Call of the Kokako

CALL OF THE KOKAKO

James Rowe

A novel of mystery and intrigue based in New Zealand, This story takes the reader from the wilds of the New Zealand bush to the cosmopolitan life of Auckland and the islands of the Hauraki Gulf.

James Rowe has produced this book as his first attempt at assembling some of the stories from his own varied and adventurous lifestyle.

It incorporates many of his wide range of experiences into a readable novel that will interest and intrigue readers of all ages.

The characters and events in this book are all fictional and are not based on any particular happenings, although many of the locations where the story takes place are real.

Published by James Rowe at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 – James Rowe

ACKNOWLEGEMENTS:

The following people have contributed in no small part to the preparation of this story:

My wife Alison and our son Ian for their proofreading & comments.

Heather Mackay for her kind words of encouragement.

Donna who helped with aeronautical matters.

Alan Woods who provided valuable information on the diamond industry and regulations.

Gary Latham and the late John King gave their training and advice and encouraged me to become involved with Search and Rescue and emergency radio communications all those years ago.

Whatever is wrong in any part of this book, they are my errors.

James Rowe

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This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN 978 0-473-16716-5

CHAPTER ONE

The winds and rain beat at the mountains.

They fill the rivers, fill the streams

Pruning off dead leaves, dead branches

They wash the forest fresh and clean.

The wind unleashed its full force, tossing the pilot around violently inside the cabin of the little plane as it slewed around. Losing altitude and out of control, the plane crashed through the treetops, breaking off branches and finally thudding into the hard ground. When John Charles lifted his head, all he could see was a thick curtain of greenery scratching at the windows of the cockpit.

Then he felt the pain. His left foot was trapped under the rudder pedal. What if fire broke out? Using both hands, he pulled his damaged left foot free of his mangled shoe out from under the pedal. He released himself from the seatbelt and grabbed his pack which had been strapped to the passenger seat. The door had jammed shut, so he used his pack to dislodge the glass in the shattered windscreen, then crawled out and dropped the small distance to the ground. It was not a graceful exit. The cold hit him like a hammer blow. He had fallen into a stream that was swollen with the fresh rain.

Dragging himself from the stream onto the bank, he removed his parka from an outside pocket of his pack and struggled into it, then crawled to the rear of the wreckage. Both wings had folded back and the main body of the plane was buckled behind the rear seats. The damaged tailplane was pointing an accusing finger to the heavens. Petrol leaked from the tanks into the stream, where it was quickly washed down the steep valley by the torrent. He needed to find shelter, but that might not be too easy with his damaged foot.

Bugger!

John had but one aim; to get himself out of the storm and into some form of shelter He dragged himself up the steep slope at the side of the valley.

Lying on his right side he inched his way using both hands but only one leg, dragging his pack along by a strap. His left ankle and his left foot hurt like hell. Now and then a moan of pain and frustration escaped from his blue lips, but was swept away by the wind. His left shoe was missing and a thin trickle of watered-down blood dripped from his sock, briefly staining the orange clay of the bank before all traces were washed away in the deluge.

Parts of New Zealand are well known for their heavy rain, but rain like this had to be experienced to be believed. It was not vertical like normal rain. It swept horizontally crashing its way through the trees and heavy undergrowth; rivulets and miniature waterfalls tumbling down through the waterlogged bush. The noise of the rain and the roar of the wind hammering into the thick growth drowning out the noise of the flooded stream bounding over rocks and the wreckage of his little plane in the valley below. Rolling thunder and the crack of lightning echoed off the valley walls.

Exhausted, he struggled onto a small ledge at the foot of a vertical rock and clay face feeling he could go no further. This was where he would have to stay until the weather eased up and he’d recovered his strength. Inside his pack he had a change of clothing but there was no point in opening it until the rain stopped. In the top pocket of his shirt, would be a waterproof survival kit he had been carrying around in the bush for the past few years and it reassured him just to know it was there. He mentally reviewed the contents of the little tin: - waterproof matches and striker, small compass, 3 squares of chocolate, pencil and paper, mirror, 5 metres of thin fishing line, 3 fish hooks, a razor blade, 6 aspirin, 6 plasters and a rubber strip for lighting a fire. He remembered the words of the instructor at the Mountain Safety Course he attended. ‘This tin is the same size as a packet of cigarettes but much more important’ and for effect, he had thrown his cigarette packet into the campfire. (It was empty, but we didn’t know that.) He had also said ‘If you are lost or stranded in the bush, sit down and have an imaginary cup of tea and an imaginary cigarette. When your mind is at peace, think about your situation. If the rivers are running high, conditions are bad, or if you are just plain lost – stay where you are!’

In this instance, just sitting and thinking was not a good option. He was losing valuable body heat with the lack of activity, and cold water was streaming down his back under his parka. He decided that he had to explore the ledge. With the wind at his back, he worked his way along the uneven surface. Every movement jarred his foot and ankle sending shards of pain up his leg and through his thigh. His hands were scratched and bleeding and he was content to make slow progress around a slight bend in the wall of the valley. The force of the wind and rain dropped as soon as he was passed the bend. Looking ahead, he saw that the ledge ceased to exist where it joined the steep slope at the head of the small valley just a few metres away. So this would have to be it. This was as far as he could go.

‘How can I improve my chance of surviving this mess?’ he asked. He had a waterproof sheet to protect him from the ground, but as he had intended to use a Park Board hut as his base, he only had a flimsy nylon tent fly for shelter. That could be uncontrollable in this wind. A hut would be nice, or even a cave, but there are few of those in this National Park. Only small indents carved out by the larger rivers, and they would be filled with rushing water after a storm like this. Perhaps he could cut into the bank and make his ledge a little wider? He mentally reviewed the contents of his pack. What was in there that could he use as a digging tool?

The sheath knife at his belt wouldn’t shift much soil. Perhaps the lid of his billy would do the trick? It’s easy to reach too - right on top of his pack. He had packed fresh eggs wrapped in socks inside the billy, but they should be okay as long as the billy stayed upright in his pack. Silly carrying fresh eggs in a pack, but they would be a special treat at the end of a hard day. Easy to cook too.

With the lid in his hand, he was about to attack the clay bank when he noticed a seam of soft gravel mixed with yellow clay right near the end of the ledge where it met the steep slope at the head of the valley. Dragging himself and his pack those extra two metres was a major effort, but he was soon scratching at the loose surface and tipping spoil over the ledge. It was surprisingly easy going and the exercise kept him warm. As darkness started to make things more difficult, he sat back and looked at his achievement. Not much - just a hollow in the bank. It was about one metre in height, and about one metre wide. The floor sloped up slightly to meet the down-sloping ceiling that extended into the hillside about 1.5 metres. Not much, but it would do for the moment.

It took time to drag his pack into the shelter, set up his flimsy tent fly over the entrance by tying one corner to a tree root above the hollow he had made. Several heavy stones from his excavation were tied to the cords of another 2 corners and thrown over the ledge to hold them down leaving a small gap on the sheltered side. Darkness had descended and in the gloom of his shelter he managed to spread out his ground sheet in the limited space and remove his wet clothes. The effort of dressing himself in dry clothes left him exhausted. He flopped down on top of his sleeping bag for a few minutes rest before attending to his ankle.

It was the cold that woke him. He found himself in darkness. All was quiet outside – the wind had dropped and the rain had eased, but he could hear it whispering on the leaves outside his little space. His ankle was starting to throb and his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten since breakfast back in Auckland that morning. He fumbled around for his pack. The lid was now too mangled to use so he would put his metal plate on top of the billy. His little gas cooker was soon hissing and heating up the small amount of water he carried in his pack. Two of the sandwiches his wife had packed before he left, were washed down with a nice mug of tea made with a teabag and two spoons of sugar.

He didn’t take milk in his tea and it was too hot to drink, so while it was cooling he dipped a clean handkerchief into the remaining hot water and gently bathed the blood off his foot to inspect the damage. The light from his small torch was not the best, but he could see that it would be a long time before that foot would properly bear his weight. The toes were all still there, but had been terribly mangled after being caught under the rudder control of the Cessna when it crashed. His left ankle was badly swollen and very painful. There were probably no broken bones in his ankle and that would mend, but at least two of his toes were broken and torn. He carefully smeared antiseptic cream from his First Aid kit onto his damaged toes, and bound everything up as well as possible with a two-inch bandage to bind the toes together. Finally, an arm sling was used as a heavy bandage to support his ankle and protect the dressing.

With moving about and his late night supper, he had warmed up a little, so he pushed his utensils to one side, re-fastened his First Aid kit and secured his pack before carefully easing himself into his down-filled sleeping bag. He was fully clothed, but too tired to care. At last he felt warm and cozy. In the distance, he could hear the territorial call of the native more-pork. No sound of the deer roaring. Guess it was getting late in the season for that.

His wife Doreen and their daughters Julie and Sophie would be in their nice warm beds and completely unaware of his plight. He could see them in his mind and mentally bent over each of them and kissed them goodnight. Angrily, he wiped the tears from his eyes. ‘Men don’t cry.’ It must be the pain from his foot and a reaction from the events of the day, what a mess! It all seemed simple when he left home, but he was amazed that he was still alive. Exhaustion and two Aspirin proved to be great painkillers and he lay there for a while reflecting on the happenings of the day from the time he left his home in Auckland, the confrontation on his arrival at the airport and his eventful flight south. In the midst of these troubled thoughts, he fell asleep.

Just a few weeks ago, John Charles considered himself to be a successful Chartered Accountant. He had to employ a replacement Secretary after 2 years because he had married his first ‘Girl Friday’ and their two babies soon followed. Every Easter weekend, he teamed up with his old school mate Bill Nicholson and they travelled to Taupo for a weekend hunting deer at the start of the roaring season. He referred to these little trips as ‘charging the batteries’. The girls thought he was crazy sleeping out in the bush in a smelly old hut or under a flimsy strip of nylon. He assured them he could well go crazy if he didn’t. When he was just out of university, he and his mate Bill had more time and used to drive down in a beat up Holden they shared and do the ‘deer stalking’ thing. There was less time for that when they both had to get jobs with big firms to earn more money, and to gain more advanced work experience. After a few years, they were able to set themselves up with their own businesses.

Some years ago, John had taken flying lessons and obtained his pilot’s licence. He had been tempted to let it expire on occasions since then, but it was so convenient being able to hire a small plane for their trips south. Every Easter, they left the plane at the Taupo airfield and hired a taxi to take them to the bush track that led to their favourite spot. The taxi would return and pick them up 3 days later. On this occasion, he had booked the plane for their trip as usual, but that was before things turned nasty..

Not only was Bill a good friend, but he was also a client. He had never married. Once Bill had achieved his experience and qualification in panel beating, John helped him raise the finance to set up in business on his own account. Bill worked very hard and the business prospered under John’s guidance. After a few years, it became necessary to add a paint spray booth to operate in conjunction with the panel-beating operation. This was an expensive venture and Bill didn’t have the time or the resources to arrange it, and it was decided that he would invite a partner to join him in the business. John’s contacts produced the name of an experienced painter who was not happy where he was, and was looking for a change. Andy Green was able to raise enough finance to buy into the business and they were able to add an extension to the rear of the workshop and to purchase the zinc filter doors and a compressor for the paint booth. They worked well together and soon had the confidence of the Insurance Assessors and were listed as ‘preferred repairers’ by several larger Insurance Companies. Andy’s wife Mary was employed to look after the day-to-day office and accounting work. Bill and Andy worked well together and became good mates. Mary was from South Africa and fitted in well with both staff and customers. She was an attractive girl, always cheerful, and had a way of dealing with difficult customers and getting them to settle their accounts.

Everything went well for a time, but recently it had been found that the business was suffering from a serious cash flow problem. As soon as he heard that cheques had been dishonoured, Bill was furious, and phoned John at his office to find out what had been going on. When John arrived the next morning, he found that Mary and Andy had failed to show up at the repair shop. They had been living in a rented flat, and had packed up some of their few belongings and left for parts unknown. The old workshop utility that Andy drove had been left at their flat. They must have taken off in Mary’s car. It was soon established that open cheques and cash payments had been siphoned off for the past three months, and the business was now in debt to the bank and other creditors for a considerable sum. The Police were called in, but they had no way of tracing Andy and Mary at this time. The only advice John could give was that Bill should return to his previous level of operation and concentrate on panel beating and endeavour to trade his way out of the situation in the meantime. He reminded Bill that he had recommended Fidelity Insurance for the business, but Bill was sure that wouldn’t be necessary. Their friendship became strained. Bill accused John of not setting proper checks and balances in place and not earning the fee that he was paid. Obviously, John had not done proper background checks before recommending that Andy and his wife join the business. He was convinced that the problem would not have occurred if John had been doing his job properly, and said that he would take himself off to a larger and more reputable firm of accountants. Because of his past friendship with Bill, John did not remind him that he had warned against employing Andy’s wife in the office, as relatives in business are not generally a good idea. Nor did John remind him that because of their friendship, he had been charging only half the normal rate for the accounting services he had provided.

Back at the office, John picked up his office phone to cancel the plane he had booked to take them to Taupo the following day, but Bill had just indicated that he didn’t want anything more to do with John or his firm. As the number was dialling, he suddenly thought ‘I need the break, and the deposit is already paid. Why don’t I go alone?’ and quickly put the handpiece back in its cradle.

John was guiding the old plane in the gentle undulations he was experiencing at five thousand feet, He reflected on the report from the weather office. A low-pressure system was expected over Taupo later in the day and landing there could be a little tricky under the conditions, but he thought he would be fine. He knew the area well and could see no problem in finding the Taupo airstrip. As he neared Rotorua, he heard a message through the static on the radio that the Taupo airfield was closed. Low clouds were hiding everything to the South. He remembered the delay in leaving the Ardmore Airfield that brought his timing for the low-pressure system closer than he would have liked. Making a sudden decision, he turned a few degrees to the left and headed east towards Gisborne. He hadn’t been there for many years, and he had said his farewells to Doreen and the girls and it looked much clearer to the south east, so that’s where he headed. Because of the confrontation at the airport he had forgotten to file a flight plan for this trip. It is not compulsory to file a flight plan for light planes, but this was the first time he had ever forgotten. The plane did have a radio, but it was old and not working very well today in the conditions. He was unable to raise either the Rotorua or the Taupo airfields. His cell phone might have worked, but that was safely tucked away in his pack.

He was not aware that the low-pressure system was deepening and that the tail of the front was about to flick over the rugged country between his little plane and his new destination. The first indication he had was a noticeable change in the wind direction from a north westerly to a strong northerly and large raindrops were soon peppering his windscreen. With the wind trying to force him to the South and increasing in strength, the trip was becoming less comfortable. The further he travelled, the more violently the little plane was tossed about. He was in heavy cloud at five thousand feet, and there was nothing to see of the country below.

There was a sudden pause in the note of the engine. It picked up again and he travelled on for another few minutes until it started missing quite badly. Not a problem, just a build-up of ice in the throat of the carburettor. Pull out the knob to divert heat from the manifold - that should do the trick. As he acted on his thoughts, he found to his horror that the knob came right out - together with a length of cable that should have connected it to the butterfly flap that diverted the vital warmth to the carburettor. No panic. Just descend to a lower altitude and find warmer air. There are very high hills in this area. Dropping to 2,500 feet was all he dared risk. There was no noticeable change at first, but then it happened. The engine spluttered to a stop and he was on his own. There was no visibility of the landscape below, but he knew that there was very rough country down there and some very high hills. Thoughts of Doreen and the girls flashed through his mind as he turned the plane into the wind to help maintain lift and tried again to re-start the engine. It gave an occasional splutter, but would not start.

The only sounds were the wind whistling through the undercarriage and the external parts of the plane and the sound of the torrential rain beating on the Perspex windows. Carefully, he eased the joystick forward to put the plane into a gentle glide. There was obviously going to be a forced landing of some sort, which he would survive more by good fortune than any skill he could bring to bear in the present situation.

He remembered that most of the valleys in this area ran north and south, so he continued northwards into the strengthening winds. He was losing height rapidly and flying mainly by his few instruments and the seat of his pants, and straining to see through the murky clouds. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he suddenly noticed that there were steep bush clad slopes on both sides of the plane. He was in a valley! Unable to do anything but steer the plane, he concentrated on keeping both wings within the steep walls. Too late, he noticed that the valley swung sharply to the right and the tip of his left wing clipped a tree on a ridge that protruded into the valley from his left.

CHAPTER TWO

When the wind and rain are finished

And the forest giants gleam

The sun shines out upon the landscape

The birds all sing their wondrous theme

His first morning in the bush was not quite as he intended, but as the early morning light filtered through into his cozy little shelter, the air was filled with the calls of the native Tuis. Lying snug and warm in his sleeping bag, he listened and enjoyed the unique sound of the dawn chorus and the great range of their voices as they called to each other. Suddenly, as though in response to the sudden downswing of a conductor’s baton, the whole chorus was silent. Out of the silence, rang out the most unusual and beautiful sound