After leaving my campsite at Taputaputo Bay, I started heading south thinking I was going to have to find a panelbeaters (NZ for body shop) to get my alignment looked at. But miraculously, when I started to push 85kmph the wobbling was no longer an issue. I took the car well over 100kmph and it was totally fine. Don’t know what it was about that night at Taputaputo Bay, but somehow my car got fixed. Awesome…I didn’t want to spend money on trying to fix it anyhow.
My first destination was the Hokianga Harbor. This is a somewhat isolated area on the west coast of northern New Zealand that is generally very poor and very Maori, but it is supposed to be beautiful as well. I saw on my map a way to see much of the harbor, including a car ferry across it, and decided that would be my route.
The drive was fun, more of the tight, narrow curves I’ve gotten used to driving around here, but the ferry ride was uneventful and not too impressive. The landscape was nice, mountains in the distance, but the water was an ugly brown and it smelled like brackish.
However, just a few miles (sorry, kilometers) down the road it became much more beautiful. The twin communities of Omapere and Opononi hug the Hokianga right before it meets the Tasman, and the area is dominated by a 500ft tall sand dune and beautiful blue water. I stopped to go for a short walk and take some photos and then got back on the road.
Next was the Waipoura Forest, famous as the last great grove of giant Kauri trees in New Zealand. These trees are similar to the Giant Redwoods in size (a bit smaller, but still massive) and in the Waipoura Forest there is one called Tane Mahuta which is a few hundred feet tall and nearly 20ft wide. It is a huge tree. Also in the forest, is the smaller but much wider tree known as the Father of the Forest, this one is over 25ft wide. In addition, there are several others of impressive height and girth throughout the walking trails. I spent an hour or so wandering through the forest, amazed at how different it was from the cape that I was at just hours ago.
The Kauris are not quite as big as the California Redwoods, but they are equally as impressive to see, and the surrounding forest reminds me very much of the Redwoods or Olympic National Park in Washington…they feel prehistoric almost, like you are walking back in time when you stroll by these ancient trees. Tane Mahuta is estimated to be over 2000 years old. That is pretty old.
After seeing all I wanted to see in Waipoua, I realized that I still didn’t know where I was going to camp, and that it was already 5pm. I asked at the visitor center if there was anywhere I could just park my car and walk into the backcountry and she recommended a place just south of Waipoua called Maunganui Bluff.
I drove for awhile down a gravel road and then it suddenly stopped, in a small town of about seven houses, right at the beach. There was a trailhead to Maunganui Bluff, but I looked at the trail and decided it was too serious a hike for this late in the day. It was 6km to the top and it was straight up from sea level to about 1600ft. Even if I felt like putting myself through that much hiking, I’d still have to do a good chunk of it in the dark…I quickly decided against it.
On the way out, I tried one more access road to Maunganui, and got just near to what had to have been the end of the road, when I was stopped abruptly again. This time not by the sea, but by a river of cows. As far as I could see down a crossroad, there were cattle, moving about two steps a minute as the grazed on grass. I couldn’t see a farmer anywhere and I couldn’t see an end to this convoy of cows. I waited for about 15 minutes, and then decided that if I didn’t find a place to stay I’d be sleeping in my car…so I turned around and continued south on the main highway.
After another 20 minutes, I saw a sign for Kai Iwi lakes, a set of three freshwater lakes that lay just a few kilometers from the beach. According to my guidebook, there was a “beautiful campground under a grove of pine trees” on the one lake, so I decided this was as good a place as any to set up camp. When I got there, I was a bit disappointed.
The lakes are apparently a pretty popular recreation area for Kiwis, and they are used for waterskiing, windsurfing, and general lake tourism, and to make matters worse, this was Friday of NZ’s Labour Weekend, a government holiday and the official start of summer. Needless to say, it was far from the remote, isolated, quiet campgrounds I’ve been staying at for the past three days. But whatever, it was a plot of land by a lake that I could set up a tent.
The lakes themselves are pretty cool. Kai Iwi means “Food for the People” in Maori, and they used to be filled with fish and eels. Which is strange, because they are dune lakes, meaning there is no inlet or outlet…they are just huge basins within an area of sand dunes. Their water level is completely dependent upon the amount of rainfall…at the time, they were pretty high because there has been so much rain this Spring. I tried to go for a walk around the one, but the trail head was completely submerged.
Anyhow, they are a pretty cool natural wonder, and less than 2km from the beach (I could see Maunganui Bluff taunting me in the background), but they are a little overused for my taste. I was starting to get spoiled by the previous campsites I’ve had. I went to sleep anyhow…and faintly in the distance I could hear the surf crashing…that’s four nights in a row now.
The next morning, I woke up and drove back to Auckland, with a lunch stop at the farm in Paparoa to return a book I had borrowed. It was a gorgeous day and I saw a good amount of countryside on the way. When I got back to Auckland, I wanted to upload all of my photos, but couldn’t manage to get any uploaded at the hostel…I will get around to that eventually…I promise. For now, you’ll have to do with just text entries.
I was a few hours behind schedule after my car debacle, so I went straight to my campground at Taputaputo Bay. I figured I’d set up camp and then walk the path from my campground to photogenic Cape Reinga. This turned out to be an excellent decision.
Taputaputo Bay is a secluded white sand beach nestled between two rocky bluffs. There were about half a dozen other campers at the campground…virtually all in rented campervans…a very popular way to see NZ apparently. After setting up my camp, I threw on my backpack and headed up the bluff to the west. It was not an easy climb, but I was rewarded with spectacular views of the Pacific Ocean crashing into the rocky shores a few hundred feet below me.
The path hugged the edge at times so closely that I had to slow my pace to be sure I wouldn’t slip off, but I had to keep a pretty fast pace. It was 5km (3.1 miles) to Cape Reinga from my campsite and I needed to get there, take some photos, and return before it got dark. The signpost at the beginning of the track suggested that it would take 2.5 hours one way, which if I turned around the second I got to the cape wouldn’t get me back to my campsite before 8pm. So I hurried a bit…but not near the cliffs.
I saw no one else on the hike. This is one of the most touristed spots in New Zealand, and I was on a popular side hike, and I didn’t see anyone else. I love that. I did however, see a pack of wild piglets in the middle of my path. After working on a pig farm, I know how big the sows can get, so I kept my distance and made my presence known so as not to startle her from the bush. While on the farm, I was told that if I pig does attack me to either jump a fence or climb a tree…neither of which was nearby. The piglets eventually snorted off into the brush without alerting their mother and I kept going.
After only an hour and fifteen minutes, I made it to the cape. Although I’ve seen it in postcards and other travel brochures, it was still more beautiful than I thought it would be. To the west, huge sand dunes, a sweeping beach, and some rocky outcrops bear the grunt of the waves from the Tasman Sea. To the east, more rocky outcrops get hit with the Pacific Ocean. And then right there the two bodies of water meet at sea, and there are violent currents visible from the clifftops.
The cape itself is sacred in Maori tradition as the point at which all souls leap off the land and into the ocean to return to Hawaiki, where their ancestors came from. The whole area had a bit of a sacred feel to it. There was a lighthouse, and one of those yellow signs that tells you how many kilometers to Sydney, Los Angeles, London, etc, but other than that there was nothing really. Just wind and tide and cliffs, and at the very end of the northernmost tip sits a small tree in a place that it seems no tree should be able to grow. According to the Maori, deceased souls use the roots of this tree to reach the ocean underworld and continue their journey home. I found it to be kind of an eerie place…but also stunningly beautiful.
I spent a half hour or so walking around the cape, seeing the sights and soaking up the late afternoon sun, and then decided it was time to head back to camp. The journey back was just as strenuous (up and down 500ft bluffs repeatedly) but also just as isolated and just as beautiful. I made it back to the lovely Taputaputo Bay in time to make dinner before dark. And then I fell asleep to the sound of waves crashing for the third night in a row.
After leaving Matai Bay, I swung north to hit the very top of New Zealand, Cape Reinga. On the west coast the entire way up the cape is a stretch of beach known as 90 Mile Beach (although it isn’t 90 miles long…not even 90km long..so I don’t know where the name comes from). According to my guidebook, and few other people I’ve spoken to, a common way to reach the tip of Cape Reinga is by actually driving on the beach.
Now, in general I know my limits and I know my vehicles limits, but I was assured by many people that my little front-wheel-drive Honda could handle 90 Mile Beach because the sand is packed hard as cement. So I had to give it a try…if you’ve read my previous mini-posts, you know that it didn’t work out very well for me.
When I got to the beach, I thought it looked pretty rough..not the tide, that was rough too, but the beach itself. There seemed to be no way that my car could handle the sand. But there were other vehicles (4x4s, yes) and tire tracks in the sand, so I figured I’d give it a go.
I made it about 3km or so up the coast, the entire time feeling generally unsure about the whole situation, and then abruptly started to slow down until I was stuck. Irreversibly stuck. Well, shit.
I spent a few minutes trying to dig myself out and trying to push it, but these were futile efforts, the car was really stuck. I looked out at the crashing waves, at least it seemed the tide was going out, but I wasn’t all that far away from the surf line…maybe 20 feet.
The beach was beautiful…white sand as far as I could see in either direction, nice dunes, a powerful ocean, and plenty of sun, but I was starting to get seriously worried. Then I got seriously pissed off at myself for making such a stupid mistake, and I had images of the surf coming in and taking my new (used) car out to sea and all I’d have left was a story of regret.
Luckily, I had cell service, so I called a towing company and spoke to a nice lady who assured me that this type of thing happens a lot with ignorant tourists like me, and that I should really not venture onto the beach at all without a 4WD vehicle. And CERTAINLY not while the tide is up as it is now…she then told me the little morsel of information that everyone else, including my guidebook, failed to mention. It may be obvious in retrospect, but the sand is only rock hard below the high tide line. Above the tide line, it is soft sand just like any other beach in the world. I would have had no problems driving the beach if I had gotten there six hours later.
Anyhow, I can’t blame it on anyone else, it was my fault. And now, on the phone with the towing company, prepared to shell out half of the car’s value (and all of my savings) just to get it unstuck, the kind lady told me that they wouldn’t come help me. She informed me that it would take $200 and that they really don’t like taking tow trucks down onto the beach. She advised me to sit and wait and that “someone will come and help you out”. Then she said goodbye and hung up.
Shit again. Now I’d have to just sit here and wait in the hopes that someone would come by and feel pity on the ignorant tourist and pull me out of my trap to safety. But lucky for me, this is New Zealand. It is full of people ready to help me out.
First was a German backpacker who was walking the entirety of 90 Mile Beach and camping in the dunes along the way (kinda jealous of that). Lucas and I spent an hour or so digging out the car and trying to move it. We had nominal success, I drove it about 10 feet further before it got stuck again. And then for some reason two bigger waves came up and began to submerge the front left tire. Shit shit shit. All I could think about was how I’d have to explain this story to everyone for the rest of my life…and I couldn’t really say “The sea was angry that day” because that would be a lie, I’d have to say “The Tim was idiot that day” or something.
Anyhow, eventually a nice kiwi bloke in a 4x4 who was going fishing on the beach stopped and asked to help. Unfortunately, neither of us had rope. I did however, have my traveler’s hammock (an item I looked at the day before as an unnecessary accessory) and fortunately my new (used) car has a trailer hitch. We tied the hammock between the two cars and with ease, he pulled me right out of the ditch and onto hard sand.
I thanked both Lucas and the fisherman profusely, and prayed that I wouldn’t get stuck in any sand in the 3km back to the access road. I didn’t. Although once back on the road, I did notice that my alignment had been adjusted and that my car shook violently whenever I went above 85kmph. But at least it wasn’t underwater.
I continued on to Cape Reinga on the paved road and heeded my newly learned lesson.
After leaving the farm, I decided to hit the road again to finish my tour of Northland that got cut short a few weeks ago. My first stop was in Whangerei, where I met an American couple on their sailboat, Sereia, for what was basically an interview. I contacted them about a week ago about a post I saw on one of the job boards I check regularly, and apparently they got a bunch of responses. Anyhow, I’m hoping to be selected to help them crew their boat for a few legs of their trip around NZ. They were a cool young couple with a fascinating 18-month-old kid, and because I have basically no sailing experience (which they assured me was no problem), I think I could learn a lot from them. I’m trying not to get my hopes up about this one, but it would be awesome if I get some sailing experience while I’m here.
After sharing a great meal of lamb steaks and a few beers with them on their boat (Antonia used to be a chef), I headed off to a campground north of Whangerei, to an area known as the Tutukaka Coast, and I’ll be honest, I chose it more for the name than any other reason. When I was in Peru prior to coming here, I never made it to Lake Titicaca, so when I saw the opportunity to stay in Tutukaka, I had to take it.
The road to the campground was amazing…not very wide, plenty of hairpin turns…I put my new (used) car to the test, racing against the setting sun in the hopes that I wouldn’t have to set up my tent in the dark. But to no use, I didn’t quite make it before dark, so had to set up camp without light. The site was incredible, though. I was practically alone at the campground, a plot of land just over some dunes from a curvy, white sand beach.
After I setup camp, I went down to the beach and walked around in the dark. I was gazing at the stars, which are totally different in the southern hemisphere, and admiring their reflections in the bay, when I realized that what I was looking at in the water wasn’t the stars at all. Along the edge of the surf was a number of faint, but undeniable glowing spots…like lighting bugs had fallen into the water and washed up onshore. I kept trying to see what was producing the phosphorescence with my flashlight, but could never see anything. After a few minutes of this, I ran into a group of kids, who with characteristic Kiwi kindness explained to me that it is actually the plankton in the water that glows. On a good night, the entire bay could glow green, orange or red. I will have to keep looking for these fantasy glowing waters…
After my walk, I fell asleep to the sound of waves crashing. In the morning, I got up and took another beach stroll, this time I could see in the distance the Poor Knight Islands, a sort of mecca for deep-sea divers. If you’ve ever seen the BBC miniseries Blue Planet, this was where that amazing shot of the hundreds of manta rays floating in the narrow channel was shot.
I then hit the road northward towards my first ever planned potty break. Near the Bay of Islands, there is a small town named Kawakawa, and in this town lies one of the world’s absolute best public restrooms. The famous Austrian architect Friedensreich Hundertwasser apparently lived the final years of his life in Kawakawa and one of his last works was a public restroom, created entirely out of recycled glass from the community. The building was pretty awesome…if there is any way for a bathroom to be a work of art, this would be it. The roof had plants growing out of it, and the rest was an artistic assortment of glass and tile…it reminded me of Guell Park in Barcelona. Having a strange affinity for public restrooms, I very much appreciated this stop.
Next was the Mediterranean-feeling town of Kerikeri, which is where most of the orchards in Northland are. This was a cool little town, full of cafés and small shops. I stopped and had a superb coffee and muffin and planned the rest of my day.
I decided to go the northernmost point of the east coast, right before the far, far north of Cape Reinga (this will be tomorrow) and chose an isolated beach camping ground known as Matai Beach. It was another spectacular drive, through farming country full of the luckiest cows and sheep I’ve ever seen. Beautiful sunshine, mountains and volcanic hills, and miles after miles of curvy, white sand coastline. And the crazy part is that there is almost no one here.
There are a few beach towns, but there are just as many isolated, deserted, beautiful beaches. Matai Beach was no different. There is a Department of Conservation campsite at the end of the peninsula, and it overlooks twin coves of sparkling blue water and white sand. I made a good choice.
I set up camp around 2pm and then headed down to the beach with a book and few of my leftover beers. I had the entire landscape to myself. I sat on an old lava flow (pahoihoi, if I remember correctly) that looked like the good-guy rock monster from Neverending Story and cracked open a beer. That afternoon was marvelous.
After a few hours of relaxation, I had an itch to explore so I set out along the beach towards some rock outcroppings. After scrambling over rocks for awhile, I found a sea cave that was fully accessible because it was low tide. I went in as far as I could without a flashlight, and found a few starfish in the tidal pools. It looked like the cave kept going, but without light I had to turn around…plus the thought of the tide coming back in while I was exploring the depths of this cave crossed my mind as a really idea.
I went back to my tent, made some Lamb Korma (it was prepackaged, don’t be too impressed), read some more and then went to sleep…again, to the sound of waves crashing just on the other side of the dunes. I could get used to this.
I’ll post some photos soon…I’m writing all of this from my mobile workstation (iPhone tethered to my laptop for internet connectivity) but it is pretty slow, so uploading photos is not an option right now. I’ll post them as soon as I get some broadband.
Yesterday morning I finished my stay at the farm in Paparoa after two long, hard and very rewarding weeks. I’ve already mentioned pretty much everything I did on the farm, but one thing I’ve left out is my overall reaction to the experience.
First of all, to allow a complete stranger to come live in your house and feed them is as idea that I’m not sure would work in the USA. It works here of course, because there are ignorant people like me who will feed chickens, cut the tails off lambs, and shovel shit for no reason other than the novelty of the idea. In any case…it works, and a lot of people are doing it. I’m glad I’ve finally gone WWOOFing, and I hope to do it again.
But it takes a certain kind of family to constantly allow strangers to come work for them. The Borgers were exceptional hosts. They taught me anything I wanted to know about farm work and the logistics of running a business and supporting a family. They have three kids and a fourth on the way, all of whom are home schooled and are actively involved with work on the farm. And not in an exploitive, Chinese kind of way…they actually enjoy farm work. Miriam (age five) came along with us to tend the chickens one day and was not afraid at all to go waltzing into the shed with 1500 chickens to collect eggs (a task that after two weeks I was still somewhat hesitant to do…anything in that much quantity freaks me out…especially when it squawks).
The Borger kids are wonderful…friendly, inquisitive, and well-behaved. They are also hilarious. Lillian, the youngest (18 months) didn’t cry or throw a fit the entire time I was there. She walks around and yells “Mama” or “Dada” and her favorite pastime seems running around with her hands outstretched behind her back screaming what sounds like “Gooooaaat”. She was charming. James (age six) and Miriam seem to be inseparable best friends, and they never ceased to make me or each other laugh. However, the funniest thing I witnessed was hearing Miriam switch, without warning, into third person mode. She would say “Miriam wants water” or “Brother, don’t hurt Sister…Father can you pass the mashed potatoes”. It was hilarious.
Anyhow, what I’m trying to say is that I’ve appreciated everything I was given with that family. It’s true that I had to work hard on the farm, and I didn’t make any money, but that was just what I was going for.
In addition, I’ve noticed an attitude, not just with the Borgers, but with other Kiwis I’ve met too, to go above and beyond to assist people that they don’t know and may never see again. I worked with Steven the butcher for a total of no more than ten hours, and after knowing him for that short amount of time, he offered to take Jan and I canoeing. He drove all the way out to the farm to pick us up, then drove to the harbor, introduced us to his paddling friends, then waited an hour while we went paddling (taking the time to grab our cameras to get pictures), and then drove us back to the farm. On the way back, he mentioned that we could go opossum hunting with him if we wanted…again meeting us on his own time, with his own gun and ammo, for no other reason than to be friendly and share his knowledge with us.
One final example, and I’ll leave you with this. As I was leaving the farm, an older couple that helped out there years ago were arriving. I spent maybe an hour with them, and in that short amount of time, they offered to let me stay with them if I’m ever in Wellington. I now have all their contact information and will look them up when I pass through.
I’m not saying that this type of attitude doesn’t happen in the US, but it is definitely refreshing to have it so often here. I hope it continues for the next 11 months.
Shavin’ Sheep
Saturday and Sunday have been filled with more great (and uniquely Kiwi) experiences. Yesterday was sort of our day off, but we ended up helping Bert with a process known as sheep crutching…a nasty job which involves shearing the dags (that’s NZ for sheep turds) from the rumps of the sheep.
Crutching is a necessary job for any sheep farmer because if you leave the ass area unkempt it is susceptible to fly strike, which is when a fly lays eggs in the shit and the maggots bury under the skin…a nasty disease which often leads to sheep dying from infections. So, to prevent that awful mess, we had an awful mess of our own to deal with…shitty sheep butts.
But first, you have to catch the sheep. Just like when we did the sheep docking, we had to wrangle the sheep from their paddock into a holding pen and then catch them one by one. But, unlike when we did the docking, we were now dealing with full grown sheep - up to 100kg/220lbs. The basic procedure was to step into the pen with about ten sheep in it and grab one by the neck, reach over and take hold of its front legs, and then hurl it up vertically and plop it down onto its butt…at which point it just kind of sits there, like a fat guy on a couch.
However, as you can imagine, this is much easier said than done. On some sheep it was no problem and we just flipped them right up, but some of the bigger ones (horses as Burt calls them) were basically impossible to flip over and I exhausted myself trying.
Once they’re flipped over, we passed them on to Bert who did the real nasty part of shaving off the dags and pooey wool. Pretty gross. And then we had to sweep up the shit and sort out the really pooey wool (this gets cleaned and becomes socks apparently) from the nicer wool. At the end of the process the sheep is let back to the pen where it is free to wander around with a new clean, bare ass.
Outriggers
Sunday morning, we met up with Steven the butcher and went to Kaipara Harbor, a huge body of water on the northwest coast of NZ, which was about a 20-minute drive from the farm. There we were introduced to the Kaipara Waka Ama, a local paddling club that uses modern versions of the traditional outrigger sea canoe that the Polynesians used to explore the South Pacific.
We were given a quick rundown of how the waka (canoe) works and what to do in case we take a spill (the harbor was really choppy). Then the club members, many of whom were Maori, gave a quick blessing/prayer to the water, and before long we were off paddling our way across the bay. Now, I have some experience canoeing and kayaking, but I’ve never done anything like this. There were two wakas with five of us in each, and we had to time our strokes and alternate sides every 12 strokes. The stroke rhythm was very fast, maybe one stroke per second, and within five minutes my arms were exhausted.
But we couldn’t stop. The person in the middle of the canoe was calling out every twelve strokes so we knew when to switch sides, and if I missed even one stroke, he would give a little pep talk about timing and how we all need to be paddling as one. We paddled against the tide and wind for about 30 minutes before we paused for a break along the opposite shore. Before long, we were back in the canoe paddling our way to where we began.
By the time we finished, my arms didn’t work at all. I used what little energy I had left to thank everyone in the club for letting us join them for a paddle with a handshake, but when I extended my hand it just flopped around like a dead fish. I can now cross “Join Group of Maori in Sea Canoe Excursion” off of my list of things to do before I die, and in a few days I should have full use of my shoulders and arms…
Shootin’ Opossums
The opossums in New Zealand are much cuter than the ones I’m used to seeing back home, but they aren’t native to NZ and they are a huge problem. They have no natural predators here and their population has exploded over the past few hundred years. So they are seen as pests here.
When we were coming back from the paddling this morning, I asked Steven the butcher what some of his hobbies were, and one of the ones he mentioned was shooting opossums. At hearing this Jan’s eyes lit up, and Steven mentioned that he’d take us out hunting tonight, when the nocturnal animals are most active.
So, at 8:30pm Jan and I drove over to Steven the butcher’s house. I could hardly control myself from cracking up when I saw Steven, who was dressed in the most Kiwi outfit I’ve seen since arriving in this country nearly a month ago. He had on a blue flannel jacket (more like a duster, really), rubber boots, and extremely short shorts. In addition, he had a .22 gauge rifle with a flashlight attached to the barrel, which was powered by what looked like a car battery that he had strapped around his waist. When we stepped out of the car and said “How ya going?”, it struck me that I was far away from home. But no time for that…it was time to shoot opossums.
We spent almost two hours walking through the bush by the light of our flashlights. I spotted about five opossums. Their eyes glow in the spotlight, and to kill them the idea is to get almost completely beneath them and then fire right at their head. If the shot is good, the kill will be instant and your prize will fall right out of the tree.
Steven shot the first one to show us how it is done, and then I had a go at the second one. Holding the rifle steady while pointing it upward is pretty difficult, but I had a pretty direct hit on my first try. After a second precautionary shot, the opossum fell out of the tree to ground before me. Sorry buddy.
Later, Jan shot two opossums as well before we called it a night. It wasn’t my first time shooting a gun, but it was the first time I’ve ever been hunting. I didn’t love the idea of killing for sport, but I see it as a form of nature conservation, helping keep NZ the way it was before we started screwing it up. At least that is what I tell myself to help fall asleep at night…the truth is it was pretty damn fun to shoot those animals out of the trees. If I see an opportunity to work for Opossum Control NZ, I may just have to consider it.
All for now…tomorrow is my last day here on this farm. I’m still working out where to go next.
Not too much new to report after one week on the farm. Days have been filled with the usual morning chicken routine (egg collection, feeding, preparing cheese) and then usually a break before some kind of afternoon activity.
Today we got to wrangle some more piglets (really more like pigs), give them injections, and put a nose ring in their snout. I learned that pigs, even the little ones, are pure muscle and they put up a hell of a fight when you grab them from their friends and their mommy and pierce their nostrils. I also learned where the expression “squeal like a pig” comes from…their screams were unbelievably loud. When the bigger pigs hear the squeals, they try to come help…apparently pigs look out for each other…so you have to work quickly and watch your back because a gang of pigs is quite intimidating.
We only had to do 19 today, and Bert handled most of them, but I was pretty exhausted after doing my share. It was another experience I wouldn’t have guessed I would be doing just a few weeks ago…I will never forget the sound and feeling of the little piggies nasal cartilage being punctured by those metal rings.
Oh, also…some people have commented on my observation about the intelligence of pigs. Apparently they are smarter than I give them credit for. Bert told me that he once witnessed two pigs team up to carry a large log across their paddock (pasture) and throw it down on top of the electric fence enclosure, which shorted out, allowing them full access to the adjacent vegetable garden. So, on my list of observations after day one, scratch off “Pigs are not intelligent”.
I have taken a bunch of pictures, but I can’t post them just yet. We have limited bandwidth here on the farm, and I don’t want to exceed Bert’s monthly limit. But I will put them up here soon…and maybe a video to show you first hand what the morning routine is like.
I only have another week on the farm, and I’m still trying to figure out what to do next…probably head back up north in my new (used) car to finally do the backpacking trip I’ve been hoping to do before swinging back through Auckland and on to the South Island.
A bit more about the farm: I’m not alone in helping out. There is another WWOOFer, a 20-year-old German named Jan (pronounced ‘yawn’ for those who don’t sprechen sie Deutsch). Jan and I live separate from Bert and Rebecca’s house…it’s basically an apartment with a kitchen and living space, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. Very comfortable.
Today Jan and I woke up around 6:45 and did the morning routine, which includes going around to the six pens of chickens (1500 in each) and collecting eggs, feeding them cheese, changing their waters, and picking up any that have died at night (only two today). This takes about two and half hours. When we finished, we came back and made a huge breakfast of fresh sausage and eggs (we have an unlimited supply of both for free).
We were lucky today, because Burt had to take the pigs to Auckland for slaughtering so we had the afternoon off. I took a nap and then went out to do a bit more work around the farm…unloading palates of cheese and scrubbing out the egg delivery truck.
Around 5:00pm, we were finished with our duties for the day and I got to take the dirtbike out for a spin. I have a motorcycle license, but it’s been a few years since I rode a real motorcycle, and my only experience outside of our little 80cc scooter was during the four-hour practical part of the license exam. Anyhow, it was the most fun I’ve had in awhile.
The farm has a few dirt roads and some are very rocky. There is also a lot of mud down the hill near the pastures where the pigs roam. I took the bike all over the farm…spun it around in some mud, splashed through some puddles, and put it to the test on some rocks. The 200cc bike is a beast and it was so much fun to drive. I will definitely be taking it out again whenever possible.
We have very little work to do this weekend, and Jan and I can borrow the old car, so I think we might go out from the farm and do some camping. But first, we have to get through tomorrow…more pig wrangling I’m told. It’ll be early to bed again today.
I left the Bay of Islands yesterday afternoon to head south again to the town of Paparoa, in the central part of the Northland region. There is a farm here that I signed up to WWOOF on, and for the past 36 hours I’ve been getting in touch with my farmer side.
Bert and Rebecca own a 400 acre farm and they specialize in organic, free-range chickens and pigs. They collect eggs from about 9000 chickens, which are sold throughout New Zealand, Australia, and primarily the US as FRENZ brand organic eggs (ever had any?). I was told that because of the freshness of the eggs (and the international date line), it is possible to eat the eggs in the US before they’ve even been laid. Chicken farmer humor. Anyhow, they also have about 400 pigs. They kind of stumbled into pigs unintentionally, and they continue to get more and more…the sows have more piglets constantly. In addition, there are some sheep, cattle, goats, three dogs, 2 cats, and a large veggie garden.
Bert and Rebecca aren’t traditional farmers, they’re university-educated city folk who saw the market for organic farming and wanted to run their own business. They’ve had the farm here for about six years. They are great to learn from because they’ve just recently learned a lot of it themselves and they are constantly learning more.
Here’s a quick list of duties I had on my first full day on the job:
Here’s a quick list of things I learned on the farm today:
Unfortunately, I don’t have pictures of any of this yet…I was afraid to get my camera muddy or damaged, but I would have loved to get a photo of the pile of severed lamb tails after a few hours of docking. It looked like a massacre (which it kind of was). Also, the scenery here is absolutely beautiful, especially on a day as sunny as today was.
Okay, I think that’s enough for today…I need to get some rest for another big day tomorrow. I’ll try to take some pics and post them soon.
