Southern Exposure

It was barely 7:30 on a brilliant December morning, and already I was reaching for my sunscreen when the four-wheel drive from Dune Rider stopped in front of the visitor center in this port town on New Zealand’s North Island. I regarded the vehicle with some trepidation.

It was part bus, part dune buggy and part camper van, with tinted windows, stubby tires and a rubber partition that split the vehicle just behind the driver’s seat. The Dune Rider glistened in the intense sunshine, bringing a twinkle to the eye of the grinning face painted on the side. The doors folded inward, and the man whose mustachioed likeness adorned the vehicle peered out at my traveling companion, Molly, and me.

“G’day! My name’s Dave,” he said, adding, in the thickest Kiwi accent we had heard since arriving in Auckland a week earlier, “If you need to use the loo, you best go now. There are no toilets along Ninety Mile Beach.”

Dave was our guide for a daylong tour to Cape Reinga, the northernmost point in New Zealand. Once believed by the Maori, New Zealand’s native people, to be the end of the Earth, Cape Reinga is renowned now for its lighthouse and astonishing view of the collision of the warm Tasman Sea, which separates New Zealand from Australia, and the frigid Pacific Ocean. Maori legend also holds that the cape is the gateway to the next world for recently departed souls.

I lived in New Zealand as a kid but had never been this far north. Most of this trip would be driving, but we decided on the tour because it offered an opportunity to ride on the hard-packed sand of Ninety Mile Beach. Our rental car had come with strict instructions to keep off the beach because tourists who attempt the drive have been known to get stuck in the sand and lose their vehicles to high tide.

“This is Molly and Ryan from America,” Dave sang out to the other passengers as we climbed aboard. There were about 20 of us, a mix of Japanese, Australian, German, British, American and New Zealand tourists.

Once we were underway, Dave briefed us on the day’s itinerary, which would cover about 280 miles, “mostly on tar-sealed roads.” New Zealanders are awfully proud of their tar-sealed highways, and the fact that they are worth mentioning speaks volumes about the condition of the rest of the country’s roads, many of which are dirt or gravel.

In some ways, we were taking a trip back in time. Pahia and its twin city, Russell, are the jumping-off point for tours of New Zealand history and the Bay of Islands, named for the 150-odd uninhabited islands offshore. This, New Zealand’s subtropical Northland region, is home to the country’s oldest European settlements, and the Maori lived here for at least 1,000 years before Capt. James Cook claimed the land for the British. Russell, on the east side of Wairoa Bay, a few miles across from Pahia (reachable by ferry) was once known as “Hellhole of the Pacific” for its tough reputation as a whaling port. The country’s first capital, Russell boasts a beautiful harbor, a museum that is home to a replica of Cook’s ship, Endeavour, and Christ Church, the country’s oldest house of worship, built in 1835. That this is the most “historic” part of New Zealand serves as a reminder of just how young the country is.

On our tour’s first stop, the Waipoua Kauri State Forest, we saw something far more ancient than civilization. Mammoth kauri trees--one of them 2,000 years old--towered over us, living relics of colonial days when their milky-white gum and lumber were New Zealand’s first and primary exports. Outside the preserve, swamp kauri is harvested from peat beds where it has lain for 50,000 years and turned into products such as furniture--again, for export.

Once we were back on the road, it was about an hour’s drive to the turnoff for Ninety Mile Beach, which is closer to 60 miles long but seems twice that in its monotony and isolation. Immediately, I felt gratified by our decision to let someone else do the driving; a family of tourists was desperately trying to dig their rental car out of the sand, but succeeding only in digging themselves into a deeper hole. “They’ll be all right,” Dave assured us. “They’re far enough away from the high tide mark. You can drive on the beach. Just don’t stop.” The Dune Rider’s special tires for beach driving (and stopping) kept us moving smoothly and the shore stretched ahead forever like a sandy highway to paradise.

To our left, the breathtaking blue-green Tasman crashed incessantly, spraying theMaori legend also holds that the Cape Reinga is the gateway to the next world for recently departed souls.

glass with tiny droplets as some of the plumpest sea gulls I have ever seen dived for their catches just inches from our tires. About 50 yards to our right, a natural wall of sand and bush shielded us from farmland, completing the illusion of otherworldly isolation.

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Eventually, the shoreline curved and we were headed for a hill of sand as tall as a 14-story building. The Dune Rider plunged ahead, over rocks and through sand creeks, spraying the fishermen who were starting to appear with some frequency. Rather than be annoyed, the fishermen waved.

Waving is a national trait, probably due to the isolation of settlements. New Zealand has only 3.5 million inhabitants, and most of them live in the three biggest cities of Auckland, Wellington and Christchurch.

When we got to the far side of the dunes, Dave hit the brakes, and we filed out onto the brilliant white sand. The smell of sea salt filled my nostrils, and Molly and I each grabbed one of the plastic toboggans Dave had unloaded from the back. We kicked off our sandals and trudged up the dune. I felt slightly disoriented. All my life, I had associated sliding butt-first down hills with a colder kind of white stuff.

Dave gave quick instructions on how to sled to the surprising number of folks who had never even seen snow before, let alone tried tobogganing. The first woman to try, a native Kiwi, pushed off and promptly wiped out in fits of laughter. Molly went next and I after her, not sure what to expect, but eager to try. The sand was not as fast as a well-iced sled run, but the dune was steep enough to require careful attention to steering lest I end up face first in the sand.

We were more than ready for the final leg of our trip: lunch and a swim, then the pilgrimage to Cape Reinga.

The road to the cape was twisting and narrow, following the spine of the peninsula. Finally it crowned a ridge that offered spectacular views of the Pacific on the right and the Tasman on the left. Each body of water seemed to have a distinct personality. The Pacific was sapphire blue, vast, cold and deceptive, with cirrus clouds and a gentle surf that hid unforgiving rip tides. The warmer Tasman was more tempestuous, with dark skies and unbroken skeins of 6-foot waves moving onto the jagged coast. We couldn’t yet see the lighthouse that marks the northernmost point of the country, but it was ahead at the top of a steady ascent that made me appreciate why the Maori believed this to be the end of the Earth.

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In typical New Zealand fashion, the human contribution to Cape Reinga is minimal. There is a gift shop, a parking lot and housing for the half-dozen young Department of Conservation employees who serve tourists and keep the lighthouse working. I had to keep one hand on my hat in the wind while making the last 250-yard hike to the lighthouse, which sits where New Zealand ends in a triangular, grassy cliff of green. (A word of warning: Bring sunscreen. New Zealand’s ozone layer is very thin, and it has more cases of skin cancer per capita than anywhere else in the world.) A directional signpost informed us that we were 2,066 miles south of the equator, 5,709 miles from Los Angeles and 10,499 miles from London. A hundred yards below, the two great bodies of water crashed into each other in a line of whitecaps that stretched as far as we could see.

Although we had landed in Auckland a week earlier, I considered this the unofficial beginning of our five-week journey. From here we would head south, eventually catching a single-engine airplane to Stewart Island, the southernmost inhabited landmass in the country. Along the way, we would see the two seas’ many moods, but we would never again see them together. I turned my back to the erupting spray and looked away toward Ninety Mile Beach. This land had captivated my imagination as a teenager a decade ago. “I can see,” Molly shouted over the wind, “why you wanted to come back.”

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GUIDEBOOK

New Zealand

Dunes

Getting there: United, American, Qantas and Air New Zealand fly nonstop LAX-Auckland; fares begin at $1,085.

In Auckland, rent a car; the Bay of Islands is about four hours north on Highway 1. Local companies charge about half the price of their international competitors; we paid about $35 a day, including unlimited mileage, tax and mandatory insurance. Reservations essential.

InterCity and North Liner bus lines each run two daily round-trip services from Auckland.

Where to stay: B&Bs; abound in Russell. The nicest accommodation is at the Duke of Marlborough Hotel on York Street; tel. 011-64-9-403-7829. Rates: about $100 per night. No-frills accommodations can be found at the Russell Holiday Park on Long Beach Road, starting at $15-$20 per night; tel. 011-64-9-403-7826.

Across the bay, Paihia offers more options and more activity in general. Favorites include the Paihia Pacific Resort on Kings Road, tel. 011-64-9-402-8221; rates: $195 a night, double occupancy, and the Swiss Chalet Lodge on Bayview Road, tel. 011-64-9-402-7615; rates: $123 to $221 a night, double. In both towns, inexpensive backpacker lodges abound. Reservations are essential, particularly in the summer months, December through March.

Where to eat: In Russell, the Duke of Marlborough Hotel has a full menu and bar and magnificent view of the harbor; dinner for two, including drinks, is about $50. In Paihia, great seafood can be had at La Scala on Selwyn Road; local tel. 402-7031.

What to do: The Bay of Islands is a hub of water-related activities. Fullers in Paihia, tel. 402-7421, (403-7866 in Russell) offers combination boat and Ninety Mile Beach excursions for about $85. The Dune Rider tour, tel. 402-8681, costs about $50.

For more information: New Zealand Tourism Board, 501 Santa Monica Blvd., Suite 300, Santa Monica, CA 90401; tel. (800) 388-5494 or (310) 395-7480, fax (310) 395-5453, Internet https://www.nztb.govt.nz.