New Zealand Feb 2 to Feb 6th, 2011

My flight to Auckland was uneventful; 9 hours starting at 9:45 pm Jan 31 and arriving in NZ at 5:30am Feb 2nd. Can’t figure what happened to Feb 1; something about International Dateline.
My ears were completely plugged, no pain , just like being in the bottom of a well so I spoke softly to people who universally said, “ Scuse mi”, and I had a hard time understanding the Kiwi vowel shift where an a becomes an e, an e becomes I ,and so on. Caught an express bus/taxi which combines folks going into Auckland. I reserved a hotel room but, as I arrived at 9:30am ( felt much later to me, I‘d been awake for 22 hrs), my room would not be available until 2 pm. I left my gear in an unlocked room with LARGE signs indicating one did so AT YOUR OWN RISK and went out to explore the city. My hotel was more or less at the top of a mountain and thus walking downtown was literally down Queen Street at about a 30 degree slope. Easy going. First place I visited was the Theatre complex, a bit like Lincoln Centre, with a large open square and benches ideal for people watching ; an Opera House, a Theatre and cinemas. I met a Maori guy with dreads and a face of geometric tattoos who asked what I was doing there. When I told him I was interested in volunteering to work in any theatre he shook my hand and said, “ Good on ya” and than strode away.
Fast food restaurants of every Nationality are cheek by jowl all the way down Queen Street. Indian, Vietnamese, Chinese, Polynesian, MacDonald’s, Wendy’s etc.. I was woozy and trying to stay awake, time seemed to have stopped. I struggled up Queen, my heart drumming in my ears until I got to the top, a cross street which everybody call “K” street it’s name is 15 letter long and unpronounceable. Thankfully it was fairly flat. I found a restaurant overlooking a canyon, Muir Park, which at the turn of the last century had been a slum and shanty town. The city purchased the land and made a grass and tree covered space; if it had been covered with snow, would have been a black diamond run. City is nearly vertical. I had a “belly buster” breakfast which tasted of nothing. Don’t mean to knock the Kiwi’s but their food has no imagination. The coffee was excellent.
I got back to the hotel early, hoping I could get into my room. No luck. Sat drowsily in the sun in an open courtyard until I was collected by a lovely Indian girl who showed me my room. I was unexpectedly surprised as it was lovely, a spacious kitchenette with adjoining living room and bedroom on the 11th floor, a spectacular view, uphill, to University buildings. The hotel was filled with many nationalities; seems typical of the city as I heard varieties of language that were new to me. Took a shower and fell into a deep sleep until about 6pm.
Walked DOWN town again but this time to the gorgeous harbour. Sail, power and fishing boats everywhere confirming the claim “ City of Sails”. The architecture is fascinating, a jumble of different styles which, for me, harmonize to produce one of the most lovely cities I’ve visited. The use of colour in the glass office buildings is dramatic; vertical shapes that curve with roofs that hang over like sweeping Victorian ladies hats. All sorts of levels and heights, the history of building from Edwardian sandstone structures to modern and in between, huge billboards of surfers advertising Coca Cola. Sprinkled around are sculptures. Other than the breath stopping hills, ( steeper than San Francisco’s ), it’s a most appealing place.
The hotel was booked solid the next night so I cast around to find a Youth Hostel, just up a 60 degree street. Whew! I dragged my suitcase up the hill stopping to rest it at each parked car by leaning it against the back bumper and waiting until my pulse dropped below 90. YHA is a backpacker hotel offering inexpensive lodging all over NZ. I checked in and then went looking for a Network Café to check e-mail and see if I had any positive response to my couch surfing requests.
Yeah! Rose Wang and Gordon Hill said, “ The house is full, but please come if you enjoy a crowd” I caught the number 50 bus to Pakarunga and was dropped just outside “Cascades Motel”. 11 Hamsey street was nowhere about until the Motel owner got out his A to Z(ed) and found it on the other side of small park. I was warmly welcomed and introduced to 3 Check Slovakians ,( Zed, Anna, Peter), 1 German ( Alec), 2 Slovenians( Anna, Mejec), Allan Martin a NZer working for DHL and a resident tenant and of course my hosts, Rose and Gordon who is soon to be 65. He was a Peace Corps volunteer in Columbia in the late 60ies, is widely educated in entomology, biology ,botany and specialized in everything TURF for golf course, parks and residential landscaping. Rose is from Taiwan, a Buddhist with a core belief that she was put on earth to help and enjoy other people. Both seem to welcome any chance to make travellers lives’ easier, sharing meals, driving to buses or harbours , showing them the sights in the neighbourhood. Peter, one Check guy was ripped off by a garage who said they would fix his vehicle, took payment and then refused to do so and further , knowing he was under a time constraint, would not return his money or the vehicle. Gordon immediately contacted the Consumer Agency responsible for business practices on Peter’s behalf.
I was supposed to bunk in with Alec, but as he had just arrived from Kuala Lumpur and was sick, it was decided I should sleep in a tent on the back lawn. Everyone pitched in and I got a lovely big space ; when the rain started, a soothing drumming sent me to sleep. About 5 am Kui Kui birds woke me with their melodious song, curiously interspersed with frog croaks. Gorgeous flowing tones and then “greeckk”; emanating from a bluish black bird the size of an American Robin.
Unlike Robert in Hilo, HI who had a “Groceries” donation glass jar, Rose & Gordon ,( R&G), expected each guest to bring their own food. No matter, Anna & Mejec made a huge breakfast and everyone was invited. Gordon & I went to pick Tatiana up from a bus stop; from Grenoble, she had brought her kite surfing rig which fitted between us in the middle of the car. As Anna & Mejec were leaving that day to look for work, Tatiana got the couch. The Checks were sleeping in a mini-van in the driveway.
Friday evening, Alan invited us all to the RSA ( Returning Servicemen Association) for an evening of drink, dancing and dinner. The hall was filled with ex-military guys, some watching rugby on a large flat screen, others chatting and, once the 3 piece band started, dancing to mostly golden oldies, American 50ies music. Sorry to say, dinner was tasteless. A carver-y of roast beef, pork, Yorkshire pud, carrots, spuds, cauliflower all without any spices; however, the desserts were excellent. Seems the chef is a pastry man.
I was introduces to Neil Armstrong, not the first man on the moon but rather a guy soliciting funds for a colon cancer charity. During our chat he mentioned that he was driving to Piahia ( pronounce Piehere, the r being silent), the Northland on Monday and if I’d like to join him I could see a lot of this country while he called on prospects.
I offered to pay for lodging during the trip, he agreed he’d pay for gas. We both agreed that we’d look for backpacker type accommodation; as he said, “ I can’t afford jazzy places collecting money for a charity”.
A full blown Sculpture Tour along a portion of Waiheke island was on offer Sunday and everyone at R&G’s place decided to follow me there. 7 of us caught the 45 minute ferry ride from Half Moon Bay to Kennedy Point, the a 20 minute bus ride to the starting point of the Sculpture trek around the coast. About 40 sculptures were placed in, on, down and around the steeply banked coastline.( Not dissimilar to Scotland’s craggy shores). I laughed at one entry ; profile, full-sized, photographic cut-outs of naked human figures scattered in the meadows, picking berries behind bushes and down to the beach; a virtual nudist colony. Another reminded me of Galsworthy’s work, his “s” shaped brick wall through oak woods; this one was a double “W” of split firewood logs, horizontally cabled together 8 to 10 feet high; leaning left and right to make an unsteady, drunken wall. It was probably 90 feet long and , naturally had people photographing each other doing the “leaning tower of Pizza” routine, holding up the tumbling pile.
A very beautiful “O” sculpture of polished granite stone , 7 feet in diameter, 2 feet thick, had two holes cut into it. The holes were knapped to create a contrasting texture. It was called “Anchor stone” and sold for $22,000NZ. Gordon & I lost the rest of the gang somewhere on the tour. No matter, we walked back to Oneroa (ohney rowa) and I checked out galleries. Two wood carvers lived in the neighbourhood. I took their names and planned to get in touch. John Freeman had lots of Kauri and some of his excellent work was on display. He had carved a frontal nude in elm; the grain followed the curves beautifully. The weather was crystal clear , blue skies contrasting azure water and sailboats filled the harbours. Super day!
That night I met Neil again at the RSA club He had written out an itinerary of the next 5 days with suggestions of places I might like to visit on the trip. Whoee! North to Cape Reinge the most northerly point of NZ.
Still to come: 5 days in the Northland with Neil
Carving with www.kerrystrongman.com at the Arts Factory
Fly fishing in the Tongariro River with
The Tongariro Alpine crossing. 19.4 km trek over 3 volcanoes.
Love and All best wishes, Dad, Nick Dadadski

Another week on the Big Island, Jan 24- Jan 29

I've made a few things from Hawaiian wood and have been meeting carvers and turners on the Big Island. Two guys have been generous with their time, both excellent artists. Dan DeLuz, who doesn't seem to have a web site but is a very well known artist, a 76 year old turner who has turned about 60 different types of wood. He let me into his inner sanctum, a barn removed from his gallery to drool over bowls from 30" to 4" wide , up to 24 " high, each engraved with the type of wood from which it was made. Incredibly knowledgeable about the qualities and idiosyncrasies of each. Blow your mind how many fantastic colors and grains exist, but my favorite comes to KOA which shimmers as you rotate it in light ( like diffraction on vinyl records), with colors from light tan to deep orange and dark brown . Martin Hopman, another older fellow, mph13@hawaii.rr.com, gave me samples of 10 or so different woods describing each as I tested them with a blade. ( what's Happened to the font?) . I' will ship most of this home as folks in NZ don't allow anything into the country that doesn't already exist there. I was told it's likely they'll take my Uke . Oh well !!!

I'm couchsurfing. Fascinating concept. Check it out (Couchsurfing.org). Sort of what you do with friends in Belmar at your place. People all over the world host travelers , sometime on a couch, but more likely on a bed, after checking out the profile of the surfer requesting a couch and determining whether they want to invite them to stay. At the moment, I'm with a guy named Robert Lee, a retired 66 year old machinist/jeweler. He epitomizes the character of CS host, welcoming, non-judgmental, who has thought out of the needs of his potential guests.( towels. sheets, pillows, ) and besides a queen size bed in a separate room, he has a flip-down futon, a blow up mattress and sleeping bags. My first night I was invited to a delicious supper. One of his guest left a not saying that he was" the GOD" of couchsurfing. His response, " Claims of deity can often be misleading". Since then , I've made breakfasts. A couple of Vancouver " Woofers " have been sharing his place during the past few days that I've been in Hilo. I've enjoyed meeting them as their attitude is so fresh, open-minded and more mature than one generally finds in mid 20 year old folk. Both are beautifully tattooed, all over, and he sports 1" diameter ear holes rimmed in silver. She is a song-writer, poet who works along side her partner, a guy learning about farming by working on different types of farms, wherever they go. Curiously, he's the splitting image of one of my UW teaching assistants of 40 years ago! He says he figures it's a better way of learning than the book learning offered in Universities.

Yesterday, we hiked across Kilauea IKI, ( means small, Kilauea itself is much bigger and full of orange, bubbling stuff ), a volcano that exploded some 30 years ago. I expected conditions in this 1/2 mile wide bowl to be hot. It was overcast and misting so almost no other tourists on the 5 mile loop. Easy ,gentle, switchbacks from the crater edge down to the floor and temperatures seemed to be dropping! Once out of the jungle, a moon scape of huge cow flaps of lava mixed in with sharp , frothy "AA" which will cut you, quick, if a leg inadvertently touches it. The sun came out for most of our 45 minute transit across the floor but winds of 30-40 mph tore at what little clothing we were wearing. Then it started to mist and temperature dropped to about 50 degrees causing shivers and thoughts of warmer dress. ( It was probably 70 on the rim. ) We began the gradual climb back up the other end of the loop and , once out of the wind and walking in the tropical jungle, temps returned to normal. I had imagined the complete reverse. While crossing, my feet were warm and if you put your hand on the hardened lava, it was probably 110 F. All across the bowl, vents of steam hissed steamy hot air. Rangers had warned us that if you smell rubber, someone's shoes are melting. 30 minutes prior to this hike we had scramble through a lave tube created by molten lava evacuating a hardening tunnel. This one was about 10 feet high and maybe 15 feet wide, 1/2 mile deep. The first 1/4 mile was poorly illuminated, whereby one stepped in puddles of condensate because you couldn't see them. The second was pitch dark, only illuminated by head lamps worn by my Canadian friends throwing light as though following a train into infinity. Really cool. No one else in this tube and the floor was practically as good as floated concrete. Here and there the tube dropped a few feet and finally petered out into a solid wall. Returning to Hilo, we stopped for a coffee at Dan's and I introduced them to him and his work. ( Only way I'm going to be able to sculpt Hawaiian wood is to come here and stay for a few months. Amazing. There are trees here that grow to 80' high , 8' diameters, in 45 years because of the sun and steady rainfall.)

I spent a day knocking about Hilo, a town of about 45,000 people spread on the windward side of Kilauea. Buildings are in the older, 20-30ies style which I find appropriate for a tropical island. I visited the Capital Theater, 1925, which is in remarkably good condition having been spared the tsunami that devastated the same half of the city in the 40ies and the 60ies. On Sunday "The Tempest" will be shown, filmed on the Big Island , starring Helen Mirren as Prospera, directed by Julie Taymor, (who I've met occasionally over the years, Heather & Marla will remember the "Transposed Heads " on Off-Off B'way) . She also directed "Lion King" and is now trying to unravel the 65 million dollar musical, "Spiderman". Went to a number of galleries and , of course stopped into most of the second hand and thrift stores. I found two superb carvings, one of lion, the other a Scandinavian King which will be mailed home before I leave for Honolulu on Monday ( to make my connection to Auckland.) I'm stoked. Will concentrate on being prompt and not missing my flight. All best wishes, Dad, Nick, Dadadski.

Hawaii Jan 19 - Jan 26, 2011‏

Had a great time with Jenny & Greg in Hawi (friends of Hank and Marla's). First day I spent fixing stuff around their house, broken kitchen cabinet, sharpen a machete, add new handles, sharpen kitchen knives, and then then the rain stopped and I decided to clear out an over-grown section by the drive with the machete. Soon, I realized I could pull plants out by the roots. Worked for a few hours and got bushed; but then... I found a wooden carving, probably Central American of a God with a Quetzal headdress and made of what looked like Koa, 9 " high, rotting in the undergrowth. Got out the carving knives and in a couple of hours had re-carved it. One arm was in need of repair and the bird's body need attention. I didn't take a picture but it sits on the counter at their house. Since Jenny made a lovely supper Wednesday night, I took them to the Bamboo restaurant in Hawi, and we all had Local Pork and cabbage. As usual, enough for the next day, too. Delicious.
Friday, I had a massage with Michelle, who we met at Anna's Ranch. She told us she used to work with large cats...up to twenty lions and tigers. Massage was super, very strong, not surprising as she had to physically move the adult tigers, and thorough. I felt like jelly and she suggested I stop eating all wheat because she says type O neg should eat meat and nuts, etc; hunter gatherers. "Eat right 4 your blood type", a book outlining her thoughts. I explored around and when I got back to Greg and Jenny's, perhaps 3:30 found a note inviting me to a party with their friends in Waikoloa !
Super party of about 20 people hosted by a Realtor lady, Jan, who Jenny says is her adopted mother. Charming, nice lady. First thing I saw was a large, 4 foot high, carving of a headless mermaid; sister to Winged Victory. I showed her my carving and we had an instant connection. Excellent pupus and great conversation, especially with Rob, an older guy who was just off to Christmas Island for bone fishing. He'd been 3-4 time to New Zealand, (told me me felt boots would never pass NZ customs so I gave them to Greg) but made all the right noises about trout. He guides in South Alaska.
Sat: Jenny, Greg & I went down to a surfing beach south of Hapuna Beach. Incredible waves and hairy entrance to the water. Greg slipped out of his flip flops and carrying his board, crept over a'a lava to meet the rising water. With perfect timing, he glided onto the top of the surging waves and was immediately paddling out to 12 - 14 foot waves. J & I watched from a shaded spot. Jacob joined us a bit later and gave us a blow by blow on Greg's style. (Whole 'nother language!) About noon we started for Hilo to pick up Jenny's new Toyota 4 wheel. Stopped in Waimea for lunch and got to the dealer maybe 2:30. Neat drive, good clear weather and certainly tropical. I said "thanks and goodbye" after a fun check-out drive with the sales agent. Went looking for a used book store to buy the above book. Closed, but next door to a cool gallery run on a Co-op basis. Good Koa Carvings

I've joined a group called couchsurfers.com and my first stay was interesting. I drove up to Samantha Jone's Jungle Rabbit Farm in the rain. Hard to find down a road spaced with lava tubes and so a super uppy-downy roller coaster drive. About dusk I found her and heard dogs barking. She opened her gate and with a big smile welcomed me to what I can describe as a soggy Scout camp, corrugated and tarp on the roof, open on the sides, shed. She has two Chicago wwoof-ers (willing workers on organic farms) staying with her who had tightened up the tarps, but water was still pouring into the kitchen area. I found a ladder and approached the problem differently, from the inside of the building instead of outside and in a while the water was flowing (mostly) where it should. She actually had a couch, nice long thing with good support. However, the back cushions were being used by the boys as extra padding for a bed. I brought an old sheet with me which Jenny said I could have and after a glass of wine and some conversation, (she was a fire dancer in vaudeville type shows across US in the 60 and 70ies), settled down for the night. Incredible noises from the jungle, peeper frogs forever, night birds, and groans from Samantha's dog, Twinkle toes, who had been hit by a car a few days ago and was convalescing. Rain pouring on the roof like Monte Verde, night as black as Ink and amazingly cold. My sheet certainly wasn't warm enough and I didn't get up to do anything about it. Silly bugger! Samantha came to wake me in the morning, noticed I was shivering and threw an Afgan over me. Felt real good.

A neighbor, Alaska Bob, came over complaining about a hitch hiker he had picked up. Seems they had been drinking together. This guy got really drunk and Bob decided to ask him to leave. He was pretty drunk, too. The conversation heated up and Bob decided to show how pissed off he was by slamming his fist into the wall, which broke his little finger. He was in a sling and so he could not physically throw the guy out. Did I mention they both had gotten their plumbers journeyman license in jail and likely had outstanding issues. Anyway, Bob wanted the two wwoof-ers, Mitch and Len and me to threaten this guy who was wrecking his shack and wanted to kill him. Bob was extremely stressed, so I tried to cool him down. I suggested we call the police which he wasn't so keen to do. Finally, Samantha joined in and he finally agreed we should call them.

The wwoofers and I took off for Kilauea and went up to the crater. Fascinating stuff. A ranger gave us the poop on what we were seeing and I won't repeat it, but it was "awesome". We walked around the edge of the crater and experience the steaming air coming out of vents. Sizzlingly hot, instantly. Hotter than steam. We hiked down into the lava tube caves, lighted, 15' in diameter and about 1/4 mile long. Mitch and Ken had flashlights and so continued another 1000 feet. The ranger had told us that dramatic views of live lava could be seen if we drove down to the coast some 50 miles away. We arrived as the sun set and with about 200 others we walked 1/2 mile to be met by a closed road where last week a house had been munched and he was pouring water into cracks to show how hot the lava still was; it came out as steam, instantly. As dark fell, we could see what appeared to be tail-lights on the hill sides, some 1/2 mile away. Not overly dramatic but it's supposed to be a crap-shoot. Some days you see the real stuff, We didn't that night.
We returned to hear that both characters had been arrested; that the problem was more or less the same as both had come up with bail. Glad we didn't get involved with violent drunks. I awoke next morning and made breakfast and then gave Samantha the walking stick I carved. She was ecstatic. I enjoyed my time with her and the wwoofers. Really primitive but simple life style. Before I left I had a shower, water heated by a propane demand heater. Her water comes off the roof and is kept in 55 gal barrels, which is filtered for drinking. All other washing needs are rain water. Hot dish water comes from the shower. The toilet is a 5 gal bucket. Newspaper and moss is spread over each dump. Then, when the bucket is nearly full, it is composted. I slept 15 feet away and there was no odor.

Now I'm living in Hilo with Robert Lee in a comfortable house and sleeping on a double futon with a couple of Canadians, Jan & Jay from Vancouver Island, who work farms around the island. Bob introduced me to Martin Hopman, a generous woodworker who gave me an hour learning about Hawaiian woods. He gave me samples which I'll send home. I also met Dan DeLuz and we chatted about his carvings and bowls. I'm going back tomorrow to watch him work. He has some very unusual tools and I'm sure I will enjoy it. Anyway, soup is ready. With luck , I'll try to put up some pictures. All best wishes, Nick aka Dadadski

Hawaii December 25, 2010 - January 13, 2011

Been here on the Big Island of Hawaii since Christmas Day when Heather & I flew from Philadelphia," got outta' town" only just missing the first Mondo Snow Storm of the season; 30" in a day, which promptly screwed all travel on the East Coast. We were so relieved, relaxed in Phoenix our transfer point to Kona, that our connecting plane took off without us! Bugger !, US Air saved our bacon by immediately putting us on a flight to Honolulu connecting to Kona, so we arrived only 3 hours later than scheduled. A half hour drive from the airport through a desert of lava fields stretching to the far distant volcano hills; signs indicating, "Feral Donkeys in the next 5 miles", and a twisty road rising 800 feet brought us to Wiakoloa Greens Village, an oasis of condo's surrounding a lush golf course and our headquarters until January 18th.
A week earlier, Marla, Hank, Niah had come from Fairbanks, AK. Trudy & Larry, from Phoenix, AZ. Our Christmas tree was a plastic repro of some tropical bush; however, covered with beads, ornaments and ribbon taken from opened presents, it looked perfect. Niah was the center of attention. She's bright-eyed and bushy tailed, curious about every little thing. At 10 months old she complains when her pants are full and her belly is empty. Otherwise, she's a joy. Like the knights who said " NeH", Niah says," Neh". Marla insists she is blowing kisses and saying "Meh" , but I know a Neh from a Meh. She also clucks her tongue and claps her hands and somehow seems much older.
Every day we have visited Kona beaches which are amazingly various and worth exploring; some sandy, most lava enclosed with coral under crystal water, no seaweed or lichen on the black rocks; occasionally, sweeping, mile-long curves, fringed with coconut palms. The more difficult the trail to the beach, the less crowded. We have purposely chosen less crowded and thus have usually hiked 1/2 hour or more across old, open lava fields. Some look like huge cow flops , undulating to the horizon; others are like sharp splintered glass where one touch will rip the skin and blood will flow. I find these to be exciting; the possibility of injury keeps the senses alert while the coarse, gravel-like pathway along the Kings trail, a 175 mile path connecting ancient villages, massages the feet.
A typical day starts about 8 am with a hearty breakfast when we decide what we're going to do that day. Tourist books and brochures are consulted while Heather & Marla begin a production line making sandwiches and snacks for lunch. Let's say " Ke-awa-iki" beach. To get there you have to park on the highway and walk on a 30" wide, crushed, lava trail for 1/2 hour before coming to the "smashing surprise" of ocean waves tumbling down a black sand and gravel beach. Then skirt a stretch of private land on mini pebbles, sloping 45 degrees to the water with irritating, bits catching under sandals every few steps. We watched a pod of whales surfacing and swimming in a large circle. Must have been 20 as spouts originated from different places simultaneously. Hank was carrying Niah in a backpack with a 'Howdah" like canopy and she was checking everything along the trail, occasionally vocalizing in pleasure at what she saw. Steve Sweet, one of Hank's good friends from Fairbanks had joined us. Beach mats and snorkel equipment, water , Niah's accouterments , spare nappies and so on are stuffed into knapsacks and unpacked under a shady tree only yards from a quiet tide pool. There's only one other couple on the beach who tell us the snorkeling is excellent just outside the breakwater, past the dark lava where turtles have pulled out to sunbathe.
I brought my carving knives and bought a pruning saw so, while others are reading/swimming/snoozing, I check out downed trees and driftwood for twisty burls or unusual grain of which the shoreline is amply provided. It's likely poor Heather will return to Philly with almost another suitcase of treasures as I'm going on to New Zealand for a couple of months with only a small suitcase. If I find any more wood we'll be at the Post Office shipping it home. Likely, as Hank gave Heather a goat, ram's skull that he found a few days before Christmas on a jogging trail near our Condominium and she definitely wants to send it home. Today she found another skull, looks like a sea gull, lovely curved beak.
During my exploration for wood at Ke-awa-iki beach, I found a four-wheel drive road across the undulating lava flops ,( there must be a scientific name?), and so the return to the car was not as difficult as going. We carry about 5 liters of water which is usually gone by the time we get back to the car. Temperatures on the ancient lava, especially when there is no breeze, makes one thirsty.
Home by 5:30 tanned, tired and hungry. After a shower, Big Island Micro-brewed beer all around and as we have a gas grill, supper is often steak or local fish combined with a large fresh salad. By 8:30 everyone is heading for bed, ostensibly to read but within a few minutes lights go out and we're asleep until next morning. ( Except Marla & Niah & Hank who wake every few hours to feed.) Hard work living in the Tropics. Love and all best wishes, Nick
P.S. Happy New Year ! If you know any friends or family in New Zealand and wish me to be your ambassador ? please forewarn them and copy me. .... 6 degrees of separation, or so they say.
Marla has set up a photo gallery which can be accessed by clicking on : http://picasaweb.google.com/hank.stats/Hawaii_2010

AK Update

To bring you a little up to date. It's been so long.

I lost my wallet and contents in Seattle on the way to meet Niah. Bummer as it contained my driver's license, credit cards, Medicare and a one year fishing license for Florida.

I spoke to the Alaska Div Motor Vehicles who were very sympathetic. NJ could learn a thing or two.

The bureau is streamlined and feels like going to the movies. A gentle woman asks your desires and then gives you a number to talk further to another gentle woman. At first all I got was sympathy. Then one adviser suggested I get an Alaska Driver's license!! She explained that if I wrote a post card to myself and mailed it to my daughter's street residence, and if it was delivered, I would be considered, by the DMV, to be a resident of Alaska. Since one department of Government, THE POST, had officially dubbed me Sir Nicholas of Alaska, who were they to argue. Also, they suggested I visit an almost empty Social Security Office to obtain a copy of my SS#. I had already been there to get a letter stating I was covered by Medicare. Chap was pleased to see me again

Three days later my post card arrived after being sent to Anchorage, sorted, returned to Fairbanks and placed in Marla's mailbox.

I returned to the quiet DMV and requested another number to take the driving written test again, a 20 question multiple choice exam. ( I had tried it the first day and failed as one must answer 16 correct and I got tripped up by a few screwy questions that I forget at the moment). However, I realized that each exam contained some of these and the option to SKIP was offered. This means that the question is put to the back of the pile to return again later. After 15 correct answers, I had it knocked; just a question of strategy; do all the easy ones first, skip the screwy ones.

Long story etc.. I've got an Alaska Driver's license. Bank of A, canceled my credit card and gave me a new one, but for the one year Florida Fishing license, I'm back.

Yes. Niah is cool. I get to spend quality time with her, sharing a bottle, burping and farting. There are no ladies around to take her away from me the minute she peeps. I've been here to watch as she begins to focus and am starting to teach her the tongue language wherein she sticks her tongue out and wiggles it in response to my lead. I'm practicing diaper speed changes and considering a contest much like Indy 500 pit stops. "Gentlemen grab your diapers..."

If I put her in a carrier called a Boppy, then put it on a 24" diameter exercise ball, I can reproduce the effect of driving in a car, flying, shooting rapids and so on, with great ease. I don't have to hold her weight and can continue for 1/2 an hour. Even sip a glass of wine. It's magic. I can flip a screaming child into a docile sleeper in less than a minute. I'm thinking of putting this on U-Tube to help all other Dadski's in distress.

Marla and Hank have the whole process well in hand. Marla is able to easily multi-task, cooking something on the stove, answering e-mails and feeding Niah, simultaneously. We were in a shoe store recently. Niah was hungry. No problem, she was placed on the appropriate button, wrapped under a shawl and Marla tried on various shoes. She bought a pair before Niah was finished.

Our weather has been fabulous with crystal clear skies, puffy clouds and all shades of blue. You can see Danali 80 miles away, (unusual but because it's 20 plus thousand feet high, it sticks up above the horizon.)

Most of all, I'm on call for Niah duty while Marla goes to work or to school or on a run. In between, I've finished a few projects; the railings and new wider stairs for the deck we built last fall (Heather, Mark, Hank & I ), a reconditioned compost bin found at the transfer station and today, a portable greenhouse. Life is good.

The Boys of Autumn. Hilton Head , March 22 - 27

During the last week of April I visited with Hank and Marge Sieben in Sun City, Hilton Head, Georgia after leaving Jeff and Kristina in Gainesville. ( Marge is Hank’s Mum as in Hank & Marla, Hank (Sr.), his stepfather.) What a wonderful retirement community. I’m impressed by the scout camp-like atmosphere where people seem genuinely happy to see each other and there are so many activities offered it makes your head spin trying to decide which one to try.

One morning, a 55 degree sunny day, I went with Hank where he was to play a soft ball game at the Sun City diamond. Must have been a 100 people in attendance, 80 watching, probably 40 waiting their turn to play and 20 playing. Almost everyone knew Hank and they thumped him and each other in greeting. Lots of kidding about stiff arms, legs and shoulders that don’t quite work, hopes that they will in the coming games, hats being slapped against the other’s chest and gentle fists to the shoulder; just guys acting like kids though without the insecurity of youngsters trying out new roles.

The game is soft pitch, softball. The pitcher throws what we used to call “sucker“ balls, a slow curved arc to the batter which to be a strike, must hit a rectangular, 18” x 24”, plate. Even before the batter starts he has a ball and a strike against him. This makes the game go faster as each player has only 2 strikes to be out, three balls to walk. For the same reason, if the batter hits two foul balls, he’s out. The bases are designed to minimize collisions between players. First base is not a square but a rectangle made up of two squares one white one orange. The base runner has to touch the white side, the first baseman the orange side. Similarly, home plate is 18” or so away from the strike zone; the runner aims for the traditional diamond, the catcher, the rectangle mentioned earlier used for pitching. All these are meant to make the game safer for older players.
The camaraderie and good fellowship demonstrated by everyone is astounding. Even though each player wants to win, they applaud good hits, defensive catches, strong throws and running skills. “ Great hit, Gaston. You showed ‘em where you lived”. “ That guy has a cannon in mid-field.” “Christ, you wash lined that catch. Fantastic Vito!”

If a team reaches 5 runs in an inning, the other team comes to bat, (otherwise, in a miss-matched game, the score could be 50 to 1!). Also, games play in about an hour and a quarter, long enough to be challenging without crippling the players and short enough so that 6 or 7 games can be played in a normal day.

I was invited to stay in the team dug out, protected by hurricane fencing from foul and miss-thrown balls. Visibility was not as good as watching from the perimeter of the field but had the advantage of “listening in” on the team’s repartee.
Hank was the pitcher on the Outdoor Design (OD) Team so known because the Company had sponsored the uniform and bought an outfield advertisement. They were playing a formidable opponent, whose name escapes me, but a team made up with a number of players under 70, (“ ringers”, they would say). Hank is 74 and his first pitch hung too long, the batter got under it and made a solid hit to centerfield, and he scurried to 2nd base. Unfortunately, quite a few other hits followed and the score moved steadily towards 5 runs. Another dispensation to older age, whenever a runner whose running skills were diminished by arthritis or hip surgery made it to first base, a spry, 60 year old “pinch” alternate took his place. Some guys could really move, others not so well, sort of gimped and stuttered but with all the concentration and enthusiasm of committed youngsters. At 5 runs the teams switched sides.
Hank’s team were up and down in order; 1 2 3… gone. However, a special moment happened when Hank, number 2 in batting order, drove a slashing ball straight into left field. Home run for sure. The left fielder lurched into movement, gained speed and made a surprising, clothesline catch, feet off, almost horizontal and then crashed to the ground. Silence all around the field then, instantly 10 guys were at his side checking that nothing had broken. He unfolded, arose tentatively, and with a huge smile displayed the ball tightly held in his gloved hand. Hank was heard to say “ Holy Smoke. Da Bastid caught it !” in his inimitable Brooklyn accent.( Possible, he might have used another “S” word.) “Great catch Charlie, but don’t expect me to give you mouth-to-mouth “. Charlie got up, shook himself and contended he was “ Fine” so the game continued.
The OD team’s defense improved as the game continued but were having trouble scoring; by the 5th inning the score was 14 – 1, against. OD caught their first wind in the 6th, began to smoke and then flamed adding 3 runs. Then in the 7th, they shut their opponents down in order. Now the chant in the pen was, “ Only 10 to go to tie ‘em, 11 to win. We can do it. ”. (The 5 run rule is set aside in the last inning so the losing team can score as many as they are able, so long as they aren’t put out. ) The energy was electric and the score climbed to 14 - 9 with only one out. Did I mention the cheering wives? Cow bells, horns, clackers and loud enthusiastic shouts, both for and against. Probably 30 onlookers supporting both sides, all heavily invested in the game. What a hoot !
The 82-year old score keeper, plotting every play, was sitting on the edge of his seat hollering himself hoarse belittling the pitcher. The OD team bench was empty, all standing, fingers hanging through the fence, shouting alternatively, abuse at the other team and encouragement for their own heroes. Second batter struck out. Damn; the tension was unbearable. OD’s best hitter took the plate. First hit a foul ball, another and he’d be out. Whack; the ball made a gentle ark into the pitcher’s glove. Oh well, (deep breath), it wasn’t to be. The contest ended as both teams met on the diamond to warmly congratulate each other on a game well played.
As our teams cleared the field, the next two teams began sweeping the bases and cleaning up the runs in preparation for their game. There are 14 teams in the league. At the end of each season, members are shuffled about and are placed on a team according to the reports of their abilities, scrupulously noted by various scorekeepers. To make the games competitive the best players are balanced, shared around the teams in the league. Thus, over a period of years, players have often played with and against each other. Makes for great friendships, lots of memories and constant kidding; big kids without egos, just playing for fun. I‘d like to have joined.
Because our game ended at noon and it was Thursday, it was also,“ Hot Dog Day “; 12 inch long dogs for $1.50 each, dogs so good that people bought one to eat and two to take home for later. Hank bought a round for the team and as I reached for my wallet, he pressed me into the line saying, ” It’s all paid. Help yourself”. One spritely lady with a twinkle in her eye offered to spread relish“ all over your dog” which caught me openmouthed for a reply; three other ladies who overheard, exploded in laughter.

Hank & I played golf two days running. Didn’t bother to keep score, just enjoyed the game and felt good about the best shots. First game was played on one of the Sun City courses. I felt the designer of the course could have used the water hazards to better advantage. They always seemed to be peripheral to the fairways, never a threat. “ Wait ‘til tomorrow”, Hank said. “We’ll play a private course where their signature hole is a world renowned.” Number 13 was fantastic! The tee approached the green, diagonally and a crow flying would first pass over a patch of grass bordering reeds, a 30 foot sandy beach, 150 feet of open water, ( embracing the fairway in a large “L” , with the long arm receding to the right and past the green) , then over another beach, more reeds and sloping up 50 feet of fairway to the flag. Perhaps a 220 yard hole, tee to flag; certainly do-able in a perfect world. (Bloody big challenge; which we both rose to like hungry fish to flies.) After 6 balls lost, mostly right, EACH, we decided to try the conventional, more intelligent approach, out at 45 degrees to the diagonal, 100 yards or so and then across the water to the hole. Most humbling hole but wonderful fun. Screwed up the next one as well as it bordered the ocean and by this time we were “water shy”. Absolutely glorious day in a very posh resort where numerous 10 acre lots are offered for one million dollars each and houses started at 3 or 4. Beautiful but deserted and unlike the beehive community of Sun City, we hardly saw anyone except some of Hank’s security guard colleagues who patrol the area. Hank has a part time job at the resort thus he invites special guests and we were able to play.
My four days with Hank and Marge gave me a new appreciation for the Sun City retirement community. Everyone I met was friendly and welcoming, probably because I was with Hank who engenders these interactions. None-the-less, I could see myself living there. I must mention a visit to a dilapidated clam shack on the edge of a bay where the absolute best, fresh water clams were available, dredged directly from the river, cleaned and shucked for $8.95 a pound. On my last day Marge and I visited Hilton Head, the Lighthouse, Harbor, Stores and then walked for miles along a beach with dolphins for company. This is the area Hank (Jr.) spent his summers. I was shown the spot where he managed to sail his windsurfer into a bank of clamshells . He came out bloodied but unbowed. That evening we saw a production of “ Little Shop of Horrors” at the Sun City Theatre, produced and presented by residents. It was enjoyable and full of energy. However, it is tough to cast 60 year old gals to play bobby-soxers, even though their voices are youthful, they are undone by ageing muscles and sagging bodies.
I was pleased to have time to get to know Hank’s folks better who, although I’d met previously at events such as Marla’s wedding or when they were passing through Fairbanks on a cruise, didn’t. They are generous host and I look forward to our next meeting.
After leaving Hilton Head, I briefly stopped in Charleston with the hope of exploring a city I had visited and enjoyed, years ago. A marathon was being run on Saturday and 40,000 additional folk were expected for the weekend, consequently downtown rooms were going for $350 a night; traffic police were directing cars into remote parking areas and everything seemed chaotic. I wasn’t up for the hassle; I headed for Myrtle Beach 300 miles North. All along the highway I could see the early signs of spring; forsythia in riotous yellow, cascading in shaggy clumps, cherry blossoms against the dark green of new grass. Next day, after an early breakfast I started to think of home and all the work I’d have to do to prepare for summer; the fields full of overgrown grass, gutters to repair from the heavy winter snow, new skins to replace on my hot water solar collectors, who knows what else. I put my foot down, drove 500 miles with a brief stop for lunch, the longest day of my trip, through the city of Washington, across Maryland and Delaware into New Jersey and home by about 10 pm. I walked about the yard in the dark and realized I had been premature; nothing growing just then, but certainly, immanent. I’d been away since January 26 and returned March 28, two, mostly fascination months, visiting old friends, making new and meeting family previously unmet. What a great way to spend a life!

Punta Gorda. Evergaldes, Islamorada Key, Mar 7 - 16

Punta Gorda, where Hank's Dad lives, was only 1/2 hour drive away from Harry's place in Port Charlotte across an arching bridge with views of the bay and the city. Once you leave the city of Punta Gourda, the road cuts through what I've come to think of as most of Florida; scrub pine, sawtooth palmetto , sand and mangrove. An old guy I met told me to keep an eye out for wild pigs. " A 300 pound sow can make a hell of a dent in a car; put you right off the road." I saw a family of pigs chowing down on the edge of the road. He also mentioned that pigs that got hit didn't rot much as locals "picked 'em up and ate 'em". Gives roadkill a new meaning. Don't know what they do with the passengers.


Frank is a burly guy with a brush cut. I brought him pictures of a boat that the Tokay's want to get rid of. It's been unused since Charley's visit, but still floating. A 20 foot O'Day, without a mast , rigging and sail ; probably a major recon job. I'd have a go, if I lived nearby and was hoping Frank would be interested as it would have been a neat project to re-cycle .

Understandable , as it'd cost a grand or more to refit. His partner is Rebecca, Becky to her friends and family, some of whom were visiting. Phylis and Dennis are her siblings; Mike is Phylis' husband. Mike is in a wheel chair because of MS. He used to be a firefighter and I know he's mighty frustrated being a burden, not being able to be active. Phylis takes good care of him; nonetheless, it sucks. Dennis is a retired Policeman from Michigan, a friendly guy who I found out had a great sense of humor.

Almost as soon as the introductions were completed, Frank was thinking about fishing. Me too. We went to his favorite store to check out a new rod which the salesman, also an avid fisherman had decided Frank would buy. He was right, the balance and weight was perfect and would match Frank's new reel . That afternoon he took me to the flats about a mile off the road, down what must have previously been a logging road. He lent me a rod, gave me instructions and suggestions on how best to work the lure and we started to fish. The water stays knee deep for about 1/2 mile from shore where a tan sand bar divides the aqua water from the deeper green of the bay. Patches of seaweed are the home to snook, redfish and sea trout. Frank told me to shuffle as I walked as stepping on a sting ray would result in a month of pain. I shuffled.

I caught the first fish, a nice sea trout which Frank unhooked for me with a special unhooking device, ( and as it turns out, the only fish I caught in 4 days of serious fishing. Oh well. Hope springs eternal and a good day fishing, etc., etc..) We released the fish. Frank caught another and released it. That night and into the next day, it rained 6" in 10 hours. Further down the coast it had rained 8"! Everything was soggy but by afternoon the sun came out, so we had another go at fishing. This was the road we had walked yesterday, now ankle deep and a semi river. Naturally it affected the ocean water turning it Bovril brown where yesterday it was crystal clear. The wind was blowing 15 -20 knots from the bay, so we hiked out 1/2 mile and fished parallel for 1 mile or so. After about 90 minutes , Nada, except my hands turned white and I lost all sensation in my fingers, just wooden sticks ; always happens with wind and 60 degree water, so we pulled the plug.

We returned home, had a beer or two and chatted with the family. Becky had come from Wal Mart where she works, Max the parrot, from his cage in the corner. He, Max, is infatuated with Frank, only person he likes to be near. Whenever someone else is too close, Frank gets bitten. Figure that ?

My last day, I played golf with Dennis and his friend from Michigan, Michael, who has recently become besotted with Robin, a lovely lady in her mid forties who seems to reciprocate his feelings. Michael is 75 and acted 18. He claimed much of his golfing power had been squandered the previous night. In any case, we had an enjoyable day of golf , even though the wind was howling and the greens were as hard as a billiard table.

Like many houses in Florida, Frank's is set off in the middle of a large field. He had to clear a lot of Kudzu, the vine overtaking the South and was fortunate to have a few trees left on his property. We tried fishing one last day, the day the big tournament was taking place and the one where Frank got bumped off a team because another more important guy turned up. We drove to the end of Pine Island and fished in a wind secluded bay for a few hours. Nada, again. However we did have an incredible hamburger in a small village, sitting at dockside and watching boats. We quit in time to make it back to hear the results of the Red Fish tournament broadcast at the Crab Bar in Punta Gorda. Frank's team, the one he didn't join came in 2nd to last with 2 red fish weighing a total of 4.8 lbs. The winners, travelled 130 miles to places unknown and caught 2 fish weighing 15.8 lbs. They had to be red fish, no longer than 27" each and anyone who would be a contender had to have scoped out the Bay well in advance. Frank was not upset that he didn't get up at 5am.

Frank, Becky and Dennis in the living room and on the couch where I slept most comfortably for a few days. I know I screwed up the normal daily routine since the kitchen was in the same room. Thanks for being so quiet each morning Becky!

When I arrived at Everglades City I was surprised to note I had already been there with Linda some years ago. We had been involved with an all day trip through the Everglades guided by an extremely knowledgeable naturalist. Everglades City had been one of our stops and a boat ride out to surrounding islands. This day, the wind was about 30 knots. They had only canoes. To get to the safety of a small mangrove edged creek, one had to cross about a 1/2 mile open bay. I ate my lunch , did a bit of carving and decided to head for the other, hopefully quieter side of the Everglades, near the Keys.

This handsome fellow was laying by the side of the road and seemed to be smiling. I reckon he was 15 feet long. I watched for awhile. Another monster alligator was swimming in the river, slow, powerful sweeps of his tail moved him silently forward and only front teeth shining above the water. Fish were fleeing, leaping out of the water when he slowly sank. I can imagine he found one or two.

This photo was taken beside Clyde Butcher's Gallery. He is a superb photographer who has specialized in taking glass slide pictures of the Everglades carrying 100 pounds of an ancient Kodak Camera into the swamp.


I like playing with the reflection; this one's right side up. It would probably look better flipped.








Harry had given me the name of one of his friends who had a place in Tavernier Key. I knocked on Gary Kuhlman's door about 11 am and as it was the day before St Patrick's Day, brought some good Irish beer. He's a retired tree surgeon from Michigan, loves to fish and specializes in bone fish, " Whom God wishes to drive mad, he first makes a bone fisherman". As we chatted and drank a cool one I looked off the edge of his dock and was amazed to see a 10' manatee floating not 5 feet away! " O Yeah. Spot " he said, "I'll bring him to the surface for you ." Gary dropped a garden hose into the water and Ol' Spot hooked on like a fighter jet to a tanker to drink for the next 30 minutes. Turns out that manatee cannot drink salt water and in the wild must find sweet water springs to slake their thirst. Gary made the search easier.



He sank to the bottom until the hose was turned off. I thought he'd drowned.


Gary was pleased to take his flat boat out and show me around the fishing neighborhood. Dick, an old friend of his came along. We first tried for red fish . I stood in readiness on the prow of the boat while Gary poled, ( punted) with a 12' long, fiberglass pole. This is so we can sneak up on the fish. The water was clear but had a little tea color on account of the rain. Gary poled expertly around the edges of the mangrove, I kept a too tight ,white knuckle grip on the rod expecting, any second to see my fish. Besides a few bait fish, ( minnows) and some mullet; Nada, but you already know that. Gary was really surprised as he was certain we would catch something. Then he dropped the motor into the water and I nearly slid into the water as he hit 30 knots heading for Tavernier creek, another certain fish hole.

Gary & Dick on the flat boat. I'm sitting , desperately holding on with one hand and taking this photo.

We must have covered 20 miles , through passages that joined one side of the Keys to the other, down to Islamorada, ( love the name ) , past incredible houses and screaming just feet over the bottom of the bay. Felt like 50 miles an hour so close to the surface of the water.

I left Gary about 3 pm. and was sorry that he had other plans as I really enjoyed his company. I showed him a picture of the Champion Live Oak. He was as impressed as I am. Later I went into Islamorada. stopped at the Sportsman Center and gazed at the fish I had hoped to catch swimming in an immense aquarium in the store. I talked to Sandy Moret the owner of a fly fishing school and guide business who said the conditions had been drastically turned upside down by the cold snap, that hundreds of snook had died because the water temperature had fallen below 50 degrees. However, he smiled and said the tarpon would be coming in, soon. The pelican on the Marina sign is real. He flew away when I tried to touch him.


Next day was cold and rainy. I had hoped to canoe in the Everglades but decided to aim for Gainesville and warmer conditions on the Sante Fe river, canoing with Jeff. The drive confirmed my opinion of Florida, miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles. Flat fields through Clewiston the Capital of Cane Sugar where I had and excellent buffet lunch at the Clewiston Inn. They served a delectable corned beef and cabbage in honor of St Pat. In the lobby was a museum of "all things Sugar Cane". I especially admired aluminum legging armor for cane cutters. Knights of old would have been envious. I swung past Orlando and headed north on Florida's Tnpk paying $3 for the privilege of doing 8o. Lovely names,; Okahumpa. Wierdsdale, Apopka, Oklawaha; I stopped at Micanopy to buy 1/4 bushel of Tangerines, just short of Gainesville and on a road I knew was going towards Jeff's place. He had prepared a welcome supper. It was good to be back to Je"Free", Kristina and my comfortable bed with plans to canoe the Rise River tomorrow.


That had to wait until Friday when the weather turned beautiful again, 76 degrees, no humidity or flies. The Rise river get it's name from the fact that the Sante Fe vanishes underground for 3 miles joining a huge underwater aquifer and then suddenly rises, springs up at the source of the Rise. Mike, one of Jeff's colleagues joined us with his inflatable kayak. We rented the old standby, a Grumman aluminum canoe which the attendant claimed was "at least 30 years old, but indestructible" .





Spring is "just around the corner". Witness the flashy red of the swamp maple flowers, the brilliant green of the floating weed. ( Don't know it's name. Fluffy looking islands where, on our approach, alligators vanished.) Check the reflections, bloody marvelous! Lots of turtles sunning themselves and warily eyeing us, and wondering, should we leap or stay sitting on this comfortable log?




Saturday, I spent some time on my re-carve piece that I had found at the flea Market in Sarasota. I'm indebted to the original carver for the theme. He may or may not approve of my improvements; I learn by thinking how he carved it and by the changes I make. I'm going to like the finished piece.

On Saturday Jeff, G-eff ( said with a strong Southern accent) and I played golf and hooked up with Vic on the 3rd hole. We had a lot of fun. G-eff is from South Carolina, who has a wicked sense of humor, played golf in flip flops and didn't notice that most of the clubs he rented were left handed. "Whats the difference between a lost ball and the G spot " He asked. " A guy will spend 30 minutes looking for a lost ball".

And Jeff says. " G-eff has single handily upheld the penicillin industry during this recent recession"

We played well. Jeff kept a sharp eye on my strokes as well he might. I need a clicker which goes off each time I swing for real. I just can't remember anything in the short term. None the less, I beat 'em, fair and square.!! One guy, (G-eff) was exactly 1/2 my age, the other, Jeff, 2/3rds. Hooray. Afterwards we went to the Red Onion Bar and had one hell of a meal listening to a gal with a voice like caramel, lovely rendition of "Autumn Leaves, Summertime and I Get so Lonely" amongst many others.

Today, I've been writing since 10:30 with a short break at 5pm. It's nearly supper and Jeff is at it again. Tilapia in a ginger , tangerine sauce, grilled eggplant, and a walnut, raspberry salad with blue cheese dressing. Going to be hard to leave tomorrow.