What do you think?
Rate this book
Down the Bay: A Natural and Cultural History of Abel Tasman National Park
Down the Bay is a natural and cultural history of Abel Tasman National Park, one of New Zealand’s most loved and popular national parks. A war-time baby, the park was created in 1942 to protect the wonderful sequence of beaches, headlands and forest that characterises this idylic stretch of coastline at the top of South Island.
Philip Simpson, an award-winning author of a number of books on New Zealand trees, presents a comprehensive picture of the distinctive landforms of Abel Tasman, from the granite headlands and golden-sand beaches of the coast to the deep caves of the uplands, the diversity of plants and animals, the marine environment, and the overlay of both Māori and European history.
As well, the book records how Project Janszoon, a trust funded by a remarkably generous philanthropic gift, is working with the Department of Conservation and a range of other organisations to transform the park, by removing pests and weeds and then restoring and preserving the wildlife of Abel Tasman. This is an inspiring and hopeful story of how the future of an important area of New Zealand is being secured for future generations.
Down the Bay is the first authoritative account of Abel Tasman National Park to ever be published, a book that also beautifully captures an unforgettable visitor experience.
Philip Simpson, an award-winning author of a number of books on New Zealand trees, presents a comprehensive picture of the distinctive landforms of Abel Tasman, from the granite headlands and golden-sand beaches of the coast to the deep caves of the uplands, the diversity of plants and animals, the marine environment, and the overlay of both Māori and European history.
As well, the book records how Project Janszoon, a trust funded by a remarkably generous philanthropic gift, is working with the Department of Conservation and a range of other organisations to transform the park, by removing pests and weeds and then restoring and preserving the wildlife of Abel Tasman. This is an inspiring and hopeful story of how the future of an important area of New Zealand is being secured for future generations.
Down the Bay is the first authoritative account of Abel Tasman National Park to ever be published, a book that also beautifully captures an unforgettable visitor experience.
312 pages, Hardcover
First published December 1, 2018
About the author
Philip Simpson
5 books1 followerPhilip Simpson, is an award-winning author of a number of books on New Zealand trees.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 of 1 review
June 7, 2023
It might be our smallest national park, but as ecologist Philip Simpson demonstrates in this handsome and heavy book, its importance far outweighs its size. Most trampers know of Abel Tasman’s golden beaches, its granite headlands and mesmerising blue sea. ‘The coast,’ Simpson writes, ‘is everywhere indented by caves, fissures, arches and hollows, creating an endless sequence of often beautiful rock forms.’ Granite is the recurring coastal theme, shaping the headlands, boulders and even the coarse sands, but granite forms poor soils, profoundly affecting the area’s vegetation.
Fewer know the park’s interior, a place of beech forests, marble, sinkholes, frost-flats and subalpine wetlands, which was once home to birds like the adzebill, Haast’s eagle, laughing owl and seven species of moa. Its highest point is Mt Evans (1156 metres), and the book contains a lovely description of naturalist Herbert Guthrie-Smith photographing a nesting mohua (yellowhead) there in the 1930s.
Remarkably, Abel Tasman National Park was created during the great conflict of the Second World War. It was New Zealand’s first coastal national park, and also a great experiment in regeneration, as many of the area’s forests had been previously milled or burnt. Pérrine Moncrieff, a founding member of Forest and Bird, and a formidable conservationist, saw through the park’s establishment in 1942 through sheer political ingenuity and personal determination. Taking its title from the name of a book penned by Moncrieff, Simpson explores the park’s natural history in intricate detail.
Surprisingly little was known about large areas of the park, and during his research, Simpson himself uncovered many secrets and species previously unrecorded in the area – notably orchids.
The author manages to achieve conflicting aims: on one hand, it’s a repository of knowledge about the park, with more detail that some readers will want to digest; but it’s told well, with just enough personal stories and interesting anecdotes to leaven what otherwise could be dense reading. By his commitment to depth, Simpson layers, chapter by chapter, the sheer diversity of the park’s nature, and the complexity of its patterns and processes, and how past human activity has shaped its current assemblage of plants, animals and soils.
He also weaves in general biological facts. ‘Chitin is the key factor that allows fungi to survive in their mode of life: digesting matter by absorbing it, rather than making it (plants) or engulfing it (animals).’ Then we learn about the dog vomit ‘fungus’ which is not actually a fungus, but a slime mould, and present in the park. ‘It’s what happens under your feet that really matters in ecology’.
The book is visually sumptuous, with several of the strongest images, including the cover, taken by local photographer Dave Buckton. The work of other well-known nature photographers, notably Craig Potton, Rob Brown, Kay Jackson and Don Pittham also feature. Simpson complements these with his own images.
Chapters on the park’s cultural history, both Māori and Pākehā, plus one on place names, prove interesting too. Abel Tasman, of course, never set foot on the land he named New Zealand, and Simpson makes a strong case that it’s time the park got a Māori name. He suggests Tōtaranui National Park.
The last chapter recounts the remarkable, privately funded Project Janszoon, which is steadily transforming the park’s ecology by ridding the area of pests, weeds and wilding pines. A network of traps has now been established throughout the park, and lost species such as pāteke (brown teal) reintroduced.
Pérrine Moncrieff was a ‘vitalist’ – someone who believed a force connects all living things, and that people should respect nature. Through his scientific knowledge and clear love of the park, Simpson proves something of a vitalist himself. Down the Bay gave me a much greater appreciation of the area’s biodiversity, especially the often-neglected things beneath my boots. And the work of Project Janszoon promises a vibrant future for this most endearing of our national parks.
Fewer know the park’s interior, a place of beech forests, marble, sinkholes, frost-flats and subalpine wetlands, which was once home to birds like the adzebill, Haast’s eagle, laughing owl and seven species of moa. Its highest point is Mt Evans (1156 metres), and the book contains a lovely description of naturalist Herbert Guthrie-Smith photographing a nesting mohua (yellowhead) there in the 1930s.
Remarkably, Abel Tasman National Park was created during the great conflict of the Second World War. It was New Zealand’s first coastal national park, and also a great experiment in regeneration, as many of the area’s forests had been previously milled or burnt. Pérrine Moncrieff, a founding member of Forest and Bird, and a formidable conservationist, saw through the park’s establishment in 1942 through sheer political ingenuity and personal determination. Taking its title from the name of a book penned by Moncrieff, Simpson explores the park’s natural history in intricate detail.
Surprisingly little was known about large areas of the park, and during his research, Simpson himself uncovered many secrets and species previously unrecorded in the area – notably orchids.
The author manages to achieve conflicting aims: on one hand, it’s a repository of knowledge about the park, with more detail that some readers will want to digest; but it’s told well, with just enough personal stories and interesting anecdotes to leaven what otherwise could be dense reading. By his commitment to depth, Simpson layers, chapter by chapter, the sheer diversity of the park’s nature, and the complexity of its patterns and processes, and how past human activity has shaped its current assemblage of plants, animals and soils.
He also weaves in general biological facts. ‘Chitin is the key factor that allows fungi to survive in their mode of life: digesting matter by absorbing it, rather than making it (plants) or engulfing it (animals).’ Then we learn about the dog vomit ‘fungus’ which is not actually a fungus, but a slime mould, and present in the park. ‘It’s what happens under your feet that really matters in ecology’.
The book is visually sumptuous, with several of the strongest images, including the cover, taken by local photographer Dave Buckton. The work of other well-known nature photographers, notably Craig Potton, Rob Brown, Kay Jackson and Don Pittham also feature. Simpson complements these with his own images.
Chapters on the park’s cultural history, both Māori and Pākehā, plus one on place names, prove interesting too. Abel Tasman, of course, never set foot on the land he named New Zealand, and Simpson makes a strong case that it’s time the park got a Māori name. He suggests Tōtaranui National Park.
The last chapter recounts the remarkable, privately funded Project Janszoon, which is steadily transforming the park’s ecology by ridding the area of pests, weeds and wilding pines. A network of traps has now been established throughout the park, and lost species such as pāteke (brown teal) reintroduced.
Pérrine Moncrieff was a ‘vitalist’ – someone who believed a force connects all living things, and that people should respect nature. Through his scientific knowledge and clear love of the park, Simpson proves something of a vitalist himself. Down the Bay gave me a much greater appreciation of the area’s biodiversity, especially the often-neglected things beneath my boots. And the work of Project Janszoon promises a vibrant future for this most endearing of our national parks.
Displaying 1 of 1 review