WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE

摘要

As THE REEL BUSY hammers into another wave, my captain shouts that on a good day the crossing to his Kawau Island bach takes 20 minutes. This is not a good day. Beyond the shelter of Sandspit, Kawau Bay is what Nick and Shirley Cressey describe as "alittle bit choppy" and what I would describe as "a rodeo". The boat is a bucking bronco. "The minute you step on board it's just 'holiday', isn't it?" yells Shirley, as ardent a boatie as her husband. "We've had a lot worse," bawls Nick encouragingly but I just smile and nod because, if I open my mouth as we ride up a swell, I may bite off my tongue as we plunge down its back.