For more than a decade the company’s coach service had controlled “the passenger traffic” on the Napier-Taupō Rd. Consequently, the drivers were considered by locals as “steady and expert whips” who knew “every rut in the road”, having made the journey hundreds of times.
On this December morning, the passengers were in the capable and safe hands of driver Ted Sinclair.
The first task for Ted was to pack an “abundance of luggage”, including a “large galvanised bath”. To the admiration of passengers, his “packing capabilities” proved “equal to the strain” until, with a “plentiful use of rope”, everything was stowed away safely, apart from the bath which had to be left behind.
The coach, drawn by a “spanking team of four” horses, began the journey “in the warmth of the morning sun”. Most of the passengers settled inside the coach including an invalid lady “on her way to test the healing properties of Wairakei Springs”, while our “scribe had the privilege” of “a box seat” next to the driver who generously provided blankets for warmth.
The coach jauntily “rattled along” through the “wooded streets of Napier”, across the “long, low bridge” to Westshore where a collection of fishermen’s cottages stood.
In the front garden of one, a lonely wooden carving of a Viking stood proud, with its “sightless eyes fixedly staring at the calm water of the Inner Harbour”.
This figurehead was one of a few “touching mementos” left from the ill-fated Northumberland, which sunk off the Petane (Westshore) coastline on May 11, 1887.
Having left the bridge, the coach quickly lost sight of the sea, the only evidence being the tall masts from sailing ships standing like lonely sentinels above the horizon.
Suddenly, through a gap in the sand dunes, the sea burst into view, the “waters sparkling with diamond brilliancy in the morning sun” while a light breeze rippled across the water, spreading “away like an endless coruscation of crystals”, a scene the writer described as one of “indescribable beauty”.
Approaching Petane (Bay View), the passengers saw evidence of the April 1897 flood “in the accumulation of rubbish against fences, and heavy trees lying in positions in which they were never placed by man”. Once past, the horses “turned their backs on the coast to face the interior” and so began the first arduous hill climb.
Shearing season had begun, and as the coach rounded a corner a wool-laden wagon passed, the driver warning that “the road had fallen in further on” and care would be needed to negotiate it. Growing in abundance on the road verge were blackberry bushes ladened with unripened berries.
The coach ascended into the “beautiful Esk Valley” passing the school, numerous farms, and plantations of “oaks, poplars, willows, acclimatised in this new country as thoroughly as their planters”. As the horses galloped onward, a group of Māori shearers on horseback rode by, their “pannikins and billies shining in the sun like military accoutrements”.
The Taupō Rd then followed the “treacherous” Esk River, which had to be crossed approximately 43 times, before winding into a sandy basin which proved weary pulling for the horses. Passing a roadman’s cottage, the horses then had to cross the river “three times in quick succession” as the bridges had been washed away during the 1897 flood.
After an arduous haul, the coach arrived at Glengarry Station, where sheep shearing was “in full swing”.
Ahead, the Ruahines “reared their wooded peaks”. This part of the road was noted for boisterous winds, as evidenced two weeks previously when the wind was so strong it caused two coaches to be blown over.
At the foot of the next hill lay the “placid” “Pohui” (Te Pōhue) lake, “a beautiful sheet of water” and here the horses were changed over while the passengers “walked to the Pohui hotel” for a keenly anticipated lunch.
On arrival, the passengers discovered that the hotel had been destroyed by fire two days previously. Regardless, the proprietor’s wife had thoughtfully laid out food in the woolshed comprising “home-baked bread and scones of a quality never tasted in town”.
After leaving Te Pōhue, the coach passed Bodley’s Accommodation House, and from there arrived at the Titiokura summit, where the passengers were granted “a splendid view of Napier and Cape Kidnappers”, before travelling down through avenues of mānuka, catching glimpses of the mighty Mohaka River, 458 metres below.
The coach began its steep descent, the road corkscrewing so dramatically it was enough “to make one giddy”.
At a sharp elbow the coach again met a wool wagon, and then, at terrifying speed, careered down 800ft (244 metres) to the edge of the Mohaka River. As the water level was low, Ted decided to drive the horses through the river, rather than using the punt.
Initially, his decision went to plan until, three-quarters of the way across, one of the leading horses “all but disappeared into quicksand”. Amid shouts and with a “hurried flogging of the other horses” the flaying leader was “dragged out” and a minute later the dripping team was standing in front of the Mohaka Hotel.
*To be continued next week.
