Hanging out in the Hauraki Gulf

The Hauraki Gulf holds Auckland in her bays, harbors, islands, and coastlines.  New Zealand's largest city hoists the title "City of Sails".  A typical summer afternoon find the Kiwi's running downwind, hanging onto halyards, jibbing, and celebrating life as she presents.

Tom and Cheryl gazed at the amazing sailing machines as the ferry and yacht carried them out to the Hauraki Gulf.  Beautiful day, beautiful water, and no sail.  Only the imagination of sitting on the bow with the forestay secured in one's hand and the water rushing past.

What is not to love about sailing?

Is that Odysseus out on the front?  Is he sailing past his Muse?

In about 1400 AD, an eruption occurred in the Gulf of Hauraki leaving evidence of Maori inhabitants similar to Vesuvius and the early Italians.  Six hundred years later it remains uninhabited with the exception of curious hundreds daily visiting the geologic anomalies.

Rangitoto Island volcanic beach sand crept into the cuticles and cutaneous creases of Tom's toes.  He stood stately in the Hauraki Gulf---first Pacific immersion.  Having chugged up to the volcano's crest, surveyed the Auckland landscape, photographed the moment, and marched down to the sea,  the feet needed the light teal saltwater.  Cheryl dressed for cool and wet with her knee-high wool socks and black water-proof hiking pants.  She got hot and sweat.  Too many people at the beach for her to shed the garments.

Along the coastline old lava flows spill into the sea resulting in rugged rocks resisting the rule of wind and waves.

The black beach sand represents the loss of resistance.  The urge to rid the black pants had to be resisted.  They had to stay where they were.  The blonde woman practiced self-control.

The first whimper of New Zealand discontent…













                                                                                                         
…..The fact that she could not join the guy frolicking in the Great
 Pacific.  Pants on?  Yes.  He prepared with his zip away bush pants, and a big smile.

How big is that smile, Tom?


Boots parked ceremoniously on the black sand beach.  Readied for the next steps across the abandoned  island and onto the next point of interest.  The boots deserve some attention.  Lying in wait in the dark closet at home like hunting dogs, they partake in the vast majority of activity.  All hail to the hiking boots!



A dash from the beach to the dock to catch the ferry back to the harbor earned a beer and salty kumera fries.





Continued activity in the Hauraki Gulf followed a trip back to Thames,  a soaking of the feet,  and a constitutionally solid breakfast.  A jet boat ride ( a large multi-personal jet ski ) carried the two out the Waitemata Harbor into the Gulf.  After 30 minutes and a thorough seawater cleansing, the jet boat was back in dock.

Whale and dolphin research receives a boast from the visitors to the area.  In 1962 New Zealand whale industry came to a stop simply due to a lack of whales.  Under the Department of Conservation, whales have regained a foothold.  The bryde's whale spends time in the Hauraki Gulf.  Nearly 50 of them consider it home.

Drying out on board of the whale and dolphin exploration yacht, another great day allowed Tom to use his all purpose viewing binoculars.  A mother bryde's whale (Tohora)and her youngster entertained most the afternoon. Common dolphins, acting as professional entertainers, escorted the the boat to the fishing grounds.  An orchestrated gathering of fish by the dolphins preceded the smorgasbord led by diving gannets and finished by the whales.

The day in creation was right.  The wind was right.  The sun right.

Something moved in Tom's stomach. It was not last night's Chinese hotpot dinner.  It was the witnessing of something much larger than ordinary.  The extraordinary?  Or, the Glory?  The feeling of connection.




                                                      

Mid-November

Cheryl responded quickly to another invitation to occupy a tent on an isolated Coromandel campsite.  The location included neighbors Nick and Kari Scaletti, Peter and Nancy Lloyd.  Listening to the nocturnal rhythms of the sea, they awoke to campfire, camp food and a new day of kayaking/fishing.  More consumption of nutrition and life...

She returned to Thames satiated with the New Zealand outdoors, at least for a few days.  Fortunately, the desire returns quickly.





Cheryl fishing in the kayak.  No snapper for you, pretty girl!  Do not fool the fish.  They function like men: always looking for something to eat,  to procreate, or to avoid being eaten by something bigger than themselves.













The Coromandel Peninsula extends north from Themes and is surrounded by the Firth of Thames and the Pacific Ocean.  Small bays and sandy beaches meet each other.







      Dawn and Peter Willis arrived to amplify the laughter.  Having completed a bike ride through the Hauraki Plains and Karangahake Gorge, they had to soak in Sauvignon Blanc to loosen the expected stiffness.  They recovered at Tom and Cheryl's Bed and Breakfast.  Stories told.  The veteran New Zealanders guided the novice explorers to new possibilities of sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and mischief.  Maps were studied.  Time tables analyzed.  New plans formulated.
      Dawn and Peter illustrate the circular nature of existence.  Dawn, formally of the Wehrkamp clan of Sioux Falls, met a young New Zealand man a few years ago in New York City.  Moonbeams struck and presto...Aroha (love in Maori).  Fast forward a few frantic, fruitful years to where Tom and Cheryl meet Bill and Nancy Wehrkamp through Our Saviors Lutheran Church.  Bill and Nancy have not been able to effectively shake free since then.  Dawn and Peter return to Sioux Falls in the winter of 2008 to visit family for the Holidays.  Tom and Cheryl, always looking for someone's party, showed up early to another set of most excellent friends...Steve and Lisa Jervik.  The Steve and Lisa extraordinaire Christmas party was prime feeding grounds and one not to miss.  Tom and Cheryl's daughter, Molly  came along.  Molly, a card carrying Bohemian was in search of another adventure.  Conversations ensued.  A month later Molly is in New Zealand living with Dawn and Peter in Hastings.  Now Molly's parents enjoy the graciousness of the people south of the equator.  And so, the circle.



      Rotorua lies 2:15 hours south of Thames.  About 180 km, who cares?  Known for geysers, hot mud pools and sulfuric springs, Rotorua hosted the Midland Cardiology meeting which included the Waikato District.  An invitation arrived shortly after the doctor began his job. A party was included.  A dress-up party.  It was too much for the blonde woman.  She was overwhelmed with anticipation.  Problem:  the closet full of dress-up attire was still in Sioux Falls.  Time for innovation.  The doctor and the blonde woman packed the non-essentials and made the trip.
      Physicians from Taranaki, Gisbourne, Rotorua, Thames, Tauranga, and Hamilton filled the seats and drank the required allotment of caffeine.  Topics identical to those in the USA lulled the attendees.  How best to utilize the health care resources?  Same questions, different hemisphere.
     Then the party.  Should be noted, again, that it was dress-up.  In 6 weeks of life in NZ, the doctor and the blonde woman have attended 3 significant social gatherings, 2 involving costumes.  Kiwi's love to dress-up.  The blonde woman loves to dress-up. The midland cardiologists love to dress up.  A rock and roll band consisting of 4 of the doctors stepped forward and played most of the notes to Pink Floyd and other British rock standards.  They drove the crowd into arrhythmias and hypertension.  Dancing women in pink monkey pajamas, French artisans, cleavaged gypsies, NASA spacesuits;  men as cross-dressing Amsterdam whores, Irish leprechauns, and more French artisans.  The band's  volume challenged table talk along with an array of English accents.  The two Americans have developed the art of nodding, smiling, and toasting when incomprehensible speech addresses them.  The blonde woman will throw in a "I just love New Zealand" exclamation to keep the conversation going when she is totally unaware of the topic discussed.  The crowd settled down by morning when the conference restarted with a few red faces.

      Prior to leaving Rotorua, an afternoon of geographic investigation lead to the local redwood forest, the hot pools of bubbling mud, and the bush canopy.



Always looking for the fountain of youth, mud baths or mud packs may be an option.  Not only did the pools of bubbling mud look prehistoric, it smelled like gas for Hades.

Multiple pools of hot mud speckled the landscape around Rotorua and apparently served as a center of early Maori life.










Cheryl led the group through the Redwood forest a short distance out of Rotorua.  The scent of the forest was a welcome change from the sulfuric vapor emitted from the thermal mud pools and springs.

The walk was short, but information gathered for future visits.

Legs were stretched in preparation for the next challenge.  Tom and Cheryl, along with Nick and Kari, decided to view the bush from the top.  Arrangements had been made to participate in the "Canopy Tours", an eco-adventure flying through the bush on zip lines.  Tom remained unaware of the nature of the process until the plastic card went through the machine and another monetary deduction occurred.









The New Zealand Bush....a magical place where people search for the meaning of the universe.  Tom's altitude neurosis kicked into full throttle when he was strapped into a harness and attached to a wire by a pulley system 20-30 meters above the bush floor.  Platforms built on huge trees had steps that ended in a potential fall to that floor, but the system would launch a person 100-200 meters to the next platform.  The neurosis disappeared by the end of the day.  The beauty of the topography wore the anxiety away.

           Walking from one platform to the next for the zip line experience about 50 ft above the Bush floor.  Tree tops yet towered another 50 ft. above.  Not another group within hearing nor seeing distance.

                       Cheryl continues to out perform the male member of the dual.  Hanging out above          

                 the Bush, she pushes the adrenalin switch on high.  Feeling like she is a 20-something.

                                              What is she thinking?  Too much adrenalin
                                              can be  risky behavior.  No risky behaviors.
                                              Another fascinating perspective on the world.

Cheryl's Triumph

Cheryl returned to Thames triumphant.

      A torrent of tales of the towering 'Routeburn' and 'Greenstone' trails tumbled out as she reviewed the photos and replayed the experience.  She embarked 8 days prior  to the South Island with Liz Ulenburg, Liz' daughter Claire, and Liz' NZ friend Janette.  They tramped through country ink and paper do no justice.  She returned successfully with another trophy of personal endeavor and cache of memories.
      She was awarded some smoked snapper.


                         LIZ

                               CLAIRE

                                             CHERYL

                                                            JANETTE




     The night of her arrival back to Thames a victory supper at Nick and Kari Scaletta's appropriately celebrated the completion of an event long planned and effectively executed.
     Then, like a flash of social expertise, she was gone to the northern Coromandel Peninsula camping with Nick and Kari and new friends.  Only to return Sunday to plan the upcoming weekends.

     The photo-documentation of Cheryl's adventure begins with an Auckland to Queenstown flight.
Queenstown sits in the middle of the South Island and serves as the springboard to the great outdoors of Middle Earth.

 What is more magnificent?  Sky, Mountains, or Water?

  This view occurred along the route to the Greenstone.  The lake is 52 miles long.  No one complained about the ride.









At night the trampers found themselves at the Department of Conservation Huts.  The first night, because of weather concerns and some closures of trails, the 40 person hut had twice the intended population.  Earplugs would have been worth the extra weight.  The remainder of the trip, plenty of room was available in subsequent huts.

After the Greenstone Trail was conquered,  the trampers joined with two more and two professional backpackers to guide them through the higher grounds.

Friends on top of the world and the views that will last.





                                                                               

                                                                               
So, many additional phenomenal scenes were captured.  Cheryl will need to release these as she unveils her story.  The travelers spent two days in Queenstown after the Great Walk 'decompressing' and 'debriefing' their conquest.

Cheryl returned ready to take the next Great Walk when the time and place presents itself.  She chalks  up a merit badge for this one.  Did she suffer a little pain and inconvenience?  We learn

that the food in the huts was not only good, but plentiful.  She admits gaining a pound on the trip. The backpackers were young, conversant, knowledgable, and easy to follow.

Yes, there she is!  Queen of the Mountain.

                  

Smoked snapper

November 2

Tom awoke with anticipation.  That little-boy excitement that something new and great was about to happen.  He crawled out of bed and decided to break a 3 week habit.   Why not have breakfast downtown? Do not let habits develop that have no benefit.  A two block walk ended at Sofa's Cafe in downtown Thames. Brashly he stepped up to the waitress, ordered, and sat thinking about the day to come.  Some type of coffee cake arrived with a pumpkin flavor and 10 ml of extremely black coffee flavored liquid.  A 'short black' the menu said.  Not the American interpretation of coffee, but this day cannot be ruined.  Returning home, he organized his gear, checked the map, and filled the car with another 5 gal for $40.  Nothing ruins this day.  He is going fishing.

Hamdy, an Egyptian anesthesiologist working in Thames, arrives at Tom's house with his chilly bin (cooler) and dressed for the wind and water.  They met two days prior and he kindly extended an invitation to come with Tom to the hospital's biannual fishing trip.  Asking whether Tom had a district-medical-issued auto ( he did ) or otherwise, Hamdy decided they would go in Tom's car.  A pleasant conversation of international locums jobs and families in different worlds ensued.

There was a planned get together in Coromandel town after the excursion.  Hamdy was not interested in staying, so arrangements were made for his return. Tom looked forward to tell fish stories that would rival Bill Wehrkamp.  Bill, a small time prairie lake fresh water fisherman always had stories that were difficult to verify.  Fortunately for Bill, he is an excellent cook.  Bill's friends would never question the means by which he obtained his catch.  Tom was on his way into the deep blue ocean to chase whatever lay before him.  And verification.

Hamdy and Tom arrived first and waited on the Te Kouma wharf.  Took a couple pictures and the remainder of the group gathered in time for the fishing 'barge' to leave.

                                                                      The Coromandel bay area looking from Te Kouma.

                                                                       How many fish out there waiting to jump on my hook?

 The fishermen and women piled onto 2 barge-like fishing vehicles operated by "Mussel Barge Snapper Safaris".  For 10 extra bucks (8 American bucks), Tom was issued a rod with real fish hooks and a stout sinker.  By the looks of the boat, the boys did not expect to chase marlin.  But, nothing could ruin this day.  Off they traveled through the islands and eventually hooked onto  the mussel farms in the Coromandel bay.  Red snapper hung out there.  Unexpectedly, the red snapper were about to do battle with a guy with years of anticipation.  Skill had little bearing in the upcoming dual.


Bits of squid and bonnie were impaled on the hooks. The rest of the day fish were caught.  They almost jumped into the barge.  Tom landed an unbelievable 5 fish, but threw one back for the simple gesture of sportsmanship.  Three snapper and a travally.  One snapper was a monster.

The expert fishermen arrived back at the wharf 6 hours later.  Very few people decided to stay to hear Tom's story of great fish success.  Hamdy's chilly bin was completely full...

They fishermen realized they needed to clean the fruits of the sea.  Tom had no chilly bin.   A crisis point brewed.  The fish wrapped in plastic bags and thrown into the back of the hatchback arrived back in Thames that evening.  Caring for those fish took primary importance.  The audience of fish stories did not materialize.

It became apparent to Tom why a decision to use his district-medical-issued car.  By the time they returned home Hamby and Tom smelled of each other as socially unfit.  The Corolla spent the night with the windows down and febreze liberally applied the following day.

The cleaning experience utilized the backyard hose and several dull knives.  The three nice sized catches were placed in the freezer.  The monster barely fit into the refrigerator.  Following a night of chilling down, Tom received advice from several veteran fishing experts. He should smoke that big snapper.  Overall, it was a very satisfying experience.  He seems to yet be coming down from the anticipation, actualization, and aftermath.


Oh, the blonde woman is having fun, too.  She is no longer at home in Thames.  She left.  Tramping with Liz in the south island.  That story will follow.