Ross Thorby: Bay of Islands or Bust
During a night of gentle rocking, we cruised up the northland coast from Auckland with only an occasional buffering of weather against the hull. The beds on board are unbelievably sleep-inducing although, apparently, I snore like a fire engine. We were awoken at early light by the sound of our anchor dropping under a dull grey sky that had settled over the Bay of Islands.
Perhaps grateful at this point that the previously promised maelstrom had not eventuated, Mother started her day by settling herself down to a butler-served hearty breakfast in our suite – all white linen, silver and crystal – while I hightailed it out to the ‘casual' restaurant on the top deck for breakfast. Although, to call anything casual on this vessel was doing a grave mis-service to the ship and its crew. I sat, waited on hand and foot by crisply dressed staff in starched uniforms, over a perfectly cooked Eggs Benedict, while I contemplated the morbidly dark clouds sitting over our old home across the bay. This could be a tough day for Mother.
Forty-five years of living as one half of a couple of Paihia's last remaining elders of their generation, she was now returning, recently widowed, to our spiritual home to perform the cleansing act of spreading Father’s ashes over the various landmarks of their lives – our various old homes, the farm, his favourite golf course and our family plot at the local cemetery. The gloomy weather seemed to be setting a mood.
One of the last acts as we prepared to leave the ship that morning, was to turn the tv to the ship channel to check the weather and there we were greeted by our very own Cruise Director, again exhorting us to look out for the local ‘manatees’ or, as the locals supposedly call them, ‘looflirpa'. In fact, as he was talking, there apparently was a courting couple in the water on the port side of the ship. Of course Mother and I were on the starboard side, so no chance of seeing them. Could these creatures have become established in the 15 years since my parents had left? Still confused, we left the suite only to bump into him at the tender station.
“Ray,” I said, “what are you on about? My mother and I have lived here for 45 years and we have never seen these ‘manatees' you are going on about. What are you on?”
Ray looked decidedly shifty. Mother and I had lived and breathed tourism life here in the winterless north for more years than I care to remember and we know what fantastical stories tourists are told. I might have told a few myself and his story was looking decidedly shaky. He shifted some more. “Well, Ray?” He looked embarrassed, he looked away, he looked at his feet. Quietly he said… go write down their name and read it backwards.
Ah, now I get it. ‘Looflirpa', backwards? Yup, you guessed it, today is the 1st of April! Very funny. It lightened our mood and after promising to not dob him in to the other passengers, we left him standing there pushing his particular version of snake oil.
One of the advantages of the Navigator’s small size is that there are no lines and we were quickly ushered towards one of the ship's tenders and transported across to Paihia wharf where we were to be met by a small group of Mother’s longtime friends. A quick trip to the local cemetery where we stood and gazed across the family plot to the spectacular view that had attracted my parents to the bay all those years ago. And, as happened to them on that first trip, the sun came out from behind a cloud and lit the scene just as some of Dad’s ashes drifted out misting the view. “Mind the wind, Mother,” I joked. The farm, our old waterfront home, the development in Te Haumi and finally Father’s favourite view from the hill above the golf course to the bay beyond where, coincidentally, our transport lay anchored just off Tapeka, all receiving a breath of Dad.
We all sat around in a Paihia cafe contemplating what had just happened. We remarked that it was apt that the weather was gray and dull. However, as usual, the Bay of Islands still sparkled – it always does.
After boarding the ship later that day and having had a refreshing Margarita at the bar, the Captain fired up our engines to cruise past Ninepin at the entrance to the harbour then turned our nose north along the Tai Tokerau coast where a heavy swell began to batter our hull. (ROSS THORBY)
