A little shaky, but we took this picture once we got back to the trailhead after losing my phone.
As we flew from “up north” Paihia to Auckland, weekend trampers were exploring the area we’d visited in Russell the day before. When we landed in Auckland and had checked into our hotel, I had a DM marked urgent on Facebook. Someone had found my license and credit card on the beach. They’d posted on an information board. And another traveller, named Annette, reached out to me on FB.
Yikes! I hadn’t considered this. I was a little bit alarmed that my information was so public. A credit card has a name, but can be cancelled, as mine was. But a drivers license has so much information! While I was considering what to do, another person DMed me, a man named Danny. He actually had my cards in his possession and was wondering where to mail them. He was glad to hear I was alive, writing “We feared the worst at one point!” He also assured me that he had removed the post from the Russell information board. I asked him to drop the cards at the police station.
I thought it wise to let the police know that the cards would arrive and who I was, so I began the process of contacting the police. Like other countries, NZ has an emergency number– fortunately not for me in this case- and a non urgent matters number. I began the process of filing a “105,” a report for matters like lost and found. Oddly, I decided I should file a “found” report, even though I was the, ahem, loser.
As I wrapped up the long form, translating Kiwi English terms into American English terms, Mark’s phone rang. It was me.
I gazed at my photo coming up on the screen. It could only mean that my actual phone was ringing Mark’s. I answered.
The woman on the other end, holding my phone, had just rescued it from the beach, she explained.
“Oh my goodness! And it works?” I said. “It’s spent the whole night in the ocean.” I explained what had happened, and that we’d been reluctant to climb down the cliffside. I was now beginning to feel that maybe we should have– obviously other people survived the climb. My phone had even survived the fall, apparently. Maybe NZ oceans are less lethal than the North Atlantic I’m used to?
It was a little hard to hear the woman, whose name was Megan. Of course I explained that I’d love to have the phone back, and she suggested that we connect through Facebook or Instagram. I agreed, although it’s not completely second nature for me. She gave me her full name and number. I texted her using messages on my laptop. I thought the best course of action would for her to turn the phone over to the police, and let them help me.
She replied that she would pop into the station, and that she was a police officer herself and knew the officer in Russell, but that the station was likely closed since it was the weekend. I now had two different plot lines running through my mind. One was all sunshine and rainbows. The other was dark, conspiracy laden, and would do very well as a Netflix limited series.
I decided I should try the phone number for non-urgent matters with the police. The queue counted down from ten callers ahead of me, until it was finally my turn and a friendly female voice, who I’ll refer to as the telephone officer, asked how she could help. I started to babble. She told me it was alright and that I could take my time. Little did she know!
I explained the whole situation, including that I had filed a report, which the telephone officer found. In a short time, I had accumulated quite a few details. She was, fortunately, quite sympathetic to the paranoid version of my thoughts, and had some of her own, including asking me for my phone’s IMEI number, which I actually had (mind you, I have no idea what “IMEI” stands for, but I do have the number.) When I gave her Megan’s full name, and said she had told me she was a police officer, the telephone officer hmm’ed and we continued. Later she confirmed to me that Megan truly was an officer and I could set my mind at ease on that matter! The dark and cynical Netflix plot began to recede and the rainbows and sunshine plot grew a little brighter.
Before we ended the call, I explained my embarrassment that my husband I and I hadn’t climbed down to the beach. I told her our ages. She said the decision was “fair.” Given her age, I take this to mean “wise,” rather than “a mediocre and wimpy decision that is now inconveniencing many other people on holiday.” Furthermore, the telephone officer wanted me to know that when she first heard my voice she thought I was a much younger person– a teenager! “Its all the tramping,” I laughed, while thinking, “Well, when we first connected I was nervously babbling while imagining dark and twisty stories.”
This story is still in process. My phone is still in Russell and I am not. It turns out that Russell really does close its police station on the weekends! From its inspirationally lawless past it remains, in a different way, intermittently lawless today. Vacationing police officers and good samaritans seem to have everything well in hand. With no active options that she could possibly take on my phone’s behalf, I am sitting in Auckland wishing Megan a very delightful holiday weekend.
I filed an updated “105” and presented my whole itinerary, along with my gratitude. The telephone officer seemed concerned that a courier service would miss me in Auckland, and that the phone would need to be shipped further down the line. If that is the case, I won’t see it until the end of the trip, shortly before we fly home. Fingers are crossed, and you might cross yours too, in solidarity.
