A Couple of Characters David

Great Barrier Island is known for its characters, past and present. There'€™s a novel and at least three other publications devoted to Barrier characters and their stories. While on the island we were regaled with stories of others yet to make it into print. Life on the island often turns ordinary people into characters.

Not all are made on the island, however. Some arrive fully formed. Here are a couple we encountered.

George and Yevgeny

Our food arrived at the same time as Yevgeny, large and sweaty, clutching his scrawny toddler, trying to introduce him to Jonesy. Under the pressure Jonesy withdrew but then had a change of mind and advanced with the friendly confidence for which Golden Retrievers are so well known.

'I met one of your local characters yesterday,'€™ said Yevgeny, crouching for the boy and dog to eye one another. '€˜I was spear-fishing in the bay just around from the ferry wharf. Really shallow. You could stand up. I had a Red Moki on the spear, looked up and saw a 250 pound Bronze Whaler coming right at me, his mouth wide open. I jabbed at him with the spear and he turned away but came straight back, mouth like a cave with teeth, so I jabbed him again. The third time panic finally registered on me. My heart pounded, sweating to bust, even under water. I hurled the spear at the fish along with my catch bag and splashed and scrabbled my way out of the water. Over my shoulder I saw the shark rear up in a cauldron of foam, tearing my bag to shreds.

"What'€™s with that shark?"€ I spluttered at a man pulling his dinghy to the water. '"œIt tried to take a piece out of me."

'€œAh, that'€™ll be George. He lives here. We feed him. Don'€™t recommend swimmin'," '€ €˜

By now Yevgeny'€™s wife, petite, black hair and anxiously stern, had settled at our table, regarding Jonesy suspiciously.

When he heard we were sailing for Fiji Yevgeny launched into his own recent dramas with a sail boat. '€˜I bought this beautiful fifty six foot, all wood yacht that I got cheap because it was part of a complicated legal dispute. Used to be owned by that guy from Perth who won the America'€™s Cup. Famous boat called Valenta but I renamed her Sofia after my daughter. I set out for Auckland from Picton but too many things broke and we had to be towed into Wellington by the Police Launch.'

'€˜We know all about being towed into Wellington on a maiden voyage.'€™ Janet and I said in unison.

'€˜I'm an off-shore tax minimisation consultant,'€™ Yevgeny continued. '€˜I'm relocating my business to Vanuatu. Soon as I find a boat builder to repair her I'€™ll sail up to Vila with a hired skipper. I'm not a sailor.' He shrugged.

A few days later, over a beer, we asked Peter, Tryphena's Harbour Warden, about George.

'€˜Aw that'€™s just bullshit. There'™s no shark attacks anybody in this bay.'€™ Peter took another swig of his beer. '€˜There's locals talk about one, might be called George, but there'€™s nothing in it.'

€™The Dutchman

We are moored at Smokehouse Bay where we'll stay for another week or so. I have a large boat painting project to complete. Great place for it. Very sheltered and breathtakingly beautiful. Ruined somewhat this morning by very loud electronica issuing from a launch anchored nearby. The owner, an ageing barrel of a Dutchman, in shorts and singlet and very drunk, vacillated between boorish argument and reluctant compliance when I rowed over to ask that his stereo be turned down.

Remarkably the stereo stayed down all day but the drinking continued. He had three young men aboard -“ a son and his friends perhaps. These three took the dinghy ashore around midday. Not long after there was a prolonged series of horn blasts from the launch. A few minutes later our Dutchman was standing at the stern of his boat bellowing to the anchorage. '€˜Fuck you.
Fuck you and your family. Fuck you and your country.'™ He said this maybe a half dozen times, addressing invisible audiences on both sides of his boat.

A neighbouring boatie rowed over. '€˜Keep this up mate and I'€™ll call the police.'€™

'€˜Call the police then. Call the fucking police.'€™ He was holding a white cloth to his arm, blood oozing around it. '€˜I just sent a fucking SOS and no one'€™s fucking answered. No one'€™s coming to help me.'

One of the young men left the beach in the launch'€™s dinghy. He stopped to talk to the retreating boatie and then carried on to where the Dutchman was still letting the anchorage know what they could do with their families and country. He quietened as the young man approached. The two conversed apparently amicably although the young man kept his dinghy at a distance.

When I next looked across the Dutchman was teetering on the boarding platform, clutching the stern rail and attempting to get into the inflatable which the young man was holding for him. This is a drowning waiting to happen, I thought. The Dutchman dropped one leg into the dinghy and, in one fluid motion, his body, pivoting on that leg, rolled across the dinghy into the sea and disappeared. The young man looked on, helpless.

Amazingly the Dutchman bobbed to the surface and dog paddled to the back of the boat. More remarkably, after some time, he hauled himself onto the boarding platform.

His second attempt was more successful. Perhaps the dunking had sobered him a little. He could be heard joking with his companion, beer in hand, as they motored to the beach. No more was seen or heard until late in the afternoon when the two men returned to the launch, hoisted anchor and left the bay.

The anchorage breathed a collective sigh of relief, not least I suspect, because we had been spared all the inconvenience of a drowning inquest.

12 Kawau Island January 1 Janet One of the things I love about cruising is the low level ecstasy, to cite Bill Bryson, that we experience about the basics of life. High on the list is water. We get excited about filling our water-tanks, capacity 240 litres, occasional long showers at marinas, and solar showers in the cockpit. These are a less than frequent occurrence when supplies are low, rendering us not entirely fragrant. Even clean undies are up there on this list. Laundry days are limited to infrequent visits to marinas. Our water limitations ration hand-washing to smalls only. So we gently descend into a mild squalor at times. Bill Bryson (listening to A Walk in The Woods at moment) describes it thus; The first day you feel mildly self-conscious of being grubby, the second day disgustingly so, by the third you are beyond caring, and by the fourth you have forgotten what it is like to not be like this.
Much treasured also is fresh crunchy stuff. I have limited fridge space so after about 10 days we are usually down to half a wilted cabbage and a few limp carrots. The excitement mounts when we are in range of crisp lettuce, a juicy cucumber, and succulent red peppers. A full night's sleep is always a treat. Frequently I wake and wander out to the cockpit, hoping the scenery hasn't changed on us. Also having the use of a car is a novelty and intensely appreciated. Even having access to shops, although that novelty wears thin very quickly.
North Cove, Kawau Island Last day of the year. This was certainly a year that improved very late in the piece. I struggled with the trip being delayed, with trying to find employment, and keeping motivated about preparing for this trip that always seemed to be so far off. People kept me going. Our writers group, my cooking club, the Mad Women group, friends on the marina, those fabulous women in my life who accept and love me with all my faults and frailties.
But now we are on our way, the ever distant dream a reality.
We had no New Years celebration planned but our friend serendipity had it all in hand. For many years when we were land-bound in our house, or tied firmly to a marina berth, we'd read the work of Lin and Larry Pardy, an American couple who'd crossed the oceans all their lives in beautiful old boats with no engines. Larry wrote of dealing with storms, and Lin wrote a book on provisioning for a 49 day passage across the North Pacific Ocean. She gave a menu for each day of the trip and wove tips on keeping food fresh into her narrative. It's on my shelf.
This couple, sailing royalty in our eyes, had fetched up at Kawau. We called them up. Love to see you, they said. Wow. We treated ourselves to a shower in preparation.
We sailed into their bay, hooked up the mooring they'd arranged, and rowed on in. Their bach occupies a prime spot in the bay, no neighbours, a huge jetty, a guest-house, and verandahs out over the water. Lin greeted us. She exuded energy and vitality. She had a mane of long black hair, her blue eyes sparkled, her enthusiasm for life bubbling out. She signed my book! I got my first taste of the joy of an author signing just this last November when our writers group published a book of short stories called "Sweet As". David and I each got a story in print and I was utterly thrilled when people asked me to sign it. Larry has Parkinsons and was present but struggling I think.
Lin gave us a tour of their last yacht, Taleisin, just sold and waiting to be collected. She was all wood, varnish gleaming, and brass polished. David said he'd like to have Navire looking like that but there are so many other jobs on the list vying for urgent attention, that this will have to wait. The yacht had no technology, no chart table ringed with screens and banks of switches. And no engine, now that's true sailing. Back on the deck I met neighbours gathered for a New Year's BBQ. I find it extraordinary how you quickly identify who you have connections with. I met Judith, a former sailor, and a foodie. With great delight we immediately talked recipes and ingredients. Within half an hour this complete stranger had offered to pick me up from the marina in Auckland next time we go in, and drive me to all the specialist food places and Asian markets in the city, then take me to the Food Truck Café for lunch. I am a fan of Michael Van de Elzen so this is indeed a treat. I only have two hard copy cookbooks on the boat, and his Molten Cookbook is one of them. How's that for good fortune.
We were to stay for dinner. Yes please. We retired early and greeted the new year at a civilized hour the next day, dropping the mooring and sailing to Mahurangi for our next adventure.

Auckland to Kawau Boxing Day Janet (We are currently at Kawau, about to sail to Great Barrier Island) Hairy start to arrival in Auckland. I'd lost my port and starboard bearings (again) and set the lines and fenders up in the wrong side of the boat. We'd even been through it in detail, but my recalcitrant brain still thought we were coming in on our favoured port side. There was a little friction to say the least, not an unusual state in yachting couples berthing and anchoring.
Boxing Day lunch in Auckland had been long arranged. We were trying to figure out transport to Waiuku, south of Auckland, when boatie friends gave us their car for two days. This is not an uncommon practice amongst yachties, even with people we hardly know. An hour later we arrived at the beautiful lifestyle property of a very longstanding friend of David's, Bill Wilson, and his partner Fiona. Most of their families were assembled in the lounge amongst the detritus of the morning's Christmas present orgy. Once again we were made most welcome. Champagne poured and glasses clinked.
Lunch was a gourmet affair starting with my wonderful Donna Hay lime chicken coconut pancakes, then the main course a feast of baked salmon, and ham and salads straight from the land. Dessert included sweet squishy crunchy Eton Mess, which I have made several times since.
We sat outside in the garden and talked late into the balmy evening, drinking far too much and enjoying every minute of it. The next morning Bill escorted me around the property and I foraged and gathered. Bliss. The car was loaded up with green crunchy stuff, sweet strawberries and home killed pork. Thanks Bill.
Dec 28 We headed back to town in our borrowed car with our day's tasks carefully orchestrated around getting David to the optometrist. He's noticed his sight wasn't what it used to be.
As the checkout boy put my last item over the barcode reader my total tips over the $500 mark. That should do us for the next few weeks, not knowing where I will next encounter a shop. I quickly grew weary of the bustle and heat of the city, and longed to get to sea again.
Back at the boat we worked late into the evening doing laundry, filling up with fuel and water, and stowing groceries in every nook and cranny.
Dec 29 As we left the marina, Auckland harbour was sea of boats. Big ferries, little ferries scurrying to and fro. Dozens of yachts, launches and runabouts, most heading out into the gulf like us. We were alert, peering under the headsail frequently to make sure no vessels were bearing down on us. Which way is that ferry going, that yacht? There are road rules out here, but no clearly defined roadways.
As we passed Rangitoto Island we saw that every anchorage was packed with yachts. In the Marlborough Sounds, our usual stomping ground, if there were three yachts in a bay, it was busy. On one trip up here we counted seventy yachts in Islington Bay at Rangitoto.
We left town with a vague plan to meet friends sailing at Kawau Island, then to pick up Wellington friend Richard Moss for a couple of days, then sail out to Great Barrier Island. The end of the month will see us back in Auckland getting serious about preparing for our offshore passage to Fiji in May.
Perfect sailing. The sea is sparkling in the late afternoon sun, Auckland is disappearing behind us, although the Sky Tower still stands way above the horizon. We can see Kawau Island in the distance, the 15knot northerly eagerly filling our sails. Navire is whizzing along at six knots, leaping joyfully over the wavelets, the autohlem gently humming as it guides us north. We take turns in having afternoon naps on deck, the other on watch dodging the dozens of fishing runabaouts littering the sea.
"This is probably what people imagine we are doing all the time when we said we were off sailing," I said to David.
"I wish," he said, remembering the foul four metre swells off Coromandel.
Warm sweet scents of the land slip into the cockpit as we come up to the southern end of Kawau. With a few clicks on the autopilot we round the headland and ease into Coppermine Bay. The anchor rattles its way down, engine off, time for a beer.
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