Standing firm on an overcast afternoon.

In the wake of the Auckland Harbour Bridge, a small island – accurate, albeit generously named – sits. Sometimes mostly covered, sometimes allowed to show a little leg. A few trees, a bit of grass, some other random vegetation. While not substantial enough for Tom Hanks and Wilson to call home and not quite deep enough to build an underground Dharma Institute, it is easily accessible; a plane crash is not required.

While anchored firmly in Auckland’s waters and sandwiched between land masses, the island is not formally owned by anyone. As the source of all knowledge, Wikipedia, references from a NZ Herald article:

Mr Lee said that Watchman Island and many other islets in the Hauraki Gulf “are not formally owned in a property title sense. For nearly 150 years they have existed in a legal limbo as ‘uninvestigated’, which normally presupposes Maori customary land.”

A runner goes against the flow.

A fabled time exists between the hours when the night-crawlers lay down to sleep and before the closely related family of humanoid creatures rise to worship the sun. This time is commonly known as early morning. Rarely viewed by myself, I can confirm from recent abnormal experience that this time does in fact exist.

In the thick of the pack.

And more than just exist. Some species thrive and can perform physical activity even before blood temperature has reached workable levels.

Race start.