The clocks going back meant we woke early to the sound of the waves and the dazzle of the morning sunlight hitting the water. It was the perfect setting for a breakfast of banana pancakes!

As the tea kicked in I constructed a cooking station in the sun, overlooking the bay and then a delicious production line began. We ate them straight out of the pan (wok) with Nutella and it was heavenly. Bob delivered our surplus pancakes to the kids playing nearby and we broke camp, heading along the coast, through a ford, along more death defying turns to the end of the road at Fletchers Bay.

The plan was to work off some of our delicious morning gluttony by doing a stretch of the coromandel walkway, and we did a couple of k's under the imposing glare of square top Island, before turning back as the track dipped inland. Bob braved the composting toilets again before getting back in the rather toasty Enema.

We retraced our steps and walked to the end of the peninsula I'd run past the previous day, giving stunning views over the coastline in each direction and out to the islands sat in the deep blue water.

We paddled back to the car and started the drive back South, promising the Enema that this would be her last stretch of unmetalled road. The route was just as impressive heading back towards civilisation but we had the added incentive of heading to a restaurant called The Mussel Pot for lunch!

Sat in the sunshine drinking local craft Pilsner, tucking into a 2 huge black pots of steaming green lipped mussels with sourdough rolls and salad we could have been in heaven, and at a very reasonable cost! The moment was only slightly marred by the realisation that I had lost 50% of my footwear at some point during the morning.

We trundled South arriving at the I-site in Thames with enough time for her to tell us we had 20 minutes to make a 20 minute journey to the DOC centre to get a map for the following day before they shut... Queue the Kauaeranga stage of the Coromandel Ralley Championships with Bob 'Lead Boot' Clarke taking no prisoners on the single lane gravel track through the bush.

We arrived with 5 minutes to spare and I was jettisoned out of the co-drivers seat on a mission to get a map. I succeeded and thankfully Bob was still parking the car whilst the DOC warden explained to me what a beastie route we could do up the pinnacles the next day.

We tootled back to Thames to restock and sort out accommodation. Having not showered for 36 hours the lack of decent campsites with facilities was a concern. Fortunately I managed to persuade a lady, who was renting out a piece of carpark for mobile homes to stay on, to let us use her shower. I made small talk for as long as I could and was very grateful when the door of the cubicle opened and Bob came out, meaning I could escape to the shower. I emerged refreshed to find Bob and the old couple reminiscing about Dorset as the old lady was from Bradford Abbas. Small world.

Restocked and sweet smelling we headed back up the unmetalled road into the forest as night fell around us. As we bounced and ground along I realised that I had broken my promise to the plucky Enema and we were performing more off roading together. For this lie she punished me by removing my ability to brake. We pulled into the DOC camp Whangaiterenga, chosen because it was cheap and was rumoured to have flushing toilets! I had to pump the brake pedal several times to come to a stop at which point the pedal travelled all the way to the floor, which Bob helpfully pointed out that it shouldn't... Like any good mechanic I left that small hornets nest for the light of the morning and focused on getting fed. We were in a pretty clearing in the middle of the forest, where we pulled up, signed in and made pasta a la courgette for what had to be the final time.

It was inky black by the time we had finished eating. I 'washed up' the pan with a piece of stale French stick and by the light of my re-energised head torch we realised that although the toilets flushed, most of them were out of order...

We returned to the Enema through the slightly erie darkness and threatening silence of the forest. There was nobody else at the campsite and we battened down the hatches of the enema, falling asleep to the sounds of the Morepork owl and various other nocturnal critters who liked the sound of their own voice.