Day Two – Chasing More Boats

Because RK cannot get enough of boats and things water-y, Rick has agreed to take another trip downtown today while Judith is at work. We’ll visit two of Auckland’s five-star tourist traps. Since it is so close to the Southern Ocean’s ice continent, New Zealand is the natural stepping off place for most Antarctic expeditions and supply trips. It is a logical choice to slip into Kelly Tarlton’s Antarctica Museum, replete with a sno-cat-on- tracks ride through a very large freezer room. The “ride in” freezer is home to about a hundred penguins, some King and the rest smaller versions of same. It is my personal observation that if you’ve seen one Tuxedo Bird, you have seen them all, regardless of the color of the rings around their eyes or their relative size. The characteristic waddle on ice and snow or the bullet-like speed under water looks pretty much the same regardless of the species. And if truth be known, having watched “The March of the Penguins" twice, a real life penguin simply cannot compare to the majesty of the cinematic scenes in that wonderfully personal documentary. Watching any penguins without the melodious tones of Morgan Freeman’s voice warming up the aural senses just isn’t the same. I am hoping some future trip to our Southern pole will change my mind about this.

Stepping out of the sno-cat, one immediately is drawn to the large 60 foot diameter tank that is the entrance to the aquarium and shark emporium. Unique because one walks (actually one can simply step on to a moving tread way) within a tunnel of Plexiglas (a technique and design invented by Kelly himself) while said sharks, rays and many large fish swim beside, around, and above one’s head. The white underbelly of a six foot shark or a five foot ray as it deliberately glides up and over one’s person is a bit disconcerting at first but soon, the realization that 6 inches of solid Plexiglas is a good safety barrier makes one more curious about the underbelly of such graceful creatures. Quite unlike the curiosity I have experienced while viewing the underbelly of more than one city center I have visited. Bottom line here? It was fun, a bit pricy but then after all, it is a vacation.

The short drive back to the New Zealand Maritime Museum allowed RK to once more drool over the sleek hull lines of Fay’s 133 foot unsuccessful challenger to Connor’s Cat while Rick and Kristine blissfully sailed past me into the Maritime Museum. It is built over a 300 yard quay harbor side and is a marvel of multiple floor heights. One of the things I hate about getting old is not recognizing small changes in floor elevation, stumbling repeatedly and looking quite foolish… not to mention OLD! Granted the exhibits were spectacular including, I believe, a detailed model of every ship, boat, canoe and hollowed-out log that ever arrived on the shores of this maritime nation. Surely only the Maritime Museum in Lisbon, Portugal could claim to have more extensive display of exquisite miniatures. My only complaint (beside the floors) was an incomprehensible display methodology. Neither chronological nor geographic in nature, it was all a bit of a jumble including the Peter Blake exhibit in the furthermost hall of the buildings.

For those of you who recognize the name but can’t remember why, Blake was the quintessential Kiwi sailor who wrested the America’s Cup from the Aussie’s and eventually was shot and killed by thieves aboard his 85 foot yacht while on a scientific expedition up the Amazon. A sad end to a superb sailor who had much left to accomplish. He is a national hero here in NZ and rightly so. His famous “Black Magic” America’s Cup boat with its winged keel is displayed in its entirety in the exhibit and remains as impressive out of the water as she was slicing through it on her way to a convincing Cup victory. Certainly a watershed moment in the evolution of sailboat design as well as match racing.

Arriving back on the Clarke Homestead for dinner we were delighted to find Ray had obtained fresh Flounder that Judith had simply pan fried whole, one for each of us. We gorged ourselves on the delicious fish but also on several long winded dissertations upon subjects rarely broached at the Clarke dinner table, with the “weirdness” of Americans taking center stage. I am told the event was hugely successful as evidenced by the lack of a TV blaring at the far end of the dining room. Apparently the first time in over a year that Ray did not peruse NZ One on the telly during dinner. One can only hope it was the quality of this guest’s words and not the volume of same that rendered the telly silent. Those of you familiar with my audio levels at dinner might have your own answer to that question. Off to the Bay of Islands tomorrow.