Cruising at Castlepoint

Having been lulled by moreporks in the night, we awake to the sound of birdsong in the morning. I potter around the beautiful trees in the garden encircling the bach. They were planted by the owner’s wife. The leaves of the beeches, birches, oaks and sycamores rustle in the breeze and blaze with colour.

Him Outdoors goes to fetch some coffee from the Riversdale café. He says people are pouring in for their morning fix of caffeine before heading to the beach on their quad bikes. There is a fishing competition on this weekend with categories from boat or shore, and a prize of $2,000.

We drive over the hill to Castlepoint. It’s quite different; more touristy and gentrified, and dominated by the picture perfect lighthouse on a promontory of rock.

We walk across the broad sweep of sand and up the steps, wandering around the magnificent cast iron structure. The wind whips in from the ocean, spraying the crests of the waves as they tumble into shore.

People stand atop the sea cliffs, casting rods into the foam below. A sign warns to beware; these rocks are dangerous. We pick our way over the jagged rocks, comprised of shells and limestone formations.

At the local shop we buy sausage rolls and ice creams, and scribble postcards to our parents, expressing the same sentiments in slightly different semantics.

Another walk takes us around the headland. In the pine forest a bloke supervises his children as they hurtle down a pine-needle carpeted slope between the trunks. Him Outdoors asks whether he’s managed to send them careening into the trees. The bloke grins back, ‘Not yet!’

We carry on across a col covered in toi toi and up to a vantage point where in either direction we can see endless beaches thrashed by the Pacific Ocean. We snuggle into a peaceful alcove out of the wind and just sit and admire the view, then walk back bathing our ankles in the water – it’s soothing on strained Achilles tendons and insect bites.

Windswept and sunburned, we return to the bach, stopping to admire the countryside. It’s reminiscent of Central Otago with a confusion of colour, pristine churches and curious cows. Back ‘home’ after a pasta meal, a couple of glasses of red wine and a failed attempt at the Dominion Post crossword, it’s time for an early night.