Just as Britain is plunging into sub-zero temperatures, Wellington decides that it’s summer after all. Our second week house-sitting settles into a relaxed routine which we break every so often to take in the features of the surrounding landscape which, due to the unique mix of volcanic activity and glaciation, is quintessentially New Zealand.
Fifteen minutes away is Titahi Bay and its beach, like so many in this country, is surrounded by spectacular hills that rise almost directly from the sand. This guarantees not only an otherworldly landscape, but also a plethora of houses with a sea view. We walk onto the beach which is buzzing with Sunday activities.
At one end of the sand, a group of children, spurred on by an enthusiastic father, play an entertaining game of cricket, although the entertainment derives more from the father’s running commentary than from the game itself, which given that some of the players are under five, is necessarily patchy.
Further along, the local surf boat team is practicing its racing technique by repeatedly rowing away from the shore and returning on the waves. In contrast the modern day life saving team scream out to sea in their high powered inflatable and throw a member of the group overboard – presumably the one who drew the short straw. There’s a cliff walk that provides us with stunning views back towards the iconic combination of beach and jutting hills.
On Wednesday, just as the temperature rises to twenty nine degrees and the sky shines blue and cloudless, we decide to walk to the top of the highest peak in the area known as Colonial knob. In the New Zealand vernacular there’s no pun attached to this name, but personally I prefer the Maori title of Mount Rangituhi. The route is a constant uphill climb but the path has been designed to keep the gradient comfortable and steady and, as the majority of it winds through a cool, lush forest of broadleaf, pine and tree ferns, it’s only during the last steep leg through grassland, that we begin to feel the heat.
The view at the top has us exclaiming in superlative synonyms, as if we’re trying to rival a thesaurus. To the west is the Tasman Sea and Mana Island, to the north sits the deep bite of Titahi Bay and turning south, we can see Wellington city ranged around its harbour. Between our viewpoint and the blue of the sea, the land appears thrown together in a muddle of hills, mountains and deep glaciated valleys. It’s difficult to describe the effect, except to say that it’s very Lord of the Rings.
The return walk takes half the time of the climb up, as we tramp easily down hill through the forest. All the while, we’re accompanied by the unique call of the Tui, New Zealand’s most common bird. It’s blackish, medium size and unremarkable to look at, but its song resonates like the high notes of a pipe organ. We also hear blackbirds which were imported into this country by home-sick Brits.
In fact New Zealand has numerous imported British birds including finches, ducks, sparrows, starlings, pheasants and skylarks. There seems no end to the enterprising endeavours of the settlers to recreate Britain abroad. It’s no surprise then that the Brits keep coming. If they ever pine for the old country, they only have to close their eyes and listen to the spring call of the blackbird to feel as if they never left home.
Except, right now, Britain looks like this:
