We'd been planning this trip for quite some time - 20 years, in fact. We were staying with our best mates, who have had a family bach at Glinks for generations, so we had good local knowledge of the place. Inside they had a big wall of photos of the generations of family, all holidaying like we were now, doing the same stuff, just in funny togs and fantastic moustaches.
The famous west coast wind started to accelerate up through the Gully just as we were putting all our kids to sleep in a tent outside. No one slept that night and the parent in the tent said she felt lucky to wake up still attached to the property.
We tried going for a run the next morning on the beach. I had to run with my eyes closed because of the flying sand. The ocean was a washing machine of destruction, any thoughts of surfcasting or swimming were laughed off ... out of fear.
Our kids developed a skill for hunting tuatua. It was a great family activity and more fruitful than hours of PlayStation.
When the mother of storms began developing outside, all four adults and six kids huddled into the lounge and we enjoyed games of Boggle charades and eye spy. The kids were loving it. Imagine my wife's delight when a rat suddenly stormed out from under the couch into the middle of the room and glared angrily at us all, as if to say "Who the bloody hell are you lot, get the hell out of my house".
Let's just say there were screams. It's an experience hard to shake off, but the offender was dealt with diplomatically.
Later that evening it was pretty clear the tent would have to come down, and by nightfall I was worried the bach might come down also.
But the following day I felt comfort in the simple pleasure of staring out at that wild coastline - the anger in that sea was mesmerising. I sat staring at it forever, eventually feeling calm and relaxed among the squalls and bursts of rain, kind of how I remember feeling about the weather when I was a kid. I just happily accepted it.
To get a better view of the Gully, we all trudged up the hill, past the little campground, up through these crazy mountain dunes that felt like being on the moon, and up on to a ridge overlooking the beach and gully.
The walk ended in chaos: one of the kids got a face full of wind-blasted sand which went straight into her eyes, and I had to piggyback my 4-year-old daughter all the way back down because she refused to walk.
I was knackered when we reached the bach, my daughter still refusing to be peeled off my back. Kind of reminded me of that cartoon on the Travel Editor's desk.
