Terms:
bach (pronounced 'batch') = cabin
bush = woods
When Jeremy abandoned his visiting uncle and me back in February to go live with kakapo for two weeks, I gave some subtle indications that he was pushing his boundaries. I also made some not-so-subtle statements about how he wouldn't be taking any more overnight trips until the baby arrived. So how did he manage to spend the first two weeks of May helping Dept. of Conservation (DOC) rangers locate and ID rare kiwi outside the Glacier Country village of Franz Josef on the West Coast? The conniving schemester found a way to bring me with him.
"There's a hospital in Hokitika," he assured me.
"But," I countered, "I'm not taking another two weeks off from working. I need internet access."
So he bought me a Vodaphone plug-in internet stick for my laptop. With further confidence, he informed me that Anna the Ranger would be finding us a DOC facility to stay in. Hmm...it sounded watertight.
After committing to the trip, we learned that the DOC house we'd been assigned to was 10 miles outside of town--not terrible except for the fact this meant no internet or cell phone coverage.
"Well," Jeremy piped up, "you can drive into town and work from the DOC parking lot." (Did I mention it's almost winter here?) "And if you have any emergencies, you only have to drive ten minutes to call for help."
I stared at him for a long time and for some reason started having flashbacks of a snow cave.
On the evening of May 1st, we pulled up to our DOC "bach." There were a few moments of silence as Jeremy shut off the engine, and we surveyed home sweet home.
The Forks Bach
Yes, it's an outhouse.
At least the woodshed was well stocked.
The bedroom window opened directly into impenetrable Westland bush.
Though other words could be said, I told Jeremy: "I'd rather have an adventure, then spend every night in my comfortable house."
We rustled up some dinner and settled in for two weeks in the woods. And then we both started work the next morning--I on my laptop in the DOC parking lot, and Jeremy stumbling through rain-drenched underbrush searching for shy kiwi birds who didn't understand why they needed radio transmitters attached to their ankles.
The weather wasn't actually very cold, and my car seat was comfortable, so I didn't mind my mobile office--in fact, I became rather pleased with myself for making a living from a parking lot in the middle of Wild Westland, New Zealand. My smug look lasted only until about the third day, however, when I went to leave and found I'd left the headlights on and run the battery dead. Awesome.
Meanwhile, Jeremy was slipping, sliding, falling, catching his ankle in a root and landing slung head-down over an incline, cutting his hands on thorny brush, and getting more soaked and muddy than a swamp beast. Yes, one day, he even got clawed by a defensive kiwi bird. However, I think he found all these trials bearable, for the experience of holding a kiwi in his lap.
Jeremy and Xena
On Jeremy's days off, we explored the surrounding Glacier Country--an area of land between the snow-covered Southern Alps and the Tasman Sea, filled with waterfalls, streams, swirly gray metamorphic rock, and lush green forest.
On our way to explore a beach one day, we passed this sign and were rather uncertain about what to do.
But, taking an apparently enormous risk, we continued toward the coast. We were unable to discover the need for this sign.
Sunset on Tasman Sea
Franz Josef Glacier
A river of icy water emerges from a cave at the terminal face of the glacier.
One evening after dinner, we noticed it actually wasn't pouring rain, so we left the bach for a night walk up a nearby track through kiwi habitat, hoping to hear their nocturnal calls. We crunched up a gravel path through dark trees silhouetted against a three-quarter moon and spray of stars. At the top of the trail, on a bench, we listened through the bold and continuous calls of the small "morepork" owl until at last our ears found the fainter cry of a kiwi in the ravine below. Moonlight reflected off the sea to one side and snow-capped mountains to the other.
Long before midnight, the spell was broken when we returned to the bach to find I'd locked us out of it. Really? Top two most annoyingly avoidable blunders in one week? We were able to get help from some DOC folks with access to a second key.
On our last night, we went out for curry with the two primary DOC rangers Jeremy had assisted for two weeks.
Jeremy with Ranger Anna and Ranger Ieuan
It wasn't over yet. I mentioned Jeremy had suffered a kiwi scratch on his finger. Over several days, this seemingly minor wound turned into a protruding, startlingly painful mess. I know boys are dramatic with their little injuries, but this was becoming quite something, and Jeremy finally went to see the nurse at our local Musselburgh Medical Centre. The nurse was stumped herself, and the doctor was called in. You might remember Dr. MacBeth from an earlier episode. Ian MacBeth, who officially knows everything, had no trouble quickly assessing the situation.
"No, it's not infected; you've developed proud flesh," he announced. "It's excessive skin growth caused by overhealing."
Upon this announcement, the nurse zapped his growth with a burning squirt of liquid nitrogen. But it was Dr. MacBeth's turn for surprise when he asked Jeremy how the cut happened.
"A kiwi scratched me."
"What? You mean a bird?"
The receptionist came in. A crowd was forming. Dr. MacBeth then proceeded to fill out an ACC (Accident Compensation Corporation) form. This is New Zealand's workers' comp program. In a few days, Jeremy received a letter from ACC:
Dear Mr BeckYour injury is covered by ACC. We've received your ACC claim following your injury on 11 May 2011. We're sorry to hear of your injury and wish you well with your recovery . . .
Jeremy's proud flesh is now healing well, and he is expected to regain full use of his hands. This is a big relief, since he made several attempts to get out of doing dishes these last two weeks. The following was his most compelling statement: "I could use your kitchen gloves, but they're too small for my hands, and I might tear them."
