Mainland Heart Island

I don't know what it is about islands that sends me into the deepest contented daydream. Not the Fiji/Raro/Samoa most dream of, or the 'bloody Ibiza' some may dream of being, but the rugged, desolate yet proudly independent gems that encircle this country.

While I have been out to White Island, my backyard Whale Island remains a mystery to me, and I envy those who have just recently been able to partake in a joint venture between local bodies and visit. Secret bays, brand new perspectives of the land you have just sailed from, landscapes which may only define that one island.

Walking to the top of Mt.Manganui gives you the ability to see out to Mayor, down Matakana and up to Slipper. .

New Plymouth even gets little Sugar Loaf as a cherry on top of its land jut sundae.

I spend the final minutes of most flights orientating myself, picking the settled pockets of farmland from the island reserves, or convincing myself that I have never seen that particular island on a map before. Hauraki Gulf especially renders me clueless, even when studying a map of the area. It was exciting to note that Rotoroa Island (owners The Sallies ran a rehab centre, initially under the "Inebriates and Drunkards Act 1906", this drew to a close in 2005, where similar work was then carried out under a more 'bridging' type program so as not to isolate recoverers)has just become open to the public for visiting after the signing of a 99 year lease by society benefactors Neal and Annette Plowman. While I roll my eyes at the thought that there will be 5 or 6 small lifestyle blocks available, it does look like a worthwhile cause...although see my future post on why I think multi coloured umbrella "the arts" is being taken for a ride...anyway! The Coromandel.

When in Kuaotunu, I found myself bowing to Great Barrier, before visiting Coromandel for the first time and catching a glimpse of Waiheke. Great Merc and Red Merc seemed like parts of the mainland from Buffalo Beach, and Mahurangi from the Cathedral Cove walk carpark was tantalisingly close. .

Now that I'm back in the Hawke's Bay, I find myself remembering how in awe I am of the Mahia Peninsula; from here, it takes roughly 3.5 hours to get to the start of the metal. When it ends 45 minutes later, you're barely halfway. I'd love to go to Portland one day, and land some sweet, sweet fish for the table (I may bake loaves, who knows).

Last year the trip over the hill to Waimarama brought me to tears. Bare Island is so beautiful, particularly when seen for the first time by one sensitive redhead at a her favourite driving time: dusk. .

The Chathams. Well for goodness sake. They have their own timezone, and the trees are Tim Burtonesque if ever I've seen a Tim Burton tree.

When I reach Stewart Island, I will be ear to earring, knowing I've conquered Foveaux and summited Allen, done the Raikura track and skipped over to Ulva (does anyone else giggle just a little?). If I could swing an oyster and a yarn with Marcus Lush, then perhaps I'd consider stopping in Bluff, but we'll play that one by ear. .

Stupidly missing the fact that daily sailings to Great Barrier cease at the end of the extended holiday period in February, my Plan A for recent annual leave was relegated to the shredder. Oh how I would have loved to have scrambled atop Mt.Hobson, landed some sweet, sweet fish (again) for my beloveds and their mealplates, meandered on foot, or on the island's bus company which boast's the motto "We Get Everywhere...Eventually". But, the trip must wait, and instead I was treated to an absolutely brilliant week in the Coromandel, ending with a drive up through the Seabird Coast (thankfully NOT true to its name as we drove through) with a stop at Tapakananga and peering into the Ashby Homestead, finishing with a quick trip to Waiheke, to which I had not been before. .

Waiheke. I'm going to be honest. .

It was a bit weird. .

A suburb of Auckland, without the admission of being so. It didn't feel novel, or particuarly special, though I dare say it holds many hearts, just as benign places to some hold a piece of mine.

It felt like it used to be like Great Barrier, but proximity to the port of Auckland has worn it down. Parts of it were genuinely like a New Zealand film; non-era specific but erring on the side of nostalgia. I don't know, the beauty of an island in the eye of the beholder really, but I yearned for a few dinky baches here and there, and really what I got was something not too dissimilar to what Raglan is fast becoming: slightly lacklustre in the genuine department.

Give me the roadless Kawau any day (funny that Marcus Lush's island episode of North has just screened, I've been thinking of islands all week and nowhere near a television. No I'm not trying to be creepy.) .

When I was younger I read in a National Geographic the story of a man...Mark? who was bitten/chomped/near damn killed by a Great White near Campbell Island. Now, that place is barren. And yet, to land on it, have a quick walk, flop on the sponge scrub, chuck out a rod and take some not very professional photos with DOC signage as proof of my landing would be amazing. .

Am I secretly an Island Box Ticker? Maybe, but I'd rather that than be bloody Ibiza. .

Until next time!
L. .

Photo sources: www.whaleislandtours.com www.matakanaislandnz.org www.teara.govt.nz

Birds: Part One.

I've got a bone to pick with Jeremy Wells. It's hard to be slightly defiant towards someone who hails from a society that gave me 7 fruitful years, yes, Hamilton, but I'm going to.

His new show Birdland starts on Saturday (7pm. Just before Country Calendar. How about that time slot Newsboy?), and when I first saw the ads, my first thought was that he suited being an ornithologist. Quirky, sifty as anything (do we all remember Kum'face back in the Mikey Havoc Show days?), able to be camouflage himself to an extent, the components were there. Good on him I thought.

Sure, he's riding on the bandwagon of 'going back to nature' that Lush has successfully done and many prior to that before Xboxes and Playstations took over from fishing and cricket rounders, but he doesn't deserve to be shot down, nor compared to Lush. He's been around for awhile now and definitely has carved out his own place with TVNZ.

But I question what he stands for. His satirical approach to New Zealand, New Zealanders and the New Zealand culture used to be very, very clever. I thought that was his niche. And so Birdland will be an interesting road not yet taken by the artist formerly known as Newsboy.

No doubt destined to be a cut above Jenny Shipley's Intrepid Journey, though not a spot on Marcus Lush and Off The Rails, Ice or South, or Peter Elliot, Paul Henry, or even Oliver Driver (when he was arts only, before he sold his soul to the hideousness that is stereotypical Auckland captured in Tv3's Sunrise...) in terms of fronting a tv show that goes tiki-touring throughout our country, I wait with only partially baited breath to see what the ratings are like.

"Sadly every other subject for a television show had been taken. Lush took trains, Hamish Keith stole art and Radar mucked about on a farm. As far as I'm aware birds were the last subject of national importance left to milk."

I mean, what is that saying about his credibility as someone who is a patriot? The reason why the other programmes he mentioned have been a success is because you can't help but be carried away with the passion that these hosts hold for their subject, or their lifelong hobby, their Kiwi or international topics. They're real, or at least convincing as seemingly genuine anyway.

.
...................................... .....................................................................

A rubbish episode of Intrepid Journeys.

.

I'd be heartbroken if it came to light that Marcus hated the railways, or relocated to, I don't know, Te Kuiti from his beloved South Island (as someone who has pioneering forefathers from that area, please be assured I am not hassling the King Country area) or Paul Henry was a spy for England (despite what critics may say of him as a person, there can be no denial that Paul Henry is one of the most patriotic personalities on our screens) because they shine, so simply through their zest for life, however it may be conveyed.

Perhaps Wells is searching for the same thing, or simply, something. He readily admits that it was time for a change after roughly a decade of 'poking fun at minor celebrities from behind a desk'. Which, to his credit is a bold statement.

Considering our celebrities do fall into the minor category (they recycle their fame by deciding to continue partying together, realise they've all been on the rugby field, Shortland Street or TAB Sports Cafe in some combination or another at some point, so they pack a video camera and bang! Treasure Island or Lost in the Pacific or some other rubbish hits TV2 on a Sunday.)

Birdland is freaking the bejeezus out of me before it even starts. I won't be watching it, ever, but I will listen with interest to what the reviews are like.

Good luck to him.

Until next time,

L.

The magic of the South. And Lush. And Turner.

Last week I almost put myself into an hysterics-induced, frantic seizure. You can imagine how fun that was for the polite, softly spoken beauty therapist who had lit candles and prepared a room with hot towels, pan flute music and a cup of herbal tea for me in preparation for...my eyebrows.

I had secured a Pearl Jam ticket. I was seeing some of my family that weekend.

The high points though?

I'd just heard the most exciting rumour that Marcus Lush was back on our screen with his new series South on Channel One. Seriously. Can he top Off the Rails? After Sunday's premiere, I'd say there's a good chance. Teepee cults on Stewart Island, moments of reflection in his hometown of Bluff, the usual inquisitive/mickey taking but not spiteful approach to interviewing quirky characters/embracing of the old adage 'different strokes for different folks'...I eagerly await the next episode. Hell, the day I can buy it on DVD!

Anyway, don't be thinking I haven't already started drafting a post about trains + Radio Live + Marcus Lush. Because I have. It's pending, and it is TOUGH to execute.

So. There I am, bursting to get home and confirm said rumour, tapping my fingers on each side of the bed, trying to process this new series AND the fact that bestowed upon me in Unity Books was a total surprise.

Brian Turner. New volume of poetry. Entitled 'Just This'. For some reason I am biding time to buy it. I think with the bustling life that is so at the moment (the sun comes out and days suddenly fill up!), I don't want to have it at home knowing I can't just hide away for a day and delve into the latest grumblings, beautifully narrated thoughts and delicate observations on nature from BT. Turner is someone, a Kiwi someone that I have, rightly, wrongly, however it has happened, almost deified really. He believes one succeeds by posessing courage in the face of adversity. When interviewed on Dunedin's Channel 9, he remains undeterred by the fact that poetry books, when published 'punch above their weight' when selling. He is deeply concerned at how we, by and large, treat this environment and if 'we don't stop, it'll be curtains'. I found it interesting, though not surprising, to read in an ODT article that Turner had 'run out of steam' with his intense level of campaigning around Meridian's 2007 consent application to build a new wind farm in the Rock & Pillar Ranges (incorrectly stated in hearings as being on Lammermoor Ranges) down in Central Otago (Meridian's side of things can be viewed here). Bitterness really does only eat you up, and I guess depsite seeing his big skies, vast landscapes and the flora & fauna, BT keeps on keeping on. As a 'practical idealist', Turner's poetry is the kind that one should read with an acceptance of cycnicism, a hope for humanity and an embrace of romanticism. Often poets are shunned into a corner, not to be taken seriously like 'real authors'. I think what people forget is that poetry, the poetry I identify with anyhow, is conceived, written in a manner that gives you a meaning that is face value, but also inspires you to dig a little deeper, think for yourself. Poetry isn't to be spoon fed, though it is a delight to share, to savour.

I think what BT does for me is remind me of the person I want to be. Of the morals and values I want to hold on to despite living in a city, working at a desk.

Roger Robinson describes Turner's poetry as 'tough honesty', which is a unique description to hold considering to write poetry you need to be...hmm, not sensitive, but almost painfully aware of your surroundings. Poet Emma Neale puts it much more eloquently: you have to be `thin-skinned' - have a heightened reception to the world around you'.

While there is always room for tenderness, human emotion, nostalgia, cheeky sarcasm (which I rate); Turner has no qualms in stating through his work that there are no tricks up his sleeve. What you see is what you get, and I like that about him. Life teaches you that talk is cheap, and those that are earnest can sometimes be fooled: inadvertently or not. In poetry, you are quickly busted for being cheap. But further to this, you can go back to Turner, again and again, and always feel something different, or re-read a poem with fresh eyes, or a new understanding. The more you grow, the more I think you'll understand his point of view more and more.

John Keats commented that poets are usually able to identify with everyone in the room to the point where their identities merge: Turner does this. He doesn't stereotype, yet he somehow articulates notions on common ground. If you don't know poetry, I urge you to start with BT. A national sports rep, with national sports rep brothers, a love for fishing, literature, our country: why wouldn't you?

I'll leave you with a poem I once passed on to a friend of mine who is a good kiwi bloke but has a touch of SNAG in him as well (...there's a 90's acronym we all wanted to forget. Well forget it, the renaissance is here!). BT was just the man to help me out...

Amends

It's nice when they volunteer

the benefit of their experience,

which is to take it on the chin,

mate, move on and make a clean

break. It's as if they think

emotions are like bones

that grow back more or less

in the same place, and fresh

starts are as simple as lining up

week after week for another

club event that affects no one's
national ranking. Fine, chaps,

fine, but it's not that easy.

Perhaps it's better to have

an end in mind and hope

you've a mind in the end.

Until next time!

L.