Like money, advice does not grow on trees but should you happen to mention to people you are soon travelling to the Far North on holiday it will fall upon you like autumn leaves.
Though kindly intentioned there are only so many tips a normal mind can absorb and catalogue. When you reach that point further advice tends to make you cross eyed and helpless to move your head in any other way but like that of a toy nodding dog.
I was still nodding as I drove the 10 hours to our Far North holiday spot three weeks ago and nodding even more as we pulled into the Gumdiggers Park and Ancient Kauri Buried Forest car park.
We were on our way to Cape Reinga for the day but one leaf of advice had us stopping in here first. Or maybe there was no leaf but I was in a such thick fog of helpful hints I could not tell up from down any more. There was nothing to do but walk on in.
It was full. That was the first thing I noticed. People were everywhere. Most were wearing white socks and sneakers, bum bags, baseball caps and glasses with transition lenses.
"They're all Americans," I whispered to my girlfriend with smug confidence. "You can tell because they are wearing white socks and sneakers, bum bags, baseball caps and have glasses with transition lenses."
"Why do you always have to state the obvious," she said. "It's very annoying."
She was right of course but something happens to me when I travel and I let my train of thought out on the tracks usually reserved for words.
"Look at that. Cows," I might say, or "Look at that. A house for sale," or "Look at that. A car is passing us".
Just a minute before, as I had eased my Subaru into the carpark of the Gumdiggers Park and Ancient Kauri Buried Forest, I had done it once more.
"Look at that," I had said. "We're at the..."
It costs $12 to get into the Gumdiggers Park and Ancient Kauri Buried Forest. Somewhat helpfully I pointed out to the owner this was the same as the minimum hourly wage and asked if we would need a full hour to see it all.
"It takes about half an hour," he said apologetically.
That suited us. We were timing our run to Cape Reinga so we could drive back along Ninety Mile beach and the tide meant we didn't have a full hour to spare.
As we walked down the steps to begin our self-guided tour I read out every sign I saw.
"Look at that," I said pointing at a particularly helpful one. "A clean portaloo is available behind the shed."
It was quite a relief.
As with all our travel we quickly became hopelessly lost within a minute or two, which was puzzling as we seemed to be a one way track.
Owing to my holiday nature I had to point out we were lost and make a grab for the map the man had handed us in exchange for our $12 entry fee.
"We're not lost," said my girlfriend who is always quite certain of where she is.
"We bloody are," I said."I bet we're the first people to ever get lost in the Gumdiggers Park and Ancient Kauri Buried Forest."
"Do you have to always say its full name," she asked.
Nodding, I informed her that it was absolutely essential.
"You're a dick," she said while my head was still engaged in a up and down motion so that for anyone watching I appeared to be agreeing. It was a distressing side effect of the advice overload.
We were soon both peering into one of the many holes dug by the Kauri gumdiggers some hundred years before. It was deep and dark and wet and contained a pair of thigh length rubber "Wellington" boots at the bottom.
Only they aren't called Wellington boots here. Rather, because of their popularity with gumdiggers they quickly became known as gum-boots. And they still are but somewhere along the way the hyphen dropped out.
This wasn't the only pub quiz factoid we learned at the Gumdiggers Park and Ancient Kauri Buried Forest that day.
We also found out the ancient kauri forest of trees as big as buildings had been wiped out at least twice by tsunamis. And big ones. Big enough to make the Indonesian Boxing Day tsunami and the Japanese tsunami of last week look like little more than paddling pool ripples.
Yet despite their size there is only speculation about what caused them.
"Was it a meteor?" one information board asks. "Was it an earthquake or a volcanic eruption?" asks another.
Two weeks later as I looked at a photo of myself posing by a gumdigger's hut in my Hawaiian shorts and dirty t-shirt I wondered what questions would be asked of me in 1000 years time.
I could only come up with two. "Is this why we aren't allowed sausage rolls anymore?" and "Why is that man cross eyed?"
Though kindly intentioned there are only so many tips a normal mind can absorb and catalogue. When you reach that point further advice tends to make you cross eyed and helpless to move your head in any other way but like that of a toy nodding dog.
I was still nodding as I drove the 10 hours to our Far North holiday spot three weeks ago and nodding even more as we pulled into the Gumdiggers Park and Ancient Kauri Buried Forest car park.
We were on our way to Cape Reinga for the day but one leaf of advice had us stopping in here first. Or maybe there was no leaf but I was in a such thick fog of helpful hints I could not tell up from down any more. There was nothing to do but walk on in.
It was full. That was the first thing I noticed. People were everywhere. Most were wearing white socks and sneakers, bum bags, baseball caps and glasses with transition lenses.
"They're all Americans," I whispered to my girlfriend with smug confidence. "You can tell because they are wearing white socks and sneakers, bum bags, baseball caps and have glasses with transition lenses."
"Why do you always have to state the obvious," she said. "It's very annoying."
She was right of course but something happens to me when I travel and I let my train of thought out on the tracks usually reserved for words.
"Look at that. Cows," I might say, or "Look at that. A house for sale," or "Look at that. A car is passing us".
Just a minute before, as I had eased my Subaru into the carpark of the Gumdiggers Park and Ancient Kauri Buried Forest, I had done it once more.
"Look at that," I had said. "We're at the..."
It costs $12 to get into the Gumdiggers Park and Ancient Kauri Buried Forest. Somewhat helpfully I pointed out to the owner this was the same as the minimum hourly wage and asked if we would need a full hour to see it all.
"It takes about half an hour," he said apologetically.
That suited us. We were timing our run to Cape Reinga so we could drive back along Ninety Mile beach and the tide meant we didn't have a full hour to spare.
As we walked down the steps to begin our self-guided tour I read out every sign I saw.
"Look at that," I said pointing at a particularly helpful one. "A clean portaloo is available behind the shed."
It was quite a relief.
As with all our travel we quickly became hopelessly lost within a minute or two, which was puzzling as we seemed to be a one way track.
Owing to my holiday nature I had to point out we were lost and make a grab for the map the man had handed us in exchange for our $12 entry fee.
"We're not lost," said my girlfriend who is always quite certain of where she is.
"We bloody are," I said."I bet we're the first people to ever get lost in the Gumdiggers Park and Ancient Kauri Buried Forest."
"Do you have to always say its full name," she asked.
Nodding, I informed her that it was absolutely essential.
"You're a dick," she said while my head was still engaged in a up and down motion so that for anyone watching I appeared to be agreeing. It was a distressing side effect of the advice overload.
We were soon both peering into one of the many holes dug by the Kauri gumdiggers some hundred years before. It was deep and dark and wet and contained a pair of thigh length rubber "Wellington" boots at the bottom.
Only they aren't called Wellington boots here. Rather, because of their popularity with gumdiggers they quickly became known as gum-boots. And they still are but somewhere along the way the hyphen dropped out.
This wasn't the only pub quiz factoid we learned at the Gumdiggers Park and Ancient Kauri Buried Forest that day.
We also found out the ancient kauri forest of trees as big as buildings had been wiped out at least twice by tsunamis. And big ones. Big enough to make the Indonesian Boxing Day tsunami and the Japanese tsunami of last week look like little more than paddling pool ripples.
Yet despite their size there is only speculation about what caused them.
"Was it a meteor?" one information board asks. "Was it an earthquake or a volcanic eruption?" asks another.
Two weeks later as I looked at a photo of myself posing by a gumdigger's hut in my Hawaiian shorts and dirty t-shirt I wondered what questions would be asked of me in 1000 years time.
I could only come up with two. "Is this why we aren't allowed sausage rolls anymore?" and "Why is that man cross eyed?"
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