The de Havilland Beaver has the ocean as its runway. Photo / John King
The de Havilland Beaver has the ocean as its runway. Photo / John King
Elisabeth Easther took her fondness for fishing to new heights - this time from a seaplane over Auckland.
I've always considered seaplanes to be the height of aviation romance. When I was a little girl, the fearless Captain Fred Ladd was legendary, the kind of pilot who'd think nothing of flying under the Auckland Harbour Bridge for a lark, spouting poetry every time he took off. He wasalso part of my family's heritage, having transported my mother, Shirley Maddock, around the sparkling Hauraki waters while she wrote the book Islands of the Gulf and later when she made the subsequent TV series. When I discovered these amphibious planes had returned to Auckland's skies, I knew my time had come.
While I had envisaged something brief - a waggling of the wings over Waiheke as part of a 30-minute scenic flight - my expectations were blown out of the water when we were asked if we'd like to try fishing from the floats.
Once my son, Theo, and I and our travel companions were safely buckled in, Captain Emily gave us our safety briefing as we taxied out across the water. It really is the most surreal feeling to have the ocean as one's runway. Our eight-seater de Havilland Beaver made its way out of the harbour, we soon began getting up speed and the next thing we knew we were airborne. Flying out over super yachts and dinky little pleasure crafts that looked more like bath toys than marine vessels, we set a course for Devonport. Earth from this vantage point is so magnificently volcanic; Mt Victoria, North Head and Rangitoto thrusting up out of the earth and sea - there's no better way to see Auckland.
We zoomed over Motutapu's rolling farmland and banked around Rakino and the Noises before nosing towards Waiheke where the island waited patiently, her skirts of blue demurely arranged around her shores. By approaching New Zealand's third most populated island from the west, we also flew over Pakatoa.
Losing altitude, we were able to make out the faces of the people on the water looking up at us from their boats, waving and taking pictures. It was clear from their expressions we were the most glamorous things in the world. Unable to wipe the smiles from our faces, we landed at Man O' War Bay, pretty as a postcard, dotted with historic houses, a church and happy families playing in the tide.
Our fellow passengers, a cheerful couple, disembarked into ankle-deep water, off to their wine tasting and platters. We waved them off with the bold claim that we'd be back when we'd caught enough fish for dinner. Turning the plane around, Emily taxied slowly through the network of boats toward the nearby mussel farms where we hoped the fish would be biting.
The writer catches her dinner off the side of the seaplane. Photo / Elisabeth Easther
Mooring up, we clambered out, stood on the floats of the plane, baited our hooks (all gear was provided right down to the bait) and Emily proved she isn't just a talented pilot and informative host but an excellent angler. Tackling the tackle, Emily tied our hooks and sinkers and soon we were getting bites like you wouldn't believe. The first fish up was Theo's but his little whippersnapper was a trifle small so he kissed the fish goodbye (as fishing protocol dictates) and threw him back to his folks.
Then it's all a bit of a blur. A snapper for me, a snapper for Theo, a few unfortunate snags, then a huge kahawai for me, a few more undersized ones to return to the water ... and soon we had enough for a feast.
Yet the true bliss wasn't the fishing per se, although that was great fun; it was the pleasure of sitting in the sun on the side of a seaplane in a part of the world that's as close to paradise as you could hope to find, with my son.
A decent haul of fish had dinner sorted and as for the memories, we'll treasure them for as long as we live.
