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HIKE BLOG

TA Day 16, Taiharuru River to Peach Cove – 25 km

The tree house faces east looking out over the estuary, pink streaks reflected in the receding water that I’ll walk in a few hours. My sleep here was quiet and deep, I hate to leave but feel prepared for what today brings even if my ankle is more ‘cankle’ at the moment.

Just like home, it’s not easy to get up out of a warm, snuggly nest especially since I stayed up late sewing up the rips in my trousers – and watching Australian Ninja with Hugh and a “cuppa.”

Ros hiked the Te Araroa last year at the age of 66. This morning, she carries Olive Oyl across the Taiharuru Estuary.
Ros hiked the Te Araroa last year at the age of 66. This morning, she carries Olive Oyl across the Taiharuru Estuary.

Full breakfast and lots of conversation around the table about Minnesota and ecology. Turns out the locals hate the mangroves, “They bring the mud and ruin my sand beach!” The fact is, draining the area for farming took out the native wetland, and the mangrove – with their spreading snorkels – are simply opportunists.

Hugh apologizes for bullying, but needs us to get a move on before the tide comes racing back in from the Taiharuru River. Ros tucks in, throws on my pack and accompanies me barefoot.

We squish through mud over cockle and pipi shells and newly dug stingray puddles as Hugh crosses over in his car from Tidesong with a bag of granola bars for me – and gardening tools for Ros. Muddy and happy, I part with loads of pictures, “God watch over you” blessings, and treasured memories. Ros has the most infectious smile and tells me she likes my attitude.

Ros walked the estuary in bare feet carrying my backpack.
Ros walked the estuary in bare feet carrying my backpack.
Blissful Hiker holding the TA signpost with big orange triangles pointing the way across the estuary at low tide.
Blissful Hiker holding the TA signpost with big orange triangles pointing the way across the estuary at low tide.
Ros watched her step as she picks through deep mud coming.
Ros watched her step as she picks through deep mud coming.

I’m inland on rolling farmland, but just to my left is the deep blue of the Pacific. I tell Ros it’s hard to find a group, and she – like me – loves hiking alone, but also longed sometimes for someone to help strategize.

I enter the Kauri Mountain track and think about how hard it is to let go. Yes, plan, but also trust that things will pull together. It doesn’t come easy for me.

The view from the top is spectacular; back to the estuaries, water filling in fast now, islands in the distance, farmland rolling under heavy gray-accented cumulus, the huge expanse of ocean beach below, thundering waves reaching my ears even at this height, Bream Head shooting up from the coast.

Mailboxes with a view.
Mailboxes with a view.
Looking back from Kauri Mountain Road to the three estuaries I crossed.
Looking back from Kauri Mountain Road to the three estuaries I crossed.

I’ll stop the night at the end of the sand, so in no hurry, I snack on Oaty Slices, dry and fibrous as their name.

James called last night to check on my progress. I was touched and maybe a bit skeptical because I found him so efficient to the point of almost rude. I figured he was just overloaded with details, and it surprises me he takes the time as 16 TA walkers stayed with him last night.

I enjoy the still solitude I have now, fully expecting a swarm tonight. Then laugh because it’s that balance I struggle to keep of solo hiking and desiring friends. At least a group will help in two days time when a boat needs to be hired for the crossing to Marsden Point.

For my musical friends, I am whistling the main theme from Mahler 1, first movement. Seems fitting on this spectacular morning.

Partially blocked by bush, the trig marks the high point above Ocean Beach and Bream Head in the distance.
Partially blocked by bush, the trig marks the high point above Ocean Beach and Bream Head in the distance.
Curling waves on Ocean Beach in Northland.
Curling waves on Ocean Beach in Northland.

I arrive again to unimaginably turquoise water, a sign telling me the bar-tailed godwits fly non-stop from Alaska to this beach in eight days. The waves crash over my ankles exchanging salty sand for mud. A flock of shorebirds, stilted legs on backwards knees, take off in zigzag flight as one.

The beach is totally deserted but oyster catchers two-by-two with long curved orange beaks against midnight black, hide furtive glances as I lumber past.

I forego the high tide reroute and climb up and over grippy volcanic rock to a private horseshoe shaped beach and finally see people. I find a bench overlooking young surfers heading out. A seagull flies by a little too close for comfort.

A woman from Winnipeg living here 30 years says hello, her children curious about my backpack and camp food. They give me a granola bar before I change my mind about camping her, and crack straight up the head. A gaggle of school kids take over the picnic table just as I arrive at the WWII radar station, a sign telling me those who worked here found the stunning view boring.

Body surfers preparing to head out. They gave me a granola bar at the urging of their mother.
Body surfers preparing to head out. They gave me a granola bar at the urging of their mother.
A big climb takes me to a spectacular view from the Te Whara summit.
A big climb takes me to a spectacular view from the Te Whara summit.

I tiptoe from exposed root to exposed root through the thick bush, out of breathe in the steep climb, made more manageable later with beautiful steps.

I reach the overlook at 430 meters and three young people arrive, all living here for a year to work and travel. They coax me up the scramble to the top for a 360 view. We chat, then fall silent in this perch above the bush above the beach.

From atop Bream Head looking towards Mt. Lion with Urquharts Bay in the distance.
From atop Bream Head looking towards Mt. Lion with Urquharts Bay in the distance.

Eight hundred and nine steps down to Peach Cove hut. I count because I know I’ll have to come out – hopefully tomorrow, but not sure what it will be like tonight, and who will be there.

It’s deserted. I set up my tent, clean some gear in the collected rain water and take over the massive deck. The beach is rocky, so I collect a few shells to add to the hut collection. Hopefully after a deep, quiet sleep I can take on those 809 stairs with gusto!

The alicoop set up next to the DOC hut in Peach Cove.
The alicoop set up next to the DOC hut in Peach Cove.
The rocky – and wrong – beach at Peach Cove. I soon found the right one for swimming.
The rocky – and wrong – beach at Peach Cove. I soon found the right one for swimming.

Til tomorrow. Likely a short day of more exploring as I need to time the boat crossing for the morning two days from now.

6 Responses

  1. Kia Ora Alison,
    We stayed at an old family Bach just by Smugglers Bay a few years back. I spent a solo night at Peach Cove hut and did walks in the area everyday. Fantastic. Enjoy the grunts walk out!

  2. Sounds like mostly fun. Like any outdoor activity there are highlights and “lowlights”, times you wonder why you came and assuring yourself you’ll never do it again. As you walk along, think of the 7 degree weather here in MN…how can you keep from singing?! I look forward to your blogs every day.

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