Putting the freedom into camping

Can you still get something for nothing? For decades New Zealanders have parked up on beaches, lake edges, in forests and by rivers, camping for free.

A small minority of these "freedom campers" have abused this luxury and left much more then their footprints. In response,  some councils have clamped down on free camping.

Arriving home from two years in London, I was hoping to relive the endless summers of my misspent youth. With a limited budget, a Dutch heritage, and a four-month summer holiday planned, I was keen to see how much free camping could still be had.

My partner and I bought a campervan from a lovely couple who had left everything we needed in the van, bar a stove-top coffee percolator, which Santa provided shortly after. While I can forgo daily hot showers, real coffee is a necessity.

Our first night of free camping was in the bush next to a waterfall near Motueka. It had a few choice camping spots hidden among the trees. One other camper was barely visible; a fisherman by the looks of the gear surrounding his 4WD. It was late when we arrived so we cooked dinner and ate it under the spray of the waterfall, dipping our feet only momentarily in the cold river water.

No knocks came in the middle of the night to usher us on and, more importantly, there were no attacks by maniacs. Having someone close by definitely helped us sleep easy. Our first success!

Another success was further north in Golden Bay. We hung a left before Farewell Spit and drove till we reached the coast. It was simply spectacular. Gargantuan views in all directions and hardly another soul. We had heard about this spot from a man who lived in a bus and probably knew every free camping spot in the country. For a few kilometres along the road there were isolated campsites nestled into the coastline, and we had our pick. This was the New Zealand we had come home for. On any given day we saw no more then six people and most of the time we had the white feral beaches to ourselves. My partner surfed while I practised the guitar and drank coffee. We stayed three nights until the sandflies finally wore us down.

Unfortunately, we did not always meet with success. Just north of Takaka was a council- designated free camping spot. While next to a river, it had a large motor bridge overhead and came complete with gravel stacks giving it all the allure of a downtown carpark. It was the kind of place only suitable to arrive late and leave early, which is what we did.

On another occasion, parked up on a remote coastal road on the East Cape, we were happily contemplating settling in for the night when a ute pulled up and a farmer, owner of said land, asked us ever so politely to go stay in the campground up the road. His whanau had set up the campground for just such occasions, and when we got there he talked with some pride about the local history of the area and how Ngati Porou had managed to retain most of their land, giving Queen Victoria's troops the old heave-ho. He also talked about how he and his mates used to herd sheep on horseback around Gisborne, and the camaraderie that this lifestyle had fostered. It was a peek into a New Zealand that no longer really exists and there was a certain wistfulness in his voice which remained with me.

He pointed to the "ablution block", (read long-drop with tap outside) and said we could park anywhere on what was basically a huge paddock overlooking the sea. By this time it was too dark to see anything so we parked where it seemed flat. On waking the following morning, the view was gorgeous: a wind-smashed coastline and a frothing sea. If it hadn't been for the storm threatening to topple the van, we would have slept soundly in the knowledge that we had paid for our spot and no-one would move us on.

On our camping adventure we mostly had successes: a lovely spot on the shores of Lake Taupo, to cut a long journey north; a beach side haven in Tokomaru Bay.

I can't say that I always slept soundly, however, having heard about some of the high-profile attacks on campers in remote regions. There is also the issue of never knowing where you will be staying that night, or if you are going to be moved on, not to mention the lack of a hot shower. But paying between $25 to $35 a night in a camp ground would have made for a short holiday.

The bonus of free camping is that it puts you into contact with those that you are otherwise unlikely to meet. On the East Coast, a man who lived opposite our free camping spot offered us use of his toilet, and then his shower. Over a cup of tea and samples of his home- made liqueurs we learned how he and his wife had raised 18 children, and we listened to his life story.

This was the New Zealand of my childhood that I was hunting for and, yes, it was still there for the taking.