Mud glorious mud!

10/09/12

Rotorua to Waihi Beach

In the morning we breakfasted at Fat Dog.

The food had been so good the previous evening it was a no brainer. Breakfast didn’t disappoint either. Eggs Benedict with Bacon, and a portion big enough to feed a family.

Stomachs full and coffee quaffed it was back on the road.

The feeling of complete relaxation from the Spa the night before hadn’t worn off yet, and we decided to take a very leisurely drive, and stop off at a couple of places on route. The first of which was to be Hells Gate.

Hells Gate is an area of high volcanic thermal activity. Bubbling mud pools, boiling lakes, and as with most of the Rotorua area, a constant strong smell of sulphur in the air.

This was no more evident than when we arrived and crossed the small bridge over a steaming stream, to be hit in the face with choking cloud of eggy sulphurness.

Paying our admission, and a little extra for a mud bath & hot pool session, we were given a map of the park and headed off into the smelly clouds.

Walking from the visitor centre into the park is like walking into another world, a world that set designers from early Star Trek episodes would have wet their pants over.

As the path wound around the park we were confronted with bubbling, plopping mud pools and boiling, spitting pools of water. Some of the lakes further on the path were reported to be between 130 and 140 degrees C, the cooler pools were a much more comfortable 90 to 110 degrees. There were signs warning you not to leave the pathway, although even this in places was pretty hot to the touch, and had been marked to show which bits of the path to step over. Yes, I did touch one of these spots, and yes it did burn. Learn? Me? No.

(Very poor Captain Kirk pose)

Any of these pools could have boiled an egg in a matter of seconds, in fact one of the pools used to be used for that purpose. Just not eggs, well maybe eggs, but primarily for boiling whole pigs. A complete adult pig could be cooked within a couple of hours, and often was. Apparently the sulphur doesn’t taint the meat, but with the whole area smelling so strongly, I’m not sure you’d notice either way. You definitely wouldn’t with eggs.

The park is bordered by deep green woods, which end abruptly where they come into contact with the superheated soil and rock. There were small patches of scrub on some points, but even these were surrounded with burnt wood that had been cooked on the surface.

(What. Planet. Is. This?)

Between the two main areas of the park is a walk through these woods, alongside a hot waterfall that connects the upper and lower park. It winds through trees that have been dusted orange with the sulphur carried by the breeze, giving them a look of rust on the windward side of the trunks.

Near the back of the park, a cold water stream ran from the surrounding woods, through the scorched earth to one of the hot lakes. Where the water had cooled the ground on its way through allowing a blast of colour to tear through the grey yellow scene.

After walking the park we were given the chance to try our hand at wood carving, instructed by a craftsman who had the demeanor of man who had trained and studied for many years to perfect the nuances of shaping intricacies into his chosen medium, only to have to spend much of the day complementing tourists on their ‘good efforts’. Mine was no exception, and as he probably does every day he said he’d tidy up a couple of bits for me. Consequently re doing most of what I’d butchered. The finished article did resemble a Kiwi, rather than the tennis racquet with one leg that I’d created. We thanked him for his time, and he in turn thanked us. I think this was more thanks that he could get back to the delicate mask he was working on between tourists messing with his mojo.

We had a quick cuppa and headed in for our mud baths. We were told that unfortunately they were doing some work on the main mud baths, but that they would put us in the private pools at no extra cost. This was very generous of them, and I’m sure had nothing to do with keeping us away from the other customers after Marc making one of the staff jump, and my amazing dinosaur impressions.

This was probably for the best, as once the attendant had explained not to get the mud in our eyes, avoid getting it on our foreheads or in our hair, and left us in the pool, we were head to toe in mud and doing dinosaur impressions within seconds. Laughing like a couple of five year olds given a muddy puddle to play with.

(Mudzilla & Finchysaurus Wreck)

(Work that camera!)

Our attendant did seem to take all this in good humour, and even took a couple of pictures for us.

An ice cold shower cleaned the mud and took my ability to breath away, before we were allowed to relax in the hot pool. The water soaked away the remains of our immaturity, until we started dunking our drinking cups under the water to simulate fart bubbles rising. It’s pathetic to some, but to us, right then…. I don’t think I’ve laughed hard enough to nearly cry like that for a long time.

Juvenile? Yes.

Highly amusing to us? Hell yes!

From soaking in the hot pool under a canopy of stars the previous night, to this pool in the light rain, I could see why some people swear by the relaxing and therapeutic properties of them.

The only issue was that we were both so relaxed now, that we couldn’t be arsed with pressing on too far this afternoon.

Instead we headed coastward.

Following the highway north to Paengaroa and through Te Puke, where I made all the obvious jokes, to Tauranga and Mt Maunganui looming above it's namesake town.

Marc explained how the last time he was there, Mt Maunganui was a small town. Now it’s all beachfront properties, suburban homes and has become an extension of Tauranga itself. Building rapidly over the last eight to ten years.

The area around Mt Maunganui and the harbour below was full of elegant modern houses and apartments, stylish hotels and bars, giving an air of vibrancy and prosperity, but he beachfront and Mt Maunganui itself were still its crowning glories,

and with the stylishness of the town behind them, I could see why people would want to live here.

Driving through Tauranga and its dockyards and industrial areas we were soon back in the countryside

and heading for Waihi Beach, a small holiday town on a beautiful quiet long beach.

Stopping for a coffee and food at the Long Black, a cool little café near the beach, we were recommended a camping site about a mile up the road.

The Top Ten campsites are dotted all over New Zealand, and are reminiscent of the holiday camps of my youth, with pools, games rooms, chalets and camping grounds. We enquired about the cost of a pitch, and the cost of a chalet, and as there was only $15 difference, we opted for laziness and not having to mess around with a tent, and checked into a two-bed shed.

The beach itself was nigh on empty and we sat and talked, watched the sea gently ripple onto the shore, and drank from a hip flask brimming with Whisky.

As night fell we wandered back to our shed. As I was writing up some of my journal, I’d forgotten about the race to sleep, and lost.

This shouldn’t be a problem now, as while in Tauranga, I had popped into a pharmacy and purchased a couple of boxes of earplugs.

Excellent!

I finally found some rest, a few hours later, sleeping in the car.

I’m sure earplugs used to work better than that. Next on my list is a pair of ear defenders from a farm machinery supplier!