Five Coins on a Counter

The picture where the dinghy is nosing into an apparently empty bay, the bay of the lonesome pine, is a perfect hurricane hole for small and shallow draft vessels like cats. With lines into the mangroves and a dog leg where we came up from Somme Bay no sea swell could possibly reach this area. Where we are anchored is reckoned to be a better hurricane hole than Noumea but this little spot is even more protected.

We soon found evidence of a camp used certainly in mining times with a rusty boiler and familiar precise stonework with smooth faced rocks providing an elevation from the ground for buildings. The site has also been used since judging by the crude shelter with a tent and man’s clothing in it. But we had not yet put two and two together, Rob was to do that a little later.

Off came our shoes and socks so we could paddle across the slippery rocks of the shallow Carenage River. A Frenchman strolled across at the same time in his flip flops and we shared a greeting as we dried our feet on our hankies.

We walked on savouring the shade and forever in awe of the diversity of plants and birdsong. We found the Blue River that I have mentioned numerous times before from our day with Francois and here in our anchorage and you can see why it gets its name can’t you, the colour made by the nickel laden rocks as well as other chemical elements no doubt . There was a nice spot on the high bank where we could sit and relax and have a drink of water. Opposite was a vaguely familiar copse of lovely trees including a straight trunked kaori in the middle. There was a good sized house in the centre with neat walls around it and outside seating and two enthusiastic dogs. The bigger of the two barked his question incessantly, “Who are you and what do you want?” while his little friend just stood and looked inquiringly at us. “Well are you going to come and make a fuss of me?”

There was no vehicle on the well-worn track outside the house and nobody responded to the dog’s enthusiasm. “That’s where we came up to in the dinghy,” Rob suddenly twigged. To cross the river at that point would have been difficult. In times past there was a suspension bridge as you can see from the remnants of the iron channels for the cables in the bark of the tree.

Someone had told us that a French chef lives there who has worked in various prestigious places around the world and he is willing to cook a meal for punters with prior notice. He also had a tinny and two canoes moored downriver, so I guess he was into the opportunistic tourist business too. Pity he wasn’t there, he sounded very interesting.

We wandered back a slightly different way and came across the hut we had seen on our canoe trip. It all made sense now, well some of it. The camp was interesting. Neat one stone high walls wound around the site encouraging people to stay on the paths. In the centre was a circle of stones looking very old. That lead me to wonder if the site was originally a Kanak village and this the base to the chief’s house. Fronting the river was the hut, its original thatch looked Melanesian but it was well built a long time ago using dressed whole log timbers within what was once a concrete and stone half-walled house.

Even from the canoe I felt there was a presence there as if the place is still occasionally visited. Rob found a patch of young kava growing in ground that had been cleared recently, maybe by the French Chef. I stepped cautiously towards the hut and found its contents were dry and clean, as if left yesterday for a short while, but more because the climate is so gentle and the camp hidden within protective trees. There was a little outside area and a covered lean-to where fuel in plastic cans and timber was neatly stacked. Inside behind a bar was a table and a diary from 2005, you can see the entry, a booking made by a Japanese couple, for a meal or to stay in one of the temporary shelters. Anyway they cancelled. Was that the final straw? Did the people running the place lose heart? The clean pots and dishes, including a fine blue glass dish were all clean and laid down upside down, but there was no dust or mildew on them. And on the bar counter five low denomination coins had been left dating from 2011 and 2015.

Rob thinks I am reading too much in to this and that the camp is recent, a kind of commune, used still once in a while and he might well be right. A little toilet block was nicely built with a modern loo and shower and a cesspit sunk into the ground behind it. But the loo had been smashed and the shower ripped apart. Vandalism?

Perhaps most mysterious was the wooden platform built on stilts that was once roofed with black plastic now lying to one side. A brand new generator, its manual still in its plastic cover, power points, computer leads, a cable tv dish and remote controls and items of clothing suggested someone came to live rough for a while.

But here is where Miss Marple ducks out and we returned to Zoonie to do some baking ready to celebrate our 10^th Wedding Anniversary. Another mystery; during the night a ship from the Port Prony jetty sounded its ships horn five times, that means there was a near incident within North Bay.