Tail of the Fish

I’ve been compiling a visual tour of New Zealand on Flickr. The first region ready for your visit is Northland. This is the long, skinny strip of land north of Auckland. It’s also known as Te Hiku-o-te-Ika or the Tail of the Fish. This comes from the Māori origin story for New Zealand, wherein the semi-divine hero Māui plies the South Pacific in his waka. The carved canoe of Māui is now prosaically called the South Island of New Zealand. The North Island in the Māori language is Te-Ika-a-Māui, the fish that Māui hauled up from the ocean below. If you look at it on a map, keep in mind that the fish was supposedly a stingray. So, Northland is the stinger end of Aotearoa.

I’ve arranged the photos in sets so that you can take your tour in short jaunts. The journey starts at the tip of the tail. Cape Rēinga is the very tippy-top of New Zealand. In Māori, it is known as Te Rerenga Wairua or the “leaping-off place.” Māori believe that this is where their souls migrate when they die. The souls follow the coastline to this spot, where they climb down the roots of an 800-year old pōhutukawa tree and continue onward to Hawaiiki. Interestingly, Hawaiiki is the name of both the ancestal island homeland of the Māori and the underworld. This interesting ambiguity makes me think of stories about Hy-Brasil and Atlantis. The Cape is also home to the northernmost lighthouse in New Zealand. Plus, you can see and hear two oceans crashing into one another – the Tasman Sea and the Pacific Ocean. This is truly an awesome experience. Visit the tail at NZ – Cape Reinga by jocuteca.

The voyage continues southward to Ninety-Mile Beach, an incredibly flat beach that can be driven on, but only at low tide. This is because the beach inclines so gradually that the tides move out hundreds and hundreds of feet. You can walk into the surf a long, long way without getting your shorts wet! Ninety-Mile Beach is actually only 55 miles long, making it closer to Ninety-Kilometer Beach. Which would be more appropriate now that Kiwis are on the metric system. But not nearly as poetic. It is backed by extensive sand-dunes, which has sparked the hobby of sandboarding. Most of these photos are by friend Dave, since my camera was not cooperating. Go Dave! Take a walk on the beach at NZ – 90 Mile Beach by jocuteca.

The majestic kauri tree is native to the northern third of the North Island. In earlier times, Northland was covered with majestic kauri forests. Now, your best chance to see these kings of the New Zealand forest  is in one of several conservation parks. I’ve been to a number of these places, and it is always an awe-inspiring experience. Funny thing is, I just last week noticed that there is a kauri in the park down the street from our house! Kauri are among the most ancient trees in the world. They grow to great heights, towering over the other greenery in the surrounding bush. Their long, branchless trunks of hard wood made them attractive for the masts on European sailing ships. As a result, kauri forests were decimated through heavy logging from the 1820s onward. Fossilized kauri resin was also valuable resource for making varnishes in the 19th century. Large populations of Dalmatians (people from the coast of Croatia) immigrated to dig the kauri gum from the ground. Today, kauri are a protected species that may not be harvested. You will find plenty of kauri woodwork, however, as crafters are allowed to use fallen kauri that’s been preserved in peat swamps for up to 45,000 years. See the living trees at NZ – Kauri Forests by jocuteca.

One of the most beautiful places in New Zealand is the Bay of Islands. Located on the east coast of Northland, this tourist mecca is home to the oldest European settlements in New Zealand. The modern backpacker haven of Paihia sits across a lovely bay from the first permanent Kiwi capital of Russell. Although it’s hard to believe it of this quaint town today, but Russell used to be considered a hellhole and den of iniquity. No wonder, then, that the Māori signed the founding Treaty of Waitangi near here, in a bid to get the Queen to control her subjects. I’m entertained by Russell’s Māori name, Kororareka, which means “tasty little blue penguin.” Nowadays, the Bay is home to some of the best sailors in the world. And I’d argue that it also hosts some of the most gorgeous sunsets. See Paihia and Russell at NZ – Bay of Islands by jocuteca.

Also in the Bay of Islands, Waitangi is a small town famous as the spot where the British signed their first agreement with the Māori on 29 January 1840. The Treaty of Waitangi is the founding document of the country, despite being mostly ignored by the  government for the next 140 years. Since the 1980s, the treaty has re-emerged in importance. In fact, some Māori iwi (essentially, tribes) have even had lands restored to them as a collective body. In this sense, New Zealand is taking some pretty progressive moves in acknowledging indigenous rights. It doesn’t hurt that the treaty, or Te Tiriti o Waitangi, was originally written and signed in the Māori language. Yes, even by the British representative. Most of the photos are from the Waitangi Treaty Grounds, where I attended the 2009 Waitangi Day celebrations. See the treaty grounds, waka, and lots of great Māori carvings at NZ – Waitangi by jocuteca.

Kawakawa is a charming little town just inland from the Bay of Islands.  The main street is a nice place to shop for souvenirs and watch the vintage steam train “Gabriel” chug by. But really, the biggest tourist attraction is the public restroom. Clearly, famous Austrian artist Friedensreich Hundertwasser loved the little place, as he made this his second home. And when the town needed to update the rundown public facilities, he volunteered to design and help construct them. We had to make a pilgrimage there for my mother, who is a huge Hundertwasser fan. Now, I stop in Kawakawa to use the loo whenever I’m nearby. Not only are they immaculately clean, the Kawakawa toilets are covered floor to ceiling with colorful tiles, glass bottles, found metal objects and a tree growing through the roof. You have to be on the lookout for tourists with cameras when you’re trying to use the actual commode, though! Visit New Zealand’s best bathroom at NZ – Kawakawa & Hundertwasser by jocuteca.

I mentioned the small town of Waipu earlier as the home of 1,000 highland Scots. Outside the town of Waipu is a playground of weathered rocks and limestone caves. The rock maze near the carpark may be the best place I’ve ever seen for playing hide ‘n’ seek or making up adventures. The caves are shallow but mesmerizing. Susan and I climbed into the back of one and sat long enough to see a few glowworms hanging around on the ceiling. Play amongst the rocks at NZ – Waipu Caves by jocuteca.

A few days after I arrived in New Zealand, Chuck took me on a quick overnight trip up north. We spent a chilly night in a rental van on the east coast and woke early to watch sunrise on Pakiri Beach. On another visit with guests, we discovered that this is an excellent breeding ground for numerous shore birds, including the very rare NZ fairy tern. We were fortunate to see two or three out of the 50 still extant. I was enchanted enough to drag poor Chuck back to Pakiri a month later, in hopes of seeing them hatch a newborn chick. Alas, we were too early. But we enjoyed the funny little NZ dotterels and peeping oystercatchers, who were close enough to see. Wake up with the sun at NZ – Pakiri Beach by jocuteca.

Whenever we head north, we do our best to stop at Goat Island Marine Reserve. The island itself is one of numerous Goat Islands around the English-speaking world — places where goats were put on islands because they could live on anything and could provide food for shipwrecked sailors. This is not only a conservation area but also a great place to go snorkeling! The waters are so clear sometimes that you can see the fish by standing on the volcanic rock formations and peering downwards. We’ve passed many hours swimming with the sociable blue snapper and diving for sea urchin shells. One visit also scared the daylights out of me, when we realized that we had entered the low-tide waters quite near a testy stingray. Peering at him through the water, we noticed that his tail went up whenever the tides pushed us too close. Only on a latter trip did we notice that the pōhutukawa trees onshore are home to a colony of karuhiruhi, or pied shags. Swim with the fishes at NZ – Goat Island Reserve by jocuteca.

If you want the best fish and chips on the North Island, there’s only one place to go: Leigh. Leigh is a sweet little town an hour or so north of Auckland. It’s only a few kilometers from Goat Island Marine Reserve, which means we have the perfect excuse to take lunch at Leigh Fish and Chips. On our first trip, we drove down the street for a dinner with a view. Who needs a fancy restaurant? A crew of red-billed gulls and a friendly dog did their best to partake in the toothsome meal. Stop for a snack at NZ – Leigh by jocuteca.

With all our jaunts north, I am surprised that I never discovered Tawharanui Regional Park until recently. This amazing coastal mainland sanctuary is rife with native birds and plants. The beaches are pleasant, and I understand that it’s another good snorkeling spot. We spent a great afternoon here with my dad and stepmom exploring sea-carved caves, wandering the beach, and watching tuis and bellbirds drink harakeke nectar. I definitely need to get back there again. Discover Tawharanui at NZ – Tawharanui Park by jocuteca.

In order to reach Leigh, Goat Island and Tawharanui, you have to turn off Highway 1 and drive through the bucolic Rodney countryside. You leave the beaten track in the small town of Warkworth and pass through the village of Matakana. I was reminded that I wasn’t in the city anymore, when I spotted a hand-lettered sign telling me “Your now on Matakana time.” I suppose it’s a good characterization of the speed of life in this region of vineyards, farmlands, and white-sand beaches. Leave the city behind at NZ – Matakana by jocuteca.

You couldn’t be blamed for missing a visit to little Puhoi. After all, you have to turn off the main highway and all you’ll see immediately is a little white church, a library open 4 hours a week, a pub/hotel, and the Bohemian Museum. Settled by German-speaking Bohemians in 1863, Puhoi is named after the lazy stream that flows through town.  Little did these new immigrants know that the inland parcels of countryside they’d signed up for was covered with native forest and required days in Māori canoes to reach. They survived and managed to transform the area into a bucolic countryside, now famous for excellent cheeses. The center of activity is the Puhoi bar and hotel, a prime example of the enduring tradition of Kiwi inns as the rural drinking establishments. This particular destination is popular with motorcyclists, who fill the biergarten-like outdoor tables on sunny days. Drink a pint in Puhoi at NZ – Puhoi by jocuteca.

Considering my new birdwatching addiction, I knew I had to do the day trip to Tiritiri Matangi. This is one of many offshore islands in New Zealand that have been turned into native bird sanctuaries. The opportunity came on a beautiful sunny day with my good friend Susan. We wandered the island, in search of takahē, saddlebacks, stitchbirds and the elusive kōkako. Raucous kākāriki (NZ parakeets) and talkative tuis led the constant bird chorus. And I was ecstatic to spy a little blue penguin swimming in the bay! I watched plenty of saddlebacks rustling in the underbrush and takahē brazenly parading around the Tiritiri lighthouse. Not to mention a bevy of chattering youngsters of the species Homo sapiens hogging the birdcall exhibit in the visitors center. But I never caught sight of the blue-wattled, warbling kōkako. I may have to stay overnight on Tiri to experience this. To make up for my disappointment, Susan and I had an excellent time leaning on the strong winds and trying not to fall on our faces, while on the ferry ride back. Wander around Tiri at NZ – Tiritiri Matangi by jocuteca.

Susan and I had an hour to kill before braving Auckland traffic after our island adventure, so we decided to check out nearby Shakespear Park. We took a quick jaunt into the bush but spent most of the time hanging out with a friendly bunch of long-legged pukeko. These flightless smaller cousins of the takahē showed off their black and blue plumage and skinny red legs, in the hopes of dancing their way into our lunch sacks. Snack with the pukeko at NZ – Shakespear Park by jocuteca.

And this concludes our tour of the Tail of the Fish. We’re pleased that you could join us on this jaunt and invite you back for further travels with Jocuteca Tours. Our next trip will be either to rural Taranaki, home of Annette and the Patea Māori Club, or to every Kiwi’s favorite city, Auckland. Stay tuned!

A Land Without Pinkulas

“That,” said Kate solemnly, “is a pinkula.” It was sometime in the early 1990s, and my friend Kate and I were walking along the Burke-Gilman Trail in Seattle. Knowing she has a green thumb, I’d pestered Kate to identify a flower along the path. And then a plant. And another flower. For some reason, she didn’t think this game was as much fun as I did. Possibly because she knew I was going to forget one name as soon as she said the next one. Now, however, we’d come across a small pink flower whose name would become infamous in our friendship vocabulary. Because, you see, it seems that every flower and plant on the rest of the walk was a pinkula. Even the blue ones! Now, whenever I don’t know what a plant is really called, which is most of the time, it is officially dubbed a pinkula. Until now…

An Ent

The first hint that New Zealand was a land without pinkulas was my first week here, when Chuck took me to Albert Park. It was a month or so after I got my leg cast off, so I was groaning and complaining as we climbed a steep path to the hilltop park. At the top, my breath was taken away once more. By the Ents. Yes, Lord of the Rings fanatics, the Ents live in Auckland. Not the ones in the movie, admittedly. (Those probably live at Weta Workshops in Wellington.) But these beautiful buttress roots sure look like they’re ready to rise from the ground and go for a deliberative walk. And their twisty, perfect-climbing-tree limbs seem ready to reach out for an errant hobbit wandering by.

Thus began my plant obsession. It took me 14 months to finally figure out what these majestic giants were. When my dad visited, he insisted that their leaves looked like figs. We tried to find labels for them in botanical gardens and parks. But I finally found the answer closer to home – I looked up Albert Park on the Internet. Yep, Dad, they’re Moreton Bay figs (Ficus macrophylla) from Queensland, Australia.

Tree Fern

The irony is that New Zealand doesn’t really need to import fancy fantastic plants from their trans-Tasman cousins. This is home to a crazy diversity of unique trees, ferns and flowering plants. When you tramp through the bush, dwarfed by gigantic ferns and Dr. Seussian trees, you sense why British naturalist David Bellamy called them Dinosaur Forests. No wonder Peter Jackson filmed King Kong here! When Aotearoa split from the ancient continent of Gondwana, it took Jurassic era trees, birds and lizards with it. (Mammals weren’t widespread yet, so the only native mammal here is a bat.) New Zealand’s geographic isolation meant 80% of the greenery here is found nowhere else in the world.

Harakeke flower stalks

When the Māori arrived between 800-1000 years ago, they found a rainy land covered in greenery. Understandably, the Māori honored the trees and plants from which they clothed themselves, built homes, carved waka (canoes), and healed themselves. Without the leafy harakeke with which they made into clothing, they would have been some very cold Polynesians indeed! Low-slung houses were made from trunks of the towering tree ferns, while various trees from the hardwood-podocarp forests were useful for waka and carvings of gods and ancestors.

Kauri trees

This veneration extended to naming and sanctifying ancient trees. One of the most important Māori deities is Tāne Mahuta, god of forests and birds. In Māori cosmology, Tāne Mahuta is the child of Ranginui (sky father) and Papatuanuku (earth mother). To bring light into the world, he broke the primordial embrace of his parents thus allowing life to flourish. His powerful name has also been given to a 1250-year old kauri tree in the Waipoua Forest in the north. This “Lord of the Forest” is the largest of its kind living, at 51.5m high and 13.8m around. Another kauri in the same forest, Te Matua Ngahere or “Father of the Forest”, is believed to be the oldest kauri on earth at 2000 years old.

Taketakerau is the name of a giant puriri tree outside Opotiki on the Bay of Plenty. This 2000-year old tree was used by the Upokorehe hapu (subtribe) as a sacred storage place for the bones of their venerated dead. This sacred site meant death to any unwelcomed visitors, although I wonder whether by the atua (ancestral gods) or at the hands of the hapu? When the tree was damaged by a storm, the tapu (sacred status) was removed and it can now be visited by non-Māori without breaking any ritual prohibitions.

Pōhutukawa tree

Perhaps the most famous sacred tree is Te Aroha. Located at the very top of New Zealand at Cape Reinga, this pōhutukawa tree is where Māori believe dead spirits fly to after they die. They climb down the 800-year old roots of Te Aroha and continue their journey on to Hawaiki – which refers both to the afterlife and the Māori homeland.

Trees still have symbolic significance to both Māori and Pākeha in modern times. One Tree Hill is one of the most visible high spots in Auckland. Formerly home to a Māori fortified village pa and then an early European pioneer’s farm, the volcanic cone is important to both communities. Its Māori name Maungakiekie refers to the kiekie vine and another name for it describes a solitary tōtara tree.

Toetoe grass

But there’s no tree on One Tree Hill. The native tree was chopped down by a white settler in 1853. It was replaced with a non-indigenous Monterey pine, which was attacked by Māori activists in 1994 and again in 1999. It had to be cut down in 2000, after a severe storm damaged it irreparably. Nobody can decide what kind of tree to plant in its place. Should it be a native tree or a European one? This has been complicated by a Treaty of Waitangi claim on the land by several native Māori tribes. Only a few weeks ago, the decision was made to transfer ownership of this and 10 other Auckland volcanic cones to local Māori iwi.  We may get a tree yet.

Native silver beech

European settlers didn’t just cut down the one tree. They cleared thousands of acres of them. From the mid-19th century onwards, New Zealand’s forests were felled to build houses and ships, thereby making way for the agricultural and livestock industries that still dominate the economy. There’s a reason large swaths of New Zealand remind visitors of the rolling hills England or gorse-covered Scotland. It makes me wonder what kind of spiritual effect the bush-clearing must have had on the Māori – as the visible manifestation of Tāne Mahuta fell at the hands of the same peoples who brought Jesus to replace him in their minds.

Kowhai flowers

Perhaps it was the Kiwi love of being outdoors that finally led locals to understand that endemic plants and wildlife were dying out. Native bush reserves now exist all around the country and efforts are being made to slow the impact of invasive species on local plants and animals. One-third of the country is owned by the state – and now also by Māori iwi – as parks or reserves. The most popular tourist activities these days involve admiring the unique birdlife, plant life and geology of the country. Interestingly, this development is happening at the same time that New Zealanders are trying to find a unique, multi-ethnic identity, as they distance themselves from their imperial past. Amazing endemics like kauri, pōhutukawa, harakeke and kowhai have become New Zealand icons.

The most iconic of New Zealand plants is the towering silver fern called ponga. For weeks, I saw silver fern images on rugby uniforms, souvenirs, flags and logos. In fact, this overabundance of Kiwi symbols really got up my nostrils for a few months. It seemed like a team of marketers and tour operators had taken over the country, turning it into one big advertisement and draining these symbols of their power.

A koru (Furled fern frond)

I even misunderstood what the silver fern was. Someone had told me that Māori used them for way-finding at night. I saw a dried-out, graying fern leaf on the forest floor on a short bush walk and concluded the silver ferns were dead leaves laid out to point the way. This weird idea ended the first time someone flipped over a living ponga leaf. Ooohhhh! Shiny green leaf flipped to reveal a fantastic silvery underside. There’s something almost magical in seeing this the first time. I understood that what makes good marketing to foreigners also grasps at a very elemental connection Kiwis have with their land.

This reverence is nowhere stronger than with the awesome kauri trees. These are like the redwood forests of New Zealand. And they are similarly rare and cherished. Thousands of people now go to the forests of Northland to visit Tāne Mahuta and his relatives. For non-Māori, this is a recent development, however. While Māori saw these giant trees as rulers of the forest, Europeans saw the strong, straight trunks as ideal ships’ masts.

The kauri’s resinous gum was also a major industry. It was chipped from trees and branches, as well as dug from the ground, to make varnishes and linoleum. In fact, Te Ara Encyclopedia of New Zealand notes that Auckland was largely built on the gum industry. My Croatian friends out there will be interested to know that many of these hard-working gumdiggers were Dalmatians.

800-year old kauri

With less than seven-percent of these forests still standing, cutting kauri trees has now become illegal. You will still find many woodcrafters turning out lovely kauri-wood bowls, however. This is legal, as they are using ancient kauri wood. In the peat swamps of Northland lie submerged kauri trees that fell due to natural cataclysmic storms over the years. Some of the wood is carbon-dated at 45,000 years old.

It isn’t just the majestic kauri and gigantic ferns that have turned me into Plant Girl. New Zealand is a gardener’s paradise. Botanical gardens exist in most major cities. Christchurch is called the Garden City of New Zealand for its famous botanical collections and annual Festival of Flowers. Walking through its gardens with my mom was like visiting the greenhouses of my youth, where my brother and I combated boredom by poking the Sensitive Plant and playing with gift shop toys. But this time, I liked it. And I realized how many plants I recognized from those trips and from my dad’s gardening habit.

Bird of paradise

I simply can’t get over the profusion of flowers that are blooming year round. Non-native species give the endemic breeds a run for their money here. The hibiscus plant outside our door has blooms on it year-round. The bird of paradise, that my dad coaxed to bloom as a potted plant in our New Mexico greenhouse, grows in bushes that are taller than I am. Calla lilies grow wild in the backyard. Plants that are shrubs elsewhere become trees here. It’s as Dad and Sandy said when the visited, “Everything is bigger in New Zealand!”

Pōhutukawa flowers

I have never seen so many red flowering trees in my life. The first to catch my eye were the appropriately-named red Australian immigrants: the flame tree and the bottlebrush. But December brought the native reds out. The pōhutukawa trees, that seem to edge every beach in the country, exploded in a profusion or red puffballs. Hence, their English nickname of the New Zealand Christmas Tree. The 600-year old volcano in the bay from Auckland, Rangitoto, looks orange from the simultaneous blooming of every pōhutukawa on the island.

Pōhuts, as my Kiwi friend Annette calls them, might be my favorite tree. These hardy trees love the volcanic soil of the North Island. You can find them hanging out over salt water, checking out the view and making your photographs more colorful. And some of them have flying roots that they send down from their branches. The huge root bundles of a tree near our library had me weirded out for awhile, until I figured out what they were for and that they were being trimmed to keep them from rooting. The northern rata, a pōhut cousin, germinates in the crowns of mature trees and send their roots down around the trunks to the ground. Eventually, they strangle the host tree and take its place. I know it’s kinda rude, but it’s also pretty damned cool.

Cabbage trees

And I haven’t even told you about the Truffula Trees. They’re called Cabbage Trees – or tī rakau if you’re Māori – but I know the Lorax is lurking around the stand of them in my backyard. You’ll just have to look at my photos to see that I’m right. Don’t miss the pictures of the hedgehog tree down the street! Somebody has got to tell me what that thing is. Or else, I’m claiming it’s where the adorable spiny mammals come from.

So, I’m not finding nearly as many pinkulas around as I used to. I drag Chuck to botanical gardens and get irritated when they don’t label things. But how can I resist? After all, a walk in the woods is more interesting when you’re tramping through Jurassic Park.

Visit my endemic green friends at: NZ – Native plants by jocuteca.

And lovely newcomers at: NZ – Non-native plants by jocuteca.

Sailing the South Pacific

It was the perfect evening. Good friends, blue skies, cold cider, interesting conversation, minimal bruises, not much shouting…

You see, I’m learning two languages in New Zealand: Māori and sailing. Yachting has its own vocabulary and style of communication. Mostly shouting, that is. At least, that’s what it feels like when you’re first learning and don’t understand the words yet.

Māori war canoe in Bay of Islands

There’s halyards and sheets, starboard and port, leeward and windward, gennakers and spinnakers and genoas, and my personal favorite, the vang. You have to figure out quickly why “coming about” means you could soon have a bruise on your head or what to do when everyone’s yelling about a “lazy sheet.” And in the world of the sea, everything is relative to the wind. For instance, I’m still struggling with the concept that make a right-angle turn has two words for it – tacking and jibing – depending on how the boat is changing relative to the prevailing gusts. That’s like trying to give someone driving directions relative to the nearest mountain – if the mountain liked to jump around a lot and change locations.

Why is a girl from land-locked desert highlands suddenly struck with sailing? You’d think I would have already picked it up in Seattle, if I was so keen, wouldn’t you? My only real explanation is that, well, it’s just what people DO in Auckland. Here in the City of Sails, there are approximately 135,000 yachts and launches – that’s 1 boat for every 10 people in a city of 1.3 million people. Keep in mind that a sailboat generally needs more than one person to take it out, and that means LOTS of opportunities to get onto a boat.

50 cent coin

Sailing is in the psyche, here in the “Land of the Long White Cloud.” After all, that’s how everyone got here up until the 20th century. Don’t let the image of a slim Māori war canoe fool you. They didn’t paddle all the way here from their Polynesian homeland. They flew before the winds in a double-hulled voyaging canoe, balancing on the high seas with sails and an outrigger. The first European ship to land here, Captain Cook’s HMS Endeavor, is memorialized on the 50-cent coin. Even air travelers are reminded that good winds matter here, when they drive past giant white metal sails at Auckland International Airport.

Yes, the most popular sport to watch in New Zealand is rugby.  But Aucklanders’ favorite sport to DO is sailing. Not surprising, then, that I showed up and was signed up for a local yacht club before we even moved into our apartment. We have our all-around sportsman fellow American, Bryon, to thank for introducing us to the Richmond Yacht Club. Lest you hear “yacht club” and think we’re walking around in summer whites and tut-tutting with a bunch of wealthy boat-owners, you have to understand two things. First, “yacht” really just means “sailboat.” Even better, the word comes from the Norwegian word jaght meaning“fast pirate ship.” I love that! Second, RYC draws a pretty down-to-earth, even somewhat blue-collar crowd. We know boat owners who are firemen and builders and university professors, but no corporate moguls or trust-fund heirs. Hell, there isn’t even a dress code for the post-race prize givings!

Tall ships at Auckland Anniversary Day Regatta

Didn’t I mention that most of our sailing is races? Ah, well now perhaps you understand some of the shouting. And the bruising. We got started with RYC’s Friday Night Special race series, where they let rank beginners (i.e. me) onto a succession of different yachts over the course of 8 evening races. The first thing you learn is how not to get hit in the head – or knocked overboard – by the boom.

For you beginners, the mainsail is attached to the mast going upwards and the boom going parallel to the boat’s deck. “Coming about” is when the boat is turning sufficiently for the mainsail to change from one side of the boat to the other. The boom is that huge metal rod going over your head very quickly. DUCK! Oh, and scramble to the other side of the boat while you’re doing this!  Since you’re not very important ‘cause you don’t know anything, you generally don’t get to do this in the recessed cockpit where you can just bend down a bit. You have to climb over the top of the cabin, banging yourself on every metal bit sticking out. And you’re on a keeled boat that tends to, well, keel over at 45 degrees to the water, so you need to do this at the right time so you don’t end up trying to climb up the boat to the high side. And try not to sit on any of the lines or get in the way too much, eh? That’s the first day.

Cooling my heels on the Coastal

It gets better. Really! For instance, we newbies get to spend plenty of time relaxing on the rail with our legs hanging off the boat where one can admire the view, chat with fellow sailors, wave at or taunt other boats, and listen to the experienced crew discuss strategy. If we get bored, we can admire all the bad sailing puns in the boat names: Prawn Broker, Knighthawk, Xtsea, Deep Throttle, Aquaholic …

The best part, though, is when you actually start knowing what you’re doing. Even the shouting becomes kinda fun then. The first time I started to feel that way was on the 2009 Coastal Classic in late October. The Coastal is a long-distance sailing race that starts in Auckland’s Waitemata Harbour and terminates at Russell in the Bay of Islands. We were lucky to get invited onto Peppermint Planet, owned by brothers’-in-law Rodney and Peter. Realistically, I think Chuck was invited and I somehow managed to tag along.

We showed up on the dock to discover that Peppermint Planet had no less than eight crewmembers. This seemed like a lot of bodies for the number of jobs aboard. As one of the least experienced, I was pretty sure I was destined to be “rail meat”, i.e. ballast that does what you tell it to. I was feeling a bit blue, since I was hoping to do something useful and learn more. Chuck spoke up and volunteered me to run the keys, which meant learning a whole new set of skills. I was thrilled!

The keys w/ Auckland skyline

Little did I know that I was signing up to be the eye of the shouting storm. Rodney and Bryon quickly explained which lines went through the keys, how they worked and what problems to watch out for. I should point out that there are no “ropes” on a sailboat. Every line has a special name. Woohoo! More vocabulary! I eventually worked out that most of the keys control lines that go up and down. Phew! Means I don’t have to think about the sheets, which pull the headsail back and forth horizontally. That doesn’t stop me from starting every time someone says to do something with the sheets, fervently searching the keys to find that they’re not listed and finally remembering they’re not my problem.

Peppermint Planet

You’ve probably heard that old adage that describes flying as “hours of boredom interrupted by moments of stark terror.” That pretty aptly describes running the keys. You’ve not really needed much of the time. But when it’s time to change the headsail, to take better advantage of the winds you’re getting, it’s panic time. There’s lots of shouting and gesturing coming from several people at once. Often, you can’t hear them as their voices get lost in the wind. Oh, and apparently everyone on the boat has a slightly different term for the SAME damned line! Who knew that “uphaul” was the same thing as “toppers,” which is marked as “topping lift” on the key itself? And there’s an outhaul and a downhaul to remember, too. Yeah, it all makes sense when you sit down and work out what everything does. But during all the shouting and boat tipping and hauling on lines, that all goes out the window.

What I’m saying is that it was AWESOME! I mattered! I was doing something that actually affected the boat! And, I could spend some time in the cockpit, where the under-boom scrambling was less painful. The bruises on top of my bruises breathed a sigh of momentary relief. And I was learning the whys behind all the words and shouting. Very cool.

Rodney aboard Peppermint Planet

It was a thrill to get to know the crew better, too. We were an international mix of people of quite varied experience. Our nimble Kiwi skipper Rodney kept us in good form, only occasionally doing his angry Rumplestiltskin impression when we’d really mucked something up. Sailing queen “Skiff” originally from Portsmouth, England, kept the headsails trimmed – and showed how great it is to have some clear female communication onboard. One of three professional sailmakers onboard, Brendan remained almost imperturbable running the mainsail. Charlie from Rarotonga saved me from being the newest person aboard, as this was his 3rd time on a sailboat. He spent the entire time grinning ear-to-ear or grinding on a winch whenever Skiff yelled, “Trim, Charlie!” When not working the bow, slim eighteen-year old Jay told us about his experiences growing up on sailboats in Spain and the Bay of Islands, while our buddy Bryon put up with Rodney’s jibes about being better ballast than the rest of us because of his large frame.

The race was lovely. The sun was shining the whole time, and we had a lovely wind pushing us up the coast most of the way. Most boats were flying their spinnakers, which made the start line a many-hued rainbow of colorful kites. The weather was so spectacularly beautiful that some crazy kiteboarder was racing right behind the record-setting winner, Alfa Romeo. He made it 261kms, only giving up when the wind gave out near Russell. We made our own record, finishing in 14 hours 7 minutes.

Sunset at Bay of Islands

So, I’m learning to understand and even speak this new language, bit by bit. Sailing isn’t exactly a democracy, but there are often multiple voices putting their oars in on what oughta happen next or, more often, “what the heck happened there when everything went to custard?” It’s been fantastic to finally understand what all the chatter is about. And Rodney’s let us know that we’re now “expected” on the more hardcore Wednesday night race series.

I’m finding myself part of a community I never expected to join. Last night, Peter showed me how to pack the spinnaker properly. As we started, I thought he asked me, “Do you have a clue?” After a heartbeat, I realized he was talking about the lower corners of the sail. And as I grabbed the clew, I realized that I felt like the answer to the question I thought I heard was finally “yes.”

See what it looks like at: Coastal Classic 09 by jocuteca

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