A Drive Down State Highway 43

While visiting the Church of the Good Shepherd, on my Wild Kiwi tour, I met a gentleman whose name I have since forgotten but his suggestions I did not.  In conversation I mentioned that I would be house sitting near New Plymouth.  He then proceeded to tell me of a "lost" highway which takes you through a town (at the time I couldn't understand the name he said) which has declared itself a separate nation from New Zealand.  I was even more intrigued when he told me that it is the only place in the island nation where you will find a road sign "welcoming" you to New Zealand.  I took note of his advice for later, and when I saw a sunny weather forecast for this Saturday I decided to put the dog in the car and head out on a little road trip.

Known as the "Forgotten World Highway" the entire drive is 3 hours, but I only did maybe a quarter of the 155km trail, which is New Zealand's oldest heritage trail.  According to the brochure it "follows ancient Maori trade routes and pioneering farm tracks through ambitious historic settlements, untamed native bush, and stunning natural scenery."  It was such a beautiful, sunny day for a drive and the scenery was top-notch.  As I headed out of Hawera, towards Stratford (the starting town for Highway 43), I had a perfect view of Mount Taranaki.  She's often covered in clouds, or partially hidden behind the clouds, but not this morning!

At Strathmore Saddle lookout, traditionally considered the start of the "back country", I could still see Mt. Taranaki in the distance.  According to the signs, east of there "the dairy farming of the volcanic ring plain and rolling hills and valleys changes to mainly sheep and beef cattle farming" and there had apparently been several plans to tunnel under this "saddle", but they never eventuated.

Strathmore Saddle, with Mt. Taranaki in the background;
the little white dots on the hillside are sheep.

With photo stops at the Pohokura and Whangamomona Saddles I was nearly to my destination.  The further I traveled the more the road seemed to curve and the tighter the curves became.  On one blind curve I saw a camper van coming around the corner, over the line and in my lane.  Because of the sharp bends I wasn't going very fast and I slammed on the brake pedal.  Had the other driver done the same I might have been able to back up far enough to prevent what happened next, but the driver didn't stop.  Time seemed to slow for a moment as I watched him finish coming around the bend, ever closer to the front of the car.  As I realized the vehicles would indeed meet I squeezed my eyes shut, as if not watching would make it not happen.  The woman in the car behind me stopped to assure me that there was nothing I could have done, "you stopped, but he was already in your lane".  My first car accident and it wasn't my car and wasn't my country.  Sam and I were fine, the damage was slight, and thecar was able to be driven.  I can't imagine how much a tow truck out of there would have cost so I had much for which to be thankful.  We exchanged information and headed our separate ways.

Not to be deterred we motored on along and finally saw the sign welcoming us to the Republic of Whangamomona.  The 'wh' in Maori is usually pronounced as an English 'f' sound.  The village was once a bustling frontier town with nearly 300 residents, but by the 1960's the numbers declined to around 20.  In 1989, after a dispute about the redrawing of regional council boundaries, the townspeople declared themselves a republic in protest.  They hold elections for president, but the eligibility rules are rather lenient; Billy Gumboot the Goat, Tai the Poodle, and perhaps the most famous: Murt "Murtle the Turtle" Kennard, have all served as president of the republic.  According to Wikipedia, "the local garage owner fought off strong competition from former president Kjestrup {human}and a cross-dresser called 'Miriam' to become the 4th President. He was re-elected in 2009 by one vote. He was re-elected again in 2011 by a landslide."

My brochure had another interesting fact for me to pass on: "Rugby fans might be keen to know that Whangamomona is the only club in NZ that is allowed to wear an all-black strip - as they had it well before NZ's All Blacks."  I stopped in the hotel for a coffee, and to browse the old photos and town history, before taking Sam for a walk along the train tracks to let him stretch his legs.  The drive back was just as beautiful, but thankfully didn't involve a run-in with a camper van.