With no prior knowledge of Sonchus novae-zelandiae, I stumbled across it by accident and was instantly struck by the attractiveness of this small herb. The glaucous rosettes contrast nicely from its older yellowing leaves. Perched atop quartz rich Marlborough schist, its salty looking fine hairs and flower buds appear at home by the sea edge.

No not Macca’s, but give it twenty years and there may be one gracing Oparara with its presence. The incredible karst landscape is currently being groomed into the new sparkling beauty of New Zealand tourism. A $5.7 million growth fund is proposed to bring large numbers of visitors to a fragile environment that hosts a range of endangered flora and fauna.

Waimangu takes claim to the most botanically rich geothermal area in New Zealand. The first species we encountered was prostrate kānuka (Kunzea ericoides var. microflora) which is small, at under two metres. The extreme heat of the ground means this species has to grow roots horizontally across the cooler exposed ground, becoming naturally bonsaied by heat.

The built structures along this piece of coast tell a history of geology and war. A salt-water swimming pool was constructed of scoria on the tides edge, as the medicinal properties of salt-water bathing were held in high regard at the time. Today, its barnacle crusted rim encircles a crater-like pool, reflecting the sky and the occasional bather. There is a simplicity in material used in these old structures that lets the landscape speak for and with itself.

Moehau peak hosts unique flora and fauna for a North Island forest, with a range of native coniferous species such as Halocarpus biformis and Manoao colensoi. It is also the northern limit for many southern species like Phyllocladus alpinus (toatoa) and Libocedrus bidwillii (pahautea). Paritu ‘granite’ forms most of Mt Moehau, this type of rock is rare in the North Island, but common in the South Island which may play into these plant distributions.

Emerging into a grassy scrubland below the base of these spires, I was struck by a healthy population of the limestone endemic Brachyglottis hectorii. The position owing to its wind dispersal mechanism. Carried by the wind, the seed drops here as it breaks against the cliff face. It is an attractive shrub in Asteraceae or daisy family, capable of heights to 4m with jagged toothed leaf margins. It shares cottony, tomentose leaves with bushman’s toilet paper (Brachyglottis repanda); a tramping and coronavirus desperation measure.

Tauhinu is responsible for the silvery-green and purple tones present in much of this landscape. The most striking example (eighth image), is a strong colour gradient between two species across the bluff. A very healthy population of Veronica parviflora starts as a dense, lime-green mass further inland. It diffuses into an even distribution of singular rounded shrubs amongst tauhinu and finally wanes closer to the coast.

Where fire hasn’t pruned the landscape, massive Griselinia trees dominate the forest. Attaining trunk diameters of at least 1.5m, impressive stout specimens drip with epiphytic Asplenium flaccidum. These trees dwarf suburban hedges of the same species by a hundred fold. Near the coastline, Griselinia fall over in themselves in twisted, tortured forms reminiscent of the Stranger Things creatures.

It is regrettable that beautiful landscapes such as Wharariki Beach become commodified as ‘Windows’ screensavers, leading to hordes of tourists firing flash photography at seal pups playing in the rock pools. A better experience of visiting such a surreal place, is being able to walk through a landscape comparable to the artwork of Salvador Dali. Wind-shorn, acid green mats of kānuka appear to be melting over the surface of 60 million year old quartz and feldspar sandstone.

The first part of the walk passes through sporadic patches of nīkau and ethereal pōhutukawa forest, amidst grazing sheep. We approach a small, rocky mound clothed in pōhutukawa jutting out into the sea. Almost an island and likely once was or will be, connected by a thin sand-spit to the mainland. As we approach, it becomes obvious that it has been terraced as a pā.

The interaction of prevailing winds, golden sand and sun, render a smooth undulating caramel-like surface across the landscape. These undulations over time, move in an easterly direction leaving crescent-shaped lakes and ephemeral wetlands in their wake. In one section pictured, the rare Eleocharis neozelandica (now only known from this location) registers as a thin mat of lime-green/brown in an ephemeral wetland. Eleocharis translated from latin is ‘charm of the swamp’ and the role it plays in the shifting pastel gradient from orange to green, certainly earns it the name.

Having made the journey in spring, we arrived too early in its phenology. However, the most spectacular part of viewing this shrub in the wild, is a soft hue change across a simple plant community of two species. In a basin at the foot of Castle Rock, a glossy, dark green sheet of flax (Phormium cookianum) rolls up to be punctuated by soft, glaucous clouds of Brachyglottis and contrastingly huge limestone boulders.

Now the ruins represent a concluded but not forgotten chapter in the story of the land and the people of Tairāwhiti, and in the fluctuating fortunes of 20th century New Zealand agriculture and economic development. Owing to the removal of the materials and roof, an emerging ecosystem of coastal forest has been claiming back the ruins for over half a century. Kohekohe (Dysoxylum spectabile), māhoe (Melicytus ramiflorus) and pōhutukawa (Metrosideros excelsa) are starting to form a lush canopy in the microclimate of the concrete ruins.