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 Two

Why will I never watch Jeremy Wells' Birdland?

Some of you will know of, will have had to be involuntarily tolerant of in fact, of my fear of birds.

Ornithophobia. It's a pain in the arse, just like any other phobia I suppose. I have two friends who also 'suffer' from this ridiculous, irrational fear. I know of 5-6 others who shriek at the sight of birds in general, wings flapping, eyes peering, beaks searching for food, talons, feathers, the creepy characteristics of birds, physical or physiological are almost endless.

I can't even have photos of birds on this post. Instead please observe the images of natural habitats of birds and signage associated with areas that birds tend to frequent. Delightful.

Clammy hands, tears, shaking, sudden yelps, ridiculous nightmares every couple of months, irrational thoughts that spiral into being housebound. Walking down Lambton Quay, two pigeons on either side of me. If I have no companion's arm to cling to, I'm crossing that street, or darting out to the road in a semi circle detour before coming back to the sidewalk.

The worst scenario is when a person is walking towards me, and is about the same distance away from the flying rat as I am. What needs to happen in order for peace to prevail is me reaching the area of the bird first, so that it walks away from me, and I continue on my merry way.

But.

If the other person gets there first, it then chases the pigeon towards me, where I then seek refuge I have been seen huddling in the doorways of Chicago Menswear, Farmers on Lambton, Aotea Square, the music store on The Strand, Whakatane, the grand arches of Paddington Station, the food vendors vans of Flinders Street station. Seemingly, the world can not offer me a single refuge devoid of our feathered and winged counterparts.

Some days one may only suffer a slightly racing heart when encountering their nemesis. When when this happens, I simply clench and unclench my hands and carry on as per. Other days though, whoa.

A sparrow (before I made my peace with this particular species of bird) once got trapped in my laundry. I was at home studying for the morning, and heard a chirp.

Shit I thought. That's not outside.
Upon further investigation armed with a broom, I saw the little creep, shivering on the window pane. I tried to spook it by stamping my feet, but physically could not get closer than about 10 metres.

Needless to say the stomp was of a little effect.

All of a sudden, I was imagining thousands of sparrows infiltrating, pecking at me, surrounding the house. I couldn't go outside, and I couldn't open windows. Three hours later, someone came home and I was liberated.

Recent enemies of the avian flu spreading mongrels include that white cockatoo that sifts around the City Market on Sunday mornings. I want a croissant and peruse around the artisan goods that are available and whammo! A bloody parrot is squawking behind me, eyeing me up, ready to have me for breakfast.In Melbourne the crows behave like king pins- such awful creatures with their beaks, and their laughing as they stick together in gangs. I actually had to go through another suburb to get home once- because seeing them started out as a moment of freak out and then launched into a massive spin out where I was sure they were going to target me and peck me to death.

Yuck.

I've even had to grab a couple of strangers arms and tell them what was happening and let them (sorry, make them) lead me through a construction tunnel on a street in Wellington. They must have thought I was absolutely bonkers.

Which, to be fair, is what someone with a phobia is when having a moment of irrationality. A phobia of anything is not to be laughed at, and yet it should be, it is funny. I mean, now, as I write, birds are outside flitting around, dive bombing for fish and feasting on birdseed.

I'm sure plenty of friends out there would like to be able to make plans with me for some sort of eating event on the beach or lunch outdoors during work hours (Midland Park on Lambton or the waterfall square on High Street? Forget it) without me screeching 'VETO!'...

It is so bizarre thinking that a phobia lurks beneath a rather 'normal' character. It strikes at any time- I even get ridiculous nightmares.

If you have a phobia, of anything, or know someone that does, I urge you to try and read up on what you can do to either live with it, or try and overcome it. You can't just be given a good shake and told to get over it, in fact, that often leads to escalating a situation to the 'peck to the death' imagery.

Those who are...used to it...in a loose sense of the phrase, now just simply keep talking, or pause while I cross the street then cross back over once the bird 'crisis' has been averted. Their arms are ready for me to grab, and their composure is always intact to carry on as per if I start crying from fear.

Until next time,
L.

PS. I have in recent months attended the Karori Wildlife Sanctuary. Amazing. Do it. It's not even that scary if you see native birds since most of them don't fly or are shy...

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.