Exclusive: Emotions are boiling over in the Auckland region damaged the most by Cyclone Gabrielle. Chris Schulz visits and finds many only just hanging in there.
The first person we meet has complaints. “You guys keep changing the rules on us,” says a security guard in a green hi-vis jacket. As part of a tour organised by Auckland Transport, we’ve driven slowly up Piha Road to reach the part of Auckland hit worst during Cyclone Gabrielle. Road cones line damaged streets, and checkpoints staffed by contractors and security guards are everywhere. The only way through is slowly, with ID, a letter of approval, and, hopefully, a wave.
Yet, according to this guard, the rules aren’t stopping many from forcing their way through. He complains of aggressive drivers threatening him and his staff, of abuse being hurled at them constantly, and of cars driving straight through their blockades and over the cones. Others threaten legal action when told they can’t pass without the correct paperwork. “I’ll see you with a court summons,” they say. Others just gun it. “They keep knocking over the cones.”
This is what’s happening on roads in and out of Auckland’s West Coast. In Karekare, Muriwai and Piha, emotions are frazzled and nerves are fried. Since Gabrielle hit, many roads are closed and residents feel cut off, desperately asking for food, for help, for any sign they haven’t been forgotten. The Spinoff has spoken to many of them: in Piha, residents requested fresh veges and sim cards; in Muriwai homes were “pancaked” and red stickered; and in Karekare, roads in and out have been closed for the past three weeks. Residents have taken matters into their own hands, clearing roads of debris, putting in power poles, and using a drone to try and reattach power cables, all against the advice of experts.
Auckland Transport (AT) invited The Spinoff to see the damage for ourselves. We’re the first to receive an official invite into the area, and just moments into our visit, emotions are already bubbling over. AT want to show off their progress in repairing the roads that give the region access to the rest of Auckland, where many have jobs and schools they can’t reach. Judging by the amount of abuse guards are getting, no one thinks those repairs are happening fast enough. “Twenty per cent [of those passing though] are a pain in the ass,” one guard estimates.
It’s easy to see why residents are angry. If this is progress, it’s slow. Past the first blockade in front of Waiatarua Fire Station on Piha Road, cones line the street, and one section of the road has dropped half a metre. Seismic equipment measures the road’s stability, which seems tentative. “This route is potentially dangerous, therefore full PPE attire is compulsory,” warns an internal AT review of the region received by The Spinoff. “Be sensitive to the residents at all times. People have lost houses and possessions … engage with empathy.”
A little further on, we turn left down Lone Kauri Road. Here, more than 15 slips have devastated the road and isolated several hundred members of the community. It is closed indefinitely, food and supplies are still being helicoptered in every day, and photos of the damage show homes have slid down cliff faces, sitting at angles they were never built to survive. “Likely six months plus,” is AT’s time frame to fix this road. “All details on these slips should be provided with caution … we do not need rumours being spread, especially inaccurate rumours.”
The first slip is by no means the worst – “a baby,” one resident calls it – but it’s a sign of things to come. We park the car and approach it cautiously. “Foot traffic only” reads a hand-painted board, advice ignored by several drivers and a motorcyclist who head past. An entire chunk of the road has disappeared down the cliff, taking trees and other debris with it. Plastic sheets have been hung to protect what’s left. Residents did this, against official advice. “Work was done originally by locals on several sections, which may have destabilised the area further,” warns AT.
Just around the next corner is one of those locals, and he’s still hard at work.
Dean has a saw in one hand, black sunglasses wrapped around his face and cheeks tinged red from exertion. As he cuts down branch after branch, gathering them up to throw over the bank, he admits he also has complaints. “This hasn’t been done for about 20 years,” he says, pointing to the trees and shrubs around the road. He blames Auckland Council maintenance cutbacks for causing all this damage to Karekare’s roads. “We used to get the bush mowed right back. They don’t do it anymore.”
That, he says, is the cause of these slips. Dean points to culvert and stormwater drains full of debris. “It overgrows, all the foliage gets in the water tables, culverts get full, it overflows and washes the road away,” he says. It is, he says, that simple. “That’s all it is, keeping that water off the road so it doesn’t spill over and wash away.”
For the past three weeks, Dean has been out here trying to fix that. He’s lived in Karekare for three decades and is a builder by trade. He should be on site in Titirangi, but with Karekare’s roads closed, he’s decided to tackle this massive task instead. “I’ve done the past two kilometres,” he says proudly. Today, he’s also clearing out an overgrown turning bay, which he figures AT will need to use once it starts fixing the roads. “I haven’t got anything else to do. I can’t go to work.”
According to AT, fixing all the slips along Lone Kauri Road involves a three-stage plan that starts by restoring one-lane access, then a more full restoration to two lanes. Now that geotech analysis is complete, chief engineer Murray Burt says staff can start making plans to fix the road. Each slip is different and AT will only be able to tackle one at a time. That means using different techniques, from installing piles to support the road, to stabilising hillsides with nets and digging out cliff faces. Getting two lanes back? “It could quite likely be over one year before we can rebuild all of that,” says Burt.
Dean has a point about the stormwater drains. “Road maintenance has reduced over time,” says Burt. “Auckland Transport is only funded to do maintenance once a year on stormwater drains … more regular maintenance needs to take place.” He also agrees that water and roads are not a good mix. But even if all of Lone Kauri Road’s stormwater drains were cleared and operating correctly, they still wouldn’t have been able to cope with two major flooding events in a three-week span. “The size of that storm was larger that what anything is designed for,” says Burt.
That’s not going to deter Dean and the 18 other Karekare residents who are doing the job themselves. “I plod away every day,” says Dean. Residents are angry at the lack of maintenance, and the radio silence on repairs. “I know we’re not supposed to be doing this. We’ve just got to do what we can. There’s a lot of anger and frustration out there. We’ve got no choice any more. We’re trying to save what’s left of the road.”
Charlotte Robson just wants her car back. She hasn’t been back to her home in Karekare since Gabrielle hit. That night, she sat up, listening to neighbours evacuating and homes sliding down the hill around her. Soon, she fled herself, picking up her daughter and picking her way past dangerous slips. “It was nuts … crazy,” she says. “It was dark. I had my daughter. We were shimmying across. I was on the news for it.” It’s true: “It was quite unsafe … It’s just traumatising,” she told Stuff about her daring escape.
Robson and her daughter Skylar only made it through thanks to the help of their neighbour Garrett, who drove over slips on the night of the storm to reach her. They’ve been waiting things out with family in Piha, but today, they’ve decided to return to Karekare to try and reach Robson’s car. To do that, they have to make it past a stretch of Karekare Road that until recently was covered in mud and trees. Above it, the hillside has sheared off, smothering the road. It looks like an avalanche has hit it.
Robson and Garrett have pulled over to assess the risk. Garrett works in construction and believes the road is safe. “That’s sweet as,” he says. “It’s not bowed out underneath. There’s no cracking in the road … I’d drive over that any day of the week.” He’s more concerned about the cliff face above us, which looks like it might be ready to give way. “The most dangerous thing right now is that,” he says. He runs over to warn a motorist idling underneath it. “That’s not the best place to have a chat.”
It’s too dangerous to drive through this, says the Auckland Transport official guiding us today. But after watching Cassandra, Garrett and several other residents take the plunge, he changes his mind. We continue cautiously down Karekare Road, past many more slips, before entering the small township. There, a stunned silence falls over us. The results of Gabrielle’s destructive path are visible in every direction. We drive past flooded front yards, letterboxes slapped with red stickers, homes that have slid down cliff faces, shellshocked residents trying to pick up the pieces.
Along one nearby stretch of road, a giant pile of broken wood has been pushed to one side. A month ago, this was someone’s home, and many of its contents are identifiable in the rubble: a couch, the corner of a bed, a white dressing gown smeared in muck. Now, it’s all destroyed, waiting to be sent to the tip. The homes sitting at right angles on the hill behind it are broken too. The task seems too big. Where do you start when literally everything needs fixing?
According to some residents, it’s the little things that count. We stop to talk to several people peering over a massive slip, the biggest we’ve seen yet. A section of the road has disappeared, travelling so far down the cliff it’s impossible to tell where it stopped. Barrier arms are broken, signs in disarray. When the residents learn an AT official is present, one quips: “I’ll try to be nice to you.”
Then the demands begin. Like Dean, she’s worried about continued damage from excess water. She wants a culvert stop installed to plug the drain, and polythene sheets draped over the cliff, to stop it slipping any more. “Come and do those little bits, real quick,” she pleads. The AT official nods his head, then delivers some good news: the Piha road blockade will soon disappear, giving residents easier access to their home. “Now we know these roads are going to be OK to open soon,” he tells them. (The Spinoff understands this could happen in the next two weeks.)
In the grand scheme of things it’s only a small step, but in this part of Aotearoa, any good news is worth celebrating. “We’re vulnerable [but] that will take the pressure off the residents in the community,” says one resident. “It’s those little things.”