Goodbye, dear Alan

Usually I am a very tidy sleeper.  I barely disturb the bedclothes.

Not so last Saturday night after I'd received word of the death of my dear, dear old friend, Allan.  I was filling in for one night as a house-sitter at One Tree Point, right on the harbour.  I pulled back the curtains and spent most of the night gazing out at the harbour watching the lights go out on the other side of the harbour until finally it was just the channel markers blinking in the dark.  I heard the waves gently lapping as the tide came in.  I gave thanks that I was here by the sea as I grieved, as Allan had loved the sea and so many of our good times together were spent on or in the ocean.

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Early morning, low tide

All night I tried to keep the sadness at bay, thinking of the fun times and concentrated on one night in particular.  It was in winter in the late 80s or early 90s. I was 'keeping company' with Allan, who lived at Mangawhai by the sea not far from where I lived. During the summer months we had enjoyed floundering at night. Let me rephrase that – we enjoyed night-time flounder fishing the old fashioned away, with a spear.

We would wade in shallow water as quietly as possible along the estuary armed with a light held close to the surface of the water. The flounder is a flat fish which come into very shallow water - sometimes only inches deep - after sunset. Stalking shallow beach water and estuarine areas by night offers a totally different perspective to fishing. The fish life can be prolific, with mullet, eels and other creatures of the night more common than the skittish flounder, which can be difficult to see, camouflaged against the sand. When the light is shone on the flounder, they stay very still and should make an easy target. Well, you’d think it would be easy. More fun than easy really. Many flounder lived to swim another day.

When the nights became cooler Allan applied himself to thinking up a way we could still go floundering without having our feet in cold, cold water for hours. He came up with lamps that operated under water (maybe it was battery operated, I can’t remember) which we could suspend from the front of our kayaks. It worked well. In theory. In practise, I found it difficult to gauge the depth of the water while seated in the kayak rather than knowing how far up the legs it came while wading. I thought I was getting the hang of it when I spotted a BIG flounder and enthusiastically thrust the spear at it. However, the spear (with me holding on to the end of it) traveled much deeper into the water than I thought it would and I became unbalanced and tipped into the freezing water. OK, just very cold. But far too cold for me. I screamed and shrieked and then we laughed and laughed as we hurriedly hauled in the kayaks, got them on to the car and headed home for a much needed change of clothes and some warmth.

In those days Mangawhai had a permanent population of about 600 (which was much larger during the summer months) and houses close to where we had lunched the kayaks were all holiday homes. No lights, no-one around. So we presumed no-one was aware of our misadventure.

A few nights later we were visiting friends who lived on the cliff above the estuary but quite some distance from where we had been. After a while the man said we should have been at their place during the week. He and his wife had been watching TV when they heard a blood curdling scream above the sound of the TV. It came from down on the water and they were alarmed, wondering what on earth was going on down there. They thought someone was having their throat cut or something equally terrible. But after a while they heard laughter and voices. They thought the laughter sounded familiar but hadn’t been able to work out who it belonged to. Allan and I didn’t say a word but must have exchanged a look, or perhaps a smile because they then remembered whose laugh it was they had heard. We had forgotten how sound travels on the water on a still night.

Ahh, Allan, what good times we had!

He will  have a funeral service in Australia where he has lived for many years and then his Kiwi family will scatter his ashes in the sea at Piha, a beach he loved so much.

Scatter his ashes on the sea
And as he floats on crested wave
He wants no tears or grief
Or duty visits to his grave.....

Don't bury him beneath the ground
No cold imprisoned tomb for him
Or headstone with an earthy mound
That's not the place he'd want to be.

It's where the winds blow fresh and free
I know that he will lie content
The sea he loves his cemetery
And waves his only monument.....

The bowling green

Thor and Zeus were battling it out overhead on Sunday night.  I can't remember when we last had such an impressive storm.  I got out of bed to draw back the curtains then enjoyed it immensely, laying snug and warm in my comfy bed, watching the flashing fireworks in the sky.  I did spare a thought for young children having their sleep disturbed and perhaps being frightened as thunder shook the houses.   I gave thanks once again that my grandmother had shared with me her love of a good storm, the wilder and turbulent the better, her only concern that her fig tree didn't fall on the house.

The storm came with torrential rain, the most we've had in quite a while, causing lots of local flooding.  It drained away quickly.

This photo was taken early the next morning of the bowling green, just a stone's throw from my house.  

photo courtesy of Lisa Netto

Close to Home

It was a bit later than originally planned but last weekend my friend, Chris and I finally had our 2021 mid-winter break.  At the end of summer.  Covid interrupted our plans. 

We first took a mid-winter break together in 2000 when we explored the Coromandel Peninsula.  Sometimes it's just been for a couple of nights, sometimes a bit longer.   This was a short one, just two nights, Friday night in Parakai near Helensville and Saturday night in Dargaville.  Maybe it will be a longer one this winter.

Helensville is only a couple of hours from here and the garage I use to service my car is in Dargaville so I go there reasonably often.  You can see Helensville at the bottom on the map and Dargaville at the top.  And lots of harbour in between. 

When I first came to New Zealand in 1973 I lived at Pouto and in the early 2000s at Tapora at the end of the peninsula on the opposite side of the harbour, so the Kaipara Harbour holds many memories for me.  

With Covid restrictions finally lifting, Kairpara Cruises, which are based in Helensville, are once again operating their two day harbour cruise from there, with an overnight stay at the grand old Northern Wairoa Hotel in Dargaville.

 photo courtesy of Kaipara Cruises website

The boat coming to pick us up on a dreary Sunday morning.  On a fine day the hills of home, the Uppity Downities, are clearly visible.  It rained shortly after but cleared again an hour or so later.

I didn't get any decent photos.  My newish camera has been a disappointment.  It takes nice photos but I can't see the screen when I'm outside on a sunny day.  Not sure if it is the screen or my failing eyesight.  And my phone wasn't purchased with it's photographic ability (or lack of same) in mind.  And then I was so busy looking at the sights that I forgot about photos and got lost down memory lane.

Just a couple of bays before we reached Pouto Point

 

It was a wonderful weekend.  Everyone on board was friendly and enjoyed the cruise immensely.  Our hosts, Terry and Gaye couldn't have done more to make us comfortable and keep us well fed and watered.   Captain Terry's commentary on the points of historical interest were informative and interesting. Gaye is a brilliant hostess.