Patagonia NZ

Atoll dreaming. Jake Ward battles the Kiritimati crowds. Video Arlene Bax

We arrived amid the pandemic, the island plodding its way through its seventh year of drought and La Niña belting the coast with consistent 25 knot offshores which ripped the pointbreak to shreds. Our new home; stumps in a barren patch of sand. We bunker down elsewhere and wait for the ship carrying our stash of salvaged house pieces, marine ply, tools, water vessels, honey. It arrived on island time, a few months late, and we put all our year ten woodwork training to the test piecing together our new home. It's still holding up.

No tourists and no flights equal no fresh fruit or veg, so we try our hand at growing. White beach sand, coconut husk and seaweed, our soil. The crabs, salt spray, mice and an abundance of unknown mites, our constant nemeses. Every morsel of fresh food is celebrated; scurvy-preventing goodness.

Christmas on Christmas is spent in a haze. My hands touch water and burn. I drink, and it’s like shards of glass running down my throat. My legs feel like they are dragging an elephant carcass around. It’s easier not to move. The soles of my feet are a constant itch, and my skin feels like a murmur of swallows are trying to break through. Ciguatera has had me on my back for over a month, sweating through tremors and a seizure. One of the most toxic of all natural poisons, accumulated in the reef fish of the tropics in ever-increasing amounts as the ocean warms and algae bloom. A bit of karma for the life of the fish consumed earlier. Eating fish has never been my thing but living on an island where fresh produce is limited to salt, coconuts, and seafood, it seemed at the time a more sustainable option than the canned veggies on offer that are shipped from across the globe.

As the ciguatera fog subsides, La Niña swings and the rains begin, breaking the drought and creating an abundance of pumpkins (the only fresh vegetable now readily sold on the island). The winds ease and along come blissful days of long point rides out the front of our house. Empty glass and Cochrane Reef barrels. A few months later the planes start, bringing in fishos and fresh produce.

On any given day we can putt the half hour across the channel passing 15 surfable empty breaks. Other days we stay home, lazily riding the pointbreak a few steps from our door. During home schooling interludes we swim with the manta rays that circle daily out front. These are the sweet rewards, a fool’s paradise.