Camp Farewell

Kip and I collaborated on an article this week about Goat Island campground, which only touches on what the camp meant to us and many others. You can read it here on the Goat Island Marine Reserve website.

Goat Island Campground was a portal to another world, to a more diverse and thriving ecology—for thirty years no pesticides or sprays were used on the land. The frog and bee populations were booming, and flowers were always in bloom. A herd of near-wild Hereford cows roamed the scrubland and steep bush, and natural springs and creeks crisscrossed the hills and valley. Groves of bamboo surrounded the camp's many buildings and its more private bungalows were set amidst screens of greenery. The towers of bamboo provided building materials for fences and huts and backyard bars and occasionally ended up in a bonfire—more than one camper interpreted the exploding stalks of flaming bamboo as gunshots. 

The camp meant a lot to me at different times in my life but the summer of 2021/2022 was the most potent. I lived there for nine months with a handful of other longterm residents during Auckland’s extended lockdown (lasting from August to December of 2021). I took this photograph towards the end, when an influx of summer campers had begun to arrive.

The end passed too quickly for proper reflection. The camp, without my realising it, was a doorway to the rest of my life, a pivot and hinge from which I would not ever be the same. My time there was incredibly special. I’m so happy I followed the crazy idea I had to move there and that the owner, Tim, welcomed me, in my capacity as artist, writer and wwoofer, to become a resident at the camp. I had a good feeling about it from the beginning and it ended up being one of the best things I ever did.

Here’s to the camp, as it was, as it is now, and to following our most harebrained ideas when opportunity knocks.