As the country waited with bated breath, Shane Jones baited his hook.
He thinks he’s already caught enough of them to put New Zealand First into an influential position in Parliament. From the Russell dock, he strides onto the FV Manaki with party officials in tow, admitting a single journalist under the condition that I won’t be used as live bait.
Once on board and away from the prying eyes of most media, the vibe shifts. It becomes exactly what you’d expect from a five-hour fishing cruise booked by a group of boys in support of New Zealand First on a sunny election eve; except one of them is the deputy leader of that party, and their jobs may ride on the evening’s results.
Five hours later when Jones steps back onto the dock, he hoists a pair of snapper aloft and says they’re proof they are still aplenty in the Bay of Islands. Reporters ask if he’d bottom-trawled them and doubt he actually landed the pair. Jones deflects: “It forbids me to boast which one I caught.”
Even as the sole media witness onboard I can’t put this debate to rest, but I can narrow the field. Plenty of snapper were caught that day, most thrown back, and a handful of the largest were brought ashore. At least one of the big ones was his. Another was mine. Neither of ours was the biggest.
Not everyone was so lucky – one of the anglers started out with a mid-sized snapper, thrown back early. Over the next few hours, each fish he reeled in was smaller than the last, until he was pulling in fish smaller than the bait he’d tossed overboard. Everyone on deck thought this was pretty hilarious.
The word of the day on board is “family”, the same word celebrated at the party’s campaign launch this year, and the party’s annual convention last year. Supporters say the party is a big tent, and though they don’t all share the same views, nobody’s unwelcome.
There’s a sentiment shared to some degree between all political parties: that they’re misrepresented by the media. For New Zealand First, the thought that it would turn someone away is one such myth.
On deck, they say we don’t have to agree on everything, and we don’t. They say they just want what’s best for New Zealand, and you believe they mean it. Coming from a senior figure in a political party, you’d hope they’d want what’s best for the country, even if you don’t think it’s right.
The ship lists heavily in a rolling sea before settling on a spot where a half dozen lines are dropped in the water, one at a time bent downward by a doomed snapper. I’d only ever fished freshwater – bass, trout and pike – and it’s obvious.
Someone shouts my name and I ask “camera or hands?” and they laugh because there’s a fish on the line. As it nears the surface they’re genuinely stoked to see its size. It’s 10 times the weight of anything I’m used to and I immediately drop it, which gets the laughs it deserves.
The clouds begin to part and the sun screams down. Someone breaks out the speaker and starts cranking tunes from the upper deck. There are a few hits – such as Prince Tui Teka’s rendition of “Before the Next Teardrop Falls” – that everyone knows the words to, and they all belt out the lyrics in harmony.
They dance and laugh and every time one of their favourites comes on they ask if I know it and if I like it. They’re having more fun than the other parties and they know it. “Islands in the Stream” is next.
There’s been a serious dent made in the beers (two boxes of light beer between nine and a half large men over five hours – less than I expected) and some of the anglers commiserate because they knew they should’ve brought more. Sunscreen is doled out and applied. Jones has been quiet for much of the voyage, either thinking to himself or talking to a friend; the election isn’t mentioned often.
Jones says the sun is a harbinger of good fortune, as is the day’s catch. “A large catch in the morning, a profound harvest in the evening,” he says.
The eventual results, 9.8 percent of the vote, don’t quite live up to expectation. They’ve caught excellent snapper, but it’s like they went out to catch a whale. New Zealand First is never scared to aim high, and somehow, the night’s results – a near 50 percent increase on the number of votes in 2023 – could’ve been better.
The vessel sidles into a shallow bay while Jones names the islands and their history. On the shoreline an American flag flies directly below the New Zealand one on the grounds of a very expensive bach, its pattern also flying behind the words on Jones’s cap: “Drill baby drill”.
It’s hot on deck and half the anglers get their rigs out and leap overboard. I’m in the water before they can finish goading me to jump, because I’ve never been north of Auckland and I’ll be damned if I’m missing a good swim. They’re happy about this and laugh when I’m the only one who can clamber back aboard without assistance.
As the ship heads back to Russell, the men on deck wave to families on neighbouring yachts and shout greetings in te reo Māori. One cracks a wide grin and says “this is the life” and I agree.
He says this is what New Zealand First is all about: family, having a good time and enjoying the outdoors. And that rings true, because as someone with diehard Trumpist family in the deep American south, it’s strikingly familiar.
There are offhand comments that I’ve heard from my own family, like approval for the first Trump term and disappointment over the second (on the latter, New Zealand First is actually ahead of my curve). There are complaints about woke politics and jokes about conservationists; exactly what you’d expect from this crowd, who are never shy to say what they mean.
They’re the comments that will have liberal Redditors clutching their pearls, but they’re also the comments I’ve heard a million times from hunters, apiarists and farmers in South Island huts. Like it or not, they’re representative of a slice of New Zealand society, and a few hours later this is proven by the 2026 election results.
Jones is pretty reserved during the trip. There are no outbursts, no pontifications; he’s usually like this when an audience is absent. He’s told Newsroom in the past that much of his bravado is for show, and halfway through the voyage, he admits it’s been frustrating to have so much of New Zealand First’s recent strategy be defined by culture war topics. There are bigger issues afoot, such as energy security. But he knows you have to play the game to win.
He’s a fan of oration, which comes as no surprise to anyone who’s seen him perform in the House. Jones yarns about Churchill and speculates on his family drama, a story he thinks the Brits will never acknowledge.
He requests the links to two speeches: the 1859 gallows speech read by the violent and devout American abolitionist John Brown, and the 2007 valedictory speech given by last week’s newly minted Michigan Senator Abdul El-Sayid, the nation’s first Muslim senator. Brown argued his crimes would have been celebrated if done on behalf of the elite, and El-Sayid described the power of mercy, compassion and love.
Jones is pensive as the ship approaches the dock, where he knows he’ll be greeted by the press. The short preparatory conversation with his entourage centres on what joke he should make about the fish, and they settle on one about being the best Minister of Fisheries since Captain Cook, or something like that. He doesn’t end up using it, but improvises well in front of the media.
He tells them the snapper will “be served to all of you younger journalists, raw”, and one of the reporters retorts “we enjoy raw meat”. Jones laughs and admits he’s been subject to that appetite often enough. It’s the same sparring his mates have been doing all day on the boat, and he’s well warmed up by the time the jab comes.
Hours pass and the snapper are prepared raw, as promised. Doled out to guests and reporters in the Duke of Marlborough hotel, it’s a hit. So is the crayfish, the oysters and the drinks. It’s the one thing everyone can agree on.
Jones’ crew insisted on the boat that their party was misunderstood, and the biggest proof of that is its family vibe. When party leader Winston Peters arrives and delivers a two-minute speech, it’s like the return of a sojourning patriarch. People reach out from the crowd to shake his hand and thank him for all he’s done. But anyone who knows a family this large knows that family is a complicated concept, and the night proves that.
The fishing trip was five hours and so is the election shift. As the night drags on and the drinks take hold, family members – and at least one of the family’s opponents – speak their mind.
There’s the Welshman who has voted for eight parties across 15 elections, who settled on New Zealand First after starting out as a “quite radical” young communist; the party faithful who came to the media table to growl “bugger off” before asking to borrow a chair; and the intoxicated passerby on the street whose remarkably profane tirade aimed at Jones – complete with song and dance – lasted longer than Peters’ speech.
But most of the attendees say nothing to media, because why would they? They’re there for the same reason they’re always there: to reconnect, to hope for the best for their party, and to have a good time – the hallmark of a New Zealand First event.
They’re united by a shared goal, even if it looks a bit different to each of them: to Make New Zealand Great Again. Whatever that means is up to the individual, because at the end of the day, it’s family that matters most, and this one sticks together.