Aunt Tabbie's Wings Page 2

  "Now let me see. When I first met my father, Sergeant Major Pell Burns, I was a little younger than you," Tabbie casually stated.

  "Hang on... when you met him?!" Casey interjected wildly.

  Tabbie giggled at herself. “It does sound a bit strange, but let me explain and it will make more sense as we get further into the story. Sergeant Major Burns was a military man and a God-fearing man. He had a shock of red hair and stood nearly six foot five, with a heavy build. He wasn't a handsome specimen by any stretch and being a ranked military officer, he hadn't had time for a wife. His peers just called him Bluey and like any redhead, his temper ignited slowly and then burned hot until he exploded, causing bystanders to dive for cover.

  "Bluey's temper was offset with a deep sense of compassion and concern for hurting people; and yet he could handle the smallest butterfly in his huge hands without hurting it. People respected my dad, especially those under his care, but you just didn't want to mess with him. He loved God and His creation and whenever an opportunity arose, he would walk for hours out into the bush, taking in the beauty of God's masterpieces.

  "In 1965, he planned a hiking trip with a close friend to walk the famous Milford Track in New Zealand. Back then, it was still in the hands of the government and conditions on the track were pretty primitive. Everything was planned, aircraft tickets purchased, hiking boots, equipment and all the supplies arranged for the four day walk. Almost about the time they were supposed to board the plane from Sydney to Auckland, his companion took a tumble and broke his leg, leaving Bluey in a quandary. Abort the holiday and lose his outlays, or continue on alone. Tussling with his thoughts, Bluey came to a quick decision and decided to carry on alone, a decision that would have great consequences for the lives of many, especially mine..."

  *~*~*~*

  MAY 1965

  The final call for Air New Zealand Flight NZ112 echoed across the passenger lounge, prompting the forty-year-old redheaded giant to make his way towards the boarding gate. A petite hostess in a short miniskirt craned her neck to peer up at Bluey's face, offering the giant a warm smile and handed him back his boarding pass after checking his name against the passenger log. Collecting his pass, he ambled down the sloping walkway, making it reverberate under the passion of his thudding hiking boots, finally finding his way to the waiting brand new DC8 in company of other nervous passengers.

  As he entered the doorway into the aircraft he ducked his head, avoiding a collision with the aircraft frame. Another petite hostess met him at the entrance and pointed him to a window seat, ten rows down. Mentally measuring the seat room, Bluey winced at the confined space he would somehow have to fold himself into for the three hour flight. One of the painful drawbacks of being so big that smaller humanity couldn’t comprehend. He was sure the confining nightmare would continue once he arrived in Auckland, with a ninety minute flight to Christchurch in an even smaller Fokker F27.

  By the time the DC8 began its taxiing routine in preparation for takeoff, the plane was full and Bluey's long legs were buried in the back of the seat in front of him, hoping the person didn't want to recline their seat. The 1960s decor onboard the DC8 were typical brown tones and the seats were padded like hard rubber mats, instead of armchairs.

  The DC8 came to a halt at the end of the runway and after a few seconds motionless, the aircraft turned one hundred and eighty degrees and faced directly down the tarmac and into the wind. As the pilot pulled the throttles wide open on the four jet engines and released the brakes, Bluey could feel the person in the seat in front of him being pushed back hard against his legs, making the confined space even more cramped. But as the aircraft gathered speed and thrust itself effortlessly into the wide expanse of open blue sky, the airliner levelled out and the pressure on his legs decreased.

  An hour and a half into the flight, a meal was served and although Bluey was hungry, he couldn't put the tray table down over his knees and decided to let the meal pass him. The person in the seat in front of him soon finished their meal and was fidgeting, making Bluey even more uncomfortable.

  The expected attempt to recline came and with nowhere for the chair to go, the chair remained forcibly upright. The face of an annoyed balding man appeared over the head rest, swivelling determinedly in his seat and just about to give Bluey a piece of his mind when his view filled with the image of an unimpressed suffering giant, folded uncomfortably into a sardine-tin-sized seat. Bluey's face must have spoken volumes and the frightened man spun around, making no further attempt at reclining.

  By the time the DC8 landed at Auckland Airport ninety minutes later and Bluey could finally unfold himself, his legs were aching from being crammed into the tiny space. He wandered slowly, limping slightly down the international airport hallway to join the line up for customs. The queue was long and moving slowly but Bluey didn’t mind the delay; it gave him a chance to iron out his frame before the next contortionist act tried to mould his size 20 into a size 6.

  The officiating customs officers could see Bluey waiting in the line, a full head and shoulders above everyone else. Once he finally made the customs' desk, they asked him if he had anything to declare.

  "Yes, I am stiff and sore from being crammed into a sardine tin," Bluey teased.

  One of the customs officers looked him up and down, gawking at his huge size and joked, "You’ll need to be careful here at this time of year. Snow is expected at higher altitudes."

  The customs officers chortled at the jibe and were relieved when Bluey joined into the good hearted banter, waving him on and bid him a good stay. The tired giant began to relax in the friendly, casual atmosphere and enjoyed his first encounter with the New Zealand people. Making his way down to the luggage collection and finding his property, he then followed a green line painted on the sidewalk for a brisk ten minute walk to the domestic terminal and the flight to Christchurch. He sighed heavily, lifting his backpack onto the carousel and waited for his seat allocation to be confirmed.

  "Welcome to Auckland, Mr Burns," a sweet natured check-in clerk announced. "Your Fokker F27 will leave in fifteen minutes for Christchurch and the South Island. Enjoy your stay, sir."

  Bluey nodded to the woman and made his way to the gate and another sardine tin. He peered through the window looking out onto the tarmac where a tiny twin engine aircraft met his gaze, imagining the despot plane poking its tongue out at him and mocking his big frame.

  "Great!" he sighed, flopping down into an airport lounge seat, making the seat scrape as he landed. Peering eyes watched him with disdain and then looked away to avert his stare.

  The Fokker would leave Auckland in the far northwest corner of the North Island and travel over the plains and lowlands, then directly over the Cook Strait between the North and South Islands, hugging the plains of the eastern South Island before finally landing in Christchurch, midway down the eastern coast. It was then another long day's travel across the mountains by bus from Christchurch to Te Anau and finally, the wilderness freedom of the Milford Track, making all the hassles of travelling worth the effort in a frosty autumn wonderland.

  As the final boarding call was announced, Bluey loitered for as long as he could before entering another painful confined space.

  A lone hostess watched the big man ambling across the open tarmac toward the small plane from the open Fokker door, folded down and acting as a staircase when boarding passengers. As he approached, the quick thinking woman sized up his ability to squeeze into the confining seats and as she greeted him, she offered him a seat next to her at the front of the tiny craft with plenty of leg room. Bluey nearly hugged the hostie as he surveyed the stingy compartments that smaller people were having trouble fitting into and now he could at last relax and enjoy a flight.

  By the time the plane touched down into Christchurch, Bluey and the hostie had spent a lot of time talking and laughing, something that didn't come easily to the big man around women. Reluctantly, Bluey said goodbye to his new friend and went to find his a
ccommodation for the night.

  *~*~*~*

  Chapter 3

  The small city of Christchurch had an overgrown country town feel to it and there was a slight chill in the air of the late autumn evening, but the suspected cold of night was closing in quickly. As Bluey searched up and down the deserted, slender main street for accommodation for the night, most of the shopfronts were closed. However, on the other side of the street about a hundred yards away, a grocer was bringing in his wares for the night and the tired giant made a beeline for his position.

  As he approached the busy apron touting man, Bluey called out, "Excuse me, sir, I am looking for accommodation for the night. Can you help me?"

  Without stopping to respond, the grocer shouted deliberately over his shoulder as he struggled inside wrestling with the remaining tables. "Y.M.C.A. down the road on Hailey Street be the only thing open at this time of night." Without waiting for a reply, the grocer slammed the front door to his shop closed, disturbing a metal cow bell and rattling its steel tonsils noisily as the door made contact with the door frame, followed by a defining metallic clunk as the security bolt slid across, ending with finality any chance of further correspondence.

  *~*~*~*

  The night slipped by without much sleep, with Bluey's huge physique hanging awkwardly over the end of the tiny bed, leaving his feet uncomfortably exposed. The small dorm room at the Y.M.C.A. was crowded with itinerant noisy people, shuffling and talking into the small hours of the morning; but at least the gyrating public hostel was warm. The guy in the bunk above Bluey serenaded him all night with his rendition of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony in snore major, trying to pull the paint off the roof above him with each dragging breath and by the time Bluey made his way down to the bus station in the early morning, he was feeling overtired and irritable. Not a good start to a long day of travelling ahead, hopefully arriving in one piece at his desired destination of Te Anau later that day and the start of his dream holiday... the Milford Track.

  Purchasing a one way ticket from the bus station proprietor, Bluey found a seat outside in the cold, deserted bus port to wait for the coach.

  Moments later and in a cloud of blue smoke, an ancient Bedford thumper stopped in front of him. He gawked at the sight in amusement, figuring it was a school bus. "Poor kids," he said out loud, but his amusement was short lived and quickly turned to disdain, catching a glimpse at the small sign being taped to the inside window... Te Anau.

  Bluey raised himself from the seat, shaking his head in disbelief. Things just keep getting better and better, he thought.

  "You going to Te Anau, mister?" an elderly stick of a man squeaked.

  Bluey nodded in affirmation then climbed aboard the ancient relic and stood flabbergasted at the door, peering in to the bus’ crumbling interior. Brown, lightly padded, steel-framed seats locked into an almost bolt upright position assaulted Bluey's eyes. The steel floor was originally painted green, but worn thin by years of continual passenger movement and the fixed windows had small sliding glass panels above them, assumedly to allow some form of ventilation in. Turning his oversized frame sideways, Bluey squeezed into a tight seat in the deserted bus but struggled to find a position where his knees weren’t jammed against his chest. Finally finding a position with his back against the wall and his legs dangling obtrusively into the aisle, he settled in for a long ride.

  Grabbing the steering wheel with both hands and standing up from the driver seat to gain purchase, the small stick man used the full force of his slender body weight to wrestle against the unaided wheel. The old bus gradually completed a U-turn as it ground its way out of the bus terminal, but the noise inside the ancient chariot was something else, deafening passenger and driver alike as the old Bedford gained speed.

  Any attempt at taking in the picturesque South Island scenery proved futile. The constant assaults of the bus suspension fighting against the road irregularities grated on Bluey's bewildered mind, while the driver's aversion for remaining on the correct side of the road when attempting the winding curves left Bluey with his heart in his mouth. Oncoming car and truck horns excitedly advertised their annoyance at the bus taking up both sides of the road on the many narrow mountain passes.

  Finally, after hours of praying and gripping the seat in front of him, Bluey saw the welcoming signs of the township of Te Anau and as the driver forced open the bus’ arthritic entry door, Bluey shakily climbed down the twin bus steps onto the ground with the driver calling after him, "Don't forget to book your return ticket, mister."

  Bluey threw his pack over his shoulders and waved his hand above his head just to affirm he had heard his request, but almost certain he would find alternative transport for the journey back.

  The small hamlet of Te Anau, with the pristine waters of Lake Te Anau in the background, made Bluey stop and breathe in the unspoiled beauty. The Kepler and Murchison Mountains towered against the backdrop and beyond that, the Milford Track.

  There wasn't much choice of accommodation in Te Anau. As Bluey roamed the few buildings, he came across a sign: Luxury overnight rooms for rent. Suspicious of its integrity and no other offerings, he wandered up to the small house and knocked on the front door.

  "Just a moment!" a male voice responded from inside.

  As the access cracked open, Bluey stared in shock at the figure holding the door. It was the wiry old bus driver.

  "Howdy again, mister."

  "Let me guess. You’re the bus driver and accommodation for Te Anau."

  "Yup, along with tour operator, weather man, river taxi operator and general store owner. Oh, and mayor. And yes, we have a vacancy."

  "HAL…! Don't keep the man waiting in the cold!" a female voice drifted out from within the small house.

  Soon Hal was joined by a skinny older woman, beaming from ear to ear. "Welcome to our house and your luxury room is ready and waiting for you. My name is Anita." She thrust out her tiny hand to the large man in animated greeting.

  "Uh... people just call me Bluey."

  Anita craned her neck to gather in a full perspective of the tall man's face. "My, you're a big fellar, aren't you? Aussie, too!"

  Following the elderly woman up a passageway, Bluey steeled himself for what waited beyond the door to his 'luxury room' and was pleasantly surprised at the king-size double bed and the view down to the lake. The room was well appointed with Anita's homemade furnishings and Bluey felt comfortable immediately.

  As the daylight disappeared over the edges of the mountains, a crisp, biting chill set into the air. In the lounge room of the house, Hal had a big fire burning in the hearth and Bluey's hungry stomach growled as he pondered the wonderful smells of Anita's home cooking wafting into the lounge. Over the meal, Hal asked Bluey about his plans, figuring he was about to contemplate the Milford Track.

  In between shovelling large amounts of Anita's pie, Bluey responded, "I’ve been waiting to walk the Milford Track all my life, Hal, and all the years of military training has prepared me well, I think."

  "Not a good time of year to be contemplating such a trek; weather up at Mackinnon's Pass changes every couple of hours. Can be fine and sunny one minute, turn around twice and you're staring down the teeth of ol' Jack Frost and a couple of feet of snow."

  But Hal’s negative spin wasn’t making a dent on the giant Aussie.

  "It's okay, Hal. I am well prepared and my pack carries everything I need to survive even the harshest conditions. In the military we had to march for days with a one hundred and fifty pound pack. The military pack I am carrying for this journey is a lot lighter at one hundred pounds," Bluey offered nonchalantly, trying to reassure the old Te Anauian.

  However Hal wasn’t finished. "I am guessing there’s no point trying to talk you out of it. But, there aren't any supplies along the track; the shelter huts are really basic and they are a long way apart. Although it's only thirty miles from end to end, they can be extremely treacherous when a big ol' storm blows up. No one ventures
into the mountains this time of year," Hal droned on, still hoping to talk some sense into the Aussie tourist.

  Bluey nearly choked on another piece of pie, trying to answer Hal. "Precisely, Hal! That's why I have chosen this time of year."

  Hal was weakening, but wasn’t ready to let go of his concerns just yet. "If you get into trouble up there, there isn't any chance of rescue, you know that? You’re on your own."

  Unperturbed by Hal’s insistent monologue and with his stomach full of Anita's delicious pie, the fire was making Bluey sleepy. "If you don't mind, folks, I am going to retire for the night."

  "Night, big man. Sleep well," Anita offered cheerfully.

  "I am guessing you're gonna need a taxi up to the head of the lake tomorrow to join onto the track?" Hal conceded and gave up on his fruitless attempts at dissuasion.

  "Yes, I will. Where do I go for that?" Bluey asked.

  "Right here. The main boat is broke, but we can take the dinghy."

  "How far is it, Hal?"

  "Should take just over an hour and a half," Hal calculated.

  "Okay, that would be great," Bluey agreed. "Night."

  Hal turned to Anita, comfortably positioned next to the old man. "Sure hope he knows what he is in for. Ol' Mackinnon didn't build a shelter on the pass for nothing."

  *~*~*~*

  Chapter 4

  Bluey hitched his backpack over his wide shoulders and followed Hal down to the lake front.

  As he left the porch of Hal's little house, Anita called after him, "Stay safe, big man."

  "I will, Anita and thanks for your hospitality," Bluey called back.

  The giant had had a restful night sleep in the big comfortable bed and a belly full of Anita's cooking rocked his boat into dreamland, making him well prepared mentally for the next phase of his coveted adventure.

  In the absence of wind, the lake surface appeared like glass and reflected the surrounding mountains perfectly in the early morning light. Low lying cloud drifted lazily over the distant shore, like a white shawl draped over the shoulders of a beautiful woman. The outside air was crisp and had a distinct chill, thick with the heady promise of a wilderness adventure for all those brave enough–or foolhardy enough–to take the plunge.