An entry in the TFS Travel Journal
Such weird dreams! (Pat accusing Ralph of being in the CIA, Wendy having an 8-year-old son she hadn’t previously known about. . .) We tremendously enjoyed a relaxing morning of reading here in the country.
Then at 1pm, Milton went off for his half-day of introductory fly fishing. The setting was bucolic and pastoral, though this really isn’t supposed to be a great season for catching the local trout. After about an hour, I’d definitely gotten the idea, though my casting evidently left much to be desired. After the second hour, I was definitely ready to go back to the lodge; I mean, I could have been mountain biking, or kayaking in the lake, or anything where something actually happens! We then moved upstream a ways and from the riverside saw several trout about 2 feet long or so. John the Guide did some exemplary casting and hooked one, which he let me work for a while before it broke loose. Then I waded out in the middle of the river, moving and casting upstream or down, as he spotted targets from his vantage points along the bank. No bites, though, so as the sun was setting, we packed up and drove back home. I can now comfortably say that I’ve done it, I understand it, and next time I want to catch a trout, I’ll head to Steve’s Oceanside Market on Main Street in New Paltz.
The drive back, though, was quite scenic as we drove along Lake Taupo, the largest lake in NZ and actually a caldera formed 1900 years ago by the largest volcanic eruption in history. There are, in fact, several active volcanoes around here, with one erupting in 1996, spewing rocks, ash and fire for days. The lake is very large, surrounded by low hills. We saw a nice sunset over the far side of the lake as we circled around, as well as a dozen or so guys standing hip-deep out in the lake fishing — a pretty scene in the fading light.
Meanwhile, Wendy spent the afternoon reading and going on a garden walk with Elaine, one of the Lodge’s horticultural experts. They strolled the 17 acres, appreciating the work that has gone into creating the varied plant and tree life here while keeping it all harmonious with the indigenous surroundings. They also had a lovely orchard, with quince, apple and fig trees. Aside from being visually beautiful, the air was filled with autumnal scents of lavender, honeysuckle and freshly-grown herbs.
Soon, it was time for cocktails and dinner. Fortunately, the tall people weren’t there to bother us with their forced sincerity, so Wendy chatted with the sophisticated Miss Julia Wood from Sydney who was celebrating her 12th birthday here with her parents, and Milton spoke with Julia’s father and with a guy from the Lodge, learning more about the finer points of fishing, which did nothing to dispell his earlier impressions of the “sport”. It was then time for dinner, for which Pat and Ned had thoughtfully reserved the wine cellar and invited us to join them.
We descended into the arched and vaulted semi-sub-terranean room which was cooly lit with beautiful candle chandeliers gilded with silver grape clusters, and was filled with thousands of bottles of wine (though they may have been empty, as we never checked). It made us feel like calling out “Fe Fi Fo Fum” every now and then while gnawing on a drumstick, though we refrained from doing either. We dined on a cold snapper salad (ok), some crab/avocado cakes (excellent), sorbet intermezzo (not so good) and Balinese chicken (really good), with a pastry and pear dessert (good), all accompanied by a Martinborough Chardonnay (big and toasty). We also enjoyed our conversation with the other couple (learning that last night Pat really had accused Ralph of being in the CIA; how did that make it into Milton’s dreams?), as we discussed travel, their life in London and second marriages.
We returned to the room, too sated and relaxed to type the journal so just did some emailing and reading, and had another fight with Angela at DHL about the box we thought we’d sent home last week.