Time Traveling Trauma

Jermaine’s pale feet sank deeper into the warm liquefied sand as the foamy wave receded back into the sea. It was those same kind of small but powerful rolling waves that had often propelled him to victory when he and Danielle raced each other on their little boogie boards during those long summer holidays. Sitting further up on the beach, mum and dad would be vigorously cheering them on, until the inevitable bickering about who had won the most races erupted between the two siblings.

On a day like this, Orere Beach should have been full of young families escaping the claustrophobic confines of city life. They’d and picnicking underneath the thick branches of those towering totara trees, protected from all those harmful ozone destroying rays his grandmother always ranted on and on about.

The smell of homemade bacon and egg pies or a slightly cold pack of KFC would sometimes distract curious doggies from their leisurely strolls, so mischievous some of them were that they would deliberately sit just a few feet away, drooling and licking their lips at the glimpse of even a morsel of food, until the previously muted commands of distant owners grew louder and shoed them on their way.

Grandfathers in gumboots and parka jackets meanwhile proudly imparted invaluable surf casting lessons to their grandkids. The look on children’s faces when they reeled in a fish for the very first time was always priceless.

“Look grandpa, I caught a fish, I caught a fish!”

Small glitzy powerboats just offshore would speed nearby along the coast, over past the headland and then on out into the wide expanses of the Hauraki Gulf. The fishermen onboard were no doubt after some of that prized fleshy snapper abundant around Motatapu Island.

Instead, Orere Beach was devoid of any kind of human existence. As far as Jermaine could tell, Kupe and his men had yet to land there and see for themselves what exotic bird tucker waited for them amongst the untouched bush. Jermaine saw numerous sets of massive yet unmistakeable bird tracks in the sands from a bird that was well and truly extinct in his time.

He had yet to see a live moa with his own eyes since his arrival, but he thought that it is was probably wise to catch a glimpse of one before Kupe and his descendants flame grilled them back into oblivion. Hunters were already setting the hilly forests above the new village of Maraetai ablaze in their quests to flush out a moa or two for their communal hangi’s. Those moa were certainly some of the tastiest game birds that Jermaine had ever tried, and he could easily get used to eating these flightless birds on a daily basis.

Pretty soon though, moa would be one of the very few things he’d ever be eating, as only two emergency cans of Wattie’s baked beans remained onboard. The last packets of honey flavoured oatmeal would all have to be consumed soon too as they had expired some time ago. It was already too late for the half a dozen or so rotting oranges, but at least he had an ample supply of fishing hooks.

Jermaine looked forward to the day when ground baked kumara would become a main staple in his diminishing diet. Judging by the jubilant looks on the warrior’s faces he saw returning from their growing efforts over on nearby Waiheke Island, Jermaine predicted that it would only be a matter of time.

Thoughts of food plagued Jermaine’s stomach for an orange choc chip ice-cream from the local corner dairy up the road as he returned to his dinghy he’d left higher up on the bankside of a familiar creek a few hours earlier.

The creek had changed little since the days when he’d happily skim stones across it as a kid, but the road leading up from where that grassy carpark should have been, was without a trace. Instead, pohutakawas, totaras and ferns extinguished all hope of Jermaine heading on up for a round of ice creams with his family ever again.