Camping at Wairoa.
I read something that I understood to mean that the full translation of the indigenous name for the Wairoa River was “the long, bubbling, swirling, uneven waters.” I can attest to this after stalling when at the mouth just as I thought I’d reached safety!
Waking, I went for a walk and came across a wonderful award-winning bakery/café only a short walk along the river’s edge and enjoyed a full hot breakfast followed by a pancake stack with fruit, a coffee and a read of the newspaper. Absolute bliss!
Stretching at the seams and ready to burst I waddled down to the local information centre and spent half an hour with the woman who proved very useful as we poured over maps whilst she shared with me her knowledge of possible stops on my next leg.
I followed this up with a visit to the local museum where I made enquiries regarding the origins of my grandfather’s name, Ngati Awa. As I was walking out the door the wonderful person who was in charge, ran after me, caught up with me, and handed me a margarine container filled with homemade cake. Maybe I’ve lost more weight than I thought?
Later that evening I had a burger at the Wairoa Club Inc. that rated a 10/10. Only two burgers have done so since my trip began. The staff here had never seen anyone eat two. Whilst I may have commenced the day underweight, I was confident that this had now been rectified.
Back at the camp I introduced myself to a German girl who’d recently arrived by bicycle and had just pitched her tent. Like me she was travelling around the country, but by a different mode. I was interested in understanding how much gear she was travelling with when compared to myself.
We agreed that essentially we were carrying similar loads and equipment, although in my case I needed to carry a little more food and water in case I got stuck somehwhere for a few days, but that we differed in that I also had items that were exclusively aimed at the marine side i.e. radios, EPIRB, flotation jacket, paddles, etc. Items which she did not need to duplicate riding a bike.
A short time later I was talking to an English couple I’d met earlier in the day. Now in her company, I suggested that she was extremely brave doing such a thing on her own to which they replied, not “mad” like I was.
It is interesting how people see things differently. I am certainly fearful of the sea and am easily frightened. For this reason I am reasonably careful when planning a day’s paddling. It is worth noting however that I am able to recall once, not too long ago, riding a bicycle from one side of Sydney to another, following some major roads.
This was a frightening experience for me and I did not enjoy the fear that came from being at the mercy of others. Cars, buses and trucks, over which I had no control, would speed by, at times only inches away. To be hit by a cold, sharp metal travelling at eighty kilometres an hour, with only hard bitumen to cushion the fall makes me shudder even now when I think of it. Simply, brutal. Give me the soft and forgiving sea any time!
