My quest was to find a beach with pure white sand. Passing over a mountain as I headed south, I caught sight of white dunes to the east. Behind them, was a sheltered lagoon. I imagined a perfect beach, but there was no road leading in that direction. Finally, some fifty kilometres further south, I turned into Rarawa and on to Henderson Bay and found the illusive white sand, powdery fine. I walked over the lonely beach dotted with shells. Ripples rolled in over the fallen tide and the seabed lay flat as if it would take a marathon to reach deeper waters.
I left the Bay of Islands to head back to Auckland and a flight to Australia. My daughter was getting married. I had always joked when I lived in Australia that I’d visit New Zealand when I retired. Long before retirement, I’d moved to Canada and it took this special occasion, before I had the opportunity to actually see a part of a country that had once been my close neighbour.
