Haumoana bach The Cape View Shed is a bolthole worth visiting. Photo / Mark Story
In the first of his Bay’s Best Bach series, deputy editor Mark Story spends a night at a Haumoana “shed” that’s part earth, part ocean.
In a former life this bach was a garage and woodshed.
Then it was threatened with demolition.
Now it’s living its best life thanks to the owners’ eye for style and their push to preserve the seafront amenity.
The Haumoana guest bach listed on Bookabach dubbed The Cape View Shed, like most along this stretch, is a battler and a fighter. A survivor - for now.
This coastal strip is big surf. Not huge surf, but relentless, in-your-face surf.
At high tide the briny slams into the home’s concrete slabs. Offensive after offensive. A new wave every six seconds.
Yet, for those of us who share a certain hobby there’s a distinct upside to this bach’s proximity to the Pacific.
Fishing from your own backyard, anyone? Hell yes.
Or is it its front yard?
I struggled to work out which way it was facing. Was the ocean its backyard, or was that the roadside?
It was a nice dilemma to have.
I couldn’t work it out, so decided to think of it as facing two ways. A bit like the double-headed Roman god Janus. Fitting, as he was concerned with matters of duality, trading and shipping.
But back to the surfcasting.
Due to me being a hapless fisherman, of late I’ve been experimenting with cooked mussels as bait. This must look odd when people spy me occasionally eating from my bait bucket.
The first cast was thrown out at peak high tide, 2.35pm.
Waves smash the slabs and hurl salty suds.
The line’s in the water, but no immediate bites. Radio silence.
So, here’s the best thing about fishing from your own yard — you can sit inside and watch TV and keep an eye on your rod. You can make a sandwich, take a loo stop, or grab a beer from the fridge. It’s fishing gentrified.
Apart from its exposed trusses, the bach’s warm interior is far removed from its time as a garage.
It’s homely and then some. The living and bedroom are one room separated by dividers, with an ensuite (the former woodshed).
The negative-detail ply interior works well, yet my favourite detail is a large ocean-facing window that frames the signature Cape Kidnappers view.
But back to the rod.
Three hours on, no action, nada nibbles.
But then about 5.30pm, as I was watching Sky Sport and my rod at the same time, something truly unexpected happened — the Wellington Phoenix won.
And, at roughly the same time, another miracle when my reel screamed. A heavy sea monster with a penchant for mussels had seriously gapped it.
Sadly though, it had the sluggish feel of a stingray. Hardly my target species.
Mercifully it managed to de-hook itself in the shallows and return to the Pacific. Fish and fisher both happy.
The nice thing at this bach is it’s private yet also part of a collective - because I never fished alone.
Neighbours were always present, casting from their respective yards. It was a seriously unique fraternity of stay-at-home fishers.
Many have New Zealand flags flying from retired rods fixed to their fence lines.
A quick glance across all the properties reveals the remarkable efforts locals have made to shore-up their section from erosion. Wooden buttresses, tyres, railway iron, concrete. The shoreline resembled fortified pā. It’s frontier stuff.
Yet rather than lamenting the truth that is the impermanence of their properties, they’re living it up. It’s tribal, and it’s jolly.
Those feels come through strongly with this bach.
Little surprise that the guest book is full of superlatives for the brave little board and batten bolthole.