Editorial: Alone and in awe of paradise

Mangakuri Beach.

As I age I crave the coast. It's perhaps where the term "old salt" comes from.

Last Saturday my addiction took me to Central Hawke's Bay's Mangakuri Beach.

I'd visited many times as a kid but hadn't been back for something like 25 years.

It's a gem. A hidden one at that. The last 10 kilometres is a metal track, tantamount to a 10,000 metre moat to thwart invasion of its 30-odd baches.

Hence for all its beauty, this is a colonial pa. "No parking past this point ... no turning ... no camping," and to boot, no rubbish bin, no toilet, no shelter from the wind or sun.

Regrettably for Mangakuri dwellers, I stripped down to just my shorts and like a hirsute manatee slipped below the low tide looking for dinner.

Schools of anchovies approached for inspection then vanished quick-silver at right angles. With my ears just above the waterline I picked up the shore's dry chorus of cicadas, peppered with the odd tui. Occasionally I surfaced to watch my sons kick a ball about the beach. They foregrounded festive pohutukawa in a crimson tide.

I'd rate those serene few minutes as the highlight of my year.

Whether daytripper amenities have been purposely withheld via an undeclared caveat and well-heeled cabal of title holders, is uncertain. Truth be told, were I one of them, I'd protect my pristine patch from interlopers too.

But what no one in this insanely beautiful patch can do is cry foul when after an 80-minute drive youngsters gap it to the sand dunes to answer nature's call.

The paradox is that any attempt to embalm this pristine settlement will lead only to its defilement.