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| Stingray Bay |
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| Owhouae Falls at Dicky's Flat |
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| Lake Taupo Look Out Tower |
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| Karangahake Gorge |
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| New Zealand's First Car. |
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| Abandonned Miner's Caves |
The definition of a developped country is surely that it is developped.
New Zealand appears to have one tarmac road that they roll out for special occassions. The rest of the time you drive on something that resembles a cross between the Dark Side of the Moon and a psychotic garden water feature, carefully laid out on a 1 in 3 climb with certain death liberally sprinkled on either side.
As we practised our inexpert Tokyo Drift around bends a mere thousand feet above boulder strewn rivers, I quietly suggested to Clare that next time we should take the train.
We survived long enough to reach Owhouae falls in the Karangahake Gorge after an extended series of gravel switch backs, before taking a great walk through the gorge and abandonned miner's railway tunnels. A planned walk to Cathedral Cove was aborted because of another land slip and so we contented ourselves with clambering down to Sting Ray and Gemstone bays. Sadly, there were neither at either.
Every few miles a desultory orange cone would appear in the road, occasionally accompanied by a small sign, usually handwritten in biro on the back of a cornflake packet saying things like 'Road Washed Out' or 'Rock Fall Ahead' or 'Abandon Hope All Who Enter'. And, to be fair to the sign writer, the road had usually disappeared down the mountain side just around the next blind bend, often with anyone who was on it at the time. Heavy rain was threatening to wash the whole North Island into the Pacific.
Being British, I studiously obeyed the signs and so avoided certain death but it prompted me to consider the Kiwi attitude to risk. The nation is littered with warning signs. Don't light fires. Don't drink drive. Don't waste water. Don't spread Didymo. Don't over take at night without your lights on (seriously!). Perhaps the money they could save by demobilising the road side warning signage industry, could tarmac a few more kilomteres of road?
Camping at Dicky's Flat I finally confronted the driver of a yellow 1928 Ford that had been stalking us all day. My 2.4 litre engine, power assisted brakes, power steering and rear differential had just been enough to keep us on the treacherous road surface.
Perhaps he had a different attitude to risk.
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