albionspeak 2: the gates of dis (13.4)
Letter from NZ
4/28/23 Auckland, Auckland (post seven weeks' travel)
Not back yet, but all the hard work is done: We’re again in Auckland, though just an airport hotel (no garage), and not the city centre, which I have no plans to navigate before we fly home tomorrow. Here’s our final recap (I hope).
Driving further into Northlands, we took the slower coastal roads, though rarely glimpsed the ocean, for as with all roads here, most time is spent snaking up & down the hills & mountains; even the major highways have one-lane bridges. Outside most city limits, the speed limit is 100 kph, which means effectively no limit at all, for it’s often not remotely possible to race faster than 70. Always beautiful, the scenery got progressively richer$$$ approaching the Bay of Islands, perhaps the equivalent of Martha’s Vineyard in the U.S. We passed many “stations,” which strangely translates from Kiwi better into Argentine “estancias,” where even the Maori labor houses are hidden from view. Found our way to Russell, for the drive & for a pee but no more, as we were turned off by the wonderful tourist charm and busloads of old people postcard-stalking; grabbed the ferry across the short end of the bay (another serves a longer end), where ([my wife] asked me to mention) Google Maps told us to “head straight” after we boarded. Again we ignored “her” suggestions, though we did depend on her daily on North Island due to the massive road closures.
Mangonui, our final stop north, proved a nice place to end. Our hotelier was an older active rich-guy (a notable demographic), who rode his motorbike from Los Angeles to Prudhoe Bay, Alaska (in seven weeks); he also frequented China on business trips. More important to us, he was a white Kiwi native of the far far north and knew every bay & track & surfing wave. So we followed his many tips & advice and drove to Cape Reinga the next day, the farthest point up the island, the very tip, accessible via the main highway. Technically, it’s neither the northern- nor westernmost point in N.Z. (“en zed”), but this is where the Maori believe their souls depart the world after they die…. From the map I‘d guessed it to be a sand spit, but it’s mountainous, ever more Kiwi cliffs, where the headland heights seem cosmically aligned for watching two oceans collide. On this day the Tasman Sea (huge swells) & the South Pacific (pacific) had different heights, and their tides differed by more than an hour. Rolling waves from near-opposite directions—West & East = left & right from our overview—met about a kilometer offshore, and the wide vertical swath of whitewater was pure violence.
We went to a tiny bay, one of a zillion beach gems, then drove a bit to the giant sand dunes, which people ride down on rented mini-surf boards; then we followed a long gravel road to Rarawa Beach, the “second nicest sand beach in the world,” as our hotelier described, setting me up to ask him later which ranked first. “I’d have to kill you if I told you” (of course). The sand & surf were indeed exquisite; but far better—indeed an N.Z. all-time highlight, which had [my wife] in tears on our trip’s final stop—was Rarawa’s immense trove of seashells, tens of thousands literally, laterally sorted by size by the tides: scallops & clams, but mostly spiral snail shells, all the same species—or so it seemed to me, though I’m sure [my wife] saw each shell individually, each a swirling world. She can spend all day sifting & staring, but I‘d parked the car in an isolated spot along that long gravel road, out of sight of the beach I dared not drive on. We’d been warned about crime in the north.
A few odds & ends I omitted along our trip: Yesterday we again viewed more of N.Z.’s signature tree-hedges, carefully planted the full length of both islands. [my wife] & I guess they’re probably Leyland cypresses along a row, carefully pruned into perfect windbreak hedges, except they’re 40 ft high. We have no idea what tool is used to manicure their ideal shape, as the tops are perfectly flat. Stranger, these hedges don’t just follow the roads; they go straight up steep hills without roads, so the pruning equipment is a real mystery. They’re not just windbreaks, but obvious status symbols, hiding vineyards, orchards, and sprawling stations. Yesterday we saw immaculate hedges that were nearly twice the height of the telephone poles next to them, probably over 70 ft tall; and winding one bend in the road, we viewed numerous such hillside hedges going in multiple directions over many many acres, looking from that distance like a giant hedge-maze, something out of Alice in Wonderland, mind-blowing.
A few weeks ago, driving to Nelson going 100 kph in heavy rain, we came upon a tree that had just been struck by lightning, just a few minutes prior, charred & pouring out smoke. It’s farmer owner was walking away from it, visibly frustrated in his full-farmer attire, the iconic Kiwi identity (post Gallipoli): a plaid shirt, short shorts, a mangled Tilley hat, and rubber boots. Women farmers dress the same. The exception would be the working shepherds (no cows) who wear “beanies” (ski caps), especially the Maori.
Speaking of Maori, I guess I never confirmed the obvious here: Tattoos are everywhere, especially among the Maori. Women wear a chin tattoo, much like an ornate beard. Men display traditional designs all over their arms, which follow the same chevron patterns one finds in woodcarving, lots of stylized gods. Legs are also routinely tattooed, along with chests, backs, full faces & necks, and places, I’m sure, I don’t want to see. But they’re all in the traditional motifs, which [my wife] & I find attractive & meaningful. We do not feel the same about the many whites and their different tattoos, often representational & colored, which are common among both genders, or rather all genders here. I cannot assume these tattoos have any less meaning for their owners, though I do, so I note my bias.
Speaking further of Maori speaking, which I heard spoken commonly in Rotorua—and had read & then confirmed that more Maori people live in the far north—l am disappointed to report the Northlanders mostly speak standard (nasal) Kiwi English. That is, I observed large tattooed families, multiple dining parties where every woman came with a chin tattoo, while each man’s full face displayed a work of art. Often huge people—both strong rugby-bodies, as well as sumo emeriti, including women—I found it discordant & incongruous when (more than once) they sounded to me like recordings of Neville Chamberlain waving the Munich Accords—a spontaneous & bizarre association. I hope not to find allegory in this image.
Finally, I can’t overstate the level of destruction wrought by the numerous cyclones North Island suffered last summer, Gabrielle wreaking the worst damage by far, but exacerbated & magnified because the earth had taken prior beatings: saturated ground, the rivers at flood stage already, and all the cliff-hanging clear-cuts scraped clean to the bone—clearly a dangerous logging practice outlawed in the U.S. Trees are stripped & left strewn to dry rather than taken away immediately, thus no extra cost for their storage; nor are they ever piled up, though the roots & branches and the very ground they carve are expertly stacked in long lines to rot, rarely burned. No replanting till later if ever; no sign of seedlings nor even ground-cover seeding. Now mix in 19 inches of rain in 3 hours on said bald hillsides, which fall precipitously onto U-shaped valley floors of vineyards & orchards & schools. One correction: I’m a math guy, so I’m mad at myself for exaggerating what we personally witnessed of Gabrielle—my numbers still reeling as metaphors of the Esk River Valley devastation, apparently Ground Zero. We did not actually see “thousands” of buildings (numbers quoted for the surrounds), but a few hundred (only). Twisted railroad tracks for miles carve a deep impression.
4/30/23 Home, Washington
I finish this note with a brief overview: It’s Sunday finally, since Saturday, April 29th, itself literally took me 36 hours to live through. We’re finally home with nothing to report about the flight itself, except that I was predictably uncomfortable & slept poorly, while [my wife] in first class was happy with her money well spent. We both agree that New Zealand is the “most beautiful” country we’ve ever seen: It’s exquisite everywhere; the Kiwis are universally friendly, and we covered all of it, bottom to top, side to side multiple times. [my wife] said she didn’t want to leave, though I was ready; we’d done it all.
So I’ll never come back, for I still need new discovery more than the pleasures of known and/or low-hanging beauty (we didn’t come to N.Z. for culture). Gimme more beauty I don’t know.
And yet at this point in my life, I start to wonder what wonders I’ve left to seek, for of course I know the math: There’s always more Unknown than Knowable, infinitely more. This applies literally to abstract thinking; but, I tell myself, the world is finite. Maybe in one life it’s still possible to squeeze it all in—all the relevant, interesting stuff, all that’s necessary (whatever that means). And of course, in my final failing years I intend to dwell fully in such eternities evermore, through books & music in the comfort of my living room. But while I still have a functional body, I push it to my limits. Always have.
For the record, we traveled New Zealand for a specific reason, you may recall: My body fell apart. All my chronic injuries came alive together & synergized, so that at the start of COVID I couldn’t get around a grocery store without a walking boot, a stress fracture that took nearly 8 months just to diagnose; my knee(s) & tendon likewise were shot. I would’ve gladly “settled” (haggling with God) for just, please, a little hiking with my grandsons only. I wondered at what point a knee replacement or amputation might be viable, enviable.
But then I got lucky. After finding out that my lifelong flat-footedness had finally led to collapsed arches & bone fragments, the fix was rather easy: custom orthopedic arches. But then I got luckier. It turned out my 15-year knee & tendon problems probably were symptoms of the same cause; the tendon that holds up the arch passes through the knee, etc. In short, I came back from long-term injury, having believed for several years that I’d likely never move effectively again.
So that’s why New Zealand in particular. As soon as I got my body back (mostly), I knew that I couldn’t wait. Use it or lose New Zealand, for I’ve always felt the main reason for traveling to N.Z. was its fabulous tracks, to hike all I could, while I could, because I love to hike and because later I can’t. [my wife], sadly, can no longer hike like this and would have loved it. Disability is certain—not if, firmly when. I have not staged a physical “come back,” so much as I’ve been granted a reprieve, a brief extension.
Captain James Cook, the ultimate discoverer-navigator, is ubiquitous in New Zealand: Though Dutch explorer Abel Tasman first sighted N.Z. in 1642, Cook in 1770 was first to circumnavigate it & thoroughly chart the islands. Cook’s name names N.Z.’s highest peak as well as its defining strait that divides the two islands; some of his logbook notes & marginalia themselves became proper nouns here: Doubtful Sound, for instance, in the southwest Fiordlands, derives from Cook’s guessing that if he ever entered within its narrow high cliffs, it was “doubtful” he could sail out. In the far northeast at Doubtless Bay, where we stayed our final nights, Cook’s log ascertains, jaded or not, that the idyllic spot marked “doubtless another bay.”
So I did get a special thrill from stumbling onto Mercury Bay near Hahei, Coromandel Peninsula. While [my wife] snorkeled (and got seasick), I was hiking above Shakespeare Cliff, a regional park, and was tickled to read on a plaque that the cliff was actually named by Cook himself, who thought from his anchored ship the rock face resembled the portrait of Shakespeare. (Which one?) Cook used the beach there, Cooks Beach, to observe astronomically the transit of Mercury; and when I read this, I was confused enough to research further later. Mercury? I thought it was Venus.
Cook’s ostensible, official reason for coming to the South Pacific was indeed to observe the transit of Venus, not Mercury. Consider how unique the voyage of Endeavor was from its inception: It was funded as a scientific mission first—not military or commercial—foremost to observe this rare celestial event from the necessary antipodes, because, so it was believed, from such a point one might lock in on an exact longitude. Longitude remained the most serious problem in navigation in 1768, so scientists wanted to use Venus as a way to establish where on Earth a few key locations lay. Thus in Tahiti, Cook, a capable astronomer, took the measurements himself along with two scientists from three different island locations with different lenses & compared the results. Not until the results were recorded, did Cook then open the sealed envelope that gave him his secret new orders: Go check out Australia & New Zealand, and find out if New Zealand is, as Tasman assumed, an arm of “Antarctica.”
In 1776 Cook was the best surveyor/cartographer who’d ever lived. The voyage of the Endeavor was designed around his immense talents (much as the U.S. presidency was designed with George Washington in mind). It’s worth a list of what Cook did both before & after sailing around both New Zealand’s islands, mapping both in enough detail that his charts of Coromandel, for example, were still used after WWII:
1757 In the Seven Years’ War Cook mapped Newfoundland so accurately his maps
were used for over 200 years. He pioneered “hydrographic” techniques (from
a ship) in triangulation that led to the best maps of his day.
1759 Cook was instrumental in one of the world’s greatest army battles, Quebec.
The British took fortress Quebec by surprise by scaling the cliffs behind the
Plains of Abraham at night; but the real surprise to the French was the British
fleet’s ability to navigate the treacherous St. Lawrence River, thought
impassable, especially at night. Cook had in the months leading up to the
assault taken many canoe trips with natives. His charts were good enough to
guide the whole expedition in the dark, in silence, up a strong current among
rocks.
1768-1771 On his First Voyage around the world Cook discovered & charted many
South Pacific Islands; mapped New Zealand, proved it’s not Antarctica; &
proved Australia is indeed a continent. “Found” the Great Barrier Reef.
1772-1775 Cook’s Second Voyage circumnavigated the world at the southernmost
latitudes, finding along the way Vanuatu, South Georgia Island, Tonga, and
Easter Island. While he never sighted Antarctica, finding icebergs provided
evidence of land. On this voyage he used the newly-invented waterproof ship’s
watch to demonstrate the problem of longitude had been solved. No one on this
voyage died of scurvy.
1776-1780 Cook’s Third Voyage around the world (completed w/o him) sailed again
to Tahiti, but then headed east to Oregon, finding Hawaii on the way. This time
his secret mission was to seek the Northwest Passage from the west. He thus
proved definitively (I recall from teaching Washington State History): 1) There is
no northwest passage to Asia (that is, until now). 2) Indians would trade fur
pelts, which could then be traded for silks & spices in Asia; thus, sailing to the
Pacific could be profitable. I rarely taught that Cook anchored for a month in
Nootka Sound, Vancouver Island, or that he sailed the length of Pacific Canada
and Alaska, through the Bering Strait into the Arctic Ocean, drawing great maps
the whole time. Consider that before Cook’s Third Voyage the “width” of the
Americas on maps was pure speculation. Before getting killed (& partially eaten)
in Kealakekua Bay, he mapped much of Hawaii.
Is it important to note that Cook’s observations of the transit of Venus, the prime directive on his First Voyage, proved a scientific failure for both technical & theoretical reasons? The problem of longitude, on the other hand, was solved coincidentally then, without needing to consult the heavens. There’s no east or west off Planet Earth.
I often compare Cook’s voyages to the Lewis & Clark expedition one generation later. Of course both groups reached the Pacific Northwest, so they both highlighted curricula I taught. But the more important connection between these expeditions lies in their rarest missions of discovery for-its-own-sake. Of course, there were national military & commercial interests which made the journeys necessary/profitable; but foremost these expeditions were outfitted from the outset to document scientifically everything they encountered, inviting the unexpected, the unforeseeable, the black swans. Above all, Cook and Clark (in particular) were great surveyors & cartographers. Eighteenth Century maps had great chunks of terra incognita which suddenly got filled in, systematically, mathematically.
In 1779 during the Revolutionary War, Benjamin Franklin sent out a navy-wide order regarding the seizure of any & all British ships, the protocols for searches & treatment of sailors. There was one exception: Cook’s vessel Resolution, if encountered, should be allowed to sail freely. Franklin regarded Cook’s achievements & spirit of discovery to stand above national factions, beyond war. (He didn’t know Cook was already dead.)
Who is Cook to me? I am a traveler, always have been. I went to N.Z. primarily to hike, but hiking, of course, is just another mode of travel. I realize I am unlike most people who travel regularly, the business class and/or pleasure-seekers. I travel to discover simply, accurately, seeking what’s different or special and not for pleasure per se. I never go anywhere, including New Zealand, for “fun,” a word I seldom use outside of soccer. I declare this without conscious hypocrisy, though most of the best days of my life, of course, involve traveling/hiking somewhere foreign & fantastic with the people I love. Isn’t that “fun”? Discovery is fun.
Coincidentally for the length of the trip I read all of, but only one book: The History of Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon, 900 micro-print pages, which I really enjoyed. Gibbon published Volume I in 1776, finishing in roughly a decade; thus he was an exact contemporary of Cook & Franklin & also Jefferson (who sent Lewis & Clark)—the enlightened men of their age. It was written of Gibbon that he felt more “loyalty to Shakespeare” than the British crown. Cook knew Shakespeare, too, well enough to know his face from a folio or volume he read often.
The world is finite, I keep telling myself, saving half of Shakespeare (I confess) for my seventies & living room disability. My reading bucket list, therefore, is not infinite; there is a loose canon I must cross off to reach my minimum bar—not all literature, with many languages & cultures ruthlessly unrepresented—only the necessary best, Shakespeare first among others. It will take me probably twenty years; I have just enough time. Otherwise I die ignorant.
I offer all this excess summary of Cook’s life, etc., because that’s why I travel—not just to tally countries & continents, but “to boldly go where no man has gone before” (Cook being the model for Star Trek’s Captain Kirk). I thought I knew Cook’s curriculum vitae, but until physically visiting Mercury Bay I hadn’t put the pieces together. What an amazing man!
A different example: After seeing New Zealand flax everywhere, which looks & is used like giant sisal, I realized I didn’t know much about “real” flax, the Eurasian plant. Acknowledging my ignorance & feeling shame(?), I researched flax to find that flax is as ubiquitous as Cook’s voyages. Flax is linseed is rapeseed is linen fabric is linseed oil in food & paints is linoleum and was used as clothing as far back as 30,000 years ago in Armenia. I had no fucking idea how central to civilization flax has been, and I wouldn’t have known without New Zealand—which is not a causal connection, of course, but a traveler’s willingness—even while carrying out a prescribed (secret) mission—to explore what arises unexpectedly, just to find out.
Travel cannot be an end, for there is no end; nor a means, which is defined in terms of reaching an end. Travel is an attitude, an approach, a resolve to keep changing. No, I am not done shaping myself yet, even if perhaps I’ve taken my last trip which required me so much of me physically. I had fun.
Cook knew Shakespeare. I find this fact enormously fun as well.
Love,
[Albion]
The Table of Contents below is too long to display fully. If you click to the right of these Lessons, you'll see the primary source documents displayed under each. These original sessions are a world treasure.