Back in January we had our big fine spell of 10 days with no cloud or rain, and we all thought that was a big thing. Five and a half weeks ago I blogged about getting a month's worth of rain overnight to end it.
We haven't had any real rain since.
Today we in Wellington joined the rest of the North Island in officially being declared a drought zone, with water use restrictions applying from tomorrow. We've come close to this once or twice in my memory, but this is the first time I can recall it actually happening: even with the restrictions there is only an estimated 20 odd days supply remaining. There is some rain forecast for this weekend, but it isn't hanging around; given how dry everything is it will mostly run-off anyway before the next high takes over. It's the complete opposite of last summer. Long fine days with clear skies and little wind, and lots of evening swims at the beach. Last summer we barely got outside, except when we went camping and merely got wet somewhere other than home. Weirdly though we haven't used our barbecue all season - we have been too busy going to other peoples. I've gotten so used to the weather that for a while I stopped looking at the forecast.
This NIWA sourced satellite image quite dramatically shows the difference between the summer of 2011/2012, and 2012/2013:
About halfway up the east coast in those images is Hawke's Bay, traditionally one of the driest parts of the country anyway. Here is the view from Te Mata peak in central Hawke's Bay on New Years day, before the drought really took hold.
Listening to: Explosions In The Sky - Those who tell the truth shall die (2001).
The Christmas break was a blast. The only problem with getting into the "what day of the week is it?" holiday mode, is that all of a sudden you realise its Sunday, the Sunday before the Monday you go back to work (today).
Christmas Day was cool, the decorated trees (props to my sister for coming up with that) outside the family house heralding a great gathering for lunch, presents and hanging out.
It was also hot and calm, the hottest day in Wellington for a long time (and the second hottest Christmas day since records began). It was certainly the hottest I have ever seen on my backyard thermometer of ish in the six years we have had it:
The heat induced both post Christmas lunch siestas and beautiful thundery cumulonimbus clouds popping up over the ranges:
By evening it still hadn't cooled off much so we headed to my favourite local beach for a paddle. Depite the promise of ice-cream the girls conked out in the car. They quickly revived though once they realised more fun was to be had.
Even at 8pm the the beach was still alive, with people still hitting the water even as the sun set (I went for a swim, it was blissful).
So after tea last night, I wandered out the front of the house with Charlotte so she could get a better look at Jupiter and Venus hanging in the evening sky. Seeing what else might be visible, I casually glanced at the rest of the sky, and promptly ran back inside for the camera, the way you do when you see something you know instantly is unusual*: So I missed the possible once in a lifetime spectacular meteor fireball (Dang!), but did see the vapour trail it left behind, and that's pretty cool. I've seen plenty of shooting stars and a few smoke trailing meteors in my time (I know they are all technically meteors, but the ones that are more than just brief streaks of light are way cooler), and some pretty good ones at that, but this one sounds like it was quite a show.
*I've seen pics of things like this before, and instantly figured it was something going to or coming from space. The time of night and illumination of the trail meant it was way too high to be an ordinary aircraft con-trail.
I'm not that big on bugs in general, but I have a soft spot for cicadas. They are colourful, docile, noisy, and their song is an essential part of the niceness that is summer.
One of the effects of our summer being not so awesome is that our backyard has been a bit quieter as the cicadas haven't emerged until late in the season. Even when the hills all around have been ringing with cicada song, our place has been relatively quiet for some reason. It is only in the last week or two that we have had them in normal numbers.
For those who have only seen our backyard in winter, this is what it sounded like this time last year when they were in full song. For places with a slightly bushier surround than ours it can get surprisingly loud:
And as Fi pointed out, it would have to be a noisy creature with markings like these on it's wings: Charlotte likes cicadas too. Here she is with a little friend a year ago. This summer she has moved on to collecting the nymph husks and adopting a live cicada for the day (named Cyril). She also branched out into other insect fauna and became the proud owner of a Giant Dragonfly (deceased), naming it Shodeol. No, we have no idea what that means or where it comes from either. Cicadas and dragonflies are thus Charlotte approved, but she wasn't too keen on the Stick Insects though... That's my hand, span between thungb and finger is about 6 in/14-15cm. Or the big Puriri Moth that got into the house one night (pic about life size). Probably just as well she didn't meet this bad boy then (Gum Emperor Moth).
It's a year today since Christchurch got the kind of earthquake that has long been expected here in Wellington.
It has been a day for reflection and pondering, not only for the lives lost, and lives disrupted, but for the things I have noticed for myself in the passing of a year. It has been five years since I have been in Christchurch. I've never lived there, and know few people there. But in the sense it could have been (and will be one day) us, it casts a long shadow.
After seeing what happens to them in a big shake, I am much more suspicious of brick and stone buildings than ever before. I am glad my house is made of wood. I'm not so glad the building I work in is brick and concrete, in a prime liquefaction zone, and apparently urgently requiring strengthening to get anywhere near acceptable code. Whenever I'm in the city I look around and note the buildings that look like the ones that turned to rubble.
In addition to the liquefaction zones, I also now know where the expected tsunami zones are, and when in them occasionally mentally plan escape routes in the unlikely event. I'm also never buying property in Petone or Island Bay :)
My house and our cars now have survival kits and water stored, with more than the recommended three days worth (I wonder if that will be amended now after Christchurch's experience). I get nervous when my cellphone isn't where I can see it or reach it easily. Not because of addiction, but after hearing how people aided their own rescue with them I now try and have it close at all times.
I try not to let the car petrol tanks get too close to empty. If you need to get out of town in a hurry stopping for gas may not be an option.
I noted a little while ago I have started thinking of 'Old Christchurch' and 'New Christchurch'. Old Christchurch is gone, the new one is still forming. A few months ago one of the TV networks showed a google earth overhead shot, then eliminated all of the prominent buildings that have since disappeared. It was quite a representation of just how much has changed. I don't want to be a disaster voyeur, but I wonder if the only way to really understand is to go down there and see it myself. I know that some parts of the Old Christchurch I am familiar with are now utterly changed, while others are unaffected.
The biggest change I have noticed both in myself and peers, is that after a lifetime of passing off earthquakes as local events in a city riven with faultlines, our first reaction on feeling a shake now is to wonder if it wasn't worse somewhere else.
It's Christmas Eve, and on a nice summer's day and night the Christmas trees are blooming. Be they plastic, pine, or pohutukawa: Happy Christmas everyone, wherever you may be :)
So after the pronounced earth related jiggery pokery and fuss on Saturday, I didn't feel this one at all yesterday (screengrabs from Geonet.org.nz): And the rock beneath our house probably added to me not feeling this one later that day: Probably good I didn't feel the first one, since when it hit I was in the site acid store, a small enclosed space with shelves full of big bottles of acids of various kinds. There are certain places I definitely don't want to be in an earthquake and that one is high on the list. Since I happened to be on my feet and moving around I didn't notice the motion, and since I had my mp3 on, I didn't hear any rattling either. My office got a good rattling though according to the people I share it with.
The above was my three-year-old's response to this, which we experienced at my friend's third floor apartment in central Wellington last night (screengrabs from the awesome Geonet, click to enlarge): Here is what it looked like on the local quake drum: After living here for a while you tend to brush off the small ones. A few seconds of shaking and it's back to whatever you were doing, having spent at least the first one or two seconds deciding if you needed to take shelter in a doorway or under furniture (the bigger shakes tend to make that decision an instant one I have noticed). This one got worse after a few seconds, and when they do that is when you really take notice, usually by wondering "Is this IT, the big one?" in my case.
And then when it stops there is always the period where you are wondering if things are still moving or is it just the adrenalin making you think they are. This was the biggest shake for a while around here.
I really do, but when they are an inch long white-tail running across my kitchen floor like one was ten minutes ago (when I usually pad around my erm, pad barefoot) my usual spider preservation policy of "catch and release to the yard" goes out the window in favour of "squash with something unyielding".
Awoke on Saturday morning to find we were having some trouble with our droid letterbox. The "Where the feck is it?" kind: It was definitely there on Friday evening when we came home. Surmising that "some p***k has nicked it!"(pretty much a direct quote), we resigned ourselves to searching the neighbourhood for our beloved sentinel. We didn't have to go far. It was on the doorstep, somewhat worse for wear: We can only surmise that some passing enthusiastic young ruffian/scallywag took a shine to it (and who wouldn't, it is a damn pragmatically sexy letterbox) in the middle of the night and decided to have their vandalous way with it. Presumably it then got tossed aside before some kind neighbour found and returned it. It wouldn't have been hard to figure out where it came from, being now the only house on the street sans postal device.
Naturally in the way of these things, it required complete disassembly before we could rebuild better and stronger six-million-dollar-letterbox style. Fixing the loose flap in particular was something we had been meaning to do for a while anyway. The glass of sav isn't a compulsory piece of DIY carpentry repair equipment, but does make the job more enjoyable on a nice spring evening.
And a bit of hammering, screwing, levering, drilling and nailing later we had it back at it's post. I tempted to line it with sheet steel to make it a bit more vandal proof (and maybe some electrification, but that might annoy the posties a bit, and posties aren't people you want to annoy), but Fi and I opted for the logistically easier option of bigger nails instead.
Say what you like about the not infrequent gales around here, but at least they are good for getting the washing dry: At least until you glance northwest and see something like this charging across the horizon prompting you to bring it all inside again: Often about ten minutes after you have finished putting it out...
The only real issue I have with riding my mountain bike to work, is that I live roughly hereish:
Since that picture was taken somewhere near where I work, I'm sure you can all realise the con when it comes to negotiating the journey on a vehicle powered solely by me (as well as marvelling at my ability to free draw arrows in microsoft paint).
The average gradient to get there is something like this, for about a kilometre and a half.
I've had a couple of people say how impressed they are that I do this, but it really isn't that terrible once you have done it a few times. It doesn't get easy, but it does get less difficult. I have noticed I am getting better at it in that the willpower element is now focused on being bothered to ride in the the first place, rather than keeping going. Another measure of fitness on this is I don't notice the climb so much anymore. I have the energy to think about things over than 'just keep pedalling', and my legs aren't so rubbery when I dismount.
I had a play last week with using the video mode on our little point and shoot camera while cycling to and from work. While it's not exactly C'etaitunRendevous, I like the results anyway.
Reading around various traps inspired little confidence in blogger's video hosting abilities, so I herded a couple of clips on to Youtube instead. These were made with a camera held against the handlebar, so the image stability isn't so great.
The first is going through the poky little subway that takes you under the main highway at the bottom of the hill. It's a cheap thrill, but I like the rush of riding through such an enclosed space. Feel free to make any Star Wars/Dambusters/633 Squadron comparisons you feel appropriate:
The second is the full 2 minute downhill from the crest of the road below my place. If I ride, this is how my commute begins, which is good for waking you up if nothing else. I live in a dip on the ridge, so perversely I have to go uphill before I can go down. I pedal to the crest, then let gravity take over and coast (the bike can't be pedalled faster than 35kph or so anyway. not enough gears). The first 15 seconds or so are a bit shaky as I figure out how I am holding the camera but bear with it (the shakiness halfway through is due to the rough road surface at that section. I love front fork suspension). I have the brakes on for most of the way, from about the first bus stop at 00:27, to stay at the 50kph speed limit, which makes for very hot discs at the bottom. I followed another cyclist with rim brakes down once and all I could smell was burning rubber. I could easily go faster, but since it is both illegal and terrifying, I don't. An off at 50 kph will be bad enough, although overtaking cars would be fun. Rain, early morning flying insects, or ice, particularly on the long corner near the bottom which doesn't see any sun in winter can make this descent muuuchhh more interesting.
I quite like the bit where my shadow stretches out on the road in front of me :)
I could add some clips of the ascent, but it takes ten times as long (literally), and is accompanied by liberal amounts of 0900 line style heavy breathing.
