Open Writing

“Any one can whistle.” At least that’s what the song says, but can frogs? Well yes, down in the Catlins national park, as evening falls, frogs whistle in the trees and we have discovered “The whistling frog''.

Many years ago, I used to take groups of hormonal fourth formers down to Tautuku Lodge, the outward bound school in the Catlins, and try to teach the art of camping, tramping, river crossing and other such active, wet and muddy pursuits. We camped in a field, close to the Maclean falls and, with difficulty, bush bashing up and down goat tracks, we could reach the falls and admire their beauty or throw stones in, if you happened to be a fourth former. Then we would trudge back to the campsite, eat half cooked sausages, burnt on the outside and raw in the middle, smothered in ketchup to hide the taste and wrapped in bread, before collapsing into our sleeping bags and trying to rest before the following day’s tramp.

Full of lumpy porridge, flavoured with wood ash, we would head back to the lodge with our packs on our backs. The walk involved a long trek back to the gravel road, then a side track to Cathedral Caves, which are accessed at low tide by a steep descent through tree fern forests, caves indeed cathedral in proportion. Next came a hair-raising traverse along a cliff edge, with “oohs” and “ahhs” at the sight of the huge stacks below, with waves crashing around them. “Anyone been shipwrecked miss?” Then the flax swamps, “don’t lose sight of one blaze, (a bit of red plastic attached to something or other,) until you see the next one,” and, finally, the river crossings whose depths were governed by the state of the tide or the amount of rain; “don’t take your boots off, link arms, don’t move one foot until the other is on firm ground and never mind the sand sharks, they won’t hurt you,” she said hopefully. An easy stroll from there, along Tautuku beach, with the girls telling me all about their latest boy friends, and, at last, a hot shower and a decent cup of coffee before heading off in the mini-bus with the next lot of little darlings, for more burnt sausages. Happy days, and they were happy days.

Ah yes, the Catlins, one of our smallest National Parks and for a long time one of our least known, our own secret place. It is an area of glorious beaches with bush sweeping down to the edge of the sand. It’s a land of hidden waterfalls, slow flowing rivers and deep dark lakes reflecting the surrounding bush and resounding to the song of birds. It is quiet, it is peaceful, it is a hidden corner where one finds tranquillity.

The Catlins guards its secrets well. You have to read maps to discover which side road leads to which beach and you have to know where the seal and penguin colonies are, and you need to know how to reach the waterfalls and lakes. The locals know which beaches are good for surfing, which hold the best paua and where the fish are to be found but, for a long time, the tourist chugged along the route to Invercargill with, perhaps, a look at the Nuggets lighthouse, and feeling that there was nothing there to see. But times they are a changing and they are discovering “whistling frogs.”

So what has happened? Tourism and the tourist dollar. The Catlins is in the travel brochures, folk from all over the world have found us and we have welcomed them. The road is no longer gravel and therefore you don’t need to drive as though you were on sheet ice; it is now tar-sealed. No longer do you have to pack up a flask and sandwiches unless, like us, you want to, little cafes and milk bars have appeared and Owaka boasts upmarket restaurants. The small communities, once crib (holiday home) areas, now have motels, back packers and B and B’s. Sign posts point you to the Matai and Purakanui falls, the beaches and lakes and the DOC (department of conservation) folk and others run eco-tours to see the wild life. The activity of the old logging days is returning to our little corner in paradise, which brings me back to “The whistling frog''.

Remember the goat trail which I mentioned at the beginning of the article? Well it isn’t there any more. One of the enterprising high schools in Dunedin, no doubt based at Tautuku Lodge, with the help of DOC, has put a track in, suitable for little old ladies, like myself, to wander along. You follow the river, bubbling over little boulders and pushing its way into the bush, bush full of trees hung with lichen and covered with myriads of mosses, making mini-gardens in their own right. You cross bridges and you are aware of the sound of falling water becoming ever closer, a few hair-pin bends and a bit of “goat track” work brings you out onto the Viewing Platform (not that bit of an overhang I remember) and there they are thundering down around you in all their glory, hidden away in that once inaccessible bush and now an easy walk for our visitors.

But wait a minute. What of whistling frogs? Remember the field and the burnt/raw sausages. No more. Here we have a tourist complex, motels, chalets, cabins, tent sites and nice, flat, drive-in campervan bays, for the many hired vans which travel along our roads, all set back in the bush, all discreetly lit and all mod cons provided, but best of all “The Whistling Frog.”

“Frogs crossing,

Others Toad away.”

And there it is. Walk across the little bridge, hoping you won’t be “toad” away, and look at the tadpoles in the pond. Be prepared to enjoy a good meal, either in the sheltered courtyard with its big fireplace and gas braziers, or in the indoor restaurant. The friendly barman will greet you with wine in glasses which resemble brandy goblets, the chef will grin at you from the kitchen and the menu offers not the tasteless supermarket meat but luscious farm killed lamb and beef, fresh veg and good old rhubarb crumble, not to mention the fancier stuff. Yes burnt sausages are out and packed sandwiches not needed, we will sit back and listen to the frogs whistling in the trees and they really are real live frogs whose babies mature in the pond and then hop off to find their own tree, in this effort to increase and preserve this unique species.

“The Whistling Frog'', what a perfect place to round off a good day’s beach walking in the Catlins. Relax and enjoy.