Guide to the ultimate “man day” on New Zealand’s Coromandel peninsula

by Kyle Ellison on

Caution: In this article the author makes wildly general, mildly controversial, and borderline sexist remarks, none of which are meant to be offensive. Any abrasive remarks can be attributed to an obscene adrenaline rush derived from an extended period of time in the great outdoors. And maybe the feijoa juice.

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Don’t get me wrong, the Coromandel Peninsula on the North Island of New Zealand is a place that can be enjoyed equally by both sexes. Clear ocean waters rife with marine life, dense jungles dotted with waterfalls and swimming holes, rural towns with country stores set beside single lane roads; these are qualities of the Coromandel which can be appreciated by men and women alike.

Nonetheless, in scouring the Coromandel from the confines of the campervan, there are elements of the sparsely populated peninsula which speak to the curious, nearly-Neanderthalic urges of adventurous young males. Climbing mountains, digging big holes, these are things we enjoy. Throw in a little local alcohol just for fun, and the Coromandel can make a case for one of the world’s best outdoor playgrounds.

Planning on visiting the area? Here’s a three-step itinerary for piecing together a “man-day” on New Zealand’s Coromandel peninsula.1. Climb a mountain

Although the Coromandel doesn’t have any mountains taller than 3,000 ft, the dense, forested interior of the peninsula is covered in walking tracks ranging from 20 minute loops to multi-day tests of wilderness navigation. In the Kauaeranga Valley alone there are 21 marked hiking trails which offer sweeping views of the entire Coromandel range, many of which offer access to isolated watering holes where thundering waterfalls are your only companion.

While all of the tracks on the Coromandel are worth a wander, none of them offer views as famously stunning as the challenging Pinnacles track. Departing from the top of the Kauaeranga Valley, the 16 km long Pinnacles track passes through sopping wet jungle that was once home to loggers harvesting massive kauri trees. From the sides of the muddy trail it’s still possible to make out the campsites cleared for early loggers, as well as the stone steps in the pathway carved so that pack horses could gain a better foothold.

At the top of the three hour climb lies a set of metal stairs and hand rails which lead to the greatest view in all of the Coromandel. Clambering to the summit of The Pinnacles offers the hiker a 360 degree view full of vertical rock faces and densely forested jungle as far as the eye can see. The entire gaze to the horizon is completely devoid of humanity, and from the tip of the craggy summit it’s still possible to feel that just for a moment you may actually be the only person on Earth.

2. Drink

After completing such a conquest it’s fair game to have sudden urge for a drink. After all, nothing screams victory like a celebratory stein full of grog. Luckily for Coromandel visitors there are a handful of local wineries and distilleries scattered along the eastern side of the peninsula, all of which are within close enough proximity to hit a few different spots over the course of an afternoon.

At Purangi winery, a funky, curious establishment set discreetly off the side of the highway, the visionary winemakers have actually experimented with creating a liqueur derived from the extract of the feijoa fruit, a little known citrus fruit which flourishes in New Zealand and is sometimes known as “pineapple guava”.

“All Kiwis love their feijoa mate”, claims the bartender, who I reckon has already had a few glasses by mid-afternoon.

“Most don’t know you can freeze it though. Keeps it good all year. We just like to make liquor out of it.”

With the type of sip that inevitably leads to a full body shiver, the feijoa juice alarmingly goes down potent but smooth. It’s just one of the myriad drinking opportunities which occupy the rural coastline, and whether it’s wine, local craft beer from Whitianga, or a generous quaff of feijoa juice, an afternoon spent imbibing the local swill can be a Coromandel afternoon exceptionally well spent.

3. Dig a Hole

Yes, that’s right. Dig a hole. As evidenced by young children at the beach, particularly boys, there is a certain fascination with digging big, deep, maybe-I’ll-get-to-China types of holes. Now take that fascination and combine it with the possibility of striking an upwelling of volcanically charged hot springs, and the digging mission takes on an entirely new level of excitement.

At the Coromandel’s insanely popular Hot Water Beach, amateur diggers descend in droves onto the golden brown sands during low tide, and for two hours on either end of low tide it’s possible to dig a massive hole in the sand to create your own hot tub fueled by the 140°F upwellings rising from the volcanic Earth.

Admittedly a bit overplayed (nearly every store in town sells shovels, for example), creating natural hot tubs on the beach at sunset is undoubtedly one of the highlights of the entire Coromandel.

Regardless of its popularity, comfortably situated in a recliner made of sand and immersed in the tepid natural spring, I strike up a conversation with Angus, an affable Kiwi who has brought his family up from Wellington on vacation. We talk of the Pinnacles, the hot springs, the kauri forests, and of course, the feijoa, its distilled juices still swimming in my head.

“Sounds like you’ve had quite an adventure day”, he remarks. “That’s why we come up here from the city, to get back into the outdoors. This whole Peninsula is an incredible playground.”

Cracking a smile and shooting a quick glance at his two young boys digging happily in the steaming waters, Angus nails the Coromandel right on the head.

“It’s a great place to just be a boy again.”

For 2 months Gadling blogger Kyle Ellison will be embedded in a campervan touring the country of New Zealand. Follow the rest of the adventure by reading his series, Freedom to Roam: Touring New Zealand by Campervan.

The two worlds of Waiheke, New Zealand’s paradise island

by Kyle Ellison on

Sipping a succulent syrah inside of the beachfront tasting room at Man O’ War winery, a quick glance of the room is all it takes to confirm I’m out of my element.

To my left, a middle-aged man sporting crocodile shoes and hair of a dubious authenticity casually flashes a credit card for $500 of the vineyard’s finest vintage. To my right, a suntanned yachtie with a bushy white mustache gesticulates to an acquaintance about the strength of the new varnish recently applied to his helm station.

Then, sandwiched between the two socialites, is me, a wandering travel writer who temporarily lives in a van which was shipped to the island on a 45-minute ferry. Meekly performing a free wine tasting just trying to learn a little about Waiheke wines, the contrast is pretty black and white.

Luckily for all parties involved, however, Waiheke Island is more multi-dimensional than simply being a playground for the uber-rich. Sure, there are expensive rave-parties at vineyards, hidden beachfront mansions, and trendy, high-priced boutiques lining the island’s main thoroughfare, but there is an entire other side to Waiheke which can’t be invested in, can’t be corrupted, and definitely can’t be bought.

I am here to explore that side of Waiheke.”It’s paradise island!” claims my friend Barlow, a couldn’t-be-happier Waiheke Island resident.

“It’s like living in the 1970’s! Come stay for a year!”

A recent transplant to the island from Australia, Barlow is one of the few workers swimming upstream against the river of Kiwis “jumping the ditch” to Australia for a share of the booming mining business, an industry where average salaries hover around $124,000 U.S. dollars per year. Don’t believe me? Check out this chart.

Barlow, however, wants no part if it. Instead, he’s enamored with the antiquity of Waiheke and the pervasive sense of island calm. There are no malls on Waiheke, and there are no freeways. With a population of only 8,000 residents, Waiheke is the third most populated island in New Zealand, yet still retains a small town feel. He instructs me to park my van on the grass just off the side of the road.

“You can leave it there for a month” he claims. “And no need to lock it.”

Later in the afternoon we take a hike along a coastal trail accessible only at low-tide. Although the island is only 36 square miles and crawling in private boats over from Auckland, there are still a surprising amount of hidden coves with nary a person on them.

Confirming the notion there are still places to escape the “see-and-be-seen” areas of Waiheke, the first person we encounter on the two mile amble along the coast is a woman opting to sunbathe in the total nude. A turquoise t-shirt placed ever so delicately over her face, we decide to scamper further down the trail and allow her to erase her tan lines in peace.

Meandering around a few more empty points, we find a lone fisherman seated calmly on a rocky outcropping, a faded straw hat protecting his sun-shriveled neck. Though I notice no fishtails poking out of his white plastic bucket, he exudes the feeling he hasn’t a care in the world.

“Nice spot for fishing you’ve found out here” I acknowledge upon approach.

“Ah, the fish are just a bonus mate. I come out here to find myself. Have some time for my thoughts. Might dive for some kina when the tide backs out a bit.”

A local seafood delicacy, kina is a a type of sea urchin endemic to New Zealand waters where the bitter tasting roe can reach prices of $25/pound. Climbing a densely forested pathway away from the pensive fisherman, I reason that kina can, in a way, speak to the dichotomy of Waiheke. Some people on Waiheke prefer to buy their kina; others would rather dive for their own.

Treating myself to a glass of Te Whau syrah at the end of the hike, followed by a pint of Onetangi dark ale from Waiheke Island Brewery (what? I’m on vacation), I eventually find myself wandering Oneroa Beach beneath a sky painted pink by the setting Kiwi sun.

There on the beach is when it hits me.

This, I realize, does not cost any money. This soft white sand beneath my feet, the smell of salt wafting off the tranquil Hauraki Gulf, the easygoing atmosphere of the locals strolling the beach alongside me, this is all part of the Waiheke charm that doesn’t have a price tag dangling off the end.

So although Waiheke Island may boast a glitzy reputation, travelers to New Zealand should remember that Waiheke is still just an island, and as is often the case, the best parts of island life always comes free.

Kaikoura, New Zealand: Surfing, seals, and seafood

by Kyle Ellison on

“The chowder isn’t the type you have back in the States” I am warned.

The brunette woman working the oceanfront seafood cart has detected my accent and is concerned I won’t like her steaming bowl of mollusks.

“There isn’t much cream, just freshly made broth mixed with massive chunks of crayfish and mussels.”

Facing the kelp strewn waters of the Kaikoura Peninsula, a popular hamlet on the eastern coast of New Zealand’s South Island, this is exactly what I was hoping for: Massive chunks of crayfish and mussels. After all, it’s only appropriate for a place whose name literally translates to “meal of crayfish”.

Regardless, eating anything else in Kaikoura would just feel wrong, because Kaikoura is not a processed, pre-packaged type of town. It’s a place where the smell of sea salt wafts on the breeze and surfers recount that morning’s early dawn session. Storefronts advertise seal swimming, whale watching, and guided eco-walks, while local scuba shops display the current water temperature and visibility on outdoor chalkboards adorned in smiling blue dolphins.

This, I realize, is what separates Kaikoura from all of the other adventure destinations and photo opportunities which lay scattered around the South Island of New Zealand. Kaikoura is different from the gorges of Franz Josef glacier or walks such as the Routeburn Track in that it has been a long time since I have traveled through a place that refreshingly feels so alive.

Sure, there are pubs with drink specials and tacky New Zealand souvenir stores like any other tourist haunt in the world, but in Kaikoura there seems to be an intrinsic harmony the town has with nature that gives it an energy not felt in other parts of the country.

Nowhere is this more apparent than ambling over limpet covered rocks beneath the peninsula walkway on Kean Point. Aside from the sandy strands of kelp which give the walk a malodorous yet authentic aroma, the shoreline teems with nesting red billed seagulls and dozens of southern fur seals lounging contentedly on the warm rocks.

%Gallery-145599%These same seals were once hunted voraciously by the native Maori people, and given the abundance of sea life in the region Kaikoura was once home to one of the largest Maori populations on the South Island. According to Maori legend, the Kaikoura peninsula was the spot where the Polynesian demigod Maui placed his foot while fishing up the North Island of New Zealand with his great fish hook, and the peninsula extends so far off of the main coastline that Captain Cook on his original voyage in 1770 actually mistook it for a separate island.

With the full-time arrival of the pakeha–Europeans–Kaikoura was transformed into a hub of whaling and trade led by Captain Robert Fyfe in 1843. To this day it’s still possible to visit the Fyffe House, one of the lone remnants of the first European settlement and a structure which still rests on whale bones used to create the original foundation.

Though the whaling trade has long ceased in Kaikoura, throngs of ocean goers have traded their harpoons for camera lenses and have turned Kaikoura into one of the South Pacific’s premier whale watching destination for the sperm, blue, and southern right whales.

It’s not just the abundance of marine life which breathes life into Kaikoura, however, as it’s also found in the people themselves. A rural community of only 2,100 permanent residents, the active, outdoorsy community which populates the Kaikoura peninsula is fortunate enough to be sandwiched between the biking and hiking tracks of the seaside Kaikoura range, and the diving surfing opportunities found where the Southern Ocean meets the rugged coast.

Nowhere is this froth for life felt more potently than down at “Meatworks” a local surf spot set just north of town. Though the clock has yet to strike 7am, a cadre of die-hard surfers has already colonized the heaving beach break and opted to start their day with an active session on the water.

“It’s stunning isn’t it mate?” offers a thinly bearded surfer sitting next to me in the Meatworks lineup.

The summer sun has just risen in the east, and the crisp dawn colors of morning are reflected off the empty Kaikoura mountains.

“Best way to start your day right here I reckon.”

Then, with a quick smile and nod to say goodbye, the affable local strokes into a meaty, overhead set wave and disappears towards the kelp laden shoreline.

So begins another day in Kaikoura, the living, pulsing, breathing speck of New Zealand shoreline that can be found when given the freedom to roam…

For 2 months Gadling blogger Kyle Ellison will be embedded in a campervan touring the country of New Zealand. Follow the rest of the adventure by reading his series, Freedom to Roam: Touring New Zealand by Campervan.

The best walk in the world? Tackling New Zealand’s Routeburn Track

by Kyle Ellison on

“I keep wondering whether I really like tramping…the cold and the loneliness and the fear–do they outweigh the magnificence, the terrible impersonal glory of the mountains?”

-Charles Brusch, Poet-

14 miles is too far to walk when you’re on vacation. And in the mountains. And carrying a pack. And with your wife, who, to be fair, is a trooper.

14 miles in a day is brutal, but to turn around the next day and repeat the same thing is just stupid.

This, however, was the only way I was going to hike New Zealand‘s ultra-popular Routeburn Track. This past year Lonely Planet listed the Routeburn Track as one of it’s top ten treks in the world, and the heavily trodden track has seen it’s annual numbers climb to over 13,000 walkers per year.

A sub-alpine pass which links the lush Hollyford Valley with Queenstown’s Lake Wakatipu, the Routeburn track was historically used as a trading route for native Maori moving precious pounamu–greenstone–from the quarries of Martin’s Bay to villages further inland. By the 1870’s European prospectors realized the strategic importance of the Routeburn Track as a way of crossing the Southern Alps en route to Fiordland, and the steady stream of visitors was on.

Now, as one of New Zealand‘s 9 “Great Walks“, the greenstone traders and early explorers have been replaced by Gore-Tex covered tourists carrying carbon fiber walking poles.

Nonetheless, like many uber-popular trails the world over, the Department of Conservation limits the number of people who can through-hike the 20-mile route by only providing 50 beds in each of the 4 backcountry huts scattered along the trail. During the summer months, the no-frills huts (mattresses and gas stoves are provided) run a pricey $40 US per person/night and reservations are absolutely crucial.

How crucial you may ask? Well, the Milford Track just down the road is already booked for the entire year, and the next available beds on the Routeburn Track weren’t for another month.

“Except”, chimed the ranger at the National Park office, “for a two-bed opening on Sunday which just opened up. I suggest you take it.”

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Which is how I ended up meandering through the Southern Alps at distances far too lengthy to be enjoyable.

But wait? The trail is only 20 miles. Why did you walk 28? Because one logistical dilemma involved with the Routeburn is that you finish the hike a full 225 miles away from your starting point and the parking lot where you left your car. Thoughtfully swooping in to solve this dilemma are companies who will gladly shuttle your car to the other side of the trail for a cool $200 US, or you can enjoy a five hour bus ride back to your car to the tune of around $100 US/person.

Or, as a third option, you can just save the money and turn your haggard butt around and walk in the way you came. When you are a budget-conscious travel writer who lives in your van, this is unfortunately the best choice.

So why then, if the trail is so fully-booked, expensive, and logistically unfriendly, would so many people choose to trek it?

Because, to put it simply, it might actually be one of the most beautiful landscapes in the entire world.

The trail begins by gently climbing through beech forest so thick it can still appear dark even at noon. Moss hangs off the tree branches like the beard of an old sea captain, the soggy green confines teeming with devilish sand flies Captain James Cook once described as “the most mischievous animal here.”

Even though the Fiordland region is in the midst of the one of the driest winters in recent memory, gently flowing streams cross the trail at regular intervals, with the highlight being 574 ft. Erland Falls which explodes down the mountain with such ferocity the force of its spray occasionally renders the main trail impassable.

Of the two lakes along the 20-mile route, Lake Mackenzie is rung by sun-heated boulders and begs the weary hiker to relax for a swim. Meanwhile, the elevated Lake Harris looms stoically in the shadow of 4,200 ft. Harris Saddle, which is the highest elevation achieved along the trip.

On the ridge line connecting the two sub-alpine lakes the Hollyford Valley opens up in a gaping cleft below, and the glacially carved peaks of the Southern Alps are bespeckled with so many waterfalls the mountains literally appear to weep.

In the distance it’s faintly possible to glimpse the Tasman Sea, the gaze cutting clear over the mountains which form the backdrop to the epically popular Milford Sound. If you’re lucky, you’ll catch a glimpse of a curious kea, the world’s only alpine parrot which numbers only around 5,000 left in the wild.

In other words, if ever you felt like Gandalf riding along a mountain crest, it’s from this very perch right here.

With weary legs, a full memory card, and a body odor sculpted by sweat, muscle cream, anti-itch ointment, and lemon-pepper tuna fish (you have to pack out your own trash), I crawled my way back in to the recesses of the campervan and wondered if hiking 28 miles of the Routeburn Trek was a good idea after all.

Scrolling through the camera and the images burned in my mind, it really wasn’t even a question.

It was.

So is it the best walk in the world? If you do the suggested 3 day/2 night route and the weather is nice…maybe. But really, there are too many trails to be trodden to make such a claim, although I’m more than game to chalk this up to research…

For 2 months Gadling blogger Kyle Ellison will be embedded in a campervan touring the country of New Zealand. Follow the rest of the adventure by reading his series, Freedom to Roam: Touring New Zealand by Campervan.