Elisabeth Easther talks to Rachel Turner, guide at Whakaari (White Island) and Moutohora (Whale Island).
When I was growing up in Kawarau, my father built a steel ketch in our backyard so most of my early memories were centred on him building this two-masted, 12m yacht and me playing in the hull of that boat, which dominated our backyard. He and mum were told they couldn't have kids, so they started building the boat to sail around the world. Then I came along, followed by my two brothers. They launched the boat in Whakatane and moored it in Whangamata and we went there every weekend to sail. I was about 5, my youngest brother was about 2 and me and my other brother had to clip him on and off in his harness - that was our job because he could hardly walk - but he was a great swimmer. For our holidays, we'd go on the yacht to the islands around Whangamata and Colville, or the Coromandel - but from a young age, my grandfather instilled in me a love of native bush. My first big adventures away from family were at the Outdoor Pursuits Centre, while the ocean was part of my day-to-day life. So when I started doing things on land, with native bush, that really struck a chord.
At university all my studies were in terrestrial ecology and conservation biology. Taking a break from my studies, I went to South Africa to work with a great white shark research programme, but I got terribly homesick. I missed New Zealand and how you can walk down the street and not get mugged. In South Africa we had to carry mug money - about $15 - so if you got hit up you handed that over and they left you alone. I also missed pumping my own gas. In South Africa, you'd roll into the forecourt, wind the windows up, then a dude comes up wearing high viz, you crack the window a little and hand him cash after he pumps your gas.
But it's an amazingly beautiful country. One night we were working near Mossel Bay, an island with a dense population of Cape fur seals and we were tracking a shark that was small but really aggressive. The seals would forage at night, going to sea to catch fish, knowing there were sharksin the water. Every now and then a group would set off, groups of 50 or 60, knowing a shark was going to hit. It was the same vibe as bullrush. People lining up, you know what's going to happen but you just hope it's not you. I will never forget the speed and power - the terror - in such a small space, around such a small boat.
