Pataua Maunga
Pataua Maunga, wrapping herself around the Estuary that lies between the Taihururu River and Pacific Ocean, an anchor that sits between the ocean and the land, stands tall as a beacon of strength and comfort, her mission being to watch over the whānau living below and a fortress to scale for the enemies without.
Her loving arms cradles a rustic camping ground, a treasure that draws the ones who know and love this place back again and again to nestle into a way of life that invites rest and calm in the midst of storms.
The stories she has heard, the laughter resounding and tears seen in secret; she offers a sanctuary for the weary traveller and party going New Years revellers alike. This place, Pataua South which she guards jealously, and the northern coast which she extends her watchful eye over holds the stories and secrets of those who have graced this whenua and her presence for hundreds of years.
Most will not know her history and I’m grateful for the rahui that was placed in order to preserve the bones of her ancestors who worked, fought, lived, died and are buried there. I sit in my caravan, my room with this view and marvel at the way she has regenerated after many (of us) in the years past have trapsed our way up her narrow pathways to enjoy the vista, to watch the sunrise and for our teenagers to sleep the night entwined in her long grass under the stars.
‘Arohamai ki a Pataua Maunga’😞
Now though she is recovering from those colonial conquests. Papa Tūānuku | Mother Earth won’t be beaten by this marauding, destructive human species and once again trees & native bush are thickening her slopes, a kauri grove is gathering at her base and birdsong and wild life can be heard loud and shrill.
When I arrive here each summer in this magical and mysterious place she is the first to welcome me, bowing the tip of her peak, reaching out above the landscape and towering over the glistening estuary.
‘Haere mai’, she greets me, and when I leave I look back over my shoulder in gratitude for her gift of constant anchoring presence.
‘Haere ra ki a Maunga, tēnā koe!’
This year I’ve spent more time contemplating her beauty because I broke my foot falling down my caravan step and have since been confined to this room with her watching me through my window. I can hear the sound of the waves that lap her rocky shore and the beach beside her, the laughter of children playing in this free and easy place and the sound of people chatting and going about their slow and simple camping life, (well, maybe not so simple for some, glamping is a thing here too:)
Even when life is broken it moves on in all
of its ebbs, flows and cycles. To be stranded in place, real or liminal can feel disempowering and overwhelming yet perhaps it’s an opportunity to anchor and reset. Maybe it is also a glimpse into ways of seeing and being that are new, ways that are trying to breakthrough the concrete encrusted soil of our lives; those determined plants that we call weeds that force their way up through our neatly cobble-stoned pathways. If something is that determined why do we deem it an enemy to our niceties and throw it on the scrap pile? What perhaps is asked of us is to wait and notice, (which is the hard part in this fast and frenetic life) and to allow this new growth that we have prescribed as inconvenient, that arrives in a myriad of packaged experiences to flourish and find its place in our garden.
I’m not a subscriber of looking for the silver lining instantly the moment accidents happen. I think honesty that includes frustration and tears as loss and grief set in needs to come first and then received as it continues to arrive in inconvenient ensuing cycles. Somewhere in the midst (another way of describing middle ground maybe), and in the disappointment of harsh realities is where life also springs anew, alongside, not apart from suffering.
This regeneration comes first to the curious and not in conventional ways. To notice new arising requires attention which insists on a slow and patient stance. And if this position can be adopted then the nightsky that bursts forth its brilliant lights over this maunga is the limit to what may unfold.
This new year, hold on, open your eyes, look up, out and down, be still, breathe and watch your world unfurl like the ferns and palm trees that are growing wild and free on Pataua Maunga, she who has stood faithfully trusting in the wisdom of the earth and the universe. from where she & we all spring.
