This Must be the Place

   I lie on my bed listening to the winter rain pour down upon the tin roof of our whare, house, and find myself drifting into that strange dreamy frame of mind between sleep and being awake where the subconscious runs to her own musings. I could be in a mountain hut in the Ruahine thinking I should stir up the wood stove and put the billy on for a cup of tea. I could be in Wisconsin in the midst of a late afternoon summer storm, though the lack of loud thunder and flashes of lightening make that less of a reality. Or I could find myself right here, under our new roof buckled in tight and dry, the wood fire quietly warming us. It is not an unpleasant sensation to lie here between these different worlds. It seems I walk between them anyway.

How quickly time passes! Even though I was aware and trying to be deep in the moments it seems a bit bizarre to be back here sifting through the recollections and memories already. And of course Tara and Charlie have their own such places to sort through. For Charlie far less problematic I suspect, his very visceral, simpler world will allow him to hop back into his life here with far more ease than Tara or I. Tara and I suspect will have a far more complicated time digesting our experiences, our expectations, our realities. Interesting conservations lie ahead in the mist.                                                             

                                                                                  

                                                                                       

                                       

I honestly feel I have to let so many thoughts stew in the cauldron inside me before attempting to articulate them, or even what they REALLY mean. Having lived in another country now for over two decades I am not sure if it is my former home or myself which has changed the most. It was very important for me to see people and place my hands upon them, my family, friends, and a few special peeps in particular. I had very few boxes to tick, but the ones I did went back a long ways and reach way deep inside my soul. It has always been difficult for me to reconcile the past with the present, and I am not quite ready to tackle that yet. And so what may now seem unfulfilled or unsatisfying may eventually prove to be the sweetest encounters of all. Especially if the appreciation works both ways. Those answers most likely lie in front my fire talking it through with Tara, and some as well lie within me alone. In due time I will need to shoulder a pack and head into the Ruahine and talk to the mountains as well.

                                    My nephew Ben, two weeks younger than my own son Taylor. In ways I enjoyed his presence most of all. I love to see his smile. It gives me hope for my own boy, and appreciation of this one.

In the meantime I just wanted to report we are home safely and adjusting to going from holiday mode to the other mode of day to day life. It is good to be back in our little whare and our wood fire. Thank you so much to those who read here for tuning in and reading my ramblings. Kia ora as well to all those whom I saw and shared with in Wisconsin, and to those I did not I appreciate the thought was there and may you be well. Kia ora most of all to my family, my mom, my  sister Kathy (Kia kaha big sister), all my nieces and nephews, and mostly to my little sister Trish and her husband Steve for putting us up, and putting up with us for a month. Kia kaha Little Sister. I am always with you.

     The final hug with my mom. Kia ora Trish for observing this moment with dignity and allowing us a bit of privacy. "Listen dear mother I'll miss you the most......" - Jeff Tweedy

Kia ora and Aroha,
Robb

                              

Home

Kettle Moraine State Forest Park - Wisconsin. Lake Michigan in the far distance.

"How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of Home". - William Faulkner

I came across the above words by Faulkner earlier today, and they sent a shiver through me. In a matter of days I will be boarding a plane, along with Tara and Charlie, and flying halfway around the world to my original place, Wisconsin. I have not been home in over six years. Faulkner's words struck me as I am not totally sure if I am leaving home to visit a place I am from, or leaving this place I now live to return home. A matter of semantics I know, but the real truth, and the connection to Faulkner is that I have felt his words strongly both in Wisconsin and in Aotearoa. Or maybe there is part of me in both places. Here in the mountains of the Ruahine, in Wisconsin the glaciated moraines and endless forests and lakes, and in both people I love very much.

My sisters Kathy and Trish, and my mom on my last trip home in late 2006.

There are so many people I am looking forward to putting my arms around. Family and friends both. And to visit places so integral to me and show Charlie a place that is also part of him. A sadness lingers in me that my oldest son Taylor is not joining us, but that is that. I love him, I worry for him, and I suspect that sadness will be beside me for some time yet to come. It is mine to own.

I am also somewhat nervous about what I will find in Wisconsin, and in America, in terms of having lived outside it for so long now looking in. The political discourse in my home state and in the whole country seems so mean spirited and no one seems to hear anything but their own tune. I know where my beliefs lie and I hope that does not clash with just putting my arms around people and hugging them - most likely never to see most ever again. I have had my eyes opened, perhaps they were half open back there, by some wonderful and amazing people here in Aotearoa. The way things seem to be unfolding in the world these days seems very ungenerous to so many, and to the earth herself. A simplistic view perhaps, but I am a simple man.

Friends Rick and Jeff on the Union Terrace at the University of Wisconsin - Madison. Both have visited me here and spent many days in the Ruahine. This is a moment from my last trip home. Jeff still lives in Madison, and Rick in Milwaukee, both places I will visit. The Terrace above is where we all really cemented our bonds, debating and discussing, listening to the Friday or Saturday night blues or reggae bands, and drinking a few beers and stuff as well. It is still an important place for all of us.

Lambeau Field - Green Bay Wisconsin - Home of the Green Bay Packers! The colours, the pageantry, the marching bands - the states does indeed do some things very well!  Green Bay is where I grew up. I lived a mere few blocks from this stadium, used to hear the roar of the crowd as a kid and we played football in our front yards during the games, then run inside to hear the radio and  what had happened. I am going to meet some of those "kids" in a few weeks time, and very much looking forward to doing so. There are more than a couple of us "kids" who didn't make it very far past then. I still miss them too.  Green Bay and Lambeau are also very special places as well. Having my moms side of the family from Chicago - home of the hated Bears, made my childhood quite interesting. When the Bears played the Packers at Lambeau our house was taken over by grandparents, aunts and uncles, friends we called uncle and aunt, and best of all our cousins. Man those were great weekends as a kid. The Packers won't be playing while we are home but I am loving thought of showing it to Charlie. I have attended events in a fair few American cities and stadiums, none compare to a day like above at Lambeau Field. Green Bay taught the world to tail gate.

Even as I sit here now, some days before leaving, I realize and understand how quickly this time in my other home will pass. The Ruahine have taught me that well. To not anticipate too much, to not be disappointed or angry if things do not go my way - the mountains are very good for that! And mostly to appreciate and relish each second, each hour, each day, as if it could be the last time ever we are amongst such places, or people. I came half way around the world to learn those lessons which I needed to learn most. Now I shall be going the other way to apply them. And soon enough I will be back here, in my new home. There is a part of my soul that has been claimed by the Ruahine. A part that has truly found a home. And will never be lost again.

Aroha,
Robb

Reconciling Footsteps

12/04/12 Top Maropea
Evening
Robb - solo

The grey misty light fades over the valley below, and above to the south brings quiet dollops of rain upon the setting before me. It was only being inside the tiny hut waiting for a brew that brought awareness of the increasing rain. I could hear it bouncing upon the tin roof. A welcoming sound when here and secure. It has taken me 3 months and over two trips to arrive here once again, as twice prior my efforts to cross the open and exposed saddle have been in vain. So though today I walked up to Sunrise in the mist and greyness I did so with a smile, in spite of the inevitable steepness and heavy pack. For I knew I would eventually arrive here, which I have. In spite of the rain and the mist, it was still. Almost an ethereal silence, except the occasional explosion of a chubby kerereu lifting his bulk off a miro branch. And the plop of water on everything, including me. At Sunrise I stopped to boil the billy, rest up, and watch the gentle southerly roll in. Having crossed the exposed saddle now many times the cloud and mist welcomed me into the distance, to a route and a place I know well. Wind is a different connection, but not one I needed to worry of today. I still write the few hours between here and Sunrise is perhaps one of the most beautiful walks in the world. At least to me.

Upper tawhairauriki forest. The reward for the climb, and it only gets better.

Elegant Beauty.

Clear your head and climb out the clouds!

The contrast between the gentle rain and the place was in this moment. Why am I here?

 Evening: 12/04/12 Top Maropea: I was last here almost a year ago, (25 May), with my oldest son Taylor. We stayed here on the first night of what was supposed to be 5 nights of he and I alone in the mountains. Little did I know of what was to come. Taylor lost and alone all night along a freezing Ruahine mountain river, and me in the fire warmed confines of Maropea Forks hut spending the loneliest and most terrified night of my life. The heartening call of the whio in the shadows of the night and the growing daylight I will never forget. So in the morning I will head to that very place. It is The Roar, or the time of year when the big red stag deer hold their ground, near maddened to mate. That means the huts will most likely be filled of choppered in hunters. So I have brought my tent to camp. I just want to be in the area and figure it all out.

 The next morning dawned with blue skies and frost. Nothing for it but follow the sense of wander lust down through the forest to the sound of the rivers and streams and path they provide. The sun light upon the tawahairauriki pulls me along.

13/04/12: Morning tea on the Maropea river: I came here looking for something though I am not exactly sure what. Redemption? Reassurance? Something to do with my son I cannot quite grasp. The grey weather has given way to a cold southerly overnight, and my early morning journey to the Maropea a fine way to warm up to travel down river amongst the shadows and chill of the still sunless tight valley. I am, at least in the mountains, and early morning man and I love traveling until the sun peaks over the eastern ridges and shines down upon the river. Then it is time for a rest, boil the billy for a cup of tea, and let the sun's warmth soak into my very essence. The water sparkles and glimmers,  coloured only by her stones or the beauty of her depths. Just before I stopped for morning tea a large rainbow trout leaped out of a large pool, and then disappeared into the depths of its refuge. Then almost as immediately a lone whio flew overhead just about making me tip over into the river as I craned my neck to make sure of what I was seeing.  Soon I came around a bend to a side stream meeting the river and came upon a pair of whio, male and female, both singing loudly in their respective distinct calls. Either they were welcoming me, or laughing at my ungainly efforts to travel down river in comparison to their own, but they seemed pretty comfortable in allowing me to approach so either one is acceptable to me. A spectacular day to just enjoy a mountain river.

The waterfall a mere 20 minutes or so from the forks and the lovely confines of Maropea Forks hut. I sat here awhile and pondered why I did not tell Taylor to stop and wait for me here. I recalled thinking that after he walked off ahead of me. It was probably my one chance to avert a horrible afternoon and evening for us both and I missed it. And the river rolls on.....

Ataahua! A rapid on the lower Maropea. One to be carefully negotiated. The next day another pair of whio guided me back up river to here from the hut, disappearing into a quiet little spot on the far side of this fall. I said Kia Ora and carried on.

13 April evening: Camped on the Maropea river: What a lovely fortunate day on the river. Shadow to sun, foreboding to welcoming on the whim of a rivers bend. My thoughts could not help but be pulled back to Taylor a year ago in this very place. I guess some of my pondering and confusion in pinning down my thoughts is that out in the world he still seems a bit lost to me, and I am finding it difficult to figure out how to help him. Just as that night a year ago I knew I could not help him at all. He helped himself, but he also put himself in very bad spot. That is what worries me still.

As I suspected, there were choppered in hunters staying at the hut. Barak, Craig, and James, all young guys in their late 20's, and to be fair working the tough rugged country pretty hard. They had six stag heads lined up near the hut and looking for more. It was a macabre sort of display, but thus is the nature of The Roar, and the uncomfortable need to keep the introduced deer population down. They are here till early next week and have enough beer, food, and supplies to last a month. The luxury of a helicopter. They offered to make room in the hut, and even shared a few beers with me, a first from chopper hunters for me, but I felt a need to be on my own so politely declined.

At one point we were all sitting on the porch enjoying a river chilled beer. And the guys started talking about how the night prior they had been reading the hut book and were transfixed on an entry written by a guy in the hut who had lost his son, and what he must have been going through. I quietly told them I was that guy. It was another moment of silence shared at Maropea Forks hut, (please see prior post).

Another side stream joins the river. The symmetry of Nature never fails to amaze me.

Aotearoa!

There are two whio in this moment. Can you spot them?

Top Maropea 14/04 12: There is a new hut book here at Top Maropea. The prior one was the only one I have ever written in, started just before my very first visit the better part of 15 years ago. For a hut located a few hours away from Sunrise that speaks volumes. And why I love so much to cross that open saddle and arrive here in the wild back country. 38 times my name was entered in that old hut book, either alone or with other fine people, including Tara, Taylor and Charlie. There are some very cool stories and moments in that old book. So to open the new book and find the inscription above seems pretty apt, and very much an honour. This is indeed my favourite Ruahine spot of all, amongst many, but this one, this drafty cold hard to find wood and build an open fire freezing in the winter and especially the morning cold cold cold place never fails to warm my soul. It was and is the gateway to my Ruahine Dreams. Kia ora!

The trees of the Ruahine are, along with the whio, the essence and soul of these ranges. The expired tawahairauriki in particular always grab my attention as they beseech and cry to the heavens. This one is the Guardian of Top Maropea. It has been there long before I became a manuhiri, and will be here long after my ashes become one with the whenua at her feet.

A view of Top Maropea just emerging out the forest on the steep and grueling climb out of the side creek and up further to here. A view the legs and lungs are quite happy to see.

14-04-12 Top Maropea: It is never easy to enjoy a fire here in this cold damp hut surrounded by even colder, damper forest. At over 1200 metres finding any dry usable wood is difficult, much less rendering it into useable portions. And the open fire at this height poses its own problems. This was never a popular spot for the deer cullers, wet wood, hard to find, and difficult to get blazing.

Yet there are a few secrets to know, mostly involving time and preparation, and if done correctly one can create a fire to warm the soul, if not the hut, very briefly. It is always best to have a very warm sleeping bag to climb into here! Today, I had a bit of time, did the preparation, and I feel I have a fire I will enjoy. Every time I do here is a bonus. Some of my best fires ever lit have been right here.

Indeed!

Early next morning. A stunning day!

On the saddle looking down into the headwaters of the Waipawa valley. Not a good place to fall.

Maropea Thoughts

"An iridescent grey cloud looms over the valley head
 ghostly shadows and mist over
 Orupu and Te Atua Mahuru
hidden from view
bulky friends still there regardless
It lowers itself as a crown upon the distinct features of Puketaramea
a place I know well
climbing to in the emerging light of dawn
after the longest and loneliest hours of my life
my son gone
I climbed relentlessly and focused
then I sat upon her and wept
for my son, for me
The Ruahine took my boy for her own
then she gently handed him back to me
I am still not sure what it is I came looking for
but I have found something."
Aroha.
Robb

Te hei Mauri Ora!!!!!

Hauora

Back not too long before my 45th birthday, so almost 7 years ago anyway, I received a call from a staff member at DOC (Department of Conservation). The lady asked if I had recently lost an item of gear in the Ruahine. As I was planning my extended approaching birthday wander in the Ruahine I had already checked my gear and began gathering it around me. So I knew nothing major and of any real importance was missing, and told her no. Before I hung up I recalled my mate John had recently been in the Ruahine and so took her number and called John. He quickly verified he had lost his sleeping mat on his recent venture into the Ruahine. I rang back the DOC lady, described the item, and was then given the number of a man in Hawkes Bay, which lies very near the northern end of the Ruahine. I rang, and was answered by a man named Derek Pawson. Derek had found John's mat on the floor, under a bunk in Top Maropea hut. It is a small hut, and John was with other people, so not a hard mistake to make. In any case, Derek saw my name in the hut book just before John had arrived, and assumed it was either his or mine. Once we finished that business we had a grand chat about the Ruahine and mountains, music, and a few other easy subjects as well. He told me that the reason he rang and carried John's mat around in the Ruahine for 5 days was that he had seen my name in all the hut books so knew I was okay.  I recall hanging the phone up and thinking, "what a nice guy". I later found out Derek was a tramper extrodinaire in the Ruahine and Kaweka's and heavily involved in the Hawkes Bay Search and Rescue team.

A few weeks later John and I headed into the wintry and very cold Ruahine for the next 5 days in honour of my 45th mentioned above. We took the long way into Maropea Forks, over the tops in a bit of dodgy weather. So it took us 2 days to get there, and when we did, on my birthday, it was just wonderful. The experience, the place, and the company. Later in the evening I was in the hut preparing tea, and John quietly spoke from the porch that a couple of hunters were approaching from down the river. They turned out to be people we knew. Phil Hansen and his son, Nick, who had slowly hunted up the river that day. We had met them a few years prior when John and I during a storm took shelter in a hut, to find it occupied by two guys, Phil and his son. John and I were intending upon camping but the weather had us considering that option when I noticed John and Phil , who had been chatting, sort of had gone silent. It quickly turned out they knew one another. Phil had led groups of guys wanting to tramp into the hills way back in the 70's. Mostly in the Ruahine. Thirty some years ago. Turns out John was one of those kids. So after thirty years since they had seen one another John and Phil reconnect in the heart of the Ruahine. John is a master navigator, fire starter, solid presence in the mountains, and so I perked up to listen. We spent the afternoon drinking a few cups of tea and listening to John and Phil telling old stories of days now long gone. When the rain stopped John and I shouldered our swags and headed down river to camp. We always remembered that day, and it gave me a new healthy respect and appreciation of men who know more about mountains than I do. Most often I find it is best to just shut up and Listen.

My point is that once John called out from the same porch that it was Phil and Nick approaching, I just cracked up laughing, took our dinner off and put the billy on for a cuppa to welcome our guests. In the midst of the cup of tea, Phil started talking about a mate who had just been killed being hit on his push bike by a drunk driver. He said his name was Derek Pawson.

Once we all overcame our silence, and Phil and Nick understood that John and I also knew Derek, we all smiled and acknowledged the likelihood that somehow Derek was swirling about and understood it as well.

Below: Robb and John on that very day at Maropea Forks in July 2005. Winter and cold. Photo by Phil Hansen.

Coda

A few days after I wrote the prior post, Te Tiriti o Waitangi, a scathing, terribly written article was published by The New Zealand Herald, and authored by one Paul Holmes, whose claim to fame as far as I can tell is that he once pissed off the America's Cup helmsman Denis Connor who walked out of the supposed interview Mr. Holmes was conducting. He is, I suppose, in the world of broadcasting here in New Zealand, a big fish in a little pond. I have never watched him so I cannot comment upon that, but as to his lack of skill as a writer, and his rather stunning lack of knowledge, or empathy, with Waitangi Day and Te Tiriti I could easily do. Though the dark shadows which descend upon me, like watching a late afternoon storm roll over the rolling tops of the Whanahuia in the Ruahine as above, tell me it is a far deeper, far more reaching subject matter than simply Mr. Holmes. For in the Pakeha world I mostly step in I am very afraid that his rambling diatribe is seen as "good common Kiwi sense", "saying the things we all think but do not say", and that most dreaded utterance  "good to see someone tell the truth and not worried about political correctness".

These are the phrases, adjectives, and nouns I gleaned from the article. There is no need to duplicate here, as it's rambling disjointed discourse is not worth the trouble.

 "Hatred, rudeness, violence, hateful, hate-filled weirdo's, benefit provision, enable, repugnant, spitting, smugness, self-righteousness, neurotic Maori politics, bizarre, never defined principles,resentment, paying, bullshit, lies, loony, fringe, self-denial, hopeless, failure, fault, hating whitey, awful, nasty common, bamboozling, loony, looniest, irrational, bullying, bizarre,"... and so on it goes.

 Language and words to build bridges by indeed. Yeesh!

It all points out to me as a Pakeha trying to develop a political awareness and consciousness as to what all this is really all about, is just how difficult and hard the task in front of me really is, and what it entails. Which brings tears to my eyes thinking the path that these amazing Maori people I was around to listen to at Waitangi have walked, and the path those beautiful young Maori people are embarking upon. I can only think, reflect, and experience this from my own life, a middle aged white male, privileged to have walked where the institutions and system have been loaded my way. Language, education, history, opportunity, belief systems, all have been geared to my benefit, set up so I can walk through the world where the mere colour of my skin, and maleness, means I started further up the ladder. That is the truth. No wonder Phil Ochs topped himself, at least he could write beautiful songs and play the guitar, but that line between being real, and merely a hand wringing liberal seems to me a very fine one, and what I really want to get at is just the truth.

It seems life in my world comes down to two possible roads. We take the education and opportunities and we get highly comfortable or rich, and that is where our cultural " wisdom" comes from, those whom are wealthy and successful. Why for instance, Mr. Holmes has such utter crap even published in a newspaper. It is to perpetuate the system and history, defend it, and make sure the past stays in the past, except for how the system has written it. Or we struggle along striving to reach the level of the well off and rich, and soon settle for merely trying, live a quiet good life, and just as equally and staunchly defend the system as we are told. Then we die.

I am certainly not the former, and with one foot already in the latter I am deciding I would rather live. Yet extracting that one foot is like pulling it out of a deep muddy quagmire in the Ruahine. I guess maybe slightly like a tiny fraction of a tiny step in a tiny moment of how it has been for indigenous people everywhere in the world for centuries.

I'm not real sure where this murky track is taking me and what it all means. It is unlike any I have walked before. There have been many times in the mountains I have been afraid at the journey ahead, and the best solution is to always just shoulder the pack and head into the mist. Mauri Ora!

Kia ora once again to all the lovely people above whom I spent the journey to Waitangi amongst. It opened my eyes to so much about Te Tiriti and myself. Interesting times ahead!

On a different note to close this rather rambling effort. This post represents my 100th post on this blog! A good friend once told me that most blogs last a little over 12 months and fizzle out. I started this one mid 2007 mainly as a way to let my whanau and peeps back home have a look at my wanderings in the place I love so much, the Ruahine. So five years later I am still at it, have rambled around the mountains, developed this love of the whenua and Papatuanuku I suspect has always been within me, and now moving into other areas as well. To anyone who is out there reading this - Kia ora for your interest, and Kia ora and Aroha especially to the old names from way back. I have met some extremely interesting people, and many in person as well, via this place. So cheers, and I vow now, post 101 will be in the Ruahine! Kia kaha!

Aroha,

Robb

Te Tiriti o Waitangi

Mataatua marae Waitangi weekend.
 I am not real sure why I am even here, on a marae for the very first time in my 19 years of living as a manuhiri (guest) here in Aotearoa. I am with a group of young, mostly Maori students, all accomplished, all heading towards being leaders in their various disciplines, and led by even more accomplished Maori women. I know I am here because of my wife's friendship with one of those women, Erika, whom I also think of as my own friend, but if I am truly honest I have to write that if I had not come to share this experience, my relationship with Tara, my wahine and a talented woman in her own right, may have possibly come to an end. So conflicting emotions see me sitting here amongst all these accomplished folk. I am glad Charlie Kloss is here as well.

Later evening: I was surprised by how the lump in my throat grew as we were welcomed onto the marae with the Powhiri. It says that our ancestors as well as those here at the marae are here with us. I get that. Later on after our dinner I was wandering about the grounds and came upon a little non- descript shed in the back and in front were piled loads of wood, which I am always interested in. I walked over to the stack of old huge logs, thinking these are too massive to split here for firewood, when a quiet voice spoke from inside the shed and asked, "Are you a carver mate?". Of course I answered no, and the voice then invited me inside where I found Jay, one of the Maori men who had greeted us during the Powhiri. I was surrounded by carvings, wood and bone, and all ataahua (beautiful). Jay showed me all around and each piece, and upon the walls the pictures of all his prior generations who had been carvers. How he was the only one left in his family to pursue the skill, craft and patience required. How hard it is now, in South Auckland, to find anyone young in his whanau to teach as he had been taught by his elders. We were then joined by Marsh (who has a lovely Maori name I was unable to remember and will not denigrate by trying to do so), the kaumatua who gave the korero (talk) at our Powhiri. Marsh has a full Moko, or facial tattoo. As a Pakeha we are conditioned to see this as something fierce and intimidating, yet Marsh spoke in a lovely soft voice as he showed me his bone carvings and spoke of his experiences of working with youth in South Auckland. At one stage he asked who I was, why I had come to Aotearoa, and so on. Somehow that got to the Ruahine and the old tawhairauriki staff I had once found to aid Taylor in crossing a flooded river we were going to have to cross for a long time that day when he was only 8 years old. I still have it, (and it sits beside me as I write this now). Marsh said I was meant to find it and should send it to Jay to carve for me. I walked away from that tiny shed with another lump in my throat.

The whanau I was with for the most amazing 5 days I have spent in Aotearoa.

Mataatua marae early morning. I stayed behind when the others went to the Otara markets and such and had a chance to talk to Rangi, the Maori woman who really ran the marae. She patiently explained to me the whole meaning of  the Powhiri, Tapu (Sacred), and Noa (Open), which after being welcomed onto the marae I am. Sitting with Rangi having a cup of tea was the the most incredible way to begin my day.

The wood and bone carving shed. Significant moments in humble places.

Kawiti marae. A most beautiful and peaceful place, yet has sheltered some of those most involved in real strife, hate, and fear beyond this graceful domain when no others would. No wonder shelter was both offered and accepted here in her bosom. The sleeping quarters in the foreground, the kitchen and dining area in back, and the ablutions block hidden behind. The cliffs behind are Tapu (Sacred) meaning no one is allowed amongst them. They remind me of mountains, or of Kura Tawhati in the south island. All places that exude spirit and mana.

A view a bit further back, just after we had arrived. You do not just bowl on into a marae, you have to announce your presence, be seen and acknowledged, then proceed to the Powhiri. Here Erika and Tara await before we gather for a karakia and proceed forward. The formality and significance of host to manuhiri (guest) is something we out here in our fast paced materialistic world have forgotten. Really it comes down to manners and respect, and an acknowledgement of the host and guest relationship.

Putting a wood stove in our own whare (house) was a very big thing for me. I love the whole process of gathering wood, preparing and building the fire and maintaining such a simple way to provide the whanau heat and comfort. This wood stove at Kawiti also provides the means to prepare food in those two big ovens on either side. In a way I saw it as the soul of the marae itself.

Waitangi Day: We are here to mark the signing of Te Tiriti o Waitangi, or the Treaty of Waitangi, which was signed in 1840. As a manuhiri I have always been vaguely aware that this was a significant day, and the way I understood it as put forth in the media was that it marked the birth of what is now New Zealand. Mostly it was a day off work, a chance to party a bit the night before and have a sleep in, or plan a tramp up into the hills and so on. For most Pakeha that would be a fair representation of the day. For a far larger proportion of Maori, Te Tiriti is a far more important document, a living breathing entity which represents what should be a way of life itself. So many Pakeha, media, corporations and business interests, and certainly our government see Te Tiriti as an old piece of outdated parchment that should simply be burned, as well as a hindrance to "progress", usually benefiting a small number at the top. I always find it interesting how the mainly white western world holds our own ancient documents so dear and closely to our bosoms, the Bible, the Magna Carta, the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and so on. Yet treaties signed with indigenous peoples of the world we saw, and still see, as being somehow invalid as quickly as they accomplish the short term purpose colonizers required, or simply an old outdated dead document. Well, I got news for such views, the biggest lesson I learned over the weekend is that Te Tiriti ain't going nowhere, and there are some fiercely brilliant Maori minds and bodies, and even a few Pakeha ones, who are in for the long haul. Mauri Ora!

The above photo is representative of another huge myth that was blown to bits, and another huge truth revealed for me. Every year before I came to Waitangi the spin put out by the government and media is that Waitangi Day is a volatile, explosive cauldron of Maori discontent. Radicals, terrorists, agitators, and separatists who harrass and threaten the government officials and others. The news papers and television show pushing and shoving, men with full faced Moko's filled with rage. This should be a day of celebration, not one of division is the common theme of the pakeha world. "We are all one". - No actually we are not, and I also learned that this day is no way a "celebration" for most Maori. It is in fact a very sad day, a day that highlights the fact that Te Tiriti is still being abused, neglected, and unobserved, that Maori continue to lead every possible negative statistic there is available. And we say, "well, we are all one, they have the same opportunities", "ferals", "warrior gene", "time to move on", ad nausea. What indeed is there to celebrate about the effects of colonization on an entire population of people whose land was stolen, whose language was nearly killed, and who are still being lied to about Te Tiriti o Waitangi?

The media puts out close up, panned in shots and film of angry protesters to make it look as if riots are about to break out, and the impression that hundreds of people are about to run wild. That bubble was burst for me in the above photo. Charlie and I were standing near where John Key and his entourage were being escorted off the marae. There was a small group yelling abuse and protesting, and there should be in my view, but in the media it was made to look as if he was in danger, that the kettle was about to boil over. Have a look. Do you think I would let my 9 year old son stand near what I thought would be a threatening situation? Does it look dangerous and out of control? I was there, and it wasn't. And the same applies to the next day's Hikoi to the Waitangi flagpole where again it was potrayed as a near riot, and the same type photo of an angry Maori man of twisted face and hatred. Had the camera panned a mere few feet away, they would have seen Charlie and I standing peacefully as so many others carried on a respectful and dignified korero. Never again will I believe our media and government. I will source my information elsewhere.

Charlie standing by Hone Harawira a few mere moments after Key and his dark suited entourage hustled off the marae. A bit later  Tara, Charlie, and I were walking back towards the political tent and Charlie asked us, "Why do men in suits look so strange?" - there was a Maori woman walking behind us and she burst out laughing and said to Charlie, "Because they are all thieves! What a great question!" She continued down the road laughing.

Above is Tara with Meteria Turei, the leader of the Green Party, and Tara's cousin whom she had not seen in many years. The biggest benefit for me being such an unimportant part of the group I was with is that I  was fortunate enough to listen to some amazing Maori voices put forth the real and true story of Te Tiriti and its on going relationship with all of us. People whom once again in our media, and by our government are portrayed as haters and wreckers, radicals and dividers, even a few as terrorists. To listen to these people speak, to listen to the passion, commitment, knowledge, and yes, Love, in their korero left me dazed, and honoured.

Tame Iti. To hear this man speak in such a quiet gentle manner, to feel emanating from him the hurt and pain of his journey, I actually had to look away at times. He did not talk of agendas of terror and plots HE may have put forth, as so commonly is put up by our media, he talked of what it is like to be sleeping peacefully in your own whare and have our own government terrorists break his doors down and pull his partner, daughter, and himself outside and separate them. He talked of how it felt to see the red laser dots on his face and body, of being on the ground with a snarling German Shepard snapping viciously at his face mere inches away. That happened here folks. And five years later the government has still yet to bring all this to trial. Why is that?

Giving the korero is Mereana Pitman. Seated are Moana Jackson in the middle, and to the left is Veronica Tawhai (the leader and facilitator of our group). Three beautiful and amazing minds and visionaries whom opened up a whole new view for how I see certainly Te Tiriti, but also the whole world. And with others we listened to, Tame Iti, Mike Smith, Annette Sykes, Hone Harawira, Metiria Turei and others, the fight to put Te Tiriti in its rightful place is in good hands. Combined with people in our own whanau, Erika Te Hiwi, Natasha McCombe, as well as the young brilliant minds I met and observed in the young students who came with us, it all gives me inspiration to change myself, and hope to change the world.

Dawn over Waitangi from the Upper marae.

So here it is, because I know there may be a few peeps who read these words and still see the above names and my own views as radical and dangerous. So, to paraphrase a bit from the wonderful Moana Jackson, whom I could sit in front of and Listen to for days at a time, from now on this is what I will ask of any Pakeha, or anyone who wants to question the rightful place of Te Tiriti in Aotearoa.

Please ask yourself four questions.
1. Would the King of France have woken up one morning around 1840 and decided he would cede all power, because ultimately this is about power, to the King of England, and what would the people of France have thought about that?

2. Why would a combined Maori population of up to an estimated 500,000 in 1840 cede power to a group numbering around 2000 settlers and missionaries? They could have, and probably should have run them into the sea. What they were attempting to do was to bridge a way to allow these people to live here in a way that was similar to inter-connections the various Iwi shared amongst each other as the indigenous people, through the bonds of marriage and history, so that quite simply the manuhiri would abide by the rules and behave themselves.  Hone Heke went directly to the source, to the King of England, to suss him out and get him to control his drunk, and out of control wild mob instead of the other option of simply running them into the sea. Te Tiriti was a way to let people stay here and yet still be guided by the principles of Tino Rangatiratanga. It is as simple as that.

3. Ask yourself what sort of world you want to live in, what sort of world you want your children, and your childrens children to live in and amongst? One can read most any post I have written on this blog to know how I personally feel about wild places, the earth, sea, and what we are doing to them. And now, having been on two marae over 4 days and living under the protection of Tino Rangatiratanga and how I was cared for, how I learned to pitch in and make it all happen, how much more aware of what is around us and how we treat one another, I have absolutely no issues at all with, again simply, a better way.

4. Have you actually ever been to Waitangi? If yes, I hope you feel a bit like I do, if no, I'll see you there.

The flagpole over Waitangi at dawn.

The real reason this is all so crucial and so important to get right.

"On life's eternal river
   we float on....and
   on, forever - like
   a stream of light
  enhancing our under-
  standing of human love,
  and life! Kia ora!
                         Hone Tuwhare

Kia ora to all the wonderful people I shared this experience with, and especially to those who put it all together and allowed me to be part of such an amazing chapter in my life.
Aroha,
Robb