Day 26 looked simple on paper: drive round the coast from Auckland to our next stop by the sea. In reality, it turned into one of those โare we lost or just on an adventure?โ kind of days.
Not long after we set off, the main road was closed. No neat little detour, just a sign and a โgood luckโ vibe. The sat-nav rerouted us onto a gravel track that went on for what felt like forever. For nearly two hours we rattled through misty green hills, past farms and forest, watching the tarmac disappear behind us and wondering if we were still on an actual road or had accidentally driven onto someoneโs driveway.
Eventually, the gravel spat us back out at the coast and we rolled down to Wharekaho / Simpsonโs Beach, just north of Whitianga. The day was grey but calm, the sea almost glassy. The beach here sits on Mercury Bay, a long, gentle curve of sand looking out towards the islands and headlands of the Coromandel.
The sand was the first surprise. At the high-tide line itโs a mix of pale sand and streaks of inky black, like someone had taken a giant charcoal stick and dragged it along the shore. Those dark layers come from volcanic minerals that have washed down from the surrounding hills over time and settled into the beach, so every wave rearranges a little bit of the Coromandelโs geology at your feet.
Dotty immediately claimed a driftwood log throne, sitting in her wellies and quietly lining up stones in front of her. Behind her, the dunes and banks show exposed roots and layers of dark soil where storms have bitten into the land, so you get this lovely contrast: wild, messy nature behind, calm silver water in front.
What makes Wharekaho extra special is its history. This bay is part of the rohe (tribal area) of Ngฤti Hei, descendants of the ancestor Hei who arrived here on the Te Arawa waka.
In 1769, this was the site of one of the first formal meetings between local Mฤori and Captain James Cookโs crew. Cook had sailed into Mercury Bay to observe the transit of Mercury for navigation and mapping, and at Wharekaho, at the former Wharetaewa Pฤ, his crew were welcomed with a pลwhiri โ a ceremonial greeting that involved speeches, haka, and the exchange of gifts. It was a rare moment of careful diplomacy in an era that often went the other way, and itโs still remembered as a significant early contact between Ngฤti Hei and Europeans.
While the girls dug in the sand, I stood looking out across Mercury Bay, trying to imagine waka and tall ships sitting where the moored boats now lie. The only sounds were the small waves and some distant birds.
Not a postcard day. No sunshine, no dramatic cliffs, no thermal spa.
Just black sand, old stories, and a quiet bay at the end of a mad gravel road.
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