Before we leave Ohope Beach, we score one and a half good days. It’s still overcast but the wind has died down and it isn’t raining. We take the opportunity to do the Nga Tapuwae o Toi trail from Ohope Beach . . . or at least that’s the plan. When we arrive at the far end of the beach, the decision is immediately revised. We look up from the rocks to see that part of the cliff path has fallen into the sea. Just one of the many landslips in the area from so much rain.
After driving to the next access point, we spend fifteen minutes clambering over rocks before picking up the trail that heads uphill through the forest and eventually finishes high above Whakatane, giving us a bird’s eye view of the silted river on which it sits. We manage a run along the beach, a swim in the sea and then it’s time to pack up and leave Ohope for Te Aroha, the location of our next and final New Zealand house-sit.
Anna and Leon are at home to greet us. Their gorgeous property nestles in the foothills of Mount Te Aroha with a far reaching view over the valley, town and farmland. Anna is a keen gardener and hers is immaculate and full of the colourful flowers of a European summer. She also keeps a well stocked vegetable garden which promises lots of lovely produce during our stay. And then there are the chickens: good layers and satisfactorily predictable in their habits. We feed them scraps in the morning, let them out to roam the garden and forest, replenish their pellets in the afternoon and return to tuck them up in bed before sunset. New Zealand is fox-free, so there’s little to disturb their peace or ours.
But our first day in this idyllic place is like a scene from Jane Campion’s ‘The Piano’ – wet, gloomy, grey, oppressive – and without the erotic charge. We also experience our first New Zealand earthquake which is nothing like I expected. Instead of the anticipated shaking rumble, the house is hit by a loud thumping crack as if we’ve somehow collided with a lorry. It’s over in less than a second, but not before I’ve jumped out of my seat in surprise.
The next day, the weather changes and the sun finally gets up the energy to poke its nose through. We instantly head out onto the mountain that sits above us. At 942 metres above sea level, topped with an enormous broadcasting mast, Mount Te Aroha is the highest point of the Kaimai-Mamaku Forest Park. This house sits at 230 metres, so that’s just 710 metres to climb.
It’s Adrian’s idea to walk the forest trails to the summit. He heads out mid-morning, while I drive into the town to swap my books in a second-hand shop. After a late lunch, I have the urge to head off too, but instead of taking the walking tracks, decide to trek straight up the five kilometre access road. It’s quicker – I reach the top in an hour and twenty minutes – but it’s also relentlessly steep.
And it’s almost harder coming back down. The gradient and loose gravel surface make it easier to semi-jog than to walk. Either way it’s rather jarring on the body and we both climb into bed at night, nursing aching backs and legs. But we did it and I take private satisfaction in knowing I’ve shaved an hour and forty minutes off the predicted time. Ridiculous, isn’t it?
