Matakana in a Mustang

I stop for coffee in Takapuna, admiring the sparkling Waitematā and the iconic silhouette of Rangitoto looming offshore.

Further north, on the toll road, I loosen the reins and let the Mustang hit its stride, enjoying the long stretch of almost empty motorway and an extra 10km/h speed limit.

At Highfield Garden Reserve on the Mahurangi Peninsula, I take the ‘stang to visit its equine cousins. Here, in a well-tended public reserve lives a herd of seven fat donkeys. 

Highfield Garden was gifted to the public back in 1985 by original landowners Ted and Alison Roberts. The donkeys are part and parcel of their gift. Used to keep the grass under control and to enhance the visitor experience, the fluffy animals are placid and friendly, enjoying a hand-fed treat of an apple or carrot.

Just up the road, I stop in at Brick Bay. Like Highfield Garden, the vineyard and sculpture park here was established back in the mid-80s by the Didsbury family, who were also instrumental in forging the beginnings of Matakana Village. Today, the property bursts with colour and creativity; an expansive sculpture trail and open-air gallery supporting local artists. 

Before exploring the grounds, I eat. Perched at a lakeside table that seems to float in the glass box of a restaurant, I sample plates of local produce: buffalo mozzarella followed by crispy skin snapper caught from nearby Leigh.

Fed and watered, I stroll the sculpture park. Traversing sheep-filled paddocks, grassy knolls and winding bush tracks, I stop to admire multiple impressive artworks: from a colourful metal house to a gleaming, silver triceratops and geometric shapes floating above a tranquil pond. Some of the most interesting installations are multi-sensory, including a large bronze cone suspended above a wooden stool. This is A Call to Restoration by Nicholas Duval-Smith. I tap the cone with a wooden mallet and listen to the soothing tones reverberating through the native bush.

The drive north to Tāwharunui is winding and the Mustang gleefully canters around the corners. I arrive at the last gasp of a gloriously sunny afternoon to an empty white sand beach. Despite the chill, I peel off my shoes and socks to paddle in the shallows, enjoying the serenity of the moment. That is until I realise my picnic has been pilfered. A flock of giant seagulls and one cheeky pūkeko have raided the grocery bag I’d left unguarded on the sand. Salami sticks are scattered across the beach alongside a wedge of pecked brie. Shooing away the avian thieves, I pick at my torn bag of chips, watching the waves froth pink in the sunset. 

In the morning I head to Matakana’s most famous must-do: the weekend farmers’ market. At the entrance, the dog minders are almost at capacity. A group of industrious teenage boys take the leads of well-mannered pooches, tethering terriers, spaniels and schnauzers who wait patiently for their owners.

The market is an incredibly popular spot; crowds throng amongst stalls selling coastal accoutrements, herbal remedies, local wine, honeycomb and vintage treasures. 

The lower level is all food. I watch as drool-worthy pasta is scraped out of a giant wheel of Parmesan; other stalls sell peanut butter, pastries and preserves. There are grow-your-own mushrooms blooming on logs, bone broth and baguettes, chocolate, crackers and so much cheese. I feel a little overwhelmed by the sheer volume of choice for breakfast, eventually settling on a freshly made galette and a strong coffee, finding a seat at a packed picnic table while woodsmoke and music drifts over the crowd.

Having had a true taste of the district – from art to animals, food, wine and picturesque scenery – I climb back into the Mustang for the drive back to the city.