Walk to The Buried Village- a cross between Beamish (a Northern England Must See) and Pompeii (an Italian Must See)
I'm writing this on the afternoon on my fifth day. I just couldn't find the energy last night. I could barely walk. So amazing to have a soak and a shower afterwards. I wasn't much better this morning, so this has been a bit of a lazy day. Just talking to whoever was around the hostel. I deserve it. Yesterday was nuts.
I guess I should have felt warned when I managed to, in the rush to get out of the door, forget the green stone pendent I was given by the practice as a leaving present.
Although, maybe I kept some of the effects. I was certainly determined. I did get plenty of walking in. Just not so sure how good it was for my short term health.
The day started at the hostel at 8am. The Buried Village site is 15km away by road. With a small day sack I can easily cover 30km in a day. In theory I would be there by 11am, before the day became far too hot.
The first few kilometres I steadily got into my usual rhythm wandering along watching out for traffic and ensuring I was alongside the correct highway.
I turned onto the road that lead to the Village. There was the entrance to the redwood site. 1km to the centre and start of their tracks. I had a memory of one route that would take me across the are to a place far closer to the Village. But if I was wrong I could be doing another 2km, and if I was right, with hills etc. I'd be doing another 3km minimum- but under the trees and through the forest. I might also lose and hour. I could still be at the village for 12 though, that was fine.
The route does have a proper name. Something long and in Moari which, for better or worse, I can't pronounce, spell, or remember. But it had black arrows showing the way, so I just called it the black route. Simple.
The problem was that there was work going on in the forest.
"Please ask inside about diversions"
Pay, no fear,I was just wanting to follow the road, I'd work it out.
The first 10km were up and into the forest. We travelled through a region filled with giant American redwoods, brought over for the timber industry,but here left as a recreational park, mostly for mountain biking. There are also fern trees and bushes interspersed, giving the place a "Jurassic Park" feel. If anyone remembers the Walking with Dinosaurs episode about the baby sauropod this is that landscape.
Up and into the hills, the vies we distupted by the trees, until we got deep enough to were vast swaths had been felled. This was the commercial area at the back of the park.
Eventually I descended and reached the roadside. The path was due to follow the road further, in theory. I should have gone with the plan and followed it. Yet it wasn't obvious, and there was the road. There were a lot of cars on it, maybe I could hitchhike?
I've done a fair amount of road walking in the past. I don't generally encourage it due to the dangers. There are a few rules to make it safer, though.
Keep as far off the road as possible.
Keep yourself aware of traffic, and get out the way! Especially big stuff.
When walking round a bend walk on the outside. Your more easily seen and people tend to drive towards the inside of a curve.
The forest walk, whilst nice, hadn't given me a short cut, or a decent time. It was 11am, the sun was hot, I was hungry, and I still had 12km to do. I fished out one of my small burger buns, a cold sausage and a boiled egg. Not much of a sandwich but it hit the spot.
Right. Hitchhiking. People still do it here. People on highways with too much time and too little cash. People just trying to go somewhere else. Successful people doing it either look sensible or have a low cut top and sweet smile. So yeh...
After 6km I'd given up and had my kindle out, reading the last of my Harry Dresden novel. The trees had grown closer, the traffic less, and my legs were in auto. I sipped water from my bag and hammered along.
Reached the Blue and Green lakes at about 12.30. There were a lot of families splashing about, having fun. I was knackered. Why was I bothering? This wasn't worth it! Surely I would have had more fun staying in Rotorua. Maybe if I turned back now I could do more in the redwood forest, go have a sleep, have a drink with my feet up. I'd done enough for the day. I'd earned a rest.
"Buried Village 4km"
Sod it.
There were even fewer cars as I carried on, but more trees. I just keep going. Mindless, just carrying on.
"Buried Village 1km"
We can do this.
Where all the cool kids at.
"The Buried Village. Devonshire Cream Teas 10am-3.30pm"
Finally!
Have you ever sat on a train staring out of the window, only for when it stops to still feel like you're moving? Your eyes and brain make it seem as if everything is very steadily slipping past.
I had that when I'd stopped walking. Freaky. I must have been doing a very consistent pace.
I shook my head and sat down outside. 2 bread buns, a sausage, boiled egg, and an apple. A little bit of bread when to the friendly wee bird that cautiously came to say hello.
The Buried Village
In the year 1886 the most famous tourist attraction in New Zealand were the Pink and White Terraces.
I know, tourism on the other side of the world for the Victorians! Looking at some of their stuff they clearly didn't travel light either. Glad I'm not carting around half a dozen petticoats. One's enough for me.
The terraces were formed as hot, mineral rich boiling waters bubbled out from the volcano. The minerals were deposited as the water cooled, forming a series of terraces and small pools, not unlike a Chinese paddy field hillside. Tourists would start at the cooler bottom pools, working up to the warmer pools, then down again. Some items were pertained in the pools- there's a bowler hat someone left in a pool for a year in the museum. It's not unlike Mother Shipton's cave in Yorkshire- but the minerals are a pretty white or pink, not a rusty brown.
It wasn't to last though. On the night of the 10th June 1886 the ground shook and then exploded. The volcanoes heating the terraces had erupted. Rock and dust fell out of the sky onto the local village, destroying Maori and Pakeha buildings alike. Hundreds died via direct hits, buildings collapsing under the weight of debris, or from toxic gases. Many tried to run, or huddled together in larger Whares ("Fares"- traditional Maori houses). Some were successful- the main guide, Sophia, a half-Maori half-Scottish lady successfully sheltered many in her home.
It was all over by morning. Rescue parties were sent out, digging people out from the 2 metres of dust and mud up to 4 days after the event. Some were even deeper. Some too deep to rescue.
Initial reports proposed the the terraces had, in part, survived. This would at least mean the tourist trade could continue. Then the truth came. They were gone. Simply gone. The land had shifted, moved, flown. The lake had been altered, part of the mountains obliterated, and the terraces nothing more than a memory, other than a few chunks littering the land.
No more farming, no more tourism. Local Maori donated food, blankets, and even land to help their refugees. The Pakeha were not so lucky. Many went to find new work, but those who owned businesses were ruined. The insurance companies declared that no one was eligible for protection from volcanic eruptions so wouldn't pay out. Some items were retrieved, medals were awarded to people for bravery, but nothing prevented bankruptcy.
Vi Smith had begun a little tea room not far from Lake Tawera. She was effectively right above the original village. He sons, before WW2 began excavating the site, finding Victorian items, and them homes. After the war the excavations continued, and do to this day. They are steadily unearthing everything that had been left behind.
Thus, today, the tea room has a museum attached documenting the day the terraces were destroyed. The grandson of the Maori chief who saw the eruption guides some of the tours. Outside are a collection of the houses they have unearthed, including a few Whare and the blacksmiths.
And finally, their waterfall.
Sorry, the rest of my photos are on my camera, which isn't as easy to move photos from right now compared to my phone.
Suddenly my day REALLY doesn't seem so bad
After my wander round, I'd missed afternoon tea. It was bang on 3.30pm and everything was shut up. I managed to find someone to fill my water though, then sat down for a little snack. Still had to get back.
So, I set off. I'd finished my book and wasn't in the mood to start another. I was getting tired. Very tired. Must have done 20km so far. I didn't have a great deal of food left either. I really wasn't in to mood to carry on. Why should I anyway? I could be back at 10pm and it wouldn't matter. I got to the Blue lake and had a lie down. Just a little nap, a sleep to help. The wind picked up. The clouds might have been a dark shade. No rain as forecast. Wasn't going to take the chance though. A cereal bar and I was off.
I'm not much of a music person. I like it, enjoy it, appreciate it- but I can never remember track names nor artist's names. So far I hadn't put in my earphones- the book was already an excessive risk when road walking. But without it, and keeping the volume down, I risked it. And I'm so glad I did! My legs got back into the rhythm. I was suddenly positive again, able to just keep going. We eve off!
So far along I noticed, as we passed a few redwoods 8km along, a little hole in the hedge. I pushed through and there it was, the black track that ran along the roadside! It had been so close throughout my earlier walk. Well, I'd missed this opportunity before, let's not do it again. Hearty pace, don't get run down by the occasional mountain bike, keep going.
After several kilometres the road diverted off and a gully grew between it and the track. This must be a short cut around that, I decided. Keep going.
The gully grew. Some hills were added to the ensemble. Big hills. A ridge. A long ridge. Ah. I'd missed the turning I hadn't taken that morning. I was lost. And going south- I wanted to go west, over the ridge.
Suddenly I came across a black arrow. So, i was in the right area. But do I go with the track, or against it? Against was uphill and south. With it was down into the gully. I followed it... Into a turning circle for log trucks. The path ended. Must have missed a diversion too. Oops.
I heard voices further down the gully. Young guys playing on mountain bikes. Time to ask for directions.
I know men traditionally are supposed to be too proud to ask for directions. If I have a map I usually am. But when I'm tired, the sun is setting behind the ridge I might have to climb, and I have no idea where I am pride can go (rude words) itself.
As I walked down I noticed an older man put his bike down and walk over the lip of the land into the gully. He'd know where I should go. I walked towards him. A head appeared out of the bush, his wife pulling up her shorts!
I blurted out something akin to an apology, then turned around for a few paces, trying not to blush. She came up the hill, pulling a bike I hadn't noticed out of the trees.
"You look lost"
I tried to explain my position.
"My husband knows this place better than me"
Her husband arrived out of the bushes with their daughter. He did a fair job of explaining were to go. But it wasn't exactly safe.
"Go over this creek, then climb up that bike track. You'll find a clearing. You see that gap between those two trees? Yeh, that's the exit of a bit track. You'll know it by the massive jumps it has. Follow that up to the track. Then do down hill to the filtration ponds. Take a right, follow that, it'll turn into asphalt. Follow that until the cross roads, take a right, you'll come to the end of the road the redwood centre is on"
Simple, easy, slightly dangerous and tiring, but God bless that man!
I followed his advice. He wasn't wrong about the bike jumps. The last one was like two king size beds at 30' angles, separated by a gap the size of another king size bed. The rest weren't much easier.
His was probably more dangerous than the roads. I took the earphones out and kept to the edges. I wasn't so much worried about anyone hitting m- I'd be able to get out of the way. But suddenly seeing a random guy when riding a bike at 20+km/hr through a forest- that could lead to some serious miscalculation and I didn't want to see someone crunch into a tree because of me. Keep close to the trees, be ready to hide well out of the way.
Is that a hare? What's a hare doing here?
The little fluff ball looked up at me. I wasn't going to get any closer. It wasn't quite right though.
Then it started hopping off. But not like a hare does. Just on its hind legs, holding its front paws off the ground.
A Wallaby!
There's not many in the park- they eye released by accident from a private collection. Now a few live out their lives amongst the trees. And I'd seen one!
I got to the entrance of the track without seeing any crazy humans trying out the massive jumps. At the top I got a confused but caring look from two mountain bikers who gave me the same directions as before and sent me on my way. I was so close that I had to celebrate. More music, my last half bread bun and an apple. Oh, splash out, have the other cereal bar.
There were more people as I got closer, a few dogs, families, walkers, asphalt. Finally I was back down to ground level. I found the information centre. It was 6.30pm and only 4km back to the hostel. I fished out the last of my food to help me finish off. A raw carrot. I'm sorry, who packed this bag? Where's the Jelly Babies, or the chocolate? Weirdo.
Once bag I hammered through 2 bread buns and a giant bowl of last night's curry. At 9 the Irish lass who's in the dorm room invited me to the warm spa pool. Oh, so good for the legs. She chatted with the old American lady we shared the pool with as I allowed blood to leave my head to do good elsewhere.
After a shower I stumbled to bed and passed out. It was good night's sleep.
