A post-lockdown walk

Week 13 of Blogging with Friends

Today is a public holiday, giving New Zealand a long weekend. After the lockdown, and with domestic travel approved, many people took the opportunity to leave town. We didn’t, though we’re planning (hopefully) some days away sometime soon. The weather was predicted to be very bad, so when Saturday dawned bright and sunny, we decided to take advantage of it, and go for a walk. We took this particular walk for the first time just a few weeks ago, when lockdown was finally lifted and we could leave our suburb.  It felt remote and safe, yet liberating, so was perfect for what we needed at the time. I suspect I’ll always associate this walk with the 2020 pandemic, lockdown, and freedom.

First we drove down the gorge from our suburb, along the motorway that tracks the faultline and the western shore of the harbour, then turning off to go east, along the Petone foreshore, and down the eastern side of the harbour, past the seaside suburbs nestled into the hills and native bush there, till we got to the end of the road.

From there, we went on foot. The unpaved road is gated, but only locals are, I think, allowed through. We walked south, and from that side of the harbour, we look through the heads of the harbour, across the ocean straight down to the South Pole. On Saturday, one or two mountains from the South Island were clear. They were capped with snow, the white peaks sharp against the blue sky.  As soon as I saw this scene, I kicked myself for not bringing my camera, and its zoom lens. Though if you click on the photo below, you can just see it in the distance.

The shore is stony – not quite sandy, although in spots there is coarse black sand, and not very rocky.

Shags stand on the few rocks there are, sunning themselves, and enjoying the mild winds, until my photographic efforts caused them to fly off.

There are piles of driftwood, and some hardy plants that I didn’t actually photograph.

We could walk along the beach, but that would be hard work, and risky on dodgy ankles. Besides, the track is clear and smooth, and allows us to keep up a good pace. It winds around the (sadly) gorse-covered hills that come right to the coast, where the occasional intrepid sheep can be spied on the steep slopes. At times we are shaded from the wind, and welcome the relief and the warmth from the sun. That’s when I think it would have been nice to have brought a picnic. Other times, the wind whistles around us, inevitably causing my eyes to water, and by the end of the walk, my ears start to ache from the cold.

The sea is a deep blue, and the sky is a strong blue, interspersed with clean white fluffs of cloud, and the sun – so far from us at this time of year – is very low. There’s not much going on in the harbour, not out close to the entrance. It feels peaceful, private and remote. We could walk further, to get to the lighthouse, and will do that one day, but not today. There are things to do at home. After about 40 minutes walking south, we turn and head back to the car. Our return walk is just as pleasant, and I stop to snap some photos. But walking into the bright sun makes me squint. So much for the grey clouds and rain that were supposed to arrive.

 

 

 

 

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Getting back to the gym

I have a confession to make. I had a two-month break from going to the gym. I was disrupted by Christmas and New Year, the terrible weather, and an appointment with a surgeon about my knee (though surgery was discounted, that makes it more difficult in some ways), and then basic inertia set in. I’ve been back the last few weeks, but I’m procrastinating about a decision I have to make about the gym. To stay, or to leave. I have an emotional connection with this small, quality group of gyms – one of the owners was my personal trainer when he was still qualifying as a physiotherapist, back at the turn of the century. And I enjoy the therapy of the drive around the bays to the gym, always different, always dramatic, regardless of whether it is fine or stormy, whether the sea is rough or calm.

These days I am taking my camera with me more frequently. So this morning, driving home after a good workout, I was pleased to see some yachts out on the water, with a large container ship moored further away. I braced myself against the wind, and tried some photos. But the sea, the hills and the sky all blended together a little too much, on this colourless morning.

I drove on, and as I came around into the inner harbour, I decided to try again. This is our little city on a cloudy morning, where the buildings hug the water and are framed by the hills. (I’m pleased to report the sun is out and the sky is now blue! But no, I’m not driving back to repeat the photo!) There were no cruise ships in the harbour, though there were two yesterday when it was warm and beautiful, so today we locals had it all to ourselves.

 

In case you hadn’t already guessed, one of my photography challenges this week is to take a panorama. The other challenge was to take just one shot and use that. I guess it is supposed to encourage careful planning, deliberate framing, and accuracy. In keeping with the beachy theme, my one shot is below. I have to confess though that it involved no careful planning, only a little deliberate framing, and happily some accuracy! The husband and I headed north to an estuary one lunchtime this week, determined to make the most of a warm day, and enjoyed a picnic by the water. On the menu was bacon and egg pie, of course, and afterwards, I got my camera out. This little fellow was not upset that we didn’t share our lunch with him, and posed nicely. What could be more summery? Green grass, sand, and a seagull.

 

 

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A Monday morning a couple of weeks ago

It’s been over two and a half months since I’ve been to this cafe. It’s my first Monday back at the gym, taking it gently, only 15 minutes on the bike, to get my ankle and knee moving, followed by some free weights and my ankle/knee physiotherapy exercises. It’s nice to get back to some normality, to get back to a routine, but it will be nicer still when I can go down the stairs alternate feet first, and don’t wake up to pain in my knee every hour or two.

When I was working out the sun was blinding, reflecting off the sea and the polished concrete floor, but now the clouds have covered over, and the sea is softly choppy, as the wind is gentle, and the temperature outside ridiculously mild for the day before the shortest day of the winter. Across the harbour, as I wait for my flat white, I can see the container transporters working on the wharf, multi-coloured containers piled high in office block proportions, looking like Lego blocks, or several complicated Rubik’s cubes, though perhaps not so complicated after all, as at least one cube has been solved on the side facing me, smugly monotone white and complete. The Eastbourne ferry crosses in front of me, reminding me that even after all these years I’ve never taken it, and wondering if my 13-year old nephew* would like a trip on it when he comes to stay in a few weeks.

The simple act of moving, the people I got to know at the gym, going to my regular coffee shops, seeing the recovery of my favourite coffee shop (after a fire), being outside, enjoying the harbour – all these little things I used to take for granted mean so much more after an extended break.**

*okay, great-nephew, but I think we’ve reached an understanding where he calls me his great aunt (ie. aunt who is great, because I am) and he will be my nephew who is great because he is.

** pun not intended.

Update: I am pleased to report that two weeks later taking stairs is easier, and my knee is less painful.

 

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A promotional tour

Winter is coming soon to a southern hemisphere country near you. On Wednesday and Thursday, it popped in to say hello. It was, I think, a promotional visit, reminding us that it will be here soon, giving the occasional taste of what is to come, and letting us know that we should start making plans now. The permanent release will come soon enough. That promotional tour  around the country was bad enough that for a day or two I needed a fleece, something called socks made a cameo appearance, and we had to remember where to find the heating control, and how to use it.

But today, summer has returned for one last ditch push to stay on top of the charts. This morning the harbour was calm, but deserted. The ship berthed at the wharf was piled high with containers, and the Blue Bridge ferry crossed with some of the last of the summer tourists, but there were no cruise ships, or yachts, or swimmers out in the harbour. Gone too were the sunseekers on the beach, and even the joggers and walkers had an extra layer of clothing on. Still, there were one or two rowing crews and a just two kayakers making the most of the glassy surface, and the sun pushed through, the temperatures returning to the 20s just in time for the weekend.

As the harbour reflected the buildings and hills that surround it, I became reflective too. I haven’t been able to make the most of this summer – not a single picnic (unless a Subway sandwich on Petone foreshore counts) or barbecue on our deck – but for once, after months of consistently warm weather, I don’t think I will feel cheated when winter returns for a blockbuster season. Just as long as it holds off for a while yet.

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Still shivering, but hopeful

There’s something about the harbour when the tide is in. It affects my mood, reminds me that where I live is full of beauty, fills my heart – like Evans Bay – near to overflowing, and is, just for that moment, perfect. The picture postcard mornings on the way to the gym, with the water almost up to the floor of the multi-coloured boathouses, the vista smooth and tranquil, are no more beautiful than the harbour today after the gym, the sea that deep cool blue, choppy in the blustery breeze, gorgeous even in its frigid hostility. I love that side of the harbour, yet I continue to drive around the bays, around the point into Oriental Bay, where coffee beckons and, as my friend’s mother once said, it is always Sunday. Here, the feeling is more hospitable, the water calmer, silvery, glittering in the sun, edged and protected by the city buildings, and green hills where I make my home.

Today though, an icy Antarctic blast reminds us that spring is simply a date on the calendar, not a reading on a thermometer, and I wrap my red scarf and woolly coat close around me. Still, I like to think that there is a subtle promise in the angle and the brightness of the sunlight that, one day soonish, spring might actually be a reality.

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