I've watched decades of changes around the marina, for longer than most have lived on this coast.
Boats slip past me at first light, headed for the Knights.
Some come home at dusk. Some stay out longer than that.
I see all of it. The harbour mouth, the headlands beyond, the water as it moves between them.
I sit in Oturu Bay, Tutukaka.
There are eleven of us here. A private road brings you down.
The rest of the coast can't see us, but we can see it. That's the arrangement.
Of the eleven, only two of us hold riparian rights to the water.
The full length of the title meeting the tide.
I'm one of them. My neighbour is the other.
Sharing over six thousand square metres of flat to gently sloping land, finishing at a private beach.
A formed ramp for the boat. Water at the edge of the grass.
I'll be honest with you.
What's on me now isn't what should be on me.
The buyer I'm waiting for already knows that.
They're not coming for the house.
They're coming for a position.
A position that holds a family across generations.
The boat in the water.
The kids on the beach.
The long table, the long view, the long summers.
The kind of place a family decides is theirs, and stays theirs, for as long as families stay anywhere.
Land like this doesn't move often.
When it does, it moves once.
The beach is here. Come and stand on it.
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Deadline Sale 9th July at 4pm (unless sold prior)
Further property information available upon request.
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