Stuff played up a story recently about an American TV reality show contestant in a survival race contest in New Zealand, eating a weka.
I ate weka many times back in the 1980s in the Chatham Islands.
This occurred after Peter Tapsell and I took my jet over to the Chathams on a fishing trip, the first of many such trips in the 1980s. Back then Peter was the minister in charge of the Chathams.
It was the first jet ever to land there and ruined our initial fishing trip as I’d told the pilots to take the Chatham kids on joyrides. So all day as we hauled groper up from a fishing boat anchored a mere 50 metres off shore, the jet screamed back and forward across us, driving us mad.
Back then a very amusing fellow had built a motel near the airport, this on the opposite side of the island’s small township of Waitangi.
He was way ahead of his time as no tourists went there back then. His cuisine entrée each night was sweet and sour weka, the bird being rife thus not protected there.
Our arrival was a huge relief to his only other guest, historian Michael King, ensconced there writing the first history of the Chathams and going mad with loneliness. Michael and I became good friends thereafter.
We blooded my latest jet about four years back by making my first visit to the Chathams since the 1980s. Co-incidentally, among my passengers was Sir Hugh Rennie who’d just authored a book on the Chathams history.
Now the island was much busier but fishing wise, painted a very different picture. We hired a fishing boat to take us fishing and caught nothing, this a far cry from the 1980s memories.
6 Comments
Love these stories, it is great they are documented for your off spring . BTW The latest’s taxpayers association email had some astonishing information on the Royal society grants , as we know that is your favourite society
What a relief to see you write “Michael and I.” Bob. Just about everyone these days says and writes “me and…”
It’s further testament to the linguistic contribution to the Decline of the Roman Empire 2.0.
Talking of weka, another is the increasing tendency of Kiwis to render themselves down into kiwis — namely birds or fruit.
Any good SB?
never had it
guaranteed survival of species, bit-o-spicy native
From the title, I was expecting a review of the taste of weka (like chicken?) and a discussion of various ways of preparing and serving it. But, as is usual with your posts, I enjoyed what you did write and so can forgive you for what you didn’t.
Ah, now you’re talking Bob – the land of huge crayfish and big groper. Well it used to be when my brother Chris worked on the fishing boats back in the late 70s for three years. He used to send 40 lbs of export quality crayfish tails back home to the family in Wilkie Crescent (Naenae) for Christmas. It’s probably getting a bit fished out now. Like you, our family came from Naenae (state house), Dad (Arthur) a POW for 4.25 years and him and Mum married only five days when he went to WW11. She didn’t see him again for over 5 years. The Grahams were great friends of ours (Billy, Chris, Dale, Bob et al). My three brothers and I fought for Dick Dunn and Les Domney’s Railways Boxing Gym on Naenae Park. It helped with the neighbourhood bullies, was character building and gave us discipline and focus. Chris had 94 amateur bouts for 84 wins. He was a Commonwealth Games trialist. The rest of us fashioned good boxing records too. Dick and Les were great coaches and great human beings. We grew up poor with the four boys in bunks in one room, but we were well cared for and Mum and Dad worked their arses off to put three square meals on the table and keep us out of mischief. They weren’t always successful in the latter regard, but they had our backs when it came to that too. They taught us a good work ethic. Naenae was very rough in those days with some real bad bastards around. Five of the kids I grew up with with were murdered and one was shot by police. Our next door neighbour Marion Granville as murdered by the Mr Asia syndicate and her body has never been found. You had to have your wits about you and give the gangs a wide berth. Back then we knew everyone in the street and neighbours cared about each other. A young guy and his wife moved into a rental property next door to us in Wellington recently and so I baked them some cookies and took them over to say “welcome to the neighbourhood”. They said it was the first time a neighbour had talked to them in seven years of renting. That tells you a lot about today’s society….
The bird’s not protected because it’s not native to the islands. Was introduced from NZ early in the 20th century. Very noisy and utterly fearless.