Lyall Bay after the storm - sand loss, seaweeds (and a sheltie)

Lyall Bay beach is long, and one end is a walking area for dogs off leash - usually a sociable exercise area for humans and dogs alike.  But after the recent severe storm, big changes...  

Severely eroded sand dunes with pingao - golden sedge - dangling unsupported where it had been growing on the pre-storm dunes.  The usual steps down onto the beach, now piles of boards flat on the sand, showing how far the dunes used to extend.  The old weathered steps that we used to get onto the beach had been completely covered by the sand - I had no idea they were there.

But this was not the only change. 

Alfie the shetland sheepdog was curious - what's this?

Mounds and mounds of beached seaweeds (as well as some sponges - I even saw sea cucumbers and a sea horse.)  The turbulence of the water during the storm must have dislodged masses of seaweeds which were subsequently washed up on the beach - like a fallen forest.

Alfie found a great deal to explore and sniff.  He is a middle sized dog, so you get some idea of the size and extent of the dying seaweed.

Hundreds of plants that we usually don't see - a reminder of the abundance of life under the sea.

Colourful decay

Seen on a silver birch stump, in the bright light of a midwinter day, a lovely golden orange-brown clump.

Closer up I could see that the fungus, itself evidence of decay, was ageing and heading towards its own decay.  It was wrinkled and dry looking, with broken bits and spider web strands. 

Fungi are a very important part of the cycles of death and life - releasing the nutrients from dead plants so they are available for new life.  Many fungi can be eaten with great pleasure.  But also with care - many are very toxic to us humans.

This one could be an aged Flammulina velutipes, but I certainly wouldn't bet on it.  Cultivated forms of Flammulina velutipes are called enokitake in Japan, or "golden needle mushroom" in East Asian cookery. Grown in cold dark conditions, the resulting clusters of mushrooms are very pale and delicate looking with elongated stems and small caps.  So who would guess they were the same species as these clusters of rather squat weathered orange-brown mushrooms?  Wild Flammulina velutipes mushrooms apparently don't taste as good as the delicate cultivated ones.  Given how many poisonous fungi there are, I'll stick with the properly identified ones! 

Supermoon!

Things have been busy and so I didn't expect to have time to get a good image of the "supermoon," so called because the moon was both full and at perigee - its closest to earth, on 23/6/13.  But as luck would have it, I was passing Te Raekaihau Point and Princess Bay as the sun was setting.  It was very pretty and I was very tired, so I stopped to breathe and enjoy the scene looking south past Taputeranga - barely a cloud, the sky a soft pink, a hazy coolness from the sea spray - a lovely calm after the storm.

Seaweed, rocks, and other sea-borne debris littered the broken paths - evidence of the ferocity of the recent storm.  Turning around, I saw the rising moon.  It did look bigger than usual, and dwarfed the Pencarrow lighthouse, which is the white dot on the left hand side of the image.

The light was bright, and it cast a soft glow on the wave-like wind sculpted shrubs on Te Raekaihau Point. 

A telephoto lens on a tripod would have given one of those dramatic photos showing the moon as huge, and I could have organised a clever foreground to contrast with it - but too bad.  Not a very super image, but it was a super invigorating sight, and that is absolutely enough.

A stormy anniversary

Full circle - it is the shortest day of the year, and a year since I started this blog.  And here in Wellington we are recovering from a severe midwinter storm - the worst here in almost thirty years - wind gusts reaching 200 km per hour, waves of 15 metres.  Damage - roofs blown off, windows blown out, trees down, electricity supplies cut, landslides, seabirds battered and dumped by the wind and the waves, and so on, but still plenty to be grateful for - lots of risk and close calls, but no loss of human life. 

All that energy!  Without the sound effects it is hard to convey the fear-inducing power - apparently the isobars were lining up from the Antarctic ice to us in a most unusual (thank goodness) formation, that led to very heavy snowfall in the South Island, and dramatic weather in most parts of New Zealand.  Here on Wellington's south coast we get the full force of the southerly storms.  Along from Island Bay the coast road is very vulnerable, but even at our usually peaceful beach there was drama...

Storm swells battering the Island Bay beach.  The seawall was breached during the night and the orange arm of an excavator can be seen, moving the rubble and working to plug the extensive gap. 

In the curve of the beach there is an area of relative shelter from the island, Taputeranga.  Here fishing boats rode the turbulent waves.  Seaweed in large quantities washed up on the shore, but no boats. 

With extensive experience of trying to capture the drama of storm waves in photographs, I was realistic - you can be almost unable to stand in the wind, and the image will look quite peaceful!  But I tried.

With the glistening spray the waves can look playful (just watch that camera!) 

There is a grandeur to the scene with the dark brooding skies and the contrast between the white foaming water and the rugged rocks.

And there is drama, an ever changing scene, waves crashing against the rocks, curling and splashing.

All that energy, the huge forces that shape the environment around us, being made more intense in their effect on us by our effect on the environment. 

Chastening.

Winter colours - paperwhite and soft bud green

In several days it will be the shortest day of the year - although it takes a while for this to be noticeable, I am encouraged and look forward to longer days and more light.  Late this afternoon I enjoyed a quiet wander in the Bolton Street Memorial Park, which is the site of Wellington's first colonial cemetery.  It is a quiet wooded space sitting between the motorway and the city centre below, and the Botanic Garden above.  People in their office clothes walk up the steep hill on their way home from work, joggers trot past, dogs are walked, and amidst the old graves and memorials are heritage roses and other cottage style plants, many dating from the colonial era.  It is definitely winter now, but autumn lingered - gold and amber foliage on the rose Tuscany, bright red viburnum berries shining in the fading light.  But the chilly looking silvery bare branches and white bark of a silver birch were in keeping with the wintery cold.  And then - signs of life, reminders of spring...

In the increasing gloom the luminous white flowers of paperwhite narcissus - Narcissus papyraceus, growing by a path.  Originating in the Mediterranean, they are relatives of the daffodil but flower here in winter and early spring.  Their strong fragrance is not appreciated by all - but I love it!

They do tend to nod anyway, but heavy rain has added to their rather subdued pose.  I had to kneel down to see their faces.

And the soft green of these rhododendron buds, unbowed by the rain, a refreshing reminder of the new growth to come. 

But before spring, more winter.  A polar blast with wild winds and snow is forecast for the end of the week.  Snow might even fall in Wellington.  Brrr.

Follow that waka!

It remained sunny and calm when Te Matau a Maui completed the journey in to Wellington Harbour.  I was moved by the sight of the red sails contrasting with the familiar folded hills and jagged rocks of the landscape, the waka so small in comparison.  I reminded myself that this little vessel has safely travelled the not-always peaceful Pacific and I thought too of the journeys of the ocean going waka that brought the ancestors of the Maori people all the way to Aotearoa/New Zealand from afar, centuries ago. 

The image above is looking across Wahine Memorial Park.  The waka is approaching the notorious Barretts Reef (more correctly Barrett Reef) or Tangihanga a Kupe, at the entrance to the harbour.  An interisland ferry, the Wahine, was caught in an extremely severe storm.  Unable to enter the harbour, it was grounded and damaged on the reef and subsequently capsized.  Despite being so close to safety and the valiant efforts of many rescuers, 53 people died from drowning, exposure and injuries.  This tragedy was in 1968 but is still vividly remembered.

Safely past Barretts Reef, the Te Matau a Maui is approaching the rocky outcrops of Point Dorset - they give an indication what lies under water.  But after this, into the wide open spaces of the harbour.

The misty sunlight softens the hills - it isn't pollution - Wellington's winds keep the air very clear!  The waka has just passed Matiu/Somes island.  The mountains in the misty distance are the Tararua Ranges.

Into the bustle, a contrast of styles - passing an outgoing interislander ferry, and approaching the port...

From the shore near Oriental Bay the view is now looking away from the sun, so the bright blue sky is evident.  But the misty conditions still blur the hillside northern suburbs and Mt Kaukau, with the television transmitter on its summit.  From another angle, the destination can be seen...

An intrepid oystercatcher on the rocks by Oriental Bay, focused on food and not on incoming waka.

Coming in to dock at Chaffers marina, the crew are welcomed from the shore, prayers are said, and to the haunting sound of a conch shell, they arrive.

With the sun behind, lighting up the brilliant red sails, the design by artist Sandy Adsett can be clearly seen.  But very quickly, the waka is tied up, the sails are furled, and the crew are being interviewed by TV journalists, with people clustering around the dock to greet them and to admire the waka.

Close to Te Papa, where the festivities took place, and with the "Beehive" government building in the background, Te Matau a Maui is in effect in the middle of the city. 

Why have I focused so much on it?  I think because the traditional construction and scale of the waka, and the traditional navigation used to sail it, remind me of some important ingredients in the recipe for living well on this earth - awareness and observation of the environment and using this knowledge - being attuned and connected with nature, recognising that we are not always in control and responding with patience and respect to the forces of nature, being able to enjoy the environment without causing damage.  And, of course, the art and the craft evident in the making of Te Matau a Maui.

World Oceans Day and Matariki

I have just found out about World Oceans Day - June 8 - a day to honour and protect the oceans.  Despite the great vastness and apparently endless abundance of the oceans on this watery planet, we humans have managed to cause lots of problems, so indeed the oceans do need our attention and care.  There is a website about it - http://worldoceansday.org. 

Saturday June 8 was also the day that Te Matau a Maui was formally welcomed as part of Matariki celebrations in Wellington.  It got there in plenty of time.  On the Thursday evening changes to the rigging suggested preparation for departure from Island Bay.

On Friday morning, from a hill above Island Bay, I was surprised to see a glowing red on the sea...

Te Matau a Maui was sailing - leaving the shelter of the bay and heading for the harbour entrance.  The low angle of the sun on a winter's morning brightened the red sails, reflected in the calm water.

In this image you can see how Taputeranga shelters the bay from the southerly storms to some degree, and it shows the rocky shoreline which can be a problem and hazard at the entrance to the harbour.  Beyond Taputeranga a ferry is heading to the South Island, and the morning mists are still evident on the Orongorongos.   What a wonderful corner of the beautiful ocean this is.

Matariki is the Maori name (thought to mean "the eyes of God" - mata ariki, or "little eyes" - mata riki) for the group of seven stars also known as the Pleiades or Seven Sisters.  The group appears low on the northeastern horizon, in the tail of the Milky Way, around the end of May.  It was traditionally a time to remember the dead and celebrate new life, differences in the appearance of the cluster of the stars were used to help with timing of crop planting, and it was also harvest time so it is seen as a thanksgiving celebration as well.  And these stars were important in navigation - Te Matau a Maui is a waka that is sailed using traditional methods of navigation.

Shelter from the storm - Te Matau a Maui at Island Bay

Te Matau a Maui is a waka hourua, an ocean-going voyaging canoe.  It is a 22 metre double-hulled vessel, launched several years ago by Ngati Kahungunu (iwi, or tribal group) to sail in a fleet of 7 canoes travelling the Pacific.  This week it sailed from Napier to join celebrations of Matariki (Maori New Year) in Wellington, due to start on Saturday.  But it was not able to enter the harbour safely because of a nasty southerly storm.  It diverted to shelter in Island Bay and on the grey and very windy and cold Wednesday morning, there it was among the usual fishing boats moored in the bay...

Lots of people were there, News crews were filming, everyone was bundled up against the cold.  But all on board the waka were fine - they had managed bigger waves in their travels.

Another view, the waka riding the waves close to the beach, behind it the iconic terracotta coloured bait shed, now a marine education centre, and the Orongorongos in the distance marking the route in to the harbour.  The crew in bright protective gear stayed with the waka.  They were able to secure it to a mooring offered by a local fisherman, and lines to his boat helped ensure that the waka did not beach.  The weather was very unpleasant through the following night too, but on Thursday it began to ease.

One of the local red billed seagulls that claim the seawall as their territory, feathers ruffled by the strong wind, surveys the boats as the sun breaks through.

Seaweeds upon seaweeds

The beaches along Wellington's south coast are often strewn with seaweed, often literally stacks of seaweed, washed up after a southerly storm.  A few days ago I came across this pretty sight on the sand at Lyall Bay, the colourful cluster of a small seaweed on the holdfast of a bigger brown one.

What were they?  I had to consult an expert for their names - thanks Wendy! and any mistakes are mine.  The leathery brown seaweed is Carpophyllum maschalocarpum.  Also known as the flapjack it is a common seaweed here, living on rocks in the low tide zone and coping with moderately exposed conditions.  Covering its holdfast are the glossy little beads of a green alga, Caulerpa geminata.  Unsurprisingly the pinky red ball structure is not a seaweed, and could be a sponge or a compound ascidian - closer inspection would be required.  Surprisingly, the pinkish tinge on many of the pretty green beads is caused by another kind of seaweed - an epiphytic nongeniculate coralline alga making a very fine pink coating on the beads. 

Closer up, another pink nongeniculate coralline alga is in view - this one a thick crust.  "Nongeniculate" means the algae are not articulated or branched, but are flat growths ranging from a few micrometres to several centimetres thick.  Crusty patches of such coralline algae on rocks in the intertidal zone can look just like patches of pink paint rather than living things.  Look for the blotches of pink paint next time you are exploring the rocky shore - when I started to look, there they were! 

Blades, beads, crusts, coatings - seaweeds come in a great range of sizes and forms.  And much of this we often don't notice or give our attention.  I was asked what I was photographing several times while getting these pictures and got a puzzled reponse when I answered "these interesting seaweeds."

And they can be edible too!  I haven't tried them but apparently the little green beads taste quite a lot like cucumber with a slightly peppery quality, and close relatives of this species are sold in markets across Asia and Pacific as a sea vegetable - either eaten fresh or in coconut milk.  Yum.

Burying little treasures

An autumnal activity at the Wellington Botanic Garden involving lots of gardeners:  prepare the soil of a number of beds,  measure up the planting areas,  define them with markers and strings,  arrange the bulbs in dense array in these areas,  start planting,  and keep on planting til all the little treasures are buried (at an appropriate depth.)

Then wait til spring.

A big bed, an abundance of tulip bulbs and a hard-working posse of gardeners (what is the word for a group of gardeners, I wonder?)

Another bed, more gardeners, and evidence of careful progress - bare soil behind the kneeling gardeners covering some already planted bulbs. 

A feature at the Botanic Garden in spring is the annual tulip festival, and this is where it all begins.  It is a fascinating sight - tulip bulbs in their thousands, like little parcels hiding the life and beauty that will appear, have to be planted.  The planting takes ages, even when so many hands are at work.  And it will be months before the brilliant display is seen - usually late September.

We have to get through winter before we get to enjoy the tulips - but it's a happy anticipation.