Small Glory #26 - A Republic of 130 People in the Depths of New Zealand
Along the Forgotten World Highway lies the village-cum-republic known as Whangamōmona.
We arrived at Whangamōmona on golf carts clattering along the railroad. The sun blared down and nothing to suggest we were past 1995 was in sight. Hidden in the rugged hills of Eastern Taranaki is a republic — a place where it costs $3 to get your passport stamped and you can enter without fuss. Each year ‘Republic Day’ is a day where hundreds gather to join in festivities involving possum skinning, gumboot throwing and whip cracking.
This place, maybe unremarkable at first glance, holds a great history in its weathered hands. Dense bush, steep hills and an abundance of wildlife make this spot feel like you may be in the corner of Eden. A mere 130 people call it home, a tiny fraction of what was once a bustling wee hub. In the late 1800s pākehā settlers made their way into the hills surrounding the outskirts of Mount Taranaki. Railway gangers, shepherds, stock buyers and farmers made up a large part of ‘town’, all relying on one another for various foods and services. A true community. In its surrounds lies a bridge known as ‘The Bridge to Somewhere’, which I like to think of as a hopeful tribute to the bliss and challenges of isolation, the coming together of community, and the steadfastness it takes to live somewhere so rugged. These people are heading somewhere, maybe somewhere closer to what it means to be a citizen of this earth.
On the 1st of November 1989 in retaliation to the re-zoning of Whangamōmona from Taranaki to Manawatu-Whanganui, they declared themselves a republic. What a Taranaki thing to do. Fight for what you believe in. They have had 6 presidents, only 4 of them human. For a few years ‘Billy Gumboots the Goat’ served as president after winning in a landslide vote, though there was speculation he ate some ballots. Unfortunately he died in office. His successor was a poodle. Anyway, onwards.
Whangamōmona is one of those places that feels easy. Everything just happens when it needs to happen. Excitement is created when they want to. Otherwise it goes on being itself, nothing more, nothing less. Whangamōmona rests on The Forgotten World Highway, an apt name for a road that winds deep into the New Zealand countryside right at the bottom of the world. How much further away from everything can you get? That’s one way to arrive — driving in. Another way is on golf carts turned rail carts that rattle their way along a defunct rail line. That’s how we arrived all those years ago. We piled into three carts and went. We set off in the early morning so we could beat the blistering January sun and make it by lunch. We’d stop often to wander wild and free through paddocks and hills and tunnels. I felt like a child should. Safe, excited, free. I was 10 going on 11 when we took the trip. We left from our home in the more urban part of Taranaki to get to the start of the rail line so we could get to Whangamōmona and back in a day. That’s what we did. We explored our own region. That’s something I’m grateful my parents drummed into me, ‘explore your own backyard before going further afield’. Now, at 22 years old, we are about to take our second ever overseas family holiday, we’re popping over the ditch to Australia for 5 days. I’ve seen most of New Zealand and I have a profound appreciation for it. I like my backyard. The quirky places like Whangamōmona, the towering mountains of the south, secluded bays of the Hauraki Gulf, and the wild coast of Taranaki — are home. It’s all home really, when you’ve spent a life exploring your own backyard, the length of the country feels like home. I’m glad of it. I’m glad to have roots deep into this Eden. I’m glad I know Taranaki like the back of my hand. Its winding rivers, roads and railways are the veins that intertwine with mine. I’m grateful. So so grateful.
Extra info at: New Zealand Geographic and again
That's very cool! Thanks for sharing, looks like a great place to explore.
That was such a cool trip. Thanks for the memory.