WENTWORTH FALLS, WHANGAMATĀ

I arrived at the entrance to the Coromandel Forest Park as if at the threshold of a legend. The air smelled of coolness and moss, and the forest seemed to hold its breath. Time flows here by different rules: one step forward, a rustle of leaves, a surge of water-everything seems to tell you that you are entering a world older than human memory.

I was searching for Wentworth Falls, hidden near Whangamatā, which Māori elders whisper was once the place where water learned how to fall, endlessly rehearsing a sacred gesture, a dance of life.

The Breath of Tāne Mahuta

The track winds through giant ferns and ancient trees whose trunks seem carved by time and rain. Light slips through the canopy like signs left for the attentive, and the rustle of leaves sounds like a ritual whisper. Māori say that Tāne Mahuta, the god of the forests, reigns here, and that his invisible arms protect the traveller.

The Roar of Water

The Wentworth River flows over stones and fine sand, gathering the cold, clear waters of the forest. The sound of the river, accompanied by the calls of native birds, creates a rhythm that seems to ignore the haste of the world beyond the trees. As the river nears the sea, its flow softens; fresh water subtly mingles with the salty breath of the Bay of Plenty—a brackish water, a place of passage between mountain and sea, between life and legend.

Traces of Gold

Here and there appear the scars of old, abandoned mines, memories of a feverish era when miners and loggers roamed these forests in search of gold and kauri. The giant trees, venerated by Māori as ancestral beings, were felled for the masts of British ships. Each abandoned tunnel, wrapped in moss and ferns, feels like a gateway to a forgotten world, and it is said that the spirits of the fallen trees retreat into the mist, keeping watch over the place.

A Living Museum

Today, the forest has reclaimed everything. Gold has fallen silent, the mines have gone quiet, and the remaining kauri stand as solemn witnesses. The walker steps over these traces as through a living museum, where legend and nature have merged.

The Call of the Water

The roar of water grows louder as we approach the falls. It is a deep, continuous sound that settles in your chest and calls you onward. The air becomes cooler, damper, and each droplet seems to touch the soul. Māori say that water must be heard before it is seen, because its voice announces the passage between worlds.

At the Waterfall

A viewing platform a few hundred metres away offers a ceremonial perspective. The waterfall reveals itself in all its grandeur, perfect for unforgettable photographs. The bravest descend a steep slope of over 45 degrees, like the black goats of the Retezat—careful steps, yet full of courage—to reach the water up close. The waterfall unfolds in tiers, like a liquid ladder between worlds. The natural pools, clear and cold, are mirrors in which the sky seems to descend to gaze at itself. Swimming here is not merely refreshment; it is initiation, a promise of water that cleanses your thoughts, awakens you, and lifts you.

From Mountain to Sea

The water, barely 11 degrees Celsius, shocks the senses awake. But after 14 kilometres through the forest, the body prepares for the next act: the river’s release into the Pacific, in a warm embrace of 22 degrees. Māori tell that the spirits of the water guide the traveller through currents and cascades, preparing them for the ocean, the mother of all waters. And so, from the cold whisper of the Wentworth River to the warm waves of the Pacific, the journey becomes an initiation—a story of water moving from mountain to sea, from fear to freedom.

Initiation

Beneath Wentworth Falls, you feel that you have not merely reached water, but stepped into another world. The roar of the cascade becomes the rhythm of an ancestral story, and the damp air carries the memory of miners’ footsteps and ancient kauri. Each drop touches the skin like an initiation, and the warm, welcoming waves of the Pacific seem to rebirth you—from cold to warmth, from the stillness of the forest to the immensity of the sea, from fear to courage. The traveller is no longer just a visitor; they become part of an eternal story, where water, forest, and spirit merge. Wentworth is not merely a waterfall: it is a liquid ladder between worlds, a ritual of time and nature, a legend that pulses in every heartbeat, in every whisper of leaves, and in every wave that receives you into the vastness of the Pacific.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4JW7GndobmI