Karaoke Chronicles (Taranake)

Freewheeling
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Welcome Avid followers to this the latest installment of the Karaoke Chronicles. Usually Joa would do all the writing, and I would come in and tell him how good he was and how he should be, as I’m sure you would all agree, be pursuing a career in literature. So it is with some surprise and trepidation that I try and fill his shoes.

Traveling down the west coast of the North Island our next destination Taranake or simply the “Naki” to locals and "Taradise" to Joa, who since day one has been selling me on this surfers paradise. “More quality breaks than anywhere south of Oahu” according to our trusty surf guide.

"Even New Zealand has it's s#@t holes."

Could be Devon?
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Leaving behind Raglan an taking the scenic route south we passed (being the operative word) several so called sights of interest including Fishing Villages with historic importance, Glow Worm infested Caves and Ye Olde Taverns supposedly offering a true insight into the Kiwi psyche. Needless to say the only stop was at the pub out in the country. Unfortunately the previous Innkeeper had recently passed away and the new younger (still well into his 70’s) landlord had refurbished the Tavern. Still boasting stuffed Giant Eel, Snapper and Wild Boar all locally caught we are assured. But now with a giant plasma screen TV showing Australian Open Tennis and a juke box pumping out Hip Hop cuts. Still the Ale and hospitality were first class. From Te Anga we continue further into the wilderness ignoring signs for the highway and sticking to our scenic route winding its way along the coast. For miles we see no other signs of life except the cows and sheep that look on in curiosity, we soon discover why as we wind our way round a corner and confronted with the first of many recent landslides. Of course the Vannette is an all terrain vehicle so it’s no trouble. Onward to New Plymouth. As you can imagine (much to Mr Keis displeasure) I love my guide books and like nothing better than reading up on our next destination. “What New Plymouth lacks in architectural beauty it more than makes up for in energy.” Is how our book describes New Plymouth, Taranake’s main (only) city. I recall to Joa the many wet and grey mornings I spent in Plymouth, deepest darkest Devon, England. Waiting for a bus to take me home to Reading from Cornwall and assure Him that New Plymouth will be much more pleasant than its namesake. In this case what New Plymouth “lacks in architectural beauty” it more than makes up for in monstrous power stations, factories and other buildings with massive chimneys pumping out enough smog to eclipse the natural beauty of Mt Taranake. At this point I’m quite relieved that even New Zealand this most unspoiled of lands has it’s Shit holes and Fitzroy Motor camp site is definitely one. After spending ten hours of checking endless beaches and driving through New Plymouths ghettos for surf on a day when all the elements have conspired against us. We stop at Fitzroy in desperation and amid lots of funny looks. After washing away a day’s travel in the volcanic runoff at Fitzroy we return to our motor camp where it becomes apparent our fellow campers aren’t actually campers but permanent residents living in some of the most electric caravans known to man.

Does'nt look too bad from here.
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I know I know enough guide book quotes. But this one I really like. In reference to New Plymouths miserable weather “Nake” Locals are quoted as saying that if you can’t see the peak of Mt Taranake it’s raining already and if you can then it’s going to rain soon.” As long time followers of our travels will have observed as well as killing popular song with awful renditions on the Karaoke machine and collecting alphabet t-shirts another popular activity on our travels is to climb volcanoes. So first on our list of priorities (surf was pooh) is to find out when the clouds will break long enough to climb Mt Taranake.

Can ya see me now?
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Climbing the Mt

Despite an inauspicious start, I neglected to buy fuel for our stove so ended up going out for fish and chips the night before our climb. We woke at the crack of dawn and after getting amped with a few versus of 2 Pac’s seminal Me Against The World and an unhealthy amount of wheatbix we’re ready for the climb. I would love to say we simply breezed up and down the mountain but that would be even more of an embellishment than my surfing exploits in Raglan. First obstacle was trying to arrange my Pac a Mac (Thai garment worn anywhere you like, traditionally as a nappy) as to block the suns gaze, also the wheatbix was unsettling the pace. What’s more trying to use the cameras time delay are all factors serious climbers often fail to take into consideration. Nevertheless we where making good progress, after all this was just to be an extended tourist walk, or so we thought. Until that is we hit “The Puffer”. “The Puffer” we found out when we reached the end of it is bloody hard work, 45 minute walk up a very steep incline. It seems most climbers go up halfway the mountain the night before, stay in a hut conveniently located. and then make the summit in the morning, Upon reaching the overnight hut having already climbed for 2 hours the last 45 minutes thinking we would collapse. We found ourselves trying not to appear too out of breath when encountering fellow climbers who would enquire where we had started, as if to imply our condition suggested we had walked from Auckland. 3 hours to go to the summit. (I thought this was the summit.) After the puffer came lots of stairs and then an hour of scrambling up gravel. Joa was now leading the way which involved finding the route to the top, no longer a simple trail we where now climbing rocks with no real guide as to where next. Buoyed on by the sense of adventure we were flying, overtaking mountaineers with ice axes, walking poles and the whole shebang. As we approached the summit it became even harder to decipher the route to be taken. Not only climbing but also walking across ice (or rather crawling in my case). Having no idea where to go now we found ourselves at what we thought must be the peak until we looked across and saw the group of mountaineers we had passed earlier on another peak that looked much simpler to get to than the route we had taken. Across came the question “have you been up here before?” In reply “No. Have you?” “Ninth time this year, I think you should come over here.” So we made our mini descent back across some ice and to the actual summit which was much more comfortable than the rocks we had been perching upon. On a clear day The South Island is said to be visible from the Peak, unfortunately it was a clear day until we got to the peak and then the cloud moved in. I was happy just for the rest and the chance to Gin cow on some Uncle Bucks energy bars.

In the crater.
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In my limited experience of climbing the hardest part is getting down, without the sense of accomplishment and unknown of the accent the decent is when your legs go to jelly. On Mt Taranaki fortunately you can literally run or slide on your bum as a large part is over gravel that gives way causing one to slide uncontrollably. Making the decent rewarding still was seeing very under prepared climbers walking through the now heavy cloud knowing that they had a long way to go. Best of all was meeting a trio with ambitions of camping at the peak. The peak has room to accommodate three people sitting at one point, not much room for tents. Further more all over the mountain are warnings of extreme changes in weather conditions.

Joa at the Peak, Represent
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Upon return to The Vannette I elected we deserved some luxury and checked us into New Plymouths finest budget hostel. Hostels are a necessary evil for us to charge a wide variety of batteries in order to keep the Karaoke Machine running.

After an evening of R and R we got down to the serious business of exploring Taranakis many Point, Reef and Beach breaks. Two Kiwis we met at the hostel had wetted our appetite with tall tales of epic sessions and video footage to back it up. Unfortunately the wind and lack of swell (waves) combined to make the search futile. We could clearly see the potential of this vast coastline but without any waves it’s futile. As ever just as we’re cursing this most fickle of past times we stumble across a deserted beach break with tiny but well formed waves. That’s all the encouragement we needed. We stayed at this beach for a few days surfing alone with the occasional fisherman checking up on us.

OOOPS Tim did'nt read the guidebook thouroughly or he would have been more aware of electric fences. Joaaaaaaaaaa saves the day.
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The wonderful thing about living in a van is the freedom it provides. when not satisfied with your temporary home one can simply move on to the next spot. This is something we did in Taranake constantly. Never finding the “Taradise” we had been expecting always with the possibility of the next beach being the one. After exploring every inch of coast in “the Naki” including hiking over countless farmers fields and many action man rolls under electric fences we travel south towards Wellington and the south island beyond.