Sand & Surf
New Zealand offers escapades, extraordinary landscapes that will keep you wanting more
NORTHLAND, N. Z.— I’m standing at the edge of a very steep, camel-coloured slope, staring out into a neverending world of 100-metre sand peaks and valleys that have been sculpted by nearby winds from the Tasman Sea.
The midday New Zealand sun is bearing down on my face, which is feeling markedly drippy after an inclined hike to the top of the giant Te Paki dunes in the North Island’s Northland region.
Having been first in the climbing queue of tourists who’ve opted to partake in this full-day Sand Safaris expedition, I wait for a moment in silence. My only companion atop this grand vantage point is the slickbottomed sandboard that I’m expected to ride facefirst to the dune’s faraway bottom.
Making their way up the sandy trail several paces behind me are a mother and daughter, a young couple who have been smooching the whole bus ride to Te Paki, a family of four, and a gang of besties who are documenting every frame of their travels for Instagram.
I’m on top of the world alone, travelling very much solo and feeling leery of taking the sand-swept plunge without an assuring word or gesture from a partner, friend or family member.
“It doesn’t even look scary,” says a tiny boy behind me who belongs to the family that has now made its way to the top of the dune.
“That’s just wonderful to hear, kid,” I think to myself, “because I’m a 33-year-old seasoned traveller and I’m feeling bloody terrified.”
While gauging the amount of time it will take to careen toward my possible death, I spot the enthusiastic wave of our Sand Safaris driver, Senny Robinson, who is encouraging me from a spot far below.
The veteran Northland tour guide of Maori descent has taken us to this point via an hour-long bus ride down Ninety Mile Beach.
“It’s actually considered a highway on the sand,” Robinson had said along the way, as we had gazed into the distance from the cosy confines of our hefty dune rider bus.
It was here that I had come into brief contact with a lone hiker who was making his way south down the coastline along the ultra challenging, 3,000-kilometre Te Araroa trail.
I was told the area was the resting place of many cars swept suddenly into the swell by three-metre long sneak tides, and yet, I had ventured far from our vehicle to the waterline.
While snapping photos of the beach’s famous Hole in the Rock, I became distracted and didn’t notice a sheet of rushing water coming my way. A laughing holler of warning from the hiker sent me running in the opposite direction, saving my running shoes from inevitable immersion. Then the man walked away with his hiking pole to become a solitary speck along the beachscape.
While I’m standing on the edge of this dune, I think about this guy, a fellow loner in an unfamiliar place, and it occurs to me that here and on that beach weren’t the only times I’d become aware of my solitude in this country.
I was alone when I walked myself into a tiny emergency room in the nearby town of Kerikeri a few days before, where I was tended to immediately and thoroughly by a wonderful doctor for an ear infection that had gotten out of hand.
I was alone when I had driven on the left side for the first time in my life along the winding country highways of Rotorua, where a group of strangers I encountered at a gas station drew me an elaborate area map, in case I got turned around.
I was alone when I arrived in Auckland and a cab driver transferred a small package of TimTams (chocolate biscuits) from his hand to mine after shaking my hand to wish me good luck on my travels.
And later this day, I will find myself alone when I’m taken by the Sand Safaris tour to Cape Reinga — an unforgettably spectacular lookout to turbulent ocean waters known by the Maori as the jumping off place of dead spirits to the underworld. There, I will venture to a secluded spot to watch the Pacific Ocean smash into the Tasman Sea, losing all track of time before the smoochy couple from the bus will find me and remind me that it’s time to head back.
On New Zealand’s North Island, I’ve been alone, yes, but I’ve never been lonely.
The Te Paki sand dunes were once a part of their own island, separated from what is now mainland New Zealand. Over millions of years, the narrow mass of land was pushed by sand buildup from volcanoes in the south, eventually shifting the lands to connection.
Once in a world of its own, this very mountain on which I now stand was pushed by its surroundings to become a part of something bigger.
With a smile of encouragement, Robinson yells at me from down below to keep my elbows on the board as I get on my belly and shimmy the board closer the edge of the drop-off.
Hearing cheers from the safari companions behind me, I close my eyes, punch the hot sand with my back foot and plunge solo down the dune. Liz Beddall was hosted by Tourism New Zealand, which did not review or approve this story.