Strange Happenings
Excerpt from 'Arapawa - Once Upon an Island'
by Betty Rowe

The approach to East Bay

Nothing proved such a diversion from my preoccupation with the wildlife as the growing awareness that we were sharing Aotea not only with an assortment of two and four-legged creatures, but also with a host of unseen, though often heard, cohabitants.

My first encounter came in the quiet of an early summer morning. The sun had yet to make an appearance, but the breeze through the open window was already hot and humid. We had risen before dawn so that the men could get away for an early sheep muster and avoid the heat of the day.

Enjoying my solitude, I decided to play Eve in my morning Garden of Eden and stripped down to the barest essentials. To add to the feeling of total freedom and my bohemian mood, I even removed the partial dental plate that fills in the gap where nature has denied me the growth of two second teeth. With gaping grin and clad only in undies, I was happily pottering away in the kitchen when to my horror I heard voices approaching on the path leading to the house. They sounded very near indeed and I panicked at my semi-nakedness and the welcoming smile that would be minus two prominent ivories.

To get to the clothing and the teeth, I had to pass through the lounge, where the ranch-slider doors would put me on full display. Chances of a quick cover-up diminished as the voices drew rapidly closer, so I darted into the bathroom and wrapped a towel around me, sarong style, wondering where on earth these people had come from. No boat had arrived and the dwelling in the next bay was seldom used. There was little chance of anyone arriving in the adjoining bay without being detected unless they came in the dead of night.

It was now possible to distinguish two, possibly three, women's voices, chattering and laughing as if sharing a happy moment, and from the clarity of their voices, I guessed they must be on the doorstep. I peered around the archway between the kitchen and lounge, fully expecting to see them. But there was no sign of them, so I sprinted to the bedroom and made myself socially acceptable.

The voices could not have been more distinct had we been engaged in direct conversation, yet the elusive callers refused to allow me the benefit of pinpointing their whereabouts. Whoever and wherever they were, one thing was certain; they had excellent voice projection, for to be heard so clearly yet remain unseen was quite remarkable.

Never mind, the mystery would soon be solved and I would know who came bearing such happy tidings in the early morning light. My welcoming smile, now with a full compliment of pearlies, faded when, as I stepped through the door exuding welcoming charm, the voices stopped and I was left smiling at the ngaio tree.

Running first to the back of the house to see if my friends had gone walkabout, I then raced to the head of the bay almost desperate to find visible bodies to attach to the voices, but I could neither see nor hear any sign of my visitors.

Perhaps, I thought, walking slowly back to the house, I had been invaded by talking myna birds! No, I assured myself, the radio had not been on. I struggled to rationalise what I knew I'd heard with what I hadn't seen. There must be a reasonable explanation.

Then I realised that the terriers, who always set up a fearful din when people arrived, had remained silent during the whole episode. Obviously, they had not heard anything to rouse them from their peaceful dreams on the couch. Several times that day, I rang the bach in the next bay hoping to solve the mystery, but the phone went unanswered.

Hearing bodiless voices on a single occasion was one thing, but when it happened again it became a bit unnerving. Again the voices approached in the early morning when I was alone. Needless to say, I wasted no time in rushing to catch my visitors before they could get away, only to find that as I stepped amidst their laughter, the sounds ceased just as abruptly as on the previous occasion.

My reports on the encounters, or should I say non-encounters, have met with varying responses. Some people tut-tut and mumble something about the strain of fighting with Knowledgables; others show interest and nod their heads to indicate they have had similar experiences. Since then the voices have come on many occasions and are not confined to early morning visitations nor to myself alone, for others, aware of the mystery and aura of Arapawa, have been allowed a glimpse into the unknown. For some it is frightening but I do not find it so. When I spoke to a Maori friend about it, she listened patiently and said it was `Just the Old People'. She assured me there was nothing to fear.

The Homestead of today...

The voices are not confined to the homestead path, either, for, as I walked in the woods one day, I heard the sounds of children at play. The happy squeals of the childlike voices came from my left and I turned from the usual path and moved deeper into the bush towards them. Although I walked for what seemed an eternity, I could get no closer to the sounds that lured me on.

When I stopped to assess the situation, I had an overwhelming feeling I was hopelessly lost. The trees seemed unlike any I'd seen before and there was no familiar landmark. As I stood there wondering if I'd stepped into another dimension, the voices of the children came towards me until the air around me was filled with the bell-like laughter and happy chatterings of youngsters at play. After my previous experiences, I knew they would probably not materialise. So I simply stood there and listened, until with an abruptness I'd come to expect, the sounds ceased.

Moments later I stepped out on to a ridge high above the homestead, although I'd been unaware of climbing to any height. What amazed me was that I could have reached such a lofty position with apparent ease for the trip down was both hazardous and difficult.

Shortly after my daughter-in-law came to live on the island, she and Mary were caught up in an experience that attested to the presence of men amongst our unseen guests. Marcia was in the lounge and Mary in the shower, at Aotea when both overheard male voices engaged in conversation. Since there is a window in the bathroom that would allow Mary to speak to someone without leaving the confines of the shower, Marcia presumed she was doing just that, while Mary could hear the male voices clearly above the noise of the running water.

Both girls assumed one of the men in the family was speaking with the other and it was not until later when Marcia casually asked Mary to whom she had been speaking so long while in the shower, and had received a blank, puzzled look, that any further thought was given to the owners of these male voices. Mary assured Marcia she had not spoken to anyone through the bathroom window and Marcia assured Mary she had remained alone in the lounge.

The men of the family were rounded up for questioning as to their whereabouts during the hours in question. All were able to verify their absence and none of them had passed or paused for so much as a `hello', much less a prolonged conversation as overheard by Mary and Marcia.

We were left with only one explanation - the unseen women and children of Aotea had not left their menfolk behind.

Jetty at day's end

Not all the visitations occurred during the day; some were in the night. Perhaps the oddest happening was that concerning a UBO (Unidentified Bobbing Object). Walt and I were on the deck of a friend's yacht saying goodnight after a lovely dinner and evening together, when Alan looked towards Aotea and saw the light.

`Hello, hello, what's that?' he asked, pointing to a greenish-blue globe that bobbed gently up and down in front of the house and, as we watched, moved slowly in the direction of the greenhouse. The first assumption was that someone had arrived while we were below deck having dinner, but it seemed strange we had not heard a motor since the mooring was not far from the homestead. Perhaps a boat had broken down and the occupants had been forced to row (which would explain their arriving unobserved) and with the light of a very weak torch were looking for help.

`Hello! Who's there?' we hollered through cupped hands to the globe as it passed in front of the greenhouse. There was no reply.

`It must be a sheep,' ventured Shalene.

`With one greeny-blue eye?' I countered with raised eyebrows.

There was an uneasy silence as we stood and watched, then Alan gave a relieved chuckle. `It's just the reflection of the mast light in the windows of the greenhouse!'

This explanation was accepted happily until we realised the `reflection' was continuing in places where no glass was present.

Our UBO could not be dismissed either as Venus, Mars or Jupiter on the horizon, a one-eyed sheep, reflections where they couldn't reflect and even the weak torch theory didn't hold much water.

There appeared to be only one way to find out and that was to head for Aotea and confront the mystery. With only a kerosene lantern to guide us, we edged through the starless night, trying to keep in sight the globe which by now had reached the bottom of the front lawn.

Although the air was still and windless, a sudden gust of wind, like someone's breath on a candle, extinguished our lantern light and we lost our sense of direction. The night was so black that even the familiar outlines of the hills were obscured and we had only the light from the yacht to use as a reference point.

While I fumbled with the lantern on the floor of the dinghy, Walt rowed slowly and cautiously, muttering at my inability to relight the lantern. I had no sooner succeeded and settled on to the seat when I was returned to the floor, joined by Walt, and we were plunged into darkness again. We had, with navigational expertise, beached ourselves on the rocks and the jolt had sent us sprawling in a jumble of oars, rope, arms and legs. To add to the confusion, the lantern had slipped from my hand.

Fumbling about in the dark, we located the lantern and, after much bumping into each other, filling our boots with water and tripping over the slippery rocks, we managed to get ourselves launched and drifted about aimlessly until we nearly decapitated ourselves as we rowed under the jetty. At least now we knew where we were and with all the confusion and noise we had managed to create, our unwelcome guest would know too.

Just before beaching ourselves on the rocks, we had seen the globe moving slowly over the gate and heading for the top shed. Then we had lost sight of it and our antics in the bay had precluded any chance of `sneaking up' for a confrontation.

Once we were safely on the beach, I managed to relight the lantern and, with a good deal of apprehension, we headed for the top shed. I held the lamp high, leaving Walt with two arms free for battle should the need arise and we wondered whether or not to be thankful that all the children were away. Their absence would ensure their safety but, if things got out of hand, two brawny young men would be more help to Walt than I would, especially as I was already too frightened to speak.

Samantha and Jody were now sleeping in the shed along with several other orphaned Arapawa goats, but no sound of animals, disturbed or otherwise, could be heard, only an eerie silence. We moved slowly through the gate and into the yards and, as the circle of light reached the little clearing outside the shed, there stood Sam and Jody, trembling and shaking with such force as to be visible in the dim glow of the lantern. I managed a husky whisper and they came to me, obviously frightened. The actions of the goats made us all the more uneasy and it all seemed slightly crazy; creeping around with our little lantern, looking for someone with an equally dim light. If we did find someone, it was going to be a shadowy confrontation.

We stepped gingerly into the shed to find the other animals had fled into the night. The lantern cast shadows on the old beams and rafters, turning stacks of wood and discarded farm materials into sinister and threatening shapes. Our over-stimulated imaginations gave life to these inanimate objects and I picked up a pitchfork to do battle with a menacing sack of barleymeal.

The top shed is divided in half by a waist-high wall - the only place left the culprit to be lurking if indeed he was in the shed at all! Armed with pitchfork and a stout axe handle, we advanced. When Walt gave the signal, I swung the lantern into the darkness created by the dividing wall. Walt stood poised to 'dong' any intruder as I played the light over the contents of the shed.

We stood with tensed muscles, barely breathing, when a noise from the other end of the shed caused us to whip around in alarm. Walt narrowly missed being punctured by my pitchfork in the process and I gasped to see a pair of beady eyes staring at me from the rafters above. I'm certain my heart skipped several beats in the few seconds it took to determine the eyes belonged to a disturbed rat that had scuttled away at our intrusion.

Stumbling down to the woolshed, like Holmes and Watson, we found nothing more menacing than our own fired imaginations and turned our attention to the house.

Due to some mechanical problem, the generator had to be cranked by hand and since I hadn't the strength to do this, we decided, after whispered consultation, that Walt would have to do the cranking and I would proceed to the house and flick on the lights.

The thought of entering the house was as spine-chilling as our advance on the shed had been, only this time I would be alone while Walt's crankings and chuggings and thumpings were enough to alert a whole army of burglars.

With a very good impersonation of the Cowardly Lion of Oz, I made my way to the house, slid open the doors and stepped inside. The anticipation of finding someone there almost paralysed me. When the 'genny' had reached what sounded like the proper crescendo, I flipped the switch and waited for Walt to appear. Together we searched under beds, in wardrobes, behind furniture and doors until we were satisfied no-one was present.

Walt thought we should go outside and look around once more but some cowardly intuition made me yearn for rooms where light filled all the corners, and we eventually went to bed with all lights blazing except in the bedroom where we slept but fitfully, jumping up and arming ourselves at every noise throughout the night. Our friends from the yacht arrived early next morning to see if we were all right. They had, from their vantage point on the water, been able to observe the globe move past the top shed and out along the track and then disappear. Walt and I had assumed `It' had entered the shed and we had crept around in a cold sweat for nothing, playing cops and robbers and working ourselves into a paranoid state.

The origin of `It' was never discovered for the light has never returned to Aotea unless it do so when unobserved. Whether it was animal, vegetable, mineral or of the spirit offered tantalizing speculation and, while the experience shook us at the time, it left no lasting fear, only curiosity.

Rex, a frequent visitor to Aotea, was a bit sceptical about all these stories of bobbing lights and mysterious voices until he had his own unusual experience.

Returning from a walk, he came into the woolshed where Mitch and Walt were shearing. The usually calm, cool and collected Rex was in a state of high excitement for, while he had long ago learned, like the rest of us, that the unexpected is often the norm at Aotea, he had not been prepared for the events that had sent him scurrying home from his morning walk.

`You'll never guess what I've just seen!'

The accent was on the `never' and Rex took a physical step backward in disbelief when Mitch, without missing a stroke, answered calmly: `The disappearing island.'

`How did you know?' Now the accent was on every word.

Straightening up, Mitch exchanged puzzled looks with Rex. `I don't really know why I said that. It just came into my mind.'

No stranger to Arapawa, Rex had followed a route to the tops that he had taken many times before. Reaching the summit, he was confronted by a strange and unfamiliar sight, and his first reaction was to assume he had somehow taken a wrong turn and emerged further north than he had thought.

On closer examination, he found he was indeed exactly where he had first assumed he was, but there in the water stood a body of land separated from Arapawa by a narrow neck of sea. The island was fairly large and bush-clad and Rex was aware of bird life among the trees.

Not one to be easily startled and frightened, Rex had surveyed his surroundings and studied the little island for some time before deciding to retrace his steps and return for another look. This he did, only to find the island was no longer where it had been ten minutes before. Rex was able to produce a clear and concise drawing of the island and its relationship to Arapawa. Unfortunately, he did not have his camera with him to capture it on film, but I wondered if it would have shown up even if he had managed to photograph it. The disappearing island has been seen by several people who report similar stories of coming upon a land mass in a place where nothing before had been seen and the accompanying feeling that they were in a strange place.

In his book, Kei Puta Te Wairau, W.J. Elvy describes in vivid detail some of his own encounters with ghost ships and long-departed souls on Arapawa Island. Dr Elvy's strange and wonderful experiences on the island were my first introductions to the legend and history of Arapawa and further readings about the area have confirmed it as a place of special significance...