Lazing about in the Mermaid Pools.
A Sideline View
Brenda Vowden
Flitting off to a faraway island may seem more like 'Fantasy Island' these days. But with that familiar tele blast from the past, 'Don't leave home 'til you've seen the country' ringing in my ears, I was able to fulfil that dream holiday longing a bit closer to home.
I consider myself extremely privileged to have been invited to stay with family on Great Barrier Island for a week this New Year. Well maybe I dropped a few hints and invited myself, but suffice to say it was a dream come true.
It wasn't our first visit to the Hauraki Gulf paradise — I honeymooned there in 1990 and went back a few times over the years with the kids.
It'd been 11 years since our last trip and the first one flying over since that memorable February day nearly 32 years ago when, as soon as the tyres made contact with terra firma, I scrambled over bewildered passengers to make my escape, sprinting to the booking office on landing, cancelling the return fare and re-booking on the ferry.
It would be 26 years before I boarded another plane, albeit with teeth clenched and knees shaking.
Fast forward a few decades and I stood in a queue of happy looking island-goers, awaiting the arrival of a golf cart to taxi us across the tarmac to our plane.
At this point said aircraft was hidden behind a bigger one — a much bigger one. As big brother rolled away, a plane around the size of a sewing machine revealed itself.
With my heart both racing and thudding heavily, I fidgeted frantically in my handbag and ignoring the 'four drops on the tongue' instructions on the label, slugged back my bottle of rescue remedy in one hit. Zero effect.
We trundled across the tarmac and arrived at the boarding ladder far too soon for my liking. I tried some deep breathing — also ineffective.
It was now down to that old chestnut 'mind over matter', so with trembling limbs and strange noises emitting from somewhere in the back of my throat, I climbed on board.
This plane was marginally bigger than the one on our first trip — there was a glimmer of hope. This one actually boasted an aisle, although the word 'aisle' could be stretching it.
The gap between the single seat on one side and a pair on the other, had to be negotiated sideways. I motioned Ed into his window seat so I could sit a bit closer to some air.
A hot summer's day, cramped conditions and masks sucked into place were the perfect trifecta.
The panic storm was brewing. And to add insult to injury of course we needed to listen to the welcome and safety speech from the captain. Any instructions passed over my head in a blur — should we plummet into the ocean below I would be diving for the door handle.
We finally began trucking down the runway, propellers propelling, engines roaring and hey presto it was time for lift off. Which meant it was also time to action my anti-panic plan — head down, read my book, stay still, don't look up.
Ed placed his hand on my leg in a show of affection and support. It may have been an eight-legged hairy critter the speed by which I swatted it away. He tried an apology before I screeched "Don't talk to me!". Oh well, that's how I coped.
And I did cope. We flew across the sprawling city of sails, over the gulf islands and finally landed on the barrier.
I felt overwhelming relief as we landed safely, rolled to a halt and looked out the window to see my sister-in-law waving madly.
I waved over-enthusiastically back as I waited for passengers to disembark and climbed nonchalantly back down that ladder with not a care in the world.
The nightmare in my head was over and the holiday had begun.