It’s that time of year when southern hemisphere snow-heads turn their thoughts to powder on New Zealand’s peaks. After a big day barreling down Treble Cone there’s nothing to be done apart from get a good stiff, warming drink. LaLaLand has got you covered. Arrive before the sun goes down and rug up for a seat on the deck overlooking the lake – really the only place to be as the day’s last rays disappear. Then scoot inside where the vibe is cosy, with velvet lounges, antique lamps and books on the shelves. The surroundings are slightly misleading though – these guys do a mean cocktail. Don’t miss the Te Anaka, a salty, citrusy surprise that took its maker James Crinson to the top three in the worldwide Bacardi Legacy Competition.
As far as having fun in the dark goes, it doesn’t get much crazier than this. Pull on a wetsuit and for the next three hours climb, clamber and coast through Ruakuri Cave on the North Island. For part of the journey with the Legendary Black Water Rafting Co you’ll be taking the plunge over underground waterfalls, but there’s also the chance to kick back on your inner tube and float through limestone galleries lit by glow-worms. Each tour, with a maximum of 12 adventurers, is led by a guide who’ll make sure you emerge safe and sound into the sunlight.
It’s one of the greatest drives in the world, but luxury accommodation along the Great Ocean Road is rare. Thankfully, we’ve discovered Alkina Lodge, a trio of four-bedroom villas designed by Glenn Murcutt and Wendy Lewin. Positioned in a clearing above the Southern Ocean, they offer every facility you could need plus luxuries like a fireplace, Bose sound system and a huge, freestanding bathtub.
The lodges are positioned to offer the utmost privacy while allowing guests to wake to the sight of kangaroos grazing on the lawn. Sky windows in the bathrooms and living spaces encourage lying back and enjoying a view of wafting clouds or twinkling stars. Best of all, this is a prime jumping-off point for the region’s attractions, from the 12 Apostles to the koala-rich area around Cape Otway.
One minute I’m eating breakfast in the offbeat cultural hub of Northbridge on the edge of Perth’s CBD. Twenty-five minutes later – no speeding involved – I’m in the Swan Valley wine region, the West Australian capital’s answer to Melbourne’s Yarra Valley or Sydney’s Hunter Valley, except closer. In fact it’s practically a suburb, albeit a rural one.
The scene here is all storm-grey eucalypts and red dirt mixed with luminescent green vines that march in military-straight lines through rectangle-cut acreages. Mission-brown brick homes, a nod to the area’s southern European immigrant history, add an urban twist to the farmhouse setting. The region’s Food and Wine Trail is a navigational cinch. The major road does a 32-kilometre loop around the region’s 40 wineries and 70 or so restaurant and food venues. It’s well signed so you can follow your nose rather than a GPS.
What it lacks in vineyard stereotypes – rolling landscapes and rusticity – it makes up for in earthy Aussieness. The pretty colonial town of Guildford, the gateway to the region, has a main street of antique shops and cafes shaded by bull-nosed verandas. There’s a little church, heritage-coloured pub and other old colonial buildings clustered along the railway line. Nearby, the rotted gums and dried mud on the banks of the Swan River conjure scenes from a Tom Roberts painting. Add dry heat and WA’s big blue skies to the mix and there’s no wine region quite like it.
While there’s chilled verdelho aplenty in the Swan Valley, I can’t help thinking the mid-summer heat calls for a cooling ale. Happily, and somewhat quirkily, Perth peeps, who think nothing of a casual trip to the Swan Valley, don’t mind mixing their drinks. The region, in step with the craft beer trend, now has six breweries. While I can tell a riesling from a chardonnay and shiraz from pinot noir, I’m less sure of my witbiers, IPAs (India pale ales) and stouts. With the help of an abstaining driver, I’m pit-stopping around the region to see if I can’t convert.
If you want to know how hops got hip in Australia, WA is the place to start. The state’s craft brewing goes back about 30 years, beginning with the opening of Sail and Anchor, the first brewpub in Fremantle. Since then local microbreweries such as Matilda Bay and Little Creatures (despite recent sell-offs) have set the stage for the raft of brewpubs and newcomers that have made craft beer more or less mainstream.
The Swan Valley’s breweries – like its wineries – are a mix of styles. You can go for a pub atmosphere, German beer hall or a traditional vineyard setting. The proximity to the city makes it an accessible place for a drink or meal. The result is lots of people and lots of fun.
Superlatives abound at my first stop, Mandoon Estate’s Homestead Brewery. Mandoon is the darling of Swan Valley, with contemporary wood and corrugated-iron buildings, an awesome deck and beer garden with manicured lawns and vineyard views.
I plonk myself down inside at the big shiny bar, the Kaspar Schulz German-engineered kettles gleaming silver behind glass. It’s early for beer drinking so I have hospitality manager Gavin Fyffe’s full attention. He tells me the owner is a Swan Valley local of 50 years who lives down the road. The family started producing wine in 2010 and the restaurants and eating areas followed.
“Beer was always part of the big picture, but the brewery opened only 12 months ago,” he says. In that time, the number of beers brewed has gone from four to 10.
My Number 1 Belgian-style pale ale is served in a fine-lipped glass, chilled to the touch. It’s a good start to the day. I can detect the smooth malt, biscuit and fruit tastes I’m supposed to, if not the peppery finish.
“We really made this beer to check out how the brewery system all worked, but it turns out we liked it and started selling it,” says Fyffe. “In the first six months it was our number-one selling beer and one year down the track it’s still on tap.”
At the other end of the palate spectrum is the Velvet, a black cherry sour. Matured in old oak barrels from the winery, it has a stewed fruit flavour with cinnamon and chocolate thrown in. I also try Kaiser’s Choice. This German-style wheat beer with banana and clove notes was a gold medal winner at the Australian International Beer Awards last year.
Awards matter in beer circles, as I find out at Mash Brewery, which has a wall of them decorating the main bar. Mash is a modern establishment kitted out like an American roadside bar, with tunes, cool art and a vibe that feels like a party warming up. When I arrive, just before midday, the trestle tables are filling with punters ordering buffalo wings and other mouth-watering bar food. Enormous stainless-steel beer kettles fill the room, and there’s a queue at the bar. Behind it, Joshua Banks, a craft-beer nut, tells me Mash is almost nine years old, its success largely attributed to two master brewers who have collaboratively brought home the wall of awards.
Mash’s champion beer is Copy Cat IPA, an American-style India pale ale with a “tropical, piney, resinous hop bitterness and aroma”. Banks tells me the beer initially had a mixed reaction from the makers who didn’t want to replicate the style: “They said, ‘We’ll only do it if we call it Copy Cat.’ It went on to become the Australian International Beer Awards champion beer in 2014.”
Even for a novice, Copy Cat is easy drinking. Not so the experimental Cold Brew Coffee is the New IPA. Apart from a name that’s a total mouthful, this black, malty Scottish ale has a creamy caramel flavour and a coffee finish. It’s an intriguing on-trend concoction developed at Mash’s sister venue, 3 Ravens brewery in Melbourne.
“We put non-roasted coffee through a gravity filter with cold water (not hot), which extracts fruit, so there’s a hoppy flavour instead of roasted bitter flavour, but a) you gotta like beer and b) you gotta like coffee,” says Banks.
Happily I can tick both these boxes, although in this case one is more than enough.
By the time I get to Elmar’s in the Valley I feel like I’m getting a handle on at least a few of the 20 or so craft brews on offer in the region. Cue my next drink – a one-litre stein of Ein Stein Pilsner, a malty, hoppy, easy-drinking brew with honey notes. It’s Elmar’s most popular beverage and, for a little extra, you can buy the famed oversized drinking vessel.
Ten-year-old Elmar’s is owned by Elmar and Anette Dieren, a German couple, who, when missing their homeland cuisine, opened a German smallgoods store in Perth. When Elmar suggested opening an authentic German brewery, Anette intoned, “You can’t have beer without food.” The restaurant now serves gutsy dishes – pork knuckle with sauerkraut, grilled bratwurst, cheese kransky and its own beer bratwurst – that pair perfectly with a pint of the good stuff.
Gleaming copper kettles stand behind the main bar. As I’m snooping around them, oxygenating hops hissing, I meet Elmar himself. He’s a kind of Boris Johnson type – big with white hair and rosy cheeks. “The hops, the malt, the process,” he tells me, beaming excitedly, “everything is imported from Germany. Germans visit and they think the beer here is more authentic than the beer at home.”
I take the rest of my stein outside to the grassed area shaded by gum trees where a local informs me this is the biggest licensed beer garden in the southern hemisphere. “It goes off during Oktoberfest,” he says.
I’m not sure I can handle another stein, but there’s one more stop that comes recommended: Feral Brewing. When we pull up into the red dirt car park I know why. It’s in a building that looks like a cross between an unassuming farmhouse and an outback pub, with veranda seating and a beer garden crowded with market umbrellas.
Feral is by far the most serious about educating its guests. The creative brews – from citrusy lagers to Belgian sours – can be tasted from small glasses on wooden paddles. In 2015 Feral’s Watermelon Warhead, a light, sour German wheat beer brewed with half a tonne of local watermelons, was awarded Champion Beer at the Australian Craft Beer Awards. But the drop that gets the most attention via word of mouth and on Facebook pages such as Perth Beer Snobs is the Hop Hog American IPA. My tasting notes point out lemon and pine and a slightly sweet taste “which makes it a perfect drink for newbies to the IPA style of beer”.
Catch world-class waves without the crowds in a Polynesian paradise. Despite being the largest island in Samoa, Savai’i and it’s impressive breaks are still something of a secret. At Aganoa Lodge you’ll have exclusive access to a beach sheltered by a barrier reef. High tide brings Little Left, the only beginner’s wave on the island, which breaks on the edge of the lagoon. For something more challenging, just ask the lodge’s experienced guides. They’ve got the drop on the island’s other breaks – there are right- and left-handers pumping at between two and 14 feet – and can usually get you there within 30 minutes (the furthest is an hour’s drive). When you’re not paddling out, go hiking to waterfalls, pull on a snorkel or try your luck catching dinner. In the evening, retreat to the deck for a cold one as the sun goes down.
When John Franklin, the governor of Van Diemen’s Land, outlawed small pot stills in the early nineteenth century he crippled the distilling industry. It wasn’t until the 1990s that this law was overturned and Aussies once again began to brew their own spirits. At Bad Frankie, in Melbourne’s inner north, punters can celebrate the emancipation of local liquor and choose from hundreds of Australian whiskeys, rums, vodkas and gins. There’s even local absinthe for those disposed to a little adventure. But it’s not just the alcohol here that burns the tastebuds – it’s also the piping-hot jaffles. Bad Frankie serves nine different types, including two dessert versions. These more-ish, home-grown parcels include the Classic, stuffed with vintage cheddar and ham off the bone, and the Shroom, which packs garlic, spinach, fetta, and red wine and thyme mushrooms between slices of wholemeal.
Introducing the Crazy Rider Xtreme, hailing from the next gen of zip-lines. Located in Ourimbah State Forest at TreeTops Adventure Park, a one-hour drive from Sydney, this ride combines the thrills of a roller-coaster with the flying sensation of a zip-line. Creating the structure wasn’t an easy feat – 2000 hours were spent on development and the ride took a staggering 5000 hours to build – but, by gosh, it was worth it.
At one-kilometre long, the Crazy Rider Xtreme is among the longest zip-lines in the world and during your five-minute ride you’ll zigzag your way through the trees, conquering 40 twists and turns and three 360-degree loops. If that isn’t enough, they’ve also thrown in a 540-degree whorl. Not sure your stomach is up to the extremity of Xtreme? Try the Crazy Rider Pioneer, a six-storey-high, 90-second ride with 10 twists along the way.
Palau is to diving what France is to wine – straight up heaven. It’s the main reason most visitors drop by this cluster of 250 or so islands about 700 kilometres east of the Philippines. And it’s easy to see why, with pristine reefs, spectacular drop-offs, shipwrecks from World War II and drift dives accessible as day trips from the main island of Koror. The Blue Holes comprises four vertical shafts that open on to a reef. The Chuyo Maru, a Japanese freighter sunk in April 1944, is covered in hard and soft coral and loads of lionfish at a depth of 11 to 40 metres. There’s also the awe-inspiring German Channel, which is famous for its population of manta rays.
Even if you don’t fancy strapping on an air tank, there are plenty of excellent snorkelling spots, including Jellyfish Lake, which is filled with millions of golden jellyfish that migrate across the water’s surface.
Most of Palau’s population lives on Koror, and it’s the centre for tourists, too. From here you can organise all your diving and snorkelling tours, as well as hiking, guided excursions to World War II sites and ATV adventures. Best of all, it’s the jumping off point for the Rock Islands, some of the most beautiful islets you’ll ever lay your eyes on, whether you choose to lie on the beach or explore the diverse underwater world.
While the white-sand beaches of Fiji’s islands take up most of the attention, there’s a little secret lurking in the middle of the main island.
The Upper Navua River is one of the more remarkable river journeys in the world, with rapids propelling you through winding gorges and past a cascade of waterfalls along the way. The rapids aren’t too testing, but they’re not the main reason to be here; it’s the ever-changing landscape through the gorges that keeps your eyes wide open.
It is an overnight journey and you camp on the banks of the river. Drink kava with the locals and sleep soundly to the sound of the running Navua.
Traditional villages, an abundance of waterfalls and the exuberant guides from Rivers Fiji all make this trip an absolute must. And, best of all, at the end of the day you’ve earned a Fiji Bitter much more than the beach junkies.
Duels. There’s something wonderfully straightforward and final about them. Whether it’s cowboys drawing pistols at high noon, or kids straightening out an argument with a simple game of rock paper scissors, a duel is a no-nonsense way to settle a score between two warring parties.
Yet duels have become something of a lost art. When disputes occur in our lives these days, they are far more likely to end up in a courtroom, or at the very least, with an exchange of strong words. But do these methods really do anything to address the anger and malice involved? Probably not.
However, on Santa Catalina – a tiny island in the far east of the Solomon Islands – the idea of the duel and dealing with grievances is alive and well. Out here in the Pacific it is the old-fashioned spear that’s used for resolving disagreements.
While I’d heard small tidbits of information about the customs on Santa Catalina, neither I, nor any of the 10 or so other visitors who arrived by dingy in this remote part of the Solomons, knew the extent of what we were getting ourselves into. We all knew spear fighting was supposed to be a big spectacle, and we knew it was an important part of the island’s culture, but little else.
At the Spear Fighting Festival (known locally as Wogasia) the men of the island’s two tribes, the Amuea and the Ataua, meet on the beach at dawn and at dusk to lob sharpened sticks at each other. This is to sort out their disagreements from throughout the year – such as an unreturned household item, a broken marriage or a land dispute.
While spear fighting is obviously central to this event, the Wogasia goes well beyond the fight and the need to resolve differences. It is a three-day festival of complex rituals aimed at purging the community of the problems and frustrations of the previous year and, in doing so, set up the island for a solid root crop harvest. The festival formally starts with the ceremonial washing of a conch shell (selected from hundreds of shells by Santa Catalina chiefs), before the islanders meet at midnight to begin an all-night procession of chanting and conch shell blowing.
Wogasia is a three-day festival of complex rituals aimed at purging the community of the problems and frustrations of the previous year and, in doing so, set up the island for a solid root crop harvest.
One of the best things about the Wogasia is that the few visitors there for the festival are well and truly involved in the action. I spend much of the event side-by-side with my host, Edward Wasuka, immersed in the festival’s traditions. I am taught everything from throwing and blocking a spear, to chewing betel nut and blowing a conch. I even learn the best designs to smear on my body as I cake myself in mud.
At 2am on the night before the spear fight, the Santa Catalina women lead a frantic sprint through the villages, beating the ground with fire-lit coconut palms to drive disease and demons from the island. It’s wild, uninhibited stuff. The fronds crack loudly as they are smacked into the ground, sparks fly, children scream and elderly women stand in their doorways throwing buckets of dirty water and fish guts at those running past.
Later in the night as Edward and I are sitting down for a pre-festival coconut and some betel nut, I ask him what he is expecting from this year’s event. “I’m just looking forward to fighting,” he says, with a wry smile, clearly indicating that there are some issues he is looking forward to resolving. After days of build-up and a sleepless night of chanting, conch blowing and much talking, I can appreciate Edward’s keenness to get out on the beach and start throwing some spears.
As the sun rises on the festival’s big day, two of the Aumea tribe’s toughest warriors, painted in mud and wrapped in branches, commence proceedings by heading to one end of the beach. They dance in the shallows, bang their spears and wooden shields together, and scream the names of their enemies down the beach. Two warriors from the other tribe then emerge to lead the opposing charge, as more and more join the line-up on each side. Both groups move closer towards each other, howling, kicking water and stamping spears into the ground, before a lone fighter – the ‘chief of warriors’ – runs through the shallow water to the front, signals out his enemy and goads him from just metres away. The first spear is thrown (it is deflected with a swift move of a shield), the island’s chiefs nod the all-clear. From that moment, it’s on.
Up to this point, I’d enjoyed the bravado of the whole event, with constant talk of the spear fight, the kids threatening the visiting ‘whiteman’ with half-hearted jokes. But as a roar sounds down the beach and the two tribes begin their fighting, with spears flying in all directions, any sense of playfulness I’ve had about the event evaporates. A stray spear lands with a thud in the sand just centimetres from my feet, and I stumble back into a group of elders standing behind me. It occurs to me that despite my few hours of learning how to throw and block a spear, I am way, way out of my depth and I’d best stand back.
The sound of spears hitting shields fills the length of the beach. It’s a surreal event to witness so closely. Some spears travel frighteningly fast at their targets, hitting legs and grazing arms, others wobble through the air and fall far short. Supporters stand behind the fighters, collecting stray spears and passing them back to combatants. Families yell their support, while a group of island elders adjudicate proceedings from the safety of the dunes. I watch Edward charge his way into the fight. As he takes on two men at the opposite side of the battle, I wonder what it was that he did during the year to warrant a two-on-one fight.
After less than five minutes, it’s all over. The elders run down the beach calling an end to the fight. Spears are laid down and, within seconds, hands are shaken, smiles return to faces. It’s like a spear was never thrown. Friends and families from both tribes converge on the beach, and I see Edward and his two foes smiling and slapping each other on the back. Fighters who minutes earlier were launching spears at each other walk ceremonially together under a rokbonaparagu vine, signifying their unity and the end of their grievance, before everyone heads home to laugh and swap stories from the battle.
Having stood a little too close to the fight, I can attest that this is no theatre spectacle. These are actual spears thrown with real power at real people. There is genuine danger involved in the whole event. I saw at least five direct spear hits to legs or hips, two that resulted in fighters having to be carried away mid-fight. And the people of Santa Catalina still talk of the infamous 1974 fight, where one unlucky warrior lost an eye after a spear went into his eye socket.
With that said, island elder Chief Gordon Raroinamae emphasises that there have never been any deaths from the event – at least not in living memory. “The purpose isn’t to kill or harm your opponent; it is a test of his courage,” he says when we sit down for a long chat afterwards. He tells me that Kastom beliefs also play an important role in keeping the fight fair. Should a fight get out of hand, or a spear be thrown with bad intent, then there are three or four senior women on Santa Catalina who have the power of a secret chant that can redirect a spear from its target, or even shatter it mid-air.
On the afternoon before the final spear fight, the women head to Faraina, the island’s highest point, to cut banana leaves and chant cheeky insults at the men.
All the men join the women on top of the hill, where we cover ourselves in aranpagora, the island’s sacred orange mud, before wrapping ourselves in ferns and marching back down. We ceremonially yell out to the women below at each break in the trees, before storming through the village, stamping our spears on the ground and separating into respective sides for the next spear fight. As the first spear is thrown, I’m proudly still there, ready to get among it. But despite my enthusiasm, Chief Gordon pushes me away from the pack with a friendly smile and tells me, “Maybe you should just watch.” I half-smile and thank him for saving me the embarrassment of a certain stray-spear injury.
The women are covered in mud and dressed head to toe in banana leaves, resembling an army of walking trees. They line up and throw stones at the men, before sprinting into the ocean, where they stand proudly half-naked in the shallows as the sun goes down on the festival’s final afternoon.
It is a manic end to a wild few days that, in an odd way, celebrates conflict. But Wogasia makes people confront their grievances and addresses them publicly to ensure issues don’t fester and grow into something worse. So with that in mind, the next time someone throws a spear at you – whether literal or metaphorical – why not thank them for considering your long-term wellbeing?
THE RULES OF THE GAME
The rules of the Spear Fighting Festival, according to Chief Gordon Raroinamae:
1. Fight only with someone who has made you angry or caused you distress.
2. If you are fighting a member of your family, you can only fight a brother or a cousin – never your father or an uncle.
3. If an issue has been ‘formally’ reconciled (through compensation payments), but the grievance is still in your heart, then you are encouraged to fight to resolve it.
4. If your spear hits the wrong person, expect to pay them compensation after the fight.
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