The tide was nearly out when we arrived at the Heads. Dad steered the tractor straight down onto the pipi shrewn foreshore and turned to cross the creek, dodging the few dinghies left from the summer campers.

Across the narrow throat of the harbour was the towering mass of the Mount and nearer the mid-tide pinnacle we called the Big Rock. The Maoris had another name for it, Tokoroa, and like most Maori placenames there's a story that goes with it.

I came down here often, usually on my bike or if I had the time I walked down the creek from where it passes near the farm. There are always flounder to be caught either when the tide's right out as it would be here in a couple of hours, or at the very top of the tide when the fish go right up the creek to forage around the more brackish reeds.

This time I ignored it all. We splashed axle deep across the last of the receding creek water and then down the bright sand towards the actual mouth of the harbour.

Houhora harbour is quite large inside, with zillions of acres of sand and mudbanks, but all of it drained out through this one narrow entrance with the result that the tides were always fierce. If you tried to row across to the Mount it was always necessary to allow a lot of leeway to be sure you'd make it, and long ago Dad had made me promise never to try swimming it.

Sometimes I wish I hadn't made that promise, I bet there aren't any girls who have swum over, ever.

I could do it. Easy.

The Mount hangs above it all, seemingly thousands of feet high but really much less than that and an easy thirty minute climb if you knew the tracks like I did.

Julian asked the obvious question as we were going down the last bit of soft sand to turn onto the packed hard surface of the beach proper.

"Can you climb that mountain, Cat?"

Ughh. It had started already.

I kept my face neutral and remembered my plan to wear him out.

"Sure. That's Mount Camel. I've been up there lots of times. We could go tomorrow if you want."

His eyes gleamed behind the horrible glasses and I knew then that it was going to work. Everyone who comes up here to the Far North races around doing things for the first couple of days, then a strange tiredness comes on them. Mum used to blame the sea air, but whatever it was it always slowed people down for quite a while.

Time for Katie to do the things she wanted.

"Where are we going, then?" he asked, looking ahead to where the beach seemed to run itself into the ocean. I didn't bother to answer, for a few seconds later he could see for himself as the tractor rounded the last sand dune and the immense sweep of beach was laid before us. Dad reckons it goes for twelve miles, a long white arc sweeping down to the next harbour, Kaimaumau.

I always like the beach. There's almost never anyone else on it and you can dream you're alone in the world, alone that is except for the gulls and delicate little terns that gather in sleepy flocks, their black-capped heads pulled back against their shoulders.

"What are those birds? What on earth are they doing?"

Julian interrupted my thoughts to yell above the sound of the tractor and the wind. He pointed at a couple of gulls wearily climbing into the air, only to glide down almost at once.

"They're only seagulls and they're breaking open shellfish we call tuatuas. See, that one dropped his. The idea is that the shells break open when they hit the sand."

"They don't look like seagulls. The ones in Canada are different, they look more like those ones..." He pointed to some terns.

"Those are terns, not seagulls!" I told him scornfully. "They're much smaller and they don't eat shellfish, you see them in flocks out over the water, usually when the tide turns to come in."

He didn't say anything to that, but kept looking around with interest.

We were moving at a good speed by then, the big tractor tires sending up thin streams of salty water that left little globules of sand on the edge of the wooden tray, one row each side.

I moved in a little, standing carefully on the sack that contained the net because there were dried bits of seaweed still in it from the last expedition and they hurt my bare feet. Julian was wearing his sandshoes again, I saw.

To our left the waves were growing in stature as we travelled further south along the beach and were no longer protected from the ocean swell by the Mount. The men were carefully scanning the face of the breakers, looking for any hint of fish. You can see them easily as the long as the wind-ruffle doesn't blur the wall of water too much.

Today it was nice and clear, the sky almost cloudless and the slight breeze pretending first to come from the sea then abruptly changing to waft the smell of lupins down from the sand dunes above high tide. It was a pleasant change from the raw sou-westerly winds we'd been having over the last few days, but even those conditions had their uses, for anything at sea would be attracted onto the beach.

I never could understand that. I mean, why doesn't it just get blown away from the beach, the way the wind blows...?

"What's that?" More questions. I turned to look where Julian was pointing.

"That? I don't know, maybe it's a glass ball. Dad..." I leaned forward to touch him on the shoulder and pointed to the dark shape now plainly visible at the high tide mark and he turned the wheel towards it.

It was a glass ball! One of the big green ones encased in black rope netting. They're becoming much more common nowadays, and we're getting a small collection of them back at the house. Dad says they're from the Japanese fishermen, now that they're beginning to come down as far as New Zealand with their fishing fleets.

Before the tractor squeaked to a stop I leapt off and ran over to have a look at our booty. It was heavily encrusted with gooseneck barnacles now withered by the sun and needing Dad's fish knife to slice them off. While he did that Julian wandered along the tide mark for a few yards, kicking at the occasional shell or bit of seaweed. It was easy to see he'd never been on a beach before...

Shortly afterwards we were back on the tractor again and moving back down to the edge of the surf as the men became serious about the business of fishing. I saw several kahawai flash through the wave fronts, but they're not much good for eating and they don't stay long in one place anyway.

No, this time we were after something more substantial, that's why we had the net and the bags. Dad says you don't take the bags for the fish but instead for something to sit on. Then they can be used if you do happen to catch something, but to take a bag expressly for fish is to tempt fate...

We were halfway down the beach before Mr Crawford pointed and Dad slowed the tractor. Julian strained to see what they were looking for.

"What is it?" he asked me as the tractor at last turned sharply up the beach and stopped on the drier sand.

"Mullet," I grunted briefly, jumping down and beginning to lift the protective sacking from the net.

"Can you swim?" I asked as Mr Crawford and Dad each took an end and heaved the whole mess onto the sand, then began to drag it down towards the breakers.

"What... me? Yes, of course I can swim... well, I passed my school tests..." he added defensively as he saw me eyeing his shoes with a frown. "Why? Do we have to get wet?"

Hah! That's a good one!

I nodded, my face serious, my expression carefully offhand.

"Not always, but you and I are expected to chase the fish in when the net closes. Sometimes the waves can catch you unexpectedly."

He took his glasses off and looked nervously out at the breakers.

"I guess I'd better leave these here, then? What happens, how do they catch the fish, anyway?"

We both watched the preparations as the men stripped to their shorts and lifted clear the net ends to slip in the short lengths of ti-tree used as handles.

"See, Dad's going to take one end of the net out there into the water, then he's going to curve back around behind the breakers and in again. With luck that school of mullet will end up inside. It's when he gets to the end of the net and is trying to haul it in to the beach that we're going to help. We go over to the right, where he should be coming in and at the right time we run into the water and make a hel... heck of a noise, splashing and yahooing to keep the mullet inside the mesh. Got that?"

He nodded, and we began to walk along to where the action would take place. Julian still wore his shoes, I saw. Well, if he couldn't figure it out I sure wasn't going to tell him...

"You say there are fish... mullet out there. Where are they?"

"See that grey-black blob... there! In that wave... and again, there! That's a school of mullet. Can you see them now?"

"That? I thought that was seaweed or something. OK, make a noise, you say, that's all, Cat?"

I glanced at him guilelessly, not letting him see my teeth grinding.

"That's all. You're taller than me, you take the end nearer Dad when he comes in, I'll stay in closer to the shore. Sometimes they try to get past in the shallower water."

He nodded once more and we both stopped to watch the action.

Dad was now struggling in the breakers themselves, and the water was halfway up his chest, forcing him to use the one free arm to balance the weight of the net grasped in the other. Back on the beach Mr Crawford was just reaching the end and grasping the thin stick followed it out a little way , at the same time gesturing to my father who immediately turned to be parallel to the beach, trying now to pass between the fish and the open sea.

This was the critical stage, for if the fish got frightened now they would dash for freedom, easily passing clear of the net-burdened human floundering about in the wrong element.

Abruptly I saw him move more positively, standing up more easily and now striding along in a controlled way. He had found the bar of sand that the waves were breaking on and within which the water was much deeper. Clearly that was why the fish were where they were, these low tide holes often collect all sorts of things good for fish to eat, and they would have little fear of the tide for it was about to turn and come in.

I had recognised the nature of the place as soon as we had stopped, as had both Mr Crawford and Dad. That was exactly why they'd chosen this spot.

Julian, on the other hand, hadn't the faintest idea. I sniggered to myself as I thought of him racing out to help Dad...

The net sort of followed Dad along the sandbank, then began to curve inwards as Mr Crawford stuck his end into the sand to anchor it. We could see the floats bobbing up and down on the water, now and then disappearing under waves, then reappearing several yards further in towards the hapless fish. Dad was struggling now, the full load of net plus the huge amount of water caught up in it becoming almost too heavy to drag. It's funny, but I always thought that the water went straight through the net, but once you've felt the dead weight and attempted to heave it along behind you the physics of the affair don't seem to matter anymore.

Now Dad was moving straight in towards us, waving his free arm to take up positions.

"Julian, now! You move out about halfway, then walk along parallel to the shore making a lot of splashing and noise. Whatever you do, don't get inside the line from Dad to the shore. Understand?"

He didn't reply, but set off to follow my instructions. He was wearing longs, of course. Maybe I should have warned him and suggested he put on shorts as I had, but I didn't think it was my job to tell him how to dress.

It didn't seem to worry him, getting wet, that is. He simply waded out, kneedeep, then a little more before turning to move parallel as I'd instructed.

Meanwhile I too waded in, the sudden chill sting of the salt water quickly forgotten in the thrill of the hunt.

The fish were beginning to mill in indecision, first moving outwards until the floats scared them back in, then flashing along to the left where they were brought up short by the same barrier. As one they turned and sped back towards the open end of the net and us.

I began to kick my feet in the water, trying to make as much racket as possible, yelling and waving my arms at the same time. The gap between Dad and me was closing rapidly now, but not quickly enough.

Awkwardly I dashed into deeper water.

"Julian! Quickly!"

He heard my bellow and understood, his lanky legs pumping frantically as he tried to leap out of the waves with each step.

Certainly he managed to move much more quickly than I'd expected, and the amount of splashing he was producing was most gratifying as it had an immediate effect on the mullet who scattered in confusion, turning in beachwards towards me to avoid this new threat. I redoubled my own efforts and saw the bright silver flashes as they turned once more.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Julian's glorious dash come to an end as his big feet abruptly met the neck deep water of the hole and he disappeared in a great flurry of water and a shout of astonishment suddenly cut off in a 'glub' as he went entirely under.

I wish I'd had more time to enjoy the spectacle, but Dad was already crossing the same gut towards me and with no Julian I had to be in two places at once.

I'd forgotten about that.

Without hesitation I slipped into the same hole, feeling the sand beneath my bare toes soften and become lumpy, my arms now energetically pumping at the surface to increase the noise. As soon as I could I moved back beachwards again, patrolling my narrowing exit as rapidly as I could.

"It's working!" I yelled to Dad as he managed to clamber out onto relatively solid sand once more. Inside the now nearly fully enclosed net there was a seething flashing mass of grey and silver, the fish now striking the net in their panic stricken attempts to get away. Others tried to swim past in the mere inches of water to shoreward of me, desperately wriggling as the wavelets momentarily left them stranded.

Not too many got past me, and I was feeling pretty pleased with myself when Dad bellowed at me.

"Katie! Julian! Look out for Julian!"

I turned, expecting to see him floundering along behind but instead he was a mere dot out at the last breakers and getting further away each second. I looked at Dad's face and grimaced.

Townies!

Quickly I dived into the deeper run of water and began to swim out, letting the same current that was carrying him transport me as well. All of these washouts along the beach develop a strong rip as soon as the tide comes in, for the increased amount of water coming over the bar had to escape somewhere. I'd known about it, of course, and had taken the precaution of keeping my feet on the bottom all the time, for the onset of the tide change is quite sudden.

Julian must have been unlucky. Or stupid. Or both.

It didn't take me long to catch up with him. He was trying to swim directly back to the beach, fighting the very same current that I was using for my own purposes, and I could see he was getting tired.

When I was a few yards away I stopped swimming and trod water.

"Julian!" I yelled at him, and he stopped his version of the crawl to lift his head and look for me.

"Over here! Listen, there's no need to swim back in, follow me instead."

I began to angle along the beach back towards the sandbar Dad had used to get behind the fish. Julian turned to follow me, his long arms giving him more speed now that he wasn't fighting the current full on.

In a short time I felt the waves lifting me and sure enough the next trough let me touch sand once more. I waded in a few more yards and turned just in time to see my cousin find his own feet.

He staggered in towards me, his face strained and red with effort.

"Julian, are you OK? You look awful..."

"I'm... I'm alright." He panted and I saw for the first time that he was barefooted. Somewhere he'd had the sense to kick off the sandshoes in order to swim better.

"Never try to fight the rip," I told him. "Where there's water going out like that there must always be water coming in as well. All you have to do is swim along the beach until the current weakens."

He looked at me with a peculiar expression on his face.

"Did you know it was like that?" He finally asked when he'd caught his breath.

"What? The rip? Oh, it comes on when the tide turns. See, the tide's on its way in again now."

We both looked landwards where Dad and Mr Crawford were hastily throwing mullet into bags.

"Come on, we'd better get in there and help. Follow me along the bank here..."

Without waiting for his reply I turned and began to wade along the beach, feeling the soft sand at the edge of the hole with my feet until I was close enough to launch myself across the short gap to the beach proper. I wasn't too sure if I wanted to hear his next questions, or what Mum might ask when she found us both sopping wet.