For some reason, perhaps a movement caught my eye, I happened to glance upward. There on the cliff, on the opposite side of the river were koro Mat and koro Petau. Watching. Silent. How long had they stood there? How long had they watched? I felt strangely uncomfortable. I bailed out the little water that had entered the canoe. I could feel their eyes. What were they thinking? Davey piled the shovels, axes and ropes into the dinghy and loaded the rest of their equipment into the canoe. The four then donned orange-coloured life jackets and prepared to leave. I was still uncomfortably aware of the watchers on the cliff. Wairere-o-te-hau lay quietly, moving just a little as the current tugged at its bow. Eager to be away. Eager to once more challenge the rapids and float on the long stretches of placid water. I was glad to see Wairere once more where he belonged. But then I remembered Mat and Petau, and my eyes crept up the cliff. They still stood—watching. Watching Wairere as he pulled gently at his tethering rope. A final look at an old friend before he made the long trip to the sea. To the place of strangers. Davey offered his hand. I was uncertain. The watchers on the cliff. Damn them. I shook hands with the men and wished them luck. Davey then returned me to my side of the river. I stood and watched as Davey returned to the canoe and made ready to cast off. I knew Mat and Petau still stood on the cliff above me, waiting. I wondered what they thought of me. Still, it was done. Davey Rhodes and his two neighbours climbed into the canoe. They had fixed a small outboard to a bracket they had built at the stern. Davey's son, in the dinghy, made slow sweeping circles around Wairere as he nosed his way out into the centre of the river. Davey waved in my direction and then set about turning the bow down river towards the gorge. Proudly the canoe moved away. For twenty years he had lain in the earth, and now he was free to travel the old waterways of his youth. Eagerly he ran, picking up speed as he caught the current that channelled in to the upper gorge. Eager once more to fight the foaming waters. Onwards Wairere dashed. As they reached the first rapid, the motor raced madly for a moment, then stopped. The son sped forward in the dinghy and was swept sideways and pinned against the bank by the weight of water that poured over the boulders. The canoe, suddenly without power, shot forward, bucking wildly as it hit the boiling waters. The two men in the bow were thrown violently out. Their heads became bobbing black specks in the white foam. Davey, in the stern, desperately tried to keep the canoe's bow into the mainstream. His orange jacket leaped about, then suddenly was lost from view. I started running up the track, hoping to get ahead of the canoe before it plunged into the gorge proper. Davey had been thrown from the craft and was clinging to an upthrust tree trunk that had been caught in the centre of the river. The canoe, uncontrolled, was swept onwards. Suddenly, the bow shot skywards and momentarily the canoe stood on end—upright and unmoving. Saluted the sky. Saluted the bush. The river hushed. The rumbling of the water faded to the merest whisper. I knew the two on the cliff were watching. There was a split second of silence. And then Wairere-o-te-hau—slowly—very slowly slid backwards into the deep water and was lost from view. I looked up to the cliff. I could just see the backs of the two old men as they walked homewards.

Continued from page 3 tukuna e te whānau pani he koha. Pera ano mo nga mārena. Ko nga manuhiri katoa e haere ana ki nga mārena, ka hoatu e nga mātua o te wahine, he koha ki ia manuhiri. Taihoa e whakamutu enei korero. Hei tērā putanga o ta tatou pukapuka, o ‘Te Ao Hou’, hei reira whakaoti ai pea.