There. I’ve said it out loud. I’m writing about the weather. I am reluctant because it perhaps says something about what my grand, Taking Leave, adventure has come to. Something I’m not quite ready to accept. Because the weather is the thing we talk about, at least in England, when the conversation has dried up. Or when we don’t have a more interesting conversation starter. But whatever. I’m going to say it anyway. I think this weather deserves it.
When I woke up on my last morning on the Coromandel Peninsula, it was still raining. People here say to me, oh, you must be used to it. As if I even might have grown to like it. But I haven’t. It had been raining all night and most of the previous day. I had found a small gap first thing in the morning, and managed a run up to Shakespeare Cliff Lookout. And had breathed in deeply the panorama over Mercury Bay. But I could see the clouds darkening in the distance. Resting above that golden-red sliver of sunrise. Which meant my walk back along Lonely Beach and up over to the crescent-shaped stretch that is Cook’s Beach, became an exercise in timing.
I must be getting better at dodging downpours because it wasn’t until I got back to The Hidden Retreat that it began raining again. And it continued. Not ridiculously, but steadily. That afternoon, I drove to the Coromandel coastal must-sees, Hahei Beach and Cathedral Cove. I even went to Hot Beach where you can dig your own hot pool in the sand. But the relentless rain put paid to any ideas of digging. It’s unusual for the weather to stop play here. Kiwis are so enthusiastically outdoorsy and on most days it’s impossible not to follow the crowd. This landscape invites you out and into it. But this day was different.
The next morning, I packed up my gear, in the rain, and said goodbye to Kim and Jerry, my hosts at The Hidden Retreat. I tried to give them back the huge umbrella that they had lent me during my stay. But Kim said, keep it. Jerry then suggested that I get going quickly before the roads became flooded. And Kim gave me a card with her phone number on it and said if I got into any difficulty to give them a ring. Turn around and come back, she said. I didn’t think much of it. I just thought what lovely kind people they were.
When I first set off, it didn’t seem too bad. But it wasn’t long at all before the auto-windscreen wipers had turned themselves on to double-quick speed. I slowed to a crawl along State Highway 25. The water level was rising and there were a couple of times when my heart skipped a beat as I found myself aquaplaning. A river of rain ran towards me on the hill roads. And eventually a river bank burst and completely flooded the highway. It was really quite nerve-wracking.
I drove like this for close to two hours. But I concentrated hard, my heart in my mouth, no thoughts of turning around, and was hugely relieved when I began to see clear skies in the distance. And then, as I was making my way through the small town of Orongo, I saw a rainbow. A huge end-to-end rainbow that straddled the road. I can’t tell you how pleased I was. The wind continued to howl and I could still feel the car being buffeted. But I was no longer grimacing. I still had another two hours to go, but I was smiling again.
Later that evening, when I was safely settled in Rotorua, I caught up with the news. The Northlands were being completely battered. Right the way up to Cape Reinga and through all the places I had been in the days before. The Coromandel Peninsula was completely cut off due to what was being described as ‘a lethal combination of high tides and flooding’. The whole region was being deluged and forecasters were warning that there was more to come. Farmers were being urged to moved stock to high ground and State Highway 25 was under water. High winds had felled trees and land-slips had blocked roads. Driving was being discouraged because conditions were, as I knew all too well, hazardous. I felt like I’d dodged something and spent the next three days and nights in Rotorua and Taupo. Gently mooching. Thankfully, the worst of the weather didn’t make it that far south. And I was grateful for drizzle.
The Taupo Volcanic Zone is a geothermal field that extends from White Island (a volcanic island in the Bay of Plenty that last erupted on the 9th December 2019) to Mount Ruapehu (a ski mountain which erupted on the 25th September 2007) far to the south. And what that means is an other-worldly landscape of volcanic crater lakes, spouting geysers and bubbling mud pools. I visited the home of Pohutu, the biggest geyser in the Southern Hemisphere. The air was filled with steam and the pungent and unmistakeable smell of sulphur. I visited the mud pools and ate pudding that had been freshly cooked in the steam of thermal waters in the traditional Maori way. I ran the Waikato River trail all the way to the magnificent Huka Falls. And finally, I bathed in the mineral and silica loaded geothermal waters at Warekei. And I warmed up my bones.
I had planned another two or three days on this North Island road trip. I thought I might spend them exploring Hawkes Bay. But I was done. So I called Jimmy Dee to ask him if there was room at the inn. And then made a quick detour for lunch in the Art Deco-styled town of Napier before continuing my journey south back to Martinborough. Coming full circle. To the place that I had begun my should-have-been-18-days-long New Zealand adventure.
I have known Jimmy Dee since I was 16 years old. And there is so much about that kind of knowing, that kind of familiarity, that is so very important to me right now. My time here in New Zealand, lock-down and all, has tested me. In non-material ways too. But that have not felt much different to driving through storms. And I still haven’t worked out what’s next. And I’m still finding that difficult too. Especially as, at this very moment, my faraway son is winging his way home. Back to London. Perhaps he is leading the way.
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