NZ Camp and Bloody Ridge

On Saturday we made a little excursion to the remains of the NZ camp from the Guadalcanal campaign of World War two.

The NZ Camp is very close - go down the road, cross the main road, drive along side Sun Valley and the back of the airport (formerly Henderson Airfield - closely guarded by the Americans in World War 2) and then up some muddy roads to some houses. There we stopped because you're supposed to pay $50 to go on the land. Well, this guy came out, drunk as anything. You know how some people when they're drunk are angry, but some people are happy? Well, this guy was happy and all too willing to talk and tell stories about how other rascals had come and destroyed the memorials of World War two in the area, but how he was a faithful and dedicated guardian of the NZ Camp. He didn't ask about seleni so we didn't say anything (partly because, we're uncultural about some things, i.e. we don't like paying to go on someone else's land and partly because we're dutch).

So we carried on to the NZ Camp. There was a decrepit, crumbling stone structure which at once stage had a memorial plaque attached to it. We parked our car and by that stage a crowd of boys had arrived to see what we were doing. We looked out at Gela in the distance and then traipsed down a slippery, needle grass infested "path" to this hole in the ground:

Then we crept in. Jair had the foresight and save to bring a torch along so we explored the dug out cave where the NZers had their camp. Unfortunately the rain had made it muddy, so it was infested with mosquitoes (I'll tell you if I get malaria in 14 days) and it was a bit gross. It was also really dark and none of the photos turned out, but it was pretty cool. I have poor estimation skills (Jair should be writing this blog) but there were about 10 rectangle "caves" dug out on each side of the hallway. The rectangle caves seemed to me to be about 2m wide and 2 m deep or so - big enough for the officers to have a little office and place to sleep. Eventually we reached the end - well, not the end of the rooms, but the end of the passage because the cave had collapsed at that part. So we turned around and went back. I was curious as to whether there were any markings on the walls, but Jair said he and some others had perused it pretty thoroughly previously and found nothing.

Surprisingly, Theresa didn't mind being in the pitch dark hole in the ground! I must say I think I'm more of an elf than a dwarf and had I been part of the fellowship, I would have much preferred the snowy mountainside.

After scrambling out of the hole and up the hill, we (and the bunch of boys that were following us) went up the road a little futher to Bloody Ridge, so called because of the atrocious amount of Japanese and American blood spilled there.

After a series of intense missions, the Marine Raiders were given a respite on Hill 120 - further inland from the Henderson airfield. It was deemed that they would be less likely to be bothered by attack from enemy ships if they were on Hill 120. They dug their foxholes and set up camp. But, the Japanese came up on the jungle side of the American defense - in search of the much coveted Henderson Airfield. The Japanese came in three waves, three different nights, each night when they almost won each battle, the Japanese retreated which gave the Americans a chance to hang on. Coffin Corner was the name aptly given to one of the hills on Bloody Ridge.

Like the memorial at the NZ Camp, this "Last/lost memory" (As the locals call it - we had a debate in the car whether they were saying it was their last memory or their lost memory...) was also rather a shambles - crumbling, destoryed, but it did provide (again) a beautiful view of Gela. The visibility was amazing - usually it's a haze, a dark blue blur in the background. This time I could make out the patches on islands where the bush was dense, and where it was just grass. Crystal Clear!

We also went to a few other lost memory spots - the Lungga river looked so refreshing from where we stood on the hill as it snaked through villages and planes. It made me want to go rafting down it - except for the presence of crocodiles!

In this next photo, somewhere just beyond the initial line of trees, was where John Basilone committed acts of bravery that were rewarded with a Congressional Medal of Honour. He was the first person to be awarded the Medal of Honour in WW 2 - or rather Medal of Honor if we go by American spelling.

I'm still gutted that John Basilone died at Iwo Jima. Jair told me as we climbed the red dirt hill with Theresa that Basilone is way over romanticised (swoon) but I, ever the romantic, feel gutted for his wife, who remained a widow, and never heard the little patter of miniature John Basilones in their house.

Then we drove home, met the drunk caretaker again where he proudly and wildly told us about his solemn task of protecting the history in the area and asked us for cigarettes. That's not something we carry around, but he was ok with that. And was still too drunk to remember to ask for money!

After a little over an hour we were back home but it felt like we had had a lovely little family outing (with Robyn - practically family too). When you live, work, socialise and lotu in the same place you feel a bit fenced in. So even a short outing like this is a refreshing break. There aren't many places to go that are safe, free and enjoyable or any of those three. That's one thing I miss about NZ.

But on Saturday afternoon, Bloody Ridge turned out to be a very safe, a very free and a very enjoyable place to spend an hour.