The “Walk About” chronology has been turned up-side down. My last blog was Feb 7th. Since then, every day, in the last two months, has been full; 9 am to 10:30 PM (or later), when I’ve fallen into bed, pleased and exhausted. On my off days, I caught up on chores; washed clothes, wrote PC’s, and usually felt that writing any more would be a chore. (As you know, my bursts of enthusiasm are rarely short).
I’ll start this one with my last day in NZ, (April 6th), when Neil and I drove to Piha (pronounced Pee Ha), on the Pacific Coast 40 km from downtown Auckland. He picked me up at 7:30 am and we sliced west across suburban Auckland. He drives like an eel, slipping quickly, easily into tiny spaces, rarely using the brakes. In ¾ of an hour we had reached a twisty, dirt road at the edge of the jungle and drove upwards to the spine of the Waitakere mountain range. Neil’s car is a 2000 Mazda with both automatic and manual gear shift which actually is pretty cool as with a flick of the gear shift you move from one to the other; once in manual, to change gears, a tap backwards lowers, forward, raises the gear. This is incredibly helpful on tight, steep curves, where a lower gear keeps the car at a safe speed. 
Arriving faster than expected we “s” turned down the other side of the mountain heading for a place called Whatipu which 80 years ago was the terminal pier of an amazing mountain tramway responsible for moving millions of board feet of Kauri timber from the Piha forests , ( 30 miles north, along, up and over a spectacular cliff/shore coast.)
The track has been gone for 50 years but the overhanging rocks at the beach still show where the rails ran; some rail connected to a few broken timbers under the incoming tide. It was cold, blowing hard and threatened rain as we walked over the black dunes approaching a blustery surf. The sea grass tendrils snaked over the path like cords. Had to watch my step or get flipped. Neil thoughtfully lent me a pair of open toed “swamp” shoes so I wouldn’t soak my only pair of shoes, my desert boots, a day before leaving NZ. I wore my jazzy, pin stripe, synthetic, long pants (which seem out of place in these conditions but they’re comfortable, don’t show the dirt and dry quickly.) We both soon slipped into our wind breakers. The shoreline was deserted, a raw wind blowing the foam backwards off the waves and surf crashing onto black volcanic sand; a wild place with whispers of days past. Imagine logs 15 to 20 feet in DIAMETER, each lashed, overhanging it's own 39' flat car, trundled into the sea, floated off, and then tied to an expanding boom to be transported by steam ship 50 miles to the Auckland docks. Wish I’d seen it.
After-wards, we breakfasted in the sunshine at a tiny general store on the shore of Huia with tables fronting a stunning bay surrounded by towering cliffs. From there we went to the DOC center, (Dept of Conservation), built on the edge of a cliff and surrounded by a wooden deck jutting out into open space, 1500 feet higher than our breakfast place.
We were in awe, an incredible view looking down on silver fern, the mouth of the bay, and in the distance Whatipu. Forty feet below the deck, on the sloping forest floor, a 30 year old Kauri had grown; the top crown now breasted the decking we stood on. The trunk was clean, silver grey for the first 25 feet and 
then there were nubs of vanishing branches below the crown of leaves. This tree cleans itself as it grows, the ultimate carpenter’s dream, no knots in pure lumber. To the early New Zealanders, 1880-1910, this tree was as good as gold, the backbone of a thriving timber industry, Kauri was exported all over the world.
The DOC center was immaculate, well laid out and the information provided about the Kauri Tramway, most helpful. An illustration clarified how these giant logs were moved from Piha over an 1800 foot mountain and down the other side to Karekare where a horizontal track along the shoreline and through tunnels delivered them to Whatipu. (Supposedly the name was given to the place by a Maori chief. It doesn’t mean he relieved himself; something to do with dramatic crashing surf ??)
Karekare is in a valley with a small river cutting through 75’ high sand dunes guarding the beach and is about ½ way between Piha and Whatipu. We crossed the stream and passed beneath a forest of Pohutukawa trees with their giant twisted branches before coming onto the beach where Neil had planned to walk south towards Whatipu.
As the tides were ebbing, a fairly wide stretch of black beach was available. We passed a place where he remembered, not 10 years ago, a cable attached to the cliff to allow folks to pass safely at high tide. Most of that path had eroded, the cable limply hanging; it would have been a hairy crossing as the trail was, perhaps, a foot wide and a slip would cause a 30 foot, backbreaking drop to the stones below. It was still windy but the sun warmed the black sand and us and our jackets came off. A three foot high cairn on the beach was a reminder of quick fogs and sudden rough weather; we continued on, hugging the coast.
The vertical cliffs clearly illustrating the incredible volcanic forces of the past; “S” shaped rock seams melding with giant inverted “U”s, all above midnight black, igneous sand. We searched for a train tunnel somewhere in the cliff face without success. (Later we saw a map showing we had not gone close enough to the cliff to find it.) The sand dunes turned into shoulder high reeds, cut grass and bog. Sometimes we had to backtrack as a path dead-ended or brought us to a sheer drop into the sea. After about an hour moving south we turned back because our path was blocked by a wide river and our time was short. We heard the sound of the surf and “bog whacked” towards it. Pairs of Paradise ducks, the female with a white, the male a black head greeted us with a whistling yodel. They supposedly pair for life and if one dies, the other partner pines away. A frightened pair flew over a 200 yard open stretch of water. It appeared shallow so Neil waded in, to check out the depth. 
When I saw it was only mid thigh, I rolled up my pants and followed. Once across, we squished onto the beach and started back to Karekare and our parked car. Great rollers were smashing onto the beach leaving mounds of 10 inch high, frothy white foam.
The 30 mph onshore wind blew the foam across the black sand, which appeared like white crabs, twisting and turning, intact until, in 100 feet or so they hit dry sand and vanished, sanded to death. Never saw such a thing before so I took a video.
Driving out of Karekare valley required 15 minutes of 1st gear ; the road going up a grade that was a steady 30 degrees. We reached the spine of the mountain range turned north and headed to Piha, one of the best surfing beaches on the west coast.
An overlook high on the road gave a panoramic view of a mile long curved beach with Lion rock, centered and looking out to sea. Our road down to Piha was as twisty and steep as the previous two. Neil had hoped to show me a “blow hole” where ocean waves are forced under overhanging rock and gushers of water explode into the air.
We scrambled under over hanging cliffs to reach an impassable point where the returning tide blocked our way. The curious thing about this place; every rock or stone or pebble was glued to the cliff, even though they were 30” in diameter or hundreds of pounds and 90 percent of the bolder/rock/pebble were exposed. The smaller ones on the cliff face seemed like hand holds in a climbing gym, screwed and crazy glued to the wall. Even those directly under the cliff on the shore ,(which one would think would be loose because they had eroded off), were tight as a tick, couldn’t find even ONE to scavenge as a souvenir. 
This place is obviously a surfer’s hideaway with every kind of lodging from sumptuous to lean-to and lots of tattooed dudes with boards. Today, in 6 hours we beach hopped to 3 beaches. Each was completely different from the other and as usual we got a lot of “trekking” under varying climatic conditions. New Zealand regularly offers 4 seasons a day. We drove back to Pakarunga in less time than it took as we returned after rush hour, stopped at the RSA, (Retired Serviceman’s Assoc), to debrief over a few jugs of Tui beer.
Lesson learned, over and over, don’t let what appears to be lousy weather in the morning intimidate you to change your plans, persevere, do what you planned, as in New Zealand it will most likely turn out fine. Neil and I had an emotional farewell, we’d happily traveled together, on and off for 7 weeks, consequently, distracted I left my fleece jacket on the back sea of his car, (which he happily delivered next day just before I left for the airport). Rose and Gordon had created a delicious curry for my last supper. I spent some time checking the couch surfing blog to see whether a host in Honolulu had responded to my request for a bed. No luck... but another super day. I fell into a pleased, exhausted sleep.
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