Motorhomes Caravans & Destinations
TRAILS OF THE UNEXPECTED
Shipwrecks, taniwha, echoes of settlers past… Eleanor Hughes spends a windy day discovering the rich history on Auckland’s Āwhitu Peninsula
The rich history of Āwhitu
Waiuku didn’t appear to be awake as we drove through around 10am on a grey, windy Sunday. We headed northwards on the Āwhitu Peninsula; verdant countryside changed from fenced flattish land to rolling hills that grew steeper and creased, plunging down into valleys. Farmhouses and cows were sparse, cars scarce. So too were the views of a silvery Manukau Harbour on our right.
A small brown street sign stating ‘lighthouse’ pointed along Kemp Road, which narrowed and twisted. The Tasman Sea made an appearance, although it was difficult to discern between grey sea and grey sky. At the crest of a rise on Manukau Heads Road we got an unbroken view of the ocean, which left a white line along blackish-brown sand at the tip of Whatipu Beach.
An information board tells of the ship, Orpheus, which hit the shifting Manukau Bar in 1863, and points out the site of the foundering. The sea looked innocent, but it claimed 189 sailors back then and the Orpheus broke up.
SCENERY AND HISTORY AT MANUKAU HEADS LIGHTHOUSE
A white dot, bright above a green hill, became the Manukau Heads Lighthouse, a white base topped by glass triangles. Forty kilometres from Waiuku, we arrived at the empty carpark below it. One hundred and twenty steps led upwards. I read on the way that an early Māori description of the place translated to ‘dim and hazy’. Under blackish-grey clouds, the Waitākere Ranges appeared dark and foreboding on the opposite side of Manukau Harbour’s turquoise entrance.
Two years after the sinking of the Orpheus, a signal station was erected here. The semaphore signals, hoisted on a 60-foot mast, must have been tricky to see, let alone read, as ships were navigated across the bar. With winds that apparently reach 200 km/h, it’s a wonder there weren’t more disasters. VHF radio is now used to communicate to ships, manned by a signalman from the signal tower below the platform where I read this information. That must make a captain’s life a whole lot easier.
Standing on the deserted headland, it’s hard to believe that in 1895 several homes and a school with 21 pupils were here. It was also apparently the site of ‘Auckland’s first telegraph and a post office.’
The original lighthouse was situated on a cliff edge to the west and first lit in 1874. It was rebuilt on concrete in 1944, and that was demolished in 1986. The present one was constructed to 1870 plans in 2006 and comprises the original dome and prisms. It certainly looks like something from the 1800s.
From its balcony, I watched a blue and white fishing boat, like a toy in a churning bath of blue water, slowly make its way along the coastline having crossed the bar safely. Views are far-reaching; the settlement of Huia tucked in a bay from where land sweeps out to form fingers with bays between them. Further to the east, so hazy it took me a few minutes to discern what
I was looking at, was the Sky Tower, skyscrapers standing at attention either side. To the right, two peaks resemble the shape of Rangitoto. I had never seen Auckland from this direction before; how green it looked.
“The sea looked innocent, but it claimed 189 sailors back then and the Orpheus broke up”