Flashback to Shattered Paradigms in Paradise
Rod and I recently returned to a friend's bach on Kawau Island, just northeast of Auckland. Here we are with Rod's parents having breakfast on the deck.... it is literally paradise. The only way in is on a water taxi and once you get there, it's just you and the birds and views of the harbour. The recent trip brings back memories of our first time on Kawau with my parents, Bob and Janet. Here's a story of that past, great adventure....
Kawau Boatie Tales: It’s amazin’ we’re still livin’
We had landed in ‘Paradise,’ but even in Paradise Americans can not live without knowing what George Bush might have been up to overnight. So, it was inevitable that we would embark out in the dingy, sail the treacherous Karaka Bay to buy the day’s edition of the New Zealand Herald.
The first morning arrives and, just short of drawing straws, the father-daughter team is chosen as the pair that will brave the high seas. Neither having any dingy experience whatsoever, but this doesn’t bother the daughter as, even in her 30s, she still believes that “my dad can do anything – he’ll figure it out!” (please don’t ask her if she still believes this, it is too emotional to answer)
The first step is getting the dingy out of the boat shed. This requires that we first figure out how the heck to bring the motor into a horizontal position, so as not to damage the propeller on the way into the water. No worries, this only takes approximately 10 minutes to figure out. After a quick fill-up of the petrol tank, we’re away laughing. The daughter of the father-daughter team, is laughing anyhow (and, by the way, does not stop now until the pair’s return approximately 30 minutes hence).
Okay, we’re in. Now . . . . this boat is pointed forward isn’t it? (Several minutes later, we discovered it was not.) Something just doesn’t seem right, but, hey, a little laughter and all seems perfectly normal.
The first shade of doubt enters the daughter’s mind, when the father can’t figure out how to turn the motor on. “I’m pulling out on this thing . . . . nothing’s happening . . . .:
“Dad, we’re floating into shore. Here, I’ll row out, just keep trying.” He does know ‘everything’ doesn’t he??, she ponders.
Whew, it finally starts. “Okay, now, hmmm, we are facing forward aren’t we,” she thinks, as her father proceeds to try to make the dingy actually move.
Over the sound of the engine fully cranked, father yells, “It’s in ‘forward’ and I’m revvin’ it. I can’t give it any more gas, I don’t know why it’s not moving.” A sudden panic overwhelms the daughter and she yells, “For goodness sake, stop revving it, we are NOT facing forward. If you get it going, we’ll slam into the sheer rockface wall only 10 feet ahead (or behind…_) STOP!”
Okay, crisis averted. “If dad knows everything, why doesn’t he know something as simple as aft and stern??” she wonders (note: aft and stern are two words recently looked up in the dictionary as ‘research’ for this short story).
Oh well, the daughter tries to block out further doubts…. The boatie team quickly turns around and faces the REAL front of the boat. By sheer luck, somehow the boat starts moving (we do manage to repeat this maneuver one more time later that evening, so must not have been luck). No more revving - - father is happy to enjoy a gentle ride on our trek to get the paper.
Once over at the Yacht Club, little did we know there was a boatie-friendly pontoon available to the right of the boathouse. We believe the only place to park (or is it ‘dock’) is at the gas pump or the space reserved for Reuben. A quick look out on the Karaka and no Reuben in sight, so we decide to share his space for a quick moment.
Waves are lashing at the dock posts. The dingy is being swept to and fro. Someone is looking on curiously from the boathouse…. “How can they possibly think little boats can tie up here,” the daughter thinks. “How ridiculous.” With the engine turned off, they paddle in close, manage to tie up the boat and run in to buy a paper.
With such an adventure so far, it seems silly that the expedition results in only $1.50 spent in 30 seconds flat. Anyway, back in the dingy.
It’s a bit dicey backing out of Reuben’s parking space (docking space?), but we make it and we are on the way back.
Just short of 30 minutes from boatshed to the Yacht Club and back. The ‘girls’ on the deck capture the adventurers returning. Only to notice . . . . these novices sailed their maiden dingy voyage ‘sans’ life jackets. (oops!)
Safely on shore, we were happy to read the reports that ole’ George Dubbya hadn’t been up to much different – a few wars started, a few wisecracks thrown at world leaders. The world was once again right on Kawau. Ahh….
[Chapter Two of Kawau Boatie Tales is yet to be written, but is a tale of 5 adult Americans, crammed into the above dingy, braving choppy waves for damn expensive fish n chips. The pontoon was found on this journey as the club owners yelled at the crew for taking up Reuben’s space once again. Nerves were frazzled on the voyage home as one passenger sang, ‘Jesus Loves Me,’ (a tune apparently that comes to mind when death is insinuated) and all three women experienced mad fits of uncontrollable laughter. We did remember safety vest this time, but as there were only 4, the father sacrificed for the others, saying, “It’s a short swim, I’ll be fine.”]
We had landed in ‘Paradise,’ but even in Paradise Americans can not live without knowing what George Bush might have been up to overnight. So, it was inevitable that we would embark out in the dingy, sail the treacherous Karaka Bay to buy the day’s edition of the New Zealand Herald.
The first morning arrives and, just short of drawing straws, the father-daughter team is chosen as the pair that will brave the high seas. Neither having any dingy experience whatsoever, but this doesn’t bother the daughter as, even in her 30s, she still believes that “my dad can do anything – he’ll figure it out!” (please don’t ask her if she still believes this, it is too emotional to answer)
The first step is getting the dingy out of the boat shed. This requires that we first figure out how the heck to bring the motor into a horizontal position, so as not to damage the propeller on the way into the water. No worries, this only takes approximately 10 minutes to figure out. After a quick fill-up of the petrol tank, we’re away laughing. The daughter of the father-daughter team, is laughing anyhow (and, by the way, does not stop now until the pair’s return approximately 30 minutes hence).
Okay, we’re in. Now . . . . this boat is pointed forward isn’t it? (Several minutes later, we discovered it was not.) Something just doesn’t seem right, but, hey, a little laughter and all seems perfectly normal.
The first shade of doubt enters the daughter’s mind, when the father can’t figure out how to turn the motor on. “I’m pulling out on this thing . . . . nothing’s happening . . . .:
“Dad, we’re floating into shore. Here, I’ll row out, just keep trying.” He does know ‘everything’ doesn’t he??, she ponders.
Whew, it finally starts. “Okay, now, hmmm, we are facing forward aren’t we,” she thinks, as her father proceeds to try to make the dingy actually move.
Over the sound of the engine fully cranked, father yells, “It’s in ‘forward’ and I’m revvin’ it. I can’t give it any more gas, I don’t know why it’s not moving.” A sudden panic overwhelms the daughter and she yells, “For goodness sake, stop revving it, we are NOT facing forward. If you get it going, we’ll slam into the sheer rockface wall only 10 feet ahead (or behind…_) STOP!”
Okay, crisis averted. “If dad knows everything, why doesn’t he know something as simple as aft and stern??” she wonders (note: aft and stern are two words recently looked up in the dictionary as ‘research’ for this short story).
Oh well, the daughter tries to block out further doubts…. The boatie team quickly turns around and faces the REAL front of the boat. By sheer luck, somehow the boat starts moving (we do manage to repeat this maneuver one more time later that evening, so must not have been luck). No more revving - - father is happy to enjoy a gentle ride on our trek to get the paper.
Once over at the Yacht Club, little did we know there was a boatie-friendly pontoon available to the right of the boathouse. We believe the only place to park (or is it ‘dock’) is at the gas pump or the space reserved for Reuben. A quick look out on the Karaka and no Reuben in sight, so we decide to share his space for a quick moment.
Waves are lashing at the dock posts. The dingy is being swept to and fro. Someone is looking on curiously from the boathouse…. “How can they possibly think little boats can tie up here,” the daughter thinks. “How ridiculous.” With the engine turned off, they paddle in close, manage to tie up the boat and run in to buy a paper.
With such an adventure so far, it seems silly that the expedition results in only $1.50 spent in 30 seconds flat. Anyway, back in the dingy.
It’s a bit dicey backing out of Reuben’s parking space (docking space?), but we make it and we are on the way back.
Just short of 30 minutes from boatshed to the Yacht Club and back. The ‘girls’ on the deck capture the adventurers returning. Only to notice . . . . these novices sailed their maiden dingy voyage ‘sans’ life jackets. (oops!)
Safely on shore, we were happy to read the reports that ole’ George Dubbya hadn’t been up to much different – a few wars started, a few wisecracks thrown at world leaders. The world was once again right on Kawau. Ahh….
[Chapter Two of Kawau Boatie Tales is yet to be written, but is a tale of 5 adult Americans, crammed into the above dingy, braving choppy waves for damn expensive fish n chips. The pontoon was found on this journey as the club owners yelled at the crew for taking up Reuben’s space once again. Nerves were frazzled on the voyage home as one passenger sang, ‘Jesus Loves Me,’ (a tune apparently that comes to mind when death is insinuated) and all three women experienced mad fits of uncontrollable laughter. We did remember safety vest this time, but as there were only 4, the father sacrificed for the others, saying, “It’s a short swim, I’ll be fine.”]
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