
The park
Grazing since 1961, camping since 1988 My grandfather ran Jerseys on this bend of the river and outspanned the wagon under the same wild pears that shade stands 12 to 19 today. In 1988 my father cut the first track down to the water and let six stands out for the December holidays. We have added a handful every decade since and stopped at forty-one, because that is as many as this bank can carry before the place starts to feel like a parking lot. It is still a farm. The milk tanker comes past the gate at half past five, the mist sits in the valley until nine most mornings, and the nearest shop is eleven kilometres away in Howick. What you get instead is a flat piece of kikuyu, a power point, a tap, and a river you can hear from inside the tent.









