I’ve officially made my way up to the North Island. I always hear that the South Island is the most beautiful, and has to be seen by taking a road trip. I decided to push that adventure until the warmer months and took my road trip up north.

I was able to rent a car for 3 months – the duration of my farm job – and luckily was able to get one for a price that wouldn’t eat up all of my future earnings. Although it is known that the US drives on the opposite side of the road than New Zealand does, they don’t require anything from you to get started. Like any other car rental, they scan your documents into their system, take your payment, and hand over the keys.

While I was loading the car with my bags, I kept going to the wrong side for the driver’s side of the car. I kept trying to play it off like I meant to go to that side, as if they were going to march up to me and snag the keys back for being a danger to their roadways. Eventually, I made it become instinct, and I tried to act like it wasn’t the strangest thing ever seeing the inside of the car inverted.

Everything is mainly in the same position, like the pedals, turn signals, and windshield wipers, but the gear shift is of course on the left. Even now, after driving for several days, I’ll sometimes move my right hand to shift the gear into drive, and find myself hitting the door instead. Overall though, it only took me about a day to get used to, if that. I credit the little niggle of anxiety that I was blessed with upon birth for helping me stay hyper-focused on being within the lines on the correct side of the road.

One thing I’m still getting used to is the winding turns on the majority of the roads. Some of these back roads are constantly curving, but set their speed limits at 100 km/hr, which is also the general top speed on their expressways. I don’t have the confidence to take turns at those speeds, and luckily a lot of their roads have “slow bays” where you can pull over and allow people to pass you.

To start out my road trip, I had flown into Auckland, the first airport I had arrived in about a month ago. From there, I took my car and drove up north even further, taking me into what they call the Northland. This section is smaller and has a great assortment of beautiful beaches, surrounded by some of the bluest water I’ve ever seen.

I decided to stay a few nights in Whangarei, a place I had heard about before in passing, and saw they had a notorious waterfall. It doesn’t take much for me to decide on a place. Give me a water feature and I’ll be there. I stayed in a hostel called the Cell Block, which used to be a prison, but was converted into a fairly cozy place to sleep.

The one full day I had in the area, I packed my daylight hours full of adventures. Most of the spots I had chosen to visit I had only discovered the night before, and luckily they all turned out to be amazing recommendations.

I started my morning with a journey to Smuggler’s Bay. This was a little section of beach with white sand, tucked away so that you could only access it by a quick 15 minute walk. There were other routes available, some taking longer to take you to more sights on your way. I had decided to take a longer route out to the beach, and then finish up on the short trek back.

To preface, the weather was fairly nice while I was there. The sun was out and I hardly needed my jacket, especially in the sun. However, rain was prone to shower down at a moment’s notice, and while it didn’t often last long, it happened in random intervals throughout the day.

That being said, the path was unpaved, and the ground was a wreck.

The paths to Smuggler’s Bay were all through farmland, and they were made to be dirt paths. A few steps into the trail, I realized that the rain must have been going on for a while, and the ground hadn’t had a moment to breathe and recover. The path quickly came to the fork in the road, where I could climb up a hill and get to the beach in 15 minutes, or go straight and flat for a while and get some more views. I went straight.

The mud came in patches initially, where I could scope out an easier way around and skirt the worst of it. Unfortunately, that strategy didn’t last for long. Maybe a quarter of a mile in, the path was at the base of a large hill, meaning the water must have collected at the bottom. The mud was inescapable, and my shoes were nearly getting pulled off of my feet. Every step was punctuated by a threatening sucking sound from the destroyed ground.

While stuck in this pit of despair, I figured it was only going to get worse from there. I decided to turn around and try my luck on the shorter path. As long as I got to the bay, the trip was a success, and I didn’t want to start my day off on a failure.

Already, the shorter path was much better. Again, there were some small muddy patches, but they weren’t nearly as large or as bad as that initial trail. The climb up was making me sweat already in the morning sun, so I stripped off my two layers of jackets and was fine in my tank top despite the winter season.

As the path took me through farmland, I noticed cows grazing in the distance, standing on steep hills like it was nothing to them. I heard a bunch of bird calls that were foreign to me. Some calls activated my fight or flight because they sounded like someone was in pain, or getting murdered in the distance. One duck yelled at me every time I passed him. Not many friends were made this journey.

Almost halfway to the beach, I rounded a corner and scared myself as I became face-to-face with a group of cows. Most of them continued to graze, while one stared at me, his gaze unwavering. I know cows are generally friendly, and I’ll be working with them personally soon, but it felt like he had it out for me.

This group was standing directly in the way of my path, and I figured it would be fine to trudge through them. I stood with them taking photos for a second, as I wanted to document their closeness. I guess my pause was enough to make them curious, because the one with the menacing gaze came trotting towards me. Again, I know I’ll be working with cows soon, but they weren’t my cows. I didn’t know them like that and he freaked me out with his forwardness. I backed up a bit, and turned around, walking back around the curve for a reprieve.

I stood there for a moment, wondering if I was going to let a cow turn me from my destination, or if I would go make friends with him. I turned back around and saw that he had rounded the bend as well, and was still staring at me in his way. Still unsure what to do, I turned back around and kept walking back the way I’d come.

As I reached the beginning of the descent back down to the start of the path, I figured now was a good time to try the path again. Surely the cows had moved by then, and I would be fine to go. Luckily, that was true, and the cows had moved over a few yards so that the path was clear when I returned. My menace was none the wiser to my presence.

The rest of the walk down was a breeze, although it wasn’t well-marked, so I second guessed my choices a bit.

Walking onto the beach, I had the whole place to myself. I had seen another couple hiking, but they had veered off onto another path, and I had no idea where they went. The sand was a pristine white, barely sullied from any footprints. I felt like I shouldn’t even be stepping on it as it seemed like no one else had.

There were hills on either side of the small strip of beach, keeping it secluded and creating its own little alcove in the world. It was just me and a few of my fellow bird friends enjoying the sand and the water.

I was wearing my hiking boots, so I didn’t get to step into the water and feel the winter ocean, but I did lean in and brush my fingertips through it just to say I’d touched it.

After soaking in the peaceful scenery for a while, I decided it was time to grab some coffee and retraced my steps through the farmland. There were no more unfortunate cow encounters on my way back to my car, though I swear I felt the one’s eyes on me as I passed near him again.

My pit stop for coffee found me at the cutest local cafe where everybody seemed to know each other. The second a new person came through the door, hugs were exchanged and familiar conversations ensued. I sat drinking my flat white and eating my croissant, enjoying the feel of a true neighborhood community.

My second hike of the day took me to A. H. Reed Memorial Park. This park is a remnant of the original Northland kauri forest, but only a few kauri trees still live here. The kauri trees I would compare to sequoias, in the way that they are centuries old trees with massive trunks that tower above you. The walk through the trees was on a raised wooden walkway, taking me above a bubbling stream and through vibrant greenery.

Before my trek through the woods began, rain came falling out of nowhere, chasing me under a canopy with two older women and their dogs. We talked for a bit as we waited out the rain, me enjoying the company of their dogs and them getting to know more about me. We parted ways, but when I ran into them again beneath the kauri trees, they told me of a different path I could take that would lead me to Whangarei falls, which happened to be the next stop on my list already.

Following their advice, I strode over to that other path and followed it through more muddy patches, though this time it was easier to hold on to my shoes. For some reason, wooden bridges over running water are some of my favorite things ever to experience, and this trail had two of them. I was thriving.

After the first swinging bridge, I walked for several more minutes until I heard the rushing sound of the falls. The first sight that came into focus was the arching wooden bridge in front of the falls. Coupled with the hanging leaves and the majestic falls behind it all, I felt like I’d stepped into a scene from a fairy fantasy world. I’m pretty sure I audibly gasped and got abnormally excited about the whole scene – aloud. Again, I’ve been lucky in getting to explore many of these wonders in pure solitude, so there was no one else’s peace to disturb.

I had the entire oasis to myself as I drew closer, feeling the mist from the falls on my skin, seeing the flecks of it floating through the air, cutting through the streams of sunlight. I basked in the beauty of it for a while, enjoying the view of the falls from every angle. The view from the bridge was essential, and I also walked up to the car park to get a view from the top. Of course, by then more people started to flood in, but I’d already gotten everything that I needed.

My third hike of the day took me to the opposite coast, but was only a 30 minute drive away. It was about 3pm at this point, but I had just enough daylight to squeeze in one more adventure.

I’d read about the Tutukaka Lighthouse Walkway, and figured I might as well do it. I hadn’t read too deeply about it, but I did recall that the trail was tide dependent, and I had no clue if we were going to be in high or low tide. I got there and the trail was listed as being 1.5 hours round trip, so I had really timed it just right.

Immediately, I was almost ankle deep in mud. I’m not sure why I kept forgetting about the mud. Every time I started another hike, I’d blacked out the previous mess and started fresh, just to be instantly reminded why I was storing my hiking boots in a plastic bag between drives.

The mud was pretty bad the first section of the hike. Once I crested the hill, though, and got a view of the ocean stretching for thousands of miles before me, the mud had cleared and I was presented with a long set of stairs. Halfway down, I remembered that I’d have to climb them back up. I shoved that thought to the side, letting the suffering wait until I was in it.

At the bottom of the stairs, a small strip of beach awaited me. I’d seen a fleeting photo of this part of the trail, but I hadn’t truly looked at it to know what I was getting myself into. The sandy strip had the ocean lapping to the shore on both sides, a small walkway that allowed the waves to crash on its shore from two different points. It was absolutely incredible to witness, and it’s definitely made it’s way to one of my top favorite views.

I walked down the beach a short distance until I found where the ocean reconnected through the strip. The beach turned into rock at this section, and with the (what I think was) rising tide, the water flowing between the rocky shore I stood on and the one that stood a few feet away began to fill higher. There were two rocks I could use to hop across to continue the path, and they were continuously submerged with every wave that crashed through. I spent several minutes second guessing if I should cross, but one couple who had been trailing behind me did it, so I figured I might as well, too.

Once on the other side, I couldn’t find the rest of the trail. I assume now that the tide was too high and it needs to be much lower for it to actually be exposed. But when I was there, there was nothing, and no indication of where one might be. I accepted the fact that I wouldn’t be finding the lighthouse, a photo of which I hadn’t even seen in all the articles I read. Despite only making it midway, the view that I did find was worth the third bout of mud, and the one foot that got submerged on my jump back to the first side of the beach.

Making my way to the stairs again, a mist spritzed down, just for fun. I looked back over the stretch of sand that I was struggling to part with and saw a perfect rainbow cresting over the top of a large rock figure. It felt like one of those perfect moments in life, witnessing such a thing in such a beautiful spot. I’ve since seen about three rainbows a day, which is probably because it likes to drop short bursts of rain almost every hour to spice things up a bit.

I still have a few more adventures to go on my little road trip, but I think these few hikes are going to be my favorites from it all. I love the unexpected moments like these, where I go in barely knowing what to expect, and am absolutely blown away when I arrive.

Now here’s to hoping that my confidence with cows skyrockets once I step foot on my farm.