Haere mai, kiwi

 

This is a kiwi, New Zealand’s national bird, emblem and citizen nickname (with a capital K). Today ten of them were brought to Waiheke from a nearby island sanctuary to, hopefully, establish a population here. It must have been a disturbing and anxious time for them, as well as dazzling (they’re nocturnal - also, flightless and endangered, sigh). Still, it was pretty special for the big crowd, who waited patiently for the barge to arrive, nearly 2 hours late (headwind) from Ponui. 

It finally chugged up to the beach and the 10 boxes were carried carefully along past media and excited spectators to the nearby Piritahi marae, where they were to receive a traditional welcome. It was a significant moment in every way - including personally because, in an echo of my NYC helicopter be-bold revelation, when one of the organisers asked for help in carrying the first box onto the marae, I stepped forward instantly, ahead of other volunteers. So I got to head the procession, holding one handle of the box as we filed onto the marae atea while the seated audience watched. That’s me in the lime-green top, feeling smug.

Then it was all long speeches in Māori, waiata (songs) and ceremony, before the boxes were loaded into cars to be driven away to a distant, predator-free (ie nasty introduced stoats eliminated) peninsula where it’s hoped they will settle, mate and start to repopulate Waiheke, helped by another 30 kiwi joining later. Fingers crossed!

UPDATE: A report in the Gulf News on 28 August states that one pair of kiwi appear to have laid two eggs, and another pair look to be courting. Great news! Though not for the poor mother - kiwi eggs are the biggest per body size in the world - like a human squeezing out a 3 year-old child. Ouch.

Channelling Sir Ed. Sort of

With thanks to Big Little Campers for this famil

Today I climbed a mountain, both literally and figuratively. Well, maybe "mountain". The day started well and then just carried on that way. Bircher muesli with fresh Otago cherries (shared again with my poultry visitors) eaten outside on a bright morning gazing at a sea view was an excellent opener, and a stroll around the farm to bid farewell to all the cute animals continued the pleasure.

Then, it was time for the mountain. Māngere Mountain, that is - one of the biggest and most intact of Auckland's 50-odd volcanic cones. It's actually only 108m high, but it's very noticeable, and inviting, poking up green above the surrounding suburbs. There's a lot of Māori history and stories about it, and geological information all laid out on info boards, but today I just used it for a pleasant bit of exercise with the reward of some lovely views in all directions: harbour, bridge, suburbs, city, airport. Lots of fresh air and nature, and other people climbing up and down. Nice.

That was the end of the holiday bit. Next came the campervan return chores, which I'd been quietly dreading - but, as with all my other novice worries, there was no need. Honestly, the hardest bit was wending my way to the nearest dump station - yes, the place to empty the self-contained campervan tanks containing the 'grey water' (from the sink) and the 'black water' (ahem) from the loo. I was expecting it to be a major, but in fact there was just a simple covered drain with a tap at the side of the Mobil petrol station. Once I'd got my instruction via a phone call to helpful Nicola at Big Little Campers, I was able to take out and empty the toilet tank (containing only #1s, natch), and even swill it out, and then drain the grey water - absolutely no big deal, easy as and not in the least gross. I actually struggled more with topping up the petrol tank afterwards, being somewhat out of practice.

And then all I had to do was cruise over to the BLC base, remove my single bag of gear, be reassured again, by Jon this time, that the branch scrape incident was no big deal, and Uber away to train, ferry and bus home. Done! And it was a success: I got over my nervousness, enjoyed the freedom and the comfort, and would happily sign up as a member of the Vanlife community. What I'd feared would be a fairly intimidating mountain to climb turned out to be a doddle. Definitely recommended.

Big news

 Well, how about that? Some good news! Though with a tinge of sadness, of course. This is Burma who was, until just a couple of months ago, the star of Auckland Zoo. Never mind tigers, giraffes, even orangutans and rhino, the sheer bulk of an elephant is always going to make the most dominant impression. Plus, Burma was sweet and lonely, having been on her own for the last two years since her companion went overseas - as Burma was meant to too, but it fell through (not literally, thank goodness).

But finally a new set-up was sorted, a herd for her to help found after too many years of loneliness, and she was trucked then flown away in her specially-built container. Right about now she should be meeting her first fellow herd member, another female, with three more including a young male to follow later. Add in a much bigger enclosure with varied terrain, and the comforting presence of her keeper, 25 years in the job and now also translocated, and it looks like being a happy ending. Yay.

There are still, though, plenty of elephants in other countries not just imprisoned in zoos, but also being made to work in poor conditions - I’ve seen them myself, in India and Thailand. I’ve even, ashamed to say, ridden on them a couple of times in tourism set-ups. Those are starting to disappear now, hooray, as we all become more aware, and there are some really good sanctuaries working hard to rescue them from poor conditions, like Elephant Hills in Thailand, where I haven’t been, and the Sheldrick Wildlife Trust in Kenya, where I have.

African elephants are too big and wild to be domesticated and mistreated like Asian ones, but there they are not only poached for their ivory, but also get caught in nasty bushmeat snares, fall into wells and are attacked by farmers wanting to protect their crops. The Sheldrick Trust does brilliant work rescuing them (expensive business - helicopters are involved) and looking after orphans till they can be released again (expensive business - takes years). Their nursery just outside Nairobi is a great place to visit, and it’s guaranteed you’ll want to support them (I do). 

Best place to go? Not Ingham

I see Ingham's in the news again. It's only been 80 years since the last time. 

Today it's because northern Queensland has been hit, yet again, by dreadful floods and, in amongst all the other misery they are causing, there's the inevitable Aussie problem of displaced wildlife. In this case, it's a croc in the middle of Ingham, a small town of fewer than 6,000 doughty banana-benders, causing some  excitement before its being caught - by harpoon, unexpectedly. It was only 2.5m, nowhere near the 5m+ that they regularly boast about up there, but big enough to be a nuisance, certainly.

I visited Ingham 10 years ago, on a Queensland famil, and was distinctly underwhelmed by the town, not helped by some hiccups in the itinerary. Its only other claim to fame is also a negative one: that it's the actual location and inspiration for the Slim Dusty song 'A Pub with No Beer'.

That was because, in 1943, a contingent of US soldiers had passed through and literally drunk every drop of beer, to the disgust next day of Irish farmer Dan Sheahan, who had ridden his horse for 20 miles into town, lured by the vision of a foaming pint. Admirably, fobbed off with a glass of warm white wine, he wrote a poem instead of getting angry, and in 1957 the song that resulted became Australia's most successful single.

The pub, in 2013 anyway, was still a brightly-lit, basic place full of leathery old boozers, its only nod to sophistication the wide-screen TVs on the walls. I did a review of it anyway, which you can read here. Earlier that year they'd done a 70th anniversary re-enactment of the draining of the town's beer, with an audience of thousands. The town itself had little else of note, and would have been hell for a hungry vegetarian. 

The most notable bit of that whole visit was when we went to a nearby cattle station for a farm tour. No-one there knew anything about it, so I just went to the toilet instead. When I flushed it, two small brown frogs were washed out from under the rim, and disappeared down the loo. Still feel bad about that.

Oh, and one other thing that I learned from the flood reports - there's apparently a town in Queensland called Yorkeys Knob. Not in the least surprised to read that.

Te Ara Hura, Day 2 - a day of two halves

With thanks to Walk Waiheke for this famil.

We were told that today would be 'long but flat' so it was a bit disturbing to start with a very steep climb up from Onetangi, past some gorgeous homes, through a reserve to the road at the top. We followed it to Bruce Plested's place, which is actually a couple of big farms where, now at retirement age, he spends his time titivating the land, for our pleasure.

And it was a real pleasure, to trail through his rolling paddocks, past a big flock of sheep with bouncy lambs, and across another with a herd of curious heifers. The townies amongst us were alarmed at their boldness, and then astonished when one beast, caught on the wrong side of the fence, jumped it like a horse. 

There were some beautiful stands of ancient pohutukawa, which are going to be spectacular next month when their red flowers bloom; and I enjoyed looking down into all the little bays around the coast. We appreciated our morning tea on a headland with great views.

Then, though, we left the farm and hit the road, which Sarah said we were lucky had been dampened by the short, sharp rain that had swept over us, so wasn't dusty, as usual. That was the only thing good about it - it wound on and on, up and down, up and down, unsealed and bumpy, for SO long. Our various feet, knees and hips complained and we all got a bit fed up with it, only momentarily diverted by occasional views out over the water. The biggest island is Pakatoa, once a resort where a young Russell Crowe, under the name Rus le Roq, was an entertainer and bingo caller. It's for sale, if you've got a spare $40-odd million.

We had lunch by the beach at the Man O' War winery, which was, sadly, shut; and then hit the sodding road again, as above. I decided that Sarah's suggestion to adopt an 'intention', to be in the moment, was a bad idea, since here and now was all about aching leg muscles, sore feet and panting. I could have done with rising above all that; or at least distracting myself with trivia.

But we ploughed on, and on, and finally made it to the pick-up point at Orapiu, where I gratefully collapsed into Kate's car and silently groused about the 'flat' part of the official description of today's route. And tomorrow? 'Challenging'. Can't wait.

Kia kaha, Rhodes

Now, which current disaster shall I link to today? Spoiled for choice, really - as usual, sigh. Let's go for Rhodes. Currently sweltering, as are most places around the Mediterranean, in eye-popping temperatures, now there are raging forest fires driving locals and tourists away from their homes and hotels, into halls and stadiums, and even onto the beaches for evacuation. Horrendous.

It was autumn 2015 when I was there, on a Silversea cruise, and ironically my first blog comment about the island was that it has trees - having just visited Mykonos, which has none (but is still gorgeous). I liked Rhodes very much, and was impressed by its antiquity, which was pervasive, and its sheer prettiness. It’s understandably a standard port for the cruise ships. Many of their passengers guests would be Brits, who without a doubt would have fallen foul of my guide Stefanos's declaration that, with 300 days of sunshine a year, any conversation in Rhodes about the weather is considered rude, as a sign of boredom. Not now though, I bet.

He took us south to Lindos, which is one of the towns that have been evacuated. It's famous for its Acropolis, an arty ruin on top of a hill, ancient of course, and with splendid views over, I have to say, not a remarkably tree-clad landscape by our standards, though still very picturesque. The town itself is classically pretty, all narrow lanes, cobbles, white paint, colourful shops, stray cats, and quite a lot of resigned-looking donkeys descended from Californian imports donated by the US after WW2 destroyed all the roads on the island.

Later on I had a lovely wander around the Rhodes Old Town - more cobbled lanes, fountains, frescoes, stalls, buskers, a castle with a grassy moat and pyramids of cannonballs. Really lovely, I thoroughly enjoyed myself, especially the cup of iced tea at a café on a hill with a cooling breeze and a view of the castle, mosques, a church spire, the city wall, a windmill, the harbour with ferries, yachts and cruise ships, and, not far away, Turkey Türkiye.

Bad start, good finish

With thanks to Destination Wairarapa for this famil

Phew, busy day today. Lots of miles covered, people met, things seen and learned (and promptly forgotten) - but definitely enjoyed. Chilly start, though. Thanks, by the way, to the OWM who, when I said as much as I passed him on my way to Parehua's restaurant for breakfast, sternly corrected my comment to praise the sparkling morning. Hadn't noticed that.

Lovely Luke at Longbush Cottage restored my good temper with his contagious enthusiasm for the tulip. He plants about 6,000 of them every winter, in pots and beds around his pretty little cottage, to bloom during his Tulip Festival in early October. It tells you everything about his eagerness, that I got caught up in it all despite, right now, there being nothing to see but the odd tiny green tip poking through all the mulch. It'll be splendid, for sure.

Next I headed, through lovely winter scenery, to Masterton, for a bit of art at Aratoi, the big gallery there. There was some good stuff to look at but I was most impressed by the current exhibition of a huge model moon, constantly rotating to show off its hidden side. It was a bit alarming, to see that it's much more pitted on the far side than the smoother surface we can see - because of all those meteors it cops, which would presumably otherwise hit Earth. Thanks, moon.

Masterton is home to the Golden Shears competition and of course has a detailed museum covering every aspect of shearing sheep; also plenty of art and a very popular park with a miniature train and an excellent minigolf course I would love to have taunted the Baby with - but I had an appointment to keep up the road.

Pukaha is a wildlife sanctuary I've been to before, but this time I was shown around by the inimitable Everlyne, who was irrepressibly full of information and - yes - enthusiasm. She told me lots of interesting things, and took me to see a kokako who only likes men, so Everlyne collared a passing one to take to the enclosure so the bird would come and talk to us. As it/she did - though, disappointingly, she didn't drop the f-bomb as she has been known to.

The eels were pretty impressive, too, big and so eager for a feed that they nearly wrenched the spoon away. The whole place was well done if, today, a little light on actual bird life, despite Everlyne's best efforts. Didn't matter, though - she was the real star.

Masterton is a perfectly pleasant town, with some impressive buildings, but it suffers from being so close to Greytown, which is outrageously pretty and full of character, as well as a whole range of quirky boutiques and other attractions. One of them is the White Swan Hotel, which was moved here from Wellington in six bits, one of them dramatically falling off its truck on the way over the Remutakas. 

I had a very tasty dinner there before going out to admire the town's current Festival of Christmas, with lots of decorations, lights and big slides. I'll be back again for a proper look around tomorrow.

Counting sheep

 

We’re still ahead - and always will be, if you ask any Aussie, for whom the Kiwi/sheep thing is essential unsavoury-relationship joke material - but our ratio is dropping shockingly low. Not that long ago it was 22:1, but now we’re closing in on Iceland’s level. They are very proud of their 2:1 there, and never miss a chance to boast about it. (Australia, by contrast, considers their 3:1 ratio perfectly standard.)

To be honest, and going purely by the attitude of my guide Páll, Icelanders will boast about any feature of their country that’s the least bit distinctive. Good for them, I say. They certainly have plenty to be proud of - volcanoes, glaciers, waterfalls, doughty horses, ancient language, historical resilience, human rights, Björk and co, standard of living, even hotdogs - and I can’t imagine any visitor coming away unimpressed. But the sheep? They’re woolly and cute, and live free-range, with an annual round-up that’d be something to see; but there aren’t that many of them.

Our formerly vast sheep population is dwindling because dairy is more lucrative (though polluting ☹️) and, shockingly, the price of wool has dropped so low that just getting them shorn leaves farmers in the red. Crazy, when it’s such an eco-friendly product, with so many uses - which are expanding all the time, as producers are driven to be more and more creative. All power to them.

In the meantime, it’s a bit melancholy to think that classic NZ scenes like this - irresistible Insta-material for tourists - are becoming less common. 

Actually top of the world-wide list, by the way, though much lower-profile, are the Falkland Islands, with a whopping sheep population of 200:1. The mere fact that I scarcely noticed the sheep while I was there, instead being blown away by all the penguins and albatrosses (and literally by the wind), tells you all you need to know about the dominance there of the wildlife - including over the small population of humans, who cling gamely on, politics and rugged environment notwithstanding. Good thing counting their sexual partners helps them get to sleep at night.

Going to the tip - or rather, coming down from it

 

Still thinking (see the last post) about my Cape York trip in 2006, it was really most notable for its ruggedness. Though other operators offer something similar, the company I did it with, Wilderness Challenge, doesn't seem to be in business any more, and I hope it's just because of the difficult times, and isn't a victim of TripAdvisor sniping.

Because, though the experience with WC was definitely rough and rugged in parts, it felt appropriate for the environment. I mean, we had several breakdowns in their beaten-up old OKA 4WD - two fan-belt failures, another with the aircon, then the steering and finally a suspension problem. That meant some sweaty, oily repairs by driver/guide Ossi while we paddled in cooling rivers. Said suspension was so primitive that he promised us at the beginning that anyone with back problems would be cured by the end, after a week of jolting along corrugated dirt roads - and so it was.

But everything else was great. Ossi, despite being a Finn, was a great interpreter of everything we saw; we stayed in a variety of comfortable and unique accommodation; the food was excellent; and the experience overall was terrific.

I mean, we stood at the tip of the continent. We travelled along empty red-dirt roads, we splashed through fords and crossed a river on a car-ferry. We walked along a boardwalk out into the gloriously peaceful Red Lily Lake, full of lotus flowers. We learned some fascinatingly colourful history, especially about the Jardine brothers' epic 10-month cattle drive south from Rockhampton (42 horses reduced to 12, 250 cattle down to 50 by the end). We saw fabulous clusters of tall termite mounds, a 1.75m deadly taipan, the rusty and dramatic wreck of a DC3, crashed in 1945, and followed the famous Overhead Telegraph road.

We saw beautiful beaches, passed through lush forest and over grassy plains, and had a satisfying swim at the picturesque Fruit Bat Falls ("where there's rocks, there's no crocs"). There in November, the end of the Dry, start of the Wet, we were still startled to see, above a river 5m lower than usual, a sign in a tree reading "14.5m we were here in a boat". There was a frog in my shower that night, and silent lightning outside.

We saw a Santa Gertruda cattle ranch, a Comalco bauxite mine and a photo at the camp ground of a croc eating a caught shark on the beach. We got fussy about spotting roadkill, sneering at one day's tally of just two snakes and a feral pig - though the eagle eating it was a pretty special sight. Most alarming was seeing a massive road train tanking along a dirt road towards us.

We noted that, despite converting to metric last century, Aussies still measure their crocs and sharks in feet, because the number's bigger. "We moved a 12 footer away yesterday," we were told at Lotus Bird Lodge, where we stayed in cabins reassuringly perched on stilts (because of flooding). We walked around the billabong there spotting, despite Dibdib, our Great Dane escort, many species of birds, as well as half a snake on the path (always better than a whole one). There was another frog in my shower that night.

Approaching Cooktown on the coast, we enjoyed the novelty of tar seal on the road, though we all regretted the loss of remoteness. I made the private discovery, after fossicking for windfalls along the town's footpaths, that you can eat too many mangoes. At the museum, we learned about the hideous history of blackbirding, and the very special nature of the Daintree rainforest.

And finally, after passing tea plantations and sugar cane fields, we arrived back in Cairns, where huge swarms of fruit bats flew that evening over the big man-made lagoon on the esplanade, towards a distant peninsula. The lagoon has been provided for public use, the sea being out of bounds because of crocs. Which we never actually saw. Not one.