Bach to basics
Home » Magazine » Good, issue 4 » Bach to basicsLong before the fancy beach house, the Kiwi bach gave us the chance to live a simpler, greener summer. Francesca Price takes a trip down memory lane to an old-fashioned Kiwi community where money won’t buy you a thing
Photographs by Rebecca Swan
The Te Hira family doesn’t worry about replacing its lightbulbs with compact fluorescents—they haven’t got any lights to replace. Their idyllic, waterfront bach on Rangitoto Island is an example of true sustainability.
Life here is simple: no frills, no fancy technology, no carbon footprint. The Te Hiras don’t agonise over which composting system to invest in; they chuck food scraps to the fish and birds. A recent offer to install a solar power system—free!—was declined; the older generation didn’t want to give the teenagers any opportunity to bring their mobile phones and computer games to the island.
Summer holidays at Rangitoto’s Islington Bay haven’t changed much in 90 years. Days are spent outside, gathering food from the sea and creeks, discovering the nooks and crannies of the rugged landscape and soaking up the solitude. Nights are passed huddled around candlelight, drinking and playing cards with the neighbours.
Deodar Meggitt and her father Sam Te Hira, have come to Islington Bay since each of them were kids
I know this well because I spent my childhood summers here. My grandparents had a bach and it was in the clear waters of Issy Bay that I learnt to swim, row and fish. It has always been a tightknit community where people help each other out. Arriving off the ferry you’d be greeted by a line of locals with wheelbarrows, ready to give you a hand to your bach. Later on, they might drop by with excess fish, which was either devoured or preserved by my grandfather in his smokehouse out back. One of my favourite tasks was taking the watermelon rinds to the lady next door, who would throw them out to the wallabies while we watched from the kitchen window.
Now the wallabies are gone, thanks to a Department of Conservation (DoC) eradication scheme, and sadly so are many of the baches—including ours. DoC pulled them down in an effort to return the island to its natural state. A moratorium imposed in 1990 enabled the remaining leaseholders to hold onto their properties—as long as they weren’t developed. Luckily, that’s the way the locals wanted it too. Three generations down the line, they all knew it’s the simplicity of life here that makes it such a great place to escape.
.jpg)
Bottom left: Long before wind technology became trendy, this tower had a windmill that powered the adjoining bach. Bottom center: Metal bedframes that wouldn’t look out of place in an Auckland antique shop. Bottom right: When leaseholders died, their baches were pulled down
The 11 baches that remain are testimony to the sustainability of a forgotton era. Most of them are made out of a combination of volcanic rock—always painted bright colours—and recycled materials dragged down from the mainland. The kitchens haven’t changed in decades and generally feature a Shacklock range and a food safe, where supplies are kept safe from visiting rodents and insects. There are no indoor bathrooms. All the toilets on the island are longdrops usually surrounded by a couple sheets of corrugated iron.
The kitchens haven’t changed in decades and generally feature a Shacklock range and a food safe, where supplies are kept safe from visiting rodents and insects. There are no indoor bathrooms. All the toilets on the island are longdrops, usually surrounded by a couple sheets of corrugated iron
The Te Hiras place, however, recently underwent a mini-facelift thanks to a building initiative known as SHAC (Sustainable Habitat Challenge), which aims to develop sustainable housing for local communities. They now have the first composting toilet on the island. SHAC students also helped to rebuild parts of the bach that were falling down.
Sam Te Hira and his daughter, Deodar, show me around and point out the improvements. Many of the building materials used in these renovations were taken from the demolished baches. Deodor points out their new windows and we wonder whether they might have come from our old family place—the paint is even the same colour.
No one could claim a stronger connection to Islington Bay than Deodar. She was born on a police launch that didn’t make it from Rangitoto to Auckland in time. Her mother was on the island, preparing for the usual Christmas onslaught, when she went into labour. Deodar was named after the boat she was delivered on.
Sam came back to the island recently to recover from cancer and spent two years living off the land. They both regard Islington Bay as a kind of spiritual home, a place to rest and recouperate. Deodar reminds me of an old saying about the place: “It’s 20 minutes and fifty years from Auckland.
.jpg)
Like the Te Hiras, the other leaseholders now spend as much time as they can on the island, trying to preserve the properties that were handed down to them. The community that looked like it had come to an end has pulled together and is stronger than ever. Working bees and weed eradication schemes keep everyone talking and planning for the future. The residents here are not just holding onto history, but holding onto a way of life.
“This is the way we’ve always lived down here,” says Deodar. “To us, it’s not green or sustainable or anything else, it’s just good simple bach life.”
