Land of Legend - Taranaki

The landscape of Taranaki rolls out before us as we rise, and I can see the marks of both the ancient and contemporary stories of this place layered together like the volcanic ash and rock that formed it.

There’s the old New Plymouth power station chimney, built in 1972, and once the tallest man-made structure in New Zealand. There’s the port, and black sand beaches strewn white with foam.

As we turn inland, the helicopter’s shadow floats ghostlike over paddocks broken with the scars of long ago lahars, and dotted with dairy cows. The paddocks transition to forest and our pilot points out pink among the trees, where Pukeiti, a garden renowned for its rhododendrons, nestles.

Nearby is a plateau, cleared of trees, where the final battle of The Last Samurai was filmed in the shadow of Mount Taranaki.

On a clear day, the mountain is ever-present. He is ‘the lonely one’, who once dwelled near Ruapehu, Tongariro and Ngauruhoe and who was banished after being defeated in his quest for Mount Pihanga’s heart.

On his journey west he gouged out the Whanganui River and filled it with his tears and, on the days that clouds descend thick on his peak, he is said to be crying still.

The mystical qualities of this mountain are even more evident from the ground. Once on one of the various DOC trails that explore the ‘goblin forests’ of Egmont National Park, it isn’t hard to imagine creatures of magic and legend dwelling here. The umbrella moss grows deep underfoot, icy clear waterfalls appear without warning, and lichen-cloaked rimu trees arch overhead.

To get a glimpse into how initiatives, such as the East Taranaki Environment Trust, are preserving pristine pockets of land like this, we embark on a guided walk through the Otunahe Scenic Reserve, through manuka forest, down to a creek where native orchids creep at the water’s edge and uphill again to where three huge rimu trees soar above the ferns. Bob, our guide, knows a story for every tree. And, at one point, he uses his telemetry gear to pick up the signal that tells him a certain kiwi has been on a nest for four days.

This landscape is also a source of fascination for Nigel Ogle, artist and owner of Tawhiti Museum. This is a museum like no other.

Nigel’s models, both life-sized and miniature, take precedence over historical artefacts.

He tells how a young boy ran around these exhibits recently and stopped short in front of a miniature landscape depicting the musket wars of the 1800s, with 800 tiny figures marching their way across hills and cliffs and sailing across blue bays. The boy pointed at one bay, saying: “I go fishing there with my dad”.

This is what Nigel wants with his exhibits – for history to be made real and relevant to those who visit. “I want to represent the movement of history,” says Nigel. “It is not a static thing.”

It is clear from the museum’s exhibits that conflict and regeneration are woven thick into the fabric of Taranaki’s history. This history is given a personal face when we drive north to Parihaka and hear of the land confiscations of the late 1800s and subsequent birth of the passive resistance movement, a story that is now being reclaimed by the people of Parihaka.

Maata Wharehoka, kaitiaki of the Te Niho o Te Atiawa meeting house, tells us that one afternoon’s visit can only give us a fraction of their story.

 Hearing the haunting harmonies that fill the meeting house, seeing the rows of black and white photos on the wall, and meeting the three-day-old baby who was sung into the world with ancient song give me a taste of it and make me want to know more.

In Taranaki, the layers of stories are endless – from Maori to European, natural to industrial, old to new. If I was expecting a succinct summary of the place, the people and the events which shaped them, on my fleeting visit, then I was looking for the wrong thing.

For Taranaki, as with any great tale, the deeper you delve, the more possibilities there are for discovery.