Another ghost of World War II

This was the last one.

Palmer Heads fortress has hovered above me like a mirage for more than a year. I've been trying to figure out how to get up there - half-heartedly, it is true. It looms like a disapproving and slightly ragged ghost on a steep cliff above one of the roads I run. I hadn't been able to find any way up there.

My son had forbidden me from just heading straight up the side of the mountain from Moa Point, telling me my obsession with the old battery emplacements around Wellington wasn't worth my life.

But, having failed to find the mythical Wellington castle on Saturday, Morgan and I made a concerted effort not to get skunked twice in one week. We were going to find the last of the remaining emplacements no matter what it took.

While New Zealand committed a lot of troops early to World War II, the arrival of more than 100,000 U.S. fighting forces plugged the gap at home left by the Kiwis. The U.S. presence prevented the worst of the war from landing on New Zealand's shores. The sparse battlements around Wellington were never used during the war, but they are a haunting reminder of those dread times.

So I've been trying to learn as much about that side of history as possible and to visit all the sites.



The Palmer Heads "fortress" was completed in 1937, earlier than some of the other emplacements around town. It was a two-gun battery featuring six inch Mk XXI guns. It was home to the 13th Heavy Battery, and more buildings, including barracks, were built later. Underground plotting rooms - which sounds totally cool - were begun in 1942 and completed the following year.

The guns were never fired at an enemy. After the war the fortress was put into care and maintenance. Its guns were scrapped by an Australian company which, irony of ironies, then sold the scrap metal to the Japanese.

What is pictured at top is the remains of the radar station. The underground plotting room is still around but, well, underground.

Morgan and I drove around in ever-decreasing circles until we figured out that we had to be close. We clambered through a neighborhood and over a hill, through some gardens and then across a paved road that leads to the radar installation for Wellington Airport.


Best view in Wellington for our Buddha.

When we arrived, the only sign of explosives was some dude sitting on the roof getting bombed. Looking out over the Cook Strait, sitting cross-legged and listening to music through his earphones, he had the best view in Wellington. He was a peaceful chap and didn't do anything but wave at us.

When I told Morgan that the guy was probably a stoner, Morgan said he'd already figured that out.

"How?" I asked.

"Well, who else but stoners ... and bloggers would be all the way up here?"

He had a point.



The graffiti up here was spectacular - as was the amount of glass from smashed beer bottles. It's obviously been a studio for aspiring, perspiring and imbibing artists and other hipsters for many years.

Add bloggers to that crew now.