Wat-er week it's been...

This past week's adventuring highlights have been two kayak excursions on the Queen Charlotte Sound.

The first time was last Sunday in unseasonably warm sunshine with not a whisper of a breeze. I went with my Ma & Pa. Also, their friends Paul the sheep farmer (qv) and his wife Muff (yup, I know. But nobody seems to mention it so I won't either) joined us and a 16-year old Austrian trainee farmer called Hannes, who is staying with them for a busman's holiday. We saw a herd of fur seals basking on the rocks. They weren't at all bothered by us so we could get really close to them. But not for long - their stench being rather high. Two slid into the water to get a closer look at us and were playful and curious. Fur seals grow to a large size (a very stout 5ft or so) and look like plump, flippered dogs with their large eyes, pointed snouts and quizzical expressions. It was a rare, truly humbling moment of mutual interest between man and beast. Or, indeed, beast and beast as Richard Dawkins et al would have it.

One could imagine the unsportingly easy targets they would have made for hunters in the days of yore, pre-Marine Mammals Act. They were hunted firstly by the Polynesians, who arrived sporadically until around 1300AD before developing into the distinct Maori culture, who ate the seal meat. Then, they were killed in truly vast numbers, indeed to near-extinction, for their pelts and blubber oil by European sailors in the 1800s. Happily, they are thriving once again due to the introduction of more palatable foodstuffs, Gore-Tex clothing and the electric lightbulb.

Entertaining as they were, the seals couldn't really compete for my attention with the unmistakable gliding arcs of two dorsal fins surfacing a few hundred metres away. As fast as my little arms could paddle me, I tried to head the common (that's their species name, not a reflection of their enjoyment for The Jeremy Kyle Show or the music of Simon Cowell's underlings) dolphins off at the pass. But it soon became obvious that they are rather more manoeuvrable in water than I. Like the seals though, they seemed to be quite curious about the wildlife botherer in the red canoe and didn't disappear straight away. Rather, they toyed with me, swimming rings around me, letting me think I was getting nearer before appearing again elsewhere. They did take pity on me though, just before they vanished for the day. They came up about 20ft away from me before one of the pair shot underneath me, just below the surface, clearly visible and indescribably graceful. It actually took my breath away. I can't say that about many things in life. Although it did also happen in a rugby PE lesson when I was elbowed in the nuts, but those circumstances were less pleasurable.

The second expedition was yesterday. Obviously, I was keen on another dolphin encounter but it wasn't to be this time. Ma, Pa & I stuck the boats in Maxine The Very Useful Van. A kayak for me and a blow-up dinghy with outboard motor for them. It wasn't so warm as last weekend and was cloudy with a slight chilly breeze, but no matter. As we were getting afloat we spotted a couple of fur seals close to the shore with their rear flippers waving above the water, duck-diving for something-or-other tasty. When they saw us they came straight over to say hello. Then, across the water of the bay, we spotted a rather excited cloud of seagulls wheeling, diving and swooping close to the water. I ventured over for a closer look and it turned out that it was a seal dining club getting their munch on. A dozen or so were working together, rounding up shoals of fish towards the surface. When the poor little fishies had nowhere left to swim, the seals would launch themselves from below, coming up through the shoal, often jumping out of the water with their lunch vainly struggling between the jaws of defeat. As I got even nearer, the seals, having eaten their fill and the gulls having disbanded, were now more concerned with the red, plastic floaty thing they had seen last week. Some individuals turned out to bolder (or perhaps just curiouser) than others and came almost within touching distance, snorting for breath as they popped their heads up to have a look around. They didn't seem in the slightest bit threatened and I just sat there while the oddly slithery sea-dogs became most intrigued with the small black rudder at the stern of my kayak. I suppose they might have thought it a fin, like one of their own. But then again, the bright red colour of my boat should have betrayed the fact that I wasn't one of their Pinniped brethren. It occurred to me that seals might not be the most intelligent of creatures. Nevertheless, by the time Ma & Pa had inflated their dinghy and motored over to join us, the seals' interest had not been exhausted and they continued to splash around the two boats for nearly an hour. My Mum thought this was wonderful (well actually, it really was) and talked to them like they were newborn nephews and nieces ("Ooh! Hell-oooooo!") whenever they bobbed about near the dinghy, sussing us out.

I'd like to go back on the next clement day, to see if they're still there. Apparently they are not perennially present and are rarely in these parts of the Sounds at this time of year. Perhaps they're hiding from some particularly ferocious orcas or something. Whatever, I'll have to try to make the most of them while they're here and will take a camera in the boat next time. Perhaps even some fish-flavoured bribes...


On a different note...

My meal of the week: Rognons Turbigo cooked by the Old Man.
This was an old family favourite when my siblings and I were in the proverbial short trousers. It is a kind of French peasant-style stew of sausages twisted into little round mini-sausages, kidneys, onions and a lovely thick gravy with white wine and sherry in it. With mash and leeks. Yummm! It rekindled my adoration of all things weird in the world of meat - the offally good titbits generally eschewed by the Kiwis, more so even than the Brits. Down here, kidneys, liver (called 'fry' as in lamb's fry), oxtail ('beeftail'), pig's trotters (these probably haven't even been graced with a name) etc are seen as barely fit for the dog's dinner. Resultantly, they are amazingly cheap and are being bought in giant, freezer filling-sized quantities by me and the Old Man. On tonight's menu was liver & bacon, which we scoffed with fried onions, mash, greens and the all-important gravy. We were going to have roast pork but that can wait till tomorrow. Somehow, roasts always seem to taste better on a Monday anyway.

My book of the week: Once Were Warriors by Alan Duff.
You may have seen the powerful and successful 1994 film of the same name, which seemingly kick started the then-modest worldwide interest in New Zealand cinema. It has certainly become a universally recognised and culturally important reference point for the country's youth, despite its fearsome subject matter. Having now digested both formats, I prefer the book. I usually prefer 'the book' to 'the film', whatever it happens to be. As is the case with literary/cinematographic translations, the book affords the reader the time and mental space to use his imagination to the advantage of the story and its message; a privilege not often extended to film viewers. In this case, the film could be conceived to work against itself by showing violent scenes mostly absent in any graphic detail from the book. Violence so evidently despised by Alan Duff. When writing, he didn't want his important and valid themes to be belittled by cheap thrills or titillation. A danger for any serious filmmaker is that the original point of his including violent or otherwise horrific scenes could be robbed of its gravity by that oft-banded word 'gratuitous'. One successful example of brutal cinema - although not adapted from a book - being very effective is French director Gaspar Noé's Irréversible. It is the most shockingly violent film I have ever seen but I would defy anyone who has managed to watch it to its conclusion to say that it glorifies violence in any way. However, for a director to expect viewers to recognise the wrongs in these celluloid actions and situations would be dangerous. In Irréversible, Noé is successful but he is in a tiny minority. The scenes in question must not be misconstrued as acceptable by the "go on! hit 'im!' mob mentality of cinema audiences. Nor by the lone home viewer who might have a rather 'head-on' approach to confrontation. Please don't misunderstand me: I do not think that films are directly responsible for the violent actions of viewers but I do think they can exacerbate the sometimes blurred boundary between respect and fear. That said the film adaptation of Once Were Warriors is excellent and effectively delivers some hearty food for thought. But the book is even more "hard-hitting" and ruthlessly "uncompromising" than the sometimes hard-to-watch film. The story portrays a Maori family blighted by the poverty/violence cycle which almost always affects societies marginalised by the oppression of another race. It is not a pleasant book. It is not supposed to be an easy read. It uses bad language to a point which would damage the book's credibility were it not for the fact that this really is how the characters would talk. The author is careful not to cheapen the weight of his hammer-blow first novel by the family's situation appearing inconceivable in any way. He finds himself in the most unusual position of being almost un-criticisable due to the book being excellently written, subtly structured and wince-inducingly real. Indeed, upon the book's release a Maori reviewer was so incensed the by the chapter 'The Visit' that he could no longer continue reading. He later said that it mirrored his own childhood experiences to a degree which was unbearable for him. Duff is, of course, himself a Maori. Were he not, the book - had it even made it to print - would have surely (and rightly?) become a symbol of racial hatred in the same way that Salman Rushdie will never be forgiven by the Muslim community. As it stands, Duff has been lauded for his bravery in pointing a brutally raw and honest finger at his own kind. Once Were Warriors is a very powerful book. It is pertinent not only to the Maori people but to each and every of us who are concerned with society as a whole. I recommend this book extremely highly indeed. Just don't be tempted to watch the film as an easy alternative to facing up to some nasty truths about human nature.