Rangitoto

Yesterday I spent the day climbing and walking on Rangitoto. Rangitoto is the youngest volcano in New Zealand being only 600 years old and is in the Auckland Harbour in the Hauraki Gulf. Rangitoto roughly means blood in the sky (it has a much longer translation than that) which you'd think would be appropriate for a volcano but, in fact, it commemorates the death of a Maori chieftain in a battle which reminds you once again that this was a warrior culture and this is not your (my) culture.

The trip started with an attempt to catch the train from Swanson to Britomart, the central Station in Auckland, which was delayed by my dash home for my reading glasses - I always forget something. Pene lives in West Auckland which is practically on the west coast and is quite rural, so the journey was from single story shopping centres, to double stories, to the famous Eden Park rugby Stadium and then suddenly into the modern CBD and the port. Britomart is the most futuristic train station I have ever been in but only has 5 platforms which was a big surprise to me.

The ferry was only a block and 25 minutes away and I got a bit of a guided tour of the broke thrown in as well, which was good because it cost more than $20 which was more than I expected. On the way we saw a Lighthouse which seemed tiny but the guide said the Lighthouse keeper lived there with his family and rowed his children to and from school every school day. I just could not imagine how much effort that lifestyle would take, nor living in such a small space with children. People really do love extraordinary lives!

We arrived about 11.00 and weren't being collected until 3.30 but that still meant that choices had to be made about what parts of the Island could be seen in the time available. I was a bit annoyed by the map which only gave times that it took to walk from spot to spot and no distances which made it quite hard to estimate. As it turned out the cartographer wasn't much chop anyway! I decided to go straight to the top and see the views of the Harbour and then see the Lighthouse and walk the Eastern coast back.

As usual on the way over on the ferry, everyone else was in shirt sleeves while I wore three layers of clothes, but as we arrived the sun came out so I zipped down to shorts and a sleeveless top and loved the sun. Everyone here complains about the heat but I can't say I've noticed it, even though they are in drought. But I was glad I'd lost weight first before heading up the hill. I hate going uphill. Mind you, taking my puffer at the bottom rather than the top might have been helpful!

Walking through the lava fields was quite extraordinary. They looked like someone had got a giant garden fork and forked over rich, black, moist, garden soil; that any gardener would be green with envy over. There were great hillocks of them and they stretched out like giant back yards from shrub line to shrub line. I couldn't help testing them out and I climbed in, but sadly they really were fields of black, clinking rocks, light as anything, easily disturbed and highly disturbing.

I kept on and puffed my way to the top to fabulous views covered in a bus load of school kids on excursion with panting parents and a long suffering group of teachers lead by an enthusiastic and megaphone-voiced head teacher. I took my photos hurriedly and a couple for two stunned young women and in my rush to leave accidentally took the wrong path and went back the way I came.

Lessons learnt in Spain stood me in good stead so I waited to see what good would come and found that I was on my way to the lava caves, which I had wanted to visit. Somehow, I was walking all by myself, having passed a group of school children who were coming back and I suddenly had this amazing sense of quietness and stopped. All I could hear was the breeze and my own breath. After a few minutes the birds started to sing and move around in the trees. Although there were many people on the island, for about ten minutes it was just me and the Bush until I moved on. Bliss.

I thought about mindfulness and gratitude. Some would want to be grateful to God or the Higher Power or Whatever for the moment and some would not. I think that any person can be mindful of the moment and grateful for their capacity to do so and that that can bring us great joy and be a huge antidote to many of the negative things in life.

On I went to the caves, once again following painted poles with little yellow arrows to show me the way - NZ and the Camino have had many parallels. I climbed down into the lava cave and was still quite alone. I discovered that flash photography makes very dark caves look much brighter and less scary than in real life. But in my head I could hear these voices (which for some odd reason sounded like my kids as tiddly teens) saying "come on, you can do it! What are you, a wuss? Girly??" So I got my mobile phone torch app out and climbed in. As I climbed I thought now if I sprain my ankle I can climb out and call for help and someone will hear me. If I break my leg and can't climb out Pene will send someone to find me when I don't come home and I've got plenty of food and water. (Of course not long after I got out I realized I'd drunk way more water than I'd realised! ) How mortifying would that be? I got to a point where there was a break in the roof and light came in and the way forward looked even darker and decided that I had been quite have brave enough for long enough and it was time to go back. Of course that seemed to be harder and take longer - it was uphill and we all know I hate going uphill. As soon as I got out people arrived and my time alone was over, then another class arrived and it was over with a vengeance.

Looking at the map it seemed I had to head back to the summit to find the coast track so back uphill I trudged once again. Of course I couldn't find the track on the map and after asking several people, I realized that that part of it didn't exist, but another megaphone teacher, with another class informed me that that if I took the 4 wheel drive track I'd previously been told not to take, I'd find the track I was looking for.
I was now starting to worry about time. The last ferry left at 3.30 and we'd been specifically warned not to get left behind our we'd have to pay private fees (and be mortified). So, as it was downhill, I started jogging. And I was on my own again. This made me quite light hearted and silly, so I was going downhill, half skipping and half jogging and singing a bit in that jiggly way you do when you don't get your breath properly, with back pack noises as accompaniment, when I came around some s bends to find four young men of Indian accent sitting around the tourist tractor train starting at me open mouthed. I waved and said Hi guys and tried to walk off insouciantly. But one fellow said Miss, miss, how long? Once I worked out he meant how long had it taken me to come down I said 10 minutes although really I didn't know. I couldn't work out from their reactions whether they were amazed at how quick I was or horrified at how slow I was! Either way it was time to leave!


Just after that I came to a sign that said 30 minutes to the Lighthouse and Mckenzie's Beach. So off I went. I figured I had just enough time to do that and the 90 minute walk from there to the Wharf. In fact I thought I'd better jog part of the way because by 3.00 I'd have been going pretty well non stop for 4 hours and it was a long time since I'd done that and I needed to leave myself leeway for slow walking if I wore out. So I jogged and walked and jogged and walked and when there was no sign of the Lighthouse after 20 minutes I started to panic. At the 25 minute mark I finally saw the Lighthouse and boy, was I disillusioned! I'd expected a big white manned (well not any more but used to be manned) Lighthouse on the beach. Instead it was a cute red and white candy cane striped Lighthouse out in the Bay that you could see from the beach. I was robbed! Entirely by my own mind of course. On the other hand the water was the most gorgeous turquoise and aquamarine shades with gnarly black lava rocks sticking up in post modern fantasy sculptures. So beautiful. I did wonder then if I would miss the ferry through taking too many photos.

So I walked back to the ferry for my last surprise. The map showed little baches on the path near the ferry which I think must be short for Bachelor pads, although women lived there to. On the other hand it might be Gaelic for hut. Many of the huts are still there and still occupied. I was astonished as I thought they'd been pulled down. Those that are gone are commemorated by little plaques of information about when they were built, by whom and how. I was fascinated.

Just as I was nearly back to the ferry the clouds came over and it started to rain. I'd actually made it with 20 minutes to spare so I had time to put warm clothes on, eat and read before doing the trip back (in the very relaxed Auckland peak hour) to find that Pene had cooked me a steak dinner.