tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68699269184989942062024-03-12T20:41:45.215+13:00pukawaparadiseOccasional postings of mountain writings, art (mainly printmaking), creative writing (mainly poetry), environmental musings and personal opinions and diary entries with Aotearoa/New Zealand emphasis.Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.comBlogger191125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-16927458084874051912024-03-12T10:51:00.002+13:002024-03-12T11:07:06.009+13:00More Old Mens' Mountain Follys - Up the Waimakariri.<p> One day at home after the 2024 cycling adventure in Northland - and then off to Christchurch for another return to the Mountains and the old mates.</p><p>Jim met me at airport and we took off to Mandeville where we picked up Mike from the long suffering and humane Lyn and travelled up to the Wilson "Rough Creek Shambles" hut at Arthur's Pass. Not too much of a shambles these days and still with a good supply of firewood.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPys3pj_8GizUpaoR3y-4oHpa36gCZAc1fdWqgVl0McDPuZb62xSyEO0YExDQGyZxYH_HQ3RdzI9Mu57KcOgHP8vtVcMHV_VUd47Y5_HPAUXDe_msESB9IcUHQ_6DDD7FdMGZzzjlZ2xmzsYfBgyjzFsBRnYrpaglSZ-1n7a8rZmw-dDmqXbgh-jsyXF2K/s1024/C479DCBE-1AB1-44C0-A9F2-7A62FBA8076E_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPys3pj_8GizUpaoR3y-4oHpa36gCZAc1fdWqgVl0McDPuZb62xSyEO0YExDQGyZxYH_HQ3RdzI9Mu57KcOgHP8vtVcMHV_VUd47Y5_HPAUXDe_msESB9IcUHQ_6DDD7FdMGZzzjlZ2xmzsYfBgyjzFsBRnYrpaglSZ-1n7a8rZmw-dDmqXbgh-jsyXF2K/w640-h480/C479DCBE-1AB1-44C0-A9F2-7A62FBA8076E_1_105_c.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Little of the RCS Firewood Supply</td></tr></tbody></table><p>All the lies were in full swing and next morning we slowly made our way up the Waimakariri from Klondyke Corner in fine weather. There were six walking sticks shared among the three of us and the pace was sedately. We arrived at Anti-Crow hut in time for a late lunch. Later in the afternoon the sprightly Peter Gough (of Mt Cook, Caroline Face fame) and his wife, in their seventies, called in for a yarn on their way up to Barker hut.</p><p>Our next day involved getting up to the Crow Valley hut and this was aided by a leisurely lunch and brew-up. We were joined briefly by a solo German youth on his way down valley. He was relieved to find that the smokey smell was not the AP National Park turning into an inferno. The hut was empty and we slumbered peacefully until the next dawn. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh26eJNtbT7Kc7g61Bkw-vjtiSYA7R3OBnMpyDNHKD13Lp9NVG1VbPAHuCBiiCaiYpfAc93g32Fex-i278FaTqunvULHv-6UqTQsMtGuA_LlEn3mphyphenhyphenQKC3A7adaGLzTibsY4uh7wgUq4cNHg77ugIDXuH-gIxZIyvEggP8TwiUryZ7m8MrJxyoIXEcJjM6/s1024/FDD12EB4-0F4E-47FC-92BD-F8D9629DEB83_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh26eJNtbT7Kc7g61Bkw-vjtiSYA7R3OBnMpyDNHKD13Lp9NVG1VbPAHuCBiiCaiYpfAc93g32Fex-i278FaTqunvULHv-6UqTQsMtGuA_LlEn3mphyphenhyphenQKC3A7adaGLzTibsY4uh7wgUq4cNHg77ugIDXuH-gIxZIyvEggP8TwiUryZ7m8MrJxyoIXEcJjM6/w640-h480/FDD12EB4-0F4E-47FC-92BD-F8D9629DEB83_1_105_c.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mountains of Our Early Youth - Looking Sad</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoJ2-cmROah-Cqebg23Q2w2f07wDpNf2mz3pSY6YimWJRQVN-f8FFcLyXkf_9lTFBfaGlx3bXDnLGQJPv3Z_sVRd8RocyGt7nlnJCctES4gVtJ6IIkIX7TQPn0v2_V7xI8IvulqUipU2bbklr_N2xVQnUpjKqpWrhsOs08yY7Z8sB8sQClMmLlmGea-gYP/s1024/938BC02D-A5B4-4D81-8DDA-1139192886B0_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoJ2-cmROah-Cqebg23Q2w2f07wDpNf2mz3pSY6YimWJRQVN-f8FFcLyXkf_9lTFBfaGlx3bXDnLGQJPv3Z_sVRd8RocyGt7nlnJCctES4gVtJ6IIkIX7TQPn0v2_V7xI8IvulqUipU2bbklr_N2xVQnUpjKqpWrhsOs08yY7Z8sB8sQClMmLlmGea-gYP/w640-h480/938BC02D-A5B4-4D81-8DDA-1139192886B0_1_105_c.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Valley or Older Men Shrinking?</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Another fine day dawned and Jim and I wandered further up the valley to examine the floral state of the valley and, sadly, the state of the Crow glacier above on Mt Rolleston. Yes, the glaciers are shrinking. Towards evening a young German couple called in on their way down valley after traversing Mt Avalanche. They too were relieved to find out that the three geriatrics were not burning down the NP with their outdoor brew-ups. They decided to camp outdoors in their new tent (oh, to be that young) and enjoy the ambiance of our campfire - ready made for them. And not be disturbed by the clumping of elderly men emptying their bladders all night.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTnQUCMhTxLVQU1n-gR9HwwIcdsJHSnTTB_T1nr_95bloiTZt2pK8IzPoI1Lt3LgjIjPqen9vcHok1bi5jW6Fe4QUdp169f9VYzVaduOCqj-nQ_rQuS_fkTzZGfRRvpWF1j70GVSpS3yhrVGbQ13pBhEzA-eTpePjnU8AZsIDMoJSsD5fn6vkSYl79i0L/s1024/0F4897E4-F84E-4C48-BBBC-9BC49C08C41F_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTnQUCMhTxLVQU1n-gR9HwwIcdsJHSnTTB_T1nr_95bloiTZt2pK8IzPoI1Lt3LgjIjPqen9vcHok1bi5jW6Fe4QUdp169f9VYzVaduOCqj-nQ_rQuS_fkTzZGfRRvpWF1j70GVSpS3yhrVGbQ13pBhEzA-eTpePjnU8AZsIDMoJSsD5fn6vkSYl79i0L/s320/0F4897E4-F84E-4C48-BBBC-9BC49C08C41F_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving the Anti-Crow Hut</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-MXdxbJtsEk07skhdaMDtiyMJbrp17iKyoygMWiPrKw5zSAm50UssUSuhz4zEXLERLrAlB8TMXrGEQZEbY1Nx8SpWtjKoCwj8h4_1_PCABpMSHZvSS3Q1XltcESgqBAle8uirW8m6RFgPFvU6NZoiElB2KcCi-6x7ax3vuKeQP2QI6PWkzUOizCApID97/s1024/96135AC0-9E15-463E-9129-7E3501C5EF51_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-MXdxbJtsEk07skhdaMDtiyMJbrp17iKyoygMWiPrKw5zSAm50UssUSuhz4zEXLERLrAlB8TMXrGEQZEbY1Nx8SpWtjKoCwj8h4_1_PCABpMSHZvSS3Q1XltcESgqBAle8uirW8m6RFgPFvU6NZoiElB2KcCi-6x7ax3vuKeQP2QI6PWkzUOizCApID97/w640-h480/96135AC0-9E15-463E-9129-7E3501C5EF51_1_105_c.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Head of the Crow Valley<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGPxnsko-TV7YTZ7qTFh9bh7QTzz3wYhUPlfXzaozLTP9TvG6jKrqGa2QEL9QUXdbW6L6ForNpsFMofukCtsiGv-EJh3bOLeteTGPSjjoAopo_DGxTQ_jWsMXu8bApTszDiBPzzhyIAVkM5N_hHfm3vfnPE6phyA3Nwa1cgZsiZ_2z0KeklwxM__9FqVtr/s1024/02A250B2-04E9-44F4-88DE-43259E8F535A_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGPxnsko-TV7YTZ7qTFh9bh7QTzz3wYhUPlfXzaozLTP9TvG6jKrqGa2QEL9QUXdbW6L6ForNpsFMofukCtsiGv-EJh3bOLeteTGPSjjoAopo_DGxTQ_jWsMXu8bApTszDiBPzzhyIAVkM5N_hHfm3vfnPE6phyA3Nwa1cgZsiZ_2z0KeklwxM__9FqVtr/s320/02A250B2-04E9-44F4-88DE-43259E8F535A_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crow Glacier About to Become Extinct</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-l_0pMqgiclBL1TO_EMkK1iArB5KKJY7-9S_rSK2HFTW58oD1PYASD6QsydcUIfKaLWGvmDWBo6Tca2LiI3OXIY80xMLhY8nTnK_c9Fa9MQbG5oZw3XxGUioiTVQ2S4VEz5pa_JRPlIpt2JiVq0iIy-FkvHjUSIE8fs97vulpRb37Lx66jLv1A489HwWe/s1024/BADDEC59-0B03-4A0F-A354-B47BF42B4C6A_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-l_0pMqgiclBL1TO_EMkK1iArB5KKJY7-9S_rSK2HFTW58oD1PYASD6QsydcUIfKaLWGvmDWBo6Tca2LiI3OXIY80xMLhY8nTnK_c9Fa9MQbG5oZw3XxGUioiTVQ2S4VEz5pa_JRPlIpt2JiVq0iIy-FkvHjUSIE8fs97vulpRb37Lx66jLv1A489HwWe/s320/BADDEC59-0B03-4A0F-A354-B47BF42B4C6A_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another Campfire</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrvtvFfpJJepSaspt4sy5u0c0piURVQ5kLAxIAsTsKJ8nljW_4PsCREpx70p43_MsoO1sJFv-RyBfwFsiAPxEYdwBVY2InvfulTxtVSuSxWJHNMGu_98ilzXPWw37_YceaL6PTaH77cLhJ2EqSVOJSBw0LfFL5KOqoMa7z7A5Pag5ZIsr1kJUGOc7XWu38/s1024/A97129D7-0B54-4805-8667-69F09978C222_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrvtvFfpJJepSaspt4sy5u0c0piURVQ5kLAxIAsTsKJ8nljW_4PsCREpx70p43_MsoO1sJFv-RyBfwFsiAPxEYdwBVY2InvfulTxtVSuSxWJHNMGu_98ilzXPWw37_YceaL6PTaH77cLhJ2EqSVOJSBw0LfFL5KOqoMa7z7A5Pag5ZIsr1kJUGOc7XWu38/w300-h400/A97129D7-0B54-4805-8667-69F09978C222_1_105_c.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alive and Well</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge2n3JIRwEKfx-nmxPN7ltiaKPAKeMCt3s1HhlH-dnqTflY3fPoLlTOIPEhjiuJEPFtDp6dJAeExg3rNPnFoMjxCWTO5HBHOPufukVSF9kTvFu_sCZzyn0oeKkeeCkJBek1YFCm2xTAlgMZCqd9nH8-zNRmxLFEVfm4anmOwPGeQkuMwZha1gOuW-hz5Uu/s1024/48F43DDA-C346-429F-AC4D-E45CF893ED22_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge2n3JIRwEKfx-nmxPN7ltiaKPAKeMCt3s1HhlH-dnqTflY3fPoLlTOIPEhjiuJEPFtDp6dJAeExg3rNPnFoMjxCWTO5HBHOPufukVSF9kTvFu_sCZzyn0oeKkeeCkJBek1YFCm2xTAlgMZCqd9nH8-zNRmxLFEVfm4anmOwPGeQkuMwZha1gOuW-hz5Uu/s320/48F43DDA-C346-429F-AC4D-E45CF893ED22_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crow Hut</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Memories were re-lived the following day as we dawdled down valley under the ridges of our youth. These mountains about us were certainly the heydays of our youthful years. But they looked impossibly far away now. We stopped at the grassy Wamak flats where we interviewed a friendly tomtit and brewed yet another cuppa. What-a-life!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSDpN0-W-lz_DcjDmd60wbQWnbW4UV605hVyxNoTmp5rnruQ6fHI8Ze9ctvS-Zrbu_zcJ5D68iHatxdlLV7PuVSIxyIttEpofHdveAjswou4PvP6DE49iv4cSxVbnGJAUvzfCF2CnpxE8NwawMqcR6xgVCIXnzbatapMfsCP7euIMHgR9K8RIJNi6Laaip/s1024/1498BE1F-1A8B-4B7F-BF87-A4F56E76D72A_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSDpN0-W-lz_DcjDmd60wbQWnbW4UV605hVyxNoTmp5rnruQ6fHI8Ze9ctvS-Zrbu_zcJ5D68iHatxdlLV7PuVSIxyIttEpofHdveAjswou4PvP6DE49iv4cSxVbnGJAUvzfCF2CnpxE8NwawMqcR6xgVCIXnzbatapMfsCP7euIMHgR9K8RIJNi6Laaip/w400-h300/1498BE1F-1A8B-4B7F-BF87-A4F56E76D72A_1_105_c.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eight Walking Sticks</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5DedDtKw1qtAPqrQ0Qi3RsBLQHyhYKvJeLTjrG3LTFJfkZb-bLxFQZmQnAdfmjMYsntM6CtHwna2gfVrtKYQkdY_VJf7SOmZtLyWydrOMbY4BPzj6o4z03S1ZJY1xXlcfjyuuufTatYd_UF7m8Unl4WxbezqLqlhuqS2H2pa-zTrP5E_4q5TNvQRrzO3P/s1024/2B734B5D-684C-44F4-93D5-651C7A8B4CD5_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5DedDtKw1qtAPqrQ0Qi3RsBLQHyhYKvJeLTjrG3LTFJfkZb-bLxFQZmQnAdfmjMYsntM6CtHwna2gfVrtKYQkdY_VJf7SOmZtLyWydrOMbY4BPzj6o4z03S1ZJY1xXlcfjyuuufTatYd_UF7m8Unl4WxbezqLqlhuqS2H2pa-zTrP5E_4q5TNvQRrzO3P/w400-h300/2B734B5D-684C-44F4-93D5-651C7A8B4CD5_1_105_c.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wobbling Along a Bush Path<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi94zFc55IpzuIKigU1IeYRGS8wiZcNWz8mLRtJ2hYqxOBqnAnHdpyY-hcUgxgFBT7sK2Ivx_MUGGqvMIvaoWKpe0bUnRo56efXSjvVOVoxlmsZXl91Y2fOJN33Wwyy-U3f1uOvJBXcqAsHTsCZI_J6AXAIrfTBbDoD8Gt-6GHWQF50v-ipMDtT5k68CDY/s1024/EE174F85-2E6C-4EF1-B69C-6AB8A110E2EE_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi94zFc55IpzuIKigU1IeYRGS8wiZcNWz8mLRtJ2hYqxOBqnAnHdpyY-hcUgxgFBT7sK2Ivx_MUGGqvMIvaoWKpe0bUnRo56efXSjvVOVoxlmsZXl91Y2fOJN33Wwyy-U3f1uOvJBXcqAsHTsCZI_J6AXAIrfTBbDoD8Gt-6GHWQF50v-ipMDtT5k68CDY/s320/EE174F85-2E6C-4EF1-B69C-6AB8A110E2EE_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Than you for turning the log over for me."</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Finally we made it to the car - picked up the young German couple who had passed us in the lower Waimak - returned to the Pass - and told Hughie that he could now do his best. He obliged but not before we had made short work of a tree that had fallen conveniently close to the RCS. And so to Christchurch - and Hamilton for me. But not after another get-to-gether for me in Christchurch with brother John and sister Katie. More lies and reminiscences. And plans for next years adventures too.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiWziehczqTwSHbP3ZJzhpOy50KXhuRzwLlnTZch60JRLdbpZU7Wtr4eeCBjrCsGafApJydu2enPNM1X-n-vJ5QHv2N2Y-LWr__QifjIe2f_WVaMVlqmu9Ctc4iwD4fig_FdjBYHC8dKv0cdYrnXJtSGrNYJEOjk_2pvzYwpjeIHdt2EmkPEfjVDZkNavN/s3761/83FB16FB-6BF3-4B8B-8C1D-D2D3497D8624_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2869" data-original-width="3761" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiWziehczqTwSHbP3ZJzhpOy50KXhuRzwLlnTZch60JRLdbpZU7Wtr4eeCBjrCsGafApJydu2enPNM1X-n-vJ5QHv2N2Y-LWr__QifjIe2f_WVaMVlqmu9Ctc4iwD4fig_FdjBYHC8dKv0cdYrnXJtSGrNYJEOjk_2pvzYwpjeIHdt2EmkPEfjVDZkNavN/s320/83FB16FB-6BF3-4B8B-8C1D-D2D3497D8624_1_201_a.heic" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wet Day at the RCS - after the Woodsplitting</td></tr></tbody></table><p>A sequel was an item in the Arthur's Pass Newsletter where Jim is known - I was delighted to be described as spritely!</p><ul style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0cm;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style="color: #1f497d; list-style-type: "- "; margin: 0px 0px 0px 15px;"><i><span face="Tahoma, "sans-serif"" style="color: #002060; font-size: 10pt;">At the other end of the tramping time scale, Jim Wilson and 2 of his good climbing mates, ventured as far as Crow hut last week. At ages of 89, 87 and a spritely 86, they <b>broke all time records</b> on the return trip from Crow hut to Klondyke corner.</span></i></li></ul><p>I think the author intended time records for slowness (as indicated in the first phrase)! I thought the real hero was the 89 year old.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3IKBk7rDNegZPTewLNiaON2HknjE7w_FYuHxwDMDNct2g5wTS_ngh-adqXqd-MfdVrBuULUtQqNlTOb_LyvYvqe-HjYzu5f-boxYOWhZMj5i3TMZ8fTtL8CCqpgNqLw92cNuXBNt_SObPfXlYrYibjlC0zc1NGoSsdQbjG-RNxWqqMryhyNP-m2JC7R7X/s1024/F24F066D-3B47-4837-BDEA-99F6ADAFE20A_1_105_c.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3IKBk7rDNegZPTewLNiaON2HknjE7w_FYuHxwDMDNct2g5wTS_ngh-adqXqd-MfdVrBuULUtQqNlTOb_LyvYvqe-HjYzu5f-boxYOWhZMj5i3TMZ8fTtL8CCqpgNqLw92cNuXBNt_SObPfXlYrYibjlC0zc1NGoSsdQbjG-RNxWqqMryhyNP-m2JC7R7X/s320/F24F066D-3B47-4837-BDEA-99F6ADAFE20A_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another Boil-up in the Crow Valley</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-47784874142545386612024-03-12T10:47:00.001+13:002024-03-12T16:46:22.788+13:00Cycling across Northland (NZ) and Back 2024<p> I'd always wanted to cycle the 'Twin Coasts Cycle Trail' as the ride is called. When Doug Arcus asked if I was interested in coming on a tour he had booked on - I didn't linger long about getting a leave pass from home. So off we went. </p><p>Our tour was with Northland Experiences and it was a bit more than just a cycling journey - they mixed in side trips, both biking and walking as well as several stops and talks of historical interest. The name and theme was "Cook to Kupe" - but also covered the early history of New Zealand. My initial thought was that it was more than I had wanted to do, but, not so, it was thoroughly enjoyable, educational and excellent value for money. Everything was supplied - including the bikes.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrKJbrUgXtAFnxEeD2P6YZSkC2N7JPxJ7idAub5IBUiUYJ8kHLl0QqZYa6NQdGoUnsxJuG3kSZ9S_4XjVTDApqlVS7_8oDiH6c_RY5FLVreBRL7uqPDKxw0dKzRq1ULU14RKuyFE6EPDWrYrQmHMp__bnq2ne9zElzmqCHU1ONOMJsBnsOE8EcYE3R0w1P/s1024/408AEE69-B63E-4C27-9010-064600AE2E8D_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrKJbrUgXtAFnxEeD2P6YZSkC2N7JPxJ7idAub5IBUiUYJ8kHLl0QqZYa6NQdGoUnsxJuG3kSZ9S_4XjVTDApqlVS7_8oDiH6c_RY5FLVreBRL7uqPDKxw0dKzRq1ULU14RKuyFE6EPDWrYrQmHMp__bnq2ne9zElzmqCHU1ONOMJsBnsOE8EcYE3R0w1P/s320/408AEE69-B63E-4C27-9010-064600AE2E8D_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aussies Impressed by the Flagship of the NZ Navy</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We were a small group of ten - four Aussies and six Kiwis. We got on well and, as you might imagine, we all managed to give and receive the usual trans-Tasman banter - with good humour. Our guide was Jack who looked after us well and, along with other guides along the way, gave us excellent local and historical information.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNgUeRHvniYqT-x8p4Ao3_IsjTumHO_yh0D0nmFk3rRTZZ5USY9aRyJiJ-hPaBXExdHvYVXLxZVLcSVOIngdT2ekI92HgFqCErEEExjGKhRV2LjUAZ1qekPe809sfsN_lC17ArGUiNj5Ls8Dm4Q0fx38KVUSp9QF06JdbSyuIh8UhQbCLkf6b_noOBntKr/s1024/5B837367-4E49-4661-8114-0EBA895DB5D3_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNgUeRHvniYqT-x8p4Ao3_IsjTumHO_yh0D0nmFk3rRTZZ5USY9aRyJiJ-hPaBXExdHvYVXLxZVLcSVOIngdT2ekI92HgFqCErEEExjGKhRV2LjUAZ1qekPe809sfsN_lC17ArGUiNj5Ls8Dm4Q0fx38KVUSp9QF06JdbSyuIh8UhQbCLkf6b_noOBntKr/s320/5B837367-4E49-4661-8114-0EBA895DB5D3_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Northland Countryside along the Cycleway</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The tour started from Kerikeri with a visit to Waitangi and we were dropping off at Kaikohe at the start of the trail down to Horeke at the top of the Hokianga. This was a delightful evening in an colonial style refurbished kauri-built house, with delightful hosts. The next day we cycled up to the Wairere Boulder track for a walk of the circuit there. Wonderful stone boulder valley from the volcanic era.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaYmBuibPtHP1ompvo41eU389VQpiVAFmzj7AM0f0n4ho3lfA2_va-3Vz4ON-cSr2P_Sf2X8IaUvPNbEfSSL5fm7qgqYb2ENa9cgTkjQCuMufT12t4DS7fTYqkM5yTPcDsk3RRtk3V93Vv9sOsF_ihVO-wnFMtbtmusqS-yp2x-mnhoFujC30Us514g6le/s1024/A0F95FEE-F97C-4475-B9D3-098162C8116E_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaYmBuibPtHP1ompvo41eU389VQpiVAFmzj7AM0f0n4ho3lfA2_va-3Vz4ON-cSr2P_Sf2X8IaUvPNbEfSSL5fm7qgqYb2ENa9cgTkjQCuMufT12t4DS7fTYqkM5yTPcDsk3RRtk3V93Vv9sOsF_ihVO-wnFMtbtmusqS-yp2x-mnhoFujC30Us514g6le/s320/A0F95FEE-F97C-4475-B9D3-098162C8116E_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wairere Boulder Stream<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinUorNxBqRBrJqu4dyN9gxOqPSAb-Hr4YygbPz7t-BNpwFYnvUcB5mWHM0y678iy9kuIcmeI__c4F6OEedepwz83nDFIv6yjAjBxsbHUBkJh_6IkLrNoDfFNpOBUDI7kZzb2sj7mwSi7h7uV4KYEHF_0YJpBwy1gq9mPgA42mxrTcEddE4bTifgEKTVN98/s1024/1FF122BE-D613-4577-80D8-BE101CF9694F_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinUorNxBqRBrJqu4dyN9gxOqPSAb-Hr4YygbPz7t-BNpwFYnvUcB5mWHM0y678iy9kuIcmeI__c4F6OEedepwz83nDFIv6yjAjBxsbHUBkJh_6IkLrNoDfFNpOBUDI7kZzb2sj7mwSi7h7uV4KYEHF_0YJpBwy1gq9mPgA42mxrTcEddE4bTifgEKTVN98/s320/1FF122BE-D613-4577-80D8-BE101CF9694F_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset Over the Tasman<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuuN3kZzLNwtNoIyRbQMT4f6mc7GoRBAPZO-5C-hCTM_0hYne5CDccZey4cHwewQwl-aOwJwjIpDQUBxi2SJ8D8Uuqz8w87BM8B15YlAOuSy7pcJgbgOjMWcOxw2OGvPVCWcIzBby5WHpUFeT8S6EsyeRsAJdiw9wSrqMiAxn1eyTF0YxiGmAFz845VXJh/s1024/75E9C7C2-7959-4991-A4AC-800D6CD5239F_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuuN3kZzLNwtNoIyRbQMT4f6mc7GoRBAPZO-5C-hCTM_0hYne5CDccZey4cHwewQwl-aOwJwjIpDQUBxi2SJ8D8Uuqz8w87BM8B15YlAOuSy7pcJgbgOjMWcOxw2OGvPVCWcIzBby5WHpUFeT8S6EsyeRsAJdiw9wSrqMiAxn1eyTF0YxiGmAFz845VXJh/s320/75E9C7C2-7959-4991-A4AC-800D6CD5239F_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We Did Some Cycling</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We then cycled down to Mangungu where we lunched and cycled down to the local pier where we caught the 'Ranui' over to Kohukohu, from whence we cycled inland about a 20 km circuit - finally catching the car ferry to Rawene - and then on to Omapare where we stayed at the Sands for two nights. That night we saw a brilliant sunset over the Tasman. On our day at Omapere we cycled a 25km country circuit, walked in to a waterfall, made friends with a friendly goat and an elephant, fell of our bikes at speed (well one did) and attended an excellent three screen film and an oral presentation on the story of Kupe's and the Maori gods at the Manea Cultural Centre at Opononi. Well worth a visit - by prior arrangement only.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdDt-lOugXWdAFVgJiWWV9-BnJ1BEb6ASdbFPcfIAWOPcs-1srqxAyAVurScztwnuc5kH-RgS3iMxxxeiF_jBxjTYyQ3ledxltYQehNZ9Wl5E4R-ECv102wFwYvfCmJCTw9GqqRJVfAx2Z1IPP2t8VgD0LWPp37qQ1a7CIO5P2RTyxENQgpMiCW5Y42WXl/s3336/B28D052F-DC08-4506-BE8C-F76F40B32A16_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2669" data-original-width="3336" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdDt-lOugXWdAFVgJiWWV9-BnJ1BEb6ASdbFPcfIAWOPcs-1srqxAyAVurScztwnuc5kH-RgS3iMxxxeiF_jBxjTYyQ3ledxltYQehNZ9Wl5E4R-ECv102wFwYvfCmJCTw9GqqRJVfAx2Z1IPP2t8VgD0LWPp37qQ1a7CIO5P2RTyxENQgpMiCW5Y42WXl/s320/B28D052F-DC08-4506-BE8C-F76F40B32A16_1_201_a.heic" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Presentation at Manea - Footprints of Kupe</td></tr></tbody></table><p>In the evening we were transported to the Waipoua forest where we walked in to see Te Matua Ngahere and Tane Mahuta - all the more moving for the cultural respect afforded them with chant and song.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZ1Gv4IwmPQJ3rPnAVdVsBcmHT4CId0ClkrFX0upmyPr2N8TizjB9JGJU62TtzgA74jSKekdrF_trx55nNAq64QMOUMG8LLC5V5sJV22O5-mp9xAyrw8sPVYw-E8Cwyo0KL2k6VMWa0b7PmUrz_CoksP4MfH3OK40InYqVvcjNuhYkWj-BZLA-oMPv6HM/s1024/5576365B-EBA9-4873-99B5-8FB3F390820E_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="769" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZ1Gv4IwmPQJ3rPnAVdVsBcmHT4CId0ClkrFX0upmyPr2N8TizjB9JGJU62TtzgA74jSKekdrF_trx55nNAq64QMOUMG8LLC5V5sJV22O5-mp9xAyrw8sPVYw-E8Cwyo0KL2k6VMWa0b7PmUrz_CoksP4MfH3OK40InYqVvcjNuhYkWj-BZLA-oMPv6HM/w480-h640/5576365B-EBA9-4873-99B5-8FB3F390820E_1_105_c.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Te Matua Ngahere </td></tr></tbody></table><p>On one of my previous visits Maori nose flute music emerged unexpectedly from the surrounding bush. Very moving, especially when we discovered the source of the sound - an elderly Maori in a wheelchair.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIBtQw9VWHvRYdeCv5l7HiLfvFpN_JIBi5LzxAHzELKrjUsnx4_n23o70dm1agv3luJYKTd_8N-ceGKpdU4Ann4jRuGLQMgk2yQPRwxpdB6RH9FbSQnvZmkMqgV9lfoWSK2hF4Eu6i8WkofCO_d8-D0xHLplV_S2GXCgNuw0_nziPVZD_Bc1XbQip5p2Or/s1024/E2EDFCBD-5F4A-4D6A-9A11-5AFC9AFF5A6E_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIBtQw9VWHvRYdeCv5l7HiLfvFpN_JIBi5LzxAHzELKrjUsnx4_n23o70dm1agv3luJYKTd_8N-ceGKpdU4Ann4jRuGLQMgk2yQPRwxpdB6RH9FbSQnvZmkMqgV9lfoWSK2hF4Eu6i8WkofCO_d8-D0xHLplV_S2GXCgNuw0_nziPVZD_Bc1XbQip5p2Or/s320/E2EDFCBD-5F4A-4D6A-9A11-5AFC9AFF5A6E_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friendly Northland Elephant<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwnOBu6e-NTOKIBsiR1DyMEhJr9ng8CTOsbKsO_izLSKTLewHeh-blwbKO79LcXey8EBTnBU5yzA4uSPm8UuTKSxCgm8ShHmL-TeYZ-goiAtGOxjS11x9R1_tDX2OY-_76xEvFtkZxh0SmvEKUaN4mpuxj068QTMO3N_oniKncFfVpO4vHcn66a3a4HMLk/s1024/C99A9608-FD7D-42AF-A572-E08A6170721E_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwnOBu6e-NTOKIBsiR1DyMEhJr9ng8CTOsbKsO_izLSKTLewHeh-blwbKO79LcXey8EBTnBU5yzA4uSPm8UuTKSxCgm8ShHmL-TeYZ-goiAtGOxjS11x9R1_tDX2OY-_76xEvFtkZxh0SmvEKUaN4mpuxj068QTMO3N_oniKncFfVpO4vHcn66a3a4HMLk/s320/C99A9608-FD7D-42AF-A572-E08A6170721E_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friendly Northland Goat</td></tr></tbody></table><p>On our last day we were transported up to Kaitoke and cycled down the old railway (now cycle trail) to Paihia. Our last day was spent at Russel and its environment where we were indulged with lots of the early pre-treaty history of the area - and a visit to Pompallier House site of one of the earliest printing presses and the local tannery. Some of us indulge ourselves with time at the two superb Waitangi Museums. These deserve much more time than we could commit.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0bIi1qE3IRjwH3VTsR0kFG_haXL1jvBGjePIHDaSlgVphSlO0CjIUCdKGv5_88GqWhBiZkSld7NTdg7BP01ed6BpD6W-bm5qcxfXAqndtYKovWvt_Gm7Og6Urtxj6Y1cH833K98OsKUE1zYs7v82bLJYF6alN0wJFj1QuV0d2YXiOhjhZF896NsBQKnZY/s1182/5AAEB314-1C50-4180-8A55-4C5748CA6A79_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="665" data-original-width="1182" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0bIi1qE3IRjwH3VTsR0kFG_haXL1jvBGjePIHDaSlgVphSlO0CjIUCdKGv5_88GqWhBiZkSld7NTdg7BP01ed6BpD6W-bm5qcxfXAqndtYKovWvt_Gm7Og6Urtxj6Y1cH833K98OsKUE1zYs7v82bLJYF6alN0wJFj1QuV0d2YXiOhjhZF896NsBQKnZY/w640-h360/5AAEB314-1C50-4180-8A55-4C5748CA6A79_1_105_c.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Happy Group - Hokianga Entrance Behind<br />Photo credit - Jack</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>This tour is good value. It provides off the 'normal track' cycling and walking and lots of cultural input. All up, 135km of biking and about 20km of walking. Plus Extras.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-21489115301713396722024-03-12T10:34:00.000+13:002024-03-12T10:34:53.152+13:00Inland South Australia<p>Back in November last year Catherine and I (along with Margaret, her sister) decided to visit Adelaide and outback areas to the north. We started by staying with Pam, an Aussie friend from C's veterinary days. Pam, the perfect hostess, feted us about Adelaide (it really is a beautiful city) and took us out to the nearby Onkaparinga (remember the blankets!) National Park where we all enthused about the wild orchids which were in abundance.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuvSWaJ0eQVtAzU9D-O_ccYfGgfNVv-8skt0IV2FEm_7kOFEHPN22IOEtHmcXOJYFV1wmsW2wuqsTY7bGZRJSvfmHTIwBCSI6KkwwQVQWV9WpzAEnDghh3-7Ca5RWPLMKORukTSun94j8eUDjGTkOdZFx17sBxXx7J6ncQqGxke_-9gkMZvAWHRn4TN7IK/s1024/97ED60D5-A65E-444F-A635-FBE9C139A9BC_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuvSWaJ0eQVtAzU9D-O_ccYfGgfNVv-8skt0IV2FEm_7kOFEHPN22IOEtHmcXOJYFV1wmsW2wuqsTY7bGZRJSvfmHTIwBCSI6KkwwQVQWV9WpzAEnDghh3-7Ca5RWPLMKORukTSun94j8eUDjGTkOdZFx17sBxXx7J6ncQqGxke_-9gkMZvAWHRn4TN7IK/s320/97ED60D5-A65E-444F-A635-FBE9C139A9BC_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Onkaparinga River near Pam's Place<br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqwyZ2hJrMaCmp3OK4bEEkV-xv1yr4FoEDCGpAUz_GnfDs0jLx75bvhsPYBqIK0MWUMtvakV9Bc4sYPRdMw0MPpTPoo98a7HoNzHa8wAIFy3feukD-Hpb8DdoPez07w-fv3Bdas-JaF-B6a7BpyhLUAH0gfL0pY5rVEcT8Hhp4NH0o8RXOz9bLFxmxxPY/s3264/B28D3B6E-5C31-448D-AE50-FD2D814CA5E9_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqwyZ2hJrMaCmp3OK4bEEkV-xv1yr4FoEDCGpAUz_GnfDs0jLx75bvhsPYBqIK0MWUMtvakV9Bc4sYPRdMw0MPpTPoo98a7HoNzHa8wAIFy3feukD-Hpb8DdoPez07w-fv3Bdas-JaF-B6a7BpyhLUAH0gfL0pY5rVEcT8Hhp4NH0o8RXOz9bLFxmxxPY/s320/B28D3B6E-5C31-448D-AE50-FD2D814CA5E9_1_201_a.heic" width="296" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orchids in Onkaparinga NP</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Finally we joined up with our tour with an evening on the southern coast of Adelaide. Next morning we headed north through Port Augusta ending the day at Wilpena Village and the next day walked into the Wilpena Pound itself - an impressive feature. The distances and structure are huge as we found out the next day when we visited Arkaroola where we gazed, via their astronomical telescopes into the universe - and the following morning when we toured the nearby ranges by 4WD. The geology and land structures were the feature of that day.<div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh42DtAwUnWrwCeRTSQWi4_YNlTCQLg4TCRzsDZlj1fzmElyKobF7mBMw2YvilOZM_8FIrh4d-2YfIr42Uadbf0XiWCIXiyrqf7ZcFdZLaA1ig7bwTEVoWj4ysVz1zLuni1yE72tezz2h17V9rS0p0aFsyG4EclIIcICvkVyUmmAZScWWto_8ZeG6w4G07K/s3676/729EDA54-53D3-49EF-BE85-2CCB061CBA0E_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2548" data-original-width="3676" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh42DtAwUnWrwCeRTSQWi4_YNlTCQLg4TCRzsDZlj1fzmElyKobF7mBMw2YvilOZM_8FIrh4d-2YfIr42Uadbf0XiWCIXiyrqf7ZcFdZLaA1ig7bwTEVoWj4ysVz1zLuni1yE72tezz2h17V9rS0p0aFsyG4EclIIcICvkVyUmmAZScWWto_8ZeG6w4G07K/s320/729EDA54-53D3-49EF-BE85-2CCB061CBA0E_1_201_a.heic" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outer Edge of Wilpena Pound<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2pLplT2Nqn6ld0ZW-_VKVasBr1uRzbsGXT6Q506Kbz4uzg7DZz05nKf8np2qoxhl3PBNaes8t8Qih3r-RRjvLRHIVbiD6T6u7s4tdKUadlVLtbTkmqoXasE59uwqdenLaFAljrHYRmWs16PGRzRO8-ro5Qk1UEA_15FYO0yXO7C52WttwGpER6SNdZHcF/s1024/A9827AA1-7E14-41F6-8079-F7F3963AFAA5_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2pLplT2Nqn6ld0ZW-_VKVasBr1uRzbsGXT6Q506Kbz4uzg7DZz05nKf8np2qoxhl3PBNaes8t8Qih3r-RRjvLRHIVbiD6T6u7s4tdKUadlVLtbTkmqoXasE59uwqdenLaFAljrHYRmWs16PGRzRO8-ro5Qk1UEA_15FYO0yXO7C52WttwGpER6SNdZHcF/s320/A9827AA1-7E14-41F6-8079-F7F3963AFAA5_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arkaroola Area</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Onwards we travelled - this time arriving at Maree, further west and at 30 degrees, (Celsius and damn near Latitude South 29.6). From here we took a plane flight over Lake Eyre - which was starting to dry-up again but was at an aesthetically impressive stage with patterns of colour and formations of islands, banks and shorelines. Throughout our journey there were flowers blooming at different stages and degrees - very beautiful.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoHyLI5bQxER7nhI-JkfIALKByBe7Vn3-fMslw71eOtA8vO5ODRo8GjDsbQyBEfKimIKAxb6An_dHfFlNPG0TP13CLv9CCzMMkATyq2GiYR2bKm7x1rEXAzsjAna7dq0QiElOGRGV8r3rXyolkkJBL0sXh5fuus-pyTUr21H5WD8TmSHQroN80eTO3B-_l/s4032/1714C8EC-B068-4E3D-8672-EF840038E502.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoHyLI5bQxER7nhI-JkfIALKByBe7Vn3-fMslw71eOtA8vO5ODRo8GjDsbQyBEfKimIKAxb6An_dHfFlNPG0TP13CLv9CCzMMkATyq2GiYR2bKm7x1rEXAzsjAna7dq0QiElOGRGV8r3rXyolkkJBL0sXh5fuus-pyTUr21H5WD8TmSHQroN80eTO3B-_l/s320/1714C8EC-B068-4E3D-8672-EF840038E502.heic" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Salty Edge of Lake Eyre<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Another long day took us to Coober Pedy - at the end of the day though fields of Parakelia in flower. We stayed in an underground suite and next day toured the mine workings both above and below ground. The afternoon was one of the highlights of our journey when we visited the "drop off" - an area on the edge of the hills where all the colours of the earth are revealed - an artists paradise.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWnVf0yShcHSiB11EoSUk9CGG-AYAMa3-vDzIIcxFCovyxXnUCEHBqHq6irUod9qZVOQVuI8-9RoY-GHfIk0ATxovBy3KcmUtN8fmix2z6ZXqw3SVeEPtH0ncGI70fy0intTcw451UIVrJp-OqXPoFYO0rwxFdNVJBwoATK63zCrAQMYj7w4puIJ6PL0o/s1024/504D059E-4ED8-40B9-8818-68314C958A44_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWnVf0yShcHSiB11EoSUk9CGG-AYAMa3-vDzIIcxFCovyxXnUCEHBqHq6irUod9qZVOQVuI8-9RoY-GHfIk0ATxovBy3KcmUtN8fmix2z6ZXqw3SVeEPtH0ncGI70fy0intTcw451UIVrJp-OqXPoFYO0rwxFdNVJBwoATK63zCrAQMYj7w4puIJ6PL0o/w640-h480/504D059E-4ED8-40B9-8818-68314C958A44_1_105_c.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Artist's Paradise at the Drop-off</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Our last day back to Adelaide was long with stops at Woomera and a winery for lunch. Large areas of cropping were a feature of the day. Finally a dinner and welcome rest in our original hotel.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY6ZLEZz0Om2be8UkJJdgWLWJIjHqm9H1jkupjsOjTlLCycO90lvpf-BeFj3zMTfgdaiccmeTWfXAN5k-tg2U8HLujzMTFxsOQ1Xn8kUHK-Fgr-POQiNajtwPBGz0gIHv2nJh3KSGE3OULd074gW0VotmFHifpeSbQQ91PMtd3KNhCurLWGITcmvuIVPAw/s1024/0ECDD01E-61DD-4F05-8708-CB6432F001E5_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY6ZLEZz0Om2be8UkJJdgWLWJIjHqm9H1jkupjsOjTlLCycO90lvpf-BeFj3zMTfgdaiccmeTWfXAN5k-tg2U8HLujzMTFxsOQ1Xn8kUHK-Fgr-POQiNajtwPBGz0gIHv2nJh3KSGE3OULd074gW0VotmFHifpeSbQQ91PMtd3KNhCurLWGITcmvuIVPAw/s320/0ECDD01E-61DD-4F05-8708-CB6432F001E5_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sturt's Desert Pea</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW9838Lt_eqdRcggyHC6EgXh55rHIf79QINvk5Ip2pKRxcf_2-r7EG3IJu1Rgm5nSCuw96rsyQGiQmHQ7Mck11EYCSP_RkOHuBDcwmyjMJPrOeNK2-wzkd_hsywHtqtX-v43QRQs0ANl6unjaiLmRAyRpOgn8KBkgsWOJXngwlXhYYI6diy-F6tu5Vdt0L/s2352/71BB3AA6-1F8E-444A-9F09-BD8EBF14B316_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2352" data-original-width="2212" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW9838Lt_eqdRcggyHC6EgXh55rHIf79QINvk5Ip2pKRxcf_2-r7EG3IJu1Rgm5nSCuw96rsyQGiQmHQ7Mck11EYCSP_RkOHuBDcwmyjMJPrOeNK2-wzkd_hsywHtqtX-v43QRQs0ANl6unjaiLmRAyRpOgn8KBkgsWOJXngwlXhYYI6diy-F6tu5Vdt0L/s320/71BB3AA6-1F8E-444A-9F09-BD8EBF14B316_1_201_a.heic" width="301" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Desert Rose</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Pam, indeed, had not finished with us - more visits in town to catch up with other friends and to the orchids again which were in even greater profusion. Very good trip.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1IiUbPhTqsyW1IxYHagPByZOEQp7DKN78S2q_touZh-06zQVywLBoxFJ7CJBK72uGC9LFTKxCDkN9zoqIp_sJ40maddjYpuT1xnNjAFKxeUHPqaqe_D44dr8ddov3X5WifoVBH6zVI1XoqTNZzR1NVep2HugD5RzYR0MuEWacYMgkfLWCXo39vN0dXH7/s1024/AC9FC8F4-E722-47F2-80BF-43C2B804B86D_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1IiUbPhTqsyW1IxYHagPByZOEQp7DKN78S2q_touZh-06zQVywLBoxFJ7CJBK72uGC9LFTKxCDkN9zoqIp_sJ40maddjYpuT1xnNjAFKxeUHPqaqe_D44dr8ddov3X5WifoVBH6zVI1XoqTNZzR1NVep2HugD5RzYR0MuEWacYMgkfLWCXo39vN0dXH7/s320/AC9FC8F4-E722-47F2-80BF-43C2B804B86D_1_105_c.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spider Orchid</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho9e7s7XaLuy02LY1kBC9HOPF7bZ8F0FhnKMOWR58Or8cW4EfwX1orVMndwKhaOygu4ktEDov6HIQVOgFq2o9q4nLWNOuUSXpA7SE8hju1FUUW5seH6DNda91NLsyJxFtTubLQyCAFK58ELdELW-55bm_ZQxGp-koHlucBqU3LWZulGnFl7Hhes-Ly2V1P/s1024/F29A2604-38BF-4FE0-9F14-17F188F1DFBE_1_105_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="769" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho9e7s7XaLuy02LY1kBC9HOPF7bZ8F0FhnKMOWR58Or8cW4EfwX1orVMndwKhaOygu4ktEDov6HIQVOgFq2o9q4nLWNOuUSXpA7SE8hju1FUUW5seH6DNda91NLsyJxFtTubLQyCAFK58ELdELW-55bm_ZQxGp-koHlucBqU3LWZulGnFl7Hhes-Ly2V1P/s320/F29A2604-38BF-4FE0-9F14-17F188F1DFBE_1_105_c.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thelimitra sp.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>More trips to come! If we are spared.</p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6lY3_ekXlrYRzAXx6iiVUK5oWci3mrCmMbN6UX4eGkaXN7X9q_KLc1Qjuax0p2buRDp4eOpP6awl-XhkyWlSHvmn5NWRSiXsXK-KK1D6KWu1_28L55Juo53n5UQZ0rJa2a5kcjJYvlgJsTFHaNVGeGzYdQMwDJjv4gwvWmx9nXvXDGnJAOGQM-2816s53/s2812/AAB8420E-1EF8-4CED-B777-2792ED94FDA3_1_201_a.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1750" data-original-width="2812" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6lY3_ekXlrYRzAXx6iiVUK5oWci3mrCmMbN6UX4eGkaXN7X9q_KLc1Qjuax0p2buRDp4eOpP6awl-XhkyWlSHvmn5NWRSiXsXK-KK1D6KWu1_28L55Juo53n5UQZ0rJa2a5kcjJYvlgJsTFHaNVGeGzYdQMwDJjv4gwvWmx9nXvXDGnJAOGQM-2816s53/s320/AAB8420E-1EF8-4CED-B777-2792ED94FDA3_1_201_a.heic" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local Sniffing the Parakelia</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-35206765384131955062023-03-14T14:09:00.001+13:002023-03-15T14:37:05.814+13:00Old Gold Trails, Rivers and Lakes - Five Days Biking from Queenstown with Tuatara Tours<p>On the way from Hamilton to Queenstown I stopped off in Wellington and had a few hours with Byron - at Te Papa. Great. At Queenstown I made my way to Arrowtown where I had the chance to catch up with Max Adler - a friend of Byron's from thirty years back - good catch up.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzjm0Z0rzdmdNFTu0nQo0B61bc_jKbK5uwazDef46wZVUtFpglrdLl2Lc__cW__5MYp6QJfR3VI5-VnbC93sjajMJtuHqVXDHLxca5ZR4x-yLRhZJbKIbK5hetf5yvE4FdXBxgKHXfiFF-kyEagAjgmFaB0RmOYraSDY0APCSJAjeFEjn9DMdi4xC6rg/s3442/IMG_7543.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2006" data-original-width="3442" height="373" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzjm0Z0rzdmdNFTu0nQo0B61bc_jKbK5uwazDef46wZVUtFpglrdLl2Lc__cW__5MYp6QJfR3VI5-VnbC93sjajMJtuHqVXDHLxca5ZR4x-yLRhZJbKIbK5hetf5yvE4FdXBxgKHXfiFF-kyEagAjgmFaB0RmOYraSDY0APCSJAjeFEjn9DMdi4xC6rg/w640-h373/IMG_7543.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy Tuatara Cyclists and Clutha (Nick fifth from right) - thanks Tuatara and Ben Liley for photo.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Next morning I took off with Nick Bray, our tour guide who gathered us all up and took us to Kelvin Heights where we sorted our bikes and took off along the side of Wakatipu, down the Kawarau, up the Shotover and over to Lake Hayes which we circumnavigated - then back to Arrowtown. The "Us" was Vicki and Harold, me, Wendy, together with Don and Pat, all from Hamilton; Katya (Napier), Mike and Anne from Ontario, Canada and Shane and Allison from Luggate (ex Kerikeri). We all got on famously and Nick was great - the food decadent to the extent that I was relieved when, rarely, there was just enough and none was wasted. A far cry from the subsistent menus we old mountain cobbers shout ourselves. For those of you who can't discern the contents of my breakfast plate below, they were - bacon, cake, fruit sauce, chocolate sauce, fresh fruit and ice cream. I wasn't sick, but then I couldn't quite finish it. Old tummy.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4x1C86W6LIkhpwVAWt1Gj4vmW7BJzHBPRICKozfoBTpfZ9sdO3QP7qyc5fNCxi9mOEMBIQP-gPd0JB37FyoDmU1jOqSS-6bzyPdpzNXKmPLgHapM6ao5EHVuQKaIQuXfJspy-ktKu_-vrR9GhFOonYLdZTPmxiTPZn82QuCUvpXIhwi0uGuJL1k75NQ/s4128/20230228_082126.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4x1C86W6LIkhpwVAWt1Gj4vmW7BJzHBPRICKozfoBTpfZ9sdO3QP7qyc5fNCxi9mOEMBIQP-gPd0JB37FyoDmU1jOqSS-6bzyPdpzNXKmPLgHapM6ao5EHVuQKaIQuXfJspy-ktKu_-vrR9GhFOonYLdZTPmxiTPZn82QuCUvpXIhwi0uGuJL1k75NQ/w400-h300/20230228_082126.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My First and Only Disgracefully Decadent Breakfast</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Next day, Tuesday, we were off down the beautiful Arrow River to the Kawarau where we lingered to watch the tourists (we didn't consider ourselves as tourists!) doing the bungy jump - we were not tempted. I excelled myself by riding off early - thinking the others had left - and arrived at the boutique winery in the Gibston Valley, about half an hour before the others. By the time they arrived I'd leisurely consumed a glass of Pinot Gris and was relaxed enough to sustain the jibes about getting 'lost'. The down side of the morning (my lonely bit) was seeing a couple of feral cats and lots of rabbits. Oh, to have had a rifle or shotgun.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvsPqoo8agTcSfs-ZEAUT6-E7CYPk7lNhAnSZ-Y5YbHumi57i-HiVxHSukNPDX1a2Eym5mAui8ROkdeEd6z_Fsqp7VPeoVcN8w4I2nnJMCLG2yTKiqBfidGQhObeI1F6dLS-gb3OgkxCoCByrZESEFIYxioh16TV78tp-nk86Te-kVyPw6eu8gfPm30g/s4128/20230228_104405.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvsPqoo8agTcSfs-ZEAUT6-E7CYPk7lNhAnSZ-Y5YbHumi57i-HiVxHSukNPDX1a2Eym5mAui8ROkdeEd6z_Fsqp7VPeoVcN8w4I2nnJMCLG2yTKiqBfidGQhObeI1F6dLS-gb3OgkxCoCByrZESEFIYxioh16TV78tp-nk86Te-kVyPw6eu8gfPm30g/s320/20230228_104405.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Karawau from the Bungy Jumping Bridge</td></tr></tbody></table><p>After lunch we motored to Clyde, mounted our two-wheeled steeds again and enjoyed a refreshing ride through willow-ways down the Clutha to Alexandra. Ben Liley, an old friend from Ruakura days (seems so long ago) joined us for this section. Good catch up. We motored back to Clyde where we stayed at the historic Dunstan Hotel. I stayed in the Charles Wong Gye, room, named after a prominent Chinese interpreter, constable and store keeper and we looked for the Aurora australis (unsuccessfully) that night.</p><p>Wednesday, we started from Alexandra and cycled the Roxburgh George. We biked to Doctor's Point where we were met by a jet boat. We and all our bikes were loaded aboard and we had a pleasant break cruising the lake to Shingle Creek. This section was scenic and littered with historical gold mining artefacts - mainly Chinese gold miners' buildings amid the rocks - 90% of which have been drowned in the dam. Excellent tour! We biked on to have lunch beside the Roxburgh Dam. From there we cycled on down the Clutha to Millers Flat where, by chance, we had an excellent tour of the old local bakery. Thence it was back upstream (courtesy of our Tuatara Tour bus) to our next lodgings</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WEgXdkDIATPpUaDQU0w7zMpNqBjn0dXBB3t8zMwepXmM66z7W-nKa2ZC7Qjf3TfK7jtId2zKFvXQTTI38iEtm5y5PloZxOQ1w3sSPhuMUjZUceqfX3tEBvXnRJV9NWL7M5HCu7yexCArZ_Hx4CZldVNK6P_B9Cvn976YdVzWncJ1OuM2_FYV2iVH_Q/s4128/20230301_092034.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WEgXdkDIATPpUaDQU0w7zMpNqBjn0dXBB3t8zMwepXmM66z7W-nKa2ZC7Qjf3TfK7jtId2zKFvXQTTI38iEtm5y5PloZxOQ1w3sSPhuMUjZUceqfX3tEBvXnRJV9NWL7M5HCu7yexCArZ_Hx4CZldVNK6P_B9Cvn976YdVzWncJ1OuM2_FYV2iVH_Q/w200-h150/20230301_092034.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last Bit to the Jet Boat</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_FlBBo-jsQ2x84ihu5GIboaSaQVEhMj-ShXY7omxov1qyV7mdi6JU3Xwjsa7opfct3Ch5vUy3nVBUiAZ5lt0Pm6I0dPFvGQ-O6GZQX_PpbQhQhOlIwfUlBMXyTvjvblwS7XZbRV6a9U16K3ENgASK__7H66In1aaz1osbJssHdSlymcOqyjLPdn8dw/s4128/20230301_094532.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_FlBBo-jsQ2x84ihu5GIboaSaQVEhMj-ShXY7omxov1qyV7mdi6JU3Xwjsa7opfct3Ch5vUy3nVBUiAZ5lt0Pm6I0dPFvGQ-O6GZQX_PpbQhQhOlIwfUlBMXyTvjvblwS7XZbRV6a9U16K3ENgASK__7H66In1aaz1osbJssHdSlymcOqyjLPdn8dw/w400-h300/20230301_094532.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loading the Jet Boat<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfRajXl5V6girZljUelKnRF3R_6qDAXJ9K_2Qc-BETeJCWW87JGKCFOPO7MC4uq9lKyGZ7vyNAvYzjcTF9bO1k6w-p1JOmSOxHzf8IH30k78mMXFNqbpN3OuqJQ5O0k_VVcHrI2pL5A2CZjyhDQOzucIKXiPd3_mV0KPD3xiCu2Qxo-npkv5HxUnPPbg/s2474/20230301_095521.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2474" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfRajXl5V6girZljUelKnRF3R_6qDAXJ9K_2Qc-BETeJCWW87JGKCFOPO7MC4uq9lKyGZ7vyNAvYzjcTF9bO1k6w-p1JOmSOxHzf8IH30k78mMXFNqbpN3OuqJQ5O0k_VVcHrI2pL5A2CZjyhDQOzucIKXiPd3_mV0KPD3xiCu2Qxo-npkv5HxUnPPbg/w400-h221/20230301_095521.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">Couple of Miner's Abodes</div></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /><span style="text-align: left;">Day four saw us biking up above the Clyde Dam to do Lake Dunstan. This was the newly opened trail above the lake taking us up a few long climbs and descents. At the bottom of our last descent came upon a cycle traffic jam which would have done Auckland motorists proud. It was the Coffee Boat doing a roaring trade and we didn't let the opportunity go to waste. Onwards to Bannockburn for lunch and then, Cromwell. Old Cromwell, the un-drowned part - beautifully restored - was excellent and most of us indulged in an ice cream. From there it was on along the edge of Lake Dunstan to Smith's Way.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJGtTD6WRXmHcRlDGV2WytFl6QB0uyqAbwiEYuO2nApOlsCVlHDJk9Sq_l5u9KWwMecJKftmxR2qL_gpVW0qU0PHrnGfzr-varl-xkWxD1rbpXu5OxyJ8hggGggcJFdnss9nZs2TI0bQsYaae76L3rSdsGe6HUHmMGGo2zhu1KwKF0lgBE2dE7cInGaQ/s4128/20230302_104500.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJGtTD6WRXmHcRlDGV2WytFl6QB0uyqAbwiEYuO2nApOlsCVlHDJk9Sq_l5u9KWwMecJKftmxR2qL_gpVW0qU0PHrnGfzr-varl-xkWxD1rbpXu5OxyJ8hggGggcJFdnss9nZs2TI0bQsYaae76L3rSdsGe6HUHmMGGo2zhu1KwKF0lgBE2dE7cInGaQ/w400-h231/20230302_104500.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rare Photo of Vicki From the Front</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNO6KDC4p9YXSnq9MnwjZbliWWBGChodL3JOp0WUupO0NPBFM0-H8zAHDWiqK2lss4D5CRkdTo7nRAqT-IORgJP8ic1tV-OETJKI9Oc5UhDItEi8M-8A7AH6KzYk4Ms2LZf9115ifApReilQu0ERML6iUvEl-wQI7KWI7xSqU5d7p0q3cTEx9cuReew/s3640/20230302_111334.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2321" data-original-width="3640" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNO6KDC4p9YXSnq9MnwjZbliWWBGChodL3JOp0WUupO0NPBFM0-H8zAHDWiqK2lss4D5CRkdTo7nRAqT-IORgJP8ic1tV-OETJKI9Oc5UhDItEi8M-8A7AH6KzYk4Ms2LZf9115ifApReilQu0ERML6iUvEl-wQI7KWI7xSqU5d7p0q3cTEx9cuReew/s320/20230302_111334.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vicki and Harold</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibwGP3m9CHBu-u4VhJhcY9Xd97ZRTT04Ic9eEOj2a8NLWcUUFqzquVQcy1M_P_hA36F4MXXYkUh3lJbI5irX5sCqfs6ge7VmAaI26wYc4RUu4iZ9LRzbDudlRODOinl0nX4C9-E01MjLkl7Cred87J-KwTAHLD0dCE7uWdAL5vFekpSdzbiU67enm6Rw/s4128/20230302_113441.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibwGP3m9CHBu-u4VhJhcY9Xd97ZRTT04Ic9eEOj2a8NLWcUUFqzquVQcy1M_P_hA36F4MXXYkUh3lJbI5irX5sCqfs6ge7VmAaI26wYc4RUu4iZ9LRzbDudlRODOinl0nX4C9-E01MjLkl7Cred87J-KwTAHLD0dCE7uWdAL5vFekpSdzbiU67enm6Rw/s320/20230302_113441.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Dunstan from Top of the First Climb</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="text-align: left;">Our last cycle on Friday was from Lake Hawea across its base to the Hawea River and down to the Clutha at Albert Town, thence up the Clutha to Lake Wanaka, and around its shore - ending at the town of Wanaka.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdgUE9XXszI_DOWO-w8l4nNgTfQ5uoRdcbS7lrH_T9dYeUCCBQk_c5KYs2IK0RLZ2qmVKWJey4UhcMOf0r6WH4aKH_p5ewxKZkbfeOHgjXYHVKXAn8S78w68HY786jmAWe8kN4CTzAO880_hL7hJKK8IJCinsENEwwXv4SPjqBXEfKsvLTEybnkljJw/s3961/20230303_092528.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2970" data-original-width="3961" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdgUE9XXszI_DOWO-w8l4nNgTfQ5uoRdcbS7lrH_T9dYeUCCBQk_c5KYs2IK0RLZ2qmVKWJey4UhcMOf0r6WH4aKH_p5ewxKZkbfeOHgjXYHVKXAn8S78w68HY786jmAWe8kN4CTzAO880_hL7hJKK8IJCinsENEwwXv4SPjqBXEfKsvLTEybnkljJw/s320/20230303_092528.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harold and Mike at Bottom of Hawea</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We were taken back to Queenstown - then went home. This Tuatara Queenstown Cycle Trail is to be recommended. The logistical support gives you the chance of cycling the best of the Kawarau, Shotover, Arrow, Clutha and Hawea catchment trails - with good company, food and guidance amid spectacular mountain scenery. Worth the cost. The effort that has been put into constructing these trails is admirable.</p><p>Oh, and we all had e-bikes except Vicki who managed to keep out in front most of the time!</p><p> </p>Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-11237313240003073432023-02-15T15:31:00.001+13:002023-02-16T12:17:00.846+13:00A Week in the Chatham Islands January 2023<p> We saw an appealing advertisement for a guided trip to the Chatham Islands and it didn't take long for us to sign up and fritter some more of the kids inheritance. I, for one, had always wanted to visit these islands to the east of New Zealand. So on January 10th 2023 we flew the almost 2 hours from Christchurch to the islands. There were eight of us in the group - folk from the UK, NZ, Oz and the USA.</p><p>Our trip was expeditionary in nature, based at Waitangi with day trips dependent on the weather. This wasn't a big issue as we were treated to fair to excellent weather throughout the week, especially on the day we toured most of the islands by sea. We couldn't land on most of our island visits but did on Pitt Island. Our guide was Mike Bell, accompanied most days by his great family. Mike had spent a lot of time, some 30 years, on various restoration projects on the islands and was a wealth of knowledge.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRSgpzvJgBcb9mffJMPfeALz5qShGbeV3_fU1NXFsN1UaaQcfuIXvA9gzLokyY-hpqnuHg-mtDQHk_INoMOE4hyT3KQNFfYVbNnHGEuYpqxQ1zfhsQm2eGrSzZF8dWTM9fDpHxQDddcAQLq9YkJVYMFwD1YR11cH-LN2g-XO8reF2VqeZ7ck6fyY1xw/s5472/IMG_4411.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3080" data-original-width="5472" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRSgpzvJgBcb9mffJMPfeALz5qShGbeV3_fU1NXFsN1UaaQcfuIXvA9gzLokyY-hpqnuHg-mtDQHk_INoMOE4hyT3KQNFfYVbNnHGEuYpqxQ1zfhsQm2eGrSzZF8dWTM9fDpHxQDddcAQLq9YkJVYMFwD1YR11cH-LN2g-XO8reF2VqeZ7ck6fyY1xw/s320/IMG_4411.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swamp Asters</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja_okXqWkSRXEyREKVMM2F0NADIpIMk680zMELClgbM-9XiygPrt59wIDjyEh0yqEm5NAg3TegQCGJlGNkosdTG_Gp8oBIcIzndpt51NdSb-n-Gxqux-qqto2nJ4_1btR9tXpd_5Nf0VWPicMvnRSmd1oUHeSgWSZI2DDoF1B7eJRQnOUCjvDC422gwg/s3840/IMG_4420.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="3840" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja_okXqWkSRXEyREKVMM2F0NADIpIMk680zMELClgbM-9XiygPrt59wIDjyEh0yqEm5NAg3TegQCGJlGNkosdTG_Gp8oBIcIzndpt51NdSb-n-Gxqux-qqto2nJ4_1btR9tXpd_5Nf0VWPicMvnRSmd1oUHeSgWSZI2DDoF1B7eJRQnOUCjvDC422gwg/s320/IMG_4420.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local Gentian<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2DgaV--TSgrWTmyEuKEcqDtiVcixifNsEORSF-cIdLKlr2vz3E1FIEIG1R9-UPSxePx_99cf-5RWqwxjt5YLE0se_FscVFYgZnxcvyDDtdg0asWd_X6Wwf4715HTmFLjQBeKYaXLRWVk92pC3yU62MEv28R-dhv9Xw4U72Ufw2Uflb-otFMow4IQ3SA/s5472/IMG_4500.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3080" data-original-width="5472" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2DgaV--TSgrWTmyEuKEcqDtiVcixifNsEORSF-cIdLKlr2vz3E1FIEIG1R9-UPSxePx_99cf-5RWqwxjt5YLE0se_FscVFYgZnxcvyDDtdg0asWd_X6Wwf4715HTmFLjQBeKYaXLRWVk92pC3yU62MEv28R-dhv9Xw4U72Ufw2Uflb-otFMow4IQ3SA/s320/IMG_4500.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chatham Island Christmas Tree</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaUzVdG7YHjsU9C_cvOQrPRSgcHDLS-XCUlS02IWHa6x_-WsQ3sqkinpMBcAGN1G9UDtauVT2JnZH8uJDU37UkjgifJ2bdLmuCS7msLXpEuL1-Ttypi5DEE7Hkr3LCTT5IgpaQm4ajAUiZwh-ekc6mS3Gp5tEQinW2NID9E-N83UkbaZpCjbiOcPRmsg/s4032/IMG_0360.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaUzVdG7YHjsU9C_cvOQrPRSgcHDLS-XCUlS02IWHa6x_-WsQ3sqkinpMBcAGN1G9UDtauVT2JnZH8uJDU37UkjgifJ2bdLmuCS7msLXpEuL1-Ttypi5DEE7Hkr3LCTT5IgpaQm4ajAUiZwh-ekc6mS3Gp5tEQinW2NID9E-N83UkbaZpCjbiOcPRmsg/s320/IMG_0360.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local Dracophyllum in Swampland<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></td></tr></tbody></table><p>On seperate days we visited, the North-West corner, North-East Corner. the south end, the SE Corner and the Northern and central Main Island. On a perfect other day we journeyed by charter launch to Pitt Island where we came ashore and visited Taiko Camp where we learned of the Taiko (Magenta Petrel) rediscovery and its restoration.</p><p>On off-lying islands we heard of the environmental work being carried out - most impressive was the saving of the black robin from extinction. The coastal scenery was spectacular and, for me, the highlight was the visit to the southernmost island, Pyramid Island where Chatham Island Albatross nested before cruising the Pacific - even out to the Humbolt Current. Hundreds of chicks were sitting on their pedestal nests and adults were soaring about and over (on thermal warm rising air?) the island.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5jGKJzm-5hyyyMA_6payooyE6Ge2fnM7a7amPzhd2zhV5P8-Fr3uaK09FLSGWwlIS8CLG2U4Rm0PGkZU9tyERXK5V4DffeyAtZpVoJDiYHPC1Kf_IuakvfZobofqOMu3ACTk3-lgTyCkl2erw96w4y_lQ8poZJz4Bx0y9APSxkKw-y02zvIkhvUeujw/s5472/IMG_4580.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3080" data-original-width="5472" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5jGKJzm-5hyyyMA_6payooyE6Ge2fnM7a7amPzhd2zhV5P8-Fr3uaK09FLSGWwlIS8CLG2U4Rm0PGkZU9tyERXK5V4DffeyAtZpVoJDiYHPC1Kf_IuakvfZobofqOMu3ACTk3-lgTyCkl2erw96w4y_lQ8poZJz4Bx0y9APSxkKw-y02zvIkhvUeujw/w320-h181/IMG_4580.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pyramid Island</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJggE5o695tNCLX7r-ZAKm3dRZ5_WrzVA9QhkkIkc4_utb43f31A997R8TjE2M7jBPveWK9XWTTM_xNfpRr6c9Gd3dYt03kEwGrQeucLKAcITmnD_htoQaXkBSiQg3KmFZJ_FU4TPP6PabgRr2hmnuUQIpy0EhhzY9eBlyL8d5W2OND3IgoAuTtHVMow/s2340/Screenshot%202023-01-19%20at%204.58.17%20PM.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1444" data-original-width="2340" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJggE5o695tNCLX7r-ZAKm3dRZ5_WrzVA9QhkkIkc4_utb43f31A997R8TjE2M7jBPveWK9XWTTM_xNfpRr6c9Gd3dYt03kEwGrQeucLKAcITmnD_htoQaXkBSiQg3KmFZJ_FU4TPP6PabgRr2hmnuUQIpy0EhhzY9eBlyL8d5W2OND3IgoAuTtHVMow/w400-h246/Screenshot%202023-01-19%20at%204.58.17%20PM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Adult and Chick Chatham Albatross on Pedestal Nests</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqhiVdhC0YIh5Hq_XyzA6eDpdrRNuLABJjm5dCUbKb2dCOj_r91SRlUTah3ZUKNswvaEgrK0hHvUEjsBiA1YsjdoAlRpp0oSjZ1DxLZPlm5dKVpa-DGs_qT8nmfh5miXsL0gh1i6vyvR3ITJtAOKupXttdBoc4UpIkWIjYJwEQ4-XqI395iyn3fYCQw/s4380/IMG_4567.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2641" data-original-width="4380" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqhiVdhC0YIh5Hq_XyzA6eDpdrRNuLABJjm5dCUbKb2dCOj_r91SRlUTah3ZUKNswvaEgrK0hHvUEjsBiA1YsjdoAlRpp0oSjZ1DxLZPlm5dKVpa-DGs_qT8nmfh5miXsL0gh1i6vyvR3ITJtAOKupXttdBoc4UpIkWIjYJwEQ4-XqI395iyn3fYCQw/w640-h386/IMG_4567.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chatham Albatross Gliding Above Pyramid Island</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSG6JQvLpBTqEHoA2cqFwf3p-mVuN8bjqDVBj2rYvEVSHeVjIjNYmd6TcLxbg2CBx0GtVTE2S0Q8egVp9koCsTH2nhh8z1SKKVpdbstKmaQCleIR516LGFBIEBNm5q_dQ_3fJvvV3kAvzYjvJ5eTKOfYPtOHblfcbRiJTlG7ElMxd_LhBEJLHj2yCq3w/s5472/IMG_4554.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3080" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSG6JQvLpBTqEHoA2cqFwf3p-mVuN8bjqDVBj2rYvEVSHeVjIjNYmd6TcLxbg2CBx0GtVTE2S0Q8egVp9koCsTH2nhh8z1SKKVpdbstKmaQCleIR516LGFBIEBNm5q_dQ_3fJvvV3kAvzYjvJ5eTKOfYPtOHblfcbRiJTlG7ElMxd_LhBEJLHj2yCq3w/w640-h360/IMG_4554.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buller's Albatross</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The history of the island is fascinating. First colonised by Moriori about 800 years ago they led an almost nomadic life about the island and developed a culture devoid of violence and warfare. They also were free of skin tattoos and saved that art for the dendroglyphs, their 'tattooing' on the kopi trees - our NZ karaka. <p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6EAKfrsTO0FwJEXv6duqdZTc7Gb657ErjDLVE_Cx4oY0US0SGY-ev3E3x3ZH26BdIgTvWM_yK1Q7vQhk1yK6YIPDgNCffyyq_x4w1g7WYxTIviU-bIAX4-UHgOPwECJmg7YT6jaSzyYM0K3ZM_c8tociNonNO8yr_tT3ydE8haLSSKGs_AlkQvlqWxw/s5472/IMG_4432.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3080" data-original-width="5472" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6EAKfrsTO0FwJEXv6duqdZTc7Gb657ErjDLVE_Cx4oY0US0SGY-ev3E3x3ZH26BdIgTvWM_yK1Q7vQhk1yK6YIPDgNCffyyq_x4w1g7WYxTIviU-bIAX4-UHgOPwECJmg7YT6jaSzyYM0K3ZM_c8tociNonNO8yr_tT3ydE8haLSSKGs_AlkQvlqWxw/s320/IMG_4432.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moriori Dendroglyph on Kopi (Karaka) Tree</td></tr></tbody></table><p>When the islands were re-discovered by Broughton the captain of the "Chatham' there was inevitable conflict resulting from a lack of communication, luckily only one death. Sealers and whalers were next on the scene but things turned bad when Maori commandeered a sailing ship in NZ, sailed to the Chathams and eventually eliminated most of the defenceless Moriori. It must remain one of the worst pieces of NZ history. Even worse was the NZ Crown acknowledging the Maori right to the land 'by conquest' and giving some 97% of the available land to Maori - reflected in subsequent reparations. In my view, a major miscarriage of justice. We visited the impressive main island Moriori marae and where we found that the younger representatives expressed a desire to just move on, rather than harbour further grievances - these days all the island individuals carry a variable mixture of Moriori, Maori and European genes - and a few from the Azores and other places where whalers and sealers originated.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil9__zeVXi5SM1Bd9EbaC8o7qyQPZBsBQmITUMriSZItgtUOzvHNb_7EZXolVchaCHUNFzzP6hrbxeP2fssXPhDt01yJXZikV7tsvt0kuR9Skhp6UW52GdmtCp0iEhXV0OlmzzKukYNORjAmLSU-P6tL27tXSxnGk2BkuUOOH1_Vk2SsuHGPkyuWf3Kw/s5472/IMG_4466.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3080" data-original-width="5472" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil9__zeVXi5SM1Bd9EbaC8o7qyQPZBsBQmITUMriSZItgtUOzvHNb_7EZXolVchaCHUNFzzP6hrbxeP2fssXPhDt01yJXZikV7tsvt0kuR9Skhp6UW52GdmtCp0iEhXV0OlmzzKukYNORjAmLSU-P6tL27tXSxnGk2BkuUOOH1_Vk2SsuHGPkyuWf3Kw/s320/IMG_4466.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maui Solomon talks to us besides the image<br />of his grandfather, Tommy, the last living Moriori.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We were impressed by the farming, fishing and developing tourist industries. They all suffer mightily from the isolation (mainly its costs and inconveniences). Shipping sheep products to NZ often resulted in a financial loss. The most economically successful farmers were those who also had fishing quotas. The people were friendly, resourceful and had interesting stories to tell. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1TVOhPSLbg8_9uB4salKMcLRvNqj0P6-Is-8bYTWm8yY95GNVRQdxeAIeVjji5-7s270m7C-wspLfz9DG4nDEDIb85lT8lvRkcuBQsC9O7HD0Hu5AEAl10T2hRgF0f9nPN66Z05GP_KPNEUVGUO1qqrKaQC7wR_zBwXc7YDoEVnWSCx4m19CIPvDw4w/s5472/IMG_4517.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3080" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1TVOhPSLbg8_9uB4salKMcLRvNqj0P6-Is-8bYTWm8yY95GNVRQdxeAIeVjji5-7s270m7C-wspLfz9DG4nDEDIb85lT8lvRkcuBQsC9O7HD0Hu5AEAl10T2hRgF0f9nPN66Z05GP_KPNEUVGUO1qqrKaQC7wR_zBwXc7YDoEVnWSCx4m19CIPvDw4w/w640-h360/IMG_4517.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">West Coast of main Chatham Island</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgViV12uQgYRsPxRca4wqSLLvEbr-AwTlZVbE6skK2zKnq04p1jGy1jvcYYzZeA1aRsGVLia1ipeZa7vyx9tyU9UkobymLdKsAFeaHYvkY9FMMjJCx2YCtLC_m2oQnRDzD9UZoSePl0lOS9N7zBIvqJ6v52Ppuq3jARkvZgZnG5_d0UWMeZi3Iz_vauWg/s3886/IMG_0380.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2914" data-original-width="3886" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgViV12uQgYRsPxRca4wqSLLvEbr-AwTlZVbE6skK2zKnq04p1jGy1jvcYYzZeA1aRsGVLia1ipeZa7vyx9tyU9UkobymLdKsAFeaHYvkY9FMMjJCx2YCtLC_m2oQnRDzD9UZoSePl0lOS9N7zBIvqJ6v52Ppuq3jARkvZgZnG5_d0UWMeZi3Iz_vauWg/w640-h480/IMG_0380.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coast Near Point Munning </td></tr></tbody></table><br />We observed most of the endemic birds and many of the plants. The Chatham Island Forget-Me-Nots had ceased flowering but most of the others were on show. <p></p><p>Our first impressions as we flew in and drove to Waitangi were somewhat underwhelming but all subsequent days exceeded our expectations. On our last evening we were very well hosted by the Croon family. Val and Lois Croon's children filled roles of Mayor of the Chathams, pub proprietor and apiarist, fisherman, farmer and local brewer. All the important posts covered! Great trip. The trip was organised by Wild Earth. Excellent local beer.</p><p>On a personal note the stories of the Black Robin recovery were made more interesting by our friend, Bev Wooley, having spent time helping Don Merton in the early days. And I well remembered David Crocket of Taiko fame from time with the Canterbury Museum naturalist group in the early 1950s when I was a young teenager. Small world - in NZ.</p>Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-91307875427664295852022-10-17T10:13:00.003+13:002022-10-18T11:59:06.972+13:00Reunion of OAEs and OMMs - Christchurch and Lewis Pass Sept / Oct 2022<p style="text-align: justify;">This year I attended two get-togethers. The first was a gathering of OAEs (Old Antarctic Explorers - NZers in Antarctica prior to 1964). This had been attempted just prior to Covid's arrival in NZ - in fact the group had just gathered for the Meet and Greet in Christchurch when all their phone emergency alarms went off and they had to scatter for home. After a couple more aborted planning attempts we finally made it. There were a few dignitaries and guest speakers and we all relished our combined stories and company.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEim2AwtAL2tN301iVB2U0XPa0Uyq1_A7895h2q3gGDDrGKAM6PEgNEJwuYwFrS_PzRcCcpYHmvY3X73cW1hT35HTgRY-_MFX5Y_8NXVQLHVBRumniPwAZwyI2srShH-MAEC5uzBlsmxlCXQLXOkSuWdIdW-mgZ3mzu7pBtmHNnDXCzU8nm5mwznmHBFrg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="518" data-original-width="980" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEim2AwtAL2tN301iVB2U0XPa0Uyq1_A7895h2q3gGDDrGKAM6PEgNEJwuYwFrS_PzRcCcpYHmvY3X73cW1hT35HTgRY-_MFX5Y_8NXVQLHVBRumniPwAZwyI2srShH-MAEC5uzBlsmxlCXQLXOkSuWdIdW-mgZ3mzu7pBtmHNnDXCzU8nm5mwznmHBFrg=w526-h278" width="526" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjyALvWTCbboaWfSmkfO5dVnVeSZcrXCoR4PtDp5Pj6qmUMTmO-R8ha4ZvgtbkSn5Q130Dos5n4K3YRW5nVR2j5WsWmYbibGxcPgGz2MUe1_LVTArr5RyfXVaLNVD_t-wP9DpwzfV5GmvZ8z5jBMVr4JC6LenXIK4AYwm9VKTxuyo2N80wH_T9QSS-nIw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="902" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjyALvWTCbboaWfSmkfO5dVnVeSZcrXCoR4PtDp5Pj6qmUMTmO-R8ha4ZvgtbkSn5Q130Dos5n4K3YRW5nVR2j5WsWmYbibGxcPgGz2MUe1_LVTArr5RyfXVaLNVD_t-wP9DpwzfV5GmvZ8z5jBMVr4JC6LenXIK4AYwm9VKTxuyo2N80wH_T9QSS-nIw=w525-h149" width="525" /></a></div><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhktaVOcBBCHn8Vw2ST2k-qCmGgxq1pVUh3WqEeOEtj4CthJWIcC_uGN9BnpLpDGsZ5yGtbS0fKJCqKZq2HiCCx9YVqeMd9NPaZv5hzkO9EA16sAbpmjXsA4bQQfzOSoxiz678p8zLJLxlrVKwIRcexnNke_TfKkzvLYVhAiZkuvPQSZWLBzm3H0kqX2w" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhktaVOcBBCHn8Vw2ST2k-qCmGgxq1pVUh3WqEeOEtj4CthJWIcC_uGN9BnpLpDGsZ5yGtbS0fKJCqKZq2HiCCx9YVqeMd9NPaZv5hzkO9EA16sAbpmjXsA4bQQfzOSoxiz678p8zLJLxlrVKwIRcexnNke_TfKkzvLYVhAiZkuvPQSZWLBzm3H0kqX2w" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mike White and Shackleton's Whisky - and half of Lyn, Mike's wife. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBF66a2y9KiubRHtU9WW232uzmXdra3T-qyeF1UB_vC7-4UeQsRKmSQMt0JaZA87Rj6G129QhemModjBABhT6L42R4qZEIPyo1OD96A3vyJ5nLJy12ZczJ7HTZuFHOCzUIoTlTdlx9wmhk4jFaz4AO8AItFoXeYSpCGUJpLe9Lj6VSjwwqxyDWzAyxwA/s4128/20221004_134930.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBF66a2y9KiubRHtU9WW232uzmXdra3T-qyeF1UB_vC7-4UeQsRKmSQMt0JaZA87Rj6G129QhemModjBABhT6L42R4qZEIPyo1OD96A3vyJ5nLJy12ZczJ7HTZuFHOCzUIoTlTdlx9wmhk4jFaz4AO8AItFoXeYSpCGUJpLe9Lj6VSjwwqxyDWzAyxwA/s320/20221004_134930.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Replica of the "James Caird", the boat that Shackleton, Worsley, Crean, McNeish, McCarthy and Vincent sailed from Elephant Island to South Georgia after the Endurance was crushed by ice and sank in 1915.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I was pleased meet and hear from such people as Peter Otway and Frank Graveson. Peter and team had visited and surveyed the upper Beardmore Glacier using dog teams the year after I'd been man-hauling just east of the lower Beardmore with the NZAC in <a href="https://draft.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6869926918498994206/6177115896471963561">1959</a>. Not only that, but his team had sledged down the Axel Heiberg Glacier, the one Amundsen had used on his journey to and from the pole. A remarkable repetition of Amundsen's descent. I'd never met Peter before. And Frank was part of a long exploratory journey in unexplored Northern Victoria Land, also with dog teams. We all gave our own little stories of our expeditions. On the second night we had a dinner and sampled Mackinnon's reconstituted version of the whisky found under Shackleton's Hut a few years ago. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Unfortunately we are all getting a bit thin on the ground these days. There were only about 20 of us at the reunion and that included some surviving wives as well. Some of our elderly antics were found to be quite amusing by some who were also showing their own amusing antics (if that makes any sense). Some were more amusing than others, too.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">The next day Jim Wilson, Mike White [OAEs as well as OMMs (Old Mountain Mates)] and I took off for the Lewis Pass area where we visited and stayed in the hut at Lake Daniell and a couple of nights at the newish Magdalen Hut just off the St James walkway. We are now in our latish eighties and our times for tramping to and from these huts were nothing to skite about (in fact shameful!!). It rained a bit on the first day but otherwise the weather was kind to us. Both places were very scenic and we spent time wandering about the lake or collecting firewood for the huts. </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3AsDpkvfLxf_WIJfkyxZn5hU6H1hxgioMmSVHkg3pNyZgKHkiFOlCJ6M6YSWIYesLNdS4kcM1ZeYqjbDwSYLCSGSRnDv2WAWTrJAxOftDBbTzIPnJlHp3pFszzU6tlgnQPRoGLNA4q_Lb1LzsgB4niGUzIvcWuoibehY0ZmWlB5cslv5AlMvr70VnA/s4128/20220929_132634.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3AsDpkvfLxf_WIJfkyxZn5hU6H1hxgioMmSVHkg3pNyZgKHkiFOlCJ6M6YSWIYesLNdS4kcM1ZeYqjbDwSYLCSGSRnDv2WAWTrJAxOftDBbTzIPnJlHp3pFszzU6tlgnQPRoGLNA4q_Lb1LzsgB4niGUzIvcWuoibehY0ZmWlB5cslv5AlMvr70VnA/w640-h480/20220929_132634.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking in to Lake Daniell</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgxLeSUjklEuNMk92jxfZOHK0PffqpjGisRUVZF0kD1uCsy084u9EIFK05k4BS6sDLueERPyvqPnI-CTR08z4vb3NQr3FFolpz1rjx5FPAn3vifSVSy3nMH9S8I268v_NPNRNmaZR7skZ4hBGlROcnHY2ADNkCq5kPBZFnbM0ivgpWuABaNLAJBlI7HQ/s4128/20220930_102501.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgxLeSUjklEuNMk92jxfZOHK0PffqpjGisRUVZF0kD1uCsy084u9EIFK05k4BS6sDLueERPyvqPnI-CTR08z4vb3NQr3FFolpz1rjx5FPAn3vifSVSy3nMH9S8I268v_NPNRNmaZR7skZ4hBGlROcnHY2ADNkCq5kPBZFnbM0ivgpWuABaNLAJBlI7HQ/s320/20220930_102501.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Daniell</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: justify;">As usual on these trips we met kind and interesting people - including three men with their daughters - great to see. And it was very gratifying to have the young-uns moving aside or even out into tents to give 'we elderly three' bottom bunks - respect for the old and frail is still alive and well. On our last day out we had our traditional billy boil and cuppa. A great few days and even more lies and stories were told.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqc61HnXwD-L4phwJXx729v1H0560mVR_dbB6ywM9u5OJrfQaDrpsNw82QkmU26X8gTfqHnXLXnYpuLZgULojxgxmWvkYv2OnVUMS9jIlsCbGoRCMvN2jnRawZVPIPoucaAmynBVa5scyDrp7ap-11cMVUCGYzKhJdfuKBb1fDq-mDm-wZMthiwGlqFQ/s4128/20221003_114731.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqc61HnXwD-L4phwJXx729v1H0560mVR_dbB6ywM9u5OJrfQaDrpsNw82QkmU26X8gTfqHnXLXnYpuLZgULojxgxmWvkYv2OnVUMS9jIlsCbGoRCMvN2jnRawZVPIPoucaAmynBVa5scyDrp7ap-11cMVUCGYzKhJdfuKBb1fDq-mDm-wZMthiwGlqFQ/w640-h480/20221003_114731.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Traditional Billy Boil.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-70830312867233893352022-03-21T16:03:00.001+13:002022-03-21T16:03:45.004+13:00Aotea Again - a Return to Paradise<p>Once again I've been to a paradise within the paradise we call New Zealand - Aotea/Great Barrier Island - this time with Catherine. This visit was by courtesy of our friends, Don and Helen Burns who have a place overlooking Awana Bay and the coastline beyond that - a really wow panorama.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTc_TJXa11LqelwYlt3sxvbXLvRqYU7yLt3zk9D6r2oAvrxooKpC8NlzG1WTQ7510WW5JCNWCdnWTKd33OsvBIo3mfEQV-eaP6mUJ-8xlItfN0sz3WsfgX0QvfI5NMy6x_FMz1aiKN2APs2K5oc2DZhE_u84-uc5i4VtNbsCskPZV-daRM912QfXroWA=s4128" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTc_TJXa11LqelwYlt3sxvbXLvRqYU7yLt3zk9D6r2oAvrxooKpC8NlzG1WTQ7510WW5JCNWCdnWTKd33OsvBIo3mfEQV-eaP6mUJ-8xlItfN0sz3WsfgX0QvfI5NMy6x_FMz1aiKN2APs2K5oc2DZhE_u84-uc5i4VtNbsCskPZV-daRM912QfXroWA=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Awana Bay from the South</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>We arrived by Barrier Air - a short 30 minute hop from Auckland and spent the first afternoon walking up the beach from their place. Along the way we saw dotterels, oystercatchers and several pateke, the friendly brown teals. It is a delightful estuary with sand hills and an excellent DoC campsite. That evening and thereafter we enjoyed the healthy food and company of our hosts - and later learning the intricacies and satisfaction of 'living off the grid'.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvZZRtjhW7aM12-hCf4u-RZP4cFKNvHJNr4KpkxwU4O9oZ33ujnC8PPjPZg5TSD_Rrw78cpvkEECmWwFPfG69IAhTiw8-k-X-F8wo6H_U7oups15U31HtNJyKKyAbsw2d_uJ5Klmfmr8IhGaxIRAgbiS_txJYtihCdWX2whV7Qu9pHYBuS_PI4fEowfg=s3335" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2312" data-original-width="3335" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvZZRtjhW7aM12-hCf4u-RZP4cFKNvHJNr4KpkxwU4O9oZ33ujnC8PPjPZg5TSD_Rrw78cpvkEECmWwFPfG69IAhTiw8-k-X-F8wo6H_U7oups15U31HtNJyKKyAbsw2d_uJ5Klmfmr8IhGaxIRAgbiS_txJYtihCdWX2whV7Qu9pHYBuS_PI4fEowfg=w640-h444" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Awana Bay Estuary - Oystercatchers, Pateke and other birds</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Day two, after a leisurely start, was spent exploring the Palmer track up towards Mt Hobson- beautiful bush and imposing rock formations. The two old folk found 'walking sticks' useful. Along the way, near the log hauler trestle we met locals working on the track - one of them remembered me from my yachting visit to Fitzroy nearly a year ago. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2hgmk2Gncri0BPvZu7NQxZeW4JDF2k1AtY0q93Y9FlkPSWUngGAj3ZDSFINbad2sN5o76KiUQCG9vpMWXu-hgKmWqmhDNVeEpXqobJFdrvtfm9LpL957LWoPxAVjuSeRrPY7SXeLCkInv0q28WClevzlk-TznOWdpum9sgJpJmq8t59lVrvUpktLeaA=s4128" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2hgmk2Gncri0BPvZu7NQxZeW4JDF2k1AtY0q93Y9FlkPSWUngGAj3ZDSFINbad2sN5o76KiUQCG9vpMWXu-hgKmWqmhDNVeEpXqobJFdrvtfm9LpL957LWoPxAVjuSeRrPY7SXeLCkInv0q28WClevzlk-TznOWdpum9sgJpJmq8t59lVrvUpktLeaA=w400-h300" width="400" /></i></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Catherine with Don and Helen in the track to Mt Hobson.<br />There were fern birds up here.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>We also enjoyed the company of a pair of fern birds - up in the scrub. The bush on the island, a bit like, I recall, on D'Urville Island, shows the difference of not having possums. We also visited Harataonga, a beach where were delighted to hear stories of thwarted attempts at commercialisation and amusing stories of sham reality survival shows.</p><p>For our next trick, on day three, we walked in to the hot springs at the head of the Kaitoke wetlands. Here we bathed in a warm pool to the sound of Kotare chicks who had nested in the bank above us.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3LQsmAUVSP9Lj-gRIjREJFDDqYJWyytzCQVRmf1N31GU-VFYwcEsSdWSOnnEw9ZYLHWEvMhuTjVPc5dxqf9hDSOC1tUdXwP-r9ddLTBMpQgwxfK_PZHxgZlI3jyOfKQ5QTUWc3dWXCw42kw9Njm1_bNQDe9WQfdNdBoqxddChyTOwJU99jBbruK7QNw=s4128" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3LQsmAUVSP9Lj-gRIjREJFDDqYJWyytzCQVRmf1N31GU-VFYwcEsSdWSOnnEw9ZYLHWEvMhuTjVPc5dxqf9hDSOC1tUdXwP-r9ddLTBMpQgwxfK_PZHxgZlI3jyOfKQ5QTUWc3dWXCw42kw9Njm1_bNQDe9WQfdNdBoqxddChyTOwJU99jBbruK7QNw=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><br /><p><i>To left: View of the Kaitoke Wetlands from the track walk to the hot springs. </i></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzGmOo9N5YG1xKVIBgkH_WoW2ME13bfOXZ6d-lNtCMpp1J3PqPAxAWjs3OU67LiW2YrPes16kq23_HVzAKRwxaUa300lNasGyNswmi2BgsGFrHVYnOKHsqV7coVoaFSc3XHKGB8NPXzbtOytbYECxTtAWrLgMWU9IyOA05AaAgyv_kTMBXWRJGzYiwuw=s640" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzGmOo9N5YG1xKVIBgkH_WoW2ME13bfOXZ6d-lNtCMpp1J3PqPAxAWjs3OU67LiW2YrPes16kq23_HVzAKRwxaUa300lNasGyNswmi2BgsGFrHVYnOKHsqV7coVoaFSc3XHKGB8NPXzbtOytbYECxTtAWrLgMWU9IyOA05AaAgyv_kTMBXWRJGzYiwuw=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><i>To right: <span> </span>Bathing in the Kaitoke hot pools. </i></div><div><i><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> <span> </span>Photo; Helen Burns</span></i><br /></div><div><i><span><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span><br /></span></i></div><div>On our last day we visited a mining tunnel with numerous weta on the roof and a beach on a western bay of the island, Okupu. We returned to Auckland and Hamilton (well masked up) replete with hospitality and in a relaxed condition. This island has to be one of the gems of world and it is great to hear of how the locals jealously guard its special nature. Long may it stay the way it is.</div>Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-10065061144413569562022-03-21T16:03:00.000+13:002022-03-21T16:03:30.929+13:00Three Old Codgers on their Bikes<p></p><div class="separator" dir="rtl" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div>This trip had a long gestation both in planning and execution. Covid delays were the main problem. After our trip on the Old Ghost road last year we decided to do the 'Alps to Ocean' in the South Island, a cycle trail that goes from the Hermitage area near Aorangi/Mt Cook, to Oamaru. Jim did all the planning, Mike had a hip replacement and had to resign himself to a supporting role - taking our gear from place to place and biking back out to meet us. It worked well. Jim's sister, Margaret was made redundant but didn't get any payout. Sorry Margie. The plan was to start by going to Tekapo and then being driven to Mt Cook Station to start the cycling. I started off the trip with a night at Jim and Ann's on Monk's Spur - good catch up time. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjs7Uvn6yGhBSlQ0ZvMBodnM50A__icPHhGoeiilWmFyKJUTrnFjoy6FetrV_cf1Uf2Gfs-_Q2cF4_5hQ6Fl5vjoD29XMzNeghBuI0fn2pyHl-Ag5Ey2kFifAx9v5WjggXOlI9KQnk7ECLRBk7cwkkFLxL9_yEnDgQ0mQD-9FizSqh1dUCGEmsuiel-Ww=s4128" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjs7Uvn6yGhBSlQ0ZvMBodnM50A__icPHhGoeiilWmFyKJUTrnFjoy6FetrV_cf1Uf2Gfs-_Q2cF4_5hQ6Fl5vjoD29XMzNeghBuI0fn2pyHl-Ag5Ey2kFifAx9v5WjggXOlI9KQnk7ECLRBk7cwkkFLxL9_yEnDgQ0mQD-9FizSqh1dUCGEmsuiel-Ww=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Seven Sisters from the road to Braemer</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>The old codgers were showing their age. It nearly turned into a disaster. There were lost car keys, lost keys to our e-bike batteries, lunches and toilet bags left behind and more, even Covid chased us out of Tekapo. And there were no wives to find things for us!! Finally we left Mt Cook Station at about 10am on the 6th March 2022 and flew off down the road with a good tail wind. There was dust in the air as there had been a landslide up the Hooker Valley but we could see Aorangi and Sefton clearly over our shoulders.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhlPK28YwmXYBRNFhVN73itbm3A9rqUciExPoKGAs-Ix-yHgsxbLyR6TbdJe34OEgUbGHueE93bvWNYD3GRjX5IZxKz4W7kUaLd4srs_HKMh_KdUW9R7eif54dZlTkFkhaKF6R7qE5AUR6LJfvV0PHLAlC5RhGPIdkgaBRkQ91JslXdE0jGaA0zHJeu_A=s4128" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhlPK28YwmXYBRNFhVN73itbm3A9rqUciExPoKGAs-Ix-yHgsxbLyR6TbdJe34OEgUbGHueE93bvWNYD3GRjX5IZxKz4W7kUaLd4srs_HKMh_KdUW9R7eif54dZlTkFkhaKF6R7qE5AUR6LJfvV0PHLAlC5RhGPIdkgaBRkQ91JslXdE0jGaA0zHJeu_A=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Jim Standing Amid our Memories</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Mike gave sterling support for his old mates. On this first day we also left our matches behind (for the midday brew) but Mike discovered them and fortunately we saw them on the roadside with the little cairn marker he built for us - that was lifesaving stuff for Jim and I.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgjZkeRwcZ5O2y9JDrxlVxMDpcuo6KwWbTJDp3KfWX1it8-nftcKer_xvPZt4hUe33Xq1GueUec5aF9DmKhLVKXWq_nVkJ8OuEIQqnFYZuAUxSMJKWbcDD4KlyEo98Kcnn7ddJcjerwsJktTVGSzNUG3DoBsXyZ21vfZT8O5YAGWrKF-xIjsPMX-0gEpg=s4128" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgjZkeRwcZ5O2y9JDrxlVxMDpcuo6KwWbTJDp3KfWX1it8-nftcKer_xvPZt4hUe33Xq1GueUec5aF9DmKhLVKXWq_nVkJ8OuEIQqnFYZuAUxSMJKWbcDD4KlyEo98Kcnn7ddJcjerwsJktTVGSzNUG3DoBsXyZ21vfZT8O5YAGWrKF-xIjsPMX-0gEpg=w402-h332" width="402" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>From Our Brew Spot on Pukaki - Sefton and Cook</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />After lunch we biked on the the bottom of Lake Pukaki, purchased some salmon for dinner and, after meeting Mike, pedalled on to Twizel. Next door to us were Victoria and Emilie (7 years) who were over half way through Te Aroha. They were great fun and next morning we were amazed at the weight of the pack that Emilie was carrying. They were being supported by FMC and also raising funds for Mental Health and the FMC Mountain and Forest Charitable Trust.<div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiTxcnhgo_g8DgNBJ7gu3MI5A7_btZt19rUIpr80jelFBx3Pnxj3KGJV6zokxMxoaMMus5t1SuN3Q-hKXnvNQV9bmrmgxxLbvrZdRGRNSOGstWXMwi0c4h3wFUrc8RuM6fFA3sCDBMyGLtwiNlWAmqj5hgLoEKt9y_n0UjEVXXCOUbYDL0qWtmUwNq-Qg=s4128" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiTxcnhgo_g8DgNBJ7gu3MI5A7_btZt19rUIpr80jelFBx3Pnxj3KGJV6zokxMxoaMMus5t1SuN3Q-hKXnvNQV9bmrmgxxLbvrZdRGRNSOGstWXMwi0c4h3wFUrc8RuM6fFA3sCDBMyGLtwiNlWAmqj5hgLoEKt9y_n0UjEVXXCOUbYDL0qWtmUwNq-Qg=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Victoria, Emilie and Jim</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_b3tZ0zrz0Ztrvv--YHVS9h3oMZYsCbXsAE20WwpYq_k1sqTizBK9PttmEgm-J4W9Np56gMNZv-4_DfcKUtTcotMtBhs4MzZJf7mSQPBGztMhtXW2qZP1rmLdVN_kGOuqUNmCUNuAPlToYLdvQQjhrt-05HQ1FyAHWYM1EAqzB4yPGwTuczjqymaOxA=s2544" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1908" data-original-width="2544" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_b3tZ0zrz0Ztrvv--YHVS9h3oMZYsCbXsAE20WwpYq_k1sqTizBK9PttmEgm-J4W9Np56gMNZv-4_DfcKUtTcotMtBhs4MzZJf7mSQPBGztMhtXW2qZP1rmLdVN_kGOuqUNmCUNuAPlToYLdvQQjhrt-05HQ1FyAHWYM1EAqzB4yPGwTuczjqymaOxA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Victoria, Mike and Jim at Twizel</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>The following day we pushed on to Lake Ohau Lodge via the good track around the bottom of Lake Ohau.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgZ49TW9ZZNXV_r9HurDZV1pULXria_Th4Oo7cvLTUWQ7J28p_Kmv8W0q2wTgrqTDZtWo3EVKpeiEHQIu2tJ69C3kxQze_PBj7U5INHMKt8apgJyspjMGl-wcAVq_SLa-yv3KnBE6wHqBzG7d3ztjr0VlntCHaWjU-kiaHgp92nv8ZDEyGDF4Yr_i05A=s4128" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgZ49TW9ZZNXV_r9HurDZV1pULXria_Th4Oo7cvLTUWQ7J28p_Kmv8W0q2wTgrqTDZtWo3EVKpeiEHQIu2tJ69C3kxQze_PBj7U5INHMKt8apgJyspjMGl-wcAVq_SLa-yv3KnBE6wHqBzG7d3ztjr0VlntCHaWjU-kiaHgp92nv8ZDEyGDF4Yr_i05A=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiM7MW3ywHl2nkJ66iyRoxV3eh59JNPFAoKmjKiMyUVwsBuYD4Nq0N0B5jxVK5rv7RK8LQveKkvAr-vNbeudnC-6bYCEKRCTcxLLi2x0XzI8_jhaQaudutmgxWTuqJ995soYkzFh555iqQARoFjAd4jUPLhJ-cueLd2mbVEXNPfOGQos7JfBzkb51PyCw=s4128" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiM7MW3ywHl2nkJ66iyRoxV3eh59JNPFAoKmjKiMyUVwsBuYD4Nq0N0B5jxVK5rv7RK8LQveKkvAr-vNbeudnC-6bYCEKRCTcxLLi2x0XzI8_jhaQaudutmgxWTuqJ995soYkzFh555iqQARoFjAd4jUPLhJ-cueLd2mbVEXNPfOGQos7JfBzkb51PyCw=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Old Historic Shearing Shed</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Our next day was a longish one. Steady but prolonged uphill and then down to an old historic shearing shed - starting to deteriorate - where the pens were made from beech saplings and where the ghosts of blade shearers wafted in the rafters - and so down to Omarama where we made a stop for coffee.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRPqFps61ybbNGUBQxca_5vByifhtM4CAR_zJZzbm8w-npfir36x8CYykeWPs-qGqZ16IVPfNrDJE5oUYXAMhAoNAXpBWnreUFOqCFa_ob02kFnxPbnsp-g6Ff_SvTR-U0s9x-gaFrcGk0JbEolED2kxrKf-DzxAURtRfK20oG2UTcqoYxuX4YUkKvVA=s4128" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRPqFps61ybbNGUBQxca_5vByifhtM4CAR_zJZzbm8w-npfir36x8CYykeWPs-qGqZ16IVPfNrDJE5oUYXAMhAoNAXpBWnreUFOqCFa_ob02kFnxPbnsp-g6Ff_SvTR-U0s9x-gaFrcGk0JbEolED2kxrKf-DzxAURtRfK20oG2UTcqoYxuX4YUkKvVA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>An Old Codger trundles Through Omarama - note the Snazzy Lycra</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>The last bit of the day was along the edge of Lake Benmore - a magnificent recent addition to the trail.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVMOrR069f5QN6KsqGvkrl-pY3RvT3WTDZcIo8eRC9NIeE7Y5mcpuFXhYQiIatGPJFwOqys657icm53bdllx-A4c5fYUufh6IUybmMt5X_a8hhXy3Tl24qaZ-34QcK3uItLtAAYeOyreIMuT8vKTKwh650PnCGkNpMBoXiz2J_B-YpvVCTa7WuFHtklQ=s3657" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2743" data-original-width="3657" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVMOrR069f5QN6KsqGvkrl-pY3RvT3WTDZcIo8eRC9NIeE7Y5mcpuFXhYQiIatGPJFwOqys657icm53bdllx-A4c5fYUufh6IUybmMt5X_a8hhXy3Tl24qaZ-34QcK3uItLtAAYeOyreIMuT8vKTKwh650PnCGkNpMBoXiz2J_B-YpvVCTa7WuFHtklQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rest Stop - Upper Lake Benmore</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGOjni2BMFUEAG_ZaQRKHan9ixmcXjj9eKhy71co7PoeusOMt1mVEBtwIVFD6gMIGpX_y48T4ObBPK3-cbeVwvY5SW1Q5NUBqWTlYaWyZfabni76JDItLFxc67CR82tBJcmedMJGeRlplDXgkPvT4Ht8K9AJ50BepoE8YE-B4Z6jiPH0hgM7AD18j0Vw=s4128" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGOjni2BMFUEAG_ZaQRKHan9ixmcXjj9eKhy71co7PoeusOMt1mVEBtwIVFD6gMIGpX_y48T4ObBPK3-cbeVwvY5SW1Q5NUBqWTlYaWyZfabni76JDItLFxc67CR82tBJcmedMJGeRlplDXgkPvT4Ht8K9AJ50BepoE8YE-B4Z6jiPH0hgM7AD18j0Vw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lower Lake Benmore Trail</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpmkpWwreqtKBm7_3tmCKqUiIGU4dFb-hPWvMEPhXGfyQRGQreIGGXRucX8Gvfq4n3MU8M3s-1525YYh0SR4ag9O5rPpaq87jKaLpMbqrsjFliyQxu6xJp4LoDFoMAmgp2BuSByOrgYXvCnZNfCu2mwmYc8nm2y8ULIGDgk48DeChi4ZQKNM1MrO0feQ=s4128" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpmkpWwreqtKBm7_3tmCKqUiIGU4dFb-hPWvMEPhXGfyQRGQreIGGXRucX8Gvfq4n3MU8M3s-1525YYh0SR4ag9O5rPpaq87jKaLpMbqrsjFliyQxu6xJp4LoDFoMAmgp2BuSByOrgYXvCnZNfCu2mwmYc8nm2y8ULIGDgk48DeChi4ZQKNM1MrO0feQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Near Benmore Dam</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div> Finally we descended the Benmore dam to find Mike who'd been biking up and down the road to the lip of the dam - to show us what real men do!!! We spent a pleasant hour with Elder, an amiable Peruvian and his group. He was guiding his group down the trail. He'd helped me with my bike the previous night -<span style="text-align: center;">brought him a beer.</span></div><div><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgwn3Tx3rVHhwi4EyDbXRURf-CUysQIcT-Lm_OXMjCDerYXtHurvsj_cGOKoXmLs6tdgrZ89SHdJKdotWEg2PVhlRKrmRa3uUiFNsy605SMDx_Fnph3gPKu1q5HkerU6stVvvc8u-tRLAvkQi-m33oXKqTIBazCA6bck6zXrDYyb9kIqrP9OZCCPLfJMQ=s4128" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgwn3Tx3rVHhwi4EyDbXRURf-CUysQIcT-Lm_OXMjCDerYXtHurvsj_cGOKoXmLs6tdgrZ89SHdJKdotWEg2PVhlRKrmRa3uUiFNsy605SMDx_Fnph3gPKu1q5HkerU6stVvvc8u-tRLAvkQi-m33oXKqTIBazCA6bck6zXrDYyb9kIqrP9OZCCPLfJMQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rest Stop at Lake Waitaki</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>Next morning was full of apprehension as we cycled back up onto the Benmore Dam - it wasn't too bad - and then we cruised off down the Waitaki River, past Aviemore and Waitaki Dams and on to Duntroon. This time Mike biked up the river in time to have lunch with us alongside a grape field. Very pleasant. Just 2k short of Duntroon my battery gave out and I had the unpleasant task of trying to keep up with the others, uphill, to our digs for the night. Here, next morning, Trevor and Kat, the real estate barons of Duntroon entertained us with stories of their little village.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJaQewXWZmOaIgXN-XonDbgE9W_RUCDTzqC1KHoHDpOonkO9xpDtivsMhRKc04N4-KqgJeNprdiEgKAOwn7pHoSZIFVp-ZMoR1SJI9FT45cBmYcwKesvGailQdsG6hFgB6fYgm7XbQXoyU2tmhgmQHjgqyUL-N4-YMrgKYcG87sm1uw5lV_s9q6PX-JA=s4128" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJaQewXWZmOaIgXN-XonDbgE9W_RUCDTzqC1KHoHDpOonkO9xpDtivsMhRKc04N4-KqgJeNprdiEgKAOwn7pHoSZIFVp-ZMoR1SJI9FT45cBmYcwKesvGailQdsG6hFgB6fYgm7XbQXoyU2tmhgmQHjgqyUL-N4-YMrgKYcG87sm1uw5lV_s9q6PX-JA=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Elephant Rocks beyond Duntroon</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>That morning we shot off for Oamaru - passing by the scenic Elephant Rocks, the Tunnel and finally the historic approaches to Oamaru and its beautiful Gardens. At Oamaru Mike fed us up on chips - we loaded our bikes onto Jim's faithful car, Rodger, ands headed off to Christchurch, first dropping Mike off Mandeville and finally me with John, my brother in Cashmere for more royal hospitality. And so to Hamilton dreaming of what form next year's activity might take. My task.</div><div><br /></div><div>Alps to Ocean? Highly recommended as one of the best bike journeys in New Zealand. Good company too.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><p><br /></p></div></div>Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-47815725300573288652021-12-03T13:34:00.000+13:002021-12-03T13:34:49.169+13:00Fallacies of Memory - Mounts Whitcombe and Red Lion and Carrington HutWe were sailing along on our circumnavigation of the North Island of New Zealand about 20 years ago when, with nothing else to say, I said to Jim the skipper of Karoro, our yacht. "Wasn't it funny on Mt Whitcombe when Mike left his ice axe on the summit and we let him walk down the ridge a bit before we told him. And then he had to go back for it." Jim looked at me and agreed. He remembered the incident well. "But how did you remember because you weren't there" he said. "Rubbish", I retorted, of course I was there. "No you weren't" said Jim, "You and Dave were climbing Red Lion the day Mike and I climbed Whitcombe." I stopped in my tracks - Jim was right - I remembered the day quite clearly. How could I have got the story so wrong?<br />
<br />
What I'd remembered was what Jim had told us that evening over 40 years before in our snow cave on Erewhon Col, and subsequently. And then placed myself with them on Whitcombe.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEippZwvl2OjkJnHvyqLJ5LiDVHyRUUjByCbsaHl2mQB4W5hISUXJ13nJI134R5E8sJPSDuic24BrvjDIi372lYFELIYqzNQVUUNnggz_heKgZgZe0D6WYIiPFH-OIkA9xAcNpph98XlcDHc/s1600/DJERLion.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="656" data-original-width="864" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEippZwvl2OjkJnHvyqLJ5LiDVHyRUUjByCbsaHl2mQB4W5hISUXJ13nJI134R5E8sJPSDuic24BrvjDIi372lYFELIYqzNQVUUNnggz_heKgZgZe0D6WYIiPFH-OIkA9xAcNpph98XlcDHc/s320/DJERLion.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Dave on top of Red Lion Peak (note ice axe)<br /><br /></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRCrcV32qO0Xkwpu1C1bnS9ux7RT0lS9A7igajqoaud2IWLduSXR-JmqmApR4qesjzwSBymp7NwX7WQ8CFayJJzzkxnUgGoeJ5JpDuc_mbjmg9JaTdsRp0RdBG6h27VmNz806tgGzq6ASz/s1600/DJEEvTra.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1175" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRCrcV32qO0Xkwpu1C1bnS9ux7RT0lS9A7igajqoaud2IWLduSXR-JmqmApR4qesjzwSBymp7NwX7WQ8CFayJJzzkxnUgGoeJ5JpDuc_mbjmg9JaTdsRp0RdBG6h27VmNz806tgGzq6ASz/s320/DJEEvTra.jpeg" width="235" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>en route to Red Lion - good place to have ice axe</i></td></tr>
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<br />
It didn't take too long for me to sort out how it had happened.<br />
<br />
The previous year, I'd climbed Whitcombe from Erewhon Col and by the same route as Jim and Mike, but with a different party. A few years later Jim, Mike, Dave and I were up the Waimakariri Valley and left Carrington hut to head home down-valley. Mike did it again - left his ice axe - this time at the hut. Jim sidled up to me and said, "Mike's done it again, He's left his ice axe back at the hut." We grinned and agreed to let him go another hundred yards before we told him. Off he went, back to collect it while his miserable mates sniggered to themselves. Mean buggers, but Mike had to be cured of this bad habit of his.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh31meJ0EQd3aCA51GxEiECkuE-BeI7F-FwQ2lNK6pY80ySTxw5CkfyOXd3SDeedzE43jI1CYhAql1iYZSAZXmDE24NSyR5FPKtiV-8xKizPycWwwSJR-OT7mKXw6g7PYbF1lHA52Q8r7iq/s1600/IMG_3378.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh31meJ0EQd3aCA51GxEiECkuE-BeI7F-FwQ2lNK6pY80ySTxw5CkfyOXd3SDeedzE43jI1CYhAql1iYZSAZXmDE24NSyR5FPKtiV-8xKizPycWwwSJR-OT7mKXw6g7PYbF1lHA52Q8r7iq/s320/IMG_3378.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mike and Jim on lower Waimakariri (note Mike grasping paddle</i>)<br /><br /></td></tr>
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<br />
My theory about how this mistaken memory occurred is as follows. I'd put three seperate memories together and come up with one false memory. The first memory is that, with another group, I'd climbed Whitcombe via Snow Dome 12 months before Jim and Mike and the 'incident'. The second is that I'd heard the story about Mike from Jim at least on two occasions. And finally I'd been present on another occasion when Mike had left his ice axe behind. Somehow, out of these three instances I'd placed myself into the story - and, albeit nearly half a century later, got it wrong.<div>
<br />
We all have little lapses of memory. Usually unimportant small things. They might be corrected and, more often than not, forgotten. But it worries me to think how many innocents might have been sent to the gallows - because of 'false memory'. At the beginning I was so convinced that I'd been present at the mountain top event - only the incontrovertible evidence of having been somewhere else exposed the fallacy.</div>Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-41304540776703135132021-06-29T14:27:00.001+12:002021-06-29T14:27:42.351+12:00The Death of a Kayak<p>It was with great excitement that Kees Wesselink and I took possession of our new downriver (DR) kevlar kayaks back in about 1986. For years these two craft and their equally important paddles carried their owners on several kayak and multisport events - South Island Coast to Coasts - North Island Coast to Coasts - Ruapehu to the Sea (at Whanganui) - Taumarunui and Waikato downriver events and some coastal races - and not to mention numerous weekly Saturday morning teas on the Waikato - always social and always competitive! Kees died some years ago, as did Eric another kayaking friend. So the old kayak languished in the boat shed for several years.</p><p>A couple of years ago I dusted it off to have an adventure with two of my sons - from Hamilton down to the Port Waikato, two days away by kayak. My cunning plan was to use my fastish DR, which would enable me to keep up with the two young fifty-year-olds, David and Warren. But along with fastness comes instability.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIIJvgqrnA_L9u5gwsBGEwk2GM3sXLDjnl3ewZOrUeApc1gjb8ZJDr7Dw71fGcKAkvgxihSAxOSx9gQUGq1Oi80gPiomILDLk_uL2V1tSbduJGTAoCXeQ02ob2XALyoNyamzQeHDkXTKwI/s2566/IMG_1321.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="841" data-original-width="2566" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIIJvgqrnA_L9u5gwsBGEwk2GM3sXLDjnl3ewZOrUeApc1gjb8ZJDr7Dw71fGcKAkvgxihSAxOSx9gQUGq1Oi80gPiomILDLk_uL2V1tSbduJGTAoCXeQ02ob2XALyoNyamzQeHDkXTKwI/w640-h210/IMG_1321.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start of its Last Journey</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />We packed up and set off on Easter Saturday. All went well until the afternoon. But after rafting up with David to have a break and a bite to eat I pushed off and promptly turned upside down. My out-of-practiced Eskimo roll failed to work so I had to be rescued. And it happened about half an hour later, The next day in the estuary of the Waikato River wind and current were against one another and making waves so I managed to turn over five more times - being ignominiously rescued each time. In amongst all the thrashing about, the kayak became somewhat damaged and stayed that way until a few months ago. I decided that it was beyond repair and mentally consigned it to the Hamilton rubbish dump.</p><p>With the kayak on the car roof rack and with my granddaughter, Tasman, for company I arrived at the dump to find a long line of cars and trailers waiting to get in. This is no good I thought - parked the car on the berm - and untied the kayak. With it on my shoulder I walked past the waiting cars and into the recycling section of the dump. No, they couldn't use it, so I proceeded on towards the great concrete chasm in the ground.</p><p>"Hey! You can't take that in there" some official said. "I AM taking it in there" I replied. No, he read the riot act and all the OSH (Occupational Health and Safety) regulations. I continued walking into the dumping area. When he saw that he was getting nowhere he said " OK old chap. Give it to me. I'll dump it for you." The last I saw of it was it disappearing between the trailers and into its concrete graveyard on the man's shoulders. Hardly a decent burial for an old mate. Back in the car, Tasman was waiting. As we drove away, she said, "Have you got dust in your eyes, Grandad?" Sad day for Grandad.</p>Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-62557761069060813252021-04-19T10:36:00.001+12:002021-06-24T12:04:30.407+12:00Four Men in a Boat - Adventures in Hauraki Gulf and on Great Barrier Island (Aotea)<p> At last, the plan to visit the outer Hauraki Gulf came to pass. Four of us gathered at Terry Jeffries' place in Drury and proceeded to the Pine Harbour Marina and stowed our food and other necessaries aboard "Reminisce", Terry's beautifully crafted yacht. That night we dropped anchor in Owhaneke on Waiheke Island. and the following day sailed over to Barrier arriving at Oneroa (Red Cliff Cove) just outside Fitzroy Harbour at about 3.30pm. The main event of the day was when a distracted helmsman lost his bearings and the mainsheet on the boom caught Terry's arm as it swung across, taking a slice of skin with it - a plastic surgeon couldn't have done it better. An optometrist expertly patched Terry up, a veterinarian, while the other two managed the yacht and offered sympathetic comments.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQkCz6e4iI1-Y4WQSqaJjBrAUH8D109TAF2fUo-z6a0tohQdvXT5Uht_TlDtnLOe7NAhKdRQg3F2XDW4erqyz8xZs5v4YqmLMHlBNMwKW9Jdyyk2JSGPXvancBQHzTjbyPXdCOtQX9COIP/s3840/IMG_3925.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="3840" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQkCz6e4iI1-Y4WQSqaJjBrAUH8D109TAF2fUo-z6a0tohQdvXT5Uht_TlDtnLOe7NAhKdRQg3F2XDW4erqyz8xZs5v4YqmLMHlBNMwKW9Jdyyk2JSGPXvancBQHzTjbyPXdCOtQX9COIP/w400-h300/IMG_3925.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Motoring Through Man-O-War Passage (Geoff, Terry and Mike)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>The following day we motored through Man-O-War Passage and across to Fitzroy, anchoring inside Quoin Island. Like the night before we had time for nibbles and a drop to drink before one of us would cook (better to describe it as reheating the food our wives had lovingly cooked) and then after tea there might be time for a little rum-laced coffee or something similar. And apart from the occasional grunt, there were no snorers among us. This routine continued for the remaining nine days and, being a compatible group we were always discussing something of mutual interest. A frequent topic was the origin of the 'snap, crackle, pop' we heard often on the hull (it seemed) and Geoff suggested the theory of 'snapping shrimps'. The role of phosphorescence was also suggested. Breakfast, by prior arrangement, was each organizing his own.</p><p>Our first outing in Terry's little dingy was to the Akapoua campsite to get our land legs back (!) and in the evening talked to David, who was Acting-Manager for the DoC presence on the island, and who gave us good advice. The next day we walked into a beautiful small waterfall on "Warren's Track" a short jaunt. At the end of the walk we braved the cold showers DoC supplied in the camping ground. We were taken with the Pateke (Brown Teal) which were plentiful about the bay with one of them even paying the yacht a visit.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQn_7aitCbHLz2l6kZfVj2XIhDS9k0LEmHB4NbcdDSjZC6gb_8llhydjwa5E_6ICqX16D53PlI0xb6f6RhOu0yeWKhtOgH-nVK-T_1h_QWIIiOpVXerCC2CuWk4ZQzRcBf5cv0GzyE1LIR/s5472/IMG_3953.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3080" data-original-width="5472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQn_7aitCbHLz2l6kZfVj2XIhDS9k0LEmHB4NbcdDSjZC6gb_8llhydjwa5E_6ICqX16D53PlI0xb6f6RhOu0yeWKhtOgH-nVK-T_1h_QWIIiOpVXerCC2CuWk4ZQzRcBf5cv0GzyE1LIR/s320/IMG_3953.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pateke Reminiscing<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>We motored around to Bush's Beach on Kaiarara Bay and the next day we headed off relatively early for Mt Hobson on well-formed and graded tracks. In the upper mossy mist zone, we spied many <i>Entaloma hochstetteri</i>, the beautiful blue mushroom found on our $50 notes, more than I've ever seen before.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF2OXAsmnP15OGxag2fNLgo6i_gvvu4WKRBrRS5uUIGIoY4MK_WsBjFgl61NkmiraPRtuitN7VPgQ11hFCaTmtyVbi6kRDawDzqg5UYXUGRz0uiC1UAD9TjKpbE1nOGLnL92PswaBATmwV/s590/HobsonEntaloma5.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="590" data-original-width="380" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF2OXAsmnP15OGxag2fNLgo6i_gvvu4WKRBrRS5uUIGIoY4MK_WsBjFgl61NkmiraPRtuitN7VPgQ11hFCaTmtyVbi6kRDawDzqg5UYXUGRz0uiC1UAD9TjKpbE1nOGLnL92PswaBATmwV/w412-h640/HobsonEntaloma5.jpeg" width="412" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entaloma hochstetteri - photographers paradise.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia3vc3lz2bSY8t-_MdXyE47NJk4sQHgElW53wMUHynIdkGFrMYIFbWVBLOgoblLFT9-ISoemzIVbbMekzIZhelz6PKFfDgHW_DycRMOfSYMoKEnW9tkb5XyD8PKEnreDsJr-8YVM6V-R0A/s2048/IMG_4006.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1487" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia3vc3lz2bSY8t-_MdXyE47NJk4sQHgElW53wMUHynIdkGFrMYIFbWVBLOgoblLFT9-ISoemzIVbbMekzIZhelz6PKFfDgHW_DycRMOfSYMoKEnW9tkb5XyD8PKEnreDsJr-8YVM6V-R0A/s320/IMG_4006.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>We found clusters of them every minute or so as we struggled up the steep upper steps. There must have been over 200 of them - thousands if you consider that we only saw those visible from the track. I was in photographers' heaven and had to be encouraged along the track by my companions - hungry for the lunch we were to have on the summit. And get back in time for tea. The track was great and even the steep steps appreciated by some!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVj26-tc9uuMq6anG3YsanzABUmPUrW8upC_1DK1nM1KLKCHrqgv_3AWb65mlnhr16puDdakPKPmVEJ1wgrTE0aqhGfiNyEwRdeDYLcASuwLAyRzfiHwE18pc9hQUM42QQA7_R_6TrpL8e/s3840/IMG_3979.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="3840" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVj26-tc9uuMq6anG3YsanzABUmPUrW8upC_1DK1nM1KLKCHrqgv_3AWb65mlnhr16puDdakPKPmVEJ1wgrTE0aqhGfiNyEwRdeDYLcASuwLAyRzfiHwE18pc9hQUM42QQA7_R_6TrpL8e/w200-h150/IMG_3979.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>At lunchtime, we were joined by several other climbers of Mt Hobson. I was amazed at the number of times I heard the word "Paradise" in the conversations. Yes, I agree.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVYrn05rDQDbjWzsAy9lcRvKZWYnmaH9a5doYIyHggEdP_FmvIX9Kkf0OO-ef5aUOQolvL8bQRb_xsFbGezyp-_UP8lHzdsx7Ej7jQoNJyc5BWhtZaBWBhhUUBcoUiobqiAtlpx78Q_XJc/s5472/IMG_3981.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3080" data-original-width="5472" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVYrn05rDQDbjWzsAy9lcRvKZWYnmaH9a5doYIyHggEdP_FmvIX9Kkf0OO-ef5aUOQolvL8bQRb_xsFbGezyp-_UP8lHzdsx7Ej7jQoNJyc5BWhtZaBWBhhUUBcoUiobqiAtlpx78Q_XJc/w400-h225/IMG_3981.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View From Hobson (Little Barrier in the Distance)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>After lunch, the blue mushrooms continued down towards the Heale Saddle hut - a delightful new hut with a grand view. We continued down on our chosen circuit - an excellent track until it petered out near the bottom due to riverbank washouts. After the usual evening drinkies and nibbles (and a meal) we retired to a well-earned rest. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb1MPAxNKFi6PSNDisgLB8iSAADl8Xqy6OrcPFbUC5xKsiTBFQcHYYjgCdhKpmXWjvvrYTpH35UVmtkAzwJuZ2orfmMvksL7j0BtkWQQ7CwBLWu6HCKQ2vqE6Qf2SeoOpetH68IeSpMNVB/s5472/IMG_3956.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5472" data-original-width="3080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb1MPAxNKFi6PSNDisgLB8iSAADl8Xqy6OrcPFbUC5xKsiTBFQcHYYjgCdhKpmXWjvvrYTpH35UVmtkAzwJuZ2orfmMvksL7j0BtkWQQ7CwBLWu6HCKQ2vqE6Qf2SeoOpetH68IeSpMNVB/w225-h400/IMG_3956.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Geoff on 'Warrens Track'</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz6Q8OHtNJwa7TsV56ythnas-Iotq3XFxyif0TBN1UisfdWy7VUZFpxg9l1hWO1R7-yiEmOzDM8gBdru-KdxfcFhqltZ33epXp5O4aCarJEcWsOlw22kmUYST3KM9T7rnyCO9er2PPM6aG/s5472/IMG_3968.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3080" data-original-width="5472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz6Q8OHtNJwa7TsV56ythnas-Iotq3XFxyif0TBN1UisfdWy7VUZFpxg9l1hWO1R7-yiEmOzDM8gBdru-KdxfcFhqltZ33epXp5O4aCarJEcWsOlw22kmUYST3KM9T7rnyCO9er2PPM6aG/s320/IMG_3968.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mike on Hobson Track</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgpUcu7xSMQPXh0c04taXJZ9o6pbucJDQC57o6_jRv0FaUms3oubS-uL8xp_APkD7Jn_ehNbFpLfgWkmDA-Vu-NmmfkWAmDLNPS7ItDuhGl9AuLlP3HQkd5JMro0EDSSyZ9MLCnMybMlJa/s4128/20210323_100705.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgpUcu7xSMQPXh0c04taXJZ9o6pbucJDQC57o6_jRv0FaUms3oubS-uL8xp_APkD7Jn_ehNbFpLfgWkmDA-Vu-NmmfkWAmDLNPS7ItDuhGl9AuLlP3HQkd5JMro0EDSSyZ9MLCnMybMlJa/s320/20210323_100705.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Terry at Smokehouse Bay</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>After a lazy start, we moved over to the "Smokehouse Bay" visited by Geoff many years ago. What a magnificent place. Now run by a Trust, the bay has all the facilities boaties could want, baths, pizza facilities, whatever - everyone should find some firewood. And that evening we cruised up the harbour to find a gentle anchorage ready for the next day. After breakfast, we motored back through Man-O-War passage and southwards down the coast to Whangaparapara where we anchored and visited the old whaling station and the timber mill.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmM7zB2oglPOiXsLhTjYWZi43iZGjiZ1qyL72B6L2dcSJO4CLeDUShgy8xXsd7gIkESQp358fFJlqeQycia-8Ds-s-O_dJKnJu8guOP59g6Xl7ZWbjDWpptpzjAY7oFhxEtckvTE2uC6wn/s5472/IMG_4035.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3080" data-original-width="5472" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmM7zB2oglPOiXsLhTjYWZi43iZGjiZ1qyL72B6L2dcSJO4CLeDUShgy8xXsd7gIkESQp358fFJlqeQycia-8Ds-s-O_dJKnJu8guOP59g6Xl7ZWbjDWpptpzjAY7oFhxEtckvTE2uC6wn/w400-h225/IMG_4035.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the Old Timber Mill</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>The next morning three of us did a great circuit ending up at the hot springs which we relished and then returned along the edge of the Kaitoke wetlands - and so home to our floating palace.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKhSzQpZcKBMI9mup4KaidO6bTjuKWXOHZ6InRiD2Wl1S2dk3CAKEcaVsr5C-VPWxQwv-KG6hMYjMojZ1NFmk8g3QvfbciEyjXQSH0wZX3btgbAK-2xq7sFWVHflzgs0t5yLNQRkbU4vwU/s3128/20210329_150857.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1606" data-original-width="3128" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKhSzQpZcKBMI9mup4KaidO6bTjuKWXOHZ6InRiD2Wl1S2dk3CAKEcaVsr5C-VPWxQwv-KG6hMYjMojZ1NFmk8g3QvfbciEyjXQSH0wZX3btgbAK-2xq7sFWVHflzgs0t5yLNQRkbU4vwU/w640-h328/20210329_150857.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reminisce anchored off Wharf at Whangaparapara (Orcas arrived about 30 min later)</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />But it was just as we were getting off the dingy onto the yacht that we had the fright of our lives, We hadn't seen them coming but suddenly three Orca surfaced only five metres away. I think that Geoff who was the last to get out of the dingy cleared the yacht railing by about six feet! They were so impressive close-up. We thought that they were hunting stingrays. We watched them for some time and it seemed that there were two groups of three in the harbour. They were not aggressive towards us but were so close that they had to change course sharply to avoid the yacht.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy0UKQWCD9RZ6DXPa5RFsBgPBdBc6oASXx64_s0NIe18u4nEMJYRNohZFCSDssJUIxTpALsZnt0oJ4EUVgYEmyEcwR7PQjquZ_vOAuT2IcPo5ptos7qGeuTKdjd0OqLxh13wnVYCGEQ1gH/s3840/IMG_3944.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="3840" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy0UKQWCD9RZ6DXPa5RFsBgPBdBc6oASXx64_s0NIe18u4nEMJYRNohZFCSDssJUIxTpALsZnt0oJ4EUVgYEmyEcwR7PQjquZ_vOAuT2IcPo5ptos7qGeuTKdjd0OqLxh13wnVYCGEQ1gH/w640-h480/IMG_3944.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reminisce's Dingy (even more beautifully crafted by Terry) - Awaiting an Orca</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>I made contact with friends of both myself and Geoff who happened to be on Barrier but by the time arrangements to say hello were being proposed we were well on the way to Kawau. And so the next morning we set sail with a tailwind. There was much enthusiasm from Geoff for the spinnaker and although we set ourselves up for the spinnaker we just made do with the mail and jib, goose-winged out with the spinnaker pole - we made good progress.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUp3_GTXyz6Nue_2WAk37fc5t7AMJ5JJu3UifbAvu279WE8cSvu6VSz8EfZGLlq4BvbAfIvg6nY_Grk6PE5SO-xEYWp6jSlT6Ac8ixHaHjgIPhjhGDMGL4UYwRGqlxDA6XvLEAvbhf-LKu/s5472/IMG_4041.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3080" data-original-width="5472" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUp3_GTXyz6Nue_2WAk37fc5t7AMJ5JJu3UifbAvu279WE8cSvu6VSz8EfZGLlq4BvbAfIvg6nY_Grk6PE5SO-xEYWp6jSlT6Ac8ixHaHjgIPhjhGDMGL4UYwRGqlxDA6XvLEAvbhf-LKu/w400-h225/IMG_4041.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading Back to Kawau Island</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Dolphins gave us a short visit along the way. We relaxed and rested safely before Governor Grey's old residence but decided later in the afternoon to move around the corner to a gentler mooring. Here we happened upon Terry's sister and several other members of the family. They invited us to moor on their jetty and we spent a very pleasant time having drinkies and nibbles with them - delightful situation. That evening we anchored just off their jetty and next morning headed off back to Reminisce's permanent mooring via a couple of short 3-4 hr hops over two days.</p><p>And so ended a very pleasant sojourn amid amiable companions and in a great part of New Zealand. One mystery remained from the trip. Geoff always finished his meals with a perfectly clean plate. We could never fathom how he got it so clean and we could never catch him in the act of licking it clean. The mystery remains.</p><p> I'd never been to GB before and was much taken with the surroundings and the well-maintained tracks. There seemed to be something wrong with the kanuka (?manuka) on a couple of parts of the island. We wondered about myrtle rust (or such like) but never got close enough to get any samples.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeqzJzQjXmEIW-B7JIZd4LY0ScIl-vXNUtwPi1ikFSO86roGCMo_0fnuIi7hzEvszORNKNYFbu0nFXLQ6jq8_SPA9zfFaHHQIn6vMgSwAyJ-P1zNidPOt8B27es8gNlXI0KOhMdsV72LhZ/s5472/IMG_4028.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3080" data-original-width="5472" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeqzJzQjXmEIW-B7JIZd4LY0ScIl-vXNUtwPi1ikFSO86roGCMo_0fnuIi7hzEvszORNKNYFbu0nFXLQ6jq8_SPA9zfFaHHQIn6vMgSwAyJ-P1zNidPOt8B27es8gNlXI0KOhMdsV72LhZ/w400-h225/IMG_4028.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-J_dr_0YZEyHQhq8x2gPCpjX7hvFDoK5sML_YoW_GgiPC8C1YJlKtNgsOs3AIeVhQYpnwjgpBpJq3RnQB0T1AHUX2S74UMDD8c-gpot3fe-Fa8cD2AyrPsEu9N-B_enUwoaAZ7yYMB2_V/s5472/IMG_3961.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3080" data-original-width="5472" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-J_dr_0YZEyHQhq8x2gPCpjX7hvFDoK5sML_YoW_GgiPC8C1YJlKtNgsOs3AIeVhQYpnwjgpBpJq3RnQB0T1AHUX2S74UMDD8c-gpot3fe-Fa8cD2AyrPsEu9N-B_enUwoaAZ7yYMB2_V/w400-h225/IMG_3961.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">? Kanuka dieback ?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>And finally, I've done a bit of offshore sailing about the Pacific (always as crew) and as for the Hauraki Gulf, I reckon it offers some of the most enjoyable sailing imaginable. There are wonderful safe anchorages all over the place and you can pick and chose your sailing days according to whim and weather. And the islands are wonderful, each with its own character and history. A sailor's paradise.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-88942750543657035232021-03-08T11:00:00.001+13:002023-02-16T12:23:06.055+13:00Oldies on the Old Ghost Road (From Covid to Contorta)<p>Our first oldies project for 2021 was to walk the Old Ghost Road from Lyell on the Buller River on the West Coast of NZ to Seddonville about 50 km NE of Westport. Mike White, who'd done the walk years ago when some of it was just a marked trail, offered to walk in with us to the first hut and then return and drive around to the other end and walk in to meet Jim Wilson and me. The plan was then to go up the Kowai Valley near Porters Pass and spend some time murdering wildling <i>Pinus contorta</i> which are starting to establish themselves there - probably having been blown there from the Castle Hill Basin. We'd just bedded down ready to start next morning when the mobile phones blasted off, alerting us to the Covid lockdown to level three in Auckland. Next morning we headed off hoping that Covid wouldn't follow south.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxUSB4gngkxYYeWQ86kuoWhJlVAdqsYJXQjT-fXcl3cwhMPkI5Zymf4si7b6u6t9EmLXskWRqcLWFgpHj1ck6gugFcWgI8MjuhCYP_ktSIbquE1En2SCfdifsdXI6uyTPNvyq2lT7lDMfi/s2048/IMG_3821.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxUSB4gngkxYYeWQ86kuoWhJlVAdqsYJXQjT-fXcl3cwhMPkI5Zymf4si7b6u6t9EmLXskWRqcLWFgpHj1ck6gugFcWgI8MjuhCYP_ktSIbquE1En2SCfdifsdXI6uyTPNvyq2lT7lDMfi/w400-h225/IMG_3821.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carol and Steve - even my neighbours were there.</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />Halfway up to the Lyell Saddle Hut I was surprised to find my Hamilton next door neighbours, Steve and Carol on their bikes heading for the second hut on the track. They were just a few of the many who overtook us along the way over the next few days - I don't recall us overtaking anyone!! As expected we were last to arrive at the hut. The huts were full and the friendly occupants, once they discovered (from our wobbly gaits and drooping flesh) that we were somewhat aged, ensured that we always had bottom bunks. Respect for the aged is still alive and well in NZ I'm pleased to say! Next morning Mike returned to the car and Jim and I plodded on northwards. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN6dd3schXPETu3Geo5OAulYVnPFF9VTVUvPY_cjcAwH7o2ZPkgwLOh0frE7-OAeNFsKeCmphv-UMjl355BbcGxY8lK4WwOh5C3UhBS4okAi9Jb0AuOgjw2rQ0ufqW_OPDGLehUc1_tUaj/s2048/IMG_3835.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN6dd3schXPETu3Geo5OAulYVnPFF9VTVUvPY_cjcAwH7o2ZPkgwLOh0frE7-OAeNFsKeCmphv-UMjl355BbcGxY8lK4WwOh5C3UhBS4okAi9Jb0AuOgjw2rQ0ufqW_OPDGLehUc1_tUaj/w640-h360/IMG_3835.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jim plodding up Old Ghost Road</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />We now left the old original horse and dray road and continued along the newer-formed track linking the south with the northern tracks of the pioneers. We were astounded at the efforts of both the early pioneers and the recent coasters who'd constructed the track - in places so steep that explosives had to be used to get about the granite bluffs. At lunchtime we emerged from the bush and had lunch. Here a weka emerged too, this time to peck Jim on his resting head and to try and steal my hat.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH78XMz2_gnF__kJcaE2f4VTyKSbKvPvwwexeOFHKstYQywEwaY7ic_S15_5jxwAgDDsaEW7Rel4MY8yH4tFCdii7-hh3daADpQNCNKRmvKN39p8VgmC26rDc1HXsmeeKcI4j27FHcilEx/s2048/IMG_3833.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2033" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH78XMz2_gnF__kJcaE2f4VTyKSbKvPvwwexeOFHKstYQywEwaY7ic_S15_5jxwAgDDsaEW7Rel4MY8yH4tFCdii7-hh3daADpQNCNKRmvKN39p8VgmC26rDc1HXsmeeKcI4j27FHcilEx/s320/IMG_3833.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three Old Codgers</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHbw4NN-PuvSUZAWsnVI6j7Nlgtf5SDpdUlteN8t2NnfPPZ2uqAmjMRUiSd2j_AhCaMx__jPNBKAFGDN2YfmwW0HIlz6aYhveUqJqDEWZOZDHQz0DUDNuxQZqR_1QzzKOTfw18H09y0m0m/s2048/IMG_3828.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1673" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHbw4NN-PuvSUZAWsnVI6j7Nlgtf5SDpdUlteN8t2NnfPPZ2uqAmjMRUiSd2j_AhCaMx__jPNBKAFGDN2YfmwW0HIlz6aYhveUqJqDEWZOZDHQz0DUDNuxQZqR_1QzzKOTfw18H09y0m0m/s320/IMG_3828.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Lyell Saddle Hut</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />Most of the afternoon was spent above the bush line in glorious weather - which stayed fine for the whole trip. At Ghost Lake Hut we saw our track for the next day in the distance and a glorious view to the east. We cooked well and were reminded of our youth when a new arrival wolfed down the leftovers of our meal.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjAUhJzJprYqGdUyXsWoX4fiezz0gFzaJQpgoCsvl7FuR_KWFy8O-JS2IjswYJ7-SgrB4bZDIU3mrjpS7cUB_0EE_oSbyla-iBosTxHp4cYI6Eawxotp_SyUVeIb5n8DHbSMmYw-MyW00M/s2048/IMG_3837.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjAUhJzJprYqGdUyXsWoX4fiezz0gFzaJQpgoCsvl7FuR_KWFy8O-JS2IjswYJ7-SgrB4bZDIU3mrjpS7cUB_0EE_oSbyla-iBosTxHp4cYI6Eawxotp_SyUVeIb5n8DHbSMmYw-MyW00M/w640-h360/IMG_3837.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upper South Branch - Mokihinui River</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWmpiNs3TjWzsYqAdHHpa9sN68m5925e_MGHplCrVbv_MSFeo0gj6lQtdKHXSsz8VBlDIoURGf_oniDFCGtjUVbKRbBhJrGeZTwXapX5o9A68QKwIfWty7vZ76W5xZ8jj4jOFHMX83m1NS/s2048/IMG_3840.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWmpiNs3TjWzsYqAdHHpa9sN68m5925e_MGHplCrVbv_MSFeo0gj6lQtdKHXSsz8VBlDIoURGf_oniDFCGtjUVbKRbBhJrGeZTwXapX5o9A68QKwIfWty7vZ76W5xZ8jj4jOFHMX83m1NS/w640-h360/IMG_3840.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice Spot For Lunch</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_DAMsqZobRsiQCPpN7h2lLr2M7vSeJwrApgD7j7NMhtsaudTRNJLezd-cjnucsdcAbGa5R7zo9XeK3BnVYLhEJKpz9TRnSp0csNlMH_n3k4sg-oCnNflcB2PFVsYbU7TJYA8iiC_5G47/s2048/IMG_3846.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1320" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_DAMsqZobRsiQCPpN7h2lLr2M7vSeJwrApgD7j7NMhtsaudTRNJLezd-cjnucsdcAbGa5R7zo9XeK3BnVYLhEJKpz9TRnSp0csNlMH_n3k4sg-oCnNflcB2PFVsYbU7TJYA8iiC_5G47/s320/IMG_3846.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Wicked Weka</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />Next morning we thought how wise we'd been to walk the track when, on foot, we descended a quite 'technical bike' track and then the 300 odd stairs down from the 'skyline ridge'. The hut warden from the Ghost Hut had taken these two old codgers under his wing and saw us down to the bottom of the steps - and safely off his territory!! Back in the bush there was lots of zig zagging in the bush and a good slog down to the 'already fed' trampers and bikers. Another night on bottom bunks provided by our now friends. We girded our loins for the 25k long day to follow.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXq5PreEj0j7fLtXg5HgP1S-Nd8UMk0Me_cBwWPuzl8zcOwi7bi6k3ekBen_0qApDFLBtx9bsmK0JscysWMOz1AUvkxMqwjsTFgyek9hyYBWlN_ISWGhgXC7CDv9n14-szM4JEXmg7SFKN/s2048/IMG_3862.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXq5PreEj0j7fLtXg5HgP1S-Nd8UMk0Me_cBwWPuzl8zcOwi7bi6k3ekBen_0qApDFLBtx9bsmK0JscysWMOz1AUvkxMqwjsTFgyek9hyYBWlN_ISWGhgXC7CDv9n14-szM4JEXmg7SFKN/w640-h360/IMG_3862.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View East from Ghost Lake Hut</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv4Yc6osNPJgMdQiwr4v87Z-WNw6S-N2eDvWLfqlQJSjVHW1Re-A0XE4QOElSz0xoXdBD33umQ9au1GIiW1JQe0i_nq1zDpyEjw8eEEOzfYUTeNQOh7uYNm9QxYMYWf8N8gfyCc4FxDetD/s2048/IMG_3868.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv4Yc6osNPJgMdQiwr4v87Z-WNw6S-N2eDvWLfqlQJSjVHW1Re-A0XE4QOElSz0xoXdBD33umQ9au1GIiW1JQe0i_nq1zDpyEjw8eEEOzfYUTeNQOh7uYNm9QxYMYWf8N8gfyCc4FxDetD/w640-h360/IMG_3868.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking Back Up at Ghost Lake Hut</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />We were first to leave but one by one they all overtook us. The 'grave yard' turned out to be a huge earthquake slip but thankfully the track only traversed a little of it and we were warned not to stop on the last part of it. On over the Solemn Saddle we descended down into the final catchment. We stopped at Goat Creek to ease my feet in the cold water. The last several kilometres were hell on the soles of my feet and I had to stop every couple of km to take the weight off them. Jim had taken on our Prime Minister's advice and was very kind and patient. But it all came to an end when we staggered into the hut where most of the others had already fed and they burst into applause. "Noisy bastards aren't they", I said and Jim said he felt a little insulted by their deference to our age. Nor very gracious of us we thought in retrospect.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVpnm7i5WHKL39rnJFEPnb1JZPdVxe4OH_oPBgqe6QYAxZZXwxRkULbbsj8ffKSFNq5PcfqsA45AXB7iMSEnm0X8fHm2dMV4M260jyamgUGJKNM3GbB-9wUMVy4iMC8LPIK0KVe8-v9Vpv/s2048/IMG_3886.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1641" data-original-width="2048" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVpnm7i5WHKL39rnJFEPnb1JZPdVxe4OH_oPBgqe6QYAxZZXwxRkULbbsj8ffKSFNq5PcfqsA45AXB7iMSEnm0X8fHm2dMV4M260jyamgUGJKNM3GbB-9wUMVy4iMC8LPIK0KVe8-v9Vpv/w640-h512/IMG_3886.jpeg" title="Track in lower Mohihinui River" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Track in the lower Mokihinui</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />And so we struggled on into the last day and past the amazing slips into the Mokihinui River where we could see huge trout lolling about amid the rocks - where no fisherman could reach them. By now all our passing fellow trampers were aware that the 86-year-old Mike was coming in to meet us. And sure enough when we met up with him he said he'd been regaled with stories about his 'young friends' who would 'soon' be arriving.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcsVA7VXs1QiBTJ7kCsvpLIHm4i06uQpVYWPf-6bgvpftpn9ngiAJ-sro5ox-4WytRFLOdtsahBcfgYsFhtxrGm_ElfTFkL7eAybpR2VvL-ajUgVfoWmxnbExC3xI905vkKWf6vHMRl804/s2048/IMG_3896.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcsVA7VXs1QiBTJ7kCsvpLIHm4i06uQpVYWPf-6bgvpftpn9ngiAJ-sro5ox-4WytRFLOdtsahBcfgYsFhtxrGm_ElfTFkL7eAybpR2VvL-ajUgVfoWmxnbExC3xI905vkKWf6vHMRl804/w400-h225/IMG_3896.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Water Along the Way</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mY9bG4XaJzbh_kB8RKfMmnuQ5LsHlqHlsNT_a3g0h-JClyRZ-wdCh69TvoIGEqoKw-ouWHD4yxbVvKL60Tl1IyPLogTkt6QUUWpC6QRWTea7Ty9O7dseuzwK8FRP5GL2lulH64s_EEqv/s2048/IMG_3900.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mY9bG4XaJzbh_kB8RKfMmnuQ5LsHlqHlsNT_a3g0h-JClyRZ-wdCh69TvoIGEqoKw-ouWHD4yxbVvKL60Tl1IyPLogTkt6QUUWpC6QRWTea7Ty9O7dseuzwK8FRP5GL2lulH64s_EEqv/w640-h360/IMG_3900.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lower Mokihinui River and Slips</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />Mid afternoon we arrived at the track end and continued to Westport where we had a good Indian nosh-up and then on to RCS at Arthurs Pass and a well earned sleep.</p><p>Next morning, not too early, we packed again and headed for the Kowai Valley armed with two saws and two loppers to do battle with the dreaded 'contorta'. Getting up to the John Hayward Memorial Hut was at out usual slow place and the next day, after killing off a few contorta visible from the hut, we wandered up the valley towards Red Peak to the scene of our previous engagement with the enemy. We now had the hut to ourselves as two fathers and their delightful daughters had returned to the lowland swamps. On the last day we engaged with more contorta but discovered more than we could cope with. We slaughtered a few before heading down valley to inform the farm manager of his problem. He concurred and admitted that plans were in place for their ultimate annihilation. We'd managed to get about 50 of them.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKeTv97gn85nGovaKSUo2X7uvCCB1cbr1b3lhA7Rfp9T2CmtTpW7Ld7Bi-Fo3Tq_WU6jG5qAHbQIOQbMz8axLThWclXWqtIFkkPbL1stDXjkJncXqbvFgE1kprgo8yfujQvOUC1iyeEzN/s2048/IMG_3907.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKeTv97gn85nGovaKSUo2X7uvCCB1cbr1b3lhA7Rfp9T2CmtTpW7Ld7Bi-Fo3Tq_WU6jG5qAHbQIOQbMz8axLThWclXWqtIFkkPbL1stDXjkJncXqbvFgE1kprgo8yfujQvOUC1iyeEzN/w640-h360/IMG_3907.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kowai Valley and Red Peak</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />When I got back to Christchurch my brother, John, invited me on his weekly walk - this one about the South Brighton beach and estuary. More sore feet - but with a coffee. And so back to Hamilton for a rest.</p>Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-34556307207376908642020-11-24T15:52:00.000+13:002020-11-24T15:52:30.638+13:00Pole Dancing in the West Coast bush, New Zealand.<p>Mike White and I decided to do a four day cycling journey through the West Coast last August - NZ had done its best and we'd ridded ourselves of the dreaded COVID-19 disease - we deserved a break. After a short sojourn at Arthur's Pass the journey started at Hokitika where we left the car. We were transported to Ross from where we cycled back along the coast to Hokitika via the Tree Top Walkway - very impressive.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5CnOR-GhIbC6Q0csfZ69eWeetUXCHBP7LkEizwh77jo5LBJ5ubEMa4mLWIrtClqMwyw9B6hZYyZ4VmLjinapZ5xFhGqXjHZh0kavXONjemJTPx9KWAAxugX9SWZiQSQEyMjzQyBHSxbb/s4864/IMG_3506.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="4864" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5CnOR-GhIbC6Q0csfZ69eWeetUXCHBP7LkEizwh77jo5LBJ5ubEMa4mLWIrtClqMwyw9B6hZYyZ4VmLjinapZ5xFhGqXjHZh0kavXONjemJTPx9KWAAxugX9SWZiQSQEyMjzQyBHSxbb/w320-h240/IMG_3506.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Treetop Walkway<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioKdgJXl49Z6bINNJphx-1ItC4m9VLLeHfhha9sGoUFe6rE131vPy987m8ucajBwPUnvInTj0FZlpa3Gtr8iu_swZ-_dnIp5aBt97QezBOPiThDRq1dR3q3ad_-famOrN7Awz8V_luLgyw/s4864/IMG_3492.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="4864" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioKdgJXl49Z6bINNJphx-1ItC4m9VLLeHfhha9sGoUFe6rE131vPy987m8ucajBwPUnvInTj0FZlpa3Gtr8iu_swZ-_dnIp5aBt97QezBOPiThDRq1dR3q3ad_-famOrN7Awz8V_luLgyw/s320/IMG_3492.JPG" width="320" /></a><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mike - not far from Ross<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Next day we journeyed inland to a place called Cowboy Paradise. There were eleven in our group doing the cycle. At Cowboy Paradise some local flavour was added by two farmers plus the local baker and butcher joining us for a beer. The meal was good and we were pleasantly chatting afterwards when some raunchy music came on and out came our Chilean receptionist in shiny black leather and started pole dancing on the table top. We were most impressed and it turned out that she had learned the skill in Chile and had practised it while on her OE. It wasn't sleazy at all. Good fitness exercise.<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIn9MWdzOO9h4Co_1hhN9TTdGBNVaueI68j1KGFnc5txvlqOnFpF-wAGFYx13T-KdgY3ut7ikZIjdkbk6bj3P5sJe7HABPOcl5zHAFCbMGgjI8tcdDxHDgT3PPhc7oSzCHM0itw_TkRjNG/s4864/IMG_3524.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="4864" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIn9MWdzOO9h4Co_1hhN9TTdGBNVaueI68j1KGFnc5txvlqOnFpF-wAGFYx13T-KdgY3ut7ikZIjdkbk6bj3P5sJe7HABPOcl5zHAFCbMGgjI8tcdDxHDgT3PPhc7oSzCHM0itw_TkRjNG/w640-h480/IMG_3524.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Much of the Trail Followed Waterways</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />On our third day we cycled through bush and down into historical areas. We burst out of the bush into a small clearing where a local had a holey tarpaulin. It was slung over a warm fire and an urn of hot water for a tea or coffee. He regaled us with local history and his business (port-a-loos) and Mike and I spent over an hour yarning with him, There were the remains of a 150 year-old wooden dam in the stream nearby - amazing what these 'coasters' achieved in those early days.<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmTKwWqWrua0OS_tfgmfmt398bASgfs7GPaKOnzZ-Z4_7zvITHpR5UOg3vK5YuGKdDTTVOW2SOy7Aialz2nJuXbaLinh3N27HprxQVudOq7xZuKf90fxHm5-gHkSRlbBr54zenM9lulte/s4864/IMG_3533.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="4864" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmTKwWqWrua0OS_tfgmfmt398bASgfs7GPaKOnzZ-Z4_7zvITHpR5UOg3vK5YuGKdDTTVOW2SOy7Aialz2nJuXbaLinh3N27HprxQVudOq7xZuKf90fxHm5-gHkSRlbBr54zenM9lulte/s320/IMG_3533.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not All in Bush</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p>We carried on down on excellent bike trails ending up at "Beths Shed" (we'd met Beth on the way to Ross. She was a neighbour of Mike's in Christchurch years ago, a coaster who'd returned home). We spent a pleasant time in her unusual shed and enjoyed her hospitality.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy6Ff_QBsewbzu4b1N2P8wtrPgSRtJkjpIOQ7a8w4e7kTYr4js_m1tifvRVTSTcVvyz24qAl3AXyXI2xNscqG44okxgHt-MfFTNPyQ_xehtwn1R_6QwR3dHlQadLz1KEcS45b3-NUPZMLp/s4128/20200807_155027.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy6Ff_QBsewbzu4b1N2P8wtrPgSRtJkjpIOQ7a8w4e7kTYr4js_m1tifvRVTSTcVvyz24qAl3AXyXI2xNscqG44okxgHt-MfFTNPyQ_xehtwn1R_6QwR3dHlQadLz1KEcS45b3-NUPZMLp/w400-h300/20200807_155027.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Beth at her grand piano on the after-deck of her Spanish Galleon</div><p>That evening was spent in Kumara and the following day we cycled to Greymouth - mainly along the coastal dunes. The weather had been excellent and we returned to Christchurch via Arthur's Pass. Ann looked after us - Jim had gone skiing - we wished him good luck, there wasn't much snow about. A very satisfying four-day cycle - and much recommended. </p><br /></div>Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-10898173291239295952020-06-03T15:50:00.000+12:002020-06-03T15:50:40.614+12:00How I Learned to Play RugbyI suppose it started with games of bullrush at primary school in Hastings. It was quite serious stuff at the time - and we learned to tackle. When my parents shifted to Taranaki bullrush was still the order of the day. On my first day at school in Kaponga we played bullrush at lunchtime. I tackled another kid and he cried. After school his big brother intercepted me on my way home from school. "You made my brother cry" he snarled as he grabbed me by my shirt collar. He then proceeded to beat me up. He was a big cow cockie's son from up near the mountain and had big milkers' fists. My parents couldn't understand why I chose the long way home from school for days after that encounter.<br />
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We had a school rugby (what else) team and used to travel to the local schools to play them. I think I played on the wing then - not that I was fast. After being fatherless for most of WW2 I was always keen to impress my father. One day when we were playing another local team at a field across from our home I happened to spy my father watching the game from a hole in the nearby hedge. I inserted myself into the inner backline and screamed for the ball. It duly arrived and I ran through the opposition fending them off right, left and centre. I ran over the goal line and raced around to ground the ball between the posts to the tune of the refs whistle - feeling very pleased with myself. The opposition swarmed over to the ref. "Sir," they clamoured, "he ran over the dead ball line before he scored the try." The ref looked at where I'd run - sure enough the field had the dead ball line very close to the try line. "Sorry son," he said, "I think they are right" and disallowed the try. I looked to where my father had been standing and he'd gone. It was the first and last time, as far as I knew, that he ever watched me play rugby. Neither that night at home nor ever afterwards was the incident ever mentioned.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taranaki and the Hedge - Across the Road.</td></tr>
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When we moved to Christchurch the bullrush continued and eventually I attended Secondary School at Xavier College. It was a tough school and we were expected to play rugby. We trained on cinders from the gas works across the road. We were coached by Marist Brothers who were also tough. I have a few memories of games and of training. I remember Brother Maurice, our first 15 coach and school head master teaching us how to control the ball at our feet during the days of the great forward dribbling rushes. Maurie would roll the ball forward to our feet and we would try to dribble the ball past him. My turn came and I succeeded admirably. I dribbled he ball past (and over) him and in the process managed to knock him to the ground and stomp all over him. He picked himself up from the gasworks cinders , and started to dust himself off. I'm for it I thought. All he said was, "Good grief, you're a bony bastard Smith." and left it at that.<br />
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One of my school mates, Sig Houston, was somewhat clumsy - elbows and knees and heels all over the place. You had to get into the rucks in front of him if you didn't want to be maimed. On one occasion on the West Coast we had to play on a flooded rugby field. Sig and half the scrum collapsed on top of my head burying it in about six inches of water. I remember waiting anxiously for the ref to blow his whistle - not easy when you've been gasping for air. I thought I was going to drown.<br />
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And at one stage I was selected for a Canterbury under-age representative team. We played another team further south with me at fullback. On one occasion someone kicked the ball towards me. I took it on the run, sidestepped some of the opposition, and with only one person between me and the goal line - kicked it for touch ! ! Our captain wandered over to me later to remind me that I should have linked up with some of my team mates for which would have been a certain try. I was never picked as a rep again.<br />
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In a Queensland Uni inter-faculty game I once distinguished myself by riling Jules Guerassimoff (Australian International and, soon after, chosen as one of the top five rugby players in the world) in the front row (my, and possibly Jules' first and only time as a prop) by demonstrating how not to go down in a scrum. The other players had to tear him away from me. "Don't you know who that is" they said. I was terrified!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Jules - "I was terrified"<br /><br /></td></tr>
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And then there was my last game of rugby - two days before I married Catherine. It was the final of the University of Queensland inter-faculty rugby competition. A little later the ball ended up in my hands and thinking I'd demonstrate to the Aussies what I understood was a 'Maori sidestep' (think of Jona Lomu and an English fullback) I ran full tilt into an opposition player. The result was an unconscious opposition player and me with a broken collar bone. Not a good way to start married life. That was my last game of rugby. But I still enjoy watching it.<br />
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Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-89293203007575760322020-04-27T12:10:00.001+12:002021-07-22T08:52:37.849+12:00Reunion of the AncientsWell this time, as is often the case, I fitted our reunion about other things. One was Catherine coming with me and us having some time with our grand-daughter in Christchurch, Olivia. The other was to attend Hugh Wilson's birthday celebration (together with twin sister, Hilary). Hugh is the long term manager of Hinewai - an ecological restoration project on Banks Peninsula. Both visits were wonderful - well worth the effort. Met lots of old friends at Hinewai - wonderful.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olivia and Grandparents - Christchurch 2020 (Photo: Sally Blake)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hugh, John, Hilary Wilson - Hinewai 2020<br />
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Then Jim, Mike and I headed off to Lewis Pass area where we anticipated doing high altitude traverses of the tops. Well, that was the plan. Jim picked me up from brother John's place - then to Mike's place and on to the Lewis Pass. We tweaked our ambitions as we neared the mountains and the hills appeared ever steeper. On this trip we found ourselves disagreeing, not just about the old stories, but also the identity of peaks appearing on the skyline. Were we safe to be out on our own?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Nina Hut</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost at Devilskin Pass</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Always a mushroom to photograph</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: center;">So we headed up the Nina Valley with ideas that the tussocked uplands might await us beyond the Nina Hut. </span><span style="text-align: center;">Hurunui College, we discovered, had been trapping pests in the valley and the results were obvious - every time we stopped, robins popped up to hop about our feet - they seemed to agree with the three old gentlemen about the beauty of the valley and its restored wildlife.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Nice valley chaps, eh?"</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: center;">The hut had no water because the tank had been emptied - dead rat! Jim went off up the track looking for water and returned about an hour later with a bucketful - meantime we had found a good supply only about 100m from the hut and had a brew made. Nice hut and a warm sunny evening. We decided that the nearest tussock tops were up on Devilskin Saddle so next morning we set off up the track passing Jim's impressive water source along the way. </span><br />
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Anyway it seemed a long way to the bush edge. When we finally arrived there we could see the two-man hut on the saddle ahead of us but the valley was quite attractive where we were, so we stopped for lunch and a snooze. Back to the hut we enjoyed another warm evening and next day we decided to descend the valley back to our car - plan B.<br />
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Plan B was to head down the west coast and up to Arthur's Pass where the comfortable Rough Creek Shambles awaited us. And there we whiled away some of our remaining time, telling stories, making cups of tea, cooking and resting up from our exhausting trip up the Nina. We were getting older, we decided - yet again.<br />
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We had a couple more day walks. Like last year we went up the Otira Valley. Every time we sat (or lay) down to rest people would find us half asleep and probably wondered if they should call for a helicopter. We'd always have a chat with them - sometimes finding that they were grandsons or granddaughters of friends we knew back in the olden days. When they calculated that we were so old we had to restrain them from dialling 111 on their always-ready cell phones. It was all good fun.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upper Waimak Dreams of the Past</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brew at a Secret Location</td></tr>
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At the end we stayed for a couple of nights at the bach owned by Trish at Bealey Spur. This delightful little haven sheltered us while we went up to one of Jim and Ann's secret campfire spots up towards the Jordan Fan on the Waimak River. Here we met a group from Lincoln University. They had covered a lot of territory and had some very impressive and modern firepower so I regaled them with stories of shooting my first dozen deer with my single shot .22 - before I got serious with my father's cut down ex WW2 .303. They were good company and we walked out with them and helped them get their car from the Bealey Spur.<br />
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The next morning Jim and I walked up the Bealey Spur where we got a great view up and down the Waimak and dreamed, yet again, of the good old days and noticed the vast numbers of other people using the track. Every time we lay down (quite often) people would stop to check that we were still alive.<br />
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And so back to the 'car-infested swamp' of Christchurch - and so to Hamilton for me. But before we parted we started making plans for our next trip - maybe just pulling out some <i>Pinus contorta</i> in a secret valley, not too far from the road.<br />
<br />Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-56589956539421456742020-04-14T16:49:00.000+12:002020-04-17T11:31:45.718+12:00How I Learned to Play Cricket<div>
Cricket didn't come until we moved to Christchurch and I was about 14. Other boys seemed to be playing cricket so I decided I should try too. First it was a ball in a sock on a string suspended from my mothers clothes line. Straight bat was what my book on cricket said. Then there was bowling a tennis ball up down the concrete drive at home. If I bowled fast enough the ball would bounce back from the shed door and I wouldn't have to go so far to get it. Then came tweaking the ball with my thumb to make it spin - I could even make it curve in the air before doing an off-break. But then there was the hard cricket ball and for a while I had to try and get my hands on one at school during the breaks. I did eventually get one at home - a composite one - and then Uncle Trevor came to visit.</div>
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He was a keen cricketer and was talked into bowling to me down the drive. My mother whose kitchen was at square leg from me warned him not to bowl any down the leg side. "No worries" he said. But eventually his concentration lapsed and I hooked the ball straight through the kitchen window. Glass flew everywhere. My sister, Karen, was helping my mother in the kitchen. The ball flew past her and knocked the pressure valve off the top of the hissing pressure cooker - screams, steam and glass everywhere and a very angry mother and sister as well. Luckily I had Uncle Trevor to share the blame with but he left soon after. And about that time, my sister, Karen, was being introduced to the art of cricket. She was acting as wicket keeper and I said I'd demonstrate how to hook a ball. She must have been standing up close behind me and I gave her a beaut black eye with the bat. More abject apologising.</div>
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Anyway at school I never distinguished myself any further than the second eleven - and in that neither as a batsman or a bowler. I did get a prize once for being the best fielder - but that just meant that I ran after cricket balls like a happy dog and maybe took a few catches in the slips. I do remember one occasion when after all our bowlers tried, unsuccessfully, to get the opposition's best batsman out - he'd got to nearly 100 runs, they threw the ball to me as a last resort. Give Smith a go for once seemed to be the idea. Anyway I decided on only one thing - good line and length - and I could see the champion batsman relishing the chance to introduce this new kid to the boundary - and out flew his middle stump on the first ball. "What a good fluke" they said.</div>
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Anyway that was cricket for me - until I arrived at Ruakura - my next door scientist friend suggested that I have a game or two for Ruakura who had fielded a team in the local President's Grade. Nothing much happened and I always batted at about number 8 or 9. I remember being very impressed at the way the ball could hiss past me on the way to the wicket keeper before I could even swing the bat at it. And then there were a few beers at the local hotel while our early batsmen tried to score a few runs.</div>
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So one day they asked me to do a stint of umpiring. It was always the batting side that provided the necessary umpires. I've never umpired before - "I don't know what to do", I pleaded. They assured me that as a scientist I should be able to count to six (the number of balls bowled in an over) and sent me out. All went well until I noticed that the bowler was dragging his foot over the crease. He did it again so I shouted, "No ball". Next ball he did it again so I 'no balled' him again. I had to cure this bowler of his bad habit. After the third time he apologised and asked what he was doing wrong. I told him about dragging his rear toe over the crease and it wasn't allowed. He explained to me that this rule had been changed about nine years ago - the front foot now had to not go over the popping crease. " Play on", I said and we adjusted the extras that had been marked against his side. That was one of the last games of cricket I participated in.<br />
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But then there was the time I was ordered from the wicket on the famous MCG (Melbourne Cricket Ground) but that is another <a href="https://barrysinparadise.blogspot.com/search/label/Cricket" target="_blank">story</a>.<br />
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The photos are taken of wood engravings by the late Campbell Smith - one of NZ's leading wood engravers.</div>
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<br />Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-72037883224380711172020-03-16T13:06:00.000+13:002020-03-16T13:06:06.340+13:00The Mysore Tiger<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">We were touring India in 1987 and had arrived at Mysore the night before. Someone looked at the travel book we had and suggested we visit the Mysore zoo, which was said to be quite good. We duly arrived early and wandered about looking at the animals. A voice behind us said, “Does anyone want to go in the cage with the tiger”. We turned and there was a man in a zookeeper’s uniform and he seemed to be addressing us. I made a quick decision – they don’t usually put foreigners in cages with man-eating tigers and leave them to perish. So hoping that they had already given the tiger his breakfast, I volunteered. The zookeeper led me into an empty cage and then exited through a side door leaving me alone in the cage. I saw a tiger sized door at the back of the cage and began to feel a little worried. No need to worry, the keeper soon appeared through another door with a huge tiger on a lead. The tiger was certainly big but he looked slightly thin, more from old age than hunger I hoped.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiger Cub at Hamilton Zoo</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 14pt;">I looked at the tiger and the tiger looked at me. He didn’t look too fierce and I decided that he was really just tame cat. So I hunkered down in front of him and as I’d been taught by my father offered the back of my hand. Reaching out the front of your hand to an animal can be seen as an act of aggression – with unpredictable results. The approach worked. The tiger moved forward and, almost purring, started licking the back of my hand. Ah, I thought, you’re just an old pussycat.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 14pt;">But next thing and so smoothly I didn’t even have a chance to react, he opened his mouth and took my hand between his teeth. This wasn’t so good. He had my hand and I daren’t pull away suddenly. The tiger slowly jawed his way up my arm. He didn’t exert any pressure on my arm – he just seemed to be playing with my arm the way a cat plays with a mouse. I felt a sweat on my forehead and a trickle of sweat ran down my neck. When he got to my elbow I started to get worried. I looked from his big yellow teeth to his big eyes and tried to read his thoughts but was like trying to read a poker players face.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 14pt;">I looked up at the zookeeper and became very worried. His eyes were like saucers. It was a cold day and he was also in a sweat, something you don’t often see with Indians, even after the hottest curries. “Please, Sahib” he said, “Do not be putting your arm in the tigers mouth”. "Did I?", I thought. The tiger seemed to relax his grip so I decided to pull away. As I started to stand up the tiger lunged forward roaring and straining on the lead. “Go NOW Sahib” the zookeeper said. The keeper was a small man and the tiger seemed to be dragging him towards me.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 14pt;">As I rose to run I felt something on my back. It was Eric; my friend who I hadn’t noticed had come into the cage with me. As I spun about to take my leave of the cage, Eric slid off my back. “Good” I thought. I had Eric between the tiger and me. We made haste to the gate and as we slid through the opening, </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I looked back. The zoo keeper was still struggling to get the tiger back into the concrete house at the rear of the cage. The last we saw of the keeper was him disappearing into the tiger house with the enraged tiger. While all of this was happening a large crowd of Indians had gathered. As we joined them they all applauded. I wondered if this was a regular entertainment and also how the entertainment might conclude on certain days. Meat was quite expensive in India.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 14pt;">I've since heard stories of tigers causing human fatalities in zoos (even here in Hamilton zoo) and think I was rather unwise in Mysore.</span></div>
Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-33673343870611926012020-02-11T20:30:00.000+13:002020-02-11T20:30:21.746+13:00CMT - Compulsory Military Training - New ZealandWhen I turned 18 I was expected to register for and attend the, then, compulsory military training scheme. Jim Wilson, who was one of my climbing mates, and I attended the same basic training course, the 18th intake, at Burnham Military Camp. We had just completed a three-week trans-alpine climbing trip and were in great condition for the course. Surprisingly, we quite enjoyed the experience and in later years I remember Enoch Powell saying that military training was one of the more satisfying periods of his life. There was something secure about the military organisation. We were gathered from all walks of life from all over New Zealand and lodged in long reasonably comfortable huts.<br />
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The first few weeks were basic drilling to accustom us to military command and discipline. Repetition and precision seemed to be the main order of those early weeks. We would march up and down, run confidence courses where individually or in groups we would fling ourselves through a series of obstacles. Jim and I managed well as we had arrived relatively fit. Some were not so fit and one unfortunate guy, Dave, had to contend with an inborn lack of co-ordination. During the confidence courses Dave would fling himself at walls with a sickening thud and just sink to the ground. He never gave up and we shuddered each time he ran at the wall and imagined how quickly he might succumb to machine gun fire in a real war. In the end we would help him over the walls. I think Dave also had a great sense of humour. On one occasion he saluted, in his uncoordinated manner, an officer as he was cycling around a corner. Officers were expected to return the salute on a bicycle by stiffing to attention. This didn’t work very well for the officer concerned and he fell off his bike. The story spread like wildfire about the camp – to everyone’s amusement.<br />
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We had lots of rifle drill - on the range - and the worst I remember was an assault exercise where an officer stood outside a building we were passing through, throwing 'thunder-flashes' into it to make it seem more real and hasten us on our way.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hut Cleaning Day - CMT Burnham 1956 (left Henry Zelas, right Jim Wilson, third from right BLS)</td></tr>
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Part way through our basic training we were allowed a night in Christchurch but with instructions to be back on the returning troop train. Jim and I were attending to our affairs of the heart and of course missed our train but were on parade the next morning – we had biked back to Burnham, and stashed our bikes in the end of our huts. They were useful for all sorts of activities until the army found out about them and we were ordered to take them away on the next train.<br />
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Jim and I (because of our mountaineering trip fitness) did well in the intercompany sports events. At this stage we had joined the Medical Corps for our special training and it was not really expected that a bunch of 'first aid poofs' would do well against the tough infantry companies. At the intake concert there was a big surprise. Out onto the stage came this amazing Polynesian hula dancer who set the place on fire. There were very strict rules about women in camp and everyone was perplexed. It turned out that the dancer was Trevor Rupe from the other end of our hut. He became well known later as Carmen and I met him a few years later in Kings Cross, and had contact with him much later when he turned sixty.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carmen - Trevor Rupe</td></tr>
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On our final night at Burnham there was a bit of noise in the hut next door. So I put on my boots, and lemon squeezer and grabbed a strong torch. I clumped into the hut shining my torch into as many eyes as I could, at the same time informing them of the rules about ‘lights out’. In my loudest RSM voice from my time in school cadets I ordered them out of bed, into their gear and onto the parade ground. Half of them were lining up on the parade ground when I couldn’t stand the suspense or risk anymore and fled into the night. But it showed how they had been brainwashed to obey orders. In the showers the next morning I shivered in fear as I heard dire threats planned at the unknown perpetrator of the previous night’s antics.<br />
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Our intake ended with a field exercise on Birdling’s Flat. We enjoyed this too but the army wouldn’t agree to our request to leave early to start University so we missed out on our first week or two of lectures. Our unit was disbanded the following year so we never had to attend the annual two-week camps.<br />
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But I often reflect on the CMT experience. It was a great coming together of NZ youth from all walks of life. All people of my similar age remember the experience fondly and I often think of it as something that could have some value in present day society - not necessarily with any military purpose - but with social and environmental aims. Discipline might be a problem.Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-23041302534720407462020-01-13T16:41:00.001+13:002020-01-13T16:41:11.732+13:00The Datsuns - Poetry Noise Abatement NoticeBack in 1999 I used to have a regular meeting with Kai Jensen where we'd discuss poetry and our latest efforts. One day Kai ask if I'd stand in for him at an event as he had to be somewhere else. I agreed but was slightly wary of the circumstances. Apparently the local Waikato University had organised a concert from a 'heavy rock' band that was just getting established. It was to be filmed and broadcast on the University TV channel. My role was to recite poetry between the band's items - and here is the bit - I was to do the recitations naked in an outside bath. There was no way I was going to sit naked in a bath with heaps of drunk students and wild musicians - at least shorts were going to be worn. The band was called "The Datsuns".<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Datsuns (photographer unknown - stolen from Wikepedia Website)</td></tr>
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So the day arrived and with some trepidation I turned up at the venue a large suburban house used as a student flat. Rain was imminent and the TV crew said the concert would have to be held inside - their gear was too valuable to expose to the rain. The bath couldn't be brought inside so that let me off the hook. The band arrived, set up their gear and then drove off. They arrived back and set to work. I was amazed at the intensity of their music. Students crawled out on hands and knees to offer the lead guitarist their backs as a footstool. I was wondering what everyone was on! I did my bit here and there between items. It was all good fun.<br />
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Then the noise police arrived. Even though it was a weekend afternoon the neighbours had had enough. It was near the end of the concert so the band packed their gear and took off. Normal occurrence they said. The last I heard, they had toured Australia and UK - without me! They left me being issued with the noise infringement notice. It said we must stop the noise and if not we could be taken to court and fined up to $10 000. I hoped the students would not keep up a noise after I left. As I left I saw the neighbours skulking in the shrubbery. I think Catherine could hear the noise at our place.<br />
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I have a feeling that I was the first (if not the only) non-musical poet in NZ (the world?) to be issued with a noise abatement notice. My claim to fame!<br />
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Here is one of the poems I recited - it had been for unit I'd done at the time as a task for an MA at Waikato Uni.<br />
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<b>Agememnon on the Eve of Battle</b><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">of the <i>Paris Tribune</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">On its front page<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">a photo of tomorrow’s victor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The time warp machine<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">malfunctioning again,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">news coming in<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">before it has happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt 127.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Just not good enough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He consults the <i>Penguin<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Dictionary of Historical Slan</span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">g<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">before saying “<b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aIpOnR7zpmg" target="_blank">beep</a></b>”-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">the remaining papers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">will need rounding up<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">and the image of Achilles<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">excised </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">before the troops</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">see it in the latrines<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">tomorrow morning;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">best not to have him<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">too confident on the eve<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">of the showdown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Can’t have the wrong man<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">dragged about town<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">by a wild horse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt 127.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Just then he hears the click<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">of Xtra signing in<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">he sighs when he reads<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Sender: Bill Manhire<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Subject: Hector<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">bugger this poet-laureate<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">with his free wine<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">and making himself at home<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">up on the hill with Andromache.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Drinking Cab Sav again,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">he guesses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It was making him suspect<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">his agent’s credentials;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">everyone knew this was not<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">an Icelandic saga,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">despite a retreating icesheet<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">and the scarcity of mammoths,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">and what about this visionary<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">intelligence …<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> “… a wooden horse<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">up to its hocks in a high tide<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">outside some city gates<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">men who descend a ladder<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">into waves of tears,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">all for a Trojan woman.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt 127.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Well, the last line made sense,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">the only sense<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">from a poem-quoting seer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Why don’t his E-mails<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">mean anything any more?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Agamemnon’s sword hand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">grabs the mouse<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">the cursor hovers over<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">the delete button…<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-86537034531142941852020-01-06T21:16:00.000+13:002020-01-25T10:45:09.105+13:00NZ Wildlife and Bushy ParkLate last year we had a great few days travelling with a friend from Adelaide through New Plymouth, Whanganui and Palmerston North - and back home via Pukawa. The main purpose was to attend the NZVA Wildlife Branch Conference at Bushy Park, in an old historic homestead just NW of Whanganui. At New Plymouth we visited the Te Rewa Rewa bridge and Pukekura Park.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9wyAErO8W8BcOaGQN10Zf0XGlyLrj_uitfTZj4WSjDKrZfXX3JoQtZ-wGDtHgU5QGh6OdgchelqJSmoFyNaQN9vHG6UjdS0LgxxZhxTb5rEYpYmbAtDLdGhVYG7I4ajp87PgX2kE35pQ4/s1600/20191123_082514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9wyAErO8W8BcOaGQN10Zf0XGlyLrj_uitfTZj4WSjDKrZfXX3JoQtZ-wGDtHgU5QGh6OdgchelqJSmoFyNaQN9vHG6UjdS0LgxxZhxTb5rEYpYmbAtDLdGhVYG7I4ajp87PgX2kE35pQ4/s320/20191123_082514.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bushy Park Homestead</td></tr>
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For the conference we stayed at Kai Iwi on a beach where we had red sunsets, courtesy of the Australian bush fires - sad business. And it got worse.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sun Setting in Bushfire Smoke</td></tr>
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The conference was great with the usual crowd of inspirational young people talking about ecological restoration in the North Island and the health problems associated with the native birds. We went mad at Whanganui and purchased some ceramic art - wont get it until October 2020 when it's exhibition ends.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgui5lInfWLXatcES6c7yD4vKlS2B7nvcPxvZqHi9KjGXElaI2M9RIomOzXs7cZFmkYK0iDcCThCstojvwiqbAVi8WuFA6rbrG_4b7XBosaIRR-a19NnZUwTWwwGGeTEwlW14RslwcrL1FZ/s1600/IMG_3478.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgui5lInfWLXatcES6c7yD4vKlS2B7nvcPxvZqHi9KjGXElaI2M9RIomOzXs7cZFmkYK0iDcCThCstojvwiqbAVi8WuFA6rbrG_4b7XBosaIRR-a19NnZUwTWwwGGeTEwlW14RslwcrL1FZ/s320/IMG_3478.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our New Art Work</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We Found a Dead Tui</td></tr>
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The highlight of the Conference, for me, was the conferring of Life Membership on Maurice Alley, an old colleague of mine from the Wallaceville days in the 1960s. It was accompanied by lots of complimentary speeches and a standing ovation - well deserved and quite moving. He has done an enormous volume of work on NZ bird life through his few hundred papers on their diseases. And supported and encouraged so many Massey veterinary students in wildlife pathology.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyxcee-1bOMzhKTGsxwXLjtr3E0y0vw0A4wAW2pzf2VoHwvNUrOQsp24yXeH9VDptRgejfBEIH24C0S_O_xrDNufTeHdS0G5h6Sknhp7XrkRdKPqzZY3LNuraJhrwSFuzUvP80YLwIwB0o/s1600/IMG_6255.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="956" data-original-width="748" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyxcee-1bOMzhKTGsxwXLjtr3E0y0vw0A4wAW2pzf2VoHwvNUrOQsp24yXeH9VDptRgejfBEIH24C0S_O_xrDNufTeHdS0G5h6Sknhp7XrkRdKPqzZY3LNuraJhrwSFuzUvP80YLwIwB0o/s320/IMG_6255.jpeg" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dorothy and Maurice Alley</td></tr>
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The last day of the conference was in Palmerston North where we visited the Massey Veterinary School Wild Base Recovery Unit, a joint public access facility constructed by MasseyUni and the local city council. Well planned and very impressive. The floating collection of mobile huia (extinct), seen below, represents their flight into extinction - the white birds representing the ghosts of those who first passed on - another sad NZ story.<br />
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And so home via Pukawa where the birds welcomed us back with much song and birdbathing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Yz9u2MN0L6Rhm5-827j1lCrhiORADarflMCP_f4Q7L4MK4R3QxRE9zrpi5_vaPvMOPt9O3N9BefMUjLa27L_o20WX_end_3xEZdghpKAY8XSG1MIPomc0JRFD3PwEQC0GYS51h6WzKy1/s1600/20191124_133013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Yz9u2MN0L6Rhm5-827j1lCrhiORADarflMCP_f4Q7L4MK4R3QxRE9zrpi5_vaPvMOPt9O3N9BefMUjLa27L_o20WX_end_3xEZdghpKAY8XSG1MIPomc0JRFD3PwEQC0GYS51h6WzKy1/s320/20191124_133013.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Huia Moving on Into Extinction</td></tr>
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Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-55423177265309017422019-11-07T16:05:00.000+13:002019-11-07T16:05:05.395+13:00Animism - a Form of Respect for Nature.Having been to Japan a year or two ago I've become aware of and impressed by many Japanese cultural characteristics. In particular I've liked their Shinto beliefs - especially the animistic aspects of it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjMQ7ukxAALXxnyN1dOhbjVkPfs0YBMaPZfTbPfaQfBcwEwjHfrnxGFTDrBREBh0ucA97x6EWVnshBoul06QgP6kk32eMGEgx3QSpd_r5fd_whDKBS9IYt8K15NtAusLMECrXxLh0y6JKA/s1600/IMG_3339.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjMQ7ukxAALXxnyN1dOhbjVkPfs0YBMaPZfTbPfaQfBcwEwjHfrnxGFTDrBREBh0ucA97x6EWVnshBoul06QgP6kk32eMGEgx3QSpd_r5fd_whDKBS9IYt8K15NtAusLMECrXxLh0y6JKA/s320/IMG_3339.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mountain Ranunculus</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alpine Wahlenburgia</td></tr>
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I've largely given up on the idea of religion but quite like the ideas involved in animism. I'm not into the idea of believing that 'god' exists in natural objects but rather that as a mark of a love of nature you freely gift a 'spirit' to a particular tree, rock, stream, mountain - any natural thing - as a token of respect and love.<br />
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A personal aspect of this respect can also be seen in the Japanese custom of bowing to one another and in India with their 'Namaste'.<br />
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I've just read Peter Hohllben's book on trees - his anthropomorphic style with trees thinking, talking and screaming was just too much for me but there was no denying his love of forests. He described the inter-connectedness of nature, its ephemeralism and, although he hardly mentioned it, we all share atoms or molecules with all of nature - we really are just one huge organism. And is there no death - as we perceive it?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjctNhLp0dzCdRgugilXihytuvNDkuHUV38BvCXtAdAbzr-HEgShYOR4AKbOdoEWpfUT2L9Spes9IBpCVkQWGaSZgP130reBxky1Kn-a4DhkPYxTuyLwHjo0KssMhnor7yVmWe9VoGEPOqF/s1600/200409141634587.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjctNhLp0dzCdRgugilXihytuvNDkuHUV38BvCXtAdAbzr-HEgShYOR4AKbOdoEWpfUT2L9Spes9IBpCVkQWGaSZgP130reBxky1Kn-a4DhkPYxTuyLwHjo0KssMhnor7yVmWe9VoGEPOqF/s320/200409141634587.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is there Death?</td></tr>
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William Wordsworth, in 1798, after a year of wandering and communing with nature in the Quantocks of Somerset walked with his sister, Dorothy, up the Wye Valley to near Tintern Abbey. When he returned he wrote</div>
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<i>Five years have past; five summers, with the length </i></div>
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<i>Of five long winters! and again I hear </i></div>
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<i>These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs </i></div>
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<i>With a soft inland murmur</i></div>
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and later in the poem<br />
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<i>For I have learned </i></div>
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<i>To look on nature, not as in the hour </i></div>
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<i>Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes </i></div>
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<i>The still sad music of humanity, </i></div>
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<i>Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power </i></div>
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<i>To chasten and subdue.—And I have felt </i></div>
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<i>A presence that disturbs me with the joy </i></div>
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<i>Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime </i></div>
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<i>Of something far more deeply interfused, </i></div>
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<i>Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, </i></div>
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<i>And the round ocean and the living air, </i></div>
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<i>And the blue sky, and in the mind of man: </i></div>
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<i>A motion and a spirit, that impels </i></div>
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<i>All thinking things, all objects of all thought, </i></div>
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<i>And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still </i></div>
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<i>A lover of the meadows and the woods </i></div>
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<i>And mountains; and of all that we behold </i></div>
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<i>From this green earth; of all the mighty world </i></div>
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<i>Of eye, and ear,—both what they half create, </i></div>
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<i>And what perceive; well pleased to recognise </i></div>
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<i>In nature and the language of the sense </i></div>
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<i>The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, </i></div>
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<i>The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul </i></div>
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<i>Of all my moral being.</i><br />
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He was a bit of an animist, I think.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikHQWaLMYolgWa5PYYXNx6uuhACVMqwxFZ5YJ80spiLZKpOr5Q7Eo-q-4eL_6K7fnjGLqIMPE8y2KzsGEYmkqZc0OJU9Na0tuTXkSiQ1ijlnUwD4wgX3WQBkpwIrntLNKcKl5QprB2xBMk/s1600/DSC07130.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikHQWaLMYolgWa5PYYXNx6uuhACVMqwxFZ5YJ80spiLZKpOr5Q7Eo-q-4eL_6K7fnjGLqIMPE8y2KzsGEYmkqZc0OJU9Na0tuTXkSiQ1ijlnUwD4wgX3WQBkpwIrntLNKcKl5QprB2xBMk/s320/DSC07130.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Luschious Life after Death</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful Life after Death</td></tr>
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I love my photography and have put together a 'large' number of my photos of nature - sunrises and settings, scenery, weather moods, people, animals, fungi and trees etc. I've combined them into a sort of screen saver with some church music (Rachmaninov) - yes I still enjoy the music from churches. They are usually songs of praise - and for me now, praise of nature. Anyway in my dotage I intend to spend a bit of my time sitting with a glass of wine enjoying 'my' nature. Hopefully, Catherine will sit with me now and then, when she is having a rest from saving the planet.Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-36611503206539479552019-09-26T09:19:00.000+12:002019-09-26T09:19:23.123+12:00Food Recollections of a Hungry Youth in Antarctica (1959-60 Summer)<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
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<span style="font-family: "palatino"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Every day for about ten weeks over the summer of 1959/60 we man-hauled sleds,
climbed mountains, collected lichens and insects and rocks and surveyed all we
could see to the east of the Beardmore Glacier – and we ate pemmican.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We were part of a New Zealand Alpine Club (NZAC) <a href="https://barrysinparadise.blogspot.com/2011/08/antarctica-1959.html" target="_blank">expedition</a> to the Ross Dependency.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "palatino"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Pemmican is a high energy preserved
meat and fat based food used by explorers in polar regions. Lean meat is dried and pounded into a powder and then
mixed with equal quantities of fat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If sealed from the air it keeps well and was a staple diet of polar
explorers. We simply added water and boiled it into a thick gruel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would eat it with mashed potato
powder to which butter and other high-energy items would be added.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes for variety we would add
curry or other Indian spices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
gruel was always very acceptable and there was always a competition to finish
first and scrape the pot. Here are our rations for 20 man days.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB5oBFFj-ad17GUEE3txEKIwYX9DSYmukhNEketdSYfEL1Wm88kHZyvMzpVPctIYj4UrFheZ8rvn8dEaXTaZz6_hIO9WPSCPQzviImjWNiNDjgyEz6vVLHnmTktszvGPrGVXRyVqfupvhv/s1600/20Man-dayRation.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="593" data-original-width="1600" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB5oBFFj-ad17GUEE3txEKIwYX9DSYmukhNEketdSYfEL1Wm88kHZyvMzpVPctIYj4UrFheZ8rvn8dEaXTaZz6_hIO9WPSCPQzviImjWNiNDjgyEz6vVLHnmTktszvGPrGVXRyVqfupvhv/s640/20Man-dayRation.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino"; font-size: 14.0pt;">During our man-hauling we would expend about 6500 calories each day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the end of our field trip we had
lost weight despite all the pemmican. At the end of the field trip I was stranded at an American weather station depot near the Beardmore Glacier </span><span style="font-family: "palatino"; font-size: 18.66666603088379px;">for about 27 days </span><span style="font-family: "palatino"; font-size: 14pt;">because of an aeroplane <a href="https://barrysinparadise.blogspot.com/search/label/Antarctica" target="_blank">crash</a> - there was a change of food here as the Americans were very well supplied and generous towards this hungry youth - I particularly remember the chicken gumbo soup and the coffee and pream - by the time I got back to Scott Base all but one of the NZAC team had returned to New Zealand.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Working up an Appetite on the Ross Ice Shelf</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robin Oliver and the Wayward Cook at Scott Base</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "palatino"; font-size: 14.0pt;">At Scott Base I found that the cook had
been misbehaving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For one, he had threatened the American McMurdo Commander and an American Senator when they visited Scott Base. The Scott Base leader and some others threw him out in the snow for his trouble.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "palatino"; font-size: 14.0pt;">When he
found that a new cook was being advertised for in New Zealand (it had been decided that he was not going to last over the winter) he disappeared to
the McMurdo rubbish dump with the remains of his problem, whisky, where he
lived in a packing case and conducted a lively trade in whisky for food with the local
Americans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was asked if I’d like
a temporary job cooking for the Base until a new cook arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being
a poor student I jumped at the chance to earn a few dollars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was another cook who was waiting
to depart but he had completed his contract and overwintered, and was not going to give up the
opportunity to spend some time looking at the wildlife and the historical huts
before he left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did however
give me lessons on the two essentials, gravy and bread making. The rest was up to my imagination!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "palatino"; font-size: 14.0pt;">It was hard work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was no room for me in Scott Base so I had to sleep out in a tent on
my own each night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I'd had a bath when I returned from the field - maybe I'd been the last of six or so in the one bath! But surely I didn't smell that bad.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "palatino"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "palatino"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I would rise at
4am, go across the ice to the kitchen and start the ovens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I’d start making the bread for the
55 odd personnel and prepare breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After breakfast there would be more bread making activity and lunch to prepare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On one occasion beetroot juice became
accidentally mixed with the dough – novelty bread! I would get a couple of
hours off in the afternoon before preparing dinner and finally I’d collapse
asleep onto the floor of my polar tent about eight at night, totally exhausted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In amongst all of the foregoing I’d
have to prepare ahead for the next few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This would involve a trip out to the snow cave where all the
food was stored. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had to be
given a couple of days to thaw so forward planning was essential.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "palatino"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGFT9N1XT88Km7jWJPBAkSfXq95QccH896IPy58Crpv1e9it0DWbDG17VBl3uW6iyJcTyRYddK6jvwWO2vFrFbgpGoJXurDpVC08jjNKKrhODeMaVw_hvI_vtOffisaqULmsClxKYfpzwQ/s1600/IMG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1294" data-original-width="1600" height="515" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGFT9N1XT88Km7jWJPBAkSfXq95QccH896IPy58Crpv1e9it0DWbDG17VBl3uW6iyJcTyRYddK6jvwWO2vFrFbgpGoJXurDpVC08jjNKKrhODeMaVw_hvI_vtOffisaqULmsClxKYfpzwQ/s640/IMG.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Staff at Scott Base (1960) and Barry the Cook (2nd from right)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino"; font-size: 14.0pt;">One night an American scientist and his mate from McMurdo woke me in
my tent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somehow he had fished an
Antarctic Cod from a hole in the ice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Would I cook it for him and his friend and have a third of it with
them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I staggered over to the
kitchen and inspected the fish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was a good size and a large pan, a little butter, some salt and pepper turned
it into a superb meal, one of the best fish I’ve ever had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You shouldn't go wrong with a fresh fish
unless you fail to cook and eat it immediately! Don't overcook it though.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "palatino"; font-size: 14.0pt;">One day someone came into the base and said that the
Americans had lost a sledge and container into a crevasse while bringing it in
from the Ross Ice Shelf airfield to McMurdo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had looked down the crevasse and abandoned the whole
lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we found a dog handler,
hitched the dogs to a sled and raced out armed with crowbar and hammer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We climbed onto the box, which was
still jammed half out of the crevasse and was the size of a car packing case.
We jemmied it open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To our dismay
it contained nothing but tins of green peas!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Undeterred, we emptied the container.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took several trips back to Scott
Base with the dogs but we ate well on green peas and I heard that the Base was
still eating them a couple of years later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-3893947090532339372019-07-21T09:51:00.000+12:002019-07-25T11:00:14.360+12:00Matariki 2019Matariki is the 'te reo' term for Pleiades the constellation which (down in the South Pacific) rises in the north-eastern horizon late in June and, for Maori, marks the end of one year and the beginning of the next.<br />
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It is a time for reflection on those who have gone before and for planning the year ahead - in particular ensuring crops are planted and grown. In New Zealand it is increasingly becoming a time for celebration - there is even talk of making it a national day. The season of Matariki is marked with a pre-dawn ceremony usually started at 0530 in the morning - brrrr.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVDAs19FowaGwnEF4X5kRURr6eeVvquJad7H-IsADPI5aSzZ6DbBoLLbmK-gdZ8Lq8cS42NPPUAaiOjungdj0rcVNo5kvtF52qZVa_k6a5b8ekMswqMs5-phnLW0QCPs9zO7_EhtiYWem9/s1600/IMG_1115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="480" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVDAs19FowaGwnEF4X5kRURr6eeVvquJad7H-IsADPI5aSzZ6DbBoLLbmK-gdZ8Lq8cS42NPPUAaiOjungdj0rcVNo5kvtF52qZVa_k6a5b8ekMswqMs5-phnLW0QCPs9zO7_EhtiYWem9/s400/IMG_1115.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matariki</td></tr>
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Catherine and I have been going to this over the last three years. It is celebrated in Hamilton in the local botanical gardens - these are Hamilton's pride and joy, having been recently awarded the prize as International Tourist Garden of the Year. Catherine was guest speaker this year (talking about the nursery production of native plants for a 500 year (!) restoration project) and I penned my response (below) as a pakeha for the local newsletter of the Friends of Hamilton Gardens.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kumara Being Cultivated</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJa6TNDm6_pvPWZML5uf9TidO6aWN7lHVue9ZySHiy401jtQxj4rMVC5I5plMR53ywXF831wYCeItlRWJgxzQo-TmRYWMYmEMDFtnl1CIzn8MCx-2F4piGXuu7ws6AlhDDMZfBse6FNOl/s1600/DSC06573.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1024" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJa6TNDm6_pvPWZML5uf9TidO6aWN7lHVue9ZySHiy401jtQxj4rMVC5I5plMR53ywXF831wYCeItlRWJgxzQo-TmRYWMYmEMDFtnl1CIzn8MCx-2F4piGXuu7ws6AlhDDMZfBse6FNOl/s320/DSC06573.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pataka (food storehouse)</td></tr>
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<i style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><b>A Personal (and Pakeha) Response to the Dawn of Matariki - 2019</b></i><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>Surrounded by mountains, Taupiri, Pirongia, Kakepuku and Maungatautari we gather. Car doors close and we move under a misty darkness, guided by smiles and torchlight, to a circular piazza, our gathering place. Significantly for the occasion of Matariki the piazza represents the birthplace of Galileo who confirmed that we circle about our star – our four seasons. He was also the first to observe Matariki through a telescope.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>At the piazza there is time to connect - to greet – and think …<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>The haunting karanga, like the stars of Matariki, seems to call from light years away. Announced by the conch shell our hikoi moves forward and we circle about a garden of kumara - and pataka. We recall the past year and welcome the year ahead – planning, planting, nurturing, harvesting and storing. And in a beautiful language and translation we are welcomed and reminded of the occasion. Isn’t rangihaeata (the first light of dawn) a beautiful and, for Matariki, a meaningful word?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>Back through the piazza we gather again. Another karanga calls us to the Matariki breakfast. It has been cold outside and now we are inside. Music and warmth surround us. Song and poi delight us. We recognize familiar faces - smile or hongi or shake hands. The food is good. People speak. We are welcomed again – informed of voluntary social and environmental work – given the gift of a plant for the planet – something for the birds – berries for birdsong.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>Somewhere outside, out there, the eyes of Matariki look down. We have greeted the dawn, honored the new year.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>karanga calls us<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>from pre-dawn suns<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>hikoi in the dark<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>matariki light years away<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>seven eyes see us<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>This is a Tanka, a Japanese poetry form.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>bls</i><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqqUfDa92aZWA7UjQstEpc1HHIXRDp-sgnObnjM1EJQJKIGQEsGpM24MacNVfbDds1lWcAAmN2g1y62zpm1cmcAvK0DQLp-wiDDJQDQyo2xFLE_loQoWjaHb4HrSUA1A-XxGgZ6IvKksNY/s1600/IMG_1440.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqqUfDa92aZWA7UjQstEpc1HHIXRDp-sgnObnjM1EJQJKIGQEsGpM24MacNVfbDds1lWcAAmN2g1y62zpm1cmcAvK0DQLp-wiDDJQDQyo2xFLE_loQoWjaHb4HrSUA1A-XxGgZ6IvKksNY/s400/IMG_1440.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nursery for Native Plants - Hamilton</td></tr>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></b></div>
Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-61447319256696059772019-03-04T20:08:00.000+13:002019-03-04T20:08:55.975+13:00Growing Old and Pacing Yourself - of Mountains and Valleys.This February marked the opening of a print exhibition I shared with two other artists (potter and a painter) at Darfield. It was stressful because I worried excessively about how the glassed and framed works would survive the air trip from Hamilton - they did.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsR_EH2qL5nHcFc0sdy-VwLD73iRWw8bd8xzbrfoWeTlHt0gtR5ObZT-TSNVFxkX7FiAkQc4Dfw0t8eAxuxGLoLEi6r3WZ8jOZwjt8HOQX3nAYaefbdRdWEcBGNl2MXPrqV9l8D5rXSw_S/s1600/IMG_1861.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1193" data-original-width="1600" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsR_EH2qL5nHcFc0sdy-VwLD73iRWw8bd8xzbrfoWeTlHt0gtR5ObZT-TSNVFxkX7FiAkQc4Dfw0t8eAxuxGLoLEi6r3WZ8jOZwjt8HOQX3nAYaefbdRdWEcBGNl2MXPrqV9l8D5rXSw_S/s320/IMG_1861.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paradise - the Upper Waimakariri</td></tr>
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After the opening and catching up with friends I made the most of my presence in the South Island and took off for the hills about Arthur's Pass for a few days with Mike White and Jim Wilson, 'old' climbing friends for more than sixty-five years. Sadly, Dave Elphick, the other of our climbing 'quartet', passed away a little while ago.<br />
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We spent much of the time based at Rough Creek Shambles, the Wilson family batch at the 'Pass'. From there we did day trips to the Upper Otira Valley, to the top of Avalanche Peak and had a three day excursion to the Pfieffer Bivi to the west of Arthur's Pass. There were heaps of stories from the past and we managed to even repeat a few of them during our trip! And the others would politely wait until you'd finished before telling you you'd told it two days ago!!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mike and Jim</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Rocky Knoll</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the Pfieffer Basins</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaifu4suCKfqnQsTO0gqTTWWakYbjjpy3iuNUDh8cLJL7UAS3k50_WRxKopQjU4vAlfZlhqINKGD4Qe8JWUTuPnMBh9T-oI8qUZwUxrRmMiEwpGZ7fHMetRcLnHkaF0nZfT4PFRRp2fOqa/s1600/IMG_2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaifu4suCKfqnQsTO0gqTTWWakYbjjpy3iuNUDh8cLJL7UAS3k50_WRxKopQjU4vAlfZlhqINKGD4Qe8JWUTuPnMBh9T-oI8qUZwUxrRmMiEwpGZ7fHMetRcLnHkaF0nZfT4PFRRp2fOqa/s320/IMG_2011.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pfieffer Bivi</td></tr>
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The highlight was probably our trip to Pfieffer. Apart from the return day the weather was magnificent and we spent the middle day resting and taking photos of the surrounds. The big lesson for us was finding that our times were more than double the guide book times. The suggested 4-6hrs in to Pfieffer took us close to 11hrs. This was a wake-up for us who (it seemed only a few years ago) prided ourselves on doing trips well under suggested times.<br />
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Our trip up the Otira Valley was full of memories - joint memories of both joy and sadness. It is still one of our favourite valleys.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsT3kdHX7pfXNdW6hCYx8XXG8b9c4bgygEJcudb6zvbdFz9vjnTN7iLw0DVNDBDPFRdr6nl6UkfcIg0bSfe-IfkgNh1gKpp051m4K2f3vBRUS4vVpvXmIHC9KaBhyphenhyphenLkvWeIZyNUUsmvvnF/s1600/IMG_2061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsT3kdHX7pfXNdW6hCYx8XXG8b9c4bgygEJcudb6zvbdFz9vjnTN7iLw0DVNDBDPFRdr6nl6UkfcIg0bSfe-IfkgNh1gKpp051m4K2f3vBRUS4vVpvXmIHC9KaBhyphenhyphenLkvWeIZyNUUsmvvnF/s400/IMG_2061.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the Upper Otira Valley</td></tr>
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And then there was a great lunch with John (Jim's brother) and Ash - full of good stories from Ash - and us. Isn't it great when folk who know one another well, get together - there is never a lost word.<br />
And everywhere about Arthur's Pass was the hyperactivity of the Coast to Coast - in full swing as we climbed Avalanche - more memories.<br />
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We nearly didn't make it to the summit of Avalanche Peak - managed it by having a good rest and adjusting our pace downwards. On top it was like the United Nations - young back packers from Israel, France, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Switzerland, Holland, Germany, America, United Kingdom, several from Asia and a few Kiwis. And they were just the ones we found out about. All good company - as is usual when you meet like-minded folk in the mountains.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilNoCwcbvknaJdRe_eAS2mnN3SY61Y-wdGqDhIJLgHcFtp16mDnpO0kHsuSnbjVu_ouAfHKvCdbGxW4MMIQHajjytJoWqb-gSJ3pzxCoI-cFuXwrmkIczI5knq3qQMO0WaI_OL6oZO8y_O/s1600/IMG_2072.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilNoCwcbvknaJdRe_eAS2mnN3SY61Y-wdGqDhIJLgHcFtp16mDnpO0kHsuSnbjVu_ouAfHKvCdbGxW4MMIQHajjytJoWqb-gSJ3pzxCoI-cFuXwrmkIczI5knq3qQMO0WaI_OL6oZO8y_O/s640/IMG_2072.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slowly Upwards Towards Avalanche Peak</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTGDS0OaQityWuFXN23Mnqdy7o4QDXlzLKodeNN36OWLeM4vpyIGWPGLMmXCK6YIV7z11edC6Klnx6mROIdMnee2vUK-CJFnXn94u0THulfxZ_bF5Pk-jMYKYg60muPgM6Jb-HkC0Oys-w/s1600/IMG_2097.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1600" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTGDS0OaQityWuFXN23Mnqdy7o4QDXlzLKodeNN36OWLeM4vpyIGWPGLMmXCK6YIV7z11edC6Klnx6mROIdMnee2vUK-CJFnXn94u0THulfxZ_bF5Pk-jMYKYg60muPgM6Jb-HkC0Oys-w/s320/IMG_2097.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edelweiss</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK95Zh2bXJbpnytftc9ld9662T0vepMjyHpdvAx2_oMq1Xp08NSDOOgUgnWukg_GyOr1G74IzbS6HYGKEO73bwh5QaMU86jE7p92BZ_ThvWf3nJZuZ8VxtdeERdjmS6WIYDE4-8WVIoNDp/s1600/IMG_2081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK95Zh2bXJbpnytftc9ld9662T0vepMjyHpdvAx2_oMq1Xp08NSDOOgUgnWukg_GyOr1G74IzbS6HYGKEO73bwh5QaMU86jE7p92BZ_ThvWf3nJZuZ8VxtdeERdjmS6WIYDE4-8WVIoNDp/s320/IMG_2081.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little Leafed Celmisia</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIC_UxbvKEfWPG8QOVlNmGTU5X2PrFsZz9A45hgMxjz1GGiekQ6eeWf49K1TfUO-4NDepCZu-Cs1vJ0UV7GJlAzAuagDwDT0Z3GBdKY-oeSGaGBlHPeilspuOM1vZ37wv9g7zGfhdaLd5m/s1600/IMG_2093.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1411" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIC_UxbvKEfWPG8QOVlNmGTU5X2PrFsZz9A45hgMxjz1GGiekQ6eeWf49K1TfUO-4NDepCZu-Cs1vJ0UV7GJlAzAuagDwDT0Z3GBdKY-oeSGaGBlHPeilspuOM1vZ37wv9g7zGfhdaLd5m/s320/IMG_2093.jpeg" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Kea scans our lunch with a wicked eye.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQhuicXx4LIAAj8FuzreYVB3GA2VYJXXtwz_yTUq8v4AmwXZPiN_EioAA6Pn56fX6HBSyun30Q01byfcI4-46RD1Aj7cAF2-MQkGjvnxVR17dPwVzWm-G6O5y73dbvvzoiQ-FXyRgYSU9r/s1600/IMG_2094.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQhuicXx4LIAAj8FuzreYVB3GA2VYJXXtwz_yTUq8v4AmwXZPiN_EioAA6Pn56fX6HBSyun30Q01byfcI4-46RD1Aj7cAF2-MQkGjvnxVR17dPwVzWm-G6O5y73dbvvzoiQ-FXyRgYSU9r/s640/IMG_2094.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt Rolleston and Crow Neve from Avalanche Peak</td></tr>
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We didn't seem to be going slowly - the others were just faster and the clock wasn't fibbing. I guess that out average age of over 82 had something to do with it. But we enjoyed ourselves and felt pleased with our achievements. Still planning more get-togethers in the mountains.<br />
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Here is a quote from something I read about 65 years ago :<br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 14pt;"><i><b>… he who loves the mountains for themselves and for their eternal beauty will never grudge them their everlasting youth. He will turn to them again and again, knowing they will never fail him. And when he can no longer do more than lift his eyes to the hills he will still find that the promised strength is unfailing – not strength of body but of spirit, garnered from long days in nature’s tranquillity and peace.</b><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 14pt;"><i>Andre Roche “On Rock and Ice”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6869926918498994206.post-51829488532467223962018-12-25T08:54:00.001+13:002019-01-08T11:51:18.235+13:00Radiation Explosion in Russia in 1957 - Interesting 'Exposure'During the late 1960s I developed a keen interest in a disease of (mainly) cattle associated with the consumption of bracken fern. The acute form of the disease commonly was seen as severe haemorrages throughout the animals' tissues. Longterm exposure to bracken caused cancers of the urinary bladder. The disease syndrome of bracken toxicity was often described as 'radiomimetic', an acknowledgement of its likeness to radiation sickness. Eventually the cause of the disease (a plant carcinogen, ptaquiloside) was discovered almost simultaneously by Japanese and Dutch scientists. I eventually did some work on the disease myself and wrote a few reviews on the subject. It was a very interesting story.<br />
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But back in about 1965 I came across a curious paper in Russian describing some work on the subject. I had it translated. The author, Moroshkin, in 1959 described the condition and its radiomimetic nature and showed the results of their investigation. They had taken bracken from the area where they had seen the disease, ashed the bracken <i>in situ</i> and exposed the undisturbed bracken ashes on a photographic plate in total darkness. This was the then method of doing an autoradiograph. The photographic plate showed the image of the fern ash, indicating that the fern emitted ionising radiation. They did the same with the animal bones! No other details of the nature of these radioactive substances was given. Subsequent science has clearly indicated that the carcinogen is ptaquiloside (and some similar minor molecules) and, although nothing to do with radiation, that the 'radiomimetic' effect is due to ptaquiloside's action on the DNA of rapidly dividing cells (mainly gut epithelium and bone marrow cells) - something radioactive substances also do. But what had caused these autoradiographic images?<br />
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Eventually it transpired that back in 1957 a major explosion of nuclear materials had occurred in Kyshtym, in the eastern Urals area. The whole event had been hushed up at the time but eventually exposed publicly by a Soviet scientist, Zhores A Medvedev, in his book, "Nuclear Disaster in the Urals", in 1979. The radiation had spread over about 50 000 square kilometres. Medvedev called it at the time 'biggest nuclear tragedy in peacetime the world has known'. The explosion at Kyshtym has since been confirmed.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zhores Medvedev</td></tr>
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Not only had the Soviet Union denied and disguised the event at the time - but, fearing public reaction against nuclear energy, the CIA, who had knowledge of the disaster, also did the same. Even the chairman of the UK Atomic Energy Authority, Sir John Hill, dismissed Medvedev's claims as '<i>rubbish</i>' and '<i>a figment of the imagination</i>'. Medvedev became a Soviet dissident and was sacked from his post as head of a department of molecular biology near Moscow. He was detained in 1970 and taken to a psychiatric hospital where he was diagnosed as having '<i>creeping schizophrenia</i>' and '<i>paranoid delusions of reforming society</i>'. Although exiled in the UK (his Russian citizenship was revoked while he was working legitimately in the UK) he eventually regained his citizenship but chose to remain working in the National Institute for Medical Research in London until he retired in 1991. He died recently on 15th November 2018.<br />
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But I still wonder if the Russian publication of this interesting investigation of the cattle disease caused by bracken was not a cryptic attempt to let the rest of the world know that this nuclear accident had occurred.<br />
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I searched assiduously for the original paper recently but could find no evidence of its existence. But I still have the translation.<br />
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<br />Barry Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09117286758827208911noreply@blogger.com0