Let’s Go Down to the Port by Janet Pates

Archived version here.

A port, according to its dictionary definition is, ‘A haven. A place where ships load and unload.’

To its earliest inhabitants, Port Waikato was indeed a haven.  With fish, shellfish, whitebait and eels from sea and river, birds from the bush clad hills and kumara grown on the lower ground, their food baskets were seldom empty and visiting tribes often came to claim a share of the bounty.

There was a time when it also deserved the latter part of the dictionary description. Not any more.   Yet those who know it still say, “Let’s go down to The Port.”

Pakeha influence came early to this place.  First, a mysterious Captain Payne who appears then disappears from the history books after only a brief mention. In contrast, Charles Marshall’s well documented arrival in 1830 was accepted and accepting.  He fitted in, spent the rest of his life in the area and a myriad of his descendants now live hereabouts.

On his heels came Robert Maunsell who was pleased to find such a populous site for his mission station which flourished here from 1839 to1854 before a gift by the local chief of 750 acres of arable land prompted a move up river to Te Kohanga.

During those years ships called to trade in flax and other commodities, but it wasn’t until 1863 and the Waikato campaign of the Land Wars that Port Waikato fully grew into its dictionary definition.  

With the river playing a vital part in the supply of the British forces, hotels, a court house, commissariat stores, barracks and naval yards sprang up. Port Waikato Post Office was an important staging post, with mail delivered from Onehunga by ship and then carried overland by runners to points south.

Entry to the Port was not without its hazards. Several ships have been wrecked on the bar and history tells us of a group of settlers who left Onehunga and endured eighteen days of  storms and off shore winds, before finally setting weary feet on shore at Port Waikato. Years later the place was described by one less than enthusiastic expert as ‘a grave yard for ships.’

Nevertheless, until the middle of the twentieth century, the port saw shipyard work carried out and trade flourished, latterly due mainly to the efforts of Caesar Roose, life-long champion of river and coastal shipping.  His vessels carried all manner of cargo and passengers, and not least many hundreds of children who came down the river to spend time at the Port Waikato health camp.

In 1948 Roose purchased a U.S Navy L.S.T. (landing ship tank) in Hawaii and brought it to New Zealand, hoping for a revival in New Zealand’s coastal shipping trade. History was against him and over the next few years, the area’s use as a port dwindled away. Today, there are still a few reminders of those early times. 

Let’s take a look.

A few yards short of the wharf a pair of huge Moreton Bay fig trees mark the site of the old military barracks. After the conflict, the building served as a private dwelling then as shearers’ quarters before being destroyed by fire in 1984.  Old photographs show the court house perched on the nearby hillside, but it too is long gone.

The wharf still exists, though much reduced in size and looking a little tired. In summer you may find local children diving from it, or a holidaymaker fishing for sprats.  Today its sole occupant is a seagull who sits on the rail, shoulders hunched, breast feathers riffling in the breeze. 

A visit to the Wharf Store is a must, not only for the proverbial needle, anchor or, more probably, ice cream, but to take a look at the old photographs on display: the wharf in its heyday, ships large and small, the tiny post office in its last, decrepit days.  Be sure not to miss the photo of a man and boys with their catch of snapper, one almost as big as the lad who holds it.

On the knoll behind the store is the Cobourne Reserve. Gifted to the district by two sisters whose home once occupied the site, the reserve is one of the most attractive public spaces you could hope to visit. Developed and cared for by a team of local volunteers, it spills down the slope in a series of colourful gardens and grassy paths to a children’s play area at the river’s edge. Just off the pebbly beach three hardy locals stand up to their waists in water as they dip their nets for whitebait.

A sign proclaims the house across the road from the reserve as ‘The Pilot’s House.’ Though much altered and added to over its one hundred and thirty year lifetime, it is the house from which the pilot kept watch for ships before setting off to guide them in over the treacherous bar. 

If we were to follow this road for twenty six kilometres it would bring us to the Nīkau Cave with its pleasant cafe; but that expedition warrants a day all to itself.  Instead, we’ll turn right across the bridge to Maraetai Bay where the wide and shallow reach of the river provides a safe swimming area for families from the nearby motor camp. 

The roads behind the bay are named after the missionaries, Maunsell, Stack and Ashwell and, before we carry on to the open coast, let’s spend a few moments at the corner of Stack Road, the site of the old mission station.

Tucked in behind an information board is a monument in memory of Susan Maunsell.  Spare a thought for this missionary’s wife. Described by Lady Franklin on a visit to the mission as  ‘a very fair and pleasant looking woman of soft and gentle manner,’ she came half way round the world to do what she no doubt saw as her Christian duty, produced seven children, suffered years of ill health and died here, aged thirty seven.

The next stretch of road is bordered by houses, a mix of permanent and holiday homes. The area has escaped the worst excesses of seaside development and most of the dwellings are modest affairs in the true spirit of the kiwi bach. Several of them are available as holiday rentals.

This brings us to the open sea. You won’t find sparkling, silver sand and gentle waves, for this is a grey, west coast beach with an overlay of blue- black iron, surf which rolls in with a throaty roar and a backdrop of  rugged hills.

Today, the surf patrol flags are out but there are no swimmers. Only three wet-suited surfers brave the spring chill, a couple of fishermen try their luck from the rocks and a few children play in the sand, its colour of no consequence to them.

The sheltered nook in the cliff face that was once our favoured picnic spot has long since eroded away so we spread our rug on the grass,  break out our picnic meal and idle away  the next hour.  Towards evening when the wind drops, we’ll take a stroll along the beach and watch the sun slip into the sea in an extravaganza of rose and purple and gold for the name of this place is Sunset Beach.

Port Waikato is an hour, and a world, away from Auckland. So next time you feel the need to step aside from your everyday life for a day, or two, or more, perhaps you will think of this place and join the ranks of those who say, “Let’s go down to The Port.”

About the writer:  Janet Pates writes both fiction and nonfiction for children and adults. She has an interest in local history, on which topics she has written various articles. You can read one of Janet’s children’s stories on the Christchurch City Libraries website. She is also listed at www.southaucklandwriters.org.nz

‘Let’s Go Down to the Port’ was written for the Memoir & Local History Competition 2011, run annually by the New Zealand Society of Authors (Bay of Plenty Region) with support from Tauranga Writers.

Morton Bay Fig trees mark the previous site of the British Army barracks.


Memorial to Susan Maunsell died 1851 aged 37 years.



Cobourne Reserve, maintained by dedicated volunteers.



Port Waikato Store. Fish hooks, meat pies and other necessities.


The wharf - a remnant of times past.


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This page archived at Perma CC in October of 2016: https://perma.cc/968G-2HQ3