Stingray for breakfast

The Waitemata harbour in Auckland has been host most mornings recently to a pod of up to 18 Orca who are on the hunt for stingray. The Orca are coming right into the shallows by the city beaches and putting on quite a show.

Thought I’d share some of the photographs that are around, none of which are mine as unfortunately my pitiful attempts aren’t worth viewing. It’s mid winter here and freezing so forgive the dull early morning weather. At least it wasn’t raining.

 

Photo: Jonathan Squires

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo: Glenn McNae

Photo: Brett Phibbs

Photo: Brett Phibbs

Apparently stingray are an Orca delicacy, they herd them into the shallows and it’s all on. They mainly eat the liver and leave the rest which worries the biologists as any toxins that the rays have been exposed to would be filtered by the liver and thus ingested by the Orca. At one stage when we were there multiple rays were leaping from the water trying to get away. Amazing stuff, dangerous too as I read that the barb of a stingray can kill even an Orca. Fascinating. Gruesome.

Big fan

 

Finally watched the movie Wanted. Released a year ago, somehow or other I kept missing it, so watched it on DVD this afternoon.

Wow, mind bendingly violent. Totally cool though and James McAvoy is as fantastic as ever. 

It’s all about me

The delightful and fun Joanne from Joanne Moving Forward – half speed has tagged me to share 10 things about myself that readers may not know.  Well any of you that read this blog regularly know that I compulsively over share almost everything going on in my life so this isn’t going to be an easy assignment.

I will tag three of my newest followers as I’m keen to get them sharing a bit about themselves. Please guys. I realise this is probably not your style at all but I’m nosey OK? Give a girl a break.

• Plashing Vole from The Plashing Vole - parataxis
• Al from Al in the country 
• Bard from The Lonely Bard Inn

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------OK, deep breath and  here goes…

1) I have blue eyes and fair skin. Gorgeous!

2) I’m somewhat wayward church wise but have given my own child a Catholic education. Hypocritical? Maybe, but the RC’s do good schooling and a bit of dogma never seriously hurt anyone.

3) I had a Norwegian Hooded rat named Seamus for years when I was in high school. I loved that rat.

4) My teenage son points out that I guilt him into doing stuff, yikes, I’m turning into my mother. Must work on that!

5) My favourite painting is Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. It takes my breath away. I have still never made to to the Uffizi to see the real thing but one day I will.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

6) I am mathematically challenged. Even simple arithmetic ain’t simple to me.

7) I am shamefully monolingual. I used to gather as much as I needed to get by very basically when travelling but have never shown any commitment to learning a second language properly. Am thinking about starting night classes with my dad though and learning Italian. He already passably speaks 3 languages.

8) I will watch almost any sport on TV.

9) I can ride a motorbike.

10) On a cold and rainy winter Sunday afternoon (like today) I can easily stay in bed all day. Today is proof of that. I have slept, finished my book, dozed a bit, watched a DVD on my laptop and now written this post and it is now 3.15pm.  Rory’s out so I don’t intend getting up even now. Lazy cow.

The Emerald Isle

It was 3 July 1989 and a 23 year old kiwi girl boarded the ferry from Galway to the main island of the Aran group, Inishmore. She was the only passenger and she imagined herself as an intrepid adventurer – the wind was roaring and the Atlantic was at its angry best.  It was breathtakingly cold though it was the middle of summer. After tying up the boat, the man on the dock helped her off the ferry. She thanked him and hurried down the steps looking for somewhere to warm up. She headed toward a small group of whitewashed buildings where she fell into an easy conversation with the old man leaving the tiny post office. She was fascinated by his accent – she’d never heard anything like it despite her weeks already in Ireland. He thought she was South African and wouldn’t be convinced otherwise. They shared two fingers in the dark and smoky bar next door and he suggested she take his bicycle to explore the tiny island.

She almost laughed when she saw the bike – it was older than she was by years and though she hadn’t ridden a bicycle since she was a kid, she bravely pushed off and proceeded along the bumpy roadway.

It was a day to remember.

She marvelled at the ancient beauty of the place and stopped often to talk with islanders going about their business. A farmer stripped to his waist and clearing rocks from his field offered to share his lunch with her and she gratefully sat with him on the low stone wall and accepted a slice of soda bread and half his lump of cheese.

They talked while they ate and he told her with pride that every square inch of dirt on the island was created from seaweed and manure over the last 1000 years.  His grandfather’s father had moved his family to the island more than 80 years earlier and though his own son was now at university in Dublin studying “the law” , he hoped that one day he might return to the island permanently with his own family. As the shadows lengthened and the sky turned pink, she knew she must end her exploring and head back to the village as the last ferry back to the mainland left each evening just before dark. There was no sign of the old man so she left the bicycle with the woman at the post office.

As the boat pulled away from the dock the young woman looked back at the island and held her hair from her eyes. The sun was setting and she was almost overwhelmed with the sheer joy of being able to travel to places of such raw beauty and to enjoy the simple hospitality of such warm and open hearted people.

Life is for living

Sas published this quote on her blog sas’ magical mystery tour and I love it. I’m seriously considering it for my own gravestone.

'Life is NOT a journey to the grave with the goal of arriving safely in a prettily preserved body, but rather, to skid in sideways in a shower of gravel and party shards - thoroughly used, utterly exhausted and loudly proclaiming: 'Fuck me, that was

BRILLIANT!'

Anon

Extreme makeover

 

Just spotted this photo at the highly reputable www.mirror.co.uk

When did Ms Love get so malnourished? Me thinks she might be taking dieting to an unhealthy extreme.

Where are her friends? Why are they not making her pasta and refusing to leave until she finishes it?