Rosie and The Operator packed up, and moved on…..5 minutes up the road was Awakino, population 60….Rosie thought that headcount seemed rather generous….. The Awakino Hotel holds front and centre on the main highway, it advertises meals and a cafe but its facade harkens back to the the old school
pub era of bar leaner, soggy floral carpet and plenty of old time six o’clock swillers….by the time this pinot gris and tapas loving gal has made this judgement solely based on the outside of the building you kind of fly by and forget to stop. Rosie does not like to judge a book by its cover…she has never been there and wants to confirm or dispel the myth…so The Operator braked hard and turned the camper into Awakino for our first ever visit to the wee town…. hhmmm….village. Having turned off and done a lap of the couple of streets that consists of Awakino you ultimately end up riverside. Away from the noise of the highway and basking in the glow of the early morning sun shining on the dewy grass and reflecting on the ripples of the river, Awakino had an uplifting
tranquil, silence about it that was deep and calming. It just made you want to stop on the riverbank and sit awhile….Rosie was on the lookout for a flat white though…and headed for the pub…it was closed. Bugger. Undeterred Rosie and The Operator have sworn to come back for lunch and/or dinner in order to review The Awakino Hotel in all its glory…..maybe The Ballerina and The Bear would like to join us one day?……
Back on the highway you normally fidget in the car preparing for the tortuous twists and turns of the Awakino Gorge and never notice ‘The Last Chance’ Junction Petrol Station , turn left here and you start to
head inland, I have never noticed this tiny insignificant road before, so, here we go into the valley of the unknown, the sign says it all really. The road takes you away from the river and the coast into the heartland of this wild untamed district. Tall, native bush clad hills hug you as you traverse the wide strip of valley floor, a bubbling stream meanders along its length and its swampy edges are home to steers, sheep and more ducks and geese than I have ever seen! Small tidy homesteads pop up occasionally along this well sealed winding road. 38km from Awakino the road starts to climb and we pop over the brow of the hills and turn left toward Waikawau onto a hard packed unsealed road.
The road gets narrower and narrower the closer you get to the end of the line, the last stretch curves between the narrow carved out cliffs which are coloured with paint scars of various casualties of days gone by. I certainly would be very careful if I had a house bus….The Operator took it all in its stride and we passed
a tidy little enclave of caravans all shut up for the holidays but with a lovely out look over the tidal bay. A couple of hundred meters on is the end of the road and you reach a scrubby, bushy DOC camp complete with a long drop toilet and tap for fresh water. The camp is small and the camping terrain uneven.
Drainage ditches kind of surround the camp and water flows into the tidal bay. Rosie isn’t sure if you can access the bay from the camp…The Operator and I didn’t really warm to the ominous silence of the camp…even though there half a dozen caravans and
tents parked and pitched with people moving about and sitting outside…everything was silent…the people just watched…it was creepy! The Operator went to check out the long drop and make a deposit….he walked in and walked out….reporting there was crap all over the seat and walls….Rosie does not get it. These campers are living there, and couldn’t keep their facilities clean and tidy….bad form guys! Having parked on the road we headed out to look at the real reason for taking this detour, in front of us was the Waikawau Tunnel.
This tunnel was cut by three men in 1911 using picks and shovels. It is 100 metres long and its purpose was to drive cattle through the tunnel onto the beach so they herd them up to a nearby station without having to negotiate the rugged, hilly terrain. The entrance is dank and mossy and all you can see is the small ‘door’ of light at the other end. It is pitch black and muddy underfoot, moisture drips on you, and, halfway through, the tunnel starts to close in on you. It was built to the width of the widest rack of horns on a cattle beast and its height was of such to accommodate a drover on horseback.
They sure built the guys tough in those days, this tunnel was no mean feat to create! Out the other side is the the most beautiful secluded black sand beach imaginable! It was a King Tide and the water was very high, we couldn’t go down onto the sand for a walk as the sea was already beating up against the cliffs. As you can see the fisherman were practically fishing in the mouth of the tunnel! Glorious!
Back on the main road we were driving 30km towards Marokopa on a combination of sealed and unsealed hard packed gravel road. The dust was kicking up behind us and you could always tell 5km in advance if traffic was coming the other way due to the approaching dust cloud. The speed of the camper had dropped on the gravel and the day was warming up……Rosie had nearly had enough when we crested the hilltop and there below us was Marokopa.
This beautiful village of 1560 people sparkled in the sunlight. Positioned on a peninsula surrounded by river with a huge sand dune island protecting the town from the wind this was once a hub for supply boats due to the lack of roading. The treacherous bar and the push for road access in the 1960s made shipping die out and the town is now a mecca for fisherman and families who want to get away from it all.
Rosie and The Operator booked into the campground for the night and wished they never did……..
Loving reading your blogs! So funny and honest!