Cable Bay fog |
Bark Bay boats in the rain |
Former bridge, Bark Bay |
Much of the talk during the day centred on the dastardly Mr. Jingles - a wee mouse that Mark had taken pity on and they’d all decided to keep on board as a pet. Unfortunately, he managed to leap out of the bucket they had him in and he disappeared into the bowels of the boat, to wreck havoc in the ship’s stores. That evening I drank some whisky with Mark which really hit the spot - after a few shots, I think I'd forgotten the rotten weather. I went to bed around 10 pm and as I was falling asleep, heard occasional rustling in my bags of food, which I always keep inside the tent to stop insects or animals from getting to them. I didn’t think anything of it and besides, I was basking in the warm glow of the whisky! But later in the night, I was woken by the same noise. I turned my light on to see a not-so-cute mouse staring back at me.
The mouse did desperate loops of the tent when I shone my torch on it. I caught it in a plastic container (with lid) which I’d been using as my piss pot (to avoid having to get out of the tent into the rain during the night!). Needless to say, I emptied it out, outside the tent, first, but still managed to spill a bit on my mattress in the process. Nevertheless, feeling rather smug at my hunting prowess, I settled down to get back to sleep, only to be woken by more rustling. I caught a second mouse in my sleeping bag’s stuff sack but that wasn’t the end of them, so I eventually sacrificed the food and put it outside the tent, in the hope that it’d stop any mice from coming in. It was only in the morning that I discovered a mouse-sized hole gnawed in the side of my tent! By now it was about 5 am and starting to get light and the rustling in the bags outside stopped as day approached. I lay there for a while but finally gave up and got up before 6 am and packed up everything ready to leave. The morning was clear and I stood for a while on the beach and closed my eyes, letting the morning sun warm me. I went to Southern Belle at around 7 am and had some breakfast - Mark informed me that they'd caught Mr. Jingles in the mouse trap ... then caught his twin brother! I ended up releasing my 2 captives at the far end of the campsite - I didn't relish attempting to kill them with ... what, my Swiss Army knife? Leaving the mouse plague behind, I launched off into the morning sunshine.
It was really nice spending time with the McGills - Mark is as I remember him from 9 years ago - a little older of course. Tracey too. George has become a really nice young bloke - shy and quiet but that makes me like him all the more. Jess was a great 15 year old girl - sensible and considerate and coping well with living in the confined space of the boat.
Something was a little different for me, though: 9 more years have left their mark on me. Not in some terrible way but enough that I feel a bit jaded at times - as if everything’s a bit meaningless. Up until November 2012, I'd spent 5 years working solidly as a software developer: I've never done it for anywhere near that long before without having an extended break to travel or do something completely different and "recharge the batteries". I think my batteries are only now slowly starting to fill up again!
Tracey said they thought Nadia was beautiful and lovely and they were all quite taken with her. I agree! And she said they could see I was quite smitten! I was slightly tipsy with wine and beer when she said that, and replied “she’s the … (long pause as I tried to think of something meaningful to say) … centre of my life”. And all I could think of for a response to "smitten" was to repeat the word!
I met some of their fellow boaties whilst there - they were mostly friendly and welcoming, although the wife of one of the other men took it on herself to advise me all about the South Island. When she heard I was planning to travel down to Fiordland to walk the Routeburn Track, she said with a frown that that was a very long way away. I said I had plenty of time to get there (3 days) but she said “oooh, I don’t know about that!”. She also informed me that it’d be wet, as wet as it’d just been in Abel Tasman and the sandflies would be terrible. I tried to say that I’d been to Fiordland before and knew what to expect but she just raised her voice and talked over the top of me. Then she asked me if I was going to move my tent to a drier part of the camping area … except that there were no “drier” parts! Later in the day she said again she thought I was having a strange holiday - up in the north and then all the way down in the south for the Routeburn. By that stage I couldn’t be bothered trying to explain any further. It was all a bit strange but perhaps she didn’t like Australians, who knows. It's been strange being thought of as Australian over here!
Those 9 years. I think the interval is just such a powerful reminder of mortality and the passage of time. Quite sobering. I last saw Mark and Tracey in 2004, when I was 38 and Mark was 44. Now I’m 46 going on 47 and he’s 54 going on 55. If it’s another 9 years until my next visit, I’ll be 55-56 and he’ll be 63-64 ... help!
Leaving on a sunny morning, Bark Bay |
So, I paddled off and waved to Mark, Tracey and George back on the beach. The paddle was easy - less than 2 hours but the sun disappeared for most of it. I got back, loaded everything into the car and set off. I decided along the way to head to Saint Arnaud and Lake Rotoiti and it took about 2 hours to get there, after a stop in Motueka to buy some duct tape to seal the mouse-sized hole in my tent. I had raspberry ice-cream on the way - made from fresh fruit grown locally - yum! It was a lovely drive along the Motueka valley and into the mountains. I arrived in the early afternoon and, upon stepping out of my car, was accosted by swarms of sandflies - horrendous! I smothered myself in GoodbyeSandfly spray which seemed to work but I went and bought some Off! spray to make doubly sure. I put up the tent, had a look at the visitors’ centre then got ready to launch the kayak on the lake. There were spectacular views up the lake to the snow-clad peaks at the other end. As I paddled off, the wind picked up, it clouded in and my constant companion, the drizzle, started. Even on a lake the conditions were grey and foreboding. I paddled for about an hour but turned around as the wind started becoming quite strong. So, my last paddle in the kayak was over.
Lake Rotoiti |