Kopupaka Playground

“The sun climbs high o’er Auckland’s brow, A golden warmth on timber beams, Where Kopupaka wakes up now, A park of award-winning schemes. Built like the cribs that hold the grain, The wooden structures rise and bend, A masterwork of urban terrain, Where lines of play and nature blend. But tucked beside the giant swings, Beneath the wetlands’ gentle breeze, A different kind of magic rings, Drifting through the willow trees. The Parks on the Air-the hunter’s call, The roving ham prepares his station, Beside the boardwalk, straight and tall, To speak to a waking, distant nation. Out comes the pack, the canvas unzipped, The ritual begins in the morning air, With coaxial cable and connectors crimped, And a counterpoise laid with meticulous care. Up goes the mast, a fiberglass lance, Feeding a wire to the open sky, Waiting to catch the ionospheric dance, As the solar winds go rushing by. He seats himself on a wooden bench, The KX3 or the FT-818 at hand, No need for a hammer, a spade, or a wrench, Just a dial to sweep across the band. The battery’s full, the squelch is set, A static hiss like a distant sea, The finest web that a man can net, Woven in RF and mystery. "CQ POTA, CQ POTA," the whisper takes flight, From Massey’s heart to the stratosphere’s ceiling, Reflecting off layers of plasma and light, A bounce and a skip, an ethereal feeling. "This is ZL-one, operating portable here, At Kopupaka Park, for the Parks on the Air." The children laugh on the flying fox, They race through the wetlands, wild and free, Oblivious to the little black box That’s talking to Southland, and across the Tasman Sea. A crackle of noise, then a signal breaks through, A VK2 operator, sharp and clear: "Good day to the park, I am copying you, You’re five-and-nine into Sydney, my peer!" The logbook fills with ink and time, A checklist of contacts, a radio trail, From the suburbs of Brisbane to a southern clime, Every exchange a successful tale. The signal report, the location exchanged, A handshake of data, of voice, or of Morse, Across the vast Pacific, so neatly arranged, By physics and patience, and nature's own course. The Log of the Day Time (UTC) | Call Sign | Signal (RST) | Location / Notes 00:15 | VK2HOT | 59 / 57 | Sydney - Strong QSB 00:22 | ZL3HAM | 59 / 59 | Christchurch - Ground wave 00:40 | VK4CQ | 55 / 56 | Brisbane - Caught the skip 01:05 | ZL1RAW | 59 / 59 | Auckland Local - Solid copy The shadow of the playground grows long on the dirt, The afternoon sun starts its slow, steady dive. With forty contacts safely logged and assert, The activation is well and truly alive. The park-goers leave as the cool air descends, The wetlands grow quiet, the birds start to nest, And here, where the modern and natural blends, The radio operator takes a well-deserved rest. He winds up the wire on its plastic frame, Packs down the tripod, the radio, the lead, Leaving the playground exactly the same, No footprint, no damage, no scattered seed. But the airwaves still echo with what has been done, A bridge made of ether, of spirit, and spark, Connecting the world to the setting sun, From the beautiful hollows of Kopupaka Park.”

“So far the best playground I have seen in Auckland. It has pretty much everything, you name it. On the weekends, it is packed. There is a separate additional playground down the stairs behind the sandpit area if you like a bit of peace and isolation.”

“Great park for all ages. So much to do. Flying fox, sandpit with baby area, massive climbing area and slide. Water play and many hidden things to find in and around the park. My two almost 4 year old boys loved it.”