Carver has whale of a tale

Having finally made it to the West Coast, ODT regional editor Dave Cannan and illustrations editor Stephen Jaquiery begin Day Two of their journey and continue to meet some fascinating characters.

A sleep interrupted several times throughout the night by incessant rain is finally ended by a rhythmic "clank, clank, clank" and regular gasps of breathing.

It's just after 7am and 68-year-old Lou Armstrong, as he does most mornings, is pumping some serious weights in the front room.

He had warned us last night about the workout and hoped he wouldn't wake us too early but we'd only been dozing anyway.

The sound of rain on the corrugated iron roof and the flow from a hole in the spouting outside the bedroom window had fluctuated between steady and heavy.

I suspect Coasters get sick of hearing about how much it rains in their part of the world, just like Dunedin folk tire of defending its reputation for polar-like temperatures all year round, so I didn't make a big deal out of it over breakfast, Lou's muted reaction proof enough it was nothing out of the ordinary.

The roast venison meal, washed down by a couple of bottles of shiraz, had been a memorable meal the night before as we got to know our host a little better.

We learned he was born and raised in Rotorua, belongs to the Ngati Whakaue tribe, an urban subtribe of Te Arawa (his mother was Maori, his father Scottish) and went to school with Howard Morrison (now Sir Howard), who keeps in contact with his old friend.

Indeed, I have spent the night in the same single bed used by Sir Howard on his last visit down south.

Since those early days, Lou has crammed so many adventures and memories into his life he's tempted to write a book about it (the title of which can't be repeated!); he's been married three times, has "gone bust" once, been a forestry worker, deer culler, possum trapper, ship's steward, diver, fisherman, helicopter pilot, developer and, latterly, a carver who runs a Maori art gallery in South Westland, helped by daughter Jacqui.

Many of those adventures are captured in the dozen photograph albums he brings out to show us, each one sparking another memory, another story and more often than not, lots of laughter.

One of the notable exceptions is the tragic tale contained in a bundle of newspaper clippings dealing with United Airlines flight 811 from Hawaii to Auckland on February 25, 1989.

Nine people died when an explosion blew a hole in the fuselage of the 747 when 20,000 feet above the Pacific.

Sitting in row 21d was a Masterton pilot, Graeme (Lou) Armstrong, going back to New Zealand for his mother-in-law's funeral.

A year later he would tell the Evening Post newspaper that the tragedy had changed his life forever.

"Nine people lost their lives; that's the problem I have. I just felt a little guilty that I'm still here and they aren't.

"I crashed a helicopter and that was nothing compared to this".

So, how come a man of the world who's worked as a heli-logger pilot in Borneo and a tuna spotter in Ensenada, North America, ends up settled in such a remote place as Whataroa?

The short version of a long story is he was returning from a trip from Nelson to Queenstown about 12 years ago when he stopped in the town and saw the former tearooms were empty, having shifted across the road on State Highway 6.

Lou had begun carving full-time and was thinking about building a Maori art gallery but in the old building he saw an opportunity.

He managed to rent it with a right of purchase and c'est la vie, it became the Kotuku Gallery.

Initially he lived there with his wife Veronica but she didn't like the place and left.

Lou says he stayed because he feels at home here; there is a spirituality emanating from the nearby mountains that comforts and embraces him.

And even though he goes away from time to time, he finds the place calls him back again.