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Close call for a hummingbird

Sat, 17 Jul 2010 17:00:00 -0700

It was great to get a call the other day from Adventure Travel to say that one of my entries for their annual travel photography competition had been placed second! I took the photo at the appropriately named "Hummingbird Cafe" at the entrance to Monteverde National Park in Costa Rica. The owner of the cafe has several bird feeders hanging from the roof of the porch outside the cafe and the hummingbirds are in constant attendance. They buzz in and out constantly like giant bumblebees on amphetamines, engaging in all sorts of aerial jousting to get at the feeders while they are full. Getting a decent photo is a challenge with the obvious fast wing speed and unpredictable movements making things a bit tricky. For this shot I pre-focussed on a point just back from the feeder and used a very short duration flash - 1/64 power and a shutter speed of around 1/125 and opened up the aperture to grab enough ambient light so as no to have a black background. Most of the time the birds would feed and then be gone in a flash, but on a couple of occasions this one backed out from the feeder and paused long enough for me to get a photograph. After about 300 exposures, I had a maybe half a dozen good ones - not something I'd try with film! The instant feedback that digital photography provides is pretty well essential for this kind of work. You find out what works and make changes as you go.

For my trouble I recieved a $500 travel voucher and free admission to Darren Leal's photography workshop which was excellent. Thanks Adventure Travel!

Return to the Tararuas

Sun, 04 Jul 2010 17:56:00 -0700

It has been a while since I had a full weekend in the Tararua Ranges - something like 18 years! That's not to say I've not ventured in there, it's just that my more recent (if two decades can be called 'recent') forays into the leatherwood have been day trips rather than overnight excursions. Old-time teaching colleague from Tawa College days Rex Bartholomew and I decided at his recent celebration of, as he puts it completing his 60th circumnavigation of the Sun, that it was time we headed back in to our old stamping ground. There being no time like the present, we scuttled off at the first available weekend to see if it is as cold, wet and muddy as we remember it. With a daunting weather forecast promising a foul Sunday, we headed into Otaki Forks on a frosty Friday night and settled in to Parawai Lodge. Road-end huts have a universal lack of charm, and Parawai is no exception. It is an interface between a mobile urban population and a wild place. You can basically drive there and play out macho roles against the background of the hills without actually climbing a hill. Parawai is then filthy, graffitied and a poor relation of its more remote counterparts, but it was home for the night,

Saturday morning saw a frost under seige from an early nor'wester that had clouds scudding across the sky. Mist hung low in the Waitewaewae valley and the Sun struggled to get through the cloud as we climbed Misery to the bush edge. With the only goal for the day being Field Hut, we had the full day to wander and take photos at leisure - what a treat! The overcast conditions were perfect for forest photography.

Later as we sat outside the hut, evening cloud rolled in from the west leaving and by nightfall we were in thick fog.

One of the joys of winter tramping is getting lots of sleep - a solid 12 hours of zzzs had us bright eyed and bushy tailed by morning. First up was a scuttle up the ridge behind the hut to catch the early light streaming down from above the Main Range.

Another excursion after breakfast to Table Top in bright sunshine and no wind was a real bonus before the walk out.

This time the sun streamed in through the trees, lighting up patches of filmy ferns and kidney ferns on tree trunks.

By time we returned to Otaki Forks, it was warm and calm - a great end to a great weekend out.

More photos here

Harbour City half marathon 25 years on

Mon, 28 Jun 2010 20:16:00 -0700

The twenty fifth running of the Harbour City Half Marathon has managed to sneak up on me somehow. In 1986, I ran the inaugural event in 1:21, coming 121st. Back then I ran most days. Now, 25 years on, I cycle daily and run about three times a month. That's no recipe for a personal best, but buoyed by my enjoyable half marathon experience in February and enticed by the siren of a special 25th anniversary finisher's medal, I signed up for the event on the back of a 75 minute test run around Northland and Wadestown and little else by way of preparation.

Race day was foul. A keen southerly with rain squalls had everyone sheltering in the Westpac Stadium until the last minute before facing the weather and the starter's gun. It was a sombre affair, no music to lighten the mood and an announcer on the PA system who barked instructions as to where everyone should be with no hint of welcome. It was the perfect match for the weather.

Soon we were off into the southerly down Jervios Quay, most people content to hold their position until things opened up, but with the occasional runner dodging about trying to get ahead, cutting across others - possibly these are the same people who cut me off in their cars while I'm on my bike approaching the Karori tunnel - at least they have same attitude.

It was cold, it was wet and it hurt. It served me right too. I was unprepared and more importantly, I was running for the wrong reason. I used to run for the love of it. All I needed was the feeling of running. This, by contrast, was a calculated exercise in want. I wanted the medal, and I got it - eventually. Actually I was pleasantly surprised to go through 10km in under 50 minutes. It seemed slower. Soon it was. Cobham Drive hurt - there and back. The tail wind back around Evans Bay Parade was welcome, but favoured those with leg speed (youth).

It was a good 8 minutes slower than the February run. I'll put it down to the weather. Never mind that the course record was broken.

Spot the difference...

Tue, 15 Jun 2010 20:52:00 -0700

Apart from the camera angle, there is one easily spotted difference between these two photos...

and ten minutes later...

The presence of one Cordyline australis in the bottom picture is what would, in a more commerical setting, put you in the draw to win a chance to go in the draw to get a discount on a purchase of some sort. That cabbage tree started life self-seeded from the monster specimen in the back yard, alongside the concrete path outside my basement where it grew apace and unfettered for some years, holding enough water to wet mewhenever I passed after a rainshower. I have been thinking about moving it to Makara Peak for some time (pretty well whenever it shed its payload of rainwater on me) and now that it is winter, the planets, stars and other celestial bodies aligned themselves in such a way as to awaken me to the task. These celestial accidents are what get me to paint the bathroom ceiling after contemplating its sorry state over decades from the warm luxury of a post-ride bath. Anyway, like painting the bathroom ceiling, it is done. There are other cabbage trees in the back yard that are likely to make the long walk up Varleys - it seems to me that the track pictured would make a fine Avenue Cordyline. Watch this space...

... and then it rained

Tue, 18 May 2010 17:49:00 -0700

It will come as no surprise to those who know me that my presence in the Marlborough Sounds coincided with the abrupt end of the region's drought. The Indian summer bowed so abruptly to the monsoon that it was lucky to avoid a prolapsed lumbar disc. What was dust is mud. The thought of our return to Pelorus Sound for three days kayaking sustained me through a few days of common cold with uncommon 'flu symptoms last week, so it was with some relief that I was on the ferry on Friday night with Brent, Peter Ian and Grant, heading for the mainland, even if I was a little below par.

A balmy Wellington heavy with cloud morphed in to a black sky deluge by time we arrived in Picton. The Humpback whales a couple of km off Tory Channel were a brief diversion from the darkening sky! It is a long drive from Picton to Titirangi Bay - we stopped off briefly to leave our kayak trolleys with the good folk at Portage Resort Hotel en route. The tortuous road had Ian puking out the window somewhere near Kenepuru Saddle. Frogs leapt and rats and mice ran ahead of the headlights and possums stared stupidly as we approached - "Check it out, two moons" as the ad. said.

Titirangi Bay was no refuge from the rain and after pushing the van out of the mud, our driver set off for the return trip to Picton and something called super14 on the telly. We got to camp in the rain. My spirits soared as my instant dinner hit the spot - Backcountry beef curry, a roti and some coconut sambal - all the better for being out of the rain under Peter's vast fly. I'm easily pleased.

Saturday morning and the rain eased as we packed up and set off into a nor'easterly breeze and towards Allen Strait - although it looked more like a river with overfalls and a good 6 knots or so mid channel. Sneaking around the southern edge was a doddle and soon we were surfing into xxxx bay to check out the wreck of the xxx. The portage route into Beatrix Bay was not even slightly tempting with a choppy sea, a 'landing' peppered with kayak-eating rocks and a very steep but short route to the top. On xxx head and into Pelorus Sound we went. Once around Post Office Point we picked up a tail wind again and surfed most of the way down towards Maud Island that appeared as a black pyramid against the dry grassland behind. Squalls crossed our path intermittently and a few boats bashed their way north, throwing up spray from all points of contact with the sea - give me a kayak any day!

A black sky foretold of the deluge that greeted us as we neared our chosen camp and it continued for most of the night. By morning the wind had sprung up and promised us a good ride down towards Pelorus Sound and we made good time into Jacobs Bay for a stretch and bite to eat. Lunch was a sodden affair. Sardines eaten straight from their communal coffin at a rough and cheerless bach that had an acceptable deck. By time we had that, the tide was in full cry heading out and our progress was slowed - it took ages to get past Pipi Beach. Eventually the promised southerly arrived and we really had to slog it out for the last few kilometers to the entrance of Kenepuru Sound. Any let up would have us going backwards, so it was a sustained effort. Once into Kenepuru the slog continued though with a lighter breeze in fading light as we struck out for St Omer. Again the rain set in as we appraoched camp and again we hastened to get things organised before dark. Bent's dinner was memorable for all the wrong reasons. It was hot. It hosed down all night - thank goodness for tent flys!

Morning brought hope of better weather and by time we reached Portage, the sun was actually shining. We hauled the kayaks on trolleys over to Torea Bay and had lunch in the sun before paddling across to Picton where the hot showers on the wharf were more than welcome! For the next week it was enough to be dry, and to have something to eat that was not frioles con arroz a la Brent!

It's just not cricket - (it's cycling)

Sat, 10 Apr 2010 16:36:00 -0700

One of the reasons I spend most July evenings watching the Tour of France unfold is the appeal of watching fate play its cruel hand in the fortunes of seriously competitive men. The stakes are high and gambling on a breakaway that might or might not succeed is a bold move. So often, what seems like an unassailable leads get whittled down to nothing by a team effort from the peloton in the last couple of kilometers and those who have pedalled their brains out to stay away are consumed by the peloton and spat out the back, spent and sore. I feel for these men, for I have been there - in my own modest way. As recently as Saturday.

While the Graperide is no Alp d'Huez switchback hell in the Alps, it is a good ride and having rode 3:02 in the last two years, this year there was a job to be done. Nice to have the consistency, but it's on the wrong side of 180 minutes. Right from the gun, I set about catching the previous groups of 100 riders ahead. My goal was to catch the second group that would put me 4 minutes ahead of anyone in that bunch, and sit in the bunch until I hit the hills of Queen Charlotte Drive where I would drop as many as I could. And pick up a bunch for the tail wind ride back to Renwick.

That was the plan. The first part worked fine, but with just two of us working at the front of the bunch (thanks Andy), the effort required was way above budget. One really shouldn't taste bile so early in a ride. I consoled myself with the promise of a more sedate pace once we hit the headwind towards Picton. By the I'd be in a faster bunch, pulling away from my start group. We'd caught the second bunch by time we swung out onto SH1 at Spring Creek, and were closing in ever so slowly to the remnants of the next bunch up the road. I was flagging a bit and decided that once we caught them, I'd sit up and have a breather. We urged a few others in our group to assist and we got a response from some that helped and we were able to have longer breaks from the sharp end.

Around Tuamarina, with only about 50m to the group ahead, a whirring of spokes announced that we were being joined by another bunch - no problem with that, until I get the cheery greeting from Gabrielle and Alan. It was nice to see them but it meant that the group who had just joined was the same one I crossed the start line with. They looked fresh and I felt as if I had just done the Karapoti. A stray water bottle went straight under Gabrielle's front wheel - luckily she had the composure to roll over it, rather than trying to go around it while in a tight bunch.Our ever-growing bunch swept along to Picton vaccuuming up riders in its wake.

As we crested the hill that leads down into Picton a tyre exploded to my left and a rider pulled off. The bunch had strung out on the hill and I chased hard to catch Alan going down so we were together again going into Queen Charlotte Drive. Alan stayed close as we tackled the first big hill, but I was well clear by time I summited. Through Ngakuta Bay I was pretty much alone, but Alan re-joined me with a bunch of his merry men through Linkwater. Again I had succumbed to the bunch. Half a dozen of us lapped it out at the front across the Linkwater flats to the bottom of Mahakipawa Hill where we scattered on the climb and then regrouped after the downhill run into Havelock. At last the wind was behind us as we swung left for the final leg south back to Renwick, but far from making this a cruise, the pace went on and it was a scramble to shut down the odd gap that appeared in the ever-growing peloton. Things settled down and for once we had good order in the pack and a good paceline had us hitting over 50km/hr in places. We scooped up lone riders but many others, running on empty, failed to get on board. Everyone was concentrating hard and those who had anything in the tank strung out the peloton in the last few kilometers so that by time we crossed the Waiau River again, we were single file and hurting.

I spent the last couple of kilometers searching for the middle ground between my right hamstring seizing up with cramp and drifting off the back of the pack. Soon enough the driveway into Forrest Estate dictated its own sensible pace and we all rolled in, Alan 11 seconds ahead, and me reflecting on what was and what might have been and what should have been. Whenever I needed a bunch, I was on my own. Somehow they just formed behind me and made a mockery of my efforts. Three hours had passed but it had been an enjoyable ride despite my strategy being spectacularly unsuccessful.

That's part of the appeal of cycling - it is an amalgam of strategy, fitness and even a bit of luck. It combines the heady thrill of fast paced peloton riding and technical descents with great scenery. It most certainly isn't cricket.

Matt and Keri's big day!

Mon, 22 Mar 2010 18:10:00 -0700

Some days are destined to be remembered and Saturday 20th was a huge day for the Gunn Clan as Matt and Keri were married at Tatum Park, just north of Otaki. It was a day to celebrate our Scottish heritage as Matt and his best man Jesse and groomsman Andrew all wore kilts, as did Ross (Keri's Dad) and I. We had a piper to lead the procession from the ceremony and Keri wore her new Gunn tartan sash that I presented to her during the ceremony. Everything about the day was just great. The ceremony was clearly the work of Matt and Keri, in a bush setting and with vows that spoke of their mutual love, respect and dedication. Four very proud parents and heaps of rellies and friends had a great time. Thanks Matt and Keri for a great day!!

Gabrielle Ironman!!

Tue, 09 Mar 2010 17:51:00 -0800

What a weekend! What a race! What a woman!

All the ingredients were in place for a heroic effort - 3.8km swim, 180km cycle, 42km run, windy conditions and an evening chill, and two feet that have defied the repeated efforts of orthopedic surgeons to relieve pain and swelling for the last twenty years. That's right - as if the distances are not daunting enough, throw in a permanent injury to both feet just to make it hurt a whole lot more. So why would you do this? You probably wouldn't, but then you're not Gabrielle.

The logic goes a bit like this: The feet aren't going to get better without some miracle cure and there is no sign of that happening, so... if I want to do this, best thing is to harden up and get on with it. Not an approach that most of us would take, but the Ironman is about passion and drive rather than warm fuzzy logic. Training regime: - swim and bike as much as possible and run whenever the pain threshhold dips below agony for as far as possible, because chances are walking will be a struggle for a the next few days after each training run. Race plan: - swim easy, bike harder and survive the run through multiple pain barriers (never mind the fatigue), to get under the finish banner before the midnight cutoff. That's it. Just finish.

Race day

John Key's cannon sends them off in a monochrome dawn and the still air is stirred with the sound of 1200 pairs of thrashing arms. It sounds like a waterfall.

A bit over an hour later and she's out and on the green carpet for the 400m dash to the bikes. Of course she's limping.

Onto the bike and looking good along the lakeshore and off to Reporoa.

Three hours later and she's back looking good on the Napier Taupo Road climb. Even a cheeky response to my "Mash it woman!"

I count a total of five riders without aero bars. There might be something in that...

So the southeasterly blew and those who had them hunkered down on their aero bars for the second haul back from Reporoa up to Taupo. The downhill blast along Centennial Drive and into town had most riders grinning with the prospect of getting off their bikes.

And now for the business end of it all... the run.

It was strange watching with hundreds of others and only I knew of the pain she was enduring. That's one of the things about watching this race. You don't know what people are battling with besides the distance as they make their way around the course. But the support from locals is unreal and it was a pleasure to be part of that. You don't often see people drawing on everything they have to just keep going. That's what inspires people to enter. It's ironic that the best place for someone with damaged feet to blend in with people not so inflicted is in the marathon stage of the Ironman. But it comes at a cost - and that heroic run must have been excruciating. So after 14 hours a huge crowd cheered Gabrielle across the line. By then the pain was obvious and they knew it. It's an over-used phrase, but you were awesome Gabrielle! Crazy awesome! As the man said "Gabrielle Gunn, you are an Ironman!"

Other side up on Car Parts

Sun, 28 Feb 2010 23:00:00 -0800

About once a year, the planets align in a sinister way that has me sprawled along some dusty track, wondering what happened or else cursing my inattention to the terrain and its attendant hazards. On Sunday that happened as I hurried down the track known locally as Car Parts Extension. I was in a hurry because I was between events. The national downhill competition was in full swing at Long Gully and down in the CBD the final stage in the NZ Womens Cycle Tour was about to start. There can't be a better way to appreciate the diversity of the sport of cycling than to watch both these events in a single afternoon. At Long Gully, riders clad in protective gear hurtle down a dusty track in a nor'westerly gale, occasionally stacking in a cloud of dust only to resume defiantly to the appreciation of the crowd below. There is loud music and plenty of strutting between runs. Meanwhile on the smooth tarmac of the CBD, the country's best women road riders go head to head with visiting overseas teams in the cat-and-mouse tactical battle that is so much part of road racing. One is about gravity and traction against time, the other is jockeying for position for shelter, sprint points and getting away from the peleton, chasing down escapers and being first across the line.

So it was with an arresting sense of deja vu that I found myself looking up through the trees after my front wheel balked at a renegade tree root and asked the impossible (follow me) of the rest of the bike. Only casualty was pride so I dusted myself off and headed down to watch the criterium, grateful that nobody had witnessed my short flight.

Looking for my running mojo

Sun, 21 Feb 2010 17:57:00 -0800

There's a lot to be said for managing expectations - both your own and those of others. That is especially so when it comes to physical activity that is firstly measurable and secondly when conducted against the greying background of the ageing process. After fifteen years of dedication to the bicycle as an exercising medium, on Sunday I went back to my roots, so to speak and ran a half marathon. Fifteen years is a long time and while I haven't exactly been inactive in the last decade and a half, I haven't worn out many pairs of running shoes.

I self seeded myself somewhere in a pack of a few hundred runners and walkers for the 21.1km run around the bays. We were advised by the loudspeaker-enhanced voice of authority to "make sure you start in the right group, with runners at the front and walkers to the rear", I tried to distinguish runners from walkers. Surely the kakapo suited woman was a walker, but can anything be certain about someone who dresses up as a kakapo for 21km on foot around the bays? Probably not. Luckily most of the people around me were runners, so the congestion was manageable and we set off at a good, comfortable pace, eventually finding some space. Conscious of being a bit under-prepared (the bikes still get most of my attention), I was wary of taking this too lightly and so settling in to a 5min/km pace seemed sensible. It was easy to ignore the sirens calling for a clearly unsustainable 4min/km pace that was once the slow side of the norm. The road to hell is littered with the souls of those who think they can still do what they once found easy. The last thing I want to be is the running equivalent of those women who have earned the collective moniker "18/50s" - by dressing like 18 year olds at the age of fifty. I'm 53 and I'm going to bloody well act like it. This called for dignity in the face of suffering.

A tail wind from Point Jerningham had the temperature soaring and by Greta Point, I was recognising people I passed as the enviable youths who'd cleared out on me in Oriental Bay. It felt good. For a couple of kms along Evans Bay Parade I matched strides with a runner who I thought would be with me for the rest of the race and we passed a good number of people then, just before swinging into the wind at Burnham Wharf he dropped off the pace. Some strategic placement behind others on the windy headlands out to Pt Halswell had me running economically and feeling great as the race leaders passed by, heading for home.

Kau Bay and Mahanga Bay were again warmer without the headwind and the turnaround back into the stiffening northerly was welcome. By now, most of the fun had gone and the non cycling muscles were sending unwanted messages to the pain centres of my brain. The pace was unchanged, but the experience was very different. I've done enough running for this to be a familiar thing; It was time for an effort. A few runners came past, and I put this down to post-turnaround-euphoria and tried to lock onto their pace and stay with them. Alas they weren't waiting for me so I let them go and repeated the exercise. After a couple of km of this, some of them came back to me. The tortoise was happy to take the lead again.

By time we hit Evans Bay Parade again, with just under 3km to go, I told my screaming calves to shut-the-hell-up and stop spoiling my fun. Everyone was hurting, but mostly they seemed to be hurting more than me and the part of my brain that has been dormant since I ran in a Scottish Harriers singlet awakened and I passed a dozen or so others in the last 2km. A unique feature of the event was merging the half marathon finishers with the 7km fun run finishers about 500m from the finish. This required a fair bit of dodging five-abreast families, scooters, trikes and the like near the finish. I was surprised to see no wrecked fun runners' bodies being loaded into ambulances after encounters with the sharp end of the half marathon field.

I finished in around 1:41 which was satisfying despite being a personal worst time. I put this satisfaction down not to my slow buildup of training distance, nor to a rigorous and dedicated training regime, but to a thorough commitment to expectation management.

Rugby sevens parade

Wed, 03 Feb 2010 17:12:00 -0800

Rugby sevens parade today so it must be summer... at last. Huge turnout again with office workers scrambling for giveaways. Matt resplendent in his kilt rattled his way on the side drum ahead of the Pump girls - all credit to him, he was totally focussed on his drumming!

You can't beat Wellington on a good day

Sun, 31 Jan 2010 16:08:00 -0800

There is no better place to be on a good day and that is what Saturday was! Us Wellingtonians seem to make the most of any fine weather and this "summer" especially! For about 750 this meant an ocean swim at Oriental Bay and Gabrielle was among them, resplendent in a pink cap. Starting in the third wave of swimmers, the goal was to get among the yellow caps ahead and go as close to the one hour mark as possible. Always a strong swimmer, she of course made good on these, finishing in around 58 minutes! Well done Gabrielle!!! It seems that next year it might be a yellow cap, although the pink does go well with the wetsuit...
Anxious to make the most of the day in the face of an approaching southerly storm, Andrew and I made for Makara Peak on our bikes and completed a circuit of Koru, Sally Alley, Missing Link, Aratihi, Zac's, Varley's and home via Wahine. A good, hot, dusty summer ride and about 25 degrees and a beer well earned!

New web site

Tue, 26 Jan 2010 15:33:00 -0800

I now have a presentable web site, thanks to Matthew and the open source community who have developed Silverstripe - the content management system that I use. Things have come a long way since I set up my old site and had to wrangle HTTP to make it all work. Quite frankly it wasn't worth the effort of maintaining it and like many sites it lay stagnating for longer than I care to admit. A really cool feature of Silverstripe is the ability to render photographs that are stored on a flickr site into galleries. Have a look here.

Thanks Matt!

Another Taupo

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 14:06:00 -0800

I haven't been counting, but it must be eight or nine times around that lake by now. Anyway this time it was cool, windy and wet at times - a far cry from the burn-to-a-crisp experience of 2008. All in it was a good do with 11,000 odd riders and the usual good vibe with heart kids beaming across the line and people slaying personal demons left right and centre. Gabrielle was heroic in the face of a raging sore throat and we downplayed our lack of training to good effect. Again Paula and Jane Battersby were the hosts par excellence - big ups to you both! And of course no visit to Taupo is complete without an excursion to the C row's nest.

Close but no cigar

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 14:18:00 -0800

I missed out on landing the Manhire Prize - as the governator said - "I'll be back". Consolation comes in the form of lunch at Logan Brown with the birthday clubbers Annette and Jane.

Also on a positive note is young Andrew scoring an analyst position at the Ministry of Fisheries. Woot! as they say on vorb. Fantastico!

Manhire prize shortlist!

Tue, 20 Oct 2009 14:13:00 -0700

Well fancy that - I have made the Manhire Creative Science Writing shortlist (non-fiction). This is good news as it is a step towards a free lunch at Logan Brown with Annette and Jane, my fellow goal-setter lunch afficionados. Astronomy title was always going to be a bit of a challenge, but the research was great fun. Winner will be announced on 18 November. I think I said something about a bottle of Veuve Cliquot if I land the big one. You can read my entry here. Thanks to those of you who have encouraged me in my writing!