Tryphena Harbour Janet ***
Well you people have read about 16 posts from us now. You are good friends indeed to persevere with our jottings. I've just checked and we have 99 followers. I'm aiming for 100, a purely arbitrary target. Even if only half of you are reading all the posts, this still warms my heart. Writers need an audience to stroke their egos and justify their existence. I keep thinking the flow of tales will slow down as we settle into this trip but we are having so many new and interesting experiences I am compelled to write about them. Its like a drug, I get twitchy if I don't write for a few days. It calms and satisfies me. Hence I am well behind in my blog posts.
The YIT blog site doesn't have the capacity for you to post comments but please write to us at janet.nixon551@gmail.com. We enjoy getting news about your lives, and hearing what you think of the blog (apart from the bloody formatting). We are in Auckland right now, heading next for Waiheke. So picking up the thread a few weeks back:
*** January 11, Tryphena Harbour, Great Barrier Island
*** Yesterday we fetched up at Tryphena Harbour at the southwestern end of Barrier. We are attempting to visit friends of David's who each have a bach on land south of here. They are in cellphone range but only turn their phone on occasionally to conserve power. There is no reticulated power on this island. We are in a bay with no Vodaphone range so God knows how we'll contact them. We are also trying to contact the Tryphena Harbour Warden. We spoke to him a few days ago about getting a mooring here so we could leave the boat safely for a day trip, but he is hardly in range so we just keep leaving him messages.
*** January 12
*** Bit of a rough night. We anchored in Shoal Bay, supposedly sheltered from the southwest. In the evening the breeze freshened and whipped around the entrance to Tryphena setting up enough of a swell to have Navire bucking on her anchor all night. Anything that wasn't entirely battened down rattled, a bailer tied to the dinghy, stored right above our bed, tapped on the deck all night. I got a up a few times and saw with relief the shore was the same distance away, and the other boats around us still in the same configuration. Dragging is always on my mind.
In the morning we motored out to the middle of the harbour and left another message for the harbour warden, and a dinner invitation for John and Mary, and John and Ginny. I decided to cook dinner for six anyway, despite not knowing if they'd even turn up. The meal was to be assembled out of the meager remnants of my fridge as I hadn't yet figured out how to get to the local shop.
An hour later all was solved. John and Mary hailed us from the wharf, took us to 'town' for lunch. We stocked up on fresh stuff and they dropped us at the boat saying they'd be back for dinner with the others. Dinner for six at six was on. I cooked flat out for two hours.
I love cooking for people who don't know I used to earn my living as chef. "I've just made a few salads," I told them as we sipped bubbly in the evening sun in the cockpit. Well, they were blown away with the quartet of Thai chicken salad, kumera, olive and feta salad, a crisp shaved vege dish, and a roasted cauli and caper salad. Then there was dessert. I usually keep my Donna Hay Chocolate Whisky Cream Pie and a bowl of lemon posset in the freezer along with a punnet of lime jube in the fridge. I whacked these out on little white plates and collected the accolades. Like a visual artist who holds exhibitions every so often, I need outings for my artform to feed my soul.
The following day John and Mary collected us in a little red car and drove us along a dirt road winding through the hills of the south end of Barrier where we met up with John and Ginny and explored both of their gorgeous little batches. No power, no fridge, an outside tap on a hose from the nearby stream and a long drop. We walked the hills down to the sea where we all immediately stripped off.
"The abiding image I have is of six aged bodies picking their way gingerly over the beach detritus and standing on tip-toe or jumping as successive waves reached higher and higher, eventually plunging into the sea," was the way David later described it.
It seemed like the most natural thing in the world out there. The afternoon was occupied with a long outdoor lunch and the conversation with these warm intelligent people flowed effortlessly. We ranged across the world of psychology to digging long drops, food, and writing, John currently writing a book exploring spirituality. I loved the feeling of being part of this group, the ease and humour, idly talking till the sun moved behind the trees and the last the of the day ebbed away.