Chess 2
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Eeling at the Maori Hole

Got everything?
Sure have.
OK. In the car you lot!
Doors slammed shut and we were off!
Hey! Whose got the bait?
“I have,” said Penelope. “Look!”
She held up the bucket. It was crammed with fishing tackle. Reels, torches, knives, thermos and a thick slab of red meat still dripping blood.
“Good one,” said Hoani. “Eels like their meat fresh.”
“Ergh! Gross! You could’ve wrapped it first,” said Johanna.
“Why?” I said. “We want to use it as soon as get there. First eel caught gets a chocolate fish remember?”
“Well, that’s gonna be ME this time,” said Mattheus. “Cos you won last time.”
“Yeah right.”
“OK you kids, settle down,” said Dad.

We drove along in silence until we got to the Patea River. Dad parked the car. We tumbled out scrambling for beanies and torches.
It was dark.

We trudged along in silence, single file flicking our torches on and off, gumboots swishing through the long grass; as we listened to the sound of rushing water running over riverstones and the distant call of a Morepork.

At last we came to the Maori Hole.
“Here we are,” said Dad. “The perfect fishing spot.”
We dived for the tackle.
“Better give Penelope the green line. The one she got for her birthday.”
“Yep it’s my lucky line. Pass it here,” said Penelope.
“Hey! I want the red reel – not that tatty one,” said Johanna. “I’ll never catch a thing on that.”

“Hang on you lot,” said Dad. “Not all at once!”
We stood back while Dad helped us bait the lines, dropped them over the river bank and down into the dark water.
“Now remember” said Dad, “if you want to catch a fish you’ve got to think like a fish.”
Then one by one we sat down between the bracken and fern to wait.

The air was cold. I rubbed my hands together and pulled the beanie down over my ears. I remembered the last Summer, coming down to the Maori Hole and seeing a group of kids dive bombing off the rocks into the deep clear water, sunlight streaming off their happy laughing faces. I’d watched them from the swing bridge and wished I’d brought my togs. Now it was late Autumn. There was a definite bite in the air. Around me everything seemed still and silent.

Hoani spoke up, “My friend Nancy had a pet eel once. A real big one.”
“What? In a tank?”
“No in the creek down the back of her farm. She fed it raw eggs. It was tame as.”
“How’d she do that?”
“She’d call it by tapping on some stones and dropping an egg into the water. The eel picked up the scent and come out of it’s hole to eat. I even saw her stroke it once.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No.”
“Awesome!”

We sat in silence the night sounds wrapping themselves around us. Overhead stars pierced the sky their tiny lights like little candles. It was peaceful just sitting by the river our lines in the water, everything quiet and still. We lay back in the grass listening to the sounds of the bush.

“It’s late,” said Dad. “Time to pack up.”
We got up and made our way back to the car. We drove home in silence until we got to Hoani’s house.
“No fish today but good cocoa and great company.” Dad said.
“See yah.”
“See yah,” we said.

Wahine Day

I don’t know what woke me up.
Was it the wind howling, windows rattling or the unusual light?
Even though the curtains were closed, my bedroom had an eerie brightness; a strange luminous glow as if someone held a hand over a torch.
Something was different!
I sat up. Threw back the covers and swung my legs over the edge my wire wove bed.
The lino was cold.
I noticed a chink of light through the drawn curtains; pulled them back and saw the gap where the trees had been.
Yesterday a row of tall, strong, pinus radiate trees had stood at proud attention outside my bedroom window. But today, there was a gap.

I dressed quickly and went down to the kitchen.
The others were already having breakfast.
Rain hammered the roof.
“No school today,” said Mum. “There’s a storm warning out on the radio.”
“Cool. A day off!” I muttered, my mouth full of porridge.
“Lets go exploring,” said my brother. “It’ll be boring otherwise stuck inside all day.”

“Mum?...”
“Mmm…”
“The tree’s gone!”
The boys looked up. “Yeah right!”
“NO! I mean it. LOOK!”
We plonked our empty plates into the sink and rushed to the window.
“WOW!” exclaimed my brother. “Lets go check this out!”
“Not now!” said Mum. “Maybe later. Its far too dangerous! Go off and play.”

We spent the morning colouring in, playing snap and making spirograph patterns. Outside the storm raged. Now and then bits of iron roofing whizzed past the lounge window. It was very noisy. At times we had to shout to make ourselves heard. During a break in the weather Mum decided to bring in her flower pots, but as she opened the laundry door a sudden gust ripped it out of her hand and off its hinges! She watched in horror as the wind sucked it up, up, up into the air and spat it out again in the garden.
Dad grabbed Mum and held her close.
Our house creaked and groaned.
We were all terrified.
We spent the remainder of the day quietly reading books or staring at the sky till late afternoon.

By the time we ventured outside, the rain had eased off; wind whipped our faces and tugged at our hats.

The giant pine tree lay slumped over the road like a huge green whale; its trunk split, a mass of jagged wood. We smelt the sticky sap, scrambled over branches and ran our fingers through the thick green needles feeling for the biggest pinecones and stuffing them into a sack for firewood.

“Come on you guys!” I said. “Lets go home!”
“Hang on. Wait a bit!” called my brother waving his arms at us. We moved closer to him, climbing branches to get a better view.

“Well. What is it?”
My brother smiled, his hands cupped around something small.
“Look what I found!”
“Oh cute! Poor little thing, must’ve fallen out of it’s nest during the storm.”
“Come on. Lets show Mum.”

My brother stuffed the sparrow into his pocket. We grabbed the sack of cones and headed home.

Mum and Dad were in the lounge sipping soup. A pot was bubbling on the woodstove; a pile of steaming pancakes heaped high on a plate. They smelt delicious! We tucked into the food. The sparrow safe in a shoebox near the stove. The pinecones spitting and crackling in the fire. Outside the wind and rain rattled the roof. Bits of timber and tin flew past the salt-sprayed window.

Dad got up from the couch and pushed the piano up the front blocking our view of a rough and stormy Wellington Harbour.
“Right,” he said. “You kids keep away from that window! I don’t want anyone cutting themselves on flying glass. That’s quite a gale out there!”

That afternoon we played cards and monopoly. No TV. The power was off. All the lines were down. Mum and Dad talked about the passenger ferry, Wahine, stranded on Barretts’ Reef¸ way out in the harbour. We listened to the crackling news reports on Dad’s transistor. My brothers and I pretended to rescue passengers in imaginary lifeboats and argued over who was captain. That night we had tea and bedtime stories by candle light!

A week later, Dad took us out to Eastbourne. It was a beautiful clear blue day. Out in the bay we saw the Wahine lying on its side, so close I felt we could almost walk out to it. We picked our way around the rocks and chose a couple of flat smooth stones.
“Lets play skippers!” I said.
“Chocolate fish for the winner” said Dad.
“You bet!” I laughed and threw by stones into the water.