Shifting sands of ‘people’s beach’
Awaroa Beach was bought by Kiwis four years ago in a crowdfunding campaign but now it’s half of what it once was, writes Amy Ridout.
Not long after Awaroa became New Zealand’s beach, resident Geoff Philips found a woman camping on the sand.
‘‘I said, ‘what are you doing here?’ She said, ‘I paid money towards this’. I said, ‘where did you go to the toilet?’ ‘Oh, I didn’t go’, she told me.
‘‘I said, ‘really? In 24 hours, you didn’t go to the toilet’?’’
The furtive camper was one of many Kiwis who chipped in for the 2016 Givealittle campaign that raised $2.8 million to buy Awaroa Beach for New Zealand. The 2.8-hectare property, with its 800 metres of coastline, later became part of Abel Tasman National Park.
For a while, interest in the beach was strong, Philips said. Tourists sprawled on the white stretch of sand and hiked along the 2km-long inlet. Tour guides cashed in on the beach’s fame.
‘‘All the boat operators made a meal of it, ‘come down and see your beach’.’’
Four years later, the dust has settled, Philips said. But as part of one of the country’s most visited coastlines, Awaroa Beach has hitched its wagon to the fortunes of the national park – home to golden beaches, turquoise waters and one of the country’s favourite walks.
Last year, about 300,000 people visited the park, a tenfold increase since Philips built his property on a bank overlooking the estuary 30 years ago.
For a long time, the home was a summer getaway but three years ago, after a couple of health scares, Philips packed in his Wellington job and moved to the beach. His wife, Elva, keeps a foot in each camp, dividing her time between the capital and Awaroa.
Summers are busy for
Philips, who works for tour company Wilsons. He ferries people to and from water taxis, and rescues stranded kayakers and lost hikers. In colder months, he has the beach to himself, an unofficial caretaker for the handful of baches lining the inlet.
Over the decades, Philips has watched the landscape change.
Twenty-five years ago, the sea forged a new path into the inlet, taking out a house and a slice of land. And in 2018, the storm surge of former tropical cyclone Fehi coincided with a king tide, inundating campsites around the park.
Awaroa Beach lost a large section of dunes, including habitat for nesting birds.
‘‘When the spit was here we had 300 terns but now there’s nowhere for them to go,’’ Elva said.
‘‘The cyclone took a lot of sand. It’s good that people bought the beach but it’s half what it was.’’
Last year, a Department of Conservation (DOC) report outlined the expected impact of an expected 0.5 metre to 1m sealevel rise by 2100 on New
Zealand’s coastal areas.
Sixty-two Abel Tasman assets, including huts and campsites, and more than five per cent of the track are at risk, the report said. Higher tides are coming, and DOC plans to move some campsites to safer ground.
When Awaroa Beach became part of the national park in 2016, DOC said work would be done to restore the dune ecology.
Operations manager Dave Winterburn said the first priorities after the beach changed hands were fencing off nesting areas and arranging access for walkers and boat operators.
Over the coming year, DOC will ‘‘explore options for restoration’’, he said.
With the sea nibbling away at their front garden, the Philipses can’t help think about Awaroa’s future. But for now, they do what they can to preserve the beach.
‘‘It’s our backyard,’’ Elva said. ‘‘If there’s rubbish on the ground