Craig Julian

I’m writing this from the South Island after a long day riding. My wife and I have spent the day on trails carved into steep terrain, with tight corners, exposed drop-offs, boulders, mud, and river crossings. These tracks demand respect, but they remain open. They are built, used, and maintained by communities that understand both risk and responsibility.

So, I ask, why is Whakatāne different?

Across New Zealand, councils work with their communities to manage tracks like these, not shut them down. Yet here, decisions are being made that remove access entirely.

What concerns me most is this: the people driving these decisions are not from our community.

They did not grow up on these hills. They do not have the same connection to this land, this coastline, or this track. They do not carry the same understanding of what this place means to those of us who do.

We do.

People like Austin Oliver and many others have spent their lives on this whenua. They have built, maintained, and respected these tracks. This is not abstract policy to us. This is part of our daily lives, our identity, and our history.

Tracks like Ōtawairere are not unusual. Around the country, people manage risk without removing access. Slips happen. Erosion happens. Nature reshapes the land. And every time, people step back in and fix it. That is what humans have always done.

What we are seeing now is not management. It is overreach.

We are told “there is more to it.” That phrase does not build trust. It creates distance. It suggests that the people who live here are somehow incapable of understanding their own environment.

We reject that.

This is not complicated.

This is about local knowledge, local responsibility, and local ownership.

Decisions about our track should not be dictated by those who have no real connection to it.

This is our town.

This is our coastline.

This is our track.

Reopen it and work with us to manage it properly.