Chapter 19: South Island Blur

Port Hills, New Zealand

December 22, 2003 (December 21 in California)

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sean,” Jake said upon hearing the news that an earthquake had just rocked his home on the cliff. “Are you and Wes okay?”

“We’re both fine,” Sean assured him. “The house is a bit of a mess, but neither of us were hurt. Wes was in your kitchen making lunch for us when it hit. I was in our quarters working on laundry and getting the place clean.”

“I’m glad you’re both okay,” Jake said, “but ... uh ... how big of a mess are we talking? Is the house damaged?”

“As far as we can tell there is no damage to the house itself or our quarters. There’s just a big mess to clean up in both places. Two of your wine racks overturned and eight or ten bottles broke. The chandelier over the formal dining room table came down and smashed everywhere. A few pictures fell off the walls here and there. Most of the books came out of the bookshelves. A lot of the spices in the spice rack came out and smashed on the granite countertop below it. No propane leak, water leaks, or cracks in the walls or anything like that. The electricity is still on and the cliff is still standing. We even have TV still. They’re saying it was 6.6 on the Richter scale.”

Jake felt better upon hearing this news. “That’s about the same as the Northridge quake was, but further away.”

“It still shook us pretty good,” Sean said. “The news says it hit Paso Robles the hardest. A few buildings collapsed there. They’re still trying to figure out if anyone is trapped in the rubble. And in Atascadero the city hall was damaged and they had to evacuate it. They’re only reporting mild damage in San Luis Obispo. They closed Highway 1 between Oceano and San Simeon, just to be safe.”

“Damn,” Jake said, shaking his head. “Do you need me to get a work crew over there to help you clean up?”

“No,” Sean said. “Westin and I can handle it. Fortunately, the wine bottles broke on the wood floor so it was easy to mop it up. No carpet was ruined.”

“That’s good,” Jake said. “I need to call the Nerdlys and The Campus to make sure everything is okay in those places. Give me a call if anything needs my attention. Otherwise, just use the debit card to make any purchases necessary.”

“Will do,” Sean said.

“I’m glad the two of you are safe,” Jake told him.

They said their goodbyes and he hung up the phone. He really wanted a drink but there was no booze in the house. A pity. He turned the handset back on and then dialed 00 to initiate an international call, 1 for the United States, 805 for the area code, and then the Nerdlys’ home phone number, which he knew by heart. The phone rang four times before Nerdly himself picked it up.

“Nerdly,” Jake said. “It’s me, Jake. I just heard about the earthquake.”

“It was rather jolting,” Nerdly said. “Our power went out briefly.”

“You and Sharon and K-dude are okay?”

“We are uninjured,” Nerdly said. “The inside is a mess because lots of things fell off the walls and out of cabinets, but the house itself is undamaged.”

“That’s good,” Jake said.

“I presume you just arrived at your New Zealand house?” Nerdly asked.

“That’s right,” Jake said. “We got here about an hour ago. Sean just called and let me know about the earthquake.”

“He and Westin are unhurt?”

“They are,” Jake said. “The house is undamaged as far as they can tell, but there’s a big mess that needs to be cleaned up, just like at your place.”

“That is good to hear,” Nerdly said. “Not about the mess, but about the house and your employees being all right. Messes are easy to clean up. Structural damage and human life, not so easy.”

“Exactly,” Jake said, “although I might have mentioned the human life part first.”

“Why?” Nerdly wanted to know. “Both topics were covered.”

“True,” Jake admitted. “Listen, can you give me the number for the security office at The Campus? I want to make sure everything is okay there too.”

Nerdly recited the number to him and he wrote it down on a bar napkin. After hanging up with Nerdly, he dialed the number. The security supervisor for the current shift answered and was able to relate to Jake that the structure and equipment of The Campus appeared to be undamaged and, other than a few pictures that had fallen off the walls and some spices that had been ejected from the spice cabinet in the kitchen, there was not much disarray. Jake thanked him for the information and then hung up. He thought about calling Jim Scanlon, but he and Marcia and their children were not in San Luis Obispo currently. They had flown home to New England to spend Christmas with their family. All of the other members of Brainwash had flown home as well. They would not know about the status of their rented houses until they returned.

Jake debated turning on the television to see if there was any news, but then decided just to go to bed and have his nap. There was not likely to be any news about a relatively minor California earthquake on the New Zealand news channels. And, even though he got CNN on his satellite TV system, there would likely not be much there either, maybe a blurb that would tell him no more than he already knew and that he would have to sit through fifteen or twenty minutes of war news, political news, and commercials to get to.

He finished checking the thermostat, the hot water heater, the temperature and water quality of the hot tub, and the level of propane left in the two tanks. Everything was as it should be. The caretaker service he paid monthly had done a good job of getting the house ready for occupancy.

He went to the master suite and crawled into bed between Laura and Celia. Both were already sound asleep.

Everyone was awake by 1:00 PM that afternoon, though all were still punch drunk and out of sorts. As they woke up and staggered into the entertainment room, one by one, sometimes two by two, Jake told them the news about the earthquake in SLO County. He let everyone know that, as far as he could determine, Kingsley Manor, Nerdly Manor, and The Campus were all a little messy but otherwise in good shape.

“What about our house?” asked Roberto when told the news. “Have you heard anything about that?”

“I have not,” Jake said. He had truly not even considered the Valdez elders’ house until it was mentioned. “I’m sure it’s okay though.”

Roberto was not convinced. “We are closer to where the earthquake was than you are,” he told Jake. “We are also on somewhat of a slope over the ocean. Could you possibly send someone to have a look?”

Jake thought this over for a moment. “I’ll see if Sean is willing to drive out there and take a look,” he said. “Where are the keys to your house?”

“My keyring is hanging on that key rack you have in the kitchen,” Roberto told him. “The alarm code is 1-0-1-9. Tell Sean we would be very grateful if he could ease our minds.”

“Will do,” Jake said. He made the phone call and Sean said that he would drive out right away, before it got dark, and check it out. Jake thanked him and passed the news onto Roberto.

“Well, Paulie,” Jake said to his sister, “are you ready to go into Christchurch with me?”

“No,” she said, “but I’ll do it anyway, if for no other reason than I need a drink. Can I take a shower first?”

“You can,” Jake said. “I’ll do the same.”

They took their showers and then headed down the winding road back to Lyttelton and then through the tunnel to Christchurch. Just a few miles out of the tunnel, on Ferry Road, was a New World Supermarket, an American style grocery store with everything you would want except hard alcohol. Each of them grabbed a cart and began traveling the aisles, trying to get everything they would need to get them through the next twenty-four hours or so, at which point another major shopping expedition, a more leisurely one, could be undertaken.

They got four dozen eggs, two blocks of cheese, three gallons of milk, a couple pounds of sausage, three pounds of lunchmeat from the deli, three loaves of bread, all basic condiments, fresh lettuce, tomatoes, red onions, peppers, potatoes, garlic bulbs. The house was good on toilet paper, Kleenex, and paper towels, but they needed laundry soap, dishwasher soap, dish soap, hand soap, and body wash for all the showers. For dinner that night, Jake picked up three whole roasting chickens, some cauliflower, and four boxes of Stove Top cornbread stuffing. They then raided the alcohol aisle and filled Pauline’s cart with three cases of beer, five bottles of white wine and five bottles of red wine. They also bought several cases of soft drinks—Pepsi, Sprite, and Orange soda. They got Indonesian coffee and boxes of black tea and green tea from China. Both carts were overfull at this point and they were still sure they were forgetting things.

The tally for the two carts was seven hundred and eighteen New Zealand dollars. Pauline paid for it with a debit card that was linked to an international traveler’s account that had exchanged her American dollars for New Zealand dollars and would automatically replenish as she spent. The clerk who checked them out was a pretty woman in her thirties with a particularly strong accent and a lot of smiles. She made no mention of who her customers were even though it was obvious she recognized Jake.

About three miles away, on Colombo Street just off one of the main thoroughfares through south Christchurch, was a place called Super Liquor, where all their hard alcohol needs could be met. They bought expensive scotch, bourbon, rye, vodka, gin, cognac, tequila, and various mixers to go with them (including spicy Bloody Mary mix to go with the vodka). They bought a few more bottles of both red and white wine as well. When this was all rung up, the tally came to $1740 New Zealand. The male clerk, who also obviously recognized Jake, did not bat an eye at the amount they were purchasing. He simply ran Pauline’s card, gave her a receipt, and then packed all the bottles into boxes for them. He even helped carry them out (it took 2 trips with all of them working on the load).

A work crew was assembled when they arrived back at the house, with almost everyone pitching in to help carry things inside and then put them away. The food was placed in the refrigerator, freezer, or pantry, depending on what it was. The hard liquor was placed on the bar shelves. The beer—as much as could fit, anyway—was placed in the bar refrigerator, as were the bottles of white wine. The red wine was placed in wine racks. The soda was stacked next to the refrigerator and the very bottom shelf was loaded with a little bit of every type.

“All right,” Jake said once everything was put away, “I’ll put together a sandwich bar for lunch. First, however, I need a drink.”

“Now you’re talkin’ my language,” Obie said. “What do we got for scotch?”

“Two bottles of Glenlivet 12 year old and one bottle of Macallan 16 year old.”

“How about we bust out that Macallan then?” Obie asked.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Jake said.

Everyone who drank alcohol helped themselves to something. Celia, Laura, Mama, and Mary opened one of the bottles of red wine. Tom, Pauline, and Roberto joined Obie and Jake with the Macallan. Grace and Chase both went with bottles of Steinlager even though it was not completely cold.

“Can I have a taste of that, Daddy?” Caydee asked after Jake finished pouring his triple.

“It’s alcohol, Caydee,” Jake told her.

“So?”

“So, you’ll have to wait until you’re in high school and sneak some out of the bar while we’re not home like every other kid,” Jake said.

“What a rip,” she said with a pout.

“Life is a rip at times,” he reminded her.

No one did much of anything that day as they were all still wasted from the trip. Caydee and Tabby both got into their swimsuits and spent a considerable amount of time in the hot tub. After lunch, Jake, Obie, Tom, and Roberto went out to the deck to enjoy the view and the pleasant summer weather while the chickens were cooking on the gas grill and the kids were splashing away in the hot tub. Grace and Chase watched New Zealand TV, flipping around through the channels until they found something that looked interesting. Mama, Celia, Laura, Pauline, and Mary sat in the entertainment room and continued drinking red wine, all of them getting giggly and flushed.

Dinner that night was simple but quite good. Cleanup was a group effort and done quickly. Caydee had brought her guitar with her but neither Jake nor Celia had one, so Caydee went solo for guitar and sing time that night, though Jake and Celia did help her out on the vocals.

Everyone went to bed before 10:00 PM. Most of them slept soundly through the night and were feeling much better the next morning.

Jake made a big breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast for the morning meal and discovered that orange juice was one of the things they had forgotten to get during the shopping expedition. He added it to the list he was compiling for the next run.

The entire group loaded up into the three vehicles and headed out at 11:00 AM on their first adventure of the trip. Jake led them north on State Highway 1, through green hills and flat farmland to the town of Kaikōura, which was on the Pacific Ocean about 100 miles from Christchurch. The drive took almost two hours but it was worth it. Here, from a lookout over the beach and ocean, they saw hundreds of New Zealand fur seals sunning themselves on the rocks surrounded by dozens of actual wild penguins. In addition, two separate albatrosses were spotted flying above, one heading out to sea the other coming back in from it. Caydee asked if it was possible to bring a penguin mommy and a penguin daddy home with them so they could live at the base of their cliff and have penguin babies there. She was disappointed when told this was not possible.

They ate a light lunch at one of the tourist places in town and then headed back, taking their time, stopping at a few places along the way. Once back in Christchurch, they pulled into a local meat market Jake was glad to see was still in business. Caydee and Tabby jumped into the Camry with Grace and Chase. All four of them wanted to go to a beach so they could play in the ocean. Jake told them how to get to the beach at Sumner from Lyttelton (they also had GPS in the vehicle) and warned them to stay at least two hundred yards from the estuary area with its rip currents. Mention of rip currents made Laura nervous so she elected to cram into the car with them for the trip. They would all return to the house to change and gather towels and beach loungers and then make the thirty minute drive.

Pauline insisted that she keep paying for the groceries and other household items so Jake allowed her to do so just to avoid arguing. They bought $620 worth of fresh beef, chicken, and pork in the market (including a twelve pound prime rib for Christmas dinner) and then Jake, Pauline, Tom, Mary, and Cap headed to the grocery store while Celia, Roberto, Maria, and Obie headed further into the city to search for a Christmas tree and decorations, though it seemed odd to be on such an errand when it was bright, sunny, and 75 degrees.

The two main groups were back at the house by five o’clock. Celia’s group had found an eight foot, artificial Christmas tree in a place called The Warehouse, which they described as the New Zealand equivalent to Walmart, although markedly classier in clientele. With the tree they bought lots of lights, tinsel, multicolored ball ornaments, and a Jesus being crucified to go on top. They had also purchased multiple rolls of wrapping paper, tape, ribbons, and to/from cards as all of the gifts brought for Christmas morning for the children had been kept unwrapped to get through airport security.

Jake cooked hamburgers and French fries for dinner while the rest of them set up the tree in the entertainment room next to the fireplace. Stockings were hung on the mantle to await being stuffed with various candies and trinkets on Christmas Eve. Of course, neither Tabby nor Caydee believed in Santa anymore and Cap was far too young to appreciate the fact that it was Christmas, let alone that there was some mythical magical fat man in red who would bring presents, but they went through the motions anyway, mostly because it was tradition.

Laura, Grace, Chase, Tabby, and Caydee came into the house at 5:45, just as Jake was putting the burger patties on the gas grill to cook. They were all sandy and damp, their hair frazzled, sporting a little sunburn in a few places where their sunscreen had washed off. All were starving and looking forward to dinner.

“By the time you all get showered and changed, it’ll be done,” Jake told them.

It actually took a little longer than that for them to clean up. When they all emerged, dinner was in progress, with everyone who had not gone to the beach sitting at the dining room table, which easily sat twelve under normal circumstances, but could seat all fourteen of them with a little cramming.

“How was the water?” Mary asked them once they all sat down with their plates.

“Kind of cold,” Laura reported. “A little warmer than our beaches in SLO but not as warm as in San Diego.”

“The waves were hella cool,” Chase said. “There were lots of surfers out there. I want to try surfing while we’re here. Can we do that, Uncle Jake?”

“I’ll see if we can squeeze it in,” he told them. “Remember though, we have the deep sea fishing trip the day after Christmas. You might have your fill of the ocean by then.”

“Not likely,” Chase said. “I friggin’ love the ocean. I want to live by it someday, just like you and Aunt Laura and Celia.”

“Me too,” Grace agreed. “Not this far away from home, but maybe in California or Oregon.”

“If you get much north of San Luis Obispo, the ocean is too cold to swim in, even in the summer,” Jake told them.

“Maybe Hawaii then,” Grace said. “The ocean is warm there, isn’t it?”

“Very warm,” Laura said. “Like a bathtub.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Chase said. “I’m sure they need engineers in Hawaii.” She took another bite of her hamburger.

Obie, while they had been searching for a place to buy a Christmas tree, had found a cigar shop in downtown Christchurch. He had stopped there long enough to buy two boxes of premium Cuban cigars, which were not illegal to import into New Zealand. As such, they had good cigars to go with their after dinner cognac out on the deck. Celia and Laura both joined Jake, Obie, and Tom in partaking while Grace and Chase hit the hot tub and the remaining grandparents watched the children.

“Two glasses of wine with dinner and now cognac?” Laura asked Celia. “Pump and dump tomorrow?”

“If there’s anything to pump,” she said, somewhat dejected, somewhat happy. “I’m barely getting three ounces out these days. My boobs are drying up.”

“It happens,” Laura said carefully, not wanting to push the subject right there.

“Yes, I guess it does,” Celia agreed.

She, Laura, and Jake had a nice session of threesome sex after retiring that night (doing it quietly so they would not wake Cap in his crib). Celia stripped down to completely naked for it, the first time she had done so for sex since before Cap was born. Her nipples did not leak during it, though neither Jake nor Laura suckled on them. Not even when she had her orgasms did any come out. Yes, Laura thought as they laid entwined after finishing up, it looks like her days of breastfeeding are almost done. A part of her felt sad about this, sad for Celia because she really did love her and empathize with her. But C had had Jake as her lawfully wedded husband for more than a year and a half now, had been his official girlfriend for some months before that. She knew that they behaved no differently with each other at home, but she wanted her husband back. Her husband. Maybe it was selfish of her, but that is what she wanted and that was what had been agreed to.

The next day, Christmas Eve (though it was still December 23^rd at home), Jake and Laura got up reasonably early—at 7:00 AM. Jake had made thirty breakfast burritos the night before and put them in the refrigerator for everyone to have for breakfast. After showering, they went to the kitchen and Jake heated up two of the burritos in the microwave and poured them each a glass of orange juice. Caydee was awake and joined them, eating a burrito of her own. She had slept well and was in a pleasant mood, though bummed that she did not get to go along with them on their excursion.

They kissed their daughter goodbye and then did the same for Celia and Cap, who had just emerged from the master suite. Celia told them to be safe on their journey.

“Always,” Jake promised.

At 7:35, the two of them left the house and climbed into the Toyota Camry for the first leg of their journey. Jake took the wheel and drove them 53 miles south to Ashburton Aerodrome, the small airport that was home to Fields Aerial Tours and the Cessna 172 that Jake had purchased in Omaha in another life. Zachary Fields, the owner and one of two pilots who flew tourists to the Southern Alps on scenic flights five days a week, had been using the plane for his business for the past 14 years. Jake had only used it once during that time, when he and Laura had visited on their honeymoon.

Jake had called Fields two nights before and he was expecting them. He was now sixty-two years old but did not look much older than the last time Jake had seen him. The two men shook hands warmly and Jake re-introduced Laura to him.

“Didn’t you two get divorced?” Fields asked.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “We’re still good friends though. Laura has her pilot’s license now and is just itching to do some aviating here in New Zealand.”

Fields held the mild irritation he was feeling inside. Because Jake wanted to use the plane today, he had been forced to cancel two scheduled flights and bump another two into the older, less powerful Piper that he had started the business with. Still, he could not be too irritated. After all, Jake had all but given him the plane back in 1989, with the only stipulations being that Fields pay for maintenance and upkeep while it was in his possession and that Jake would be able to use the plane whenever he was in the country. So far, that had only happened once, so there really was not much to complain about. It was Jake’s plane, after all.

“Well, it’s a beautiful day for it,” Fields told them. “I got her all gassed up and ready for you. Where you heading off to? Just gonna putt around a bit?”

“We’re going to Hokitika,” Jake told him, referring to a small town on the west coast of the island. It was the same trip he had taken with Helen Brody on his first visit to New Zealand during the Intemperance international tour.

“Up over the Alps, huh?” Fields said. “It can get a little bouncy doing that, not the mention the air is mighty thin.”

Jake simply shrugged. “We’ll make it,” he said. “Do you mind if I take a look at the maintenance records? Just so I can see what’s been done and when?”

Fields was not insulted by this request. He, in fact, would have been worried about Jake’s piloting skills if he had not asked to see them. “Sure,” he said. “Got them right in my office. Come with me.”

They followed him into the office and sat down in chairs in front of his desk. He handed Jake a binder from a shelf in the corner. “Everything up to date and on time,” Fields said. “Got to be that way when you run an air tour business. I get inspected by the CAA once a year and they pore over everything. Even if I wanted to skimp on something, I wouldn’t dare.”

“I have no doubt everything is up-to-date, Zach,” Jake told him. “Just doing a basic check on an aircraft I haven’t flown in quite some time.”

Jake saw that Fields was being truthful, at least on paper anyway. Every item, check, and replacement had been done well before the dates required. The plane had undergone a complete maintenance cycle only a month before. He let Laura look things over and she nodded, saying it looked good to her.

“I concur,” Jake said. “Thanks for taking care of her, Zach. I do appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

“No problem at all, Jake,” Fields said. “I appreciate you letting me use the plane all these years. More than you can imagine.”

“It is a mutually beneficial arrangement,” Jake told him. He turned to Laura. “How about we go concoct a flight plan?”

“Let’s do it,” she said with a smile. She was nervous about flying an unfamiliar 172 over a mountain range that was called ‘the Alps’, but determined not to show it.

Jake walked her through the flight plan, which was a bit different than most she had done in the past. The highest she had ever flown on her own was eight thousand feet. They would need to climb to twelve thousand on the route Jake wanted her to take—a route that would pass within three miles of Mount Cook, the highest peak in New Zealand, which rose 12,218 feet above sea level—an altitude that was only fifteen hundred feet below the service ceiling of the aircraft. In order to obtain that height while ascending at the maximum safe rate of 600 feet per minute (which would decrease to around 300 feet per minute or so above 10,000 feet) she would have to fly from Ashburton to the outskirts of Christchurch and then turn almost due west and fly across the Canterbury Plains toward the mountains, climbing at 80 knots all the way. She was both excited and scared for the next hour and a half to come, and extremely glad that Jake was with her. She never would have attempted such a journey on her own.

The plane was painted to advertise the scenic tours business, the primary colors that of the New Zealand flag: red, white, and blue. It was a newer model than the one she had flown with Helen Brody during training, older than the one she had rented at SLO Regional for her solo training, but still the same basic aircraft with the same basic instruments and controls. She did a thorough preflight check on the exterior and then, finding nothing amiss, she and Jake got inside, she in the left hand seat, Jake in the right hand seat. Both had controls and could fly the plane, something that comforted her. She could always have Jake take over if something went amiss. She went through the engine start checklist and then the taxi checklist. Once that was complete, she radioed her intentions on the airport frequency and headed for runway 16, which was the one mostly facing into the six knot wind that was blowing.

She had never taken off or landed on a grass runway before, but she found it quite nice. The ride was smooth over the surface, with hardly any bumping. She reached 60 knots and pulled back gently on the yoke. The plane slowly rose into the sky. She climbed at 800 feet per minute for the first 45 seconds, the aircraft clawing its way upward, and then she retracted the flaps. The nose came down a bit and her climb rate settled in at 600 feet per minute. Her airspeed slowly but surely began to creep up until it settled on 80 knots, or about 92 miles per hour over the ground. She turned to the northeast, heading back toward Christchurch and settled in to watch the altimeter slowly spin upward.

At the angle of climb they were at, she could not see the ground through the windshield in front of her, just the blue of the sky and a few small, drifting clouds here and there. As such, when she reached her waypoint fifteen miles southwest of Christchurch International Airport, she could not see the city at all. Their altitude was now passing 4500 feet. She banked left and put them on a heading of 275, which would lead them to a pass through the Southern Alps just three miles from Mount Cook. She continued to hand fly the aircraft with no intention of ever turning it over to the autopilot. She was increasingly nervous but having fun, especially with Jake sitting calm, cool, and collected next to her.

When they reached twelve thousand feet of altitude (they had only been able to climb at 250 feet per minute for the past five minutes due to the thin air) she leveled and trimmed the plane. Now she could see the true beauty and majesty of the Southern Alps mountain range in front of them. The view, though she had seen it once before when Jake had flown her near them on their honeymoon, was breathtaking. Most of the peaks still had snow atop them, particularly Mount Cook, which she had no trouble picking out. It was the tallest peak in view and it looked to her like they were heading directly for it. She checked her GPS just to make sure she was not off course—after all, they were below the elevation of the summit—and saw they were exactly on the yellow line she was following. Their airspeed began to pick up now that they weren’t climbing. She adjusted the throttle so it settled on 115 knots indicated. The mountains grew closer and closer.

“This is incredible,” she said.

“Isn’t it?” Jake said. “I could never get tired of seeing this view. The clear air, the mountains, the plains beneath us.”

“I can feel how thin the air is though,” she said. “It feels like I’m not getting quite enough oxygen with each breath I take. I guess I’m spoiled by the pressurized cabin in the Avanti.”