STING IN THE TALE
Leigh Bramwell offers some clever ways to avoid an angry mob of wasps
THE LANDSCAPER is not the sort of person who runs. He walks, quite briskly at times, and might break into a wee jog if I’m waving a beer at him at the end of a hot day. But running? Not so much.
So I was very surprised to see him bolt up the driveway the other day and disappear into the garden shed. The reason was wasps. He’d been lovingly trimming a display of golf ball pittosporums and disturbed a wasp nest — not, as you might expect, golf-ball-sized, but closer to a baseball. The wasps must have been watching something excellent on Netflix because they were very, very annoyed by the interruption and flew angrily out of the nest with the intention, no doubt, of teaching The Landscaper a lesson.
Luckily he escaped with only three or four stings and an increased awareness of the need to beat the golfball pittos with his long-handled rake before venturing near them.
Unfortunately, wasp stings are a bit of an occupational hazard for landscapers at this time of year but there are measures that can be taken to mitigate the risk. I’m off to the village to buy The
Landscaper some red pants, a red T-shirt and a fragrance-free deodorant this afternoon. Not that he’s ever hankered for red pants, but wasps, like many insects, can’t see the colour red so a rose-tinted wardrobe may render him invisible. On the other hand, they love white and yellow — fortunately not colours The Landscaper is inclined to wear when working in the garden — or at any other time.
I’ll also be counselling him not to use aftershave or scented deodorant — wasps are fragrance fans and even the perfume in hair gel or sunscreen may attract them.
Conversely, there are some smells that wasps don’t like, including eucalyptus and mint. I may have to dab The Landscaper with eucalyptus oil before he leaves the house, and persuade him to wear a mint spray in his buttonhole.
And he’s not to panic. If wasps do start getting too near, the worst thing you can do is start flapping and flailing your arms. This sort of movement excites and enrages them and they’re more likely to sting.
Stay calm and still, and then walk slowly away.
A longer-term solution to a wasp problem is to fool the wasps into thinking there’s another colony nearby. They’re very territorial and are wary of approaching when they see a nest that isn’t theirs. So set them up — make a paper bag in the shape of a nest and hang it from a nearby branch. If you’re not the crafty type, you’ll be able to buy ready-made fake nests on the internet. Some people crochet or knit fake wasps nests (yes, really) so if you have a friend or relative who has the skills, commission a stylish custom-made job. They can then be used later as hanging light-shades.
It is a myth that wasps do not serve any useful ecological function. They help pollinate flowers and crops, and they prey on other insect pests. They eat ticks and they feed houseflies to their young. Quite handy, then.
As a result, some people see killing wasps as just as unethical as killing bees. Other people, like me, just don’t like killing anything.
But it’s tempting, I know, to swat a wasp when it’s circling your plate trying to share your dessert, or worse, trying to get into your wine glass. If you’re eating outside, keep a spray bottle filled with water to hand. We’ve utilised this as a method of keeping our rescue cat off the kitchen bench, with unspectacular results. But it will work for wasps. They struggle to fly when they’re wet so spritz them with water and when they slow down, trap them in a jar (leave air holes) and release them when dinner is over.
IF THE WEATHER is starting to feel autumnal in your neck of the woods, Northland is calling you. Summer glows all the more longer, the weather and foliage is seductively subtropical and the sun-kissed beaches are absurdly gorgeous.
Northland’s thriving capital of Whanga¯rei, is a city of adventure, culture and natural beauty.
Head for the summit of Parihaka, the city’s highest point, which was once the site of the largest Ma¯ori pa¯ (fortified village) in New Zealand. The excavations are still visible and are accessed by a pleasant walk through native forest from the summit.
Whanga¯rei Town Basin is a sophisticated yet leisurely hub for eating and entertainment, particularly around The Quay. Modern landscaping blends artfully with colonial architecture, housing a slew of stylish cafes and restaurants, museums, art galleries and specialty shops.
Explore the City Centre Street Art walk with 15 large-scale art murals, the Hundertwasser Art Centre, and Wairua Maori Art Gallery.
Another absolute unmissable is Claphams National Clock Museum, a worldacclaimed storehouse for one of the largest and most historically significant collections of timepieces in the southern hemisphere. You’ll be enthralled by the surprise discoveries within this ticking, time-warped wonderland.
When you’ve had your fill of the city’s finest features, set your sights on some short and sweet scenic drives from Whanga¯rei. Striking out from Onerahi, the Whanga¯rei Heads Rd serves up a rolling medley of saw-toothed mountains, beaches, walkways and craft galleries, strung along the peninsula’s pencil-thin road, wrapped around the indented northern shoreline of the harbour.
Every princess-pretty bay, like Munro, Mcleod, Mcgregors and Mckenzie, reveals new watery vistas framed by gnarled pohutukawa trees on the foreshore, backed by time-honoured holiday cottages, rising up the volcanic slopes.
Mcleod Bay is a family favourite for its sheltered swimming, nestled beneath the mighty presence of Mt Manaia. The quaint white wooden St James Church, gracing the foreshore since 1858, completes the picture. Mcgregors Bay is another crowdpleaser, with gin-clear waters for snorkelling and fabulous rock pools to keep the kids enthralled.
At the base of Mount Manaia, a plaque pays tribute to the district’s early European settlers, Scottish Highlanders, who as you might have guessed, gave their names to many of the area’s beaches.
Soaring above the harbour entrance, majestic Mt Manaia’s jagged peak, crowned with fang-like pinnacles, dominates the skyline. To scale her, it’s a thousand steps up to reach the sizzling 360-degree views.
Back in the car, Whanga¯rei Heads Rd climaxes at Ocean Beach, a powerful Pacific sweep of big surf, bounded by hulking sand dunes. After the sweet serenity of those inner harbour coves, Ocean Beach is all muscle, raw and wild.
Tracking back to Whanga¯rei, head north to the Tutukaka Coast. This two hour-long loop road roams past succulent orchards, historic drystone walls, undulating emerald farmland and formidable rock walls, before kissing the Pacific Ocean.
The Tutukaka Coast’s necklace of seaside villages revel in their seclusion, stout little settlements abuzz with creative types, small convivial pubs and out-of-theway restaurants.
Follow the road towards Matapouri and make your way to the Tutukaka Forest Conservation Park, home to Tane Moana. Moana may not enjoy the rock-star billing of big brother, Tane Mahuta, but Moana is a treasure too — the largest surviving Kauri on Northland’s East Coast. Reaching nearly 30 metres in height with a stunning crown, and boasting a circumference of 11 metres, an audience with Moana requires
TRAVEL a workout. It’s a four-hour return walk through tracts of native bush to commune with this East Coast giant.
Just north of Matapouri Bay is the crescent-shaped show-stopper of Whale Bay. Thickly fringed in native forest, ablaze in the crimson flowers of pohutukawa, offset by custard-coloured sand and translucent blue water, this celestial pocket of coastal splendour is accessed by a short walk through a grove of ancient Puriri trees.
After taking in the coastal charms north and east of Whanga¯rei, one final suggestion? Saunter south down the main highway to lap up Bream Bay’s sprawling arc of white sandy beach and lolloping around pint-sized Waipu Cove. Steeped in Scottish heritage, the Waipu
Museum lustily showcases the great migration of the town’s original 940 settlers via Nova Scotia, and Waipu still proudly hosts New Zealand’s biggest annual Highland Games.
Half an hour down the motorway from the Auckland CBD, my shirt is drenched.
And I do mean drenched; I fear for the pristine velour on the driver’s seat. In 1992, it was not a given for a small car to have air conditioning.
I’ll admit I struggled getting out of the garage. There was a lot more pectoral action than I expected to execute a simple three-point turn and exit. In 1992, it was not a given for a small car to have power steering.
And I am a tad nervous on the motorway, which is blurry with bizarre manoeuvres (must be the heat). In 1992, it was not a given for a small car to have antilock brakes.
I also can’t stop staring at the cassette player and coin drawer. In 1992, motorists had mix-tapes and change for parking.
Thirty years ago, I would not have given any of the above a thought. It would have been perfectly normal. Now I feel a bit out of my depth. It really is hard to age gracefully. Me I mean, not the car.
The car is mint. Honda New Zealand has a great garage of “heritage” cars and we wouldn’t miss an opportunity to drive one. This Nz-assembled 1992 Civic three-door has been owned by the company from new and while it’s an utterly mainstream 1.3-litre model (which I like it all the more for), its USP is that it’s done 417,045km with only oil, tyres, brake pads/discs and light bulbs replaced.
Just routine maintenance, in other words.
It safe to say it’s been well cared for and carefully stored, but it’s no museum piece. The bonnet is sprayed with stone chips; the seats are in outstanding condition but they’ve clearly been lived in.
In fairness to Honda’s technological progress, 1992 was right at the end of the model cycle for this fourth-generation Civic, which was replaced by the fifthgen EG model in late-1991. It won Japanese Car of the Year.
So it’s all the more remarkable that this car feels so good. It seems tiny by modern small-car standards, but that also means it’s light and nimble. The unassisted steering is a feelgood throwback, the manual gearbox incredibly slick and the performance feels way more impressive than 56kw/ 102Nm would suggest.
A quick look at the registration card and it appears that we’re driving the Civic within a few days of its 30th birthday. Nice.
Like an original Casio G-shock or Sony Playstation, the kids these days would call this car vintage but to drive, it’s still surprisingly crisp and modern in character. It’s me that I’m more worried about.
You might know Walter Rohrl as a legendary rally driver and winner of two World Championships. His work on the sealed stuff also once earned him the title “Genius on Wheels” from Niki Lauda.
More importantly, Rohrl is a long-time test driver for Porsche who has assisted in the development of many 911 models. It was Rohrl who insisted the 993-generation of Turbo (1994) adopt AWD, for example. So while his words must be tempered with the knowledge that he’s on the payroll, there are still few people who know these cars so well.
What’s his 911 Turbo of choice? He actually purchased the firstgeneration 930 Turbo back in 1979.
“The first variant with 260PS [191kw] and a four-speed gearbox was still very sharp as regards its power development,” says Rohrl, “but that made it a fantastic challenge for skilled drivers.”
Very sharp? Skilled drivers? Translation: it had massive turbo lag, then all the power arrived in a huge explosion which was likely to send you backwards into a hedge if you didn’t have the reflexes of a world champion.
But what a machine, right? The massively flared arches, the whale tail, the Fuchs alloys. An icon.
Unsurprisingly, Rorhl reckons the 911 Turbo gets better with each generation.
He’s a defender of the “fried egg” headlights on the 996 (1997) but critical of the power-sapping Tiptronic-automatic, introduced for the first time.
He “cannot find anything negative to say” about the 997 (2004), finding it has a “marvellously analogue feeling”. And the new 992 Turbo?
“It leaves me almost speechless . . . [it] drives at the level of a super sports car, but you can put anyone behind the wheel without being afraid.”