Russell, New Zealand, is a charming village of some two thousand souls, a world-renowned center for big-game fishing. The clustered red roofs and the green hills beyond were very inviting and we all looked forward to our traditional celebration dinner ashore—and the nice, cold drinks that would precede and accompany it. But now we were to have our first taste of New Zealand casualness. We met with no difficulty in clearing customs and immigration, the officials seeming far more interested in the details of our passage than in trotting out regulations. But quarantine? “Ah-h-h, yes-s-s ...” in a delightful New Zealand drawl. That was a bit of a problem, that! The only doctor, you see, was out fishing and there was no telling where he was or when he might be expected back. It was a pity he had chosen this day to go fishing, but there it was. We would just have to wait.
When we asked about the prospects of getting dinner ashore, we were assured there would be no trouble, no trouble whatsoever. The Duke of Marlborough could serve any number and no advance notice need be given. The only thing, of course, was that we must get there before seven o’clock, when the dining room closed.
Rather enchanted than otherwise with this evidence of the small-townishness of Russell, we settled down to wait for the doctor’s return. In the meantime we tuned in the news and learned that Joyita had been found at last, a battered and empty hulk, drifting among the islands of the Fiji group. Passengers and crew were missing and there was no clue to their fate. No one of us said anything, but I was sure that in all our minds was the knowledge that it could have been us.
The afternoon passed and the shadows lengthened. Finally the sun set and Bill, who had been regaling us with descriptions of the huge steak he intended to order, with two—no, three!—fried eggs sitting on top, began to consult his watch more and more frequently. Every time a fishing boat came in he dashed hopefully on deck, only to rejoin us below with obviously sagging spirits. At last, and with only a few minutes to spare, the doctor arrived—apologizing charmingly for the inconvenience. He glanced around, gave us a clean bill of health, signed the guest book with a flourish, and then took us ashore in his own boat and rushed us to the hotel, where the entire gang was treated to a seven-course dinner as guests of the management!
We spent a week in Russell and then, eager to reach Auckland, where mail had been piling up (we hoped) for several months, we started cruising down the coast. This was a type of sailing we’d had little experience with. We found it fascinating to be always within sight of land, sailing by visible landmarks rather than by celestial navigation. The countryside was fertile and lovely, with brilliant green uplands dotted with the woolly blobs of grazing sheep, while along the shore stretches of sandy beach piled into yellow dunes or reared up in sheer sandstone bluffs.
We made only one stopover, at Kawau Island, where we spent a most enjoyable weekend tied up to the private dock of Roy and Irene Lidgard, New Zealand’s number one entry in the Be Kind to Visiting Yachtsmen sweepstakes. There we fished, went crabbing, helped crew the small-boat races at the Kawau Yacht Club, and took long walks into the hills hunting for elusive wallabies. The climax was a spontaneous potluck picnic that eddied back and forth between the Phoenix, Jim Lawler’s Ngaroma out of Auckland, and the Lidgards’ front lawn.
Auckland, when we finally arrived, proved equal to its reputation as one of the most yacht-conscious cities in the world. It supports more than three dozen yacht clubs and its beautiful and extensive bay provides opportunity for every type of yachting activity. Certainly the welcome extended to overseas yachtsmen would be hard to beat and, for those who are interested in racing events, the Annual One-Day Regatta, with its hundreds of entries, is undoubtedly the largest and most varied of its kind.
Our concern about our Japanese companions was quickly dispelled, for although we did hear one or two uncomplimentary asides, most of our visitors were happy to accept us all as yachtsmen rather than racial types. In addition, a number of “Kiwis” who had spent some time in Japan under the occupation came down to show the boys around as a gesture of appreciation for courtesies shown them in Japan.
During our three months in Auckland we learned much about the strange mixture that is New Zealand—a country where personal relationships are warm and hospitable, but where business contacts can be irritating in the extreme. The casual absence of the doctor on the day we arrived turned out to be quite typical of the “couldn’t care less” attitude of the average New Zealander. The socialized state provides free medical care, free dental care, old-age pensions, mothers’ pensions (with bonuses to Maori mothers for increased production!), and many other benefits so that worry scarcely enters the consciousness of most individuals. No one works any more than he can help and business and industry have to beg for laborers and make all sorts of concessions to keep them happy. We had hardly settled down after arrival when I overheard the following conversation on the dock:
“How would you blokes like a job while you’re here? We’d pay you right!”