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I knew if I left writing about our travels until I got home again the writing would not be the same, if it even happened at all. There is always so much catching up to do, even when you are away for only three weeks, as we were. And then there is this thing I have noticed…I am never the same when I return from a trip to another country. I can never quite fit back into the same groove as when I left. Truth be told, I kind of like that. Travel changes me in ways it is difficult to describe. At least I have photos, and a few notes I managed to make along the way.
Debris along Bruce Bay
About a week into the trip, on a grey, overcast and lightly raining day between Franz Josef Glacier and Haast in the northwest of the South Island of New Zealand, we came upon Bruce Bay. We had not heard of it but it came at a time when a break in the driving was welcome and we were curious. When we first got out of the car I noticed an odd pile of smooth, white stones. It was obvious they had been intentionally placed there, but to what purpose? Looking up and down the beach we could see that there must have been some serious weather in recent times. The beach was eroded and large pieces of trees and giant seaweed had been washed up. Don walked off a little way, while I studied the stones. I was curious about the source of the stones and looked over the edge of the small precipice created by the erosion. Down below, maybe 10 feet, I could see smooth stones scattered all over the wet sand. It appeared people had been walking down to the beach and choosing a stone to bring back up to the top. And then, being human, they did a very curious thing. Each stone had been written on with texta (markers). There was either a message or a person’s name. I wondered if the name on the stone was the person who was writing the message, or someone they were missing. While we were there we noticed a couple of other people who arrived just after us, contributing to the pile. We did not. I recently heard, it says more about us, the things that we don’t do, than the things that we do. I wonder. Don said he was amazed how many people were carrying permanent markers! We laughed…and later I realised I had one too, in my drawing kit!
Stones of humanity
The day was monochromatic, ranging from mid-grey to almost, but not quite, black. As I looked up I saw Don standing on the beach, debris strewn on the sand as far as one could see. At my feet were the stones, a kind of monument to the human race, I supposed. Individual, but gathered together as a whole. Most were inscribed in a very considered way, and so neatly done, some faded, some vibrant. I took the photo of Don. And then I took a couple of photos of the stones. I wish now I’d taken more, why, I have no idea.
Some faded markings on beach stones
Later that evening we settled into the least luxurious accommodation of our trip, and logged into the Wifi to check email. The room was cramped and smelled of dampness, which was the prevailing condition in this part of the island. The wifi was good but there was no telephone signal! Haast is in a 244km blackout zone, and was just about to get mobile phone reception for the first time at the end of May 2018. This small, remote community had a nice information centre and several motels large enough to hold a few busloads of tourists. The town also housed the people who serviced it all. Don looked up from his iPad and said, “I’ve just gotten a message from Steve…Dad has died.”
I thought of that solitary silhouette I captured on the beach, and the pile of humanity represented at my feet earlier that day. I wonder how many people have a photo of themselves on the day their last parent has died? Alone, but not yet knowing you are alone. It was all okay, but still. Don had returned from seeing his Father, for what he knew would be the last time, only two weeks before departing for New Zealand.
Such is life. And death. They find us no matter where we are.
Alone.
ardysez 
A beautifully written piece Ardys. I am sorry for Don’s loss. It must have been difficult for him to travel and grieve. The last photo is very moving.
The stones- you make no judgement of the markings but I will. I like the idea of adding a stone to a pile, a meditation on loss or love or life. But I don’t think these texta markings are necessary. I think they are quite destructive and don’t quite fit with that wild, isolated place. I hope the permanent markings eventually fade- as your title also suggests. A stronger message can be written in invisible texta, with words that are shared simply by adding a rock to a pile.
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Writing is like painting…you are never certain if a piece is completed or not, you just have to stop at some stage. Since publishing this piece and reading your comment I’ve been washing windows. It gives me time to think. My further thoughts have been around why Don and I didn’t leave our ‘mark’ on Bruce Bay. There are actually several reasons, I think, and none of them involve my judgement of others who have done so. Don and I live in a place with a fragile environment. We are used to the idea of taking only photographs and leaving only footprints, so honestly I don’t think either of us entertained the idea of contributing to the ‘message stones’. Also, we are used to not going with the trends. And finally, as you say, it just didn’t seem necessary. When we travel we try to be sponges and see, feel and hear the place. We have seen many things happen before our eyes when traveling, some of it very unseemly, but the world is often unseemly, we don’t need to add to it. My thoughts are still incomplete… Thank you for reading and adding your thoughts, Francesca, I appreciate it.
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About carrying around a permanent marker, I’m with Don, though I also think there is a darker need in people to “make their mark,” even if it means defacing a beautiful part of nature. That photograph of him looking at the stones is quite striking. He appears both drawn to and a bit intimidated by that huge pile, while the sea and the sky seem unmoved. That the stones take up more than a third of the image is significant. The rational man stands alone between the forces of nature and questionable human impulses.
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I’m always intrigued by what people see in my art work or photographs. It is often something I haven’t intended, or even seen myself. I like your interpretation ‘The rational man stands alone between the forces of nature and questionable human impulses.’ The best photos and art are ones that have a narrative quality and can be interpreted many ways. Thank you for your comment, Albert.
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This is beautiful prose, Ardys. I always feel like I’m right there with you. I can see, feel, hear and sense the moment.
I understand completely, what you wrote about taking only a few images and later wishing you had taken more – having no reason to or idea why you didn’t. It certainly is a curious thought. This struck me too, ” I wonder how many people have a photo of themselves on the day their last parent has died? Alone, but not yet knowing you are alone.” That left me speechless. It made me wonder.
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Thank you Lori. That whole day was filled with unusual things. I will write more about them later. I think the reason I wish I had taken more photos was because I was trying to understand what that whole thing was about, the ‘why’ of it. It might be driven by something akin to graffiti, or it may be people striving for immortality. Some of it may even be following the sheep…with no thought at all! It does make me wonder.
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Beautiful writing, photos and sentiments. The words, “dad died” fit right in as if the whole day/scene was intended to be the backdrop for that news. And you captured it for your husband.
I agree – leave footprints.
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I agree. I thought the entire day was the intended backdrop for such news. It was a really lovely day, full of mood and special twists. And about the footprints…even those should be carefully considered, I think!
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Firstly and heartfeltly, my condolences to Don and you on the passing of Don’s dad. Your words ‘Such is life. And death. They find us no matter where we are.” and who we are, are something, I -whose father hasn’t been in the best of health for some time-was meant to absorb and ponder. I think, along with wonder about the urge to mark a stones among a pile of stones. Like you, places leave their mark on me rather than otherwise. I might take a photo to record a location or a moment. The photo of Don could have been commonplace travelling as we do as a couple, except for the juxaposition of the marker stones and loss. Many years ago upon beaches I was a shell collector, now I am a shell seeker. I find joy in picking up, admiring and leaving behind. It seems to me that is the art of life. And for us all, death.
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I love this little community that reads my blog posts. You and others say some amazing things, and we connect over some rather diverse topics as well. I have thought about your observation so many times in the weeks since I took that photo of Don on the beach, how it might have been like so many photos I’ve taken, but for the day and time it was rather profound. Taking photos is the only ‘taking’ I have need for these days, but the seeking, now that is a pleasure still. xx
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Beautiful, simply beautiful!
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Thank you, simply, thank you ❤️
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I find your writing is imbued with courage Ardys, sharing your deepest most inner felt thoughts and especially Don’s day of loss. I wonder if the stone scribes think as deeply about what they are doing, I suspect not. Brava
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Thank you so much Sandra. I sometimes think too much, but I also observe that others don’t seem to think enough. We can be sheep at times.
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What a beautiful meditation on your visit to that beach, Ardys, and what a moving mysterious day it sounded… before I realised the stones were marked by man, I had thought of the stupas in Tibet, an idea I love… the markings on the stones then reminded me of the graffiti, even of ancient peoples as well as our own, and how sometimes, ancient graffiti becomes historic markings…even the inscriptions sometimes left in WW2…I wonder what the future of those stones will be… .
I so understand your words about not going with trends… I can’t even bring myself to join a group who are all gathered round looking,,, at an accident or something else..
Sad for your husband he was so far away at his father’s passing…I hope he has come to terms with his loss now you are home… a friend who nurses in a hospice tells me that so often it is when the loved ones have gone, that the person slips away…blessings and greetings from Godzone …
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It really was a mysterious day, maybe even slightly enchanted by the spirit of New Zealand. We had a number of days like that on this trip. Don is an incredibly balance human being and he was actually fine with his Dad’s passing. It was not a shock, and he had only just visited him so what more can one do? I remain mystified at the writings on the stones and like you wonder if they last, what future civilisation will make of them! It is interesting, and at times even amusing to see what others make of our decisions to follow our own path and not bend to the trends… blessings to you in Godzone xx
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