This book is dedicated to my wonderfully complicated whÄ nau Marion, John, Sherida, Lance, Rhys, Kent, Gaylene, Ken, Vanushi. And especially to my amazing partner in crime on many of the beach missions Angela. I love you all, thank you for your love and enduring support.
Published 2009 by
www.photocpl.co.nz photocpl@xtra.co.nz CMB 33 Piha Waitakere New Zealand 0646 Copyright Craig Levers and/or to the photographers as credited. All rights are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording and otherwise, without prior written permission of the publisher. Things will get very nasty - promise. ISBN 978-0-473-15314-4 Printed by Everbest Printing, China Film processing and scanning by
Front cover photo: Karekare Beach from the southern rocks looking north on a summer’s evening 2001. Back cover photo: CPL on assignment at Tawharanui 2009. Pic Angela.
A New Zealand beach is a real piece of work. Water, wind and root gnaw at the faults and fissures, they work on it, they work it down, they work relentlessly, gravity lends a hand and something gives somewhere. At the same time, all the time, shells and rock are ground against each other until they are mere specks of their former selves. What once, eons ago, was an impenetrable wall of solidified lava or an up-heaved sedimentary ocean floor is now pocketed with weather-beaten soft havens that are filled with billions of specks. We gravitate to these geographic anomalies called beaches. That collective gravitation is what drove this project; it is a love affair we all celebrate with our coastal nooks, crannies and expanses. In early 2009 I sent out a survey to over 500 Kiwis - it’s certainly not the biggest sampling ever attempted, but it yielded a disproportionate landslide of reply. That volume of response proved how proactive and passionate we feel about our New Zealand beaches. The original idea was to identify New Zealand’s top 20 beaches, but this was naïve in retrospect. Because the replies were so diverse, varied and valid that it became impossible to distil. So that concept evolved into how many favourites we could actually fit into one volume, whilst giving each its fair dues. No question, there are many notable omissions; it’s doubtful anyone will be able to go cover to cover without realising that one of their own favourite beaches is absent. I really hope I get the chance to address this dilemma in future volumes. In the meantime, please come on in, ease yourself into the hammock under your favourite Pohutakawa and enjoy the first volume of Beached As. If you aren’t under that Pohutakawa – shame on you, but maybe, just maybe Beached As can introduce you to a few new spots. An added element are the co-ordinates for each beach under their sub-headings. Where possible, these also pinpoint the spot the image was shot. You don’t know where the beach is? Simply tap the latitude and longitudes into your car’s GPS or go on-line to get the directions. Then go.
Matauri Bay
By Nick Stanley
Small feet touch the sand and sink, ever-so slightly. It is a new feeling but not frightening. The day is hot and there is the sea ahead and the dunes behind. His squeal mixes with the call of the seagulls wheeling in the sky above. He bends and little fingers enter the sand, squeeze and scoop at it; draw it up to show it to Mum, to Dad. But he can’t hold on to it. It flows and falls away. This is a miracle. He watches it trickle to land at his feet. There is a rushing noise from the water and he runs at it, delight in his own freedom. Though his sinking steps grab and make it hard to balance. He trips then and the sand catches him, somehow both soft and firm at the same time. And warm to his arms, his face. He lifts his head. The sea is still there, washing towards him. Hands pick him up; one wipes at the sand on his face. It’s his Dad asking if he’s okay and laughing. He can only laugh too. Why wouldn’t he? Grains still glisten like tiny diamonds in his eyelashes and when he finally closes his mouth, they crunch in his teeth. Nearly every New Zealander will have a memory like that. Something he or she won’t forget. The first time you found out there was such a place as the beach and that it was a place that possessed a kind of magic. A zone where the elements met: ocean and land, sun and sky, wind and waves and cloud. Where the atmosphere felt different and the normal constraints of life didn’t quite reach. Those memories grow as we do, built upon and added to by every subsequent trip we take to the beach. We go there in summer, spring and autumn, even in winter. We go to walk, to swim, to camp, to picnic, to surf, to fish, to be with our closest friends and our family. Or we go there for solace, when life isn’t quite as flash as it could be. But regardless of the reason, we reach a place of sand, rock and sea and we feel uplifted somehow; it is as if life subtly expands around us. And we leave and take that feeling with us, keeping it until we go back again. Or like many of us, we go as far as to make the beach an integral part of our lives, living as close as we can to it. My beach memories stretch back to childhood, to unsupervised days spent with my younger brother and cousins at the bay near our grandfather’s house. We crafted sand cannonballs, starting with wet sand and tossing it from hand to hand like little master chefs, adding sprinkles of dry sand to firm them up. We’d end up with these perfect balls, smooth and solid and bigger than our hands. From time to time we’d test our craftsmanship by rolling them down the sloping concrete barrier of the stormwater outlet we thought was a stream. Most cracked apart before they made the bottom. The other balls we’d stockpile, then choose sides and wage war. They hurt when they hit you, but there weren’t many direct hits. The balls were invariably so heavy we couldn’t throw them with much accuracy. Aside from our handmade arsenals, the beach was about swimming and
lying on the baking sand to warm up again. About throwing sticks for the dog and walking to the nearby dairy to buy an ice-block. At primary school I remember the teacher would take us on trips to the local beach to study the life in the rock pools. It was very hands-on: we’d dislodge cat’s eyes to see the snail inside, make the cockabullies dart for shelter and touch the sea anemones that closed around your finger in a tiny sucking kiss. The starfish and sponges we let be. I’m not sure we learned much more than the fact that these zany creatures lived there, but it was the best-ever lesson and a trillion times better than being in the classroom. Later, I learned to surf on the random collection of boards my older brothers were by then too expert to ride. I proudly took my first surfboard to school one day as part of a speech I gave. Yeah, I was sold on the beach. I also remember the joy of digging a pool on the Coromandel and being amazed at the heat of the water that filled my little sand jacuzzi. I discovered the rugged glory of the west coast in my early teens when my parents bought a dinky bach perched on a hill with a long-drop toilet and a view of sand and sea stretching beyond sight. Of course, it’s only later in life that you equate these memories with feelings. You realise you’re pretty lucky to live here in Aotearoa New Zealand. For a country so small we’ve got a lot of beach to choose from. According to the CIA World Factbook, New Zealand ranks tenth in the world by length of coastline, yet by total land area, we’re only 76th. We’ve got more coast than China, more than Mexico or Brazil, and more than double the coast that India has. In fact, our 15,134km of coastline means, with our current population, we’ve got about three-and-a-half metres each. We should probably thank the tectonic forces that sheered a slender piece off Gondwanaland so many millions of years ago, buckling the land as
continental drift took it out into the southern Pacific Ocean, creating the Tasman Sea as it went. Further millennia of shaping by the forces of nature have given us the long, slender islands we know today. There is though another more fantastic explanation for the creation of this land. It goes back to a demigod named Maui-tikitiki-a-Taranga, famous the Pacific over for his daring and supernatural feats. The legend goes that Maui went out fishing one day with his brothers, though his brothers were not all that thrilled to have him onboard, due to his magical talents. When they refused to give him bait for his enchanted jawbone hook, Maui smeared it with blood from his own nose and dropped it over the side. His brothers’ fears proved well founded when Maui hooked a fish so big it was in fact, a submerged part of the earth, Papatuanuku. It took all Maui’s might to bring it to the surface, where it has stayed ever since as the North Island, or Te Ika a Maui, the fish of Maui. The South Island is often referred to as Maui’s canoe (Te Waka a Maui), and Stewart Island the waka’s anchor stone (Te Punga o Te Waka a Maui). Many other places in Aotearoa have Māori names related to Maui’s legendary fishing expedition and the North Island’s most prominent features correspond to the fish Maui hauled up: Northland is its tail (Te Hiku o Te Ika a Maui), the Coromandel Peninsula the fish’s barb (Te Tara o Te Ika a Maui), Lake Taupo its navel (Te Pito o Te Ika a Maui), Wellington its head (Te Upoko o Te Ika a Maui ) and Lake Wairarapa its eye (Te Whatu o Te Ika a Maui). The fish hook became the cape which now forms the southernmost tip of Hawke’s Bay. And the rugged and irregular geography of the North Island is a result of the fish’s thrashing while Maui’s brothers cut pieces from it before the gods had been appeased.
Whatever the history of its creation, if you look at a map of New Zealand you can see the multitudinous features of our coastline: the drawn-out races of coast, the capes and peninsulas sticking out, harbours arching in, the dotted smaller islands, the sounds and fiords like clippings in a bus ticket. Hone in further and the outlines of our coasts reveal yet more features, from the squeaky silica sands of Muriwhenua – The Far North – to the windswept stretches of the Catlins Coast; from the moody volcanic shores of Auckland’s west coast to the rocky points of Raglan and Māhia, or the remote Westland beaches bound by rainforest and mountains. When it comes to varieties of coastal features – from spits to inlets and bays, from estuaries to isthmuses to reefs – Aotearoa didn’t miss out on too many. And from a glance at a map you can see that in a lot of parts of this skinny country, you’d have to try harder to get away from the coast than to get to it. Earlier this year, a group of friends set out on just such a mission. They weren’t driven by any desire to escape the beach, but rather to satisfy their own curiosity. Because while the widest point of the country has been measured at 450km, it seemed no one had formally located the most inland point. Maps and satellite images were studied, phone calls were made to government and university departments, and finally, with the aid of a hand-held GPS unit, they wound up on remote farmland in Central Otago’s Dunstan Range. They’d got almost 120km from one coast when they realised they were getting closer to the other again. It’s not official recognised, but there is now a wee stone monument marking what they say is the most inland spot in our land. If you were keen enough to get up there to visit it, and it was a clear day, you could probably still look out and see the sea.
Otamure Bay
It’d be fair to say that as long as there have been people in this land, they’ve been drawn to the beach. The salt air is in our blood. Nearly all of our ancestors came to this place by sea and the first thing they would’ve seen was the coast. And the first place on which they stood was the beach. Even now, when you come to New Zealand, you look down from the window of the aeroplane and see the thin strip where the blue sea meets the green land. The first Māori sailed here in their great waka, navigating their way from Polynesia to the land of the long white cloud – Aotearoa. There are more than 70 places where Māori waka first made landfall, and tribal iwi still trace their origins back to these landings. Coming from smaller, tropical islands the Māori must have been amazed by the variety and vastness of the coast here, rounding a headland to see a harbour or bay, and from there the next and the next. But island life had the ocean in common and the Māori established a thriving maritime culture. As fishing experts, it was a natural place for them to live, close not only to food but to other resources such as weaving and carving materials. The beach was also a place of recreation, for swimming and early forms of surfing, called whakahekeheke, where waves were ridden on wooden boards, canoes and even bags of kelp. A deep respect for, and custody of, the environment is intrinsic to the Māori way of life. The sea is taonga, or a treasure, just as the land is taonga, and they see themselves as their guardians (kaitiaki), charged with protecting the resources that sustain life. The coast is not only a place to live but it has much spiritual significance because it forms the basis of a person’s and iwi’s identity.
Hundreds of years after the Māori, pakeha began turning up in ships. Dutchman Abel Tasman sighted the west coast in 1642, and anchored in what is now Golden Bay for a few days until bad weather and a violent incident with local Māori sent him north. He never returned and it was more than a hundred years before the English Captain James Cook spent a summer navigating and mapping the entire coastline of the islands that had by then acquired the name ‘New Zealand’. His two subsequent voyages enabled close study of the natural world here, and his “discoveries” convinced the British that it was a land to be coveted and colonised. The settlers who began arriving in 18th and 19th centuries didn’t all show quite the same affinity or respect for the coast that the Māori did. Many preferred a life based on clearing and working the land. Similarly, the whaling and sealing industries saw the sea and the life it contained as merely other resources to be exploited. But the geography of New Zealand and the fact that the sea offered the main form of passage ensured coastal towns flourished, especially in strategic harbours. This legacy endures to this day and there isn’t a main urban area in the country that is more than an hour’s drive from the coast. You can see shots of colonial beach life and marvel at the people collecting shellfish or taking in the air dressed in clothes that look better suited to a Sunday dinner party. Luckily, our shoreside fashions have evolved along with our enjoyment of the beach. Fishing and the gathering of kaimoana (seafood), always an essential part of survival in these islands, have also become a popular form of recreation. Food and the beach just seem to go together. We’re pretty partial to firing up the barbeque on the foreshore, having a picnic in the sands, or unwrapping a feed of fish and chips to the delight of the ever-present seagulls. We’d probably also strip down to our togs and jump in for a dip, but that hasn’t
always been the case. It took until the early 20th century for strict Victorian morals to soften enough for swimming to become an acceptable pursuit. Saltwater was being lauded for its health-giving properties and the first public swimming pools, such as the one at Dunedin’s St. Clair beach, began to open. Donning very modest and highly impractical swimming costumes, men and women – though never together – took to the water. Morals have loosened ever since, swimsuits have got skimpier, and regardless of their sex, the numbers of swimmers at our popular beaches have grown, needing a core of vigilant lifesavers to watch over them. Someone had the bright idea of filming the summer melee at South Piha, and the resulting footage became one of the most popular TV shows of recent years. Kiwis also revel in taking to the water in all manner of craft, in boats or towed behind them, in canoes and kayaks, on surfboards, paddleboards, bodyboards and lilos, even the inner tubes of tires. If it floats, even partially, we’ll give it a go. Somewhere amongst the fishing and swimming and eating we decided we didn’t want to leave. So we pitched tents or built what we call baches (or cribs in the South Island). The bach my family had at the beach was fairly exemplary: hardly an architectural wonder, a bit piecemeal but sturdy and dry enough for weekends and holidays. The joke used to go that a bach was something you built yourself, on land you didn’t own, out of materials you borrowed or stole. Sounds like hyperbole, especially these days when you see some of the modern baches with all the luxuries of regular homes. It was the advent of affordable, reliable cars and decent roads that enabled the culture of the beach house to grow, much like anywhere else in the world. We just added our unique, do-it-yourself ethos. To everyone else in the world, Bach is a 16th century German composer.
Maui’s act of fishing up the North Island may be the seminal legend of our land, but it’s by no means the only one. Every one of our beaches has its own history and popular legends document the relationship we have with special parts of our coast. Perhaps the most famous is that of Cape Reinga – or Te Rerenga Wairua (the Leaping-off Place) – and Kapowairua (Spirits Bay) where the Tasman Sea and Pacific Ocean meet. Māori believe the souls of the dead travel here to climb down the branches and roots of an ancient pohutukawa and enter the ocean, starting the journey back to the afterlife in Hawaiki, their original homeland. We also have our own famous mermaid – Pania of the Reef – who is commemorated by a statue in Napier. A beautiful maiden of the sea people, Pania fell in love with a man of the land, Karitoki. They were married and Pania lived on the coast by night, returning each day to her people in the sea. Karitoki tried everything to get her to stay ashore but couldn’t, and eventually she swam
out to the sea never to return. She is supposedly still there, as a piece of reef in the Napier breakwater. Others claim she is visible at low tide, her hair flowing like seaweed and her arms stretched towards shore. The Manukau Harbour is our second largest harbour and a volatile waterway of large swells and shallow sandbars. It’s also been home to some legendary taniwha like the benign Paikea, who ferried people across and has a bay named after him between White’s Beach and Anawhata, and the deadly Kaiwhare, who preferred to eat them. Kaiwhare wasn’t always known to be troublesome, though fisherman were sure to make him an offering before they set out. Despite these offerings, Kaiwhare developed quite a taste for humans and continued to terrorise the area until a warrior named Hakawau caught Kaiwhare in his lair at the blowhole just south of Piha. Hakawau stretched a fishing net across the entrance to the lair and Kaiwhare became entangled as he tried to leave. A mighty struggle ensued as Kaiwhare thrashed about with his tail, flattening the land all around the blowhole, but Hakawau succeeded in killing the taniwha. Kaiwhare is said to still haunt the Manukau to this day and creates tidal waves as he rolls about in his restless sleep. In more recent memory, dolphins have proved far more personable inhabitants of our coastal waters. The Risso’s dolphin Pelorus Jack was famous in the late 1800s and early 1900s for guiding boats in the Marlborough Sounds and became the first dolphin in the world to be protected by law. In the mid-50s, Opo the Friendly Dolphin spent a summer hanging around the beach at Opononi, giving kids rides on her back and showing off her skills balancing balls (and the odd beer bottle). The Māhia Peninsula now boasts its own friendly dolphin, Moko, who’s been playing around boats and swimmers since 2007.
Our beaches are special places of magic and mythology, of common ground and shared history. The meeting of ocean and land is unique here because the ocean and the land here are unique. The beach is part of our identity as New Zealanders, passed from generation to generation, and beach culture is enshrined in what we know as Kiwiana. The photographs in this book show how amazing our beaches are, in turns picturesque, wild and majestic. As people of this land we are truly blessed and we should celebrate that as often as possible. That’s what this book is about. Celebrating our beaches and capturing the beauty of our coastline and maybe even capturing a little of the feeling the beach evokes in our hearts. The touch of a footstep in the sand, the sight of a familiar landmark, the rush of a wave washing over our backs. Until we go there again and get the chance to make some new memories.
13 Ahipara
17 Allans Beach
21 Langs Beach
23 Ding Bay
25 South Piha
29 North Piha
33 Castlepoint
37 New Brighton Beach
41 Whangamata Beach
45 Tawharanui
49 Raglan
53 Matauri Bay
57 Spirits Bay
59 Mangawai Heads
63 Wainui Beach
67 Awaroa Inlet
69 Matai Bay
73 Cathedral Cove
77 Karekare
81 Okiwi
83 Aramoana
86 Otama Beach
91 Henderson Bay
93 Rawara Beach
97 Waimarama
99 Hotwater Beach
103 Scorching Bay
105 Oakura
109 Matapouri Beach
111 Whale Bay
115 St. Clair Beach
118 Tairua Beach
122 Waike/Torbay
Literally Ahipara means ahi (fire) and para (edible fern roots) ‘fire for roasting fern roots’. The commonly regarded translation is ‘Sacred Fire’ in reference to the fire that was kept constantly burning by the local Te Rarawa people. Nestled at the bottom of 90 Mile Beach in the Far North, Ahipara is an adventurer’s playground with seven kilometres of world-class left hand surf breaks, abundant fishing and seafood gathering. The old gum-fields to the south and the ‘reef’ as it’s locally called are great for quad biking and sand dune surfing. Ahipara is considered the gateway to 90 Mile Beach.
Castlepoint Wairarapa The Pacific coast of Otago Peninsula includes several beaches that are just far enough from Dunedin to be sparsely populated even in mid-summer. These include Allans Beach, Boulder Beach, Victory Beach and Sandfly Bay. Allans is the largest south facing beach, and like its neighbours is home to albatross, penguin, and giant sometimes quite aggressive elephant seals. There are regular sightings of the resident great white shark KZ7, so named because it’s the same size as an America’s cup yacht.
Just an hour-and-a-half drive north of Auckland’s urban sprawl, Langs lies at the south of Bream Bay facing north. Its pohutakawa-lined shores have long been a favourite getaway for neighbouring residents of Whangarei as well as a northern escape for Aucklanders. This area was first settled by William Maxwell Lang and his wife Ann (nee McGregor), and there are still some of his descendants living on the land. Evidently William Lang or perhaps more likely his son Charles Lang would sell some of the land as long as the purchase was for non-commercial use.
To the west of Langs is Ding Bay. Partitioned by easily scaled rocks, the secluded, rock strewn cove is a welcome escape from the summer throngs of the main beach. It regularly creates a superior wave shape to Langs, however this ride is often at the consequence of ‘dinging’ your board, or head on the ever-present rocks, hence the bay’s rather infamous title.
Piha means wave or wake off the bow of a waka (canoe). As southern swells pour up New Zealand’s west coast and around the corner of Taitomo Island (the beach’s southern headland) to peel down into the bell-shaped bay, it’s easy to imagine how Piha earned its name. A short drive from downtown Auckland, the ever-popular beach is infamous for its dangerous rips and lifesavers.
Castlepoint Wairarapa Framed to the south by Lion Rock and to the north by Te Waha headland, the black iron sands of North Piha originate from volcanic eruptions of Mt Taranaki 300 hundred kilometres to the south.
Castlepoint is about an hour’s drive east of Masterton, the protective headland and reef of Castle Rock provide a safe sheltered launching place for both commercial and recreational fishing. To see the giant commercial boats hauled out on their equally massive cradles is quite a spectacle. Castlepoint is a popular holiday destination with the perfect combination of safe swimming beaches, open ocean beaches and beautiful coastal walks.
New Brighton was named after the English seaside resort with it’s famous pier. A wooden pier was also built at New Brighton in 1894, by 1965 it had deteriorated to such a state that it needed be demolished. The new New Brighton pier which is concrete was largely and very proudly funded by the local community was completed in 1997. As hoped it has started to revitalise the depressed Christchurch coastal suburb. For several decades New Brighton had the distinction of being the only place in New Zealand where general retail shops were permitted to open on Saturdays (remaining closed on Mondays), and the business district thrived as a result. With the introduction of nationwide Saturday trading in the 1980’s and then seven-day trading, retail activity declined significantly. It’s down but certainly not out, the new pier is a destination and a hive of activity most weekends.
The name of Whangamata comes from the mata stones (obsidian) which washed up on the beach. Whanga (bay), mata (a hard stone). At the base of the Coromandel Peninsula the once sleepy town of Whangamata is one of our most popular summer getaways. Over the Christmas - New Year period the town’s population swells from 20,000 to well over 50,000. Its northern river-mouth surf break is considered one of the best surfing breaks in New Zealand, producing world class waves that offer rides of over 300 metres. The break, known simply as ‘Whanga Bar’ has been lobbied to become one of New Zealand’s first Surfing Reserves.
The name Tawharanui refers to ‘He wha tawhara ki uta; he kiko tamure ki tai’, which means, ‘The flowering bracts of the kiekie on the land, the flesh of the snapper in the sea’. Anchor Bay, the bay infront of the main carpark, was named after the anchor of the Phoenix, a vessel wrecked on the Tawharanui coastline in 1879. Tawharanui was made a Marine Park in 1981.
The Raglan Harbour was originally known by Māori as Whangaroa, whanga (harbour) roa (long) ‘The Long Harbour’. To avoid confusion with another place of the same name, Whaingaroa was later adopted; this can also be translated to mean whai (stingray), nga (the), roa (long) ‘The Long Stingray’, which is the shape of the Raglan Harbour. The European name Raglan was adopted in the 1858 in honour of Fitzroy Somerset, the 1st Lord Raglan, who was the commander of British forces in the Crimean War at the time. Raglan’s three left hand point surf breaks are now a worldwide surf mecca, renowned for their quality and consistency. This has transformed the sleepy Waikato coastal hamlet into a destination for the world’s surfers and back-packers.
Matauri Bay is the final resting place of Greenpeace’s ship The Rainbow Warrior. Bombed by French saboteurs in Auckland in 1985, the Warrior was scuttled two years later in the farthest reaches of Matauri Bay, just behind the Cavalli Islands and, as hoped, has become an ever-popular diving attraction. A monument which incorporates the Warrior’s propeller stands sentry on the headland.
Tōhē, a chief of the Ngāti Kahu people, lived at Maunga Piko in Kapowairua Bay, far from his only daughter Rāninikura, who had married a man from the Kaipara near Dargaville. When Tōhē was very old he announced his intention to journey south to see his daughter one last time. His people, concerned about his health, asked him not to go. Tōhē replied: “I can shelter from the wind, but I cannot shelter from the longing for my daughter, I shall venture as far as Hokianga, and beyond, your task - should I die - shall be to grasp my spirit”. The Māori name for Spirits Bay, Kapowairua, comes from this saying. Tōhē made his way south, naming over 100 places along the west coast, but he died at Whāngaiariki near Maunganui Bluff, before reaching his daughter. Tōhē place names stand as a memorial to this sad journey. The most well-known is Te Oneroa-a-Tōhē ‘the long beach of Tōhē’, also called Ninety Mile Beach.
Literally Mangawhai means watercourse, (manga) where stingray (whai) are found. Also the chief Te Whai fled to from the Nga-Puhi and settled on the headland where the two rivers (manga) met, therefore ‘River of Te Whai’. The beautiful east coast hamlet of Mangawhai and its sweeping ocean beaches are just over an hour north of Auckland.
“The region is known as “Magical” Mangawhai, and for good reason, where else can you have half a dozen pristine surf breaks within a stretch of 14 kilometres? The Mangawhai Bar is a swell magnet that, when it’s offshore and solid, is on a par with any of the world’s best breaks, and it’s not breaking over sharp coral or rocks ! Further down the road, as you disappear over the pure white dunes to get into the soup at Black Swamp or Forestry, you lose sight of any sign of our 'civilised' world, no cars, no buildings, and a lot of the time no one else! Te Arai Point is the last headland on the east coast north of Auckland that doesn’t have shops or dwellings, it’s virtually the same as it was when I surfed it back in the 60’s, even the same dirt road ! But like everywhere, things are changing. It’s a real paradise just an hour from our biggest city, just a damn shame they’re still taking sand from these beaches for the development of the city!
A few minutes drive north of Gisborne City is Wainui Beach. Literally wai (water), nui (big). In the late ‘80’s Wainui Beach wore the brunt of Cyclone Bola, stripping away many baches’ shore frontage. Boulders were shipped in and stone walls built to protect valuable dune dwellings from slipping into the tide. Despite the drama, the beauty of the beach still remains.
A slice of pictorial paradise situated in one of our premier National Parks, Awaroa is only accessible by walking track, kayak or water taxi. The area enjoys a mild microclimate, with low rainfall, which in turn creates the crystalline waters shrouded by native bush. You can explore a delicious assortment of perfect little beaches and the luxurious, acclaimed ecofriendly Awaroa Lodge is nestled in the eastern hip of the bay. Awaroa can be broken down into two words awa, meaning river and roa meaning long, thus ‘long river’. Awaroa inlet and its spectacular bays are indeed at the mouth of a long river.
On the Karikari Peninsula in the Far North, the crescent symmetry of Matai’s twin coves pull you in. If you asked a child to draw a bay this is probably the sketch you’d get back. Just beyond the dunes of the northern cove there’s even a Department of Conservation camping ground just in case a day is not, and when is it ever enough. Maitai, can refer to a singular Matai Tree, also known as Black Pine, Prumnopitys taxifolia.
Te Whanganui-A-Hei was the first marine reserve established on the Coromandel in 1993, and Cathedral Cove lies within the reserve’s confines. Cathedral Cove is simply named after the huge cave that links the cove to Mare’s Leg Cove. Cathedral Cove has been used in numerous music videos and was also used as the tunnel the Pevensie children pass through when they first re-enter Narnia in the movie The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian.
A mere 45 minutes from the centre of New Zealand’s largest city, Karekare is a world away, partitioned off by the spectacular Waitakere Ranges. The rugged west coast beach has long been the setting for fashion shoots, movies and music videos, Karekare simply means breaking surf.
The estuary and its mouth nestled at the southern end of Whangapoa beach on Great Barrier Island, is called Okiwi, as is the airstrip behind the beach. Okiwi simply means the place of the kiwi. Waves peel down the Okiwi’s sand bar in perfect symmetry, but to get a storm at just the right angle to push swell onto Okiwi Bar is something else again, while not quite a holy grail of surfing, it’s certainly considered a prized treat.
The white sandy beaches, surf and rocky shores are a photographer’s dream. Aramoana’s picturesque beaches are separated by The Mole, which is the large breakwater wall that keeps the main channel of Otago Harbour clear. The beach and sand dunes to the sou-east form Shelly Beach, and the beach and dunes to the nor-west are known as Big Beach, which extends for over two kilometres. Ara (pathway) and moana (sea), so Aramoana is aptly ‘Pathway to the Sea’.
Hidden just over the hill from Kuaotunu is north-facing Otama Beach. Otama was once a large Māori settlement called Te Pepe O Tama Tamateahua, meaning, ‘the place where Tama made a faulty recitation’. It has two pā sites right on the beach and another on the eastern headland which is also named Otama.
Just north of Houhora Harbour ‘Hendo’s’ has long been a firm favourite with New Zealand’s surfing fraternity. The pink-shelled, silica-sanded beach boasts postcard views from the top northern carpark. In the ‘70’s a cache of Moa bones was discovered below the southern headland and there is geographic evidence at Henderson Bay that a tsunami in the 15th century ran up to at least 32 metres above sea level.
Just north of Henderson Bay the pure white silica sands of Rarawa squeak as they give way under foot. The DoC camping ground nestled at the south end of the beach just behind the sand dunes, has long been a New Year’s destination for revellers, but go any other time and you’ll be struggling for company.
The island off Waimarama is called either Bare Island or Motuokura. It was named after Kura, a woman who would dive down to get potable water from an aquifer to the sou-west of the island. This fresh water spring is still active on the seabed and is called Nga Puhake-o-te-ora or “the burp of life”. From the shore Motuokura is bare, hence it’s staggeringly descriptive English name. On the seaward side, there is enough cover to provide resting sites for Blue Penguins and Sooty Shearwaters. Waimarama is a simple breakdown- Wai means water and Marama which means moonlight, so, moonlit water; it can also mean clear water.
On the eastern coast of the Coromandel Peninsula, aptly named for the hot water springs that can be accessed on the low tide. The springs are about 100 metres from the southern end. Time your visit around the tide and bring your spade.
The popular inner harbour beach has always been a great summer retreat from downtown Wellington. There are images in the Alexander Turnbull Library predating the Great Depression of Scorching Bay beach revealers. Our forefathers had it right, facing Sou-east it’s protected from Wellington’s notorious winds and it’s a safe beach for the kids of any age to have a dip. The iconic kitsch Chocolate Fish Café, which was housed in one of Scorching Bay’s original buildings, is sadly no longer. In its place is the Scorching Bay Café, who serve up a damn good gourmet steak’n’cheese pie, washed down with a Havana blend coffee of course.
Oakura can refer to the phenomenon of the ‘Ao-a-kura’ which means ‘the light that comes with the red sky’. The spectacular sunsets that you often experience at this west coast beach certainly make it a fitting name. It’s believed that Turi, the great navigator of the Aotea waka, had a red cloak, which when spread out at Oakura was a symbol of his mana. The Aotea waka first landed at Kawhia/ Aotea Harbour, to the north Turi and his people then trekked south, past Oakura, to their final destination of Patea.
"Being brought up on the Taranaki coast meant diving for kina, paua and crayfish with Dad and the whanau. Though the waves on offer at Greenmeadows, Mangahume, Stent Rd, Rocky Pt, the Kumara Patch and Oakura meant it was only a matter of time before surfing became number one priority for my brothers and I. Unfortunately for Dad, it took him ages to accept his sons returning home with great surf stories but no kaimoana�
In many ways this is the archetypical summer retreat we all dream of. The subtropical waters of our South Pacific Ocean safely and warmly embrace your skin. A couple of blocks back off the sand there’s a dairy to buy your Fruju, in the late afternoon the welcome scent of bach BBQs sharpen the palette, another day in god’s own is winding down into a balmy evening. Matapouri can mean a black teal or a shellfish.
Access to this idyllic bush-clad cove is by foot or boat. There’s a signed track from the carpark on Matapouri Road which is an easy 30 minute round trip through groves of ancient puriri trees or via Matapouri Bay which is only another five minutes extra each way. The walk gives you spectacular views north to Wooley’s Bay and Whale itself. The bay is perfect for swimming, snorkelling and picnics.
Castlepoint Wairarapa
The name Whakaherekau was used by Māori for the coastal strip that encompasses what are now known as St. Kilda and St. Clair. This has been translated as meaning either ‘To make a conciliatory present’ or ‘A prepared snare which caught nothing.’ St. Clair Beach has always been a popular summer destination for Dunedinites. Established in 1911, St. Clair Surf Life Saving Club was one of the very first clubs to patrol in New Zealand. At the southern end of the beach, under the shadow of Forbury Hill, lies the hot salt water pool, an open-air public swimming pool nestled within rocks just metres from the sea.
Paku headland separates Tairua’s Ocean Beach from Tairua River. Paku was once a heavily fortified pā, the abundant kaimoana (seafood) making it sought-after property then and now. Ocean Beach stretches north from Paku’s base. Tai means tide, rua means two. Two tides.
Waiake means ‘water from below’, named for the mineral spring which bubbled up from the rocks. The Waiake spring was the main source of fresh water for miles and its renowned curative properties attracted Māori and visitors from all over New Zealand. The spring is underground now, across the road directly behind the wharf pilings. Waiake Beach is also known as Torbay, named after the Tor, the island sitting just off the beach. This island is tapu, as a Māori chieftain’s daughter fell to her death when the cliff she was standing on gave way.
Catching sand is easy, it’s all about timing, positioning and most importantly - all importantly - remaining rock-solid. So let’s start with what is most important. It’s nothing new, it’s a tripod. If you want your photos to improve markedly, regardless of what type of camera you are using, a tripod is your first acquisition for a couple of reasons. Primarily, the goal of any tripod is to provide a rock-solid base for your camera so there is no movement or vibration that could create unwanted camera shake. A lot of people falsely accuse their camera of taking out of focus images. More often than not it is the shooter’s shaky hand that’s causing the blur. By attaching your camera to a tripod which is securely anchored, you are removing this variable. A tripod enables far slower shutter speeds than a hand-held camera. This in turn allows you to have a greater depth of field, so everything from very close to infinity has tack sharp focus… if you so wish. Secondly, mounting your camera to a tripod forces you to slow down. Instead of snapping a shot, you are now composing a picture. You’re thinking about where you are going to put those tripod sticks to get the best shot, you’re squaring up the horizon line so the ocean will no longer be draining out to the left or right of your frame. All of a sudden it has become a fun mini project. Need to buy a tripod? Don’t buy or even borrow a ‘that’ll do’ - plastic piece of junk that was made to be given away with a camcorder in a department store. Buy something that will truly lock up tight with your camera in position, braced for a cyclone. Find that size and then buy the next size up… it kind of reads strangely doesn’t it? Well, it cannot be conveyed strongly enough how much of an asset a good tripod is, and how many times a shot is missed by the three sticked beast not being in the car’s boot. Timing is everything, always has been, always will be. Trying to capture a beachscape in the middle of the day, with the sun blearing down at 12 o’clock will result in a flat photo. That’s to say, if your light source is directly overhead there will be no shadows and no highlights so most of the features will appear very one dimensional and stark. By getting up before dawn, enjoying dawn and then the light after and inversely at the other end of the day, natural features lit by a strong angle of light will have shape and body. This is not to suggest at all that every beach shot should be a sunrise or sunset postcard. Simply with the sun low in the sky the subject’s features and colours are often illuminated better so the viewer will gain a better
perception of depth and shape. Location, location, location - walk the talk. Explore the beach, walk its length, find its angles. Chances are your first instinct was right about where the best…ummmm…where the photograph you like the most will be shot from. But New Zealand beaches will always surprise, if you don’t walk the talk how do you really know you’ve nailed the best position to get the best photo? These hidden gems are what make picture-hunting such a fascinating, joyful adventure.
A combination of film and digital images were used for this book. My talented associate Mr Kevin Emirali very kindly lent his medium format film rig - thanks Kev! I foolishly sold my own medium-format film gear a few years ago, I’ll get over it, but I haven’t yet. Film was used for this project because of the control and the sheer quality that can be extracted; it remains the industry standard that digital images are still compared to. The fact that we commonly use the term ‘filmic quality’ in the industry bears testimony to its ongoing validity as a medium. But the images in the book are a mix of film and digital works both forms of image capture have their strengths. Everything was shot, shut right down at the smallest aperture, on the medium format camera this was f32, on the digital it was f22. This was a deliberate intention to have maximum sharpness and depth of field; this resulted in most exposures being between 1/15th of a second and 30 seconds. As highlighted previously the use of a heavy tripod was absolutely vital. What the digital revolution has done is to make photography more accessible to us all. Your cell phone probably has a camera in it that will actually produce a fair sized print, and more probably, a decent quality file that when sent, will give your mates a real feel of where you are. Even an average digital compact camera is capable of an image as big as the prints in this book. With digital cameras there is no longer the preplanning of buying your film or the ongoing costs of developing and processing. Just remember to charge those batteries and have a spare memory card aye. There’s no reason not to push that button, so come do it and catch some sand.
You’d be hard pressed to find a photographer who has spent more time with New Zealand’s sand between his toes. Craig ‘CPL’ Levers was NZ Surfing Magazine’s Senior Photographer from 1993 - 2008, and the magazine’s Editor and Chief from 2000 until he left in 2008 to start his own publishing company PhotoCPLmedia. For the last two decades it has been Craig’s job, very literally, to travel to New Zealand’s best ocean beaches and visually document the scene that lay before him. PhotoCPLmedia’s first book, the aptly titled Photo CPL: New Zealand Surfing Photography 1991 - 2008 has met with critical acclaim and a solid commercial success. Craig also publishes and co-edits surf scene zine 09 Mag, photographs for Alfresco Magazine and is a regular blogger on surf2surf.com. Unless otherwise stipulated the images in this volume are CPL’s.
of the world’s most exotic beaches. His current position ensures he’s constantly on the road to either a NZ beach or some far-flung location. His images feature on pages 15, 17, 18, 19, 33, 49, 50.
Brent’s career includes five years as head designer at Lifestyle Publishing, where his duties included all aspects of design for the company’s magazine titles. He’s worked for industry leaders Colenso BDDO and is currently freelance designing and art directing in the Wellington area. Brent was the creative charged with the layout and image management of Photo CPL: New Zealand Surfing Photography 1991-2008, and Beached As. His own images are featured on pages 7, 13, 34, 35, 51, 64, 79, 81, 89, 97, 103, 107, 121.
Nick wanted his bio to read simply ‘beach lover’ for fear of sounding like an English professor, but his qualifications pen the Introduction do need acknowledgment. These include 10 years residence on the pacific coast of Mexico, ironically, waiting for swells generated in the ocean below his NZ homeland. He also has a Master of Arts degree in Creative Writing, a Graduate Diploma in Journalism and a Bachelor of Arts degree in English. Nick is a freelance writer, editor and website content manager. He currently lives on Auckland’s West Coast.
Kevin Emirali is an Auckland-based freelance lifestyle and architectural photographer. Over the years his projects have taken him to every corner of New Zealand and many other off shore destinations. Kevin’s work regularly appears in many of New Zealand’s best lifestyle magazine titles and has appeared as far abroard as Conde Nast Traveller. Kevin’s images are featured on pages 4, 53, 54, 55, 67, 101.
For over a decade Rowan has been honing his photographic skills documenting surfing, people and places. He has been a senior contributor to magazines, exhibits his art photography and is one of the leading creatives behind 09 Mag. He’s ventured to Australia, Indonesia, Europe, the Pacific and the Americas in search of perfect waves and images. He currently resides on the North Shore of Auckland, but is always ready to head off somewhere new, camera in hand. His image appear on page 115.
Currently NZ’s leading exponent of surf photography, Silas is the senior photographer for Kiwi Surf Magazine. Over the last ten years Silas has travelled the world as a freelance shooter, often securing contracts at some
Dunedin based artist and photographer Nic Reeves contributions to this project were invaluable, and her existing portfolio was completely in sync with the brief. She has captured our beaches from multiple angles and different times of the day, thus giving the viewer a real sense of place. Her understanding of light and digital file management are of the highest order. Her images feature on pages 37, 83, 85, 116, 117.
An intrinsic element of this project has been the thoughts and words givenby TK, Mel, Cocksy, Jay, Barbara, Bob, Tony O, Maz, Jono, Mark, Aaron, Kerina, Josh and Clarke. Your words inspire and amuse, thank you all for being so readily involved and sharing.