‘Don’t Die Wondering’
…. a walk in the footsteps of Manaia Te Whara Track
We began on the sand. A soft, unassuming start; the beach sun warming our backs, the promise of a journey rising with the land.
Soon, the track began to climb, zigzagging through spongy grass, water overflowing the water table, soaking into our soles and our senses. Each step felt saturated with something older—something watchful.
We paused at the WWII radar station—concrete relics nestled among roots and trees. Ghosts of fear lingered here. The threat of Japanese invasion once hung heavy in the air. How real was it? How real the fear, or the fear remembered?
And then the words, graffitied in bold rebellion:
“Don’t die wondering.”
An invitation? A challenge?
What drives someone to climb this steep, unforgiving path just to leave those words behind? A need to be seen, to defy, to inspire? A determined defiling of memory, or simply the sheer hell of it?
We climbed higher.
The path turned muddy, gnarled roots snaked across our way like veins—natural obstacles and inner echoes. For Jo, the challenge was layered: brain said no, muscles said maybe. A flashback stirred. Rational met irrational. Courage, determination, doggedness.
Upwards. Always upwards.
The stairs were steep—so steep we crawled on hands and knees to avoid tipping backwards. We clambered. Balanced. Laughed. Slipped. Cursed. Oh, how we cursed!
“Zero views,” we were told. But they were wrong. Through shifting windows in the vegetation, the ocean winked at us—bright, blue, vast.
At the summit, a rocky outcrop. A final boulder to conquer on legs now trembling from 500 metres of climbing. But the reward—what a reward!
The ridge stretched behind us like a spine. Ahead, the peninsula sprawled, dotted with white boats like scattered teeth, a distant power station, jagged rock towers, and tiny islands adrift in an endless blue.
I stood—no room for a handstand, but arms outstretched to Ranginui from my perch atop Papatūānuku.
An upside-down handstand. A moment of balance.
And then, the descent.
Snakes and ladders. Always descending—except for the bits that still climbed. There are always ‘ups in the downs’!
The last 800 metres—down, down, down the steps to the hut hidden in the ngahere.
Lunch on the beach. Cold fingers, good food, satisfied hearts.
Birdsong: Kiwi. Ruru. Pīwakawaka. Kererū. Kōtare.
They watched us without watching.
We stayed present. In the now.
Grateful. Whakawhetai.
E waimārie au.
How lucky I am to be here, in this place, doing this thing.
Rongoā.
To see. Listen. Feel. Smell. Taste. Heal.
And then, a final gift—
A night walk under the moon.
The beach glowing like daylight, silver-bright and steady.
Ohua. A very good day for planting.
Peace.
Mārie. Tau. Whakaora.
Revived.
