Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Weekend Wrap
Blog Monday 23 March
First some updates on earlier stories:
1. Despite having mounted two reconnaissance missions into the sanddunes over the weekend, I have been unable to locate any signs of the missing piano. Have also been unable to find any flutes, guitars or pipe organs, although God knows anything could be buried under there…
2. I did find the road and paths through the Santoft Forest and had an excellent bike ride through there on Saturday. Just a short one, still operating at sub-par fitness levels. It justified a good lie-down later on though!
We received a surprise when we returned from Friday’s trip to town…in our absence our previously empty campground had been fully invaded by a curious entity called the River City Caravan Club.
First some updates on earlier stories:
1. Despite having mounted two reconnaissance missions into the sanddunes over the weekend, I have been unable to locate any signs of the missing piano. Have also been unable to find any flutes, guitars or pipe organs, although God knows anything could be buried under there…
2. I did find the road and paths through the Santoft Forest and had an excellent bike ride through there on Saturday. Just a short one, still operating at sub-par fitness levels. It justified a good lie-down later on though!
We received a surprise when we returned from Friday’s trip to town…in our absence our previously empty campground had been fully invaded by a curious entity called the River City Caravan Club.
The RCCC are a group of seasoned caravanners who go away together once a month on a rally. They’re pretty organised, having a President and a Rally Captain, and the primary purpose of the rally appears to be getting together for lots of cups of tea and happy hours, which are run according to the schedule outlined on the Rally Captain’s blackboard. Jan was very intrigued by this hierarchy, she has been pondering what credentials she might need to mount a bid for the position of Rally Captain. (Its possible she's just not old enough...)
Its fair to say that we were regarded with some initial reticence by the RCCC members. They didn’t like the dogs much, and you know dogs, if they sense someone doesn’t like them they try extra hard to ingratiate themselves. We had them tied up of course, as per Rusty’s laminated instructions. But whenever I let them off to go for a walk or whatever, Tarn would disappear instantly and be discovered sitting in the open boot of the neighbour’s van.
However, cats? A different story all together. Pepe spent the whole weekend perfecting her self-appointed role as Campground Darling. She snuggled away in the driveway, rolling around on her back and snoozing the days away and the Club women were absolutely charmed. They took photos of her and had little cuddle sessions with her, and after they left Pepe seemed very demoralised that she was being left here with her boring owners. I think she may have had her sights on the position of Club Mascot. Still, she made a nice icebreaker!
So yesterday they rallied up and departed, leaving only us in the campground, and of course over the road the exiled Minstrels, who have not yet been returned to Camp Rusty’s embrace…
In the afternoon we decided to Go Out. I know, its not something I make a habit of. But resplendent with our guide book and map we joined the artist trail that is known as Open Studios. For this and next weekend, you can visit Whanganui artists and see them at work, or just meet and greet with them in their work environment. It’s a great idea and is a popular annual event here.
Mural at Cafe Riva
The art scene in Whanganui is thriving. Thanks to the Whanganui UCOL’s (polytech) heavy arts programme there are a lot of artists at work here. They cover every medium you can imagine, and there were 62 open studios on offer. We went to 4.
The first was a glassblowing studio called Soleglass. Glass artists Brendon and Donna Sole were at work when we arrived. Glass blowing is always a fascinating spectator sport. How on earth they can make anything beyond random dribbly blobs is of great wonder to me. And their work is really lovely.
The first was a glassblowing studio called Soleglass. Glass artists Brendon and Donna Sole were at work when we arrived. Glass blowing is always a fascinating spectator sport. How on earth they can make anything beyond random dribbly blobs is of great wonder to me. And their work is really lovely.
Brendon achieves some colourful finishes to his pieces, they almost looked ceramic to me, and are both functional and ornamental in style. Donna makes glass beads and jewellery which are intricately made and are really funky. You can check out their work at http://www.soleglass.co.nz/
Next we went and got lost for a while, driving up the opposite side of the river looking for our next studio and having to double back into town and try again. We were attracted to this one advertised at Café Riva by the fact that we would be able to have an afternoon tea stop while we looked around.
Moa and baby
This guy sold us some beautiful figs outside Cafe Riva
Great coffee, and a lovely place. The artwork on display is a series of black and white photographs of women who live on the Whanganui River. They are kept company by the presence of some giant moa, and some living art in the shape of a tree trunk in the preparatory stages of being carved, and a group of youngsters making mosaics out in the gardens. The host lives here, in a rustic cottage overlooking the river. She has an amazing moko on her face. We fuelled up on coffee and scones, and headed off to our next studio which was the one I most wanted to see.
‘Feathered Friends’ is the name of this studio, out in the rural settlement of Okoia. This is an old school which has been converted into a house and gallery space. There were three exhibitors here, but by far and away the highlight is the work of weaver Leonie Sharp. She has made ‘swatches’ of woven feathers and fibres as samples of what you might find in the work of a korowai, or cloak. Steeped in meaning, the pieces are exhibited as single swatches in frames and they are absolutely stunning. The feathers, the intricacy and gifted imagination inherent in the work is to me quite unique. I was very moved by a series where she has created these beautiful pieces and superimposed them on copies of sections from the Treaty of Waitangi signatures, in her own way giving life and power and dignity to the signatories, and a recognition of the huge mana of those who signed the Treaty.
Sharp’s work is well-priced and generous given the detail and fineness, ‘swatches’ starting at around $140. But you can’t put a price on the sort of reaction that stirs you when you study them closely. So I haven’t photographed them for you, but if you’re ever up this way her gallery is well worth visiting.
The last stop was to a gallery called Point of Difference on the way back to town. Pauline Allomes does unusual work with text in her drawings and it was detailed and something I hadn’t seen before, making pictures out of words. But I was all-awed out by the previous visit so I don’t think I gave her a fair viewing.
An interesting way of viewing art and bringing it to life from the usual stillness of gallery walls.
‘Feathered Friends’ is the name of this studio, out in the rural settlement of Okoia. This is an old school which has been converted into a house and gallery space. There were three exhibitors here, but by far and away the highlight is the work of weaver Leonie Sharp. She has made ‘swatches’ of woven feathers and fibres as samples of what you might find in the work of a korowai, or cloak. Steeped in meaning, the pieces are exhibited as single swatches in frames and they are absolutely stunning. The feathers, the intricacy and gifted imagination inherent in the work is to me quite unique. I was very moved by a series where she has created these beautiful pieces and superimposed them on copies of sections from the Treaty of Waitangi signatures, in her own way giving life and power and dignity to the signatories, and a recognition of the huge mana of those who signed the Treaty.
Sharp’s work is well-priced and generous given the detail and fineness, ‘swatches’ starting at around $140. But you can’t put a price on the sort of reaction that stirs you when you study them closely. So I haven’t photographed them for you, but if you’re ever up this way her gallery is well worth visiting.
The last stop was to a gallery called Point of Difference on the way back to town. Pauline Allomes does unusual work with text in her drawings and it was detailed and something I hadn’t seen before, making pictures out of words. But I was all-awed out by the previous visit so I don’t think I gave her a fair viewing.
An interesting way of viewing art and bringing it to life from the usual stillness of gallery walls.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Strange things happen when you leave the house...
Thursday 19 March
Back to the story about the Minstrels. As planned we went over to their big house caravan after tea last night…which was pretty cool, its kind of like a small bedsit inside.
Speaking of tea, a food digression – we are really enjoying not being within arms reach of takeaways and supermarkets and are rediscovering inventive cooking on two gas hobs with whatever supplies we have on hand. Last night I cooked up some chickpeas and invented a really yummy vegetarian curry. Put in a saucepan about 1 ½ cups of cooked chickpeas, and a small 160ml tin of coconut cream. Get these bubbling gently away and then add a tin of Signature Range Peas and Corn, and some chopped mushrooms so you feel like you’re having some veges. Then add a healthy spoonful of coriander paste from the jar, a generous teaspoonful each of cumin seeds, cardamom pods, tumeric and a pinch of chilli powder. Give it about twenty minutes to simmer, and serve with rice. Really tasty.
Anyway, bellies full, we crossed over to The Other Side for our concert, not knowing at all what to expect. And it was amazing!
Mr Minstrel is a hugely proficient violin player and he has developed a performance for schoolchildren that showcases his talent and his knowledge of his repertoire. A class lasts anywhere from 25 – 45 minutes.
The show (of which we were the only audience! Lucky us!) began with a foot-stomping fast-paced Dixie tune which mimicked the sound of a train coming down the tracks. And it really did! Then he performed a beautiful classical piece which I can’t remember what it was called but it is a very well-known piece by Mozart’s predecessor. He also turned his skill to a couple of Irish tunes – one was (not sure how you spell it, but another well-known tune) Mhairie’s Wedding. In between each song he would offer an explanation of what it was about, or why he’d chosen it, or deliver some interesting little tidbit of information about the piece. Great for the kids (and us adults).
Anyway, then he says he’s going to play a well-known piece and when he reaches the pause we are to call out “Bring on the bagpipes!” So he goes outside the caravan (this is all kind of trippy as you can imagine, sitting in a caravan at the road’s end in the middle of nowhere-ish and having a private concert from a master violinist!) and gets playing a lovely heart-felt rendition of Amazing Grace. At the pause we dutifully yell out “Bring on the bagpipes!” (who knows what Camp Rusty was making of all this!!). And unseen, from round the corner of the caravan Mr Minstrel starts mimicking the sound of a lone piper with his violin. It really was amazing! That continuous single-note low hum that underscores a bagpipe tune, he was able to hold that and deliver a flawless melody at the same time. It really worked. And it was beautiful.
Somewhere in there was a rendition of ‘How Much is that Doggy in the Window’, and the trick dog is supposed to bark on command in the right places! Apparently she does, but not tonight, Josephine. Instead she looks at us all like we’re a bit mad and informs us that she won’t do anything unless she gets a treat! The kids will love her whether she sings or not, but I’m curious as to whether she has played her part dutifully in the classroom today!
The performance moves on to another couple of technically really difficult pieces as it draws to a conclusion. The first is Rimsky-Korsakoff’s Flight of the Bumblebee, of which Mr Minstrel takes a slice out of it and performs it with vigour and accuracy. And then for a finale, he takes a very complex piece from Vivaldi, the Cuckoo from The Four Seasons, better known as the piece in the advertisement for the National Bank, and singlehandedly delivers a sound which could have been created by a quartet of musicians, and a proficiency which has no doubt taken a lifetime to achieve.
So. Lucky us eh! It was a lovely evening and at the end of it we toddled off back to our little weeny caravan and tucked up with cups of tea and puzzle books. Its tough out here but someone’s gotta do it!
Back to the story about the Minstrels. As planned we went over to their big house caravan after tea last night…which was pretty cool, its kind of like a small bedsit inside.
Speaking of tea, a food digression – we are really enjoying not being within arms reach of takeaways and supermarkets and are rediscovering inventive cooking on two gas hobs with whatever supplies we have on hand. Last night I cooked up some chickpeas and invented a really yummy vegetarian curry. Put in a saucepan about 1 ½ cups of cooked chickpeas, and a small 160ml tin of coconut cream. Get these bubbling gently away and then add a tin of Signature Range Peas and Corn, and some chopped mushrooms so you feel like you’re having some veges. Then add a healthy spoonful of coriander paste from the jar, a generous teaspoonful each of cumin seeds, cardamom pods, tumeric and a pinch of chilli powder. Give it about twenty minutes to simmer, and serve with rice. Really tasty.
Anyway, bellies full, we crossed over to The Other Side for our concert, not knowing at all what to expect. And it was amazing!
Mr Minstrel is a hugely proficient violin player and he has developed a performance for schoolchildren that showcases his talent and his knowledge of his repertoire. A class lasts anywhere from 25 – 45 minutes.
The show (of which we were the only audience! Lucky us!) began with a foot-stomping fast-paced Dixie tune which mimicked the sound of a train coming down the tracks. And it really did! Then he performed a beautiful classical piece which I can’t remember what it was called but it is a very well-known piece by Mozart’s predecessor. He also turned his skill to a couple of Irish tunes – one was (not sure how you spell it, but another well-known tune) Mhairie’s Wedding. In between each song he would offer an explanation of what it was about, or why he’d chosen it, or deliver some interesting little tidbit of information about the piece. Great for the kids (and us adults).
Anyway, then he says he’s going to play a well-known piece and when he reaches the pause we are to call out “Bring on the bagpipes!” So he goes outside the caravan (this is all kind of trippy as you can imagine, sitting in a caravan at the road’s end in the middle of nowhere-ish and having a private concert from a master violinist!) and gets playing a lovely heart-felt rendition of Amazing Grace. At the pause we dutifully yell out “Bring on the bagpipes!” (who knows what Camp Rusty was making of all this!!). And unseen, from round the corner of the caravan Mr Minstrel starts mimicking the sound of a lone piper with his violin. It really was amazing! That continuous single-note low hum that underscores a bagpipe tune, he was able to hold that and deliver a flawless melody at the same time. It really worked. And it was beautiful.
Somewhere in there was a rendition of ‘How Much is that Doggy in the Window’, and the trick dog is supposed to bark on command in the right places! Apparently she does, but not tonight, Josephine. Instead she looks at us all like we’re a bit mad and informs us that she won’t do anything unless she gets a treat! The kids will love her whether she sings or not, but I’m curious as to whether she has played her part dutifully in the classroom today!
The performance moves on to another couple of technically really difficult pieces as it draws to a conclusion. The first is Rimsky-Korsakoff’s Flight of the Bumblebee, of which Mr Minstrel takes a slice out of it and performs it with vigour and accuracy. And then for a finale, he takes a very complex piece from Vivaldi, the Cuckoo from The Four Seasons, better known as the piece in the advertisement for the National Bank, and singlehandedly delivers a sound which could have been created by a quartet of musicians, and a proficiency which has no doubt taken a lifetime to achieve.
So. Lucky us eh! It was a lovely evening and at the end of it we toddled off back to our little weeny caravan and tucked up with cups of tea and puzzle books. Its tough out here but someone’s gotta do it!
E-mail - the soft option!
Thursday 19 March
Like any colonised New Zealand region, it seems the Rangitikei has had its share of pioneer characters. I got this book out of the Marton library titled Tales of the Rangitikei by local historian the late Paul Melody. It is a collection of tales concocted from oral histories and newspaper sources. This one really took my fancy:
Ex-sailor Became Long-distance Postman
Most Rangitikei folk are familiar with the story of Thomas Scott, the district’s second postman and the founder of the passenger-carrying business which led to the opening of Scott’s Ferry on the Bulls side of the Rangitikei River around 1850. They have read of his incredible journeys along the beach highway between Wellington and Wanganui, during which he crossed eleven rivers and carried mail between the two towns, and to several inland drop-off points, on lengthy trips.
[The] Most remarkable feature of Scott’s story, however, is the fact that he could not swim. Nor could he ride a horse, or read or write.
Writing in the 1930’s about Scott’s exploits, former Bulls historian James Stevens recalled that the Scottish-born postal carrier was a pioneer sailorman of the old type. By the 1860’s he was confining his journeys to between Wellington and Wanganui, though at first he walked up as far as New Plymouth. He called in at various townships en route to deliver mail to Post Offices and much sought-after newspapers and mail to settlers on the way.
“He did the journey (150 miles between Wanganui and Wellington) in six days on foot one way, and returned the following week”, said Mr Stevens, who was himself a former postmaster at Bulls. “…He could not afford to pay for canoe hire (across the many rivers), so he kept a supply of the dry korari (flax sticks), light as cork, made into bundles 10ft long and a foot through. With one bundle under each arm, his clothes and the mail bag on top, he floated across the several deep rivers.
“His subsidy of one pound per week was supplemented by the sale of shilling ‘nobblers’ of overproof rum carried in a two gallon keg, which he remarked was ‘still full at the end of each journey’.
“Maori huts were hospitably placed at his disposal, but in summer at least the keha (flea) spoiled his rest, so he lay buried to the neck in dry sand above the high water mark and slept soundly. Never once was he robbed or interfered with by the Maoris on that lone tramp”, remarked Mr Stevens. “In those days they had not learnt from us what stealing was. Kaua koe e tahae, Kei mate koe (steal not, lest thou die) was a proverb”.
How about that! The mail always gets through! Great stuff.
Like any colonised New Zealand region, it seems the Rangitikei has had its share of pioneer characters. I got this book out of the Marton library titled Tales of the Rangitikei by local historian the late Paul Melody. It is a collection of tales concocted from oral histories and newspaper sources. This one really took my fancy:
Ex-sailor Became Long-distance Postman
Most Rangitikei folk are familiar with the story of Thomas Scott, the district’s second postman and the founder of the passenger-carrying business which led to the opening of Scott’s Ferry on the Bulls side of the Rangitikei River around 1850. They have read of his incredible journeys along the beach highway between Wellington and Wanganui, during which he crossed eleven rivers and carried mail between the two towns, and to several inland drop-off points, on lengthy trips.
[The] Most remarkable feature of Scott’s story, however, is the fact that he could not swim. Nor could he ride a horse, or read or write.
Writing in the 1930’s about Scott’s exploits, former Bulls historian James Stevens recalled that the Scottish-born postal carrier was a pioneer sailorman of the old type. By the 1860’s he was confining his journeys to between Wellington and Wanganui, though at first he walked up as far as New Plymouth. He called in at various townships en route to deliver mail to Post Offices and much sought-after newspapers and mail to settlers on the way.
“He did the journey (150 miles between Wanganui and Wellington) in six days on foot one way, and returned the following week”, said Mr Stevens, who was himself a former postmaster at Bulls. “…He could not afford to pay for canoe hire (across the many rivers), so he kept a supply of the dry korari (flax sticks), light as cork, made into bundles 10ft long and a foot through. With one bundle under each arm, his clothes and the mail bag on top, he floated across the several deep rivers.
“His subsidy of one pound per week was supplemented by the sale of shilling ‘nobblers’ of overproof rum carried in a two gallon keg, which he remarked was ‘still full at the end of each journey’.
“Maori huts were hospitably placed at his disposal, but in summer at least the keha (flea) spoiled his rest, so he lay buried to the neck in dry sand above the high water mark and slept soundly. Never once was he robbed or interfered with by the Maoris on that lone tramp”, remarked Mr Stevens. “In those days they had not learnt from us what stealing was. Kaua koe e tahae, Kei mate koe (steal not, lest thou die) was a proverb”.
How about that! The mail always gets through! Great stuff.
Anyone seen Holly Hunter out here?
Blog Wednesday 18 March
One of the enjoyments of caravanning is the curious encounters I have with other people along the way. Take this morning, for example.
I took the dogs, my camera and binoculars and braved my second passage across the ford, out to the sand dunes and the wide open sea. There’s nobody out there, just a very large expanse of sand, driftwood and the odd tern (well, actually, it wasn’t that odd…haha…boom boom…). On the way back though I came across a man crossing the second part of the ford holding a baby, heading off for a swim, and two reticent-looking young women hovering on the other side behind him. I went up to them and asked if they were trying to get across, and made some quip about sacrificing the dogs first so I can see how deep it is. “No” she said, “we’re fine”. “But we’re looking for the piano”. “Eh?” “You know, the piano. Is it still here?” And I’m thinking ‘kooky, we’re in the sand dunes…’. But I say instead, politely, “No, no I haven’t seen a piano”, trying to make it sound like they’ve asked a normal sort of a question. “Ah” she said, sounding a tad disappointed, “it used to be a bit of a visitor attraction, just thought you might know where it is”. “Nope, nah, just…um…walking the dogs” I said boringly. Well, it turns out that about a year ago, a piano just turned up in the sand dunes. Nobody knew how it got there, it just arrived. The newspaper ran a story on it and people came out from town to visit it. The young women had come to see it but weren’t sure which part of the dunes it was in, and there’s a lot of dunes, I’d say you either knew where it was or you didn’t. Not much in between.
So now I’m intrigued and am planning a bit of a reccy. I chided myself as I left for not thinking to ask them if it was playable! Must take some sheet music with me, just in case!
I could probably get some of that from the only other people staying at the campground at the moment. The Minstrels (not their real name…) inhabit one of those large houses on wheels with their dog. Actually, a digression, Camp Custodian Rusty chucked them out this morning, making them park outside the gates. We’re not quite sure why, but there has been a definite slight, real or imagined. After the magnitude of effort required to move the beast, Mr Minstrel came over to me to say “I don’t think he likes us very much”. I’m looking at their giant cruiser now occupying a piece of turf out by the children’s playground and I’m thinking “Really? What makes you think that?”
Anyway, the couple are travelling musos that perform in schools, and the dog does tricks (too right she does, like ours, and not just the ones they’ve been trying to teach her! Prompting Rusty to put up a freshly laminated sign in the shelter reminding us all about proper dogowner behaviour). Mr Minstrel plays the violin and I’m not sure what his partner plays. But they have invited Jan and me to cross the picket line tonight and attend a concert in their caravan. Outside in No-Campers-Land. Jan’s dead nosey about what it must be like on the inside, so she was an immediate taker. Will keep you posted.
One of the enjoyments of caravanning is the curious encounters I have with other people along the way. Take this morning, for example.
I took the dogs, my camera and binoculars and braved my second passage across the ford, out to the sand dunes and the wide open sea. There’s nobody out there, just a very large expanse of sand, driftwood and the odd tern (well, actually, it wasn’t that odd…haha…boom boom…). On the way back though I came across a man crossing the second part of the ford holding a baby, heading off for a swim, and two reticent-looking young women hovering on the other side behind him. I went up to them and asked if they were trying to get across, and made some quip about sacrificing the dogs first so I can see how deep it is. “No” she said, “we’re fine”. “But we’re looking for the piano”. “Eh?” “You know, the piano. Is it still here?” And I’m thinking ‘kooky, we’re in the sand dunes…’. But I say instead, politely, “No, no I haven’t seen a piano”, trying to make it sound like they’ve asked a normal sort of a question. “Ah” she said, sounding a tad disappointed, “it used to be a bit of a visitor attraction, just thought you might know where it is”. “Nope, nah, just…um…walking the dogs” I said boringly. Well, it turns out that about a year ago, a piano just turned up in the sand dunes. Nobody knew how it got there, it just arrived. The newspaper ran a story on it and people came out from town to visit it. The young women had come to see it but weren’t sure which part of the dunes it was in, and there’s a lot of dunes, I’d say you either knew where it was or you didn’t. Not much in between.
So now I’m intrigued and am planning a bit of a reccy. I chided myself as I left for not thinking to ask them if it was playable! Must take some sheet music with me, just in case!
I could probably get some of that from the only other people staying at the campground at the moment. The Minstrels (not their real name…) inhabit one of those large houses on wheels with their dog. Actually, a digression, Camp Custodian Rusty chucked them out this morning, making them park outside the gates. We’re not quite sure why, but there has been a definite slight, real or imagined. After the magnitude of effort required to move the beast, Mr Minstrel came over to me to say “I don’t think he likes us very much”. I’m looking at their giant cruiser now occupying a piece of turf out by the children’s playground and I’m thinking “Really? What makes you think that?”
Anyway, the couple are travelling musos that perform in schools, and the dog does tricks (too right she does, like ours, and not just the ones they’ve been trying to teach her! Prompting Rusty to put up a freshly laminated sign in the shelter reminding us all about proper dogowner behaviour). Mr Minstrel plays the violin and I’m not sure what his partner plays. But they have invited Jan and me to cross the picket line tonight and attend a concert in their caravan. Outside in No-Campers-Land. Jan’s dead nosey about what it must be like on the inside, so she was an immediate taker. Will keep you posted.
Anyone seen Holly Hunter out here?
Blog Wednesday 18 March
One of the enjoyments of caravanning is the curious encounters I have with other people along the way. Take this morning, for example.
I took the dogs, my camera and binoculars and braved my second passage across the ford, out to the sand dunes and the wide open sea. There’s nobody out there, just a very large expanse of sand, driftwood and the odd tern (well, actually, it wasn’t that odd…haha…boom boom…). On the way back though I came across a man crossing the second part of the ford holding a baby, heading off for a swim, and two reticent-looking young women hovering on the other side behind him. I went up to them and asked if they were trying to get across, and made some quip about sacrificing the dogs first so I can see how deep it is. “No” she said, “we’re fine”. “But we’re looking for the piano”. “Eh?” “You know, the piano. Is it still here?” And I’m thinking ‘kooky, we’re in the sand dunes…’. But I say instead, politely, “No, no I haven’t seen a piano”, trying to make it sound like they’ve asked a normal sort of a question. “Ah” she said, sounding a tad disappointed, “it used to be a bit of a visitor attraction, just thought you might know where it is”. “Nope, nah, just…um…walking the dogs” I said boringly. Well, it turns out that about a year ago, a piano just turned up in the sand dunes. Nobody knew how it got there, it just arrived. The newspaper ran a story on it and people came out from town to visit it. The young women had come to see it but weren’t sure which part of the dunes it was in, and there’s a lot of dunes, I’d say you either knew where it was or you didn’t. Not much in between.
So now I’m intrigued and am planning a bit of a reccy. I chided myself as I left for not thinking to ask them if it was playable! Must take some sheet music with me, just in case!
I could probably get some of that from the only other people staying at the campground at the moment. The Minstrels (not their real name…) inhabit one of those large houses on wheels with their dog. Actually, a digression, Camp Custodian Rusty chucked them out this morning, making them park outside the gates. We’re not quite sure why, but there has been a definite slight, real or imagined. After the magnitude of effort required to move the beast, Mr Minstrel came over to me to say “I don’t think he likes us very much”. I’m looking at their giant cruiser now occupying a piece of turf out by the children’s playground and I’m thinking “Really? What makes you think that?”
Anyway, the couple are travelling musos that perform in schools, and the dog does tricks (too right she does, like ours, and not just the ones they’ve been trying to teach her! Prompting Rusty to put up a freshly laminated sign in the shelter reminding us all about proper dogowner behaviour). Mr Minstrel plays the violin and I’m not sure what his partner plays. But they have invited Jan and me to cross the picket line tonight and attend a concert in their caravan. Outside in No-Campers-Land. Jan’s dead nosey about what it must be like on the inside, so she was an immediate taker. Will keep you posted.
One of the enjoyments of caravanning is the curious encounters I have with other people along the way. Take this morning, for example.
I took the dogs, my camera and binoculars and braved my second passage across the ford, out to the sand dunes and the wide open sea. There’s nobody out there, just a very large expanse of sand, driftwood and the odd tern (well, actually, it wasn’t that odd…haha…boom boom…). On the way back though I came across a man crossing the second part of the ford holding a baby, heading off for a swim, and two reticent-looking young women hovering on the other side behind him. I went up to them and asked if they were trying to get across, and made some quip about sacrificing the dogs first so I can see how deep it is. “No” she said, “we’re fine”. “But we’re looking for the piano”. “Eh?” “You know, the piano. Is it still here?” And I’m thinking ‘kooky, we’re in the sand dunes…’. But I say instead, politely, “No, no I haven’t seen a piano”, trying to make it sound like they’ve asked a normal sort of a question. “Ah” she said, sounding a tad disappointed, “it used to be a bit of a visitor attraction, just thought you might know where it is”. “Nope, nah, just…um…walking the dogs” I said boringly. Well, it turns out that about a year ago, a piano just turned up in the sand dunes. Nobody knew how it got there, it just arrived. The newspaper ran a story on it and people came out from town to visit it. The young women had come to see it but weren’t sure which part of the dunes it was in, and there’s a lot of dunes, I’d say you either knew where it was or you didn’t. Not much in between.
So now I’m intrigued and am planning a bit of a reccy. I chided myself as I left for not thinking to ask them if it was playable! Must take some sheet music with me, just in case!
I could probably get some of that from the only other people staying at the campground at the moment. The Minstrels (not their real name…) inhabit one of those large houses on wheels with their dog. Actually, a digression, Camp Custodian Rusty chucked them out this morning, making them park outside the gates. We’re not quite sure why, but there has been a definite slight, real or imagined. After the magnitude of effort required to move the beast, Mr Minstrel came over to me to say “I don’t think he likes us very much”. I’m looking at their giant cruiser now occupying a piece of turf out by the children’s playground and I’m thinking “Really? What makes you think that?”
Anyway, the couple are travelling musos that perform in schools, and the dog does tricks (too right she does, like ours, and not just the ones they’ve been trying to teach her! Prompting Rusty to put up a freshly laminated sign in the shelter reminding us all about proper dogowner behaviour). Mr Minstrel plays the violin and I’m not sure what his partner plays. But they have invited Jan and me to cross the picket line tonight and attend a concert in their caravan. Outside in No-Campers-Land. Jan’s dead nosey about what it must be like on the inside, so she was an immediate taker. Will keep you posted.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Random travel pix...and a special one for Ross!
Here's some pix from the last week or so:
A barn that's seen better days (road to Koitiata)
Rustic little Anglican church in the middle of the maize
Action shot of Tarn in the river
Pepe making herself at home in the camp driveway
Jan embracing her colonial past in Marton...yes, thats Captain Cook, the one on the right...Marton is named after his birthplace so there you go...
We have become enamoured with the Marton library, who now wipe all library fines if you make a donation to the foodbank - what a great idea!
Willow and Tarn in stick heaven
and a special photo for Ross and Sarah...
Hi folks, wish you were here...love, Dishy!
A barn that's seen better days (road to Koitiata)
Rustic little Anglican church in the middle of the maize
Action shot of Tarn in the river
Me and the girls hanging out in the campground
Pepe making herself at home in the camp driveway
Jan embracing her colonial past in Marton...yes, thats Captain Cook, the one on the right...Marton is named after his birthplace so there you go...
We have become enamoured with the Marton library, who now wipe all library fines if you make a donation to the foodbank - what a great idea!
Willow and Tarn in stick heaven and a special photo for Ross and Sarah...
Hi folks, wish you were here...love, Dishy!
Online on the Road
Well, we have been in the North Island now for just over two weeks. I feel finally settled enough to sit down and write a decent blog entry. This morning is the sort of morning I have been waiting for – peaceful, quiet, the sun shining through the windows of the caravan, and no particular housework to do!
It has been a very eventful two weeks. As is usually the way for us, we get a fair dollop of the rough with the smooth. Weatherwise, we have endured some blinding wind storms this week. It had gotten so windy out at Waiinu that last Tuesday when Jan arrived home from work we just threw everything into the caravan and fled. It was an anxious drive in high winds back down the coast to Turakina, where we knew we could at least get a powered site at the little Koitiata campground at the end of the road (Koitiata is the name of the settlement at Turakina Beach. Its name means ‘shining morning’. Possibly should be amended to ‘if you make it through the howling night’!). That night though, the tiny settlement was rocked by high winds that apparently washed so much debris up the river that the course of it changed overnight, and the wild sand dunes were altered too in the lashing. We huddled up in the caravan which rocked and rolled for most of the night, but the storm passed and we have had some beautiful weather for the last couple of days.
Koitiata is a very interesting area geographically. Like Waiinu, you get some amazing sunsets. The campsite is set back a bit from the sand dunes so is more sheltered than Waiinu, which just bore the gales front on making it almost impossible to step outside of the caravan and keep your head on. This stretch of wild west coast consists of formations of sand dunes that run all the way from Paekakariki at the southernmost end, right up as far as Patea in Taranaki at the northern end. But at Koitiata, the settlement is bounded by the Turakina River, which must be crossed at a ford to get over to the sand dunes.
I've finally found a pace of life I can keep up with!
It is tidal, as we seem to be not far from the river mouth, and has massive rafts of logs and driftwood floating at the edge. It is home to some beautiful bird life, including a flock of black swans that drift around serenely.
There is lots to explore here. There is a lovely short walk or mountainbike ride through the river’s wetlands with a very healthy-looking ecosystem including dense thickets of flax and marsh grasses. I love the smell of flax, so this is a good one for me. The trail ends in sand dunes next to the river where you can sit sheltered by them and watch the endless movement and life of the river species.
I have in my sights the Santoft Forest which runs from Koitiata down to Tangimoana. Apparently the forest is covered in mountain-biking and walking tracks so will wait for a calm day to bike off and explore.
One thing I am discovering is that there are Rustys at every one of these tiny settlements. (N.B Rusty is an institution and legend at Totaranui campground. Up until this year, for the last decade he has always been there for months over the summer. He always has just the thingy you require in a tight spot and will always help you out.) The rugged landscape seems to breed Rustys up here. This is what happened to bring them out of the woodwork at Koitiata:
The night we arrived, as I have mentioned it was starting to blow up a gale. It was a slow and nervous trip down from Waiinu, as I have no experience of towing a caravan in high winds. By the time we reached the campground at about 7.30 at night, I was totally over it and just wanted to unhitch the van and have a feed. Sound straightforward? Yes well, there were only two other vans at the campground, so lots of room for me to turn and reverse the caravan into one of the spots…well, I made a lovely job of it until I realized that I’d parked on the wrong side of the power outlet and I didn’t think the cord would reach into the box. So then I tried to correct. What a mess! Backwards and forwards I went, backwards and forwards, and do you think I could get the bloody thing to go in a straight line into a new position?? It was crazy-making, and I could feel a meltdown coming on. So I just abandoned it! I go “that’s it, I’ve had enough, it can just bloody well stay where it is!”. Well, ‘where it is’ turned out to be halfway in a sloping sand garden, on a terrible lean! “I don’t care, I’m not shifting it!” I say. So the whole campground is totally flat with hardly anyone in it, and here’s our van stuck in the garden on the most precarious looking tilt, and the gale starting to pound us! Well, too bad.
So the next day, Jan went off to work, and I spent much of the day just staring at the caravan thinking “I suppose I’m gonna have to bloody well shift that sooner or later”, but really not being sure that I could remedy the situation! I certainly didn’t want to make it any worse!
Cue the arrival of the first Rusty. It was about 5pm and I was outside throwing the frisbee round for the dogs. Up to me comes this rugged looking old seadog, and he says in a quiet, inquisitive sort of way “Hey, how’d you like to have your caravan on the level?” The thing is looking quite ridiculous on its tilt, still stuck in the garden. “Ah…yeah…maybe…” I go a bit shy. “Well”, he says, “and would you even like to be in the shelter?” Hmm, this is starting to sound good. “And” he pauses for dramatic effect, “would you like us to do it for you?” Slightly disconcerted by the use of the word ‘us’. Slowly it is dawning on me that we had spectators to our arrival the night before. He’s trying to broach the whole subject tentatively, obviously not wanting to crush my caravan-backing ego. So I agreed that his suggestion did sound fairly attractive, having spent the whole of the night before wondering if we were just going to tip over in one foul swoop of wind!
Well, then we’re away. I’m learning that Camp Rustys never muck about. From nowhere appeared two more of them. One arrives on an ATV quadbike (the vehicle of choice for beach dwellers), the other (who turns out to be the Camp Custodian Rusty) arrives complete with toolbag over his shoulder (its probably welded to him, I should think). It was as if the first Rusty had blown a dog-whistle or delivered some secret code, the way they all just manifested in the campground. Of course it became apparent that they’d all been having a bit of a laugh over the whole matter and had sent the first Rusty over to see if I’d be amenable. They must have observed my assent, and jumped to it at the slightest indication on my part! So ATV Rusty disappears and arrives back with a ute, and Camp Custodian Rusty disappears and returns with a wheelbrace for the stabilizers. Within minutes we were moved lock, stock and barrel, into this perfect little spot out of the wind., perfectly parked and everything looking exactly as it was supposed to. I thanked them profusely and the first two Rustys departed (a curious aside: we have been here now 5 days and I have never seen either of them again…). And to Camp Custodian Rusty I said facetiously, “Thanks, I couldn’t have done it better myself!” He just gave me a look that said “I know.”
It has been a very eventful two weeks. As is usually the way for us, we get a fair dollop of the rough with the smooth. Weatherwise, we have endured some blinding wind storms this week. It had gotten so windy out at Waiinu that last Tuesday when Jan arrived home from work we just threw everything into the caravan and fled. It was an anxious drive in high winds back down the coast to Turakina, where we knew we could at least get a powered site at the little Koitiata campground at the end of the road (Koitiata is the name of the settlement at Turakina Beach. Its name means ‘shining morning’. Possibly should be amended to ‘if you make it through the howling night’!). That night though, the tiny settlement was rocked by high winds that apparently washed so much debris up the river that the course of it changed overnight, and the wild sand dunes were altered too in the lashing. We huddled up in the caravan which rocked and rolled for most of the night, but the storm passed and we have had some beautiful weather for the last couple of days.
Koitiata is a very interesting area geographically. Like Waiinu, you get some amazing sunsets. The campsite is set back a bit from the sand dunes so is more sheltered than Waiinu, which just bore the gales front on making it almost impossible to step outside of the caravan and keep your head on. This stretch of wild west coast consists of formations of sand dunes that run all the way from Paekakariki at the southernmost end, right up as far as Patea in Taranaki at the northern end. But at Koitiata, the settlement is bounded by the Turakina River, which must be crossed at a ford to get over to the sand dunes.
I've finally found a pace of life I can keep up with!Don't forget to Give Way...
before you cross the road!
It is tidal, as we seem to be not far from the river mouth, and has massive rafts of logs and driftwood floating at the edge. It is home to some beautiful bird life, including a flock of black swans that drift around serenely.
There is lots to explore here. There is a lovely short walk or mountainbike ride through the river’s wetlands with a very healthy-looking ecosystem including dense thickets of flax and marsh grasses. I love the smell of flax, so this is a good one for me. The trail ends in sand dunes next to the river where you can sit sheltered by them and watch the endless movement and life of the river species.
I have in my sights the Santoft Forest which runs from Koitiata down to Tangimoana. Apparently the forest is covered in mountain-biking and walking tracks so will wait for a calm day to bike off and explore.
One thing I am discovering is that there are Rustys at every one of these tiny settlements. (N.B Rusty is an institution and legend at Totaranui campground. Up until this year, for the last decade he has always been there for months over the summer. He always has just the thingy you require in a tight spot and will always help you out.) The rugged landscape seems to breed Rustys up here. This is what happened to bring them out of the woodwork at Koitiata:
The night we arrived, as I have mentioned it was starting to blow up a gale. It was a slow and nervous trip down from Waiinu, as I have no experience of towing a caravan in high winds. By the time we reached the campground at about 7.30 at night, I was totally over it and just wanted to unhitch the van and have a feed. Sound straightforward? Yes well, there were only two other vans at the campground, so lots of room for me to turn and reverse the caravan into one of the spots…well, I made a lovely job of it until I realized that I’d parked on the wrong side of the power outlet and I didn’t think the cord would reach into the box. So then I tried to correct. What a mess! Backwards and forwards I went, backwards and forwards, and do you think I could get the bloody thing to go in a straight line into a new position?? It was crazy-making, and I could feel a meltdown coming on. So I just abandoned it! I go “that’s it, I’ve had enough, it can just bloody well stay where it is!”. Well, ‘where it is’ turned out to be halfway in a sloping sand garden, on a terrible lean! “I don’t care, I’m not shifting it!” I say. So the whole campground is totally flat with hardly anyone in it, and here’s our van stuck in the garden on the most precarious looking tilt, and the gale starting to pound us! Well, too bad.
So the next day, Jan went off to work, and I spent much of the day just staring at the caravan thinking “I suppose I’m gonna have to bloody well shift that sooner or later”, but really not being sure that I could remedy the situation! I certainly didn’t want to make it any worse!
Cue the arrival of the first Rusty. It was about 5pm and I was outside throwing the frisbee round for the dogs. Up to me comes this rugged looking old seadog, and he says in a quiet, inquisitive sort of way “Hey, how’d you like to have your caravan on the level?” The thing is looking quite ridiculous on its tilt, still stuck in the garden. “Ah…yeah…maybe…” I go a bit shy. “Well”, he says, “and would you even like to be in the shelter?” Hmm, this is starting to sound good. “And” he pauses for dramatic effect, “would you like us to do it for you?” Slightly disconcerted by the use of the word ‘us’. Slowly it is dawning on me that we had spectators to our arrival the night before. He’s trying to broach the whole subject tentatively, obviously not wanting to crush my caravan-backing ego. So I agreed that his suggestion did sound fairly attractive, having spent the whole of the night before wondering if we were just going to tip over in one foul swoop of wind!
Well, then we’re away. I’m learning that Camp Rustys never muck about. From nowhere appeared two more of them. One arrives on an ATV quadbike (the vehicle of choice for beach dwellers), the other (who turns out to be the Camp Custodian Rusty) arrives complete with toolbag over his shoulder (its probably welded to him, I should think). It was as if the first Rusty had blown a dog-whistle or delivered some secret code, the way they all just manifested in the campground. Of course it became apparent that they’d all been having a bit of a laugh over the whole matter and had sent the first Rusty over to see if I’d be amenable. They must have observed my assent, and jumped to it at the slightest indication on my part! So ATV Rusty disappears and arrives back with a ute, and Camp Custodian Rusty disappears and returns with a wheelbrace for the stabilizers. Within minutes we were moved lock, stock and barrel, into this perfect little spot out of the wind., perfectly parked and everything looking exactly as it was supposed to. I thanked them profusely and the first two Rustys departed (a curious aside: we have been here now 5 days and I have never seen either of them again…). And to Camp Custodian Rusty I said facetiously, “Thanks, I couldn’t have done it better myself!” He just gave me a look that said “I know.”
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Photos from sikgirl
I haven't been up to much writing this week as I have been hit with some horrible goobly bug which has pretty much succeeded in laying me out. Camping when sick can be a bit challenging, (about as challenging as trying to write a humorous blog under such circumstances) so I'm on the bare minimum of activity, and I'm not even going to try to be funny. But I do have some more photos for you. I love this picture of this old car wreck. The beach is literally swallowing it up. You can still see the top of the steering wheel. I hate to think how it got there though...
This is a picture of one of the freshwater springs in action on the beach. Fresh water trickling out through the rocks.
Plenty of driftwood for mum.
And Willow stuck in Spin Cycle mode!
Friday, March 6, 2009
Relax? Who me?
Well, its Friday and we've survived our first week of our new lives! As is par for the course with me, there have been a few extra challenges thrown our way. The most unwanted of these is that both Jan and myself have been hit by some gnarly cough-cold thingy which has been pretty disgusting really. We sound like hungry seals barking away, even the dogs don't recognise our voices!
We've had a couple of big downpours so the night before last we shifted our camp over to a more sheltered spot, although 'sheltered' is a relative term at Waiinu. And to those who wanted to know how it would be having wet dogs in the caravan? Easily dealt with by laying out a big tarp over everything! I've made them a kennel now too, in the tent.
The Camp Rustys have been keepimg us well supplied with fresh fish, I have had some lovely snapper this week. Our caravan is totally overstocked with food lest we not cope with being near a shop!
And best thing this week was my sister Lizzy and my nieces Izzy and River coming up for three nights. That was fun and being one of the reasons we've come north I feel like we are getting the goodies of the trip already.
Jan has had her first week at her new job under very trying circumstances, i.e. the seal cough. As she is working in Oncology its a little uncool to sound sicker than your patients! However this has been offset by signing her contract and being in a new pay bracket so thats nice for her.
Well, we're off for a drive to Palmerston North now so I'd better go. Thanks for the comment re Waiinu. I am going to find out more about the area. The name itself means 'freshwater springs' and as you walk up the beach there are little freshwater streams weaving their way out of the rocks and down the beach. I have some photos which I shall post soon.
We've had a couple of big downpours so the night before last we shifted our camp over to a more sheltered spot, although 'sheltered' is a relative term at Waiinu. And to those who wanted to know how it would be having wet dogs in the caravan? Easily dealt with by laying out a big tarp over everything! I've made them a kennel now too, in the tent.
The Camp Rustys have been keepimg us well supplied with fresh fish, I have had some lovely snapper this week. Our caravan is totally overstocked with food lest we not cope with being near a shop!
And best thing this week was my sister Lizzy and my nieces Izzy and River coming up for three nights. That was fun and being one of the reasons we've come north I feel like we are getting the goodies of the trip already.
Jan has had her first week at her new job under very trying circumstances, i.e. the seal cough. As she is working in Oncology its a little uncool to sound sicker than your patients! However this has been offset by signing her contract and being in a new pay bracket so thats nice for her.
Well, we're off for a drive to Palmerston North now so I'd better go. Thanks for the comment re Waiinu. I am going to find out more about the area. The name itself means 'freshwater springs' and as you walk up the beach there are little freshwater streams weaving their way out of the rocks and down the beach. I have some photos which I shall post soon.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
The weather at Waiinu
Here's a few pics of some spectacular sunset action at Waiinu Beach last night. A big storm had passed through the night before, and this amazing evening was left in its wake. Forgive as usual the amateur photography, but you get the idea.
This is a view of the sky over neighbour Ian's makeshift hut and old tractor. Kiwi ingenuity at its finest, the hut comes apart and completely packs down, and is put up again each good fishing season. Number 8 kitset!
Here's our little whare, and a shot of a magnificent double rainbow the same night.
The orange caravan is abandoned, and the dogs have plenty of room to run around, unimpeded by humans.Waiinu is about 30 mins drive up the west coast from Wanganui. It is to be our base for the next couple of months. The dogs love it, even the Pepe the cat likes it, so relieved is she to be away from the tyrannical Little Miss Kitty.
It took us 12 qnd a half hours to get there from Motueka, an arduous journey! It was broken up by a couple of stops along the way to see family, and most notably, we arrived in Wanganui to pick up the caravan and were greeted with piles of whitebait patties to eat on the rest of the drive up! Nice...
We got some sedatives for the dogs from the vet before we left so they would sleep through the ferry ride. Ha! Gave them heaps when we arrived in Blenheim, and I think they kicked in for Willow about the Foxton Straights, and for Tarn...well...never, actually. We debated whether she had slowed down a notch or two on the journey, but the jury is out on that. I think probably not.
Today we've been invading the rellies in Wanganui to avail ourselves of a hot shower, internet access and a good feed! By the way, the generous donations of home baking before we left were a godsend on the long drive up, thanks especially to Mike and Gabi for those little shortbread/jammy-stuck-together bikkies, they were fantastic!
Ok, dinner is served, will post again soon.
P.S. the Motueka News Online website is featuring the first installments of regular columns from our regions MPs. Don't forget to check them out, as I'd like them to keep coming back!
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