Susan Buckland: Weather comes to the party at last in Taupo

I felt sorry for my extended family. From the chill of a European winter they had arrived to an apology of a Taupo summer.

Suitcases were bulging with bikinis and beach towels. But it was a cruel start to the holiday. Five days of southwesterly wind howled across the lake and blew nostalgic memories of gorgeous summer holidays right out the window.

My brother, who had flown in from Sydney replete with his golf clubs, remarked wistfully that he had departed a sunny city warming up for 36C.

A niece laid chips over rolled up pages of newspaper. "Let's have a fire," she suggested, having left one in Brussels only the day before.

Her sister's shoulders rose in a Gaelic shrug. "C'est la vie," she said. Pox on this particular dose of vie, I felt like replying.

But as smoke began rising from chimneys in neighbouring houses, our whanau imagined their occupants resigning themselves to a similar diet of indoor pursuits so long as the outdoors refused to play ball.

Then on the fifth morning, two days before we were due to pack our bags and leave, out she came. The sun filled the sky and sent the last wisp of cloud into oblivion.

There at last were the mountains. Out from under the veil of cloud and glistening on the highest peak with a fresh dust of snow. Ruapehu, Ngauruhoe and Tongariro, shoulder to shoulder, imperious above the rest of the ranges at the southern end of the lake.

From childhood I carry the memory of drifts of smoke evaporating into the sky from the crater of magnificent Ruapehu. And on this day, the first shining day of our summer holiday in Taupo, the mountain was serene.

There were occasional sounds of motorboats banging through the water. Grey warblers trilled above the buzz of crickets. And a bellbird sang its divine, fluting song.

The effect on us all was instantaneous. Out came bikinis and beach towels. Suncream was slapped on faces. Doors were flung open and deck chairs filled with barely clad bodies.

Benson, my labrador, rushed out to roll off on the grass his malting winter coat. As enough black fur to fill a Christmas stocking floated on the breeze one of the nieces rolled over on to her stomach with a contented sigh.

Her father let his own view of life be known. "Now this," he said referring to the sunshine, "is what I would call la vie."

From the veranda of the house I watched bright yellow kayaks, the sun bouncing off the paddles as they were turned this way and that.

Even my young nephew, who would have been happy spending his entire holiday at repeat viewings of the final Lord of the Rings film, flopped on a chair outside and murmured that he wouldn't mind having a go in a kayak.

I hoisted the sun umbrella and let the peace and view seep in. There's only so much one can take of musing in front of embers in a fireplace.

The sparkling lake and mountains etched against a peerless sky were now at work with their own spellbinding.

Before long someone will suggest taking the boat out, maybe to one of the secluded Western Bays. And when that happens we will dive into the water and then lie down on the edge of the lake to drip dry and waft into dreamland.

When the sun begins to sink there will be a call to barbecue the trout that, with luck, will have been caught earlier in the day. And if there is any manuka driftwood lying around, it will smoke the fish to perfection. I can still smell the aroma from childhood summers spent in Taupo's lovely Western Bays.

In the deck chair beside me, Emilie, the niece from Belgium, adjusted her shoestring bikini and broke into my haze of reminiscence. "Je suis au septieme ciel."

Oui, Emilie. I'm in seventh heaven, too. Now that our Taupo summer has arrived.