Illustrators Then and Now
In this first Part 4 School Journal of the new millennium, we take a look 
at Journal illustration as it was and as it is today.

Russell Clark 1905 – 1966
Long before the School Journal was printed in colour, New Zealand 
artist Russell Clark was using only black and white ink to illustrate for 
the magazine.  In the following adaptation of a 1949 School Journal 
article, he describes the technique he used to create these early 
illustrations.

I begin the illustration by pencilling the layout or composition on a 
piece of smooth card.  The ink stage comes next.  Drawings must be done 
finally in black India ink for reproduction in books, and so I go over 
nearly all the pencil lines with ink, using an ordinary tuppenny mapping 
pen.  Then I must fill in the most solid blacks.  I use a very old brush 
with the hair cut off about a quarter of an inch from the ferrule.  I dab 
on the ink, leaving a solid black mass with a spotted edge to give 
modelling and light and shade.  Then follows the line work with a pen, 
which gives tone or colour to the drawing.  Finally, just here and there, 
with a pen and white ink, I draw a few white lines cutting through the 
black to give sparkle.
Illustrators are often asked where they get the detailed information 
for their drawings.  The answer in my own case is in a constantly 
growing library of books and files of loose leaves on which I have pasted 
descriptions and photographs of a particular subject.  But there are times 
when even these cannot supply the reference I want, and then I have to 
look elsewhere.  In the case of the Màori drawing, the Museum was the 
most help.


Te Maari Gardiner (Ngàti Tùwharetoa, Ngài Te Rangi)
Illustrator and writer Te Maari Gardiner lives in Tùrangi.  She talks 
about her work as an illustrator.  

I begin an illustration by making pencil sketches on rough paper.  
This helps me to work out how the characters will look, how they 
will interact with each other, and how they will fit in with the 
background of the illustration.  I also think about how the finished 
page will look when both the words and the illustration are in 
place.

When I am satisfied with everything, I use watercolour pencils to 
trace the rough drawing onto heavier, good-quality paper.  I then 
work with watercolour paints, adding the colour with a fine 
paintbrush and blending and mixing until I like the results.  

I love vibrant colours.  I use them to create a mood or an 
atmosphere:  happy, sad, peaceful, action-packed, light, heavy – 
whatever the story needs.  To complete the illustration, I 
sometimes use a pen and coloured ink to outline details that I want 
to emphasise.

When I work on Màori stories, I use Màori designs.  These designs 
aren't just beautiful, they're traditional symbols, and they help to 
give extra meaning to the story.  For example, in "The Battle of 
the Mountains", I used ṕtau patterns on Ṕhanga's cloak.  These 
traditional patterns are based on uncurling fern fronds.  They not 
only tell us that Ṕhanga is beautifully covered in Tàne's forests, 
but they also suggest that, like the forest, she is peaceful, 
protective, and nurturing.  She looks after those in her care like a 
mother (the local people call her Whaea Ṕhanga – Mother 
Ṕhanga).  Ṕhanga's colours help to show this, too. 
The ṕtau patterns also suggest her timelessness.  Since ancient 
times, Pihanga has stood and watched as the cycle of nature 
continues to take its course about her.
"The Battle of the Mountains" is a Tùwharetoa legend.  My own 
Tùwharetoa marae of Otukou is nestled on the northern foothills of 
Tongariro, looking across Lake Rotoaira to Ṕhanga.  It is 
important to me, as a Tùwharetoa person, that we of Tùwharetoa 
are the ones who have the privilege of sharing our own story with 
the children of Aotearoa.

Sister, Soldier
by Jo Leslie

When Mum answered the phone, she was all smiles.  "Great!  Good girl," 
I heard her say.  "I'm really proud of you."  The call was from my big 
sister, Amber.  She'd completed her basic army training in Waiouru and 
would be home at the end of the week.  Just as well.  We were getting 
sick of hearing Mum say "I wonder how Amber's getting on?"  Soon 
we'd know all the details.
My oldest sister had always wanted to join the army, so when she saw 
an advertisement in the paper calling for recruits, she sent away an 
application form.  The army asked her to sit an IQ (intelligence) test 
and ran a security check on her to make sure that she wasn't a criminal 
or a drug addict.  She was also given a medical examination to check her 
eyesight, her hearing, and her general health.  
After all that was over, and she'd been accepted into the 3rd Field 
Ambulance section, Amber went to the army store to be measured for her 
uniform and to receive all the gear that she'd need while in training.  
My twin sister Hannah and I couldn't wait to see everything that she'd 
been issued with – and we never expected that there'd be so much!
Amber's army gear took up a heavy pack and an enormous grip-bag.  
She dumped everything onto the floor of our lounge and started 
unpacking. 
Out of her pack she took a sort of harness called webbing.  It looked 
like wide braces connecting to a belt arrangement.  Pockets and pouches 
clipped onto the webbing to hold drink flasks, water purifying tablets, 
ammunition, first-aid gear, and rope.  A bumbag containing wet-weather 
gear also fitted on.  Amber explained that webbing is worn low on your 
hips so that it hangs down below your pack.  You can pop chocolate bars 
into any of the pouches and, if you need to run for your life, you can 
dump your pack while the webbing stays on you as a survival kit.  
Inside the pack there was also a pruning saw, an entrenching tool – a 
small spade that broke into two pieces for easy packing, a "hoochie" (a 
shelter a bit like a tent) and some poles to go with it, strange plates that 
looked like metal Tupperware, and some weird-looking cutlery that 
folded up together.   
Amber explained that everyone has to have their gear packed in 
exactly the same way so that if someone gets hurt, the person helping 
them can locate their food and medical equipment as fast as possible.  
Amber opened her grip-bag, and her uniform kept coming out for 
ever:  green socks, green long johns, green gloves, camouflage shirts 
and trousers, and a wide, striped belt with colours to show which part of 
the armed service she belonged to.  There were several hats and a badge 
for her beret.  
After a while, she tried on some of the gear, and suddenly it seemed 
as if our sister had disappeared and that a soldier was standing in our 
lounge.  It was kind of spooky.  
All that had been over three weeks before.  Soon, Amber would be 
home, and we'd see what a real soldier looked like.

At the end of the week, there she was, Amber, our sister-soldier.  She 
didn't look too different, but she sure had a lot to tell us!  We all 
hugged her.  Then we gathered around the photos that she'd brought back 
– and listened. 
It was in November that she trained, and she said that it was very 
hot.  There was so much to learn, and right from the start, it was really 
tough going.  In those first few days at Waiouru, the recruits got so hot 
and tired that some of them gave up and left.
Everyone was allocated a barrack – separate ones for women and men.  
Amber's barrack was where she slept, kept her gear, and did her 
washing.  She shared it with forty others.  In the morning, she had only 
fifteen minutes to shower, dress, and make up her bedroll – and that was 
with everyone else all trying to do the same thing.  With only four 
showers, the girls who had long hair just had to "bun it" for a whole 
week – there wasn't enough time to do everything. 
The way Amber explained it, the bedroll sounded like some kind of 
weird dance.  It's not just a matter of making your bed really tidy.  A 
bedroll is like a sandwich with a blanket, then a sheet, then another 
blanket, and then another sheet, all folded up in the right order to make 
a flat, rectangle shape.  Not a wrinkle or bump is allowed.  The 
"sandwich" gets secured by another blanket, and the whole thing sits at 
one end of your bed with a pillow on top, ready for inspection.  If it's 
somehow wrong, the bedroll gets pulled apart, and you have to begin all 
over again.  One day, the girls next door to Amber didn't leave their 
room as they should have, and Amber and her room-mates were ordered 
to trash it.
Boots have to really shine, ready for inspection.  Even the soles get 
checked underneath for chewing gum or stones and stuff.  The badge on 
your beret has to be in exactly the same spot as everyone else has theirs, 
and your sleeves have to be rolled up to the same length as everyone 
else's.   Everything is either perfect or punishment.
Amber made basic training sound exciting – and even funny 
sometimes.  She said that the best bit in the whole three weeks was when 
her platoon, and that's forty people, went on a night exercise.  They 
wore camouflage gear and were taken to an area of scrub, rocks, and 
tussocks.  They had to crawl as quietly as possible through the scrub 
towards a light in the distance.  All the while, the corporals with them 
walked around ready to shine a torch on anything that moved.  If you got 
caught in the torchlight, you were disqualified.  Out of forty trainees, 
only ten got to the safe area, and out of all the women, Amber was the 
only one who made it.  Wow !
It wasn't all fun, though.  Right at the beginning of the three weeks, 
the recruits were tested for fitness, and every day after that, they did 
some sort of fitness training.  There were team sports, press-ups, sit-
ups, and a really hard confidence course like the ones you see on telly.  
They had to run in full uniform while carrying a pack too.   Amber said 
that it was exhausting.  
Once, she and her friend were so tired from fitness and field 
exercises that they got the giggles and couldn't stop.  As a punishment, 
they had to leopard-crawl down the hallway in front of everyone.  The 
leopard crawl is a flat, low, body-on-the-ground crawl – not funny, and 
not easy either. 
Rifle drill was another demanding part of the training.  Recruits are 
taught to treat their rifle like part of themselves.  If anyone leaves their 
rifle unattended for even a few moments, they have to pick it up, 
apologise to it, kiss it, and swear never to ignore it again.  This gave 
Hannah and I an idea, and we can still make Mum laugh by pretending to 
lose a jersey or a book and then hugging and kissing it when we find it.  
Before recruits are allowed to fire their rifles, they're taught safety 
drills, and they have to pass a practical test.  Amber said that learning 
to take a rifle apart, clean it, and put it together again in seconds, not 
minutes, took lots of practice.  Then, after all that, they had to learn to 
fire at targets – and hit the right spot. 
When the three weeks of training were finally over, everyone felt 
that they'd learned so much.  Amber reckons that all the recruits had 
lost weight and that they were fitter and stronger than before.  They'd 
made good friends, too, and they'd come to understand the importance of 
discipline.  Amber's platoon was judged the best – what a buzz!  
I looked at Hannah.  Would we ever consider basic training?  We'd 
have to think hard about that one!

The Lemon Grove
a true story from Tajikistan by Shaklo Himmatova

It was in the evenings, especially, that we heard the terrible sound of 
the guns.  Although the adults in the village didn't want to tell us what 
was happening, we already knew.  We would hear it from neighbours – 
that so and so had been killed or that houses in another village had been 
burned down.  
It was said that those who did the fighting came at night, and so, a 
few weeks after the trouble began, my father announced that it was too 
dangerous for us to sleep in our house and that we should hide in the 
lemon grove at night.  That way, if anyone came searching the house for 
us, they wouldn't find us there.  
That was in early spring.  It was still too cold and damp to be 
sleeping outdoors, but we did as he said.  It felt safer there, sheltering 
under the lemon trees that we had planted together as a family years 
before.
The fighting in Tajikistan eventually lead to our schools being closed 
so we spent the days helping my mother with farm work.  Our father 
continued to go each day to the collective farm nearby, where he worked 
and was a trade union chairman.  And so our lives continued as best they 
could until, one day, someone came running along the road towards our 
house, shouting that our village was being attacked. 
We had no time to run to the lemon grove so, instead, we hid in the 
barn, amongst the dry hay stored in the top level.  It wasn't until a 
neighbour came, some time later, to tell us that the warning had been a 
false alarm, that we climbed down again.  It was only then that I noticed 
how swollen my hand was.  There had been a nest of bees in the hay, and 
I had been so frightened of being discovered that I hadn't even felt them 
sting.
Over the next few months, we continued to hear gunfire in the 
distance.  Then, one morning in late September, it seemed much closer.  
My father came running into our house, his face lined with fear.  We 
must leave immediately he said.  Our village was about to be attacked.  
We could tell from the noise that this time it was true.
Lunch was left on the table.  We didn't even think about what clothes 
to take.  We fled in what we were wearing.
My sister, Rano, ran to the house of relatives to pass on the warning.  
A few minutes later, she arrived back in their car, and we divided our 
two families between their vehicle and ours and set off for the town of 
Dushanbe.
Almost immediately, we were stopped by police.  They told us that 
the road ahead was blocked by fighting.  We turned around and drove 
back into our village. When my father saw how many people were still 
there because they had no vehicles to take them away, he fetched a truck 
for them from the collective farm.  Then, in a small convoy of vehicles, 
we set off together towards the Pyanj River, close to the Afghan border.
It was the next day before we reached the town of Pyanj, where the 
authorities had given permission for refugees to stay and where 
thousands of us had to sleep in only a few school buildings.  We were 
allocated shelter on the outskirts of the town.
During the next three months, we used up all the money that we had 
brought with us, and although we received some aid in the form of food, 
my father was very worried.  How could he earn enough money to feed 
us when there was no work for him?  Our situation grew worse and 
worse.  Winter was closing in, and by December, it had started to snow.
Each morning, my father would leave us to look for work and to try 
to find out from the military authorities if it was safe for us to return 
home.  Then, on the 27th of December, he did not return.  
Three days passed.  We heard that there had been fighting in the 
centre of town.  Finally, my mother and I went in search of him.
First we went to where the soldiers were based, down by the river.  
He wasn't there.  Then we made our way into the centre of Pyanj.  
Walking through the streets was terrible.  There were bodies lying on 
the ground, and we looked among them for my father.  I never thought 
that people could do such things – that they could have so much hate in 
their hearts.
At the entrance to the bus station lay more bodies – about three 
hundred in all.  Again we searched among the dead for my father.  Then 
my mother finally found him.  We crouched over his body, shocked and 
crying.  Together, we carried him to the house of some people that we 
knew, and they helped us to bury him.

By early January, the authorities were saying that everybody should go 
back to their villages.  For three days, we waited in the square for a 
ride, but there was never enough space on board the vehicles.  Whenever 
a truck arrived, everyone would surge forward, trying to find a place.  
In the noise and chaos, I saw a mother climb onto the back of a truck.  
Just as she was reaching down to pull her children aboard, it lurched 
off.  She was left screaming as the truck disappeared around a corner 
while her seven children, some of them no more than babies, stood in the 
square, crying for her.
When the official truck transport stopped, and we were still in Pyanj, 
my mother became determined to find us a safe way back to our village.  
We had heard people say that if you went the usual way, through the 
lowlands, men would stop you and take away the girls.  The only 
alternative was to travel through dangerous mountain passes.  My mother 
feared that option, but if it meant that we could return home, she was 
prepared to do it.
Finally, my mother found room for us on a truck that was crossing 
the mountains.  It was leaving late in the afternoon, and the driver 
promised to take us all the way.  We were so grateful because we had no 
way of paying him.
The trip took seven hours, and the road was very bad.  At one point, 
the truck became stuck in mud, and we all had to get out and push.  As 
we rode on the back of the vehicle, without cover and with no warm 
clothes, the wind cut through us like broken glass.  We older ones kept 
silent, too cold and too tired to talk.  My younger brother and sister 
cried.  There was not even any food to give them.
I know that our mother kept her fears to herself.  Would the truck 
break down?  Would we be attacked?  Would the police send us back?  
At the top of the pass, it was snowing.
Eventually we were dropped off near our village, and my mother and 
older brother went to check on our house.  When they returned, there 
were tears in their eyes.  All that was left of our house were the walls.
As we sat together on the side of the road, wondering what to do 
next, a big military truck pulled up, and a young man called Rahmon*, 
the son of someone we hardly knew, got out of the cab.  He said that if 
it would help, he could take us to Dushanbe.  My mother accepted.
On the way there, we passed people huddling around fires on the side 
of the road.  I suppose that, like us, they were trying to get away from 
the fighting.  
It was quiet when we arrived in Dushanbe at four in the morning.  At 
that time, the fighting hadn't reached that part of the country.  Rahmon 
took us to his own house and fed us.  
My mother made plans for us to go to relatives in the Republic of 
Uzbekistan, and the next day Rahmon obtained the travel permits that we 
would need.  He paid for our train tickets and took us to the station.  He 
did all this for us, and yet he hardly knew my family.  What is even 
stranger is that he had sided with those who, we believed, had attacked 
our village and killed my father.  I try never to forget that even among 
our supposed enemies, there are still people of great kindness.
We are now settled in the village of Sakaldy, in Kyrgyzstan.  With 
the help of relatives and government aid, we have a small area of land to 
farm.  My older sister has work in a bakery.  I am at school, learning in 
a new language.  
Each year, when the lemons around our new home are ripe, my mother 
collects a few from a nearby citrus grove.  She brings them inside to 
perfume the house, and together we remember my father, his great love 
for us, and our love for our homeland in Tajikistan before the war 
began. 

* This is not the true name of the driver, whose identity Shacklo was 
fearful of revealing.

Shaklo Himmatova was fourteen years old when she wrote this account of 
her life during the war in Tajikistan in 1992-3.  As a result of the war, 
hundreds of thousands of people were forced to flee their homes, never 
to return.  In Qurgonteppe, the region of Tajikistan where Shaklo lived, 
35 000 homes were destroyed.  

Fun with Photos
by Jenny Scown
If you have a camera of your own, chances are it's an autofocus model – the sort where 
all you have to do is point and click.  So how come, when you get your photos back from 
the developer, they're never as good as you hoped?  Professional photographer Jenny 
Scown answers readers' questions and offers some smart tips for first-time 
photographers.

Help desk
Just a blur
Q  Nothing looks clear in my 
photos.  How can I stop 
everything going blurry?
	Frustrated Photographer

A  It sounds as though you're not 
holding your camera steady.  Keep 
well balanced when you're taking 
a photo.  Tuck your elbows in 
comfortably by your sides.  When 
possible, rest your elbows on a 
steady surface.  Press the shutter 
button gently but firmly so that 
you move the camera as little as 
possible.

Too far away
Q  Everything in my photos looks 
too far away.  No one ever looks 
at my prints and goes like, "Wow!  
That's awesome!"
	Disappointed

A  If you want your photos to 
have impact, fill your frame!  
Move closer to your subject or, if 
everything else in the frame looks 
OK, get your subject closer to you.

Waste of money
Q  Kia ora, Jenny.  Photos cost 
heaps to develop, and when mine 
come back from the chemist's, 
either they're too dark or they 
have too much light flaring 
through them.  It's a waste of 
pocket money.  Please help!
	Kahurangi

A  Kia ora, Kahurangi.  I agree, 
photos do cost a lot, so you want 
to get things right.  To avoid too 
much light in your photos, never 
take a shot with the lens pointing 
directly into the sun.  To avoid 
dark shots, use a flash.  If you 
don't have a flash, take your 
subject outside.

Got to get a head
Q  My mum gave me a disposable 
camera for my birthday, and I've 
been taking some great shots of 
my friends – but next time, I'd 
like to include their heads in the 
pictures!  Any suggestions?
	The Phantom Guillotiner

A  My guess is that you've been 
pushing the camera down as you 
press the shutter button – this is 
very easy to do if you're using a 
light, compact camera.  You need 
to hold the camera in a more 
stable way.  See my reply to 
Frustrated Photographer.


On a lean
Q  The people in my photographs 
look as though they're standing at 
weird angles.  Even the trees look 
like they're about to fall over.  I 
guess this would be okay if I was 
taking the shots on board a ship 
in rough weather – but, actually, 
I've been on firm land each time.
	Puzzled

A  You're not holding your camera 
level when taking a photo.  
Sometimes, holding a camera on 
an angle can make a photo more 
interesting, but most of the time 
it's better to keep it straight.

Blobbing out
Q  Tàlofa, Jenny.  Every time my 
photos come back from the 
developer's, there's a fuzzy blob 
in the middle of each one.  Could 
there be an alien in my camera?  
Ṭfà soifua,
	 Mele

A  Tàlofa, Mele.  The alien in your 
camera is your finger!  Wear your 
neck strap around your neck to 
help support the camera and keep 
your finger off the lens when 
you're taking a photo. 
Fa'amolemole!  

Problems indoors
Q  I took some indoor photos for 
the first time.  My camera flash 
was working, but the photos 
turned out all milky and washed-
out looking.  Also, everyone has 
bright red eyes.  My albino rat is 
the only one who doesn't care – 
her eyes are red, anyway!
	Amy

A  If your flash photos look 
washed out and milky, you're 
probably standing too close to 
your subject.  Experiment by 
taking some flash photos and 
noting down how far away you are 
from the subject each time.  In the 
meantime, take a step back!
About that red-eye: most young 
photographers have cameras 
where the flash is close to the 
lens.  This means that the light 
from your flash gets reflected 
back from the blood vessels in 
your subjects' eyes, and into the 
lens of the camera.  To avoid red-
eye, take the photo so that no one 
(except, maybe, your pet rat) is 
looking directly at the lens.


Tired of taking boring photos?  Be adventurous!
•	Take a close-up of your favourite subject and fill the frame.
•	Try a different angle.  To make your subject look bigger, lie on the ground.  To 
look down on your subject, stand on a chair or climb a ladder.
•	Take photos in different lights, such as after rain, in the early morning or late 
afternoon, and at sunrise or sunset.

Great ideas for fun photo projects
•	Tell a story with photos and add the words later.  You might try recording a 
day in the life of someone who has an interesting job.
•	Take a panorama photo.  This is a long picture that shows a superwide view.  
Choose a place such as an open beach or a hilltop with a view of a city.  Stand 
in one place and keep the camera level.  Take several photos, swinging your 
body around a little after each photo.  Your aim is to make the photos overlap, 
so don't swing around too far each time.
•	Try working with poetry and pictures.  Take a photo and write a poem to go 
with it.  When you have enough poems and photos, combine them in a book 
that you can give as a gift.
•	Choose your most special photos and make them into your own calendar or 
cards.

Don't waste the rejects!
Even photos that you're not happy with can look good in a collage.  Don't be 
afraid to trim off the parts of a photo that you don't like or to cut out just one 
subject from a photo.  And an interesting frame can hide the worst parts of an 
otherwise great photo.*

Photo talk
subject:	the main focus of the photo: a person, an animal, or an object
candid:	a photo taken when the subject is not expecting it – candid 	
	photos always look natural and often give the best results
posed:	a subject that you have specially arranged, for example, your 		dog 
with his sunglasses on in a bubble bath 
action:	a photo that catches the subject "on the move", for 		
	example, your sister on her Rollerblades
still life:	photos of everyday objects, such as flowers or toys, 		
	arranged in a way that you like.

A personal note from Jenny
Photography is about capturing the moment and learning to see the pictures that 
are around you every day.  Holidays, school camps, market days, festivals, and 
fairs all provide plenty of photo opportunities.  But your own home and 
environment is one of the best places to begin a hobby that might one day become 
a career.  Good luck, have fun, and let your imagination run wild!	


*For ideas about how to make your own photo frames, see School Journal, Part 4 
Number 3, 1998.

Future-thinkers
by Pat Quinn

If you could time-travel into the middle of the next century, what do you 
think schools would be like?  Would there even be any?  If there were 
schools, what would students be learning – and how would they be 
learning it?

In a large room overlooking Wellington's business district, thirty 
students aged eleven to eighteen are grouped around fifteen laptop 
computers.  The computer software they are using has been 
specially designed to help brainstorm ideas.
The students are all finalists in the 1998 Science and Technology 
Fair, and they have been brought to this room by the New Zealand 
Futures Trust.*  The Trust wants to ask students of today what they 
think will be important for students of the future.  Pat Quinn sits 
in on the action.

We're ready to go.
We're told: "Think as big as possible.  Don't think the obvious; go 
right out on a limb."  The first instruction comes up on our screens:

Write down why you think it will be important for young people 
to learn things in the next century.

Everyone starts talking and typing.  As the ideas are keyed in, they 
appear on all the computer screens.  We can't tell where the ideas 
come from, so we don't have to worry about what other people 
think of what we write or how we spell it!  Sometimes, people type 
stuff like "Hello" or "This is a pointless question", but pretty soon 
we have fifty-three ideas on our screens.  At our computers, we 
vote for the ideas that we think are best.  Then our screens show us 
the whole list again, now sorted in order of votes.

In response to the question "Why will it be important for young 
people to learn things in the next century?", the five most popular 
ideas are:
•	so that we can continue the effort to clean and care for the 
planet and so that disease and pollution can be eliminated to 
provide a better environment
•	the same reason for learning that people have always had: the 
need to continue growing and expanding and improving society 
as a whole
•	because it sucks being stupid
•	if knowledge doesn't continue to expand, the human race will 
cease to advance
•	technology is improving at a staggering rate, and so lifelong 
education will become more necessary as machinery and 
technology continue to replace more labour-intensive jobs.

Next, two more questions appear on our screens: 

What will people need to learn in the future?
Where and how will they learn it?

We type our ideas in.  Some of our responses to "What will people 
need to learn in the future?" were: 

•	genetic engineering
•	primary skills, such as reading and writing 
•	computer programming
•	how to do the jobs that haven't been invented yet
•	life skills – rather than the sort of learning that turns students 
into walking encyclopedias 
•	an appreciation of how technological appliances operate, 
especially important items such as computers
•	touch typing (or things will take for ever to get done)
•	how to live in harmony and through co-operation 
•	a knowledge of music and musical instruments as everyone will 
have more spare time.

Some of our ideas in response to "Where and how will people learn 
in the future?" were:

•	solo – through the use of electronic communication 
•	in classrooms (we still need a social life)
•	in classes of equal-ability students rather than in classes based 
on similar ages 
•	by doing
•	in schools run on a personal teacher-student basis, the way they 
do now
•	in big classrooms, using computer screens and fibre-optic links 
to other schools all around the world and with prizes for the 
correct answers to questions submitted by cyberspace teachers
•	in the same way that they do now (you need to interact with 
students of your own age and ability)
•	by taking knowledge pills
•	in groups, or valuable social skills will surely be lost – how 
much fun could a nation of recluses be!

So far, we've got a lot of ideas about learning in the future.  We 
next think about the way we learn now – how we learn and what we 
learn.  After a break for morning tea, we look at the last question 
on our screens: 

What are the most important things we need to do to get from 
present-day to future learning situations?

Pretty soon we have ninety-six suggestions on our screens.  When 
we rank the top few in order of importance, this is what we get:

1.	Learning: We'll have to be willing to adjust to 	change; to 
place more emphasis on cultural, 	musical, and sporting 
achievements; and to give 	students better access to specialist 
teachers.

2=. 	Technology: Better use will have to be made of 
	communication technology, computers, and other 
	technological appliances.

2=. 	Resources: We'll need more money for computers, 	for 
better pay for teachers, and for free education.

2=. 	Teachers: They'll have to be provided with better 	training 
and better pay, and the ratio of teachers to 	students will 
need to be increased.
 
2=. 	Teaching methods: We'll need to make greater use of 
	computers.  Classroom systems will have to be 	modified.

3.	Youth support: There will have to be more support 	for 
youth in this country.  School-provided lunches 	will be necessary 
so that kids don't go hungry and 	can learn.

4. 	Attitudes: All races must be treated as equals so that 
	everyone can achieve.  We will need to be positive 
	about our future and to value other people's ideas as 
	well as our own.

5.	Incentives for students: We will need to give 	students 
greater motivation to learn, for example, by 	offering more 
awards and providing more science 	fairs.

By the end of the morning, we're tired.  But working with the 
computers, new ideas, and a bunch of future-thinkers has been fun.  
Will learning in the future be this much fun?  We wonder!

* The New Zealand Futures Trust is a group of people who study 
the way change affects New Zealanders.  The Trust encourages 
debate and research about what the future holds and how we can 
plan for it.

Trapped in the Snow
by Jamie Howarth

Jamie was eleven years old and attending Parklands School when he wrote the 
following diary records of a family tramping trip.

Day 1
We started walking at 11.15 a.m.  It was raining lightly.  Mum was getting 
on my nerves.  She had songs from Grease on the brain.
We reached Flora Hut at 11.40 a.m.  My shoulder was getting sore – 
Mum's fault – she packed my pack.  Then on to Gridiron Hut for lunch.  I 
must commend Mum – the rolls were superb.
Now we had the hardest part ahead of us – the climb to Balloon Hut.
About halfway there, I twisted my ankle on some slippery rocks, but we 
kept going.  
Then the rain turned to sleet, and we were trudging through mushy snow 
with sleet sliding down our faces.  Yuck!
Our packs were covered in snow, and we were cold.  The warm hut was a 
welcome sight.  We settled in quickly by the heater and changed our clothes.  
Phew!

Day 2
We woke up to a winter wonderland.  No one wanted to get up – except for 
Peter – Mr Supertramp.  He got up and made tea and hot juice.  Hunger and 
the need to go to the toilet got me up.  
My ankle was swollen, and it hurt to walk on.  I went back to bed.
The raincoats and overall pants were stiff with ice.  They looked alive.  
Tim was the first to the ice axe.  He braved the cold and freed the toilet 
door.
Lunch was the rest of yesterday's filled rolls, so we are a day ahead on 
food.  No snow fights today, but I hope it will be fine enough tomorrow.  
I'm going to get Mum!  
After tea – pasta, my favourite – I had to go to the toilet in the dark.  I 
couldn't shut the toilet door, so the snow got on my bare skin – eek!  I don't 
want to think about it.  There's a possibility that we might have to stay over 
another night – bummer!  
It's still snowing.  I'm not looking forward to the walk out tomorrow.  

Day 3
Today we woke up to heavy snow.  We packed up anyway after breakfast.  I 
didn't want to walk out.
Peter, Tim, and I climbed up to Balloon Ridge to see how deep the snow 
was.  We were sinking up to our waists in the deepest places.
The decision was made.  Yeehaa!  We aren't going to have to lug our 
extremely heavy packs out into the deadly unknown tablelands and snow!
Mum wanted to see for herself what it was like, so we all went up to the 
ridge.  Yes!  The hut sign was one metre high when we came, but now it was 
only thirty-five centimetres high!  We had a snow fight, and Cheryll took 
some awesome photos.
The windows are getting covered in snow, especially the top one.  Video 
games and cards help.  
We are on rations now – half a bowl of popcorn for lunch!  My stomach 
feels empty.
I hope Nana, Grandad, and my sister, Cerelia, are not too anxious.
The snow is still falling, and dinner smells delicious.  Maybe the tiny 
rations we're on would make anything smell delicious.

Day 4
We woke up to even more snow.  I'm getting sick of it.  
Some gross, weak juice for breakfast.  The sky is clearing, but just as I 
write, it starts snowing again.  The rations are more minute than ever.  I 
haven't had any real breakfast.
We had some story – The Whale Rider, by Witi Ihimaera – and then, 
believe it or not, a nice man came in and gave us some food.  Glorious food.  
And you won't believe it – he said we might have to fly out by chopper!

Day 5
Rescue today?  We had some very weak juice for breakfast and some nutty 
porridge for lunch.  
The icicles are amazingly long.  The toilet is still a massive problem.  
I'm starting to feel very miserable and sick.  The weather is getting me 
down.  Peter rationed out some crackers and cheese.  This tramp has really 
taught me to appreciate life in town.  
I had a miserable sleep in the afternoon – well, not really a sleep.  I felt 
sick again.  Dinner was a cup of soup, and then we went to bed and played a 
never-ending game of "Who am I?"

Day 6
Yet more snow.  Cheryll had a problem on the track to the toilet.  (We are 
getting obsessed with this toilet.)  The track maker (Peter, who else?) was in 
the way.  He gallantly stepped aside to let her through and went up to his 
waist in snow.
Mum heard a chopper in the distance – yeehaa!  But it might not be for 
us.  Some of the icicles round here are one-and-a-half ice axes long!  
Awesome!
I don't think the chopper was for us.  We haven't heard it again.  
The sky is clearing.  We can see Gordon's Pyramid very well, now, and 
the rest of the mountains around the Kahurangi National Park.  There's still 
no sign of a rescue party.  Peter has gone to Salisbury Lodge to get some 
food.
Lunch was crackers as usual.  We were allowed only one spread on each 
cracker – butter or jam.  The sky is still clear.  The icicles are melting, and 
they look beautiful.
We finished our game of cards, and a couple of minutes later, we heard it 
– yes – a rescue helicopter!
It couldn't land, so it put down a paramedic and a helicopter director.  
They got us to pack, and we headed up to a makeshift landing pad on the 
ridge.  We had to duck because of the rotor blades.  The helicopter skids 
were sunk deep in the snow.
We got into the chopper and away we went, back down to Flora Hut.  The 
view was stunning – the landscape just like a tiny model.  At Flora Hut, we 
played in the snow till the DOC ute came through for us.
Back at the car park, our cars were sitting there all covered in snow, and 
the police were waiting to meet us.  I went in the police Landrover with 
Tim, Peter, and Lisa.  At the police station, reporters had gathered, and we 
had our picture taken.  Then the police took us home – to family, beds, and 
FOOD!

Humming Along – Llamas on the Trail
Jane Buxton 

What's woolly, carries a backpack, and hums as it strolls through 
the forest?  A tramper in a fur coat?  Well, sort of!  In fact, it's 
Peppy, Heidi Phillips' favourite llama.  Thirteen-year-old Heidi 
spends most of the school holidays helping her mother, Ora, with 
the family's llama-trekking business in Golden Bay.
Today, some people have booked in for a two-day trek, so Heidi 
is up at seven to help load food and camping gear into the van and 
llamas into the float. Then Heidi's father drives everything and 
everyone to the beginning of the track.  
While her father unloads the van, Heidi helps her mother put the 
pack saddles on the llamas. They have almost finished saddling up 
when the trekkers arrive by minibus. 
"Welcome to the llama safari!" Ora greets them. 
As soon as the introductions are over, Heidi runs the trekkers 
through a basic training programme.  She encourages everyone to 
put a halter on their own heads to get the feel of what it is like to 
be led.  Llamas are very protective of their heads, Heidi explains, 
because the ears, eyes, nose, and mouth are all essential to the 
animal's survival.  It's important to be firm but very gentle when 
you're leading a llama.
At first, the trekkers think it's hilarious to wear a halter, but 
they all end up agreeing that it doesn't feel too good to have your 
head tugged around.  And if someone pulls hard on the lead, it 
makes you feel like digging your toes in and pulling back.
By the end of the training session, Heidi has got to know the 
people a little – just enough to match each one with a llama.  One of 
the trekkers looks really nervous.
"I'm not used to such big animals," she confesses.  "Do they bite 
or kick?  I've heard that llamas spit."
Heidi smiles reassuringly.  "Our boys don't bite or kick," she 
says.  "They don't spit, either – at least, not at people.  Sometimes a 
llama will spit at another llama that's coming too close and 
invading its personal space."
Heidi tells the nervous trekker that she can lead Ḳwhai.  "He's 
so laid-back," she says.  "Nothing ever bothers Ḳwhai."
"Which llama do I get, then?" asks the youngest trekker.  Heidi 
thinks for a moment.  "You can have this one," she says.  "He's a 
lovely, sensitive llama.  If you're kind to him and gain his trust, 
he'll do anything for you."
"Cool!" says the boy, looking very impressed.
Soon, each trekker has an animal to suit his or her personality.  
The food, camping equipment, and everyone's personal belongings 
are stowed in packs.  Each llama carries two packs, evenly 
weighted, so that its saddle doesn't slip. 
When everyone is ready, Heidi and Peppy lead the party along 
the track and into the native bush.  Llamas are environmentally 
friendly animals to take on bush walks.  A llama's foot has a soft 
pad like a dog's foot, with two clawlike toes in front, and so they 
don't churn up the ground as a horse would.  
On the first part of their journey, the trekkers encounter several 
streams and two small fallen trees.  At first, the people are 
apprehensive.  How will they get their animals over these obstacles?  
But the llamas are agile beasts and, besides, they've done this many 
times before.  
Ora walks her llama at the rear of the group.  She keeps a special 
eye on the youngest trekker, Eli.  "You're doing well," she tells 
him.  "I like the way you're leading your llama so gently.  He really 
appreciates that."  Ora notices the nervous trekker tentatively 
stroking Ḳwhai's neck.  "That's good," she smiles to herself.
Suddenly, one of the trekkers exclaims: "My llama's humming!" 
"So's mine!" says Eli.  "What a funny noise.  Why do they do 
that?"
"They often seem to do it when they're out of their usual 
environment," says Ora.  "I think they're just communicating with 
each other, like, 'Are you all right back there, Ḳwhai?'  'Sure, 
Poppy, I'm OK.  How about you?'"
"I like it!"  says another trekker.  "I'm going to hum too!" 
Soon everyone is humming.
After two hours of walking, the party is happy to stop for lunch.  
Eli is into rock climbing.  He scrambles onto a large rock' and his 
llama leaps up after him.  It seems to enjoy being up high.  
Later in the afternoon, the party reaches the campsite.  Llamas 
are unpacked, unsaddled, and released into a corral.  Eli helps 
Heidi give them water and hay.  While Heidi and the trekkers erect 
the tents, Ora lights the fire and begins preparing dinner.
Sitting around the campfire, the trekkers laugh and joke and 
discuss other adventure holidays they've experienced.  One of them 
says, "I've driven a donkey cart in Ireland, I've ridden an elephant 
in Africa and a camel in Australia, and now I've trekked with llamas 
in New Zealand!" 
Suddenly everyone begins asking Heidi and her mother questions 
about llamas: "Where do they come from?"  "How many llamas are 
there in New Zealand?"  "Can you use their wool?"  "Are they 
related to camels?"
Heidi has answered all these questions about a hundred times 
before.  Tonight she decides to let her mother do the talking.  She 
sighs as she gazes up at the starry sky.  There's a hint of autumn in 
the air, and soon the trekking season will be over.  "The llamas will 
miss their treks through the bush," thinks Heidi, "but I won't.  It's 
been a great summer, but it'll be good to have a break and do other 
things."
As the fire dies down and the conversation dwindles, people 
begin heading to their tents.  They pass the corral, where the llamas 
have kushed* for the night.  Each trekker has a special "goodnight" 
for his or her llama, and for a few minutes the clear night air is 
filled with the sound of humming. 

*"Kushed" means "sat down".  Like some other animals, llamas can 
be trained to kush on command.

Llama facts
•	Lamas are members of the camelid family – so are camels (both 
Bactrian and Arabian), guanacos, vicuñas, and alpacas. 
•	Llamas are native to South America, where they have been 
domesticated for over six thousand years and are valued for 
their meat, hides, wool (they can be shorn), and ability to carry 
loads.  
•	There are about three hundred llamas in New Zealand.  They are 
kept mainly as pets and for breeding.  
•	In America, llamas are sometimes kept as guard animals to 
protect sheep from dogs, foxes, and coyotes.  A guard llama will 
chase and stamp on predators that enter its territory.
•	Llamas are ruminants (cud-chewing animals).  They chew and 
rechew their food, just like cows.  As well as grazing on grasses, 
they like browsing on trees and shrubs.  At the front of their 
jaws, they have lower teeth but no top teeth – just very hard 
gums.
•	The gestation period for llamas is about eleven and a half 
months.  They produce only one offspring at a time (a baby 
llama is called a cria). 
•	Llamas live for about twenty-five years.

An Ever-opening Card
by Jill Brasell

Make a card that you can open, open again, and keep on opening!

You will need:
two 12- by 12 centimetre squares of stiff paper (or thin card)
felt-tip pens
strong glue
scissors

What to do
1.  Take one piece of paper.  Fold it in half crosswise.  Press the 
fold flat.  Reverse the fold and press again.

2.  Fold each half of the piece of paper in half again, pressing and 
reversing the folds as before.

3.  Repeat these folds at right angles to the first folds.  Your piece 
of paper should now be divided into sixteen small squares.  Repeat 
steps one to three with the second piece of paper.

4.  Put glue onto the four small corner squares of one of the pieces 
of paper (make sure that no glue goes outside these small squares).  
Stick one piece of paper exactly on top of the other.  Leave the glue 
to dry.

5.  Slide the blade of your scissors between the two pieces of paper.  
Cut vertically along the centre fold of the front piece of paper.  

6.  Cut horizontally along the centre fold of the back piece of paper.

To open out your card
7.  Open out flaps A and B, closing the side flaps onto the back of 
the card as you do so.

8.  Open out the front upper and lower sections of the card, bending 
them back so that the card makes a cross shape.  

9.  Now keep opening!

Having more fun with your card
•	Decorate your card with patterns or colours that mix and match 
in different ways with each new opening.
•	Make an ever-opening birthday or get well card for a friend.

Hunting the Hunters
by Mary Sutherland

Not all spiders catch their food in webs of sticky silk.  Some hunt for 
their food, stalking and pouncing on their prey, in much the same way as 
a cat does.  Because hunters are night-shift workers, the best time to 
look for them is after dark.  Here's how to do it.

You will need:
•	a torch
•	a jar
•	an area of shortish grass (a lawn is best)
•	a friend 

What to do:
Choose a dry, warm summer's night.  After dark, stand in the middle of a 
patch of short grass.

Switch on your torch and hold it at the side of your head, exactly at 
eyelevel*.  Point the torch beam down at the grass.  Move about slowly 
until you spot tiny sparkles of light in the grass (they will look a bit 
like sparkling dewdrops).  Keep your torch beam trained on the sparkles.  
They are the light reflecting back from six of a hunting spider's eight 
eyes.

While you keep the hunter in the beam of your torch, ask your friend to 
very gently scoop the spider into a jar.  Take a close look at the hunter.  
It is very likely to be a wolf spider (the most common spider in your 
garden).  If it is carrying an egg sac or even piggy-backing its babies, 
you will know that it is a female spider.  Once you've studied the spider 
for a few minutes, release it to go about its hunting.

*Six of a hunting spider's eight eyes work like mirrors.  They reflect 
back a little of any light that reaches them.  Light travels in straight 
lines, so if you hold your torch at eyelevel and shine it down into the 
eyes of a hunting spider, the light from the six eyes will reflect back in a 
straight line to your torch (and also to your own eyes).
`
Why is it that you can spot hunting spiders with a torch?
Most spiders are active at night (this helps them avoid being eaten by 
birds).  But working at night has its disadvantages.  There's not a lot of 
light around, and every creature, even a nocturnal one, needs at least 
some light to help it see.
To gather the little light that there is at night (usually moon- or 
starlight), nocturnal animals have special "mirror" parts to their eyes.  
The "mirror" is right behind the retina (the part of the eye that uses 
light to detect what it is that we're looking at).  After dark, when only a 
little light comes into the animal's eye, most gets absorbed by the 
retina.  Any light missed by the retina hits the "mirror" and gets bounced 
back into the retina again.  This helps to reinforce the original picture.  
Normally, you wouldn't expect to spot the little bit of star- or 
moonlight that is reflected back from the spider's retina, but the light 
from a torch is strong.  That's why, if you're in the right spot at the 
right time and holding your torch at eyelevel, you'll see your torch light 
reflected back as little sparkles, and you'll know that a hunting spider is 
close by.


Note
Only six of the hunting spider's eight eyes reflect light back into the 
retina.  Although they are good at gathering night light, the eyes give a 
pretty fuzzy picture of what's out there.  Luckily, the spider's two 
middle eyes are excellent at working out exactly where and what its prey 
is.

Warning
In New Zealand, only a few spiders are harmful to humans.  Before you 
go spider-hunting, learn to identify the harmful ones by looking at Ray 
and Lyn Forster's book: Spiders of New Zealand and their Worldwide 
Kin.  This book was published in Dunedin in 1999 by University Of 
Otago Press.

Tragedy at Tangiwai
by Aaron Hanning
Aaron was twelve years old and attending Maidstone Intermediate when 
he wrote this report.

It was 10.20 p.m. on Christmas Eve 1953.  On board the express train 
running from Wellington to Auckland, everything seemed fine.  The 
weather was good, and children were starting to doze off to sleep.  
What no one knew was that, about two hours earlier, part of the wall 
of Mount Ruapehu's crater lake had broken away, creating a lahar (a silt-
laden flood).  As a result, 2 million cubic metres of water roared down 
the mountain.  By the time the deluge reached Tangiwai, it was a huge 
tidal wave.
Cyril Ellis, a postal worker from Taihape, was driving his truck that 
night when he noticed that the normally peaceful Whangaehu River had 
become a raging torrent.  Water was well over the road bridge.
A few moments later, Cyril saw a light in the distance.  At first, he 
thought it was the light of a car.  Then he realised it was the light of an 
approaching train – it was the Christmas Eve express on its way to 
Auckland.  Although Cyril couldn't see the rail bridge, he knew that it 
too would be unsafe because of the flood.
Cyril reached into his truck for his torch.  Down the railway track he 
ran, waving his weak light.  As the train sped passed him, only 200 
metres from the wrecked bridge, Cyril Ellis yelled his warning to the 
driver.  Seconds later, he watched in horror as the train plunged into the 
mud-laden floodwaters. 
The locomotive flew into the air.  Its first five carriages buckled and 
fell into the torrent below.  On the other side of the river, the engine hit 
the bank and shattered into pieces.  The train's sixth carriage hung 
precariously on the end of the washed-out bridge.  Only the last three 
carriages remained on the railway tracks.
Using his torch to smash his way in through a window of the sixth 
carriage, Cyril Ellis began rescuing passengers.  One of the survivors 
was a senior guard, William Inglis.  Together, William and Cyril helped 
get all but one person out of the carriage before it snapped in two and 
tumbled into the water.
Also rescuing passengers that night was Arthur Bell.  He and Mrs Bell 
were travelling by road to Waiouru when they noticed the flooded bridge.  
Arthur Bell discovered a railway carriage stranded on the embankment.  
Inside were about twenty passengers, most of whom were badly injured.  
While Arthur assisted with the rescue, Mrs Bell drove to the Waiouru 
military camp to raise help.  
As the flood waters began to recede, the scene grew even more 
horrific.  The wreckage of carriages could clearly be seen strewn about.  
The KA-class locomotive had been swept away.  Soldiers from the 
military camp and forestry workers from Karioi began searching for 
bodies.  The Waiouru military camp was used as a temporary morgue.  
In all, 134 passengers survived the disaster, 151 people died, and 20 
bodies, including those of the train's fireman and driver, were never 
accounted for.
News of the disaster spread around the world.  The Queen, visiting 
New Zealand at the time, broadcast a special message of sympathy.  At 
Karori Cemetery in Wellington, a funeral was held for those whose 
bodies could not be identified.  
In the inquiry that took place after the disaster, it was discovered 
that the train's driver had seen Cyril Ellis shining his torch and that the 
train's brakes had been applied.  It was this action that kept the last 
three carriages of the express on the tracks.  Cyril Ellis was later 
awarded the George Cross medal.  William Inglis and Arthur Bell were 
awarded the British Empire medal.
Each year since the disaster, the Christmas Eve train, on its way to 
Auckland, slows down on the railway bridge close to Tangiwai.  The 
locomotive engineer casts a wreath of flowers into the water of the 
Whangaehu River, and New Zealand remembers all those who died in the 
terrible tragedy at Tangiwai. 


The Surf's Pumping!
by Jan Trafford

It's early morning.  It's the weekend.  And the surf's going off down at 
Oakura Beach!
James Morwood is out of bed just after dawn.  There's no time to 
waste.  Grabbing his wetty and rash top, he leaves the house quietly and 
jumps on his bike.  His board is already at the beach, stored in a shed.
Today, James' footprints are the first to mark the fine, black, 
Taranaki sand.  The sky's blue.  The surf's pumping.  It's peeling off to 
the left and the right – and it's still only low tide!  Another awesome 
day just waiting to happen.  
More surfers are arriving.  The water's cool (it's April), but James 
hardly notices.  He secures his leg rope and starts making his way out 
the back …
"It's the opposite to when you're out there swimming," explains 
James. "Surfers actually use the rips and currents to their advantage to 
get out behind the surf to where the water is calm.  From there, they 
catch the swell of a wave as it develops.  Swimmers avoid a rip because 
they don't want to be dragged out with it.
"Getting out through the surf can be really hard.  You have to decide 
whether to duck-dive under the waves or to go over them.  If you're 
duck-diving, you have to move your weight to the front of the board and 
push down on it so that you're under the white water.  Then you pull the 
front of your board up towards the surface again, and hopefully, you're 
through it.  
"If you're going over the waves, you keep your weight more to the 
back.  That means that you have to anticipate what's going to happen.  
You have to guess when they're going to break.  Sometimes, you get 
smashed!  Other times, you just make it over while the wave is still 
rolling, and you punch up through its lip.  
"This is my first season.  I'm still learning.  But every day you're out 
on the water, you get better.  It's all practice.  If you get trashed 
[wiped-out so that you fall off your board], you just go with it.  Sooner 
or later, the wave is going to spit you out.  Then you get back on your 
board and try again – and again and again!"
Finally, James is out with the big waves.  He paddles along the rip to 
get out behind the break.  Once out the back, he sits on his board and 
waits.  It's calm.  It's deep.  Life feels good.  He hears the roar of the 
waves breaking on shore.  The sun is up higher.  It's warm on his back.
James looks out to sea.  There's the next set of waves.  He lets the 
first couple go.  Then he goes for it, paddling in towards shore.  The 
swell of a wave gives him lift.  He's on it,and riding it. 
"You can soon tell if you're on it," James explains.  "When you are, 
you stop paddling with your arms and concentrate on putting your feet in 
the right place and getting your balance right as you stand up.
"Then you're up … and you're moving along, keeping in front of the 
break.  You go faster and faster, and you're wondering how far this wave 
is going to take you – or how long you'll be able to stay on it!  Or if 
you're gonna get trashed!
"It's awesome when you get a good ride.  It makes all the can-outs 
worth it!  But each ride is different.  Some rides you get it right, some 
rides you don't!
"There are heaps of good surf breaks right around the Taranaki coast 
– beach breaks (they're usually caused by sandbars) and point breaks 
(where a point of land, of rock, of sand or of a reef pokes out into the 
sea).  So there are loads of places for everyone to go surfing.  This 
beach is good for me because it's close to home, and I can get down here 
easily.  There are big point breaks further down the coast."
The tide's still coming in, and soon the sets are huge – too big for a 
beginner.  James cruises in to shore on the white water for a rest.  He 
sits on a log with his older friend, Aaron, and they watch some of the 
other surfers taking out right- and left-handers (catching waves to the 
right or left). 
"The older guys tell me I'm getting into surfing at a good age," says 
James.  "Some of them wish they'd started when they were eleven.
"Aaron and I both bodyboard too.  Aaron's an ace.  And we're both in 
the surf club here.  I run in the beach sprints, and Aaron races in the 
IRBs (inflatable rescue boats).  We almost live on the beach for the 
whole summer." 
Aaron is itching to get back out in the big stuff with his body board.  
"Are you coming out, James?" he asks.
"Soon," says James.  "My board needs some wax – and I need some 
food!  I'm going across to the shop for a milkshake.  See you out there 
in ten minutes!"

