Day Four – Chasing the Rare Kauri Gum

The decision has been made. We ride the passenger ferry two miles across the bay to Russell rather than taking the car ferry which is located about 22 clicks (kilometers) back down the road we came up yesterday. The only reason (according to Rick who actually worked here many years ago) to have a car in this tiny tourist enclave is to ride up Flagstaff Hill for the view. It is a goodly steep hill but easily tramped by folks such as we three athletically inclined seniors… ooops… correction… two seniors and one who is one day shy of being a senior. We arrive after a 20 minute ride on flat seas and are just in time to catch all the shopkeepers either sweeping away remnants of last night’s bacchanalia or rummaging through their purse to find the keys to open up shop. We decide a walk up the famous Flagstaff Hill is in order before we look for breakfast. The Famous Flagstaff is normally visible from anywhere in town but this morning it is obscured by an errant cloud. My amazing analytic powers kicking swiftly, I immediately think, “Hmmm… cloud, hill.., uhh… altitude?” This bit of critical thinking ends in my asking Rick one more time about the hill climb. “No probs, old chap,” he blithely replies. This has been his mantra since we arrived in NZ. And for the most part he has been right. We start up the hill and at the first bend in the road it suddenly turns into an asphalt paved cliff. Rick’s response is “Hmmm, don’t recall this, must be a new road.” My retort is “don’t you think a new road would be a little less steep than the old road, Rick?” No response from Rick except for a little wheezing. Another 100 yards and 200 feet higher, the wheezing is now in stereo. I will admit, my steady diet of butter, sausage, and Egg McMuffins is on my mind as the old ticker works harder. Rick is stopping to admire the foliage on the side of the road and leaning heavily on his umbrella about every 6 or 8 steps now and I am hoping the Famous Flagstaff has a cold beer spigot attached. OK, OK we make it to the top and the view is worth all the carping. However, although the flagstaff is tall, it is sans any hint of a flag. Apparently not many folk volunteer to run it up the flagpole anymore, as they say on Madison Avenue. We admire the view and once breathing and heart rate are reduced to double digits we head down the hill with a lilt in our steps. Rick and I find a great cup of coffee and Kris finds nothing she can’t live without in the shops and we are quickly back to the ferry.

I ask Rick where he left his umbrella and when he tells me he left it up on the hill for the next poor soul who is caught up there in a downpour without an umbrella, I nod in awed admiration of his compassion and generosity. I am convinced (read coerced) to not mention his generosity to anyone else, however. (read Judith) This type of arrangement is generally acceptable behavior amongst men of the world. It is called bribery and can often prove to be lucrative to the bribee. (me, in this case) We spend a delightful few hours in one of the oldest Kauri forests in NZ and take turns having our picture taken in front of the largest known specimen not cut down and carved into faces with protruding tongues. In the photos, each of us can be recognized by our different color rain jackets. They appear as the small miniscule dot of color at the lower left of each photo. Think “The General Sherman” tree in Sequoia National Park.

Another of Kris’s desires is to find a piece of Kauri gum which resembles amber. It is very expensive and exceedingly rare we are told by every store clerk selling it. We find a small piece she likes for her jewelry-making endeavors and I purchase it for her as a small birthday gift. Tomorrow is her birthday after all, and I like a dolt, thought this trip was her present. Male stupidity raises its ugly head. Luckily my return plane ticket is pre-paid. A torrential downpour soaks me as bad as the sales clerk when we run back to the car and I assume God (She Who Is) is washing away my Sin of Omission. An all too brief stop at the famous Kauri Museum is the one sour note of the day. The museum is a fascinating tour de force in Kauri amber sculpture and the history of the Kauri tree in NZ’s economy. It includes displays of 67 different chainsaws, 41 early steam engines, a thousand other machines I cannot identify, and a working sawmill.

The saw mill brought back memories of helping my father work our small mill on the old dairy farm back in central Wisconsin. It was equipped with a 60 inch diameter blade boasting a hundred or so insert teeth and I learned most of my swear words from my Uncle who also helped us with the cantankerous machine. To this day I cannot believe we sawed enough straight boards from the oaks we cut down to build an entire new barn without a hand or foot or worse being lost to that singing five-foot saw blade. We kept the Kauri Museum folks as long as we could (we arrived only 40 minutes before closing, that being the one sour note of the day) and deeply regretted leaving. Rick is planning a return soon. No such luck for me. A late dinner of an aromatic and delicious stew is once more waiting for us at the Clarke’s thanks to Ann’s hospitality. We pack for the flight to the South Island city of Christchurch in the morning. Our days of having a personal guide are done. So be it. Let adventure reign.