Exploring an active volcano!
11 November 1957
11 to 13 November Mayor Island
Monday 11 November 1957
The day dawned grey but calm, as befitted an armistice day, but it cheered up later and by 9 o’clock the sun was beaming from an azure sky. The hall porter greeted my appearance with the message that I was to sail on the ‘Arangi’ after all and later Skipper Bob Grey arrived to confirm the message …
Soon we were away across the harbour to pick up three deep sea fishermen from the ferry jetty. Three very nice chaps, tough as they make ’em, farmers all, one in the sheepman’s check shirt, one with hands so huge that one wondered how they got that way.
… At this season they were out after hapuka (4-5 ft long), kahawai, schnapper and the like. The hapuka had to be caught at their recognised feeding times, which seemed not to be related to any known factor such as tide, as they lay in rock crevices between meals ...
It was difficult to see the Mayor as we approached because of the flying spray which hit one if one emerged from the shelter of the cabin but it provided an idyllic scene as we passed into the shelter of the southeast bay … A forested bird sanctuary dominated by pohutukawas which were already coming into bloom. Magnificent strata and caves and arches and stacks, with the gleam of obsidian, shining like coal from the cliff faces bordering the little sandy landing beach.
… we edged closer to the shore, the three farmers hopped in to the water and dragged the dinghy down to take me and my luggage ashore … the six men were sleeping on board [while Mary had the use of a hut in the deserted fisherman’s camp] ...
No one aboard seemed very knowledgeable about the nesting localities of the birds on the Mayor, though I gathered there were sooty shearwaters, cape pigeons, diving petrels and red bills somewhere around.
Tuesday 12 November 1957
… I spent two hours in the bush, fruitlessly searching for petrel burrows and trying to keep my bearings … Mayor Island will be to me the scene of fruitless searching and many calamities [wire in her foot, dunked while getting ashore], laced with myriads of sandflies by day and mosquitoes by night …
Wednesday 13 November 1957
… And so to the Maunganui wharf where the catch was unloaded in the biting wind and spread on the wharf for me to photograph with the farmer-fishermen responsible ...
16 to 17 November White Island
Saturday 16 November 1957
... [on board 55ft ‘Tide Song’ Tauranga Harbour] Just before we sailed at 10pm I made my way down a steep companion way to a cabin forward of the engine room. Steeped in fumes and boding ill for my future health as the weather was far from calm, but I persuaded the captain to open the skylight an inch as the seas was behind and should not come through. In spite of the terrific racket and smell and the fact that I had to hold tight to prevent being rolled off the bunk, I spent a reasonably comfortable night and lost no meals the wrong way (though my emergency bucket came in useful for other purposes.) …
Sunday 17 November 1957
[From diary entry 8 November: The great plume of steam, NZ’s safety valve, issued from near the foot of the island on the southeast corner, streaming many yards into the sky and the island itself was jagged and somewhat flat topped as though it had blown off its summit at some point of its turbulent history. I had heard that since the workers in the fertiliser works there had been overwhelmed by a hot mud flow and killed at the outbreak of the war, that the locals were chary of landing. A storekeeper and garageman en route, however, who had muttonbirds for sale (uncooked and preserved in barrels, 5/- for 1, 8/6 a pair) said that most of his supply came either from the South Island or White Island, the Maoris sailing out from Kawakawa to the north to collect the latter.]
… about 5.30am. We hove to under the west side of White Island and the nineteen Maoris (eighteen men and one woman) with their motley collection of goods were put ashore …
When they were all safely ashore with their sacks, tarpaulins, boxes of grub, churns of water and ‘birding sticks’ with the dinghy hauled up after them, we four remaining pakehas went round to the clearer water of south Crater Bay for a bacon and egg breakfast, again Pop Louden head cook and bottlewasher. A great knob of land between the west and south Crater Bay beaches was clad in iceplant and people by numerous white-fronted terns. As Skipper Fred remarked, “Terns never nest alone – one good tern deserves another!” ...
The island towered 1075 ft above us. Offshore on the northwest corner were the 275ft high Volkner Stacks and nearer to us, the lower but vegetated Black Rocks well off shore. Sulphur fumes blew around the boat, polluting the fresh sea breezes and taking away much of one’s appetite, while inland was an awe-inspiring array of steam jets and fumaroles, sometimes visible, sometimes masked in the down-blowing plume of smoke and fumes.
After breakfast Fred, Pop and I went ashore … We set off to explore and I was very glad they were with me – it was too awesome a place to want to be alone. No plants in sight but acres of loose mud, wet or dry, and great rounded heaps of rubble with steam vents hissing up from bottomless holes rimmed with brilliant yellow sulphur … Boiling mud, boiling pools and the grounds warm to the touch, some pretty hot and soft. No wonder Fred had said “wear gumboots” … I had no gumboots so I followed in Fred’s footsteps wherever things looked touchy, with instructions to throw myself forwards if I felt the ground giving way under me … our throats were dry, we coughed and spluttered, and our eyes watered but a handkerchief over nose and mouth kept back much of the volcanic dust and solid particles. With every slight change of wind the fumes came or went … sometimes we were enveloped in thick cloud and couldn’t see each other nor where we were going. I had been warned that if it stayed like this for long we should have to crawl out, noses to the ground to avoid suffocation, but fortunately there was usually a temporary clearing …
And so we left the awesome desolation, the roaring and hissing, and made our way back to South Beach, doffed shoes and socks, and pushed the dinghy out over the ginger boulders, glad to have witnessed the majesty of power of mother earth, but glad to be free from her sulphurous apron strings.
We hauled up ‘Tide Song’s’ anchor and were away into the wholesome air off the west side … Then on again to where we had put the Maoris ashore and this time it was me, complete with packed lunch and bottle of liquid …
It was not much more than 10.30 with most of the day yet to go so I spent the next 2-3 hours wandering round the three central west gannet colonies and among the mutton bird burrows. Every now and then I would come across a posse of muttonbirds strung in pairs over a branch, in groups of 50 or so, emitting that characteristic but fishy odour. The grizzly remains of crops, little heaps of sooty down feathers, and disturbed earth were everywhere, and here and there were the birders themselves, covered with loose earth, their hands fouled with the blood of slaughter as they went about their gruesome task. Most were shy and would not speak when spoken to, just grinning awkwardly, some of the older ones were more communicative and would pose for photos but had they known what a fearsome lot of savages they looked, they would have realised that I was more shy of them than they of me. Their head man later told me that one had been very distressed at my presence on the island as he had split his pants from top to bottom and kept becoming aware that I was walking in his direction. I had noticed nothing amiss but had certainly wondered why I came up with one in various places who was always sitting fast on his buttocks with a sheepish grin on his face while his companions chortled unrestrainedly! Every so often a dusky form would emerge from the deep shade of the bush with an ominous-looking sack slung over his shoulder and when I wandered into their “camp” (no tents, only piles of debris scattered under a more open patch of bush) I saw hundreds of birds in lines on the branches …
[later] over to a suitable headland for taking off … we chugged round the headland to the east side, beyond Carter Bay this time, to calmer water for the night.
