#captainbeancan

Life on the open ocean can take its toll on any man and although it sometimes might not seem like it our dearest Captain is just that, a mere mortal. The tooing and froing of the seas and the pirates diet had let gut rot set in with the Captains rear smelling like a 10000 year old egg ,the Hog was in despair. Once again his belly was his achilles and the Hog his crutch, surviving on nothing more than an emergency bag of mixed boilings the couple hobbled gallantly onwards back towards to the hallowed turf of the northern shores, the hills of the capital rose towards them and Wellington passed the Captain by in a feverish stupor, no chance to see its giant squid and even a gentle stroll in the beautiful botanics unable to heal him. Moral hadn't been this low since the distant Norwegian days where they had bid farewell to the beancan (god rest her soul). As the parasites took hold it seemed like the curtain was set to fall for our tarmac trundler and his sea shanties, the tunnel of light grew narrower until he knew the fever had gripped hold as the Hog appeared almost angelic! Strange dreams gripped him and his rest was uneasy, regularly the hideous beast of omaru flashed before him and sweat fell from him like the monsoon rains. When he awoke he sensed he was in purgatory alone in this strange town, the door creeked and his saviour stood in the frame, this was no purgatory only Whanganui, New Zealand's equivalent, the Hogs chicken soup gently nursed him back to health as our dear hero slowly regained his strength over the coming weeks. 'Not this time' the Captain declared to the old man up stairs and they were on there way once more, new horizons and adventures just in sight. The sardine can spluttered onwards with our delectable duo, speeding them towards the famous tongariro crossing, the twists and turns soon afforded them a beautiful sight, Mount Doom in all its hideous glory, even in his sickly state the Captain could not resist the temptation as the mysterious Sauron called them up the mount. Hour after hour passes as they clambered up the volcanic dune, over rock and through snow on little more than willpower and a few drops of scroggin until they summited and stared into the crater bigger than an acne riddled teen. From their lofty viewpoint they took in views of Taranaki (like no other) and the arid plains of the red crater. The gallant duet strode onwards lunching at the sulphurous emerald pools and pit stopping at the gaseous long drop toilets! 'A fine stroll' chirped the Hog as the Captain limped on looking like an extra from Pet Cemetery. Taranaki (like no other) came into view as their four wheeled adventure hobbled on, even a fireworks display greater than Gandalfs couldn't rid the Captain off his belly curse as they took in Christmas at the bowl courtesy of some delectable hosts! Professional help was needed to rid him of his digestive dilemma. 'Aunties biotics' the Creamhog told him, which the Captain mused must be some kind of Yakult administered by a distant relation of the Hog. Sunny Hawkes Bay greeted them as the Hog introduced him to her old aquaitence ,auntie biotic who turned out to be a pair of mystical soul healers cast out from their homelands for their devilish ways, they fed him a strange concoction from their apothecary and our hero was back to fighting fit in no time. Christmas would soon be upon them and he had plans afoot. In the Hog the Captain had found his Florence Nightingale, the robin to his batman and he had decided to make the union a more permanent one with a picnic that would put our Victorian forebears to shame he set off to that glorious spot of shine falls with the Hog in tow. The sun beat down on them from the cloudless sky and the Captain stripped down to his speedos and lept like a yugi salmon into the icy waters, slowly the Hog followed treading lightly with each step, the cascading horsetail falls presenting a beautiful backdrop and the ruggedly handsome Captain at the forefront, he presented the Creamhog with a gemstone even Danny Archer would be jealous of. The Hog was wide eyed, however not with joy but sheer panic as she high tailed it out of the water on the sighting of something wriggling below the surface, many of you readers were maybe thinking the Captain had accidentally left his member outside his speedos, not so my fellows, the Hog had spotted an eel and the Captain hot footed out of there in pursuit! Chuckling like a pair of mischievous children the newly ensconced duo sat down to their picnic as the Hog smiled wide, day dreaming of little piglets. 'BCE' (best Christmas ever) she hollared from the rooftops of Napier, her hand glinting in the Bluff Hill sunshine. For the Hog her FOMO worries were over. A new dawn had broken on the Captain and his wild ways, he had suffered an ear bashing from Sir Wuffington on the rotary dial about making an honest woman of his compadre and made the jump. New Zealand now set to become a distant memory all to soon, they saddled up shanks pony and made their way north to sit back, buckle up and make best their preparations for the kangaroo capitals well trodden east coast. A tear glistened in The Captains eye as they pushed back and departed from what had become their second home. There was only one phrase to sum up these southern wonderlands 'Sweet as' Onwards to the lands birthed by the hornswogglers! The Cap'n

The Hog being the dainty lady she is announced they should sample the sport that these islands are so famous for, egg chasing. The Captain wasn't quite prepared for the scene in front of him, while they settled to there row z seats in the rain, the crowd had more mullets than a set of fun house re-runs and the profanities spilling forth from their pie holes left him aghast. 'Take his effin' head off Waikato' went the scream, much to the delight of the home crowd! This was not the sport of the fine gentlefolk of the British isles he remembered and the Queensbury rule book had most certain been cast asunder. The full time peeper blown and The Hog in a rabid frenzy our hero high tailed it out of there dragging her behind him before the locals descending deeper into their blood lust. After a cool shower to allay The Hogs fever and packed back into their Japanese junk it was time to wheel on. Twisting and winding through the open hills past the bleats of lamb and gurgle of wild turkey they rolled into to New Plymouth and the much welcome hospitality of some of The Hogs previous crew mates. The wind battering the shores and the rain beating down they decided there was no finer a day than this to sample another kiwi pastime, tramping (hiking to us layfolk). So with the rain driving horizontal at them they set off in search of the pouoakai hut on the side of Mount Taranaki,once famous as a local Maori burial site. As they neared their destination The Captain thought he could see a hideous brute following him, the famous beast of Omaru, however, upon closer inspection it was just his rain drenched navigator. Her face sullen and her barnet sodden it was time to make haste for the comfort of there delightful temporary lodgings. The salty dogs bid farewell to their charitable hosts and set sail on their coast to coast voyage taking in the forgotten highway which they stumbled upon much to their navigators ineptitude in operating the most up to date of atlases,google. 'Not to worry' she declared as the road took them through hand hewn tunnels and round more twists than a Dan Brown novel, however the highway truly was a hidden gem and well worth the whiplashed necks and concussion! Taupo now in sight, their halfway destination, the brace coasted into the sleepy hollow of Reid's Farm, a wonderful little spot on the banks of the river, until nightfall descended that is and their luck once again took a turn for the worse as the terrified duet peeked through their curtains as local pirates tried to sell their black market wares, like closing time at Cookies on the Hulltoon, the mutants spilled forth and spread themselves around the campground. Upon closer inspection of the local media it turned out they had dropped anchor in the most insalubrious of spots where one could regularly hear of musket shots and bloodshed. A restless night was had until dawn when, after a twitch of the curtains the quivering shipmates hightailed it out of there! After a closer shave than Wallace and Gromit they set sail for safer shores in the shape of the Art Deco capital, the humble city of Napier, they whistled past vineyard and vintage wagons before the bay open up before them to unleash the most beautiful of vistas. With the smell of salt in their nostrils and the wind in their hair they knew this place would be a home from home. What adventures lay ahead of them only the locals would know for being alive isn't the same as living! Stay tuned for more adventures of The Captain and his crew! Until next time me hearties!

Pouaikai Hut , Tree Trunk Gorge Tongariro, Omarua Falls

Tricky Trondheim