A Thanksgiving

Muriwei Beach, and Flax, just about to flower

December 10

It is Friday night,  the air has cooled significantly since the afternoon drive to Paihia in the Bay of Islands.  With the end of school, the official summer holiday season has started in New Zealand.  The backpacker (hostel/low budget accommodation) has many other guests, most of whom are sitting at the picnic tables outside my room chatting among friends.  The hum of their voices, pierced by the occasion trill of  laughter,  penetrates the walls of the tidy room I am sharing with Stethanie.  

A river runs into the bay in Paihia: made famous by the  singing of the Treaty of Waitangi.

Much as Memorial Day defines the beginning of the summer season, today, the last day of the school year, marks the beginning of summer, Christmas, and the national vacation period.  To me, lost in some cultural and seasonal time warp, Christmas seems months away.  Thanksgiving Day eluded me altogether.  The day came and passed, a work day followed by a swim with a new Masters group and a meal of leftovers.  It sounds a bit pathetic as I write, but the day unfurled exactly according to plan and I went to bed satisfied.  Friday, over morning tea, I explained the holiday to several kiwi.   I was proud to say that we Americans  had a celebration of thanks, not just overindulgence.  Not wanting to miss the opportunity to celebrate this giving of thanks,  this year, Thanksgiving became a two week period of time that I attempted to pay attention to the myriad of blessings, friendships,  experiences and circumstances for which I give thanks.

Pohutakawa flower.  The tree blossoms in December as is colloquially known as the kiwi Christmas tree

Pohutakawa tree

Without the usual Thanksgiving vacation to mark the beginning of the Christmas season, Christmas shopping caught me by surprise; I started well after the mailing deadlines for air mail.   I spent a lovely Saturday touring local shops in search of gifts, both kiwi and light.   In the afternoon, it dawned on me, I had gone shopping the weekend following Thanksgiving, something I usually purposefully avoided because of the crowds.  However, this was Auckland.  The shops did not have the throng of people I had come to equate with Thanksgiving weekend shopping.   I did not feel exhausted by the commotion, commercialism, noise, parking issues that has often defined my Christmas shopping.

scene from my front door

 Above my apartment...Oops, can't rotate this.

Lilies outside my front door

rotational difficulties...

 It was early afternoon  when I got back to my apartment. The scent of jasmine, warm marine air  and recent rain reminded me vaguely of my childhood.  I could not locate the memory, likely somewhere in South America, but it filled me with warmth and familiarity.  I live in a little slice of heaven and have been blessed with a loving family, and had the experience of living abroad as a child.  Having almost completed my shopping for the family, I felt my good fortune of being able to work and earn a living that allows me to travel, shop and mail gifts to my family, all of whom were in good health.   With my shopping complete, a celebratory bike ride was in order.

The mighty kauri tree.

I took a bike path to the western part of Auckland and biked amid farms, hills, and kauri trees of Waitakere Township.  Within a half hour bike ride from home, I found myself on rural, chip sealed, low traffic roads somewhat reminiscent of Whidbey.  I was reminded of all those who have contributed to my thorough enjoyment of this bike ride, from my parents and sisters who taught me to ride, to those who encouraged my cycling in my adult life,(Bill, my boys, Ellen dePrey) reawakening that joyous mode of transport.  I thought of all the rides I had done on family trips, commuting to work and  with my friends on Whidbey.   I recalled Challis inviting me to join the DSR group, despite my lack of self confidence.  She and Ed waiting for me as I struggled to keep up.  My bike, a Cervelo, a gift given from Morgan, Caleb and Bill, a token of love and understanding in the midst of divorce.  It all flooded back to me during my ride, the welcome advice, assistance and companionship on  recent rides (from  many  including Brandon, Kurt, Frazer, Erin, Julie, Damon, Ron, Matt and more), the trips to eastern Washington, all of those people and experiences contributing to this one lovely ride. Thankful for the beautiful  kiwi surroundings, for  folks who have worked to conserve flora and fauna, and as well to those who toil in collaboration with the earth to provide food, I rode until the light became muted and the air thickened with moisture as the  dew settled.

Overlooking the Waitakere Landscape

The following work week was busy with a new set of “house officers”  (interns) experiencing their first day as doctors. Lovely to help them through that first few weeks and watch their confidence grow.  Though work can be busy, it provides a fascinating interaction of cultures, language and medicine .  Work consumes me at times, but I am fortunate to work in a field that interests, challenges, and teaches me not just about medicine, but the human condition.  I lose track of time as I immerse myself in this work.   I work with intelligent, caring, multi-talented folks.  Over 22 languages are spoken by the nurses alone on the floor where I work.  The junior doctors have similar demographics, hailing from India, Sri Lanka, Tonga, South Africa, Scotland, England, Germany, US and Canada.  

pictures taken while running...

The patients in South Auckland are the most diverse in the greater Auckland area.  The sector includes the most disadvantaged, and perhaps the most violent.  This week I cared for two men attacked by extended family, one woman who brawled with another in a bar, and several folks who had inadvertent trauma related to intoxication.  Good fortune has truly graced my life that I have never found myself addicted to substances or allied with friends or family with violent  tendencies.  I have grown up in a culture of privilege through my ethnicity and family. My life has been easier than so many others, thanks in part to the hard work of my parents and ancestors.  Working in the hospital with this community of South Aucklanders has many gifts. A deep sense of family and commitment to community exists as well.  Last night, as I was preparing to leave, I heard voices singing in harmony from one of the patient lounges.  There, one of my patients was seated in the middle of the room, surrounded by at least three generations, all joining in song.  She was beaming, singing when she felt able.  I thanked them silently for the gift they gave her and for allowing me a small glimpse into their family.  It truly is an honor to care for folks and be both trusted with that care and be able to guide them through difficult times.

On completion of her first open water series...

The following weekend, I signed up for the Herne Bay open water swim on a whim. While awaiting the start of short open water swim that started a few blocks from my house, I met a delightful woman, who had won a wetsuit as a door prize at her first "try a tri" event.  She must have been in her mid to late fifties and the Herne Bay swim marked her first open water swim.  Her son, a professional surfer, ran a surf school in her home town.  She grew up surfing and invited me to try my hand.  I did not get her phone number at the end of the swim, but I did venture to Muriwai , in the R5 with my bike in the “boot” the subsequent weekend.  Once there, I rode the hills leading to Muriwei and then joined the beginning surf class with her son. Laughing in the waves, falling more than standing, it was a joy to play in the ocean.  I am thankful to all of those who have welcomed me into their homes and their lives, both here in New Zealand and throughout my life.

Fellow beginning surfers

Surf school!

Murewei, also home to large gannet colony

The kiwi are known to be hospitable and friendly.  From the flight to Auckland, to meetings with the Health Work Force NZ board, to friends of friends, to swimming with Masters, I have been invited to  homes and events.  I have traveled to Rotorua, Pauanui, Muriwai and now the Northlands and Whangerei and taken the hospitality offered, offering only a bottle of wine, a book, some small gift in exchange.  At the midpoint of a long run on a hot day while touring the pocket waterfront parks of Auckland, an elderly couple offered to watch my things while I dipped in the cool waters of Waitemata Harbor.  It was a delightful addition to my run. Perfect strangers ask after me, check in on how I am finding my travels.  I am fortunate to be in such a welcoming place.

Paihia in the Bay of Islands

Thanks?  Yes, I am thankful for my family & friends who love me, support me, email me, read my blog.  The good fortune of health, of privilege, of what my parents made possible for me: housing, education, travel.  The ability to read and learn.  I have pondered loneliness, happiness, states of mind of which I can thankfully say I spend more time in the latter than the former. I will continue to endeavor to find the glass half full, to feel  the locus of control is mine.

Evening before the Russell to Paihia swim.

Tomorrow? I swim from Russell to Paihia with 600 other swimmers.  3.3km  in a sea-foam green bay dotted with smaller islands.   Lovely.

Russell is the town barely visible on the opposite shore

On Zoom, so you can actually see the town of Russell

with thanks,
Kristan

active transport

Interior of the Coromandel

Friday evening and the R5 (car) was packed with wetsuit, running gear, books, and one change of clothes.  My destination? The Coromandel Peninsula, a mere 2 hours from Auckland, but a world away.  Visible from Auckland, the Coromandel is surprisingly unpopulated.  On the near side, it forms the southern edge of the Hauraki Gulf, where Auckland harbour sits.  The other side is the northern edge of the Bay of Plenty and the Pacific Ocean.  The middle of the Coromandel is predominately uninhabited forest and hills with hiking trails.  It is known for its spectacular beaches, islands, geothermal areas, including Hot Water Beach, where you can dig your own private hot tub in the sands.   I donned casual, driving attire and gleefully tossed the scrubs in the laundry hamper in the "theatre" (OR) changing room and headed for the car.

Pauanui and the Tairoa River

I must confess that the reason I travel on the weekends is as much of an escape as it is adventure.  I escape my lonely apartment and give myself a contrived existence.   I suppose travel is always contrived at some level.  As a wise, dear friend said, traveling is as much a journey of introspection as it is the extroverted experience.  This weekend was slightly different, however.  My escape to the Coromandel included a visit to a new friend.

A few weeks previously, my son's "mate", Leslie Kinson, had sent an open invitation from Facebook to visit her new home in Pauanui.  I think I have been the only one to take her up on it, thus far.  Leslie is a beautiful young woman and free spirit who made her way to NZ last year on her own.  I first met Leslie when she came to Washington to hike a section of the PCT with Morgan and five others.  An artist, designer, with a joie de vivre, she had invited me (twenty five years her senior) to visit her at her home in Pauanui.  She lives with Ian, her fiance, in a three bedroom house a short walk from the beach. 

Pauanui: Pacific and the Tairoa River meet

Pauanui means "big paua", or abalone, in maori. It lies on the east coast of Coromandel where the mouth of the Tairoa River meets the Pacific and forms a small sandy point. The town of Tairoa is easily visible across the bay.  Around the sandy point, the Pacific rolls in, creating a surfer's paradise.  In winter months, Pauanui has a population of about 800, which swells to 5000 in the summer, augmented by Aucklanders on vacation.  Mid-November is still spring in NZ, while the population of Pauanui was certainly increasing, most of the houses still remained empty.  I was blessed with a weekend of quiet, warmth and sun.

Beach and the hill for which the town in named in the distance that guards Pauanui

After breakfast with Leslie and Ian on Saturday morning, I set out at 10 am with my wetsuit, goggles and cap in my lightweight backpack in search of the perfect swimming location. I considered swimming across the small  bay at the mouth of the river to the town of Tairoa.  However, it became clear that it was much to shallow when I came across four folks wading across the bay with their cooler.  The search for the perfect swimming beach continued.

Around the point, the waves become bigger as the Pacific Ocean meets the sands of the Pauanui beach.  Surfers dotted the wave crests and I enjoyed watching them work up and down the waves. If I lived here, I would learn to surf, despite the recognition that my body would protest more from the spills as I age.  Age.  It is interesting to be the guest of my children's contemporaries.  Lovely to remember that time in my life and to witness others embark on adulthood, the world at their feet.  What will their future hold? What has the world left our children, now grown to adulthood?  What reins will they hold? Loose, tight?  How will they steer our planet?  I enjoyed being the guest, enjoyed not being in charge. 

I walked to the end of the surfer's beach and found a trail that wound around the edge of the water to Tabletop, a rock formation where the ocean surged over old lava worn into odd formations of suprisingly square cathedrals and small pools of ocean life.  The trail eventually climbed, and I followed, not knowing where it would lead.  I reached the summit of Pouanui,, the hill that guards the town.   A lovely vista of the Coromandel lay before me.

By the time I reached the bottom, it was hot and I had been walking for nearly 4 hours.  The waves beckoned and I donned my wetsuit and swam through the waves, behind the surfers, enjoying the cool salty waters of the Pacific.  I swam down the beach and back.  Not long, and not fast.  I rode the waves back into shore and walked home, tired and hungry.   Leslie cooked a lovely fish dinner, roast vegetables, asparagus, and silverbeet.  Sleep came easily that night!

.

Looking back at Tairoa

Sunday morning I woke early, readied myself for a brief drive to Cathedral Cove beach, on Ian's recommendation. This auspicious weekend holds the day Aung San Suu Kyi was released (again) from confinement.  I considered what it would be like to wake, as she must have, knowing for the first time in many years, freedom awaited.  My occasional self-pitying loneliness dwarfs to meaninglessness in the face of 15 years of confinement. Suu kyi's incredible indomitable spirit amazes me.  To stay involved, well-read, and vibrant after such isolation is a testament to her strength and will. I vowed to continue to learn,  to grow and to read, in an attempt to be aware and involved in the world. 

still Pauanui, afraid my phone was out of batteries for the Cathedral Cove run...

I drove the coastal road to Cathedral Cove, right past busy Hot Water Beach, with most of the traffic on the road turning in that direction. Donning my vibram five fingers for the second time in as many days, I took to the trail that led to a variety of beaches and coves along the way. Vibrams, or VFF, are an odd looking shoe reminiscent of toe socks, but sport a rubber sole that easily negotiates sand, mud, and water. I enjoy running in them on trail runs, but don't usually take to the streets in them.

  I arrived at Cathedral Cove to find a pristine beach with an archway to another beach. Rock formations  towered like monuments to  Maori gods.  My wesuit insulating me from the cool waters, I leisurely swam around these monuments to the beaches on either side.  Kayaking groups came through from Hahai to tour Cathedral cove. What a lovely place to swim, with a wide gentle trail that negotiates the hills leading to the beach to run on.

 What a divine treat, to experience the Coromandel as a multi-sport weekend, without the pressure of competition and on the spur of the moment, through such spectacular land.  I hope to find more adventures with a similar theme: to tour new places by active transport (no, I am not talking cellular biology!), but by paddle, pedal, surf board, or by foot.  I welcome suggestions!

West Coaster musings

View from the West Coaster trail run

It must have been the first week that I arrived that I met Simon, briefly, while running.  I was on East Tamaki Drive, running along the trail on the waterfront sporting my Mt. Baker Hill Climb shirt.  A tall fellow (6'4"?), who would have passed me easily, ran with me a short distance and asked about the shirt.  Our conversation quickly turned to trail runs and he mentioned that I should consider the West Coaster trail marathon in November.  I hadn't seen him since.

Trying to snap photos while running can be quite tricky

Knowing that I did not have the training miles necessary for a full marathon, I signed up for the 28k Speights West Coaster off-road adventure run.  The run starts at Bethell's Beach, a well-known surfer's paradise only 45 minutes from Auckland, on the west coast of the north island.  Apparently, 300 people were entered in a variety of races: 42k, 28k, 18k, and 10k.   There were a small number at the start of the 28k, including seven or so women.  Each race started approximately 2 hours after the next longest race.  A 9am start made for a somewhat leisurely race day start.

Before the race...

Stethanie and I did not really grasp what we were about to embark upon.  I thought I had misread last year's winning time for the women's 28k of 4:19.  Thinking that time must be for the 42k, I hoped to come in at 3:00, half of my slowest marathon time (when I walked and skipped much of the marathon).  I should have realized it was a bit different when I got the email about the required items to race: a space blanket, minimum of 1.5 litres of fluid, extra food, rain gear, cap, gloves, and a fully outfitted first aid pack.  This in addition to the three aid stations on the course.

Officials running down the starting chute...

The race started across the beach, running through a river, then up along the bluffs overlooking the ocean.  The views were spectacular.  I ran the first 9k, thinking it reminded me of trail runs at home, but the trail was at times smaller, muddier, and the footing less predictable.  I did not know it at the time, but I ran a good part of that with Simon's wife, Penny, who had entered the 42k distance.


After a brief connector on a dirt road, we entered another track, the bush track.  Some of these trails were meticulously maintained, wide footpaths with well-cared for steps, until we got to the waterfalls and the river. There the river had to be crossed dozens of times, the trail sometimes marked by a mere triangle on the rocks along the edge or in the middle of the river.  Bouldering some, running some, slipping in mud, falling on my rear in the middle of the river, I happily traversed the trail. (Fortunately, the cell phone in my back pocket survived the river and only a few pictures, all of me, were lost due to smudge on the lens).  All the while, I  marveled at the lush kauri forest.  I got passed my many who seemed like mountain goats, sure-footed and unmuddied runners.

Stethanie emerging from the bush

Eventually, we looped back to join the 18k runners who looked fresh by comparison.  I ran for much of the last 15k alone.

Running has always provided me with a time for contemplation.  This run's theme seemed centered on ethics of the dying patient.  In the United States, the health care system is centered on the patient's choices.  This is mostly true for New Zealand as well, but it is a socialized system and the ethics of the community  as a whole effects the care of the dying.  Some of the most costly care occurs at the end of life.  Not palliative, comfort care, but heroic efforts to save folks whose time is near.

Views from the trail

Many folks have the notion that CPR  will bring folks back to life.  Indeed, it has to many a healthy person.  However, for those people who are old, frail, or in the process of dying, the success rate falls dramatically.  For those of us in medicine who have witnessed CPR on dying folks, it truly can be an inhumane and undignified way to die.  Although we may communicate this belief to our dying patients, in the US, if the patient wants CPR, they have the last word.  CPR will be done.  In New Zealand, it is different.  Most everyone still has a right to declare whether or not they want CPR.  In the case of the dying patient, if the doctor notes that CPR is futile, then no attempt will be made to resuscitate the patient, regardless of the patient's wishes.

Views from the trail

I had a long and fruitful discussion with one of the palliative care physicians on Friday.  He said that the outcomes for palliative care were much better in NZ than in the US because of this difference.  While here in NZ, I have also witnessed CPR on the very frail, elderly patient who is otherwise healthy.  They do not practice ageism or deny it for very ill patients.  The "futile CPR" is reserved for those who near death. As with all ethics and much of medicine, there will be grey areas.  I wonder about the grey in both systems.  Patient choices, adequate patient information, physician intervention, bias on both sides, social pressures, family ties, all contribute to decisions around care of our patients.

Yes, the trail goes through THAT.

Working in medicine can be hard on the spirit.  Special cases come to mind.  Patients with a fighting spirit who eventually die.   Exercise is my therapy, the bluffs and crashing waves, the mud, the wet shoes, the hills all helped.  I will continue to try to care for my body, to use it, to experience all the beauty in nature.  As I write this I am struck by the realization that the most beautiful thing I saw this week was not the finish line, the waterfalls, beaches, bluffs, hills, rivers, but the strength and love of a family supporting their dying father.

And the trail traverses this. Quite varied terrain!

I finished the run with plenty left from a cardiovascular standpoint, but not much left in my legs or feet.  I am not sure of my official time, but my watch (after getting my timing chip off) was at 5:15.  The race photographer wanted a picture of me as the epitome of the run: covered in mud, thoroughly wet, smiling.  The run was sponsored by Speights, a kiwi beer.  A beer, sausage sandwich and fried bananas topped off the day. I met Simon for the second time as I was commiserating with his wife over her sprained ankle.  He recognized me by my accent, stature, and dirty girl gaiters. (Dirty girl is a brand name of patterned running gaiters). I soaked my legs in the river I had crossed earlier this morning, thankful for the opportunity to witness this corner of the world.  Stethanie finished shortly after my soak, but looked like she did when she started, unmuddied.  For those techies, you can look at the trail route via my garmin site: http://connect.garmin.com/activity/55728531

See what I mean, Stethanie's after photo... she looks as fresh as she did at the start.

Tomorrow another week begins.  Today, I clean house, write my blog, connect with my family and friends.  Be well, all of you. Take care of yourselves and know you are well loved.

Not much thought...

This weekend (and this blog entry) was put together with not much thought.  More of a reaction to being in Auckland with a means to escape!  Yes, I purchased a car.  1989 Renault 5 from a fellow who had 3 days left to sell it before heading to Norfolk, VA and a new job at NASA.  I love my little car.  Yes, I will still take the train, reserving the use of the car for weekend outings and grocery runs.

The R5 is unnaturally elongated in this photo.  I can barely fit in diagonally to sleep in it.  Making it smaller than the beetle by far.

The impetus for this trip was a swim.  It is early spring here, but the warm, sunny days of the week past were in my memory as was the luscious swim from the park at the end of Anan Street.  I got out my guidebook and picked to nearby beaches: Piha and Goat Island.  The more I read, the more I was convinced to go to Goat Island, part of a Marine Reserve and a snorkeling hot spot.  My office mate related stories of her children feeding snapper hot dogs, basking on the beach, and swimming to Goat Island.  My mind was made up.

Goat Island

Piha is a surfer's beach and will undoubtedly feature in weekend plans yet to come.

Saturday was sunny when I left the house to meet Michael Rodgers, a friend and surgeon who spent a year in Portland.  While we reminisced and discussed the role of PAs in NZ over coffee, the skies clouded over and let loose with a deluge.  (Great, I'd hung all my laundry out before leaving)!  By the time the R5 was packed for my adventure, the rain had stopped, but the clouds persisted.

Half an hour from Auckland and the R5  wound around vineyards, hills, and small towns to the town of Leigh.  I set my tent up at a delightful campground that boasted hot showers, communal kitchens, and plenty of paperback novels.  I donned my jogging attire and ran down to the beach near Goat Island and onto the Goat Island track, a trail cloven by sheep along the headlands overlooking the Marine Reserve.  Many islands dotted the horizon and the wind blew steadily.  I found some dirt roads and enjoyed a leisurely rural run. This run will have to suffice for my long weekend  training run. I am woefully unprepared for next weekend's West Coaster 28k trail run...

Home sweet home, at least for the weekend

As I had packed in a hurry, and had not planned well, I left at home a myriad of camping and running essentials, including an extra pair of running socks and my headlamp.

This morning, after a night of fitful sleep due to wind gusts, I returned to the  beach, this time with my wetsuit on.  The water was surprisingly cold (62 degrees, I later learned) compared to my recent Herne Bay swim.  Despite this, the sea life beckoned.  Fish were teaming among the vegetation.  Snapper are huge.  They rather scared me when I first saw one.  The goat fish, with its blue and purple colors was my favorite.  Blue moamoa and another fish that reminded me of an  thinner-bodied, wider-striped angel fish were others that I recognized from the pictures I had studied at the campsite.  There were many more.  Swimming with a constant display below was a delight.  If the water had not been so cold, I might have tarried longer.  I noted that the folks who were diving had much thicker wetsuits on, as well as hoods, gloves, and booties.  I succumbed to reason after 1/2 hour of swimming.

Beach access to the reefs around Goat Island

I find watching the undersea world calming.  Life exists in the steady rhythm of the ebb and flow of the waves.  I find I start breathing more slowly and try to match the beat of the life below the water's surface.  I imagine the carpet of life that lies underneath the waves, another world of which I can only dream.  I will plan future visits when the water is warmer and I am better prepared.


The hot showers at the campsite were put to good use.  I stopped for a cup of tea and a scone at the first cafe on the way back to Auckland, and "spicy" Mexican for lunch in Orewa to warm me up.  (The kiwi version of "spicy-hot" is no more than "medium" by most standards).

Back to city life by 1pm, I am enjoying a cat-like moment in the sun before I set to getting ready for the busy week ahead.

Labour Day Weekend: three kiwi encounters

Queen Charlotte Track, Lochmara Bay

Labour Day in NZ falls on the fourth Monday in October in NZ.  (Yes, I have been trying to adjust to new, Brit-way of spelling words.  Lots of extra vowels, especially in the medical lingo: oesophagus, caecum, diarrhoea).  My first holiday on the job.  This long weekend was preceded by two days of lab worker strikes where only "life preserving" blood tests could be ordered.  Every test needed justification and no phlebotomists to draw them.  The week was also unusually busy.  This long weekend was a perfect remedy for the week.  Traveling affords the opportunity to strike up conversations with others.  Of the many folks we encountered, several shared some of the events of their lives.  Three of those feature in this blog entry later.

Heidi Pace

Saturday morning I drove to the domestic terminal of the Auckland airport.  I arrived as instructed, 30 minutes prior to flight time.  I walked to the self-serve counter, scanned my ticket, tagged my backpack, loaded it on the conveyor belt and enjoyed a cup of coffee for 15 minutes.  The flight was called. I scanned my boarding pass, walked on the tarmac to the propeller plane and found my seat.  No security lines, no scrutiny of my passport.  It was more like loading a bus than a plane.
Ninety minutes later, I was on the ground in Nelson, South Island, NZ.


Nelson is at the top of the south island and known for its warmer weather, drier climate, and sunshine. It has lovely beaches, is close to hiking, wine country, yet an hour and a half or so from mountains and snow.  I was met there by dear friends, Heidi and Jonathan Pace.

Our destination, D'Urville Island was a mere 65km away. The two lane, windy road that took us there  in two hours was breathtaking.  A myriad of bays, inlets, islands comprise the Marlborough Sounds of the south island.  D'Urville Island is a remote island where the bird life abounds, largely due to the absence of the Australian possum, considered an invasive species that has decimated the bird population of NZ.  Accessible only by boat, we climbed in to the water taxi that ferried us across French Pass, a treacherous narrows, particularly at tidal influxes.

Picnic at French Pass

Heidi and Jonathan are contemplating buying a piece of land on the north side of the island.  Located in a  beautiful setting on the water at the end of a long bay, the house is seventy years old and is heated by wood stove.  Exceedingly remote, the island has approximately 50 residents in its 58 square miles.  Two other houses dot the coast of the bay and comprise the community that Heidi and Jonathan would join if they moved there.

View from property @  D'Urville Island

Glimpse of Kiwi Life 1
A short walk along the beach to the west brought us to the homestead of Pip and Jeanette, a dynamic couple who have lived sustainably here for a decade or more.  Their compound has two small buildings, a beautiful garden, chickens and pigs.  Their tidy cabin, designed and built by Pip, a ship builder, is a delight.  Sun streamed in the windows that overlooked the bay.   The door had wooden pieces that were removed to let in the fresh, warm air.  We settled in for tea and talk.  Jeannette has written several autobiographical books, the first "The Lighthouse Keepers Wife" will be released again.  I did find the second book in a local store later in the week and am relishing the read.


Contemplating living here, on such a remote island, reminded me of long camping trips.  A certain quiet, introspection, and rhythm occupies your days.  Busy, physical days punctuated by time spent in quiet contemplation.  Such a different way of life than my current city lifestyle.  I have been considering culture, lifestyle, and "morals" folks have.  I certainly appreciate the life on D'Urville.  A simpler life, akin to the pioneering days in our history, but I think I would find it difficult from a social perspective.  Pip and Jeanette typically leave the island only once every 2 months or so.

Following our visit, we drove to Picton where we spent the night at a small Backpackers (insert "motel").  Sunday we looked at a lovingly restored wooden 22 foot sailboat, the Merywill,which was offered up for sale.

Jonathan on the Merrywill

Glimpse of Kiwi Life 2:
The owner of the sailboat had a tragic history.  One day, twelve or so years ago, he and his wife were returning from a long camping trip.  They had to take a helicopter out from the trail head.  Unfortunately, there was not enough room for them both to go.  The fellow went first, so as to get things unpacked and ready by the time his wife arrived.  That first helicopter crashed.  He lived, but sustained a severe head injury.  In that flight, he lost his short term memory, his ability to sail, work, and care for himself.  He recovered enough to continued to work on this sailboat, restoring it to a museum-quality wooden boat.  I saw the boat in a new light.  Therapy for mind, body and soul.  Hours spent sanding. Pictures taken to chronicle the restoration, serve as a story of his recovery, and a diary to aid him when memory failed. The sturdy seaworthy craft holds a history of more than the sum of its journeys.  Sometimes, I think about the history of an object, such as this sailboat.  The people that built her, the first buyer, the voyages it has taken from Sweden to NZ.  The sea and sea life that have passed beneath its bow, the owners, restorers, guests, all have contributed a yarn, the fabric of which comprises the history of the Merrywill.

Heidi and Jonathan on Queen Charlotte Track

After viewing the boat, we got back in the car and drove to the trail head for the Queen Charlotte Track, a ridge top trail along the Queen Charlotte Sound.  We hiked only a small portion, dropping down into Lochmora lodge, an eco-tourist lodge that supports local artists and protects several endangered species.  It was a magical place to stay, with delightful food to indulge in after our hike.

Lachmara Bay

Lachmara Lodge

We set our kayaks in the water on Sunday evening and kayaked across the bay to watch the shag (cormorants with white necks) land on the rocky point that served as their nesting ground.  We so enjoyed out kayak, that we went out before breakfast on Monday and paddled up the western shore.
After breakfast, we packed for the return hike, leaving with plenty of time to make it to the airport for my return.

The third Kiwi encounter occurred unexpectedly during our return trek to the car.  We came upon a group of folks walking for Retina NZ, a non-profit group raising money for retinitous pigmentosa.  With them, was Rob, a blind paraolympian who hailed from Auckland.  He was sure footed, and hiked the trail faster than we did.  His sighted assistant rarely gave him any verbal cues, as they barreled down the trail.

We finished our treck, drove to Havalock and lunched there.  I was early to the Nelson Airport and had time to hike/jog the 5k trail around the airport, along the beach, and next to the golf course before flying home.  The walks and flight afforded me time to contemplate the places we choose to live, the need to cherish every moment and be thankful for what we have, and the ability to take what adversity life gives us and accept it as a challenge, .  Each of the folks I had encountered had something unique, a gift, to give to the world.  One left a book, another a boat, the last a footprint, an example.  Each gift an emblem of meaning, of spirit, a gift of both great courage and of hope.  What will be my gift?  Yours? In the end, each relied on friends, partners, children, their support was a large part of what helped them be able to create their gifts.
Thanks, friends!