13 minute read
WHY IS THE ABEL TASMAN SO POPULAR?
TE WAHAROA
GATEWAY TO THE PARK
Words: Renee Thomas.
A distinctive landmark in Mārahau greets all visitors who approach the National Park from the South - a carved waharoa (entranceway). It tells the story of migration of the tūpuna (ancestors) of the people who live here today as tangata whenua in Te Tauihu (Top of the South Island).
At the start of the 19th Century a group of whānau and hapū (families) from Kāwhia and Taranaki were seeking a better life away from the pressures on land and resources in the North Island and made the courageous decision to leave in search of their needs for survival, land, water and food resources.
The group from Kāwhia were the Ngāti Rārua, Ngāti Koata and Ngāti Toa Rangatira people from the Tainui waka. The group from Taranaki were the Ngāti Tama and Te Ātiawa people from the Tokomaru waka. Together, they left their homelands in the 1820’s and travelled South in search of a place to settle with more access to resources. This journey is depicted in the waharoa with the people in the waka and the maunga (mountains) showing where they came from.
There were other Māori already settled in areas of Te Tauihu, but this new group of migrants arrived and by right of conquest and occupation the people of Ngāti Rārua and Te Ātiawa became the Manawhenua here in Mārahau and Motueka. This blend of war and peace is represented in the carvings with Rongo-māTāne, on the left, the atua (deity) of peace and cultivated food. Large areas of Mārahau were cultivated and an abundance of food resources were available here – this was the food basket of the tūpuna. There are many recorded battle sites in the area as it was highly contested as a valuable resource, the conflicts here are represented by Tūmatauenga, the atua of war, on the right.
Underneath Rongo-māTāne are two figures, these signify the Motueka and Riuwaka rivers, the two rivers that must be crossed to get to Mārahau. Underneath Tūmatauenga are carvings that depict the intricate caves that are under Piki-ki-runga (Tākaka Hill) these cave networks extend from the Riuwaka resurgence right through to Tākaka and Waikoropupū Springs. The figure in the middle at the top is representative of Turangaapeke, a tupuna of both Ngāti Rārua and Te Ātiawa whānau in Motueka, this is also the name of the Wharenui at Te Āwhina Marae.
As visitors exit at this Southern end of the park, they will see carvings on the other side of this waharoa. This side of the Waharoa is telling a story of the natural elements that affect everything in this special place known as Mārahau (windy garden). Each morning Tama-nui-te-Rā rises in the East, in the centre, Te Ao (the clouds) are depicted. On the
The waharoa that greets visitors to the Southern end of the National Park in Mārahau.
right is Tāwhirimātea (atua of the winds and storms) who brings the wind every afternoon in the summer months, which is renowned in this area.
On the left side is Tāne Mahuta (atua of the forest), a reminder of where you have been, or that you may be about to enter his domain. On the right side is Haumia-tiketike (atua of uncultivated plants): large areas of the Mārahau valley and what is now National Park was covered in forest where wildlife flourished and many plant species naturally grew - another valuable food resource for the Tūpuna. The name Mārahau translates literally as windy garden, not just for its cultivated foods, as the whole area would have been a great kai (food) gathering area. The Tuangi (cockle) beds were abundant, the sea teeming with life and the forests and valleys full of birds.
At the very bottom, left and right are two faces, these are the two sides of Papatūānuku (Mother Earth’s) face. We must always be mindful of where we step and to tread lightly as we walk over her, so future generations can enjoy these taonga (treasures), like the National Park, which are in our care as Kaitiaki (guardians) for today.
This carving was commissioned by Department of Conservation as part of a series of installations in the National Park to start to re-indigenise the space. The carver is Mark Davis, a Master Carver from Nelson, and the timber is Tōtara sourced from the West Coast. This narrative has been a collaboration between Manawhenua Iwi and Department of Conservation.
A MINDFUL WALK IN THE PARK
Words: Johny O’Donnell.
I have always loved this whakataukī (proverb) that speaks to the dynamic perspectives of time where the past, the present and the future are seen as intertwined and free from boundaries.
MY HISTORY, YOUR HISTORY, OUR HISTORY
For me, a mindful walk in the Abel Tasman is about being conscious of my own relationship with the area and the history that takes a bit of time and effort to seek out, but it offers much richness and understanding of our story as a nation. It’s about diving deeper than the glossy photos and brochures that now tell the stories of the Abel Tasman to the world.
This magazine is a part of that effort to go deeper and tell more of the plethora of stories that connect people to this place that we now call the Abel Tasman National Park. From here on out, I may refer to this place as“the park” or “down the bay” as you’ll hear most locals doing.
I read recently that “nostalgia is a file that removes the rough edges from the good old days” and that resonated with me as I reflect on being a child growing up in and around the park. There is no doubt that a lot has changed since I was a child in Motueka and I am very likely guilty of applying rose tinted glasses to my childhood interactions with the park. However, the practice of looking back on those days and hearing old stories still triggers a strong sense of nostalgia as I recall the sights, sounds and smells that shaped my childhood experience of the park and the wider region.
My family’s history in this area is relatively short and our ties are much stronger in the far north and deep south. As it happens, my parents chose to ‘meet in the middle’ and settle in Motueka where I had the privilege of growing up. My father worked in the visitor sector for decades and it’s been with great pleasure that I’ve been able to reconnect with the sector in my own line of work over the past 5 years.
As a kid, I used to wait on the shores of Kaiteriteri beach for my old man as he brought the Wilsons dinghy ashore. The first order of business was often to throw me some change and ask me to fetch a pouch of Port Royal from the Kaiteriteri Store for the day ahead. “It’s for (cont’d) Grant” was about the extent of the identification required back then - how quickly things have changed. A soggy lukewarm steak and cheese pie each was the designated breakfast of champions for us hardy locals. A layer of fat used to stick to the roof of your mouth for the duration of your journey up the park. Pure bliss.
We’re living through a fascinating period of the park’s history with the regeneration and restoration of the Abel Tasman in full flight fuelled by substantial philanthropic commitments, thousands of volunteer hours from locals, a collaborative mindset from local operators and leadership from conservation groups, mana whenua and DOC. Anyone who knows the park well can really notice the difference and yet this chapter in the park’s story is still in its infancy and has largely focused on control and eradication to make way for the thousands of species and plants that belong in the area.
Captain Grant O’Donnell at the tiller.
Our human history in the Abel Tasman goes back several hundred years. Māori lived here and gathered kai along the coast and in the ngahere (bush). Māori history in this area is largely shaped by a series of epic migrations from the north and for the mana whenua of this area, the park is a very special and significant taonga.
One of the stranger aspects of the park is the name itself – Dutch explorer Abel Janszoon Tasman never (cont’d)
actually set foot in what we now consider the national park. The closest he came was anchoring at Wharewharangi Bay near Wainui Inlet at the north end of the park back in 1642, which was followed by a violent encounter with Ngāti Tūmatakōkiri after which he set sail again and never returned. This was the first encounter between Europeans and tangata whenua. The area was also missed by Captain Cook’s expeditions and wasn’t encountered by Europeans again until Dumont d’Urville in 1827.
By the 1850’s, land was being sold to European settlers and farming was taking over. The impacts of this era are still evident today, although the park is changing constantly. In more recent history, the recreational and tourism potential of the park has taken precedence. It was the rumour of a proposal to establish a sawmill at Tōtaranui in 1937 that prompted environmental campaigner and Nelson resident, Perrine Moncrieff, to start pushing for the area to be designated a National Park. Ultimately, she was successful and the Abel Tasman is now New Zealand’s smallest but most popular national park
Another O’Donnell family outing in the park circa 2001
IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW YOU GO...
I’ve kayaked, walked, flown, boated and even skydived in the Abel Tasman in my lifetime – all of which are truly epic ways to experience this slice of paradise. It’s fair to say the transport mode preferred by my father ‘Captain Grant’ has always been by water and he’s not much of a swimmer, so I’ll let you do the math on that one. He used to quip that he was a good skipper because he can’t stand swimming!
My weekends and school holidays involved a lot of boat trips up and down the bay. Looking back, it was probably quite a formative time for me as a child meeting people from all different corners of the world and walks of life, learning to hold a conversation with them and manaaki them as a ‘relative’ local to the area. I remember the days going so slowly – journeying up and down the coastline, dropping people off looking uncertain and apprehensive and picking them up looking several years younger and so much more relaxed. That’s the true Abel Tasman experience. At lunchtime, we used to park the boat up for a couple of hours in Tōtaranui and devour a thermos of tea and a packet of biscuits. Interestingly, Dad used to always have a pair of binoculars to keep an eye on the visitors. One can only assume this was a safety monitoring device rather than something more sinister.
The people of the park are such a special part of the experience – we’d drop care packages up and down the coast to people working or staying in the park. The boats you see in the park are not just passenger ferries – they’re also the unofficial wardens of the park (making the Abel Tasman a truly safe destination for adventure) and the local mail service delivering parcels of food and essentials (many of which come in glass bottles from memory) up and down the bay.
THE BEST OF OUR BUSH AND BEACH.
The Abel Tasman has been made famous for its unique combination of bush and beach. The crystal clear waters and golden sands can be likened to something of a tropical island. But the park also has a fascinating history and is home to generations of stories that capture the experience of living in this region. Te Tauihu (Nelson, Tasman and Marlborough) is thought to be the most ancient and diverse landscape in Aotearoa New Zealand which makes the protection and restoration of biodiversity in the area so much more important and your experience here so much more special.
COVID-19 has changed the dynamics of the park and offered, perhaps, a more restful period from international visitation. A chance to reconsider and reset our relationship with tourism going forward. The visitor sector based in and around the Abel Tasman supports hundreds of jobs and injects millions into the local economy. Every paid journey into the Abel Tasman supports the management and conservation needs of the park through a concession system (which also manages the flow and numbers of people entering the national park) and a voluntary contribution by operators to the Abel Tasman Birdsong Trust.
You have to see and experience it to truly understand it. On a clear day, a walk in the Abel Tasman can be almost blinding. The glistening sights of the golden beaches, the smell of the seabreeze and the sounds of the birdsong provide a sensory feast that truly never fails to amaze and delight.
Aren’t we lucky?
WILDING PINE REMOVAL
A COMMUNITY EFFORT
Words: Robyn Janes. Photography: Ruth Bollongino (fernphotos.com), and Andrew MacAlister.
It seems strange to celebrate dying trees in a national park. But the grey skeletal remains of wilding pines you see on the ridges of the Abel Tasman are a tribute to a community project that has stopped a huge green tidal wave from changing the park’s landscape forever.
Wilding pine trees are a serious problem in New Zealand. In the Abel Tasman National Park it is estimated that at their peak, wilding conifers like radiata (Pinus radiata) and maritime pine (Pinus pinaster), had infested 10 thousand hectares, or nearly half, the park.
Local tourism operator Darryl Wilson remembers family picnics to Adele Island back in the 1970’s to pull young pine trees as part of an event organised by honorary rangers. “It was a recreational activity as kids, we knew they weren’t supposed to be there and it was fun to pull them out.”
An ecological disaster.
But pulling a few seedlings was never going to keep pace with the runaway train that is wilding conifers. The unwanted seedlings spread from introduced trees and seeds can be blown many kilometres by the wind. Young seedlings quickly infest an area and once established, the pines compete with native plants and animals for sunlight and water, severely altering New Zealand’s unique landscapes.
“You started noticing one or two pines, poking out, interrupting the skyline, it was visually jarring. Then there were more and more,” says Darryl.
Back in 2007 concerned locals and tourism operators had formed the Abel Tasman Birdsong Trust, realising the community could make a huge difference in the park. The Trust’s aim was to bring back the birdsong. Initially its efforts were focused on trapping but volunteer members soon realised wilding pines were a major problem.
“The Department of Conservation didn’t have the man power, or the funds to deal to the pines and the Trust could leverage the dollars from tourism operators to do greater things. Every dollar we raised could attract more dollars, so the Birdsong Trust provided the vehicle to start nailing the wildings,” says Darryl.
It was a timely intervention. Ecological consultant and now Project Janszoon operations manager Andrew Macalister likens it to a slow-motion train wreck. “Hundreds of thousands of wildings were creeping along the coast and ridges of the park. If we had done nothing the ridgelines would have eventually turned into pine forests,” he says.
Andrew is a man who knows his pines. He has been at the forefront of the fight against wildings in the Abel Tasman and Marlborough Sounds. Despite the fact a few (cont’d)
