“Do you boys know you’re breaking the law?”
In the cold light of morning, I guess it was obvious.
Bleary-eyed and cloudy-headed, we three tired musicians fronted up to the council worker, feeling guilty he’d been called out to work early on a Sunday morning on account of us.
This is not how I expected my first night of tarp camping to go.
“Honestly, we didn’t – we got here at 2am,” I said, dumbly.
It had been a rough night with little sleep, and here we were rolling away sleeping bags by a boat ramp in Coromandel at 7am.
Two friends and I had played at a beach wedding the night before, and after a late finish we couldn’t face the nearly three-hour drive back to Auckland.
Some local bach owners had suggested we drive to the boat ramp to catch a few hours’ kip. We did and set up a quick A-frame with the tarp between two pines.
A cold wind whipped across the estuary. The month-long drought had ended earlier that day, and more rain wasn’t off the cards.
I had two hammocks and a sleeping mat, so we played paper scissors rock for the best sleeping spot.
I lost.
My bed – regrettably – was the hammock we couldn’t fit beneath the tarp.
Exposed to the wind, I didn’t stand a chance.
I gave it a decent crack of a few hours, but in the end, I dropped the hammock and curled up on the ground under the tarp – my head on my mate’s sleeping mat.
Uncomfortable as hell, but warm and out of the wind, I rested without sleep until sun up and thus spent my first night sleeping – if you can call it that – under a tarp.




