found myself intently studying rocks and rock pools. Taking hundreds of up-close photos and imagining how it would look once I finally did manage to get beneath the surface. I stared for long spells at the ocean until every tiny whitecap became a dolphin. I took seriously signs that said, penguins live here. Once I saw a concertinaed heron and got terribly excited. It was sitting high on a branch and I wondered how on earth a penguin got up there. And I remembered the bat that was actually a butterfly out near the dive boat in the Philippines.
On one blustery day, I drove all the way up to Cape Reinga, at the very tip of the North Island. Where the Tasman Sea meets the Pacific Ocean in a spectacular clashing of currents. There was no mistaking that I was at the end of the country. The wind howled round in circles and the clouds gave out like it was the end of the world. The coastline stretched on forever and the ocean looked furious in every shade of light, bright, and deep teal blue you could possibly imagine. At the northernmost tip of the Cape is an ancient kahika tree named, Te Aroha, which is said to be over 800 years old. And, according to Maori legend, the spirits of deceased Maori leap from this tree into the ocean to return to their ancestral homeland of Hawaiki. The entire scene, both real and imagined, was mesmerising.
On the way back from Cape Reinga, I stopped off for a night in Mangonui. Which is on the southern scoop of Doubtless Bay. Again, albeit somewhat inadvertently this time, named by Captain Cook as he sailed past its entrance. And wrote in his journal, ‘doubtless a bay’. I’m beginning to think he was a bit lazy, as far as explorers go. And have been imagining the names he would have come up with had he actually seen it. It probably goes without saying that I would have called it Mind-blowing Bay.
In Mangonui, Fiona, the host at my home for a night, drove me up to Rangikapiti Pa so we could see the sunrise. I’m all about the views and she said that this one was quite special. It was dark and cold and although Rangikapiti means gathering place, I wasn’t surprised to find we were the only ones there. We parked up and made the short walk to the top of the lookout but within moments a huge rain cloud rolled in and dumped on us. I had been in the ‘winterless north’ of the North Island for just over a week at this point and, in my short experience, had already decided that rain is always threatening here. Even if it doesn’t appear to be. But it never lasts long. Enormous cloud-bursts like that one blow through pretty quickly. But they do come in strong. And you do get very wet. Fiona and I ran back to the car and drove down to the harbour to watch the sunrise from there instead. And the skies cleared. Almost miraculously. So we sat in the car, seat-heating on, and marvelled.
I might be over-doing it a bit with all the weather talk, but it really has been extraordinary. I’ve seen more rainbows in these last two weeks than I think I’ve seen in my entire life. Most of time I am either driving in sunshine towards rain. Or driving in rain towards sunshine. So there’s no getting away from them. Sometimes just the beginning of one pushing its way up and out of the landscape. But more often than not, a whole one. Or even a double whole one. This place has the space for that. The Maori name for New Zealand is, Aotearoa. Which means, long white cloud. After Hine’s exclamation. But if it had been me in that waka, this place might be called, End-to-End Rainbows.
My next stop after Mangonui was only 80km down the coast. I had arranged to dive in Tutukaka at the weekend but had been told of another dive spot in between. A place called Paihia. Here they had the famous Green Peace Rainbow Warrior wreck dive, the HMNZ Canterbury wreck dive, and a load of reef dives too. I was nervous and excited. And sometimes find it difficult to tell the difference. I checked into the dive shop as soon as I arrived in what was a very pretty little beach town. And when I told Lisa that my last dive had been in the tropical waters of Indonesia, she said she’d put extra blankets on the boat for me. I was about to plunge into the sub-tropical waters of Aotearoa in the middle of winter. I think I’ve already mentioned that I don’t do so well in the cold.
My dive buddy was Eliza. A 20 year old dive instructor on a busman’s holiday from her job in Dunedin. Which is in the south of the South Island. She’d only ever dived in the south and was looking forward to being in warmer waters. I thought she must be crazy. But I was feeling okay-ish. Admittedly, I had slept horribly the night before and had worked out that my last dive, my forty-seventh dive, had been back at the beginning of February. It had been five months since I’d breathed underwater. And now, especially around all these experienced cold-water divers, I was beginning to feel like a novice again.
The 40 minute boat ride out to the dive site gave me plenty of time to stir up a good measure of self-doubt. I prepared my equipment, struggling to remember how it all went together, and then squeezed myself into a 3mm hooded vest and a 7mm wetsuit. I’d also been given another hood to put on top of the first one. And big, fat gloves. It felt unusual and cumbersome. But I hadn’t realised just how uncomfortable I was until I hit the water. My mask was fogging and I couldn’t clear it without taking it off altogether. But when I put it back on, my multi-layered hoods slipped backwards. And in pulling them forwards again, my carefully tucked-in hair came out. So now I had a foggy mask full of hair. I hated my big, fat, annoying, gloves and was beginning to come undone. And besides all this, I still hadn’t managed to catch my breath. The water was icy and my head was all over the place. This really wasn’t going well.
Eventually Craig, our guide, gave us the signal to descend. But I just couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t breathe out for long enough in order to let myself sink. I shook my head at him and he reached out and pulled me towards him. I held the mooring line and he gave me the hand signals that Pod had given me back in Koh Tao on my very first dive. Breathe in. Breathe out. And after a few rounds, I signalled that I was ready to go. But even finding the purge valve in those ridiculous gloves was a challenge. The truth was, nothing felt okay. So I made the decision to bail. I swam back round to the stern of the boat and heaved myself and my still full tank of air up the steps. Swearing. A lot. That was my wreck dive. Ugh.
I hadn’t quite finished swearing when Eliza, my dive buddy, popped up beside the boat. I was shocked and surprised. She said she hadn’t been able to release the pressure from her ears. To equalise. And she was swearing too. In fact, using many of the exact same words that I had just used. But after a cup of hot Milo, and some mutual pep-talking, we made a pact that we would both dive that day. And we did. I abandoned the gloves, which had come to represent everything that was wrong with my first dive attempt. And with a lot of kind and encouraging words from the rest of the dive crew, I managed to pull myself together. Eliza was a dream and I was reminded of the first few months of my Taking Leave journey and all the young people who had helped me on my way. And taught me so much. We laughed. And we sang. And we breathed. We danced underwater.
Being able to overcome my fear and get back in the water felt like reward enough. But as we motored towards our final dive site of the day we spotted a pod of six dolphins in the near distance leaping and playing near the bow of a moored sailing boat. Seeing dolphins is just one of those things that will never get old. So I was fit to burst when they came and joined us once we were in the water. It was the most unbelievably magical thing ever. They were huge! And they played and they tumbled around us and they completely showed off. They were nosey and friendly and so beautifully graceful. I shivered all the way back to the marina but the energy on that boat was high. Everyone was exceedingly happy. Including me.
Two days later and I was diving again. This time at Poor Knights in Tutukaka. This was the big one. And now I knew what to expect I was able to make sure that my kit was exactly what I needed. Minus the gloves, of course. My dive guide, Thomas, and my dive buddy, Craig, were both hugely experienced and encouraged me by not being at all surprised by my Paihia reaction to all the new kit and the cold. They were full of good advice and shared tales of their own past experiences. I was about to make my fiftieth dive. I knew how to do this. Their understanding and patience was gold. I had no problems at all.
Oh yes, it was still cold. But it was so much more manageable this time. The kelp forests and the volcanic rock walls were magnificent. So different from the coral gardens in the tropics, but equally spectacular. There were great schools of blue maomao and demoiselle, as well as huge scorpion fish and the boldest moray eels I’ve ever seen. Thomas also had a keen eye for finding tiny nudibranch in amongst the bright green algae and crevices. So much so that it took him a while to notice the wild-eyed fur seal that had come to check us out. It darted and swam around us as if jet-propelled. At one point, streaking towards Craig’s face with bubbles streaming before sharply turning away at the very last moment. I’m not sure any of us knew how to react. I was enthralled and quite terrified in equal measure. A couple of times he came at me and I found myself grimacing, closing my eyes and gently twisting away. I had been given a good view of his teeth and wasn’t taking any chances!
I’ve come away from my diving adventures exhausted and happy. There was a lot to learn. About diving and about me. As ever. I’m not sure that I will be rushing to dive in cold water again. But I’m so glad for the experience. Winter diving in Aotearoa. I certainly didn’t see that coming.
And now I am in Whitianga in the Coromandel. Kupe’s crossing place. There are beautiful sandy beaches all around but the weather has turned again. Tomorrow I’m heading to Rotorua as I make my way south back down towards dear Jimmy Dee and Ed in Martinborough. I’ll make a few stops over the next few days and expect to be with them either on Monday night or Tuesday morning. I guess it might feel like coming full circle. And knowing those two, I am sure it will feel like coming home.
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