Lost at Lake Forsyth

A new family moved into the street and their young lad turned up in Henry’s class. Henry had his own bunch of mates so he didn’t bother with the new kid at first, but he noticed that nobody else bothered with him either.  During playtime, the boy sat by himself, perhaps afraid to join in. Maybe nobody wanted to make friends with him because he always had a snotty nose, and he sucked the two big fingers on his right hand! When he was unhappy, which was most of the time…. Oh let’s not go there, it wasn’t a pretty sight! Henry decided to make an effort and befriended the boy, which seemed to please his mum and dad. So much so, to show their appreciation, they invited Henry to stay with them a few times in their fisherman’s hut out at Birdlings Flat.

Birdlings Flat was a fishermen’s camp on the south side of Banks Peninsula. The settlement was perched on the gravel beach close to both the sea and Lake Forsyth. There were perhaps twenty huts there, some of them owned by commercial fishermen. The huts were built from car packing cases and the facilities were rudimentary at best. The Birdlings Flat area was locally famous as a training ground for the army during and post WWII. Mostly for camping rough, marching, survival and experiencing cold, harsh frosts.

The beach is downright dangerous! It’s steep, with waves rising high to crash down to almost nothing, only to be sucked back out to form the next wave. If you were caught, the tide would suck you out to sea! The fishermen used little kontiki rafts that pulled their long lines with baited hooks out into deep water. The sail was held up by a barley sugar, and when it dissolved, the sail dropped down. They left the line out there for a complete tide, say six hours, and then hauled the fish in. Henry and his mate were caught playing chicken with the waves one day, and received deserved whacks from a random passer-by!

If you look at the map of the area, you will see that the lake is close to the sea. The fishermen used a bulldozer to open the gravel bar so an incoming tide could refresh the lake overnight. Henry thought the idea was to allow big conger eels, or maybe it was long finned eels, to swim into the lake – he didn’t know the difference back then. The boys caught eels by sinking a rowing boat with roadkill-rabbit inside overnight, they would quickly land the boat, trapping the eels inside. The fishermen paid them good money for the cut up bait. The eels were big buggers and could bite! Even today, Henry can’t believe that nine year old boys weren’t scared of them! Indeed, they actually thought it was a barrel of fun!

Henry harboured the ambition to walk around the lake! Well, he figured he walked about two miles to school, setting off at 8:15 am and arrived there well before the 9 o’clock bell, so it didn’t faze him that the lake was five miles long. He reckoned they could do it easily in a day! But, his mate was not so keen on getting out of bed! Henry’s the opposite, reckoning that morning is the best time of the day! Anyway, because of his mate’s tardiness, they didn’t get under way until after lunch, but again that didn’t really concern Henry because they had oodles of time before dark.

They crossed the gravel bank and walked along the right hand side of the lake. It was easy going at first, along a beach of small round stones, but soon they had to detour to climb over sharp, rocky outcrops. Henry thought it was easy, skipping over the rocks, but not so his companion, he struggled, sucking his fingers and wiping snot on his sleeve in dismay! Every five minutes, Henry sat on his haunches waiting for him to catch up. The boy wasn’t very fit.

Henry realised it was getting late in the afternoon and they hadn’t yet reached the end of the lake, so he tried to cajole his mate to hurry up a bit. But the lad was hungry, beginning to get whiney and wanted to go back the way they had come. Henry told him that getting to the top of the lake wouldn’t take long and then they would make good time because of the road on the other side. Perhaps someone might even give them a lift! But no, the boy refused to listen, became teary, snotty-nosed and pleaded to go the way they had come. So they set off back.

The real trouble was, the young bugger hadn’t told his parents what they were doing, or where they were going! Henry genuinely thought he had, in fact he had expected him to! So, as parent do, they were starting to worry about the pair being lost or perhaps drowned! They rang even Henry’s Dad, who told them that he was sure the boys wouldn’t be lost! He knew that Henry had a good sense of direction and advised patience. But his mate’s parents, perhaps knowing their son, began gathering a bunch of locals who were going to search the beach and around the Birdlings Flat wider area. Their plan was to search in the opposite direction to where they actually were! But just as the search parties were setting off, someone spotted the boys crossing the gravel bar! They had made it back!

His mate’s parents were relieved to have them back safely and yakked on about them as if they had been lost and through good luck had found their way back! Henry was indignant! All the time, every second, they had been gone, he knew exactly where we were, most of the time he could even see the road on the other side of the lake!

They were never lost, just a bit late – that’s all! But Henry had learned a good lesson: plan your trip with the slowest member in mind!

A take on Wine

Alf wanted Henry to go with him to visit a guy in Palmerston who needed advice about his trees. Henry reluctantly agreed to go on condition they start early because his diary was already full of commitments that were hard to break.

Trevor was all set for a yarn and he invited them into his shed where he had a private museum of the district’s history, which Henry found interesting but was mentally bouncing from one foot to the other to get the show on the road! At the rear of Trevor’s shed he had a bar! With pride, he told the foresters that not only did he make wine he also blended his own whiskey and fortified his wine by standing it in brandy casks. He insisted that Alf and Henry sample ‘his best’. They lost an hour or so tippling.

Alf was enjoying himself, smacking his lips, eyes gleaming with a steady sway on! Trevor became increasingly talkative, prattling on about his hobby! Henry couldn’t get the hang of this wine tasting game, none of it was really drinkable, and he couldn’t taste what the others reckoned they tasted. Some of it made his gums curl up in protest! An old, familiar forestry refrain buzzed through his head! He lost track of the wine varieties: banana, peach, apricot, parsnip, raspberry, some fortified after fizzing in brandy casks. Alf shouldn’t have been driving for the rest of the day, he was so well lit he didn’t need headlights! The tree advice given at the end of the day wasn’t exactly textbook either!

When the local, Mill House opened as a restaurant, it became the trendy place for various functions. The locals were mostly new to the wine drinking malarkey, so most opted for the cheapest on the list: Cold Duck or Premier Curveé. The more monied, bought Blue Nun, the most expensive on the list so were therefore entitled to hold their little finger up as they swigged. All of them swigged, because they were traditional beer drinkers. Most of them were crook the next day no matter the price!

A while later along came the days of wine and cheese evenings! More refined than the beer-swilling aftermatch functions the forestry boys were used to. But they were at least a good fundraiser for the school committee. Henry didn’t think much of any of those fancy-named wines. He enjoyed leaning back in his chair, nibbling cheeses and listening to the talk of the wannabe connoisseurs trying to taste flavours within the plonk that the label reckoned were ‘hints of’. Isn’t wine just grape juice? Where do the spices and other fruits come from? Henry mimed that old refrain.

Years rattled along, as they do, and to cash in on the opportunity of vineyards being established in Central Otago and the Waitaki Valley, Henry and Co, decided they should propagate grape plants. Grapes aren’t difficult to propagate, but there is a science to it so it has to be done properly for the growers’ long term viability. This was serious stuff.  Most of the important grape varieties are susceptible to a soil borne virus, so the response has been to breed rootstocks that don’t have susceptibility to the virus. Most are known only by a clone number and growers, have their preferred numbered clone. First Henry propagated a range rootstocks from cuttings to bulk up plants for cutting material.  The scion was grafted onto the rooted clone cuttings. They kept a range of scions preferred in the target area: Pinot Noir, Pinot Gris, Shiraz, Sauvignon Blanc and Chardonnay. It was simply through his work that Henry had any clue about the names of wines.

Through a quirk of fate, some years later, Henry was touring the Waitaki Valley and trooped into one of the boutique wine shops. He paid an exorbitant price for a bottle of Pinot Noir, which was the first vintage from the very plants he had propagated! It was special to Henry and he shared it with friends on a special occasion. Actually he had no intention of buying any wine that day, he was with a group and had to tag along. But they were doing the wine tasting thing in boutique wine shops, sniffing and sipping. Ha, the old forestry refrain again popped into his head.

Within a month or two, during the biennial reunion of his forestry cronies, they toured a vineyard in Marlborough. Henry kept mum about his experience with propagating grapes - an old nurseryman’s trick to pick up information. The pleasant young woman who was hosting the tour explained everything very well and accurately. That is until she reckoned connoisseurs can taste which rootstock the grape variety is grafted on to. Ding, ding! There’s that old refrain again.

During his travels, Henry visited a monastery cloistering some German monks near Soni Falls, in the Usambara Mountains. A very well-run establishment husbanding some of the biggest dairy cows he had seen! Their standard for everything was so high, he was enticed to purchase a whole case of their wine. Back at Makumira, he found it to be miss-labelled! It should have read Paint Stripper. He sang the forestry refrain aloud in Swahili!

According to Henry, the effect of wine has a bigger plus than the taste of it! But there’s never one rule.  After touring Australia’s Hunter Valley, he had cause to rethink. He bought a bottle of Botrytis wine. He was fascinated because botrytis is a fungal disease, a common enemy in the nursery industry. The sales person referred to it as liquid gold, and Henry’s wan smile hid the little jingle dancing around in his head. His empty purse was a testament to the liquid gold rhetoric though! The wine was the colour freshly extracted clover honey, and mellow. A true nectar, which might just show that you get what you pay for! 

Sure these days Henry enjoys relaxing with the odd glass of Pinot Gris, Pinot Noir or Shiraz. He’s still not a sniffer or a swirler, but he’s learned to sip away with a hopeful, contented countenance. Still it’s just glorified grape juice.

Here’s the refrain. Feel free to target anyone you (don’t) like with it. It’s loosely to the tune of My Bonnie Lies over the Ocean.

Oh bring me my portable shovel

Oh bring me my potable pick

They’re talking a load of old bullshit

And we’ve got to get rid of it quick!

Bullshit, bullshit,

It all sounds like bullshit

To me to me!

Bullshit, bullshit,

It all sounds like bullshit

To me…

Stop-off at Manyara

After Christmas in the Crater, Henry asked the kids if they wanted to go straight back to Makumira or stop off at another park on the way. He told them their decision should be based on the preference between and early start or the luxury of a lie-in on comfy beds. In the end, the kids didn’t offer an opinion, other than a shy shrug of the shoulders, so he pulled rank and told them that they would head off half an hour after the eight o’clock breakfast. They were happy the decision had been made for them. Happily Jingle Bells wasn’t playing!

They backtracked from Karatu towards the rift on the road of red soil that had become slippery in some places because of an overnight shower. A sign that the dry period was ending. Fortunately the slippery parts were where the road was reasonably flat, so all Henry had to do was to slow down. They came upon a daladala that had not been so lucky and slipped off the road. They stopped to check to find nobody appeared to be injured and the passengers had nearly managed to push the brightly painted mini-bus back onto the road. With the magic of four wheel drive and a stout rope, Henry had the daladala back on the road and the happier passengers waving them goodbye.

They stopped again on the viewpoint overlooking Lake Manyara and the escarpment. Compared to other time Henry had been there, the lake was far and receded, leaving a huge white beach. He doubted they would get to the water and the flocks of pink flamingos because they had to be conscious of the time. But they would try and find the tree climbing lions, having missed seeing lions in the Crater. The kids had never seen lions.

The park rangers don’t give out much information about the whereabouts of the lions. They smiled and said that they were wild animals and could be anywhere. Of course park staff know where they are, but the safari companies give them posho for the knowledge whereas Henry wasn’t prepared to cough up. So instead they went where safari vehicles were congregating. But it seemed they hadn’t located any lions either. The first group were watching a large, docile monitor lizard and the second group were photographing a troop of baboons, which were old hat for Henry and Co. So they decided to follow their own noses.

Henry’s old deer stalking skills kicked in when he spotted something dun-coloured, twitching in a large, spreading Acacia tree. There was no direct track to it and vehicles weren’t allowed to leave the track – although some safari drivers did. There was a track to the left that seemed to go within fifty metres of the tree so he took it. Through a gap in the trees they watched as a lioness descended from the tree to join two others on the ground. The kids froze as the three lionesses padded nonchalantly towards their Landrover. The engine was still idling and Henry had it in gear, clutch in. The lions came to within ten or so metres, stopped and stared at the vehicle. The kids took a quick breath, sure they were being observed!  One of the lions yawned showing a curled, pink tongue, yellowish teeth and white, white whiskers. The kids wowed! Something alerted them off to their left, they turned, ears pricked and padded off towards whatever it was. The kids started chatting excitedly –thrilled.

They hadn’t travelled far when Eriki spotted a huddle of birds on the ground close to the road. During the night there must have been a kill and vultures were now crowded around it feeding off what remained. They were fighting or threatening with their wide-spread wings. Ugly-looking creatures! A wandering hyena approached and charged, forcing half of the birds into the air, but not far and the hyena managed to take a morsel and oozed away with it. A jackal, grey backed and proud of his busy tail, watched the action, its big ears pricked. He stood like a statue but every now and again took a step towards the kill, watching. Waiting for his chance.

In a thicket of trees, one of the kids spotted the grey form of a half-grown elephant. He stood beneath an umbrella thorn acacia, Acacia tortillis. Henry knew the tree because he had been growing them in his nursery. He told the kids that timber from the species was used by the Israelites to build the Ark of the Covenant. They were used to his waffling on about tress so it was in one ear, out the other, but you never know what sticks! For the kids’ sake, he wanted to drive as close as possible to the elephant to see what it is eating. Very delicately, it was picking up seedpods fallen from the tree and popping them into his mouth like sweets. The kids were fascinated how nimbly the trunk picked up the twisted pea-sized pods. Henry told them about the importance of the tree for goat fodder in grazing areas.

Suddenly there was some louder crashing and the ground shook a little as four adult elephants emerged from the trees. They watched as the trunks tested the dry, sparse grass for fodder, but it didn’t seem to be to their liking. The kids grew tense as the elephants crowded closer. They could smell them even though the windows were closed. They found themselves parked right in the middle of the group! Henry insisted on silence and they began to sweat, but not only from the heat. The matriarch, well Henry supposed it was the matriarch, decided to pick on one tree just a few metres in front of them. It was a medium-sized broadleaf tree that Henry didn’t recognise. She pushed the tree with bridge of her trunk, but the tree wasn’t giving up easily. The old cow raised dust with her feet and her pushing was steady, they could hear her heavy breathing! Eventually the tree succumbed. The others crowded to feed on the leaves and twigs. Had they dared to wind the window down, they could have reached out to touch one of them on the bum. It was breath-taking!

There was hushed levity when the smallest elephant, the one nearest them, raised its tail and loudly let off enough methane to power the Landrover home! With the huge animals distracted, munching on the tree, Henry risked starting the vehicle and slowly backing off.

Elephants and lions were the topic of conversation all the way home even down to details about the hairs on the tail of the farter.