We worried, when we moved to Masterton, about how we were going to give Arki his daily exercise. It was no issue when we had a park-sized lawn at the Card House, with nothing more than a few oak trees to get in Arki's way as he chased the ball back and forth. But our new section, although flat and pretty, is much smaller. What to do?
Take a left turn at the south end of Harley Street, then a right onto South Road and drive past the Hood Aerodrome until you reach a dead end. You’re now at the entry of the off-leash dog park that runs alongside the Waingawa River.
Legend has it the 48 kilometre-long river was first named by Haunui-a-Nanaia, the great-grandson of Kupe, for its meandering nature (‘awangawanga’ means uncertain or troubled). Originally called Waiāwangawanga, the river's name is supposed to be corrected as part of a Treaty settlement.
Ironically, the same river that Haunui thought didn’t know where it was going now forms the southwestern boundary of Masterton.
“If you stand on one side of the river, you’re in Carterton,” an old school friend who lives nearby told me. “On the other side, you’re in Masterton.”
None of this concerns Arki or I as we leave the car and pick our way through discarded takeaway boxes, squashed drink cans and broken glass at the walk’s entrance. “Don’t be a tosser,” a Council sign plaintively reads. “Dispose of your rubbish responsibly.”
The first section of the dog walk runs alongside the Aerodrome, home of the Wairarapa Aero Club and the Flying Tigers (a vintage aviation society). Microlights and Tiger Moths alike glide beautifully but scarily low over us as they come in to land.
Another sign, this one bright yellow, is affixed to the wire fence. “Please keep your dog restrained. They love chasing hares and will be through the fence faster than you can say ‘dog pound’ or ‘My dog just caused a plane crash.’
Past the fence, I remove Arki’s lead, and he races ahead of me to an open area where the trail diverges. To the left, behind a small bank of scrub, you can see a row of concrete blocks. They mark the end of the local drag strip, bordered by farmland on one side and the river on the other. Alongside the 900-metre long asphalt track there’s a wide open grassed area perfect for ball throwing
When we first found the drag strip, I assumed it had been abandoned mid-construction. There were cows grazing near a wire fence and a long graveled section at one end of the strip. But I know nothing about drag racing; Barnard told me the gravel was put there intentionally to save the cars (and drivers) with dodgy brakes. The next time we were there, two men and a women were unloading a car from a trailer. They said dog walkers are welcome to use the strip, as long as we don’t get in the way.
If it’s a warm day, we’ll bypass the strip in favour of the dirt trail that follows the river. Arki frequently disappears into the long grass that grows on either side, interspersed with blackberry bushes, honeysuckle and wild fennel. Several trails of flattened grass lead down to the river; near one, a three-sided hut stands in tree shade. The first time we approached the hut, Arki growled and there was a faded green towel hanging from one wall. I called him back and we continued on our way.
The section of the river where we like to stop is, you might say, off the main drag. Here, the water is clear and still, unlike the river which rushes past. I pick up one of the many sticks lying on the riverbank. The large and small rocks packed together in the sand look like planets and stars in an overcrowded sky. Again and again I throw the stick for Arki into water so clear I can see four white paws carefully plucking their way across the riverbed as he returns.
There is little sound here apart from the occasional pair of geese and some clanking machinery in the distance. Masterton’s drinking water is extracted from the river at a treatment plant about 10km west of the town. Much farther away lie the peaks of the Tararua Ranges, where the Waingawa’s source is deeply hidden near the highest peak, The Mitre.
Eventually, if we walk far enough, the trail ends and the only way ahead is across the stony river bank. We’ve never followed it, but if we did we’d eventually arrive at the point where the Waingawa merges with the Ruamahanga at Te Whiti, near Gladstone.
It’s time to go home. As we retrace our steps, I consider the life of this mighty but humble river that provides enough drinking water for a small city; a natural boundary between two districts; and an attractive exercise space for dogs and their walkers. Not only that, but being beside it gives me a spiritual boost. Out here I feel joy and peace; a sense that all is right with the world. Out here I feel alive.
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