Celebrating one-of-a-kind Kiwi baches
From fibrolite shacks to cedar cabins, the best baches are still pared-back boltholes, writes Colleen Hawkes.
Just over 18 months ago, there was a lot of concern expressed by Stuff readers, about the possible future of a cute little bach that had just come on the market in Teal Bay, Northland.
This bach ticked all the boxes for a nostalgia trip – it was small, quaint, right beside the water and it still had the original Formica kitchen bench, table and chairs, and floral carpet.
But worried bach lovers had no need for concern. The bach was bought by Darrin and Robyn Hughes and their sons Ben, then 9, and Ollie, 6.
‘‘We read some of the comments about people being worried it would be bought by some Kardashian types who would bowl it to put up a McMansion,’’ Hughes said at the time.
‘‘That’s not us. We already live in a modern house and we are going to leave it as it is while our children are growing up – a real Kiwi back-to-basics bach.’’
The family intends to add a couple of bedrooms above a new garage at the rear that will store the boat and tractor. And, one year on, Hughes says ‘‘the kids have made lots of friends, and we seem to have them running through the bach most days’’.
But what is it about the traditional bach (or crib, if you live in the deep south) that gets us so worked up?
Wellington architect Gerald Parsonson, who has won NZIA awards for holiday homes that reference traditional baches, says we love it precisely because it is an alternative to a suburban house.
‘‘Everyone lives their busy lives in their homes and they can’t wait for summer when they can get away and leave a lot of things behind – and that’s not just physical things,’’ he says.
‘‘There’s a psychological sentiment with the idea of connecting back to nature and things that are real and true.
‘‘There’s this real craving for simplicity, and the nice thing about doing it in New Zealand is you don’t leave a big carbon footprint, as you do when you go overseas.’’
Psychologist Sara Chatwin agrees Kiwis have always had a bit of a thing for the bach.
‘‘It takes us back to our grassroots and signifies the simple things in life, and being away from the humdrum of everyday life. It’s synonymous with feeling relaxed and calm, and it’s about core values, nothing flashy.
‘‘We are so lucky to enjoy this lifestyle in New Zealand; everyone is just a couple of hours at the most from the sea and a bach, and you can rent one if you don’t own one.’’
Back in the day
The word ‘‘bach’’ is thought to have come from ‘‘bachelor’’ and is a reference to the simple way bachelors lived in the early part of the last century – their homes were often equipped with the basics, but not much more.
Another theory suggests the word comes from the Welsh word for ‘‘little’’. A ‘‘Ty bach’’ is a small outbuilding or cottage and the phrase could have been introduced by Welsh miners in New Zealand during mining booms.
The style evolved from simplicity as well. Small cabins used by hunters, outbuildings on farms, they all contributed to the idea that you could live simply and happily in a ‘‘home away from home’’.
The first baches were not much different architecturally, but usually somewhere within walking distance of the sea or a lake. They were frequently made from cheap fibrolite, weatherboards or iron, and furnished with hand-me-downs.
They popped up with increasing frequency during the 1950s, thanks to the number of families who owned a car. Improved road access also helped, but it meant hours of travel on a gravel road with the kids throwing up in the back seat.
When you got to where you were going, you stayed through the summer, fishing for dinner and buying fresh milk and eggs from the local farmer.
Many of these baches were hand-built by family members and, over time, they were added to – an extra bedroom, an indoor toilet although, invariably, accommodation was supplemented by tents.
Activities were numerous. Along with the swimming, sunbathing, boating, and fishing, there were the ubiquitous jigsaw puzzles, board games, card games, beach cricket, rounders, and volleyball.
Some of the earliest baches appeared in the 1840s at Taylors Mistake near Christchurch, with several built at the front of caves, which gave rise to the name ‘‘cave houses’’.
Built on public land, the baches never had a secure future but, earlier this year, Christchurch City Council acknowledged their architectural and cultural significance and recommended that many be allowed to remain for 35 years.
Others, in more precarious positions, have been given a twoyear licence to allow owners to carry out remedial work.
Rangitoto Island in Auckland also features a significant collection of quaint baches built on public land – 37 were built between 1911 and 1937. A conservation trust formed in 1997 to save the baches is in the process of restoring several of them. Some of the Rangitoto baches are available as holiday rentals.
Nostalgia redrawn
Even now, many architects take their cues from those early baches. Parsonson included fibre cement in his award-winning 87-square-metre Te Horo bach project, north of Wellington.
‘‘It’s a modern version of the fibrolite that was a common cladding on old baches. The section is easy care, with native grasses and plantings and lawn areas provided for cricket and parking cars.’’
Parsonson says you can still see a lot of old baches on Great Barrier Island, which has a history of rough builds, with no building consents.
‘‘A lot of Auckland architects are building holiday homes that capture that feeling, using cedar and plywood, as we did inside Te Horo.’’
For award-winning Auckland architects Lance and Nicola Herbst, that return to basics is reflected in a natural, pared-back design, where timber reigns supreme.
‘‘It’s important to recognise a bach is not a house; it’s something else – a holiday destination,’’ says Lance Herbst.
‘‘For nine out of 10 of us, it is a foil against life in the city; a place to escape to, where we can be close to nature. So we prefer to concentrate on the difference, rather than the similarities with city living.
Back to basics
That is all about simplifying life and getting back to a simple way of doing things.
‘‘When you are on holiday, you tick to a different time clock,’’ Herbst says. ‘‘There are those family rituals, like going fishing, getting the boat out, filling the chilly bin, getting the rod sorted, getting out on the water and then coming back . . . to gut the fish and maybe have cocktails on the deck. A bach has to facilitate all these things.’’
The architects’ bach projects have a similar theme – open, flowing living spaces are centred on a lanai-style deck, which becomes an outside room, generally with a ceiling and shutters to control the wind.
On the inside, the materials are usually timber – solid boards or plywood, or a mix of both. ‘‘We tend not to use Gib, which is more of a city material,’’ says Lance Herbst.
‘‘The timber is very warm and textural, and it smells good. We often use the rougher cuts for a bach exterior, which will weather over time, rather than materials that will need high maintenance. This means everyone can be relaxed and not feel they need to be maintaining the property.’’
Architect Ken Crosson is another bach enthusiast. His own place at Coromandel almost rendered UK TV presenter, architect George Clarke, speechless when he visited.
The architect’s bach was conceived as a container that sits lightly on the land – like a timber crate to be unpacked. And that’s where the magic happens. At the push of a button, the huge timber walls are lowered to become platforms or decks, shutters are raised and the view is brought right into the house.
It is not surprising the bach has gained worldwide attention. It’s not a mansion; it didn’t cost the Earth to build; it’s simple, comfortable, practical and seriously cool, despite being
built 17 years ago. If there’s a single home that typifies great, enduring Kiwi bach architecture, this has to be it.
Clearly, technology has its place (be it automated walls or refrigerators), but there are architects who advocate doing away with the dishwasher at the bach, because there’s nothing like washing the dishes by hand to get people talking.
And if ever there was a place for throwing away devices, or at least leaving them turned off, this it it.
But why are so many people dissatisfied with small and adequate? Since the 1980s, huge, often-ostentatious beach houses have been appearing in key holiday spots, often alongside canals where large boats are moored at the bottom of the garden.
And entire suburbs have emerged that appear to have been uprooted from towns and cities – Pauanui is just one example. Holiday home owners (for these are not baches) need to maintain the lawns and the edges just as they would back in town.
Chatwin says for a certain percentage of people, having a place at the beach signifies wealth, possessions and status.
‘‘In effect, it’s a way to show what they have done with their lives. But I would stress these people are in a minority. And you could never call these houses ‘baches’.
‘‘For most Kiwis, a bach is about a secondary house – that place where you can literally get away from it all and live that simple life.’’
DNA house, because the screen that surrounds the exterior features a pattern literally derived from the family’s DNA.
Inside, the bach, which is on stilts, the walls and ceilings are lined with wood, there’s a trap door and rope ladder, and a stargazing hatch at the apex of the high ceiling, which can be opened.
Those early bach owners could never have imagined this, but they would have loved it all.
And, if climate change makes you think twice about buying a place right on the beach, you have two options – spend as little as possible and enjoy it for the here and now (which is where renting comes into its own). Or to build a little further up a hill, with as small a carbon footprint as possible, naturally.