Kay and I are relative newcomers to Great
Barrier (Aotea) Island – just two years or so. But still, we've been on this
island of 850 people, about 93km east of Auckland, long enough to still feel
smug at the morning radio reports of rush hour traffic grinding along on the
southern/northern/western motorways.
Likewise when we hear of stormy weather cutting electricity to
50,000 North Island homes and spokesfolk from various power supply companies
are on air assuring people that their live lifelines will be restored in good
time.
On our island, there is no national grid –
every person here is their own power supply company and that engenders a self
reliance and awareness of where their power comes from. Barrier people grumble
good naturedly about having to run their generators because cloudy skies have
come between their solar panels and the suns supply company. But adverse
weather is a boon to others who rely on wind generators or waterwheels for
their power supply. “Bit of rain last night?” I remarked to a man on the road.
“Yeah – good for the island though, the water table was still well down from
summer,” he replied. “I've got hydro power.”.
Barrier people live closer to the weather,
like seafarers with one big island to starboard and a huge ocean to port. So
last weeks storm didn't take most
of us by surprise though it was a lot worse than the forecast and wreaked havoc in our hilly landscape.
Roads, tramping and mountain bike tracks other infrastructure were oliterated.
In
our Whangaparapara kainga (village seems
too twee and English a description – kainga best describes the smattering of
dwellings implanted amongst the kanuka at the head of the harbour) road access was washed out and a few
generator sheds shed sheets of corrugated iron.
The
event was cyclonic; incredibly violent and
foretold by rapid fluctuations in barometric pressure. The mercurial
changes in wind direction and 150 km/h (80 knot) wind gusts recorded at Channel
Island, not far from our harbour entrance, would have devastated many places.
But
here, people strolled from house to house the next morning to compare damage
and offer a hand where it was needed. Driveways were cleared, storm wrack
rubbish removed and kettles kept warm all day.
Someone headed over the hill to Claris but soon returned to report that at least two huge slips had
blocked the gravel thoroughfare. The best estimates were that it would take a
week to clear them – our kainga being well down in the order of priority – but
nobody seemed too fussed. Claris is where the cafes (2) are, the post shop,
grocer and garage, airport, library and
doctor....nobody needed to go there urgently.
A boat ride was arranged for guests from the
Great Barrier Lodge to connect with their ferry at Tryphena and the communal
clear up continued. The barbecue planned as an end of season event at the lodge
evolved to a “survivors' party” attended by all.
There's
something comfortingly finite about living on an island like Aotea. Even an
island like the one next door called North Island (114,729 km2), is a huge and
complicated landmass by comparison. But on the Barrier, people feel connected
with their 640km2 homeland and conversations often pivot around the island; history, weather or wildlife. Bird
species like kaka and pateke (brown teal) are endangered elsewhere but
commonplace here and locals adopt a kaitiakitanga (guardianship) relationship
with them for better or for worse. “Those damn kaka have been at the fruit
trees again,” is a common moan but the local mum and dad oystercatchers have
dedicated fans who will shoo unwary visitors away from their nesting site and
the arrivals and departures of the spoonbill population are discussed by everyone in the bay.
The storm also took most of the phone lines
out in the bay, cell phone coverage is patchy and the only way out of the bay
is by boat. Most houses have lost their water supply but everyone has buckets
and nobody seems too worried....
