Beaks

Eleni left a blog comment saying that she was eating Kiwis. This is not likely, unless she’s become a cannibal in my absence, in which case I wish she would stop. Kiwis don’t like it when you confuse them with the fruit, which Eleni used to call “kee-wahee-fwoot.” Did you know that kiwis (the bird) have their nostrils at the very end of their long beaks? When they’re rooting in the dirt for food they make a little snuffling noise because their noses keep getting stuffed up, like mine, except my snout hasn’t been in the ground lately.

Today is our second-to-last full day here. I can’t quite believe it. On our first day, Syd told me of her desire to go to White Island, New Zealand’s most frequently active volcano. It sounded like a fascinating adventure and immediately found its place on our mental list of to-dos. But two weeks ago, when we were within striking distance of the jumping-off point for the day-long side trip, the foul weather kept the boat docked. That’s a common occurrence. Just today we met two people who have tried multiple times to make the journey but Mother Nature has thwarted them. So last night, when I saw that today’s weather was predicted to be fair, I made some phone calls. The improbable idea became a plan. We arose early this morning to make the 90-kilometer drive to the port.

White Island (Whaakari) lives in the Bay of Plenty, the first place in New Zealand to be settled by the Māori. As usual, Captain Cook named the bay, and as you can guess, he found it abundant in resources. He also named the island, for equally obvious reasons: the ever-present shroud of mist and steam. The volcano spends most of its time at an alert level rating of 1, which means “constant background activity.” Sometimes it acts up and moves to a level 2, but not today. I’ll let The Rough Guide to New Zealand tell you a little more:

White Island lies 50km offshore, sometimes a rough ride. [It was disturbingly rough today.] Neither this nor its seething volcanism deters visitors… Sulphur, for use in fertilizer manufacture, was sporadically mined on the island from the 1880s, but catastrophic eruptions, landslides and economic misfortune plagued the enterprise. The island was abandoned in 1934, and these days it is home only to 60,000 grey-faced petrels and 10,000 gannets.

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The island is accessible via a one-and-a-half hour boat trip. About 25 people joined us, one of whom I couldn’t stand because of his lips. They were thin and pinched, beaked on top, and muscular. The corners had white bits. I know I’m a jerk. I tried to be nice but I just couldn’t even look at him. Actually, he wasn’t very nice, either. He reminded me of Mr. Griesinger, my fifth- and seventh-grade English teacher who threw children against the blackboard and into the trash.

The boat anchored and people were ferried to shore in three groups aboard a rubber dinghy. I had to share with the muscle-lipped Brit.

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Because of the potent air, we’d been issued gas masks. Some people immediately donned them and kept them on in perfectly good air. Syd and I wore them just once, for photographic effect.

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I am really impatient in groups. People push and elbow to be first, or tenth. The leader speaks too softly to be heard by those who have been pushed and elbowed toward the back. I gave up on listening and straggled, taking pictures, as we walked through the quieter parts of the crater.

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Here are the ruins of the old sulfur mining facility.

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It was an interesting place, but the trip wasn’t as thrilling as I’d hoped. I’d wanted molten lava and close-up views into the mouth of the beast, but this is as close as we got.

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Very little lives on the island: no trees or mammals. The most abundant plant life is the New Zealand ice plant. There are two streams there, both warm, one salty and the other citrusy to the taste.

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Still, we were lucky to get to go: that the weather cooperated (aside from the bouncy seas and a few drops of rain) and that we managed to squeeze it into our crammed itinerary.

On our return, reality faced us: we started cleaning out the car, which we’re returning to Auckland tomorrow, and repacking for our return to our homeland. Speaking of which, did you know that Americans have a reputation for not traveling beyond our boundaries very much? I’ve heard it again and again; every time I tell someone I’m from the U.S. they point out that we have a very low number of passports per capita relative to other countries. I wonder what’s the story there.

Many nights, Syd has made popcorn and I’ve sliced the apple accompaniment. Tonight we’re having our last such feast. Rather sad.

Maw: I fear this post lacks élan as well. Maybe it’s time to come home and keep my typing fingers quiet.

3 comments

  1. According to Syd, they both have sodium and potassium in them (salty and bitter, respectively) so the different tastes are different proportions of these.

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