Last Sunrise of 2016

When the alarm buzzed at 4am, I pressed snooze. Five minutes later it went again – and again, I did the same thing. At 4:15 I eventually dragged myself away from my cosy bed, wondering why I had ever thought it was a great idea to photograph Wharariki Beach at sunrise.

 The night before, Bernie had said he’d come with me. When he got up, he put the kettle on for a cuppa and I knew waiting for it to boil could make us late. I might miss the sunrise by 5 minutes. So I convinced him to go back to bed (very little convincing was needed!).

Off I went. I had the entire 50km drive to myself (except one car that appeared after Collingwood and disappeared up a farm drive soon after – a milker perhaps?). The odd milking shed was lit up with cows huddled together patiently waiting to have their heavy udders drained of milk.

As Puponga came into view, so too did a faint rosy-pink glow above the eastern hills. A hint of the sunrise to come. As I turned onto Wharariki Road the sealed road became gravel and it was here that I was escorted for a few kilometres by a rabbit who seemed determined to run in the middle of the road leading the way.

I made good time and arrived at the Wharariki Carpark at 5:20am. There’s an overflow carpark 500 metres before the main carpark and this had about a dozen freedom campers parked in it.

There was just enough light for me to start walking across farmland towards the beach. I startled some sleeping sheep and in return, the odd sheep startled me! I never expected to see sheep curled up amongst dirt dugouts snoozing.

One particular tree had a group of sheep gathered beneath it - they were enjoying an early morning scratch. There was much rubbing of backs and sides against the trunks and lower branches.

The noise of crashing waves indicated the beach wasn’t far away. The track turned to sand and the hint of dawn began to light the area. Mounds of tussock were bathed in a golden glow and the sand dunes were a pale, soft silvery white.

Once over the first rise, huge towering cliffs came into view. Everything was on a grand scale. Massive sand dunes, huge cliff faces and gi-normous castle-like rock formations protruded from the sea. What an awesome sight!

I walked along the beach, close to the water’s edge as walking across the firmer sand seemed easier. Although the ocean wasn’t wild on this particular day, it groaned and rumbled as waves rolled and crashed into shore.

There was a slight breeze, however being summer it was refreshing - not brisk. After every few steps, the beach became lighter as a pinky hue washed across the sky. The area began to glow … cliffs and rocky archways became ablaze with pinky/purple tones.

Within minutes the colours morphed into autumny yellow tones. The rocky cliff in the distance had a buttery appearance, with the outgoing tide providing shallow pools, acting as sandy mirrors to reflect the cliff’s image.

Once the sun rose above the hills the beach looked as though someone had scattered tiny specks of silver glitter as far as the eye could see. It was breath taking and I took a moment to stand and appreciate the opportunity of witnessing the sunrising on Wharariki Beach for the last time in 2016. It was a special, memorable experience.

After I had wandered amongst the wind formed rocky caves and caverns I made my way towards the walk that would take me back to the car park via Nikau Lake. Nera a ledge made of various rock layers I heard what sounded like a growl or was it a rough bark? What I thought was driftwood, slowly rolled over and stretched!

I’d unknowingly woken and almost stumbled on a sleeping seal. He/she didn’t seem too bothered, instead he (I’ll call it he for the moment), stretched, yawned then rolled onto his back and enjoyed the warmth from the sun on his belly.

Not far after this encounter was a marker indicating the beginning of the walk back. I clambered up a rock face that had been worn smooth from prevailing winds. Once on top, a track emerged and led me through a tunnel of wind swept manuka trees. Then the path opened into farmland where there were poles nailed to the fence line as a guide.

Soon Nikau Lake came into view. I’m unsure where the name ‘Nikau’ came from – there didn’t seem to be many of them growing around the area.

A chorus of croaking frogs welcomed me as I approached the side of the lake. They were hard to spot but the sound of them was awesome.

After listening to the army of frogs for several minutes, I carried on and walked into the first of many hazy clouds of tiny mosquitos. Every 50 metres or so another cloud would appear. Luckily I was moving so I didn’t get any bites.

Not long after the car park came into view and I noticed a couple more cars were now keeping my dust covered car company. I climbed over the wooden stile, leaving behind a paddock of grazing sheep. Could those sheep be the most relaxed and friendly sheep in New Zealand? Maybe having hoards of tourists tramping through their paddock makes these sheep so relaxed.

The next stop was a few hundred metres down the road. After a short walk I stood on the cliffs of the northern most point of the South Island – ‘Cape Farewell’. 

The viewing platform offers panoramic views of Tasman Sea. Cape Farewell was first mapped by Abel Tasman and named by Captain James Cook in 1770 – it was the last land his crew saw as they left on the ship’s homeward voyage to England.