We did not watch the live coverage of the ANZAC services across the
other side of the world, although Chris did check in briefly and confirmed it
was full of the pomp and ceremony you would expect. We had watched the Steven
Spielberg movie “Warhorse”, a heart wrenching Black Beauty (updated from the
nineteenth century sad saga to a violent battle scene), not for the faint
hearted, although nor was Black Beauty from memory. It was all too much for me
and I retired to bed.
We spent Sunday in an entirely sedentary manner, nursing our less than
perfect health, an excuse to read and relax. We did venture out after lunch,
across the Domain to the supermarket to replenish the wine supplies, because
even in such times, in fact perhaps even more so, the fruits of the grape are
necessary for one’s health and well-being, being full of vitamins and relaxants.
Yesterday morning we woke bright eyed and bushy tailed, Chris looking
better than he has for the last couple of weeks. The weather was shocking, the
winds forecasted to gust to dangerous levels. We weighed up our options and
decided to head north, Plan A to go as far as Marton, Plan B being anywhere in-between.
Once clear of the Kapiti Coast, the wind became less of a hazard and we
pressed on, pausing at Foxton, lunching down by the river. We watched the ducks
feed on the wet banks, the drowning worms offering themselves for sacrifice,
and watched an athletic shag hunt for lively fish.
Back on the road we soon arrived at Bulls, and wonder of wonders, the
little Bulls & District Museum was open. My great great grandfather was
born at Scott’s Ferry and farmed in the area until he moved to Apiti, all rural
areas in the region. Currently the exhibits in the museum have been moved about
to highlight matters relating to the First World War, so the local settlement records
had been pushed into the shadows, but I did find Henry Burne’s name on the list
of settlors “post -1849”. Alas the day’s custodian could lay her hands on
nothing further, but I left my name and contact details on a slip of paper and
today when I turned this computer on, there was an email from a more locally entrenched
historical member of the museum team with all sorts of information, and more to
follow up when I can waste more time on line.
We drove on to our now well favoured camp at Marton, joined the other
campers at the Happy Hour (and a half) and passed a very pleasant evening.
During the night the rain came in torrents and my husband slept little,
spending most of his waking time coughing. His recovery is not perhaps as advanced
as first thought, however when he did finally crawl out of bed, an hour after
myself, we breakfasted and headed north once more, braving the wind and rain, a
slow trip up through the Rangiteiki, the Ruapehu District (stopping for lunch
at Waiouru as we had on our way south all those
months ago), up along the Desert Road, from where there were no views of
the grand volcanoes at all, and on up the eastern shore of Lake Taupo to our
camp here tonight.
On arrival the sun was shining and there was hope of better days to
come. Chris pulled the generator out of the hatch and serviced it as per the
instruction book. But soon the day had closed in and we realised that the bad
weather enveloping New Zealand is here on the northern shores of the lake as
well.
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