Rugged Northland- Part 1

Our first road trip in New Zealand! Paula and Ryan graciously offered to drive us around and show us the best bits of Northland! On Friday morning after a delightful breakfast of fresh picked wild mushrooms, bacon, poached eggs and toast we departed for the biggest city in Northland, Whangerei. It was rainy and pretty dismal, the plains on the eastern side of the island were flooded, cows were tip-towing around the fresh marshes searching out little pads of grass. Houses along the road are built precariously on top of barrels and cinderblocks, since I suppose it floods often. The rivers along the sides of the road were swollen and the bridges barely cleared the freshly bulging waters. The sky was still gray and sullen so we decided to see Watchmen. A perfect rainy day activity.
We headed north with no particular destination in mind. The first stop was glowworm caves....closed due to flooding. A bit disheartened we continued on our journey. The skies had completely cleared and we were excited for a day filled with sunshine and good times. We drove to the much acclaimed Bay of Islands only to discover that the ocean had become incredibly muddy due to the floods runoff. We opted not to take a swim. We found an awesome lookout point on the top of a wee mountain, it was cool to see the exact points where the muddy rivers ran into the ocean.
We found another billboard for a glowworm cave AND kiwi house, since we hadn't seen any flooding this far north, we figured it would be open. The directions led us on a dirt road, that kept going and going for 20 km, we felt sure we had been had; there was nothing but abandoned farms and vacant lots of land interspersed with patches of forest. Then we found another sign attached to an electric fence. “Kiwi out Ostrich in” said the small, faded and elusive sign. What the hell does that mean? So we kept on, the dirt road transformed back into a paved road but we still hadn't the faintest idea of where we were going. Then out of nowhere we saw the turn in and ascended the road to the nocturnal house. We turned into an empty parking lot, the cafe was locked up, the tourism pamphlets were sun bleached and covered with spider webs, the entire place was deserted. A weathered, old, tattooed man drove up and offered to show us around for the low price of $10/person, but first he had to get some eel food. He returned with an ice cream container of wet cat food and we followed him down to the river. It was teeming with eels most were 2-3 feel long and slithering up the rocks mechanically opening and closing their mouths. Eels are creepy. He started throwing the cat food into the water and more and more came until there were about 20 eels slithering in the water. We pet a few (they feel just like stingrays) and watched the nearly blind clumsy creatures grab at bits of the cat food we had thrown in the water. Afterward, the man filled up a container with buggy birdseed and we went to see the saddest ostrich who ever lived. He explained that the rent on the kiwi was too much so the “Chinaman” that owned the place had gotten an ostrich instead (kiwi out ostrich in). He said that there had been two but one had died, and it looked like this one was no better off. Ryan bravely held out handfuls of birdseed for the ravenous ostrich. Afterward Ryan suggested that we tell the SPCA since it is probably the worlds most ragged and unhealthy ostrich. Next stop glowworm caves. We took a little wooden track through the forest, the signs were covered with dirt and the path was filled with plant matter that no one had bothered clearing in years. He handed us a flashlight and warned us not to put our hands along the left side of the cave because it was filled with weta's (they look like gigantic crickets) we had a good look around and discovered that it was a pre-fab cave, no doubt built by the dubious Chinaman we had heard so much about. He turned out the lights and we sat awkwardly in the dark waiting for our eyes to adjust, Katie turned to me and whispered, “this is when he kills us”. Slowly tiny little dots of glowing green lights appeared. It looked a lot like a night sky, if stars were day-glo green, the little glowworms tended to live in bunches like tiny constellations. We followed the man along the track to the kiwi house. It was damp and dark and condensation and grime had built up on the glass walls of the deserted habitat. His flashlight swung around illuminating a stuffed kiwi in another tiny display, strange and morbid, behind a slimy glass enclosure. He led us up around the track and back over the tiny river to our car. We asked if there was anywhere in the area to stay the night and he offered us a nice caravan that slept four on his property for $10/person, Paula chimed in with the polite save ,“oh thanks, but we have to get dinner first”. He said that the Chinaman's nocturnal house had been closed down for 5-6 years and that he was maintaining the property and showing around what few visitors had been lured in by the strange and enticing “kiwi out ostrich in” signs along the main road.
We headed up towards Kaitaia, which Lonely Planet describes as, “the highlight of no-ones trip to NZ” And I can honestly say if that is the worst of New Zealand, I can breathe a sigh of relief right now.
We got some deliciously fried road food and headed to the backpackers camp near 90 mile beach. Unfortunately, they were booked solid due to a 3-day fishing tournament at the beach. Irritated, we got back in the car for the thirty minute drive to “Houhora Heaven” Backpackers park. We arrived shortly before nightfall and lucky for us they had one remaining room available. For a mere $20/person ($10 US) we had a bed to sleep in that wasn't in some sketchy old man's caravan. The lady told us there were heaps of fishermen staying the night and that it would be best for us if we were friendly and got on well with them. Tired, hungry and relieved we headed to our cabin. There were indeed fishermen, very drunk fishermen, in our camp. One old man who looked like Santa on vacation, his middle aged son, two Indian gentlemen and one Maori, whose name was Da. They offered us beers and the like and regaled us with drunken nearly incoherent tales. Da said the best way to get a Maori to do anything was to say that he couldn't. As in, “you can’t drive the crane that's on the top of that 40 story building you don't have a license”, to which the Maori will inevitably respond by driving the crane he is absolutely not qualified to drive. Santa told us about a man he had seen coming out of the bush, “he was an Afganistani, no wait he was a Jew. He was an Afganistani Jew” to which his friend replied, “oh, you mean that seagull”. That's pretty much how the night went, they talked nonsense and we laughed, they offered us beers and we happily drank them. They were still going hard when we went to bed and left to fish well before we woke up, essentially, Kiwi fisherman do not fuck around.