Glorious blue skies. Sandy beaches. Clean water. A refreshing breeze. I’ve been bereft of these ingredients since April 2018, when I moved to London to become Newshub’s Europe Correspondent. So which beach have I been dreaming about? It’s New Zealand’s best beach: Ōhope Beach.
I’ve been dreaming of this summer for three years. Glorious blue skies. Sandy beaches. Clean water. A refreshing breeze. I’ve been bereft of these ingredients since April 2018, when I moved to London to become Newshub’s Europe Correspondent.
Over there, summer means swimming in a filthy pond in Hampstead Heath, or travelling for hours to the ‘seaside’ for a swim. It’s called the seaside because it can’t be called a beach. It’s stones and rocks and you get a sore arse and sore feet.
While I was privileged enough to get two wee breaks away to Croatia and Turkey, my summers in Europe were pretty bleak. It was either rainy or cold or spent indoors because of lockdowns.
Which is probably why the longer I spent in London, the stronger the pull of home was. Add the Auckland lockdown to the mix, and it’s made me long for the beach even more.
So which beach have I been dreaming about? It’s New Zealand’s best beach: Ōhope Beach.
Lloyd Burr, right, with his brother Allen, left, and sister Katie, centre, loved going boogie-boarding as a child.
Lloyd Burr plays in a stream at Ōhope Beach as a child.
Beautiful white sands that stretch for 10 kilometres along the Bay of Plenty coast, just over the hill from Whakatane. The main road is called Pōhutukawa Avenue, and for good reason: The cliff that runs parallel to the beach is covered with pōhutukawa, so during summer there’s a glorious contrast between the blue of the sea and the vibrant crimson blossoms of the trees.
Simply put, Ōhope is a slice of paradise. One I’ve been lucky enough to visit since I was in nappies.
My Great Aunty Mary and Great Uncle John had a bach there and my family would go and stay for a week with all the cousins. It was magic. Mattresses on the floor, tents in the yard, lots of Christmas leftovers in the fridge, and plenty of laughs and definitely the odd tantrum.
The bach was one of the oldest houses in Ōhope, and it was built with native timber. It had plenty of quirks: weird cupboard handles, rounded wall corners, a terracotta stone bench top, and an eclectic mix of crockery and cutlery and furniture. The wardrobes smelt of moth balls and there were always old bottles of cod liver oil in the bathroom.
My favourite thing to do at Ōhope was building dams across the local stream. I’d spend days and nights digging up sand and dragging logs and driftwood to create my masterpiece.
Lloyd Burr, centre, constructs a dam at Ōhope Beach with his brother Allen, left, and sister Katie, right.
I call it that because it was incredibly intricate; there was a tailrace overflow, channels, and even a bridge over the outlet so people could use the dam to get across the stream without getting wet shoes.
By the end of the week, I’d have created a massive swimming hole which would warm up in the sun and become the local hot pools.
When I wasn’t damming, I’d be swimming and boogie boarding. It’s the perfect beach for it, long and wide and relatively safe for kids to learn how to respect the power of the sea.
The garage of the bach was a bit of a dumping ground for old boogie boards - but a gold mine for us kids, who’d have a field day with them in the water.
Lloyd Burr as a child with a small hammerhead shark at Ōhope Beach.
Ōhope also has an epic flying fox, mounted on top of a big lighthouse structure down by the Maraetotara Stream. We’d all march down there in the evenings, and if we were well-behaved, we’d call in at the dairy for an ice cream. The dairy was always generous, and there would be a trail of melted ice cream splotches along the path to the flying fox.
As a kid, the flying fox seemed huge. It was terrifying, and it took me years to build up the courage to fly solo on it. It’s still there at Ōhope, although it’s not as massive as I remember.
There was an awesome wooden pirate ship-inspired playground at the flying fox park too, where we’d take to the high seas and sail around the world. I’m not sure if it’s survived all these years.
My childhood memories are not the only reason why Ōhope is my favourite spot. I’ve spent many of my teenage years there too, seeing in the New Year or just escaping for the weekend to relax and unwind.
Ōhope also has an epic flying fox, mounted on top of a big lighthouse structure down by the Maraetotara Stream
As I’ve become an adult, my friends have experienced the magic of Ōhope too, joining me for holidays at the bach - which again would become a sea of mattresses and beds to fit us all in. We’d still gather pipi and tuatua and fire up the barbie on the deck - a perfect place to people-watch, enjoy a few drinks, and watch the day turn to dusk and dark.
Sadly, the bach doesn’t exist any more. It was sold a few years ago after Great Aunty Mary passed away, and a few months ago it was torn down, probably to make way for a modern behemoth. It feels like a part of my heart has been torn down with too.
But even though the bach doesn’t exist any more, the memories always will. Ōhope will always have an immense pulling power on me and my soul and I feel like I owe part of me to that beach, because it’s been the backdrop for many of my formative years.
Lloyd Burr has now returned to New Zealand, and is a talkback radio host on Today FM.
Luckily, two of my best mates now live at Ōhope, and I intend to spend many days and nights this summer adding a new chapter to my Ōhope story, sans the bach.
I’ve been dreaming of Ōhope for three years, dreaming of that amazing moment as you drive over the hill from Whakatane and you’re suddenly hit with an amazing ocean vista.
The pōhutukawa forest then opens up, and the beach appears. And all the stresses of the world disappear.
It’s perfection. It’s heavenly. And it’s what a Kiwi summer means to me.