Chapter 1

I arrived back in the country several years ago, in what now seems like a different age. I had eventually fetched up in Vladivostok, after having started in Paris, and was very ready to come home. It took me three separate flights to get back, stopping in Seoul for a night and changing planes again in Auckland.

Waiting for me at the airport in Wellington was my oldest friend, Anton. It had been many years since I had seen him, but we had kept in touch, and an e-mail had been enough to bring him to my aid. On the way back from the airport in Anton’s car he asked me about my plans.

“I need to get away from it all for a while - get my head straight. The fewer people around, the better.”

“Are you going to work?”

“Not if I can help it.” I said, and meant it. I had money saved.

We went on a shopping trip. I chose a fishing rod, a reel and filled a tackle box. I bought some books to read – a luxury I had been without while travelling. Quite a few Wordsworth classics, some modern fiction people had recommended to me and some history books. I also bought a new pillow, something I had missed very much while I had been travelling.

“You’re not going to get a car?”

“No I’d rather not. I’ve got used to not driving, and that way I can guarantee I will be out of the rat race.”

We went out for a night on the town. I told Anton about my parents, my time overseas and Russia, and he told me about his journalism, his own travels and his messy love life. Once we were thoroughly caught up we discussed places I might hole up for the winter. It needed to be on the coast, but also far enough away from main centres.

“What about Castlepoint? You could fish to your heart’s content. I know the woman that runs the shop out there, Susan Dalgliesh. She’s good value. She’s an old friend of my parents’.”

“But would I be able to find a place to stay?”

“I don’t know. There must be somewhere. Susan may be able to help us. There’s a campground out there. Tell you what, I was planning on going surfing this weekend, so why don’t we head out there. If you don’t find anything you can come back with me.”

We drove the three hours out to Castlepoint that weekend. I had been there years ago and it was just as I remembered it. It’s situated at the base of a spectacular headland surmounted by a lighthouse. The headland is exposed to the south and is famous for strong winds and heavy seas. A small fleet of fishing boats was based there, crayfish boats mainly, quite often seen hauled up on the neck of sand between the surf beach and the lagoon.

In summer it was a popular spot with families and surfers but in winter there were only a handful of people living there. They were mostly retired or fishermen. Anton and I pulled into town just before lunch.

We went straight to the local shop. It was typical of coastal communities the country over. It sold produce and grocery items, made fish and chips and burgers, had an impressive array of ice-creams and even had a couple of petrol pumps outside. Most surprising though was the large TV on the wall that was showing Digital TV. The rugby was playing when I arrived and a couple of young men were sitting in white plastic chairs, lackadaisically eating chips from a newspaper spread on the table between them.

Anton waited to talk to Susan while she served a customer. I perused the notice board inside the door. There were a few accommodation notices - bachs for rent, but they were too big and were asking too much.

“Anton! It’s been too long! What brings you out here?”

“Hi Susan. I’ve come out for a surf. How are ya?”

“You know, can’t complain.”

“Susan, this is my friend Paul. He’s just got back into the country and is thinking of staying in Castlepoint for the winter.”

“Are you looking for work?” She said, directing the question to me.

“No, I just need a place to stay over the winter. I’m planning on doing a lot of fishing.”

“You’ve come to the right place. Well, did you have a look at the wall?”

“I did, but I was looking for something a bit more modest. Maybe even just a room.”

“Hmmm. Tell you what, there is one option you might be interested in. Just down the road there’s a retired widow, Jeanette, who is thinking of renting out her caravan. Let me just give her a quick ring.”

Susan got on the phone in the back of the shop. I could here her explaining the situation.

“It’s looking good.” Anton said as Susan reappeared.

“Right you can go down there now if you like, I’ve told her you’re coming.”

“Thanks so much Susan, I really appreciate it.” I said.

“Yeah thanks for that, Suz. Right I’ll see you both when I get back in.” Anton said.

I walked along the road to the house that Susan had described to me. Jeanette was sitting on her back porch drinking a cup of tea when I arrived. She was about 60, short and wiry, with an alert face.

“Hi. I’m Paul. Susan told me you had a caravan you were thinking of renting out?” As I said this I glanced around at the Caravan sitting in the back yard. It looked ideal.

“That’s right, I’ve been thinking about it. As you can see I don’t use it anymore.” There was a healthy mat of grass growing under the caravan. “How long would you want it for? “ she asked.

“Through the winter. Four months at least. I can pay in advance.”

“It’s in pretty good nick. The only thing is you’d have to share my bathroom and toilet. I don’t have it hooked up for sewerage. I didn’t really think I would be able to find anyone, you see.”

“That’s no problem. So long as you don’t mind?”

“It wouldn’t worry me. My only hard and fast rule is that you can’t smoke in there. Cigarettes or anything else.”

“Sure. I don’t smoke anymore, so that‘s fine.” She looked at me for a moment.

“What do you do for a living…Paul was it?”

“Yes, Paul Brandt. Nothing at the moment, I’m taking a winter off, but I have been working with computers. I just got back into the country, and I need to take a breather. I’ll spend most of my time fishing and reading.”

“Come and have a look at it. When would you want to move in?”

“Today. If that’s alright.”

We walked out to the caravan. I politely asked her questions about herself, about the caravan and about Castlepoint. She was a kindly woman and we got on well. After inspecting the caravan she told me that it was mine if I wanted it. I told her that I had cash and would pay four months in advance if I could move in today. She seemed a little taken aback, but readily agreed. We shook hands and I told her that I would come back with the money.

I went and waited on the beach for Anton. After half an hour or so, he emerged from the choppy breakers. I told him about the caravan.

“Nice one. Sounds good. Shall we get some greasies to celebrate?”

“Why not!”

We sat in the shop and thoughtfully munched on our fish and chips.

“Don’t be a stranger Paul. Remember you can come and stay, or just visit whenever you like.”

“A visit might be difficult without a car, but I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

We said our farewells – it was starting to get dark by then and it was a tiring drive. I got my gear from his car and went off to settle in.

It felt a little odd moving in straight away, but I had taken an instant liking to Jeanette, and I was gratified by the fact that she wasn’t afraid to have a young, male tenant. I resolved that I would have a good winter on the far edge of the world, hidden in my cruise-master caravan.

I spent a couple of weeks exploring the environs of Castlepoint, testing out a few fishing spots. Jeanette was very hospitable and we would often share a meal together in the evening, particularly when I had caught something decent. I soon had a pretty good handle on the best spots and had chatted to enough locals to have a pretty good strike rate.

I had some very close calls on the rocks. The waves would come rolling in out of the southern ocean and batter the cliffs. Some days I would get nothing to show for my troubles except hag-fish, which I, like all the regulars, left on the rocks.

But I kept at it and managed to get through the winter by trading fish for vegetables with Jeanette and slowly whittling away at my savings. By August I was starting to feel a lot more human.