Summer on the edge

The best-known baches in Canterbury are enjoying another summer on the edge of one of Christchurch's most popular beaches. But how much fun can it be, owning a holiday home with half the city on your doorstep – and some of your nearest neighbours wanting you out? JOHN McCRONE paid a visit.

The curving arc of Christchurch's Taylors Mistake beach makes for a natural arena. In one of the waterline baches, you can look straight up at the folk on the hill. From the deck on the hill you can look straight down on the folk in their baches.

Quite possibly, the folk looking up and down at each other are sisters, brothers, cousins. Or families who have been mixing together here for generations. Or friends who have stood side by side on lifeguard duty at the surf club.

There is nothing secluded about seaside life here. Holidays in the baches of Taylors Mistake are spent in full view of one of Canterbury's most popular beaches, under the steady – whether envious, curious or resentful – gaze of thousands of beachgoers and day-trippers. Many, if not most, will have at least an inkling of the never-ending saga of the baches – going back more than a century, when the first were put up on public land, squatting effectively, triggering in short time the start of unwavering efforts by some to force them out, by others to protect them for eternity.

One thing is clear about life in the goldfish bowl of the Taylors Mistake baches: it would be an uncomfortable place to have a falling out.

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Today looks like being the busiest of the year at the beach. It is the New Year holiday. The biting easterly has finally dropped. The sun is out and scoring off the UV meter. Car after car is beetling down the hill, each family sharing the familiar pleasure of one minute climbing out of sprawling Christchurch town, the next finding themselves transported miles from any cares or responsibilities.

A big part of the Taylors Mistake experience is the long-standing bach community. To the north, the Hobsons Bay baches tucked right into the perilous- looking cliff; to the south, the line of ramshackle sheds and converted tram cars which make up Rotten Row. Classic Kiwiana.

Owen McKinley smacks the ice tray on the bench and clinks cubes into the lemonade. The bach his grandfather built in the 1920s is as regular as a cosy ship's cabin. Memorabilia has accumulated in geological layers.

Black-and-white photos of surf-club members, standing proud on the beach in woollen togs and manly embrace, are pinned alongside more recent snapshots of fancy-dress parties. Rows of corks, collections of sun hats, racks of Fred Dagg and Dean Martin records. The interior of the bach could be stuck in Te Papa as a time capsule of happy memories.

Weathered sun-loungers, damp towels and a pup tent cover the small front lawn. Geraniums and flowering succulents spill over into the pathway. A Japanese tourist with sun parasol crunches past on the track, sneaking a sideways peek.

What do day-trippers think about these little slices of paradise clinging like barnacles to the rocks or almost buried in flower-studded shrubbery behind the sand dunes. How did they come to be here? What sort of people own them? Could I ever buy or rent one, perhaps?

Surprisingly, McKinley and the other bach holders do not seem to mind the inquisitive stares of the many passers-by. They know they are privileged, lucky to still be here, so cannot afford to get too proprietorial. Besides, it is only during the heat of the day it gets busy. Early morning and evening, they have the place to themselves again.

McKinley says there is less aggravation than you would think, even from vandals and hoons. Break-ins are not uncommon, but mostly by surfers looking for a feed and a bed before catching the dawn waves.

"I had one last year," he says. "The guy helped himself to a few beers, cooked a meal on my stove, and then buggered off."

McKinley paces off the front of his section. It measures perhaps 10m by 15m. What would it be worth? Who can say. But rumour has it the only bach in Rotten Row to change hands in the last few years went for over $100,000. A crazy price, if true. Especially as you cannot say you own anything substantial.

In one sense, the story of the battle of the baches is an old one now. It's been going since 1911. For many generations, the baches were semi-officially tolerated. At one time they paid rates, they had permits. Council orders were that night soil from the chemical toilets had to be buried at low tide. Later the ruling was bach holders had to install electric dunnies.

Some of the earliest dwellings, walled-off caves, were indeed got rid of. A few more baches that burnt down have not been allowed to be replaced. The fate of the rest have been the subject of endless council hearings and Environment Court cases. One council planning officer, since deceased, once said he had the Taylors Mistake file at his elbow for his entire 40-year career.

Last September, it was finally meant to be sorted. Christchurch City Council solicitor Ian Thomson presented councillors with a sheaf of documents and five options to be considered.

A plan seemed to be in place, based around allowing those baches encroaching right onto the beach or rocks to be relocated further back, most of the others to stay, and a large block of farmland around the bay, cannily acquired by the bach owners in years past, to be given to the city as a reserve. Yet once again, someone has put a spanner in the works. Out of the blue at the council meeting, a letter from Ngai Tahu was produced saying Maori interests had not been properly consulted. They might have their own view about the legality of any deals. This is the foreshore – or at least just back from it – we are talking about.

Then there is also the recent amalgamation with the Banks Peninsula District Council to consider. All around the shoreline, in places like Okains Bay and Robertsons Bay, there are hundreds of boatsheds and a sprinkling of baches whose legality could be questionable.

As solicitor, Thomson says the sensible step is to gather all the facts so the council can follow a coherent policy on such structures. The file is at his elbow now, and is going to get fatter still. Thomson says it is unlikely the bach decision will get back before council until June.

So down at the bay this summer, it is business as usual. The tangy waft of rotting kelp rises from the roasting sand. The squeals of happy children sail above the crash of the surf. Perched in a bach on a rock outcrop surveying the whole scene, Dianne Graham remarks on the bobbing surfers. Don't they look like bluebottles scattered on the glassy water as they await the next good wave?

This is one of the baches that will most likely have to go, whatever officialdom's eventual decision. Graham and her husband Trevor still hope otherwise, but have already talked to a crane company who think they will be able to hoist the old shack into the sky and winch it to the back of the beach when the day comes.

The place was originally built by an antique dealer in town, then rebuilt by someone else. The Grahams live only just over the hill in Clifton – they can walk home to pick up any forgotten necessities. But they snapped up the bach when they heard it was coming on the market.

Graham says if this is to be their last season in their eyrie, at least it has been a great summer. For a few years, the baches were a little quiet. The old gang of families were between generations, with children off travelling or having babies. This year they were back again with a new gang of grandchildren, all enrolled in the nippers section at the surf club. The circle of friendship was being renewed.

"It's just a magical place. Families grow up here and keep coming back."

Graham says if baches are rented, first choice is meant to go to a list of newcomers whose kids want to join the surf club. This will help maintain the essential character of the beach.

That is what the public don't see. Everyone understands the heritage argument, Graham says. The baches are cute. They give the beach charm. But there is also a social heritage worth preserving here, she says. The baches represent generations of memories and friendships.

There are just so many old tales, like the time an extremely fat man rolled down the hill dead drunk and had to be put up for the night in the bach. Or when they used to dig foxholes in the sand, camping out with mates and a supply of flagons.

It would be a shame to rip out the baches and destroy the rich fabric of a shared history.

Graham is quick to point out that her family, the McClurgs, have been holidaying here at Taylors Mistake for generations. They have all been surf- club stalwarts. Standing on her deck, pointing to the houses and baches across the way, she traces the tapestry of social connections. Her brother has built his nice, big home at the top of the hill. Her sister is in that bach over there. In the others, there are the various Hobsons, Hunters, and other families with an equally long attachment to the bay.

And then there and there – she waggles her finger at a couple of the permanent homes clinging to the hillside across the bay – are the houses of the two anti-bach objectors – or at least the only two making a song and dance to the council.

"We don't really understand why," Graham says. They have been surf-club stalwarts and have had family baches, too.

It is certainly no secret who the objectors are. They have put their names to enough letters to the council. One has even formed a company, Save The Bay. But when approached by way of a cold call on this warm summer's day, the last thing they want is to have their names attached to yet another story about the bach battle.

They agree to talk only with no names mentioned. "I don't want more bottles being thrown at the house," says one.

What is the objection? It is just the legal principle, he says. Laws should be upheld. And councils should be prepared to uphold them. If the baches are on a designated public road, then they should be removed, no matter how quaint, or how much a part of the social fabric they may be.

It is unfair this mess has been allowed to drag on so many years. The council seeks the opinions of locals and you speak up. Then weakness on the part of those meant to protect public rights ends up making you look the party poopers, the bad guys.

Yes, it is true they have all swum together for years. His wife's family still have a bach. It makes for awkward meetings on the beach front.

He does not mind what solution is finally reached on the matter so long as it is legally proper, and not some makeshift, please-the-crowd kind of decision.

The gaze turns back to a beach now heaving with its once-a-year record throng. Cars are vainly circling the carpark for a space. To those dancing in the waves, the houses and baches surround them are just houses and baches. A pretty backdrop to a pretty beach.

With a cheery grin to dispel the mood, he says today is not a day to be discussing such things. The wrangle over these ruddy baches has been going on long enough and there is a fair chance it will outlive us all. So time to be down there with a boogie board or having a swim.

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