We are now ground-bound, nestled in a lovely pine grove in a campground near Muriwai Beach, one of the black sand beaches on the west coast of the North Island. We have borrowed Michael and Gloria's Subaru Legacy station wagon and all of its camping gear and will be out and about until their return from Canada on February 2nd. We had fun dissecting g/v (ground vehicle) Subaru Sally's interior and have found, to no surprise, that M & G know exactly what they're doing when it comes to camping, right down to the freeze-dried food. It took us a little while to sort out the tent, and we realized it had been over a decade since either one of us had set up a little camp tent. We felt a bit clumsy but got it all sorted out, blew up the air mattresses, unrolled the sleeping bags, organized the food and clothes and dishes so we can actually get at them, and now our little camp home is feeling quite comfy. It will be a different experience breaking camp every few days -- a lot more labor-intensive than pulling anchor and sailing away.

Yesterday we had the loveliest time with the gannets -- graceful-looking birds that reminded us much of the blue-footed boobies, and may in fact be related to them, with webbed feet, beautiful long necks, delicate yellow heads and long beaks. They're clumsy when land-bound and fantastic in flight. The gannets breed on a cliff here on a few rocky out crags and ledges. They mate for life, keep the same nesting spot year after year, produce one chick each season, share the nesting duties in regular blocks, and kick the speckled youngster out after 15 weeks. The scraggly youth flies to Australia where it goes on walkabout for a year or two, then flies back. Apparently only one-quarter of those who leave actually return, and I don't think it's because they met and fell in love with a kookaburra in Tasmania.

We stood mesmerized on the bluff, the stiff wind blotting all other sounds and putting us in a bit of a trance, leaning on the rail of the observation deck, and looking down at one of the nesting areas. Looking rather like a flat ski hill with tiny moguls, the nesting areas are wall-to-wall gannets, a crowded urban sprawl of birds, with each mound containing a bird, or a pair, and maybe a fuzzy, molting chick. When one gannet returns from being out and about, it lands with a thud on the other, and a very sweet greeting ritual begins immediately: they first spar with their beaks, their heads held high, crossing back and forth. Then they do a graceful bend of the head, one left, one right, like a shy neck hug, and then they seem to do a mutual neck nibble. It lasts about 5 minutes, and then they resume their nest-protecting and chick-grooming duties. It made me feel sad for the human race: our greeting rituals vary from person to person, couple to couple, culture to culture, so that nowadays nobody knows how to do what. I was thinking how pure and simple the animal world is: the rules are the rules, and nobody thinks to change them. Doesn't work for us independent thinking intelligent humans, though, as most governments have discovered.

We got some pretty good laughs watching some of the birds come in for landing, a rather tricky maneuver in stiff winds, trying to literally stall and drop on the right mate. When they'd miss, or land short, they'd start a clumsy flapping rushing scramble to the edge of the cliff to take off again, meanwhile being pecked and taunted by every bird along the way.

This campground has all the comforts of home, with hot showers (50 cents for 5 minutes), a huge kitchen with an intant hot water dispenser, grills, stoves, sinks, lots of table and prep space, and shared refrigerators. Apparently these are common amenities at many camps -- we'll see as we go along. They even have a TV room with old chairs and a molding collection of books in the lending library. We've found that our time on the boat and in the community of other sailors, dealing with occasional hardships, relying on each other, and always adapting to new things has prepared us for this communal lifestyle of camping, and we will no doubt visit some of the backpacker and hostel facilities along the way when it's raining or when camping doesn't seem comfortable. It's all relevant, you know, our expectations and requirements can so easily be altered. 2 years ago I don't think I would have fancied a hostel experience. Now, it looks fun! Go figure.

After a challenging game of Scrabble in the tent, we slept well, with a plethora of birds and beetles serenading us through the night and morning. We've had our 5-minute showers, bowls of raisin bran, and may now go begging for a little milk for our coffee. Then, we're going to rent some of those go-carts with sails and zoom around on the hard plateau of black sand on the beach here. Looks like serious fun, and we miss sailing ...