Stand By Me

Chunder /ˈtʃʌndə/ means to be vomit. It allegedly originates from old seafaring days when seasick passengers on emigrant ships. would stick their head out of the porthole to puke and as they did this they shouted "watch under" to warn anyone below of the possible peril. Over the years the phrase has evolved into the word chunder - the perfect word for a day like today.

Whilst leaving Wellington harbour, we were warned that out on the Cook Strait the wind is reaching force seven to eight. "Better take those travel sickness tablets" the crew member chirpily informed us. I headed out on to the observation deck to see what all the fuss was about...

The boat was already rocking and rolling before we had fully left the harbour. It was all good fun though as young kids enjoyed being thrown around the deck. The first huge wave crashed across the observation deck (situated on level nine of this huge vessel!) which brought the fun and games to an abrupt end and resulted in a speedy retreat below decks.

With only a few (fool) hardy individuals for company, I clung desperately to anything that did not move. Meanwhile the boat was still booming through the wind-driven rain, the waves curling and hissing around us like the hooded heads of enraged serpents. As the waves increased in size, the ferry bounced around like a cork. This was my signal to retreat indoors.

My wet hands struggled to open the heavy steel door and, when the boat lurched in the opposite direction, I was thrown into the relative safety of the cabin. Moments later though, I was desperate to get back out on deck.

The stench was the first thing to to hit my senses, closely followed by the heat. I pulled my hood back to reveal a scene similar to the "complete and total barf-o-rama" story in Stand By Me where the legendary Lardass sets off an entire vomiting crowd at the blueberry pie-eating contest. There was chaos all around. Crew members tried to coerce people dressed for arctic exploration to remove a layer or three. Bodies were everywhere and covered in vomit - not necessarily their own!

I surveyed the carnage looking for somewhere to stash myself. In the corner sat, as cool as you like, an old salty sea dog. He beckoned me over and, with a glint in his eye, exclaimed: " I don't know what all the drama is about!?", then leaning in closer he revealed his "secret weapon". Before I had time to quiz him about how and why ginger beer calms seasickness, the cumulative effect of witnessing each member of the neighbouring family vomiting on each other forced me to leave. I decided to take my chances on deck...

The full force of Mother Nature was easier to handle than the havoc below decks. The fresh air and being stood in the centre of the boat helped to calm my stomach. Despite the horizon being thrown violently around, focussing on it helped my breakfast to stay in my stomach.

Moments later, the ferry made a violent 90° turn  which simply changed the direction in which we were thrown. Now we were riding up the back of the wave and crashing down the 7.5 meter face.

Approximately ten minutes later, the wave machine was switched off. An eerie silence spread throughout the ferry - almost as if people could not believe that the trauma could be over so suddenly.  People slowly emerged from below the deck. Their silvery skin glistening in the light to which their eyes struggled to adjust. The silence was eventually broken by the cackle of the tannoy system informing those who were injured of where to report and, without a hint of irony, that a full English breakfast will be served in ten minutes.

The remainder of the journey, in the shelter of the Queen Charlotte Sound, was beautiful, serene and idyllic. I arrived in Picton without any further events to prepare for a mountain bike expedition along the Queen Charlotte Track. First stop, I must find a bike... :)