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| this image: loading logs |
| The other day I hopped onto the Wanderyears to fill a gap in my memory. A two minute job turned into an hour, as I read far beyond, and into the next journal and the next….
It reminded me of a dilemma that had been troubling me; what to do with this website. Should I continue to pay a hosting fee for something I no longer update? The problem is, the pleasure I gained from re-visiting those old journals brought back so many amazing memories, I find it hard to let it go. I don’t know what I will do, other than probably forget about it for another year. So why am I bothering you with another journal? Well, the truth is, so much has happened here, and I still get the odd email from old followers and the occasional new arrival, enquiring as to what happened after the journey. I have since tidied up the site a little and cleared out a few pages that are no longer relevant, and added in the blogs I wrote for World Nomadads. On my arrival to New Zealand, I wrote what I thought would be my last journal. At the time I was working temporarily as a wharfie at the Port of Tauranga and had before me a number of options for ongoing work as I attempted to settle in this new country. Eventually, I moved a couple of hours south to Taupo, located on the central plateau of the North Island, where I returned to my more usual profession as a gamekeeper. All outdoor sports are hugely popular here, including hunting, and my area of expertise in managing organised game bird hunting is increasingly in demand, albeit on a small scale with such a tiny population. Though I had left the UK with plans to develop a new career, the temptation to do the job I love in a new country was too great. In the meantime Rosie, whom I had met during my travels back in 2005, arrived in NZ to ‘see how things go’. We settled in to enjoying life in great surroundings with 750 sq km Lake Taupo on our doorstep, backed by Tongariro National Park that includes the active volcano Mt Ruapehu. Though we began to build a social life and acquire the clutter of domestic living, we did only view this position as temporary, mostly because the accommodation with the job was of a low standard. I had been taken by surprise by just how tough I had found settling in a new country to be. Though already quite familiar with the kiwi lifestyle, being here to live felt different to previous trips and dealing with such mundane things as work and bills became less an adventure and more of a chore. All of a sudden, subtle differences in culture that used to be a novelty became more of an annoyance; I was turning into a whinging Pom. At any point during the first year, I could have jumped on the next plane out. I had a particular problem with my mail box. Not the electronic version, but the old fashioned type where you receive lots of bills. Coming from a country where the friendly postman has the decency to pop your mail through the door to your house, no matter where you live, it took me some time to understand the complexities of ‘rural delivery’ in New Zealand. Once I had applied to the post office to receive the delivery service, I had to organise one of those quaint mail boxes you see in the movies when young hoodlums like to drive around rural America, making a sport of knocking them over with baseball bats. I now know that there are quite specific guidelines to the positioning of your box, mainly to enable the driver to pull over safely and post mail through his window without having to get out. Had I have actually read them; I would have saved myself having to move it twice for the benefit of a protesting postman. With the position finally agreed, I was dismayed next to receive a note from the postman, asking me to raise the height by half a metre. I was beginning to think this was some kind of joke that the rural postman reserved for new arrivals with a foreign surname. The adjustment made, I finally began to receive my mail and I now had a thorough understanding of the finer points of rural delivery. Until some motorist reversed into the box and knocked it clean over. Once again, the now tired looking box was re-erected. In the spring, the local Mynah Bird population found my mail box to their liking and began to nest. Daily, I would have to pull out a bunch of nesting material to get at my poo-covered mail, often with a protesting Mynah Bird attached. I now receive most of my bills online. A year and a half later we moved back to Tauranga, a small city that lies on the Pacific coast of the North Island. Seeing an opportunity to pick up my original plan of developing a new career, I took up a position as foreman at the country’s largest export port. I trained in the art of loading ocean class ships, the company I worked for specialising in handling forest products such as logs, sawn timber, pulp and paper reels. I have always had a fascination with the shipping industry, and this was the perfect opportunity to indulge my interest while learning new skills. What followed was probably the toughest year of my life! |
| Full Circle |
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| Where I had always thought myself quite proficient on a computer, running a travel website proved no use at all when trying to understand complex software for tracking vessel loading operations! I learned the amazing power of excel spreadsheets, and the all too often unreliability of heavy machinery such as log loading excavators and ship’s cranes. For a country boy plonked in the midst of a busy port environment, my head throbbed with the noise and responsibility of up to twenty five wharfies that would typically be employed for a full uplift. Never was the difference between town and country more apparent to me, and I found it hard to find anything in common with the many people I had to deal with. Wharfies are generally a highly skilled and hard working bunch of people, but they absolutely need to be led from the front to bring those qualities out – often a difficult thing for me to do when I didn’t always know what the hell I was doing myself!
Most aspects of vessel loading can only be best learned on the job, and the company I worked for had a well calculated programme of allowing for the needs of training while gradually increasing the level of responsibility in line with ones abilities. It unashamedly pushes hard, for this is not a business for dawdlers. Much of the time I felt well out of my depth and often wondered whether I would ever make the grade. It is only now, with hindsight, that I realise just how far I had come in a short time. The job requires a multitude of skills from managing a range of people, problem solving and fast decision making, mechanical and technical competence, a solid understanding of mathematics and volumes, and an ability to cope with the unpredictable twenty-four-seven nature of shipping. It’s amazing what strong coffee can do to get you through a situation. However, no amount of coffee could convince me that in the long term I would ever be any good at this job. I felt I was seriously struggling with almost every aspect, including that of city life. My personal confidence had taken a severe blow and I just wasn’t happy. Several months earlier I had been offered a position in gamekeeping, and the thought of going back began to consume my thoughts. I was reluctant to give up on this fascinating and challenging role, but after quite a few meaningful discussions with Rosie, who was also affected by the change in lifestyle, we decided to make the move. After all, gamekeeping is equally fascinating and challenging, but at least I know what the hell I am doing. I remain grateful to the company and fellow foreman for their support and encouragement during my training, and always a little apologetic for not toughing it out a little longer; but in the long run, they’ll thank me for not having to deal with any poorly loaded ships at the bottom of the Pacific. Next time you buy something from a store, give a little thought to where it came from and how it got there; 90% of the world’s goods are shipped by sea and the millions of people responsible for getting it there do a tough job that will always command my respect. So now I have truly gone full circle on my journey which began in 2005 with the departure from England to a new life and, so I thought, a new career in a new country. I am once again doing the job I love and better still, the station upon which I work runs from hill country 500m above sea level right down to the coast. On any day I can be mooching about in a valley filled with native bush, or out on my kayak trying to catch dinner. Though we are quite remote, Rosie and I are in our element and once again building a meaningful social life together. For some time she has been working as an instructor for Riding for the Disabled (RDA) , a job she also holds dear, and one she is very good at. |
| Late last year, I had to admit to myself that I have been ‘giving it a go’ with Rosie for quite a while now. A sleepless night with these thoughts led to me hatching a plan, and I whisked her down to Wanaka in the South Island for a skiing trip in the Southern Alps. The luxury Wanaka Stonehouse proved a great surprise for Rosie, her expectations normally set low with my usual style of travel accommodation nestling firmly in the ‘budget’ category. The Pièce de résistance was a helicopter trip up into the Mount Aspiring mountain range, where we landed in the snow and I asked her that question which up until now, I have spent my life avoiding.
At about minus ten Celsius, her answer was somewhere along the lines of ‘yyyyyy – ye – yes’. A bottle of Veuve Clicquot was duly produced for a toast, along with Alex our pilot and Stephen of Pure Adventures who helped me to organise the flight. Thanks guys – your expert help is very much appreciated. |
| As we enjoy the rest of this long hot summer in the north, plans are already underway for two weddings. The official event will take place in Rosie’s home village in the UK September 2010, with a second less formal affair here on the station in NZ afterward. It’s easier than moving people from one side of the globe to the other. I have been a little shocked at how quickly Rosie has entangled me in discussions over dresses, churches and cake. However, all that aside, I am enjoying making plans for the honeymoon and sense an opportunity for a wee bit of travel in Asia, albeit on a smaller scale than of late.
As for the Wanderyears, I can’t bring myself to let it go just yet. Besides, who ever said I would stop travelling? |
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| In the nearst bunk a tally clerk scans each log while behind a loader drops the next load in ready for lifting onto the vessel |
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| The coastal station where we now live and work, looking across to Coromandel |
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| Stephen captured the crucial moment with a zoom lense - my knees were bloody freezing! |
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| We're outa here! |
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| Image by Stephen Rebertson |
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