New Zealand -1500 miles on foot through- The Land Of The Long White Cloud

Down and Broken Hearted at Dargaville

Light rain-showers fell, but the day brightened as I made for Kohukohu, or Ko-Ko, as the locals called it.  On some broadleaved trees by the roadside were bagworms: caterpillars that spun bags of silk around the leaves, so that they could munch away without worrying about predators munching on them.  By an area of planted pine trees I changed out of my raincoat, as the day warmed up.  On the road there were several dead possums that must have been hit by cars during the night.  In the fields I spotted birds called pukekos, or swamp-hens, which were bluish-black, about the size of geese, but with prominent red beaks and gangly red legs of wading birds.  The pukekos strutted proudly around, pecking at the ground in search of food.

The road led downward towards the Hokianga Harbour inlet, which began as a muddy channel, with mangrove swamps at either side.  As I followed the inlet down to Kohukohu, it gradually became wider, changing from muddy brownish-green to silver, then deep blue, as the sun shone and the sky reflected in the waters.  A rusted-out old car from the 1940's of 50's sat on a small rotten wooden wharf; its metal now just pitted oxide red, the windows and tyres gone, and framed behind by the blue of the water that was waiting, patiently, to swallow the car, and take it back to the earth where it came from.

At Yarborough Station, cows bellowed and dogs barked.  Ahead of me, crossing a small bridge were two men, wearing cowboy hats, in red vests, khaki shorts and work boots, riding horses, with dogs at their side, herding cows down the road.

'Hi, there.'  I waved a greeting to the men, as the cows came closer.  The smell of cows and dung swept its way towards me.

'Hi, you taking a hike?'  The lead rider, with a moustache, looked my way and smiled.

'Yep, heading down to Bluff, in the South Island, from Cape Reinga.'

'That's some walk.  The name's Rod... Rod Wilson... this here's Steve, Steve Mori.  We're just moving the cows to some better pasture.'

'How far is it to the ferry over the Hokianga from here?'

'Ah, just about another 6 klicks.  It's not far from here.'

With that, we said our goodbyes and the two cowboys herded their cattle down the road.  The road was dotted with cow-dung, and I did my best to avoid it, as I walked on.  The Hokianga Harbour opened up further, and, ahead, the houses of Kohukohu began to appear.  The sound of music carried on the air.  On the slight breeze I could hear the words of the song: 'I want a lover with a slow hand... I want a lover with an easy touch...' Around the corner appeared a 'backpackers' bunkhouse, a pub, and a small community hall, where the music was coming from.  There was a school, too, but it was Sunday, and now two days behind schedule, I just wanted to get walking.  A sign saying 'Car Ferry 4 km' showed at the end of the small town.

The road twisted and turned and the broad inlet of the Tasman Sea stood off to my left.  I stopped to drink some water and put my pack down on some spiky grass by the edge of a patch of mangroves.  After a little break. I swung the pack back in place, and then carried on.  The road went up and down, twisted some more. but eventually a sign warning of ferry traffic appeared and there was the ferry crossing.

A van and three cars waited by a small wharf.  Across the water chugged a flat-bottomed boat, with a small cabin-house at one end.  It was just about large enough to take the van and the handful of cars that were waiting.  The diesel engine chugged, the ferry came closer and docked at the wharf.  A ramp was lowered at the front end of the ferry and came to rest on the roadway.  The vehicles rolled on board and I trooped alongside them.  It felt a little like going on to a landing craft from the Second World War.  One of the crew on the ferry checked the cars all had their hand-brakes on.  The ramp was raised, docking lines were cast off and the little boat began to chug away across the calm water.  One hundred and eighteen miles and one week of walking lay behind me.  The hills of the Hokianga fell away, and psychologically, the first step of my journey was over.