Where's the Beef?

Pretty much everywhere.

Dairy consistently leads the top 10 exports from New Zealand. This should come as no surprise to anyone who has spent 10 minutes driving through New Zealand's country side.

Eggstra Fun Day

Twice a year, my Renaissance friend Barbara offers holiday decorating classes for friends and interested community members. I missed her Christmas class but happily attended the annual Easter Egg Decorating Workshop a few days ago. This event was WAY more than simply dying eggs. Barbara incorporated her German heritage and shared traditional central European inspired egg crafts. We painted, gilded, scratched, and decoupaged. At the end of the day, egg enthusiasts took home Easter wreaths, centerpieces, and imaginatively decorated eggs.

Hawkes' Bay Revisited

Like most parents, we would literally walk through fire for our kids. So when friends organized a weekend trip to Hawkes' Bay wine country, we readily accepted this invitation because the plans included Sam. It hardly seemed fair to deny Sam one of the same experiences afforded his sisters during their visit in February.

Admittedly, it's easier duty to walk through vineyards than walk through fire. And it was pretty tough duty renting a stunning house overlooking the Bay. It's amazing what we do for our children.





The weekend started out in a great way with dinner at the vineyard home of Elsie and Etienne's friend Andy. Andy grows and sells chardonnay and merlot grapes by day, and mans a mean barbecue by night.






Saturday's agenda included tastings at Esk Valley and Maona Park and an informative tour of one of New Zealand's oldest wineries - Church Road Winery.





We were happy to make a return visit to Mission Estate for a superb lunch.



Saturday and Sunday markets are must-do's in nearly every Kiwi community. This area's Sunday market is especially good, and we wisely returned to Andy's for brunch made with our fresh purchases.





So glad Sam's visit gave us the perfect excuse to re-visit Hawkes' Bay.

Yes, Tom Really Does Work

The most frequently asked question we hear about our six months stint in New Zealand is, "Does Tom ever work?" Despite my tendency to primarily blog about recreational adventures, it should be known that Tom actually does practice socialized medicine in Rotorua, New Zealand - an adventure in and of itself. Tom typically works Monday - Friday, and his hours are roughly 8-5 - a considerable difference in workload from private practice in Coeur d'Alene. He is on call about one day a week and takes weekend call every 5 or 6 weeks.

Tom works closely with the Registrars (residents), and enjoys the teaching opportunities he has with theses aspiring surgeons (seen pictured). The Registrars also run interference for him when he's on call because they are able to handle patient issues that would typically wake him up in the middle of the night in Coeur d'Alene. Interestingly, the Registrars are quite an international bunch - they hail from Fiji, India, Myanmar (Burma), United Kingdom, and the South Island!

The New Face of Hamill Guiding

Guest Blogger Sam Thilo: "A Helicopter Flies Through It"

Norman Maclean. Gus Orviston. Sir Izaak Walton. Jesus. Just some of history and literature's greatest and most recognized fishermen. Tom and Sam Thilo are not on this list. For one day, however, we got a taste of what it felt like to be the "Compleat Angler." All it took was a new hemisphere, rented equipment, borrowed flies, a helicopter, 28,000 acres of pristine private forest, a river that is only fished a half-dozen times a year, a world-class guide, fish so big you can spot them in the water from yards away, and a checkbook.

Rare is the modest fisherman without a tall tale or two. Luckily, our fishing adventure has photographic evidence to support our (apparent) skill with the dry fly. We started the day off with a car ride accompanied by our guide, Dennis Ward, to the helicopter pad about an hour or so outside of Rotorua.

En route, Dennis enlightened us with his vast knowledge of deer butchering, farming, the Canadian mental health system, and, of course, the art of fly fishing. From there, we lifted off and flew (my first helicopter ride) to a remote river that I have sworn never to name. Dennis is fortunate enough to own a sizable ranch with several kilometers of first-rate rainbow waters.


My father set the tone with a nice 5 pound rainbow to start the day, caught on a big cicada.


This would not be the only tone set that day. I was up next to play the role of fisherman and Dennis then played the role of drill instructor. "Shorten your back cast," "three feet left," "four feet to the right," and "come on, son, we're fly-fishing" were common phrases uttered by our guide (not my dad) throughout the day.

The most common phrase, often shouted, was to "wind up," indicating that it was time to move on to the next spot. This was most often spoken after my dad or I had thoroughly over-fished a hole, usually missing out on big rainbow and Dennis's praises. I have also found it can be used in everyday life. If my sister Becky spends to much time on-line, it is time for her to wind up. If my mother spends too much time worrying about something, I can now tell her to wind up. If my dad spends too much time in the bathroom, you guessed it, wind up! Now you try, "Sam, seriously, about this blog post...WIND UP!"

Let me pause and say, however, that Dennis's remarks were welcome. As I noted above, he was a heckuva guide and his persistence and instruction enabled us to fish quickly, landing the biggest fish we've ever caught. It also afforded me the chance to see a calm and collected surgeon get absolutely rattled and called off a hole, much like a pitcher being yanked out of a ballgame for a reliever. That was most enjoyable (and I have video evidence which I have also been sworn never to show, but for the right price it can be yours). I think the fish were too big for even my dad to handle.


All in all, it was a truly memorable day and I am grateful to my parents (and Dennis) for the opportunity. We saw the six mating pairs of the endangered Blue Duck, with only 2,000 left in the world. We bumped into Dennis's son who was building a cabin several kilometers up on a tributary, compound bow and chain saw in tow (perhaps to butcher a red deer?). We even got to take a peek at Dennis's ridiculously amazing "shack," a state-of-the art cabin with every amenity you can imagine but only accessible by heli. Great day and I couldn't be happier that I could share it with my dad.