Mud and Cocktails

When I signed up to accompany Master Ten and his classmates on a school trip to Matakohe-Limestone Island I admit it was with some trepidation. 

Spending over five hours on a deserted island with 60 kids and a rain forecast is not my idea of fun. Give me a tropical island and swim-up cocktail bar any day.

But Friday dawned with the sun out and so I drove four excitable boys, who insisted on turning rap music up loud on my stereo, down to the Onerahi Foreshore where we wait to board the boat.

Emma arrives shortly after and takes us over in three boat-loads. Emma and her husband Jono and two young sons are the new rangers and residents of the island who welcome visitors to their abode where they share their knowledge of the island and its history.

Seven-year-old Charlie, must’ve heard the spiel a thousand times before, for his dad’s introduction is interspersed with snippets of impressive knowledge called out by Charlie.

My first observation is the island is beautiful. It looks nothing like it does from the mainland. We set off past the cement ruins and broken down buildings that used to sleep the workers, into the bush to plant trees. Be careful, warns Jono, for it is very muddy.

We start up the track and it soon becomes apparent why we were told to wear gumboots. Up until today it has been raining hard - our shoes are submerged into the thick gooey mud and I am unimpressed. I am not a fan of mud or sliding around in it for that matter. We skid our way up into the bush and, in our teams of four, begin digging the holes for the new trees. Only, because the island is made of Limestone, this is a lot harder than it looks. My team of boys soon give up for a game of tag and leave me jumping up and down on a shovel trying to make a dent in the earth. Eventually and after I have rounded up the AWOL boys, we have planted four trees and make our way back to the track.

This is where the craziness begins. Getting up the track was one thing but sliding down without arsing up is another. It is crazy-town as kids skid around having an absolute ball, while the parents, such as myself, who aren’t wearing the right attire, look on in horror gripping tree trunks for dear life.

Some of us manage to make it back down relatively unscathed before we head back to base for lunch.

Away from the mud, I am back in my happy place, eating my lunch in the sunshine looking out at the scenic view and am quite happy to call it a day and board the boat back when there is one more surprise in store. We are to walk to the top of the island to the pa site.

Oh no, not more mud, I think and reluctantly get off my perch. We walk up, and up, and up and then I look back over my shoulder and stop in my tracks. The view from the top of Limestone Island is amazing. One would never know, looking out from the mainland, just how picturesque it is. How lucky the former residents back in the day were to live in such a place. 

The kids of course, moaned all the way up, then shot back down without taking in a thing while the adults drank in the scene before them, stopping to take pictures along the way.

Despite the mud, I was pleasantly surprised by this piece of paradise on our back doorstep. But still, after I dropped the four still-hyperactive boys back at school, I admit, with that tropical island swim-up bar still in mind, I carried on straight to the wholesalers.