The trip was planned to take six days, using bus and train for most of the 420 odd miles. But we were to walk across the National Park. There were ten of us altogether with Ch.EA. Halls and S/Lt Bradbury in charge.
We started off early on
the morning January 21, 1960 taking a ferry from Devonport to the city. We
then caught a coach taking us non-stop to Rotorua, arriving at mid-day.
Leaving someone to guard our packs we went off to buy some lunch, which we ate in a local park. Afterwards we caught a bus to a farm which was recommended to us as a good site for our camp. We pitched our two-man 'pup' tents near a convenient stream. When seeking the farmer's permission to use his land he not only welcomed us but very kindly gave us two dozen eggs.
Next morning most of us
were up early, so after a quick breakfast and bathe in the stream we set out
to explore Rotorua. I didn't find the town itself very interesting, but the
cold water springs with the rainbow trout, and the abundant green foliage
surrounding them were really beautiful. The most amazing phenomena we saw
were the geysers and boiling mud pools. A couple of us even went up in an
aircraft but the view was not as exciting as I expected. We returned again
to our camp in the evening and were quite ready to turn in.
Next day we had another
coach booked to take us to the National Park, stopping on the way near a new
project for turning the natural steam into electricity.
The coach took us round
the end of Lake Taupo and left us on the side of a dusty road bordering the
park. As it was late afternoon we decided the first necessity was to find
some water before dark, so we started to climb the mountain.
The track between the trees was quite easy at first, but after a short time
it became rough Sand steeper and our boxes of provisions and packs were beginning
to feel very heavy, so that our rests were becoming more frequent. Eventually
we broke out from the trees into rough scrub which was nearly knee deep. Much
further up, we could see a cluster of dark green trees with a small plateau
above it, this was marked on our map as - site of the Old Hut.
When we at last arrived
we were pretty well exhausted and it was nearly dark. We searched around for
bits of wood and corrugated iron and patched up the remains of the hut to
make it habitable. We then had a good supper of steak and eggs and turned
in as soon as possible.
Next morning we found we had come two-and-a-half miles and climbed approximately
2,000 ft. We started off again with renewed vigour, climbing up past some
hot springs which supplied the water for the stream past the hut. We left
the scrub, and were now on a narrow well marked path surrounded by rocks and
small tufts of lichen. It led us up and round, in between two mountains. Then
we came to a saddle joining two peaks, where we decided to have lunch. We
were now at the highest point of our journey, 6,000 ft. Down to the right
was a huge lava plain, and on the left was a big extinct crater, now filled
with water. Above us on the peaks were little patches of snow. There was a
strong wind blowing clouds up at us, over the saddle and then suddenly dropping
them down the other side.
When we'd finished our
meal we topped our water bottles from the lake, and proceeded down a ridge
on to the lava plain, once across this we had to follow the path tip round
another peak, past an active crater and several more extinct ones. Then down
again on to another plain which had a strong wind making a small sand storm
across it.
Once across this, the
path zig-zagged down a very steep bit taking us down to 2,000 ft. again. We
then followed a steam until we came to the 'Mangepopo Hut', where we hoped
to get a bed for the night but it was almost full, so we pitched our tents
in a small grassy depression. We had walked six miles that day so we were
in bed directly after supper again.
It must have been midnight
when it started to rain. I woke up feeling cold and rather wet underneath.
After a short discussion we decided to stick it until morning. Then sometime
before dawn there was a heavy gust of wind, and a snap. Everything collapsed
in a big wet heap, so we evacuated the remains and slept on the deck of the
hut.
In the morning we found
that all the other tents had the same experience, and their occupants were
in the hut with us. As it was still raining we spent most of the day drying
out clothes by a fire.
In the afternoon we set
out again to cover the last six miles to the Chateau - a large house used
for a base for campers like ourselves. It was easy going now across open moorland
and we arrived there early in the evening.
We were given very good
accommodation in a big dormitory behind the house. A kitchen, with several
large electric cookers was nearby.
Next day we walked up another mountain, used for skiing. We came to the end
of the road but found the ski lift was not working, so we made our way back
to the Chateau again.
Late that evening we caught
a private coach to the National Park station where we boarded a train that
would take us into Wellington. We travelled all through the night arriving
at 0730 in the morning and had breakfast in a local cafe followed by a look
round the town until the ship came in.
Reluctantly we returned on board for dinner and the ship's routine again.
Four
Days on a New Zealand Farm
by Codes
Before going south from
Singapore to the Land of the Long White Cloud I had been strongly recommended
by an oppo of mine on HMS Cook, which had been lucky enough to spend a few
months in that wonderful country, to take any chance offered of leave on a
New Zealand farm. His recommendation was to turn out to be highly justified.
I left the ship at Auckland
early one sunny morning in January bound for a village called Taupiri which
nobody in Auckland seemed to have heard of. However the bus ticket, provided
through the benevolence of Pusser, also mentioned a place with the alarming
name of Ngarawahia, the home of the Maori kings and I managed to decode the
word on the destination board at the bus station.
After a very pleasant
drive through countryside which could easily have been mistaken for English,
I suddenly saw the sign Taupiri Service Station and came to the conclusion
that we must have arrived.
No sooner had I left the
bus than the garage proprietor asked me whether I was waiting for Mr &
Mrs Dearlove, the family with whom I was to spend four days. He gave the message
that they had been waiting in Taupiri but due to some misunderstanding had
gone on to the local metropolis of Hamilton where the bus finished its journey.
However they were soon
back and I was welcomed to Taupiri by Mrs Dearlove and her charming daughter
Sylvia. We then drove the short distance from Taupiri to the Dearlove farm.
The first afternoon and
evening was spent almost entirely in conversation and becoming better acquainted.
I discovered that they did not know what nationality their guest was to be
when they offered their hospitality to a sailor and that they had been brushing
up their Italian, French and other assorted lingos, so they were very relieved
when they found out that we spoke almost the same language.
Unfortunately, even in
New Zealand, work has to be done and the following day was the end of Sylvia's
holiday, so Gordon and I (Gordon being the son) left early to see more of
New Zealand.
The saying 'The world's a small place' seems to be true since after we had
driven about thirty miles to a small town called Morrinsville I espied two
other fugitives from F600 furtively creeping towards the hotel at ten o'clock
in the morning. Being sociable, Gordon and I followed them merely wishing
to pass the time of day before passing on. However, much against our wishes,
we were forced to sample a brew known as Waikato. An hour or so later we were
able to continue towards Matamata Hot Springs where we dived into the swimming
pool, which was at the temperature of bath water, and surfaced very slowly.
T don't advise the mixture of hot springs and beer.
We then drove across to
the east coast to a delightful town called Tauranga, where we obtained more
refreshments, and then to Mount Maunganui where we were caught in the six
o'clock rush hour in which many brave men have been lost. (For the benefit
of the uninitiated this does not refer to the crowds of people flocking home
from work as in UK but to the crowds of Kiwis flocking to hotel bars before
six o'clock closing.)
After this we investigated
the local talent at the hop, and believe me it was a hop. They called it an
informal dance and it was just as well it didn't become any more informal.
We had about 150 miles to go from there back home so we thought it best to
leave at about eleven o'clock, having taken the precaution of purchasing some
of the local bottled brew.
On the way back we alternated,
for our refreshment, between the above-mentioned beer and the excellent coffee
provided in the numerous coffee houses which seem to be developing into a
substitute for the pub as a social meeting place after six o'clock.
We arrived back on the farm at about three o'clock that morning to find the
welcome sight of coffee and sandwiches waiting for us.
The next morning was spent quietly on the farm and after lunch we went into
Hamilton to meet Sylvia and had a look round the very rich and prosperous
market town which is the centre of one of the richest dairy-farming areas
in the world.
In the evening some friends
of the family came round and the evening passed very quickly with music, conversation
and Sylvia.
The next morning, feeling fairly energetic after a few days of good food (by
this time in the commission I had almost forgotten the meaning of the word)
Mr Dearlove and I decided to climb one of the local hills (we could call them
mountains but the Kiwis call them hills) from which we could see the countryside
for fifty miles around.
We came down to another
marvellous meal and soon afterwards we went into Hamilton to collect Sylvia
so that she could get ready for the dance in Hamilton that evening. There,
however, we hit a snag as we arrived at the dance hall to find that we had
come on the wrong day, so we went to the Maori stronghold of Nagarawahia,
where there was a dance. However that turned out to be the resort of the Maori
'Elvis Presley'; so we gave that a miss. Walking from the hall to the car
we saw a table laden with delectable looking 'big eats', on approaching it
we were invited in by what appeared to be a family gathering of. They appeared
to be celebrating something, but whether it was a wedding, a birthday or another
addition to the family we never discovered. Anyway they entertained us with
Maori songs and dances and seemed genuinely sorry when we left.
Next morning I was to
return to the pleasures (don't ask me what they are) of F600 in Auckland,
I'm afraid that the only thing which brought me back on time was the thought
of being home in July.
The many others who, at
the same time, were able to take advantage of the open-handed hospitality
of the Kiwis would undoubtedly give glowing accounts of the welcome they received.
I, for one, was very glad to be able to entertain Sylvia and Gordon the following
weekend in Auckland. They even seemed to be interested when I showed them
round the Brides.
Yes, it was almost worth signing on for!