Some notable events
MERV'S REPATRIATION
Merv's hand was in a really bad way and it was imperative that it be attended to by qualified medical personnel as soon as possible. Mac put the problem to Wellington, and they arranged with the Air Force to send a Sunderland flying boat up to take Merv off.
This meant the sea off-shore had to be really calm, both to allow the Sunderland to land, and for us to be able to launch the dinghy.
As it happened we were in a rare calm period and the OK was given. The rendezvous was arranged for early morning, as usually that was the calmest time.
I had to set up our ZC1 transceiver where we could see the landing area off Fishing Rock, as that was where we would launch the dinghy to take Merv out to the Sunderland.
We were up before dawn to get organised. By 6.30 am everything was ready. Merv was at Fishing Rock, the dinghy was ready to be launched by the crane, and the sea was as calm as I had ever seen it.
The Sunderland finally appeared and I made contact with it. Unfortunately the time was now about 8.00 am and the sea breeze had got up. The Sunderland made a low pass just above the sea and then another.
Then the operator advised that the wave height was above their minimum for a safe open-sea landing and they were returning to Hobsonville.
This was very disappointing for all concerned. What really annoyed us was the parting remark of the aircraft's operator, to the effect that next time we called for an emergency we should make sure the sea conditions were OK for an open sea landing. I am sure that if they had arrived a half an hour earlier, all would have been well.
Wellington had wisely arranged a second option in the form of a freighter which was in the area. This arrived later in the day and was able to put its own boat down and come in to pick up Merv.
So Merv eventually arrived home, via Fiji. Merv's hand recovered well although he never completely regained its' full use.
AIR DROP
I mentioned earlier that the met balloons carried a radiosonde that transmitted data back to the ground. This meant of course that a receiver was needed to receive these transmissions.
The radiosonde receiver used initially was the regenerative type which when working properly gives great receiver sensitivity. When not working properly they are worse then useless. The regenerative valve in the receiver was an acorn tube type.
When we arrived at Raoul, the set worked for a short time then gradually deteriorated. The trouble was the acorn tube.
However there were spares - all out of their packets, which meant they had already been used! Only a couple of the dozen or so were any good and they were on their last legs.
We did our best and hung on for a couple of months more but the flights were getting shorter and shorter and it soon became obvious that a set of spares was necessary.
Wellington was advised with the result an airdrop was organised. I was told that no new acorn tubes were available but they would send up an RF module that would convert the sets front end to a straight RF stage and do away with the regenerative aspect.
This was good news indeed, as this would overcome all our problems. Incidentally, the module was designed by Wyn McGgee and had already been used successfully in New Zealand installations.
The day arrived and everyone was waiting and excited. An airdrop was a real break in the normal daily routine and besides needed stores arriving; it also meant mail for the personnel on the island.
I had the ZC1 all ready and fired up at the drop zone and, sure enough; a call came through from the Bristol freighter a few miles out. As he approached from the South we first saw him as he appeared over the hills behind the farm.
Air drop parachutes
The drop zone was one of the farm paddocks and after a couple of circuits the parachutes started to appear. It was a beautiful day and the parachutes looked spectacular against the blue sky.
Some were nylon type and some were hessian. The hessian ones were not very efficient and their load landed pretty heavily.
All went well and of the eight chutes dropped, only one, a hessian one, didn't open. This plummeted down and its torpedo-shaped load half buried itself in the ground with a hell of a whump!!
The freighter made his farewells and disappeared over the hills. Everyone started unloading the torpedoes and stacking stores and equipment on the truck.
I, of course, was looking for my package of electronics and hoping that whoever had packed it had done a good job. It was nowhere to be found in the containers that landed safely.
The last one to be unpacked was the one that had to be dug out of the ground. We delved down into the various stores. Nothing, till someone said, "What's this?"
"This", was a flat cardboard carton that tinkled when shaken and, sure enough, it was addressed to "The technician".
It had been packed underneath a 10 pound package of tobacco. Of course it also happened to be in the one container whose parachute didn't open. Talk about Murphy's law!
The results of the airdrop
I took it back to the workshop and carefully unpacked it. What a mess. Normally it would have been an aluminium chassis measuring about 7cm x 16cm x 2.5cm, with a perforated aluminium cover about 8cm high.
The whole thing was squashed flat including the coils, tuning capacitor, and valves on the top of the chassis.
What a disaster. However it was a challenge and, without going into details, I managed to straighten it all out.
The hardest part was the little tuning capacitor which had to be dismantled, it's vanes straightened out, and then reassembled. Eventually it all went back together and much to my relief it worked.
After that there was little trouble, at least with the receiver. The recorder always gave trouble but that was the nature of the thing.
WHALES.
Part of our responsibilities included reporting whale sightings. Whales were present offshore for most of the year, but were particularly numerous in the months of October and November when they were on their annual migrations.
The idea was that if anyone happened to be looking out to sea and saw a whale they were to note what sort it was and the time and date. This data was collected and transmitted back to Wellington with all the other daily reports.
The trouble was that no-one ever agreed as to which type of whale it was disporting itself off-shore. We did have a chart on the wall showing every possible whale type, but it was very hard to reconcile a brief glimpse of a whale surfacing quite some way out to sea, with the neat drawings of the chart.
Invariably if more then one person saw the whale, an argument ensued. However we dutifully sent off the reports and I guess they did someone some good.
The whales themselves provided plenty of entertainment as they could be easily seen from the met station, particularly through binoculars.
Some of the bigger ones had enormous flukes which they would thrash against the surface producing a noise like a cannon exploding. They did this a lot at night and, as the nights were usually dead quiet, the effect was quite startling.
I had two memorable encounters with whales. Once whilst clambering over rocks on an old lava flow on the South West side where the sea is quite deep close to shore, a whale surfaced only about 50 metres out. I heard the sound of its blow and saw it just as it went down. It was huge, and my lasting memory is the smell of fish oil which it left behind.
The other occasion was when some of us were on a rare fishing trip in the dinghy. We were anchored between the main Island and Mayor Island.
Someone spotted a whale spout in the distance, then again, and as we watched we realised it was coming straight toward us. We upped anchor hurriedly and headed inshore and sure enough it surfaced pretty well where we had been anchored.
I am not sure what would have happened if we had been still there, but we would have got a good close look at it!
The best sight of all was to see the whales come right out of the water and turn on their back as they crashed back in. I once saw one of the bigger ones, admittedly a fair way out, go straight up till daylight showed under its tail.
THE HIFAFUA.
Visitors to the island are rare, in the year we were there we only had one unofficial visit. This was the Tongan registered vessel the "Hifafua". She was a small vessel, quite a bit smaller then the "Holmglen". She had been to New Zealand for a refit and was on her way back to Tonga when she dropped anchor off North beach.
Several of the crew rowed ashore and came up to the hostel. This was about 2.30 in the afternoon.
The amazing thing was, here was this ship anchored off-shore, a dinghy pulled up on the beach and three of four guys wandering around and nobody saw them. Obviously everyone was busy at whatever task was occupying them and hadn't looked out to sea for some time.
The whole complement after seeing off the Hifafua crew
They came to the hostel and called out "Anyone home?". The cook thought it was one of us being funny and yelled out "Come back later, afternoon tea isn't ready yet!", or words to that effect. The crew were a bit taken aback but made themselves known, much to the cook's surprise.
We were just as surprised when we wandered in later to find strangers in residence as even then no-one had noticed the "Hifafua".
Needless to say the crew were made welcome and a certain amount of bartering ensued with the swapping of a couple of live piglets and fresh vegetables for tobacco and other short supplies.
An interesting sequel to this occurred many years later when I visited Tonga. I was staying with a friend (Alistair Pringle) whose house overlooked the reef just North of Nuku'alofa. There was a wreck sitting high and dry on the reef, and I was told she had been a victim of a hurricane. One day I went out for a closer look at her and there, just discernible under the rust, was her name - "Hifafua".
THE DENHAM BAY HUT.
This episode is one that Noel the handyman will probably never forget. Part of the cargo we took to Raoul with us was a one roomed hut. It was pre-built, but completely knocked down. All the timberwork was cut to size and marked for easy reassembly. In other words it was a kitset.
This hut was destined for Denham Bay and Noel's job was to erect it there. We had been there several months and well settled in when Noel decided the time had come to give Denham Bay its first building since the Bell family left that area.
He took the corrugated iron for the roof and walls over, back-packing a few sheets at a time. This took several days, as it really was a difficult trip.
When the time came to pack over the pile of timber everyone became very busy with their own work and it looked as if Noel would have the job to himself. Then someone had the bright idea of taking it round in the dinghy. This was more like it, and Chris and I volunteered to do it. Mac said he would come and oversee the operation.
Now Denham Bay had a steeply shelving beach and was open to the broad Pacific Ocean. There was always a surf, which dumped hard and was virtually impossible to land a boat in, let alone swim in it. I mentioned before that the previous party had tried to land a boat there resulting in the cook getting a broken leg.
Our plan was to drive the boat in behind a wave and just before it broke, toss out as much timber as we could and swing away before we were caught in the surf. The timber would then float into the beach, driven by the waves, to where Noel could retrieve it.
The day came, all preparations were complete and the weather was good. We set off early and motored round the North side. The dinghy was heavily laden and we felt really insignificant as our tiny boat rose and fell on the huge Pacific swell.
This same swell went on to crash against the cliffs, which are the normal shoreline of the Island. We rounded Hutchinson's Bluff and fetched up in the bay very pleased to be in its comparative shelter.
About to commence operation overboard
Noel was already there, so we commenced operations. This was really exciting. Chris had the tiller and Mac and I did the offloading.
Chris would drive in and yell "now". Mac and I would furiously throw bits of 4 x 2 over the side till Chris veered away and went back out to catch another wave.
Several times, in an effort to get as close as possible, we nearly got swamped. It must be realized that in all the activity and with the noise of the surf and the outboard, it was quite impossible to hear Noel, who was yelling at us from the beach.
Finally we tossed the last bit over and retired to safe water to see how Noel was getting on.
He was behaving strangely, running up and down the beach, jumping up and down, yelling and generally carrying on. Furthermore he had not collected any of the timber.
We watched for a while and finally realized what was happening. The timber did not float ashore. It stayed in the surf and floated along the beach around the two points of the bay and, as far as we know, went on out to sea.
We did not ever see one single piece of that timber again. It was not washed ashore anywhere on the Island.
We made the return journey rather quietly after all the excitement, wondering what sort of reception we would get from Noel. It was not good.
He said he realized what was happening early in the operation and tried to tell us to stop, but we just could not hear him.
So Denham Bay did not get its new hut, at least not while we were there.
Poor old Mac had to explain all this to Wellington, and he was quite sure they did not believe a single word of it. "What do you mean you threw all the hut timber in the sea?"
FUEL DELIVERY
Prior to this episode the "Holmglen" had returned with the rest of our fuel and other stores that she had sailed away with on the original servicing trip when the weather turned bad.
I was working at the met station when she arrived, and the captain came ashore and asked for me. His name was Captain Rainbow and he had taken over from the original skipper, Captain Grieves.
Anyway, I met him and he gave me a package with the words, "For goodness sake take this thing off my hands".
It turned out that the package, which was covered with "fragile" and "handle with care" stickers, was a replacement seismometer unit that I had requested, and as I had stated that it required careful handling, it had been given to the captain to personally hand to me with instructions to be very careful with it. It had traveled in style, on a pillow in his cabin, and he had treated it with great respect in case it got bumped or dropped. He was very glad to get rid of it.
The unloading of the fuel drums went OK for the first day, but on the second day the wind and waves got too bad to continue unloading at Fishing Rock. As there were only about a dozen drums left the captain decided to drop them in the surf off Onerahi beach and we could swim out and recover them.
Amazingly it worked, the drums which barely floated, gradually came ashore in the breaking waves. Those that started to float away; we managed to manhandle in. We only lost one drum which ended up on the rocks too far away to recover easily.
Once the drums were on the beach Noel roped them together and dragged them up to the storage place with the bulldozer.
It was this operation that gave someone the bright idea of doing the same with the hut timbers at Denham bay. The difference was the lightness of the timber and the fact that we could not swim in the surf of Denham Bay.
ENDEAVOUR VISIT.
When Merv hurt his hand and was taken off the Island, he had to be replaced. This entailed an unscheduled ship visit and the naval survey ship "Endeavour" called in bringing Kent Bradley to Raoul.
These ship visits were very welcome as it meant mail and restocking of those supplies that tended to run short. The visit was brief, just long enough to unload supplies and disembark Kent.
However the Captain invited Mac the OIC, and one other to come aboard and partake of wardroom hospitality. Mac did not want to go, so asked me if I wanted to. Naturally I agreed and Horse, who was free at the time, took the other place.
We were duly ferried out in the ship's longboat and taken to the wardroom, where we were introduced to the officers and plied with, believe it or not, pink gins.
I was asked to sign the visitor's book, which I did on the page next to a scrawled name, "Philip". It seemed the last to sign had been Prince Philip when he inspected the ship just prior to this trip. I felt quite honoured especially as the pink gins were taking effect.
The anti-climax came when we arrived back at Fishing Rock. The only way ashore was to step from the longboat on to the rocks. I did this but missed my step and ended up in the sea, and with my good gear on too. So much for pink gins in the middle of the day!