I, for one, did a shocking amount of
sitting around. I allowed myself to sleep in- with good reason,
though, since I was a man on the brink for a few days there with
fatigue. I went to shore most every day, but never for long unless
(without meaning to so thoroughly illustrate a pattern) it was for a
party. I went jogging, trying to bring my knees back to where they
were before the slow decline in rigorous physical activity since FP.
With that, I made my way along a trail through the location at which
a treaty was signed between the Maori and the Pakeha (Europeans), a
treaty that remains in dispute today. That took me past Hururu Falls
and back into town, at which stage I was barely walking. I got a good
start on the re-introduction of exercise into my life, though, and
not a moment too soon. My knees, who have a history of
insubordination, were becoming a nuisance. Incidentally, relentless
exercise and lots of stretching are the only way I know to bring them
up to snuff. It appears to be working pretty well. I realized at one
point that rolling my i.t. bands would help, so that I accomplished
dockside lying side-to a powdered-milk can. I crushed the can quite a
bit, but it definitely helped.
The eating, it must be stated, has been
spectacular since landfall, though I didn't go out to a restaurant
more than once, to my surprise. I talked about going to some places
harboring particularly sought after foods, like a Thai restaurant,
but always just ended up cooking with some subset of the
aforementioned group. We're used to cooking and it's a great pleasure
to do so with the now vast array of choices. There was a weekly
farmer's market in Paihia as well, which provided, among other
things, Haas avocados and fine cheese for the menu. If we didn't
cook, we were at a party to celebrate the six-year circumnavigation
of Moon-walker, a local boat just returned home and with whom just
about everybody in Northland is friends.
The last of these I attended was on my
final night in Paihia. I serendipitously caught a ride with John and
Nea from Only Child and we went inland to the hills of Keri Keri. We
ate incredible food (the seafood has changed, but is not less
satisfying or abundant than it was in the tropics) and enjoyed yet
again the company of cruisers, except that this time we were at a
house overlooking vast green hillsides, wooded with pines to the west
and some sprawling deciduous trees to the east. It was beautiful and
stunning and and the air was fresh. The ocean was nowhere in view,
couldn't be heard. We agreed, though, that New Zealand was pretty
alright.
The next morning, I pulled the hook and
headed out. It was a glorious day and I had a fine sail in a fresh
breeze. In fine spirits, I happily sat on deck and rigged up some
lures; I threw trolling lines out with a renewed energy about my
boat. Of course, I was only moving six miles to Roberton Island, but
it was a big jump mentally. I was enjoying the water immensely,
though, so I sailed right past the anchorage and around the bay for a
bit hoping for a fish. When I pulled up, Saltbreaker was anchored
along with a few other boats. I went ashore and took a walk up to the
peak. The amount of vegetation recognizable from home was remarkable.
It truly could have been Point Reyes for the climate and the
vegetation, though as far as conspecifics I'm pretty much exclusively
referring to the suite of non-native plants of European origin that
adorn in abundance the hillsides of both California and Northland.
The trail to the top gave way to stairs
which led to basically a wooden deck with a bench built overlooking
the island and the surroundings. Bay of Islands is beautiful. On a
clear day like that one, you could see everywhere. Little islands of
incredible variety in size, shape and color scattered across gorgeous
green water and the mainland, that bigger island, visible to the
horizon with rolling hills and a rugged coastline. From the top I
could see Ardea at anchor and I knew all of the boats in the
anchorage; I felt once again that feeling that nothing much has
changed, a feeling that seems intermittent with one of an altered
reality.
When I got down again John, Alex and
Nick were in the water diving for molluscs. I got on my wetsuit and
jumped in to see what I could bag for dinner. The water was cold and
we soon learned that the scallops and oysters we sought would rarely
be found at less than ten meters depth. Still, we were all proud of
our tropical training, and we had all become proficient free-divers.
After ten or fifteen dives, though, scouring a bottom that is even
colder than the surface and fighting the buoyancy of the wetsuit, we
had reached our limit. Even so, we all managed to grab a few things
and had a fine collection of scallops and oysters for dinner. Thus
continued our sudden switch to a largely molluscan diet.
 |
| A front clearing over Bay of Islands. |
The next day continued much the same.
Only Child left for Whangerei and, in the afternoon, Saltbreaker and
Ardea journeyed a harrowing six miles further to a new anchorage on
Urupukapuka Island. The cove was a DOC (Dept. of Conservation)
campsite and there were dozens of tents ashore. A large group of high
school students was on a trip and most of the others were paddlers
kayaking around the Bay of Islands and camping out. We wondered if we
were like RV people to them, since there was such a large population
of local sailboats and there was no longer any novelty even for
non-sailors in seeing one at anchor or under way. We were doing
little differently from before, we just happened to be in closer
proximity to people who weren't living like vagabonds, who weren't
bound by the sea, but who were otherwise very similar to us; there
was notably little to distinguish us, really, except that we felt
that we knew what it feels like to really be free. The contrast,
though surely noticed only by ourselves, felt sometimes stark. |
| At anchor of Urupukapuka. |
No comments:
Post a Comment