Tuesday, 19 March 2019

Gold Nuggets


The title of this blog doesn't relate to the gold mining past of South Island -though I crossed today a couple of towns that were gold rush beehives in the 1860s- nor have I suddenly become rich. I am much more talented at spending.
Let me explain. I was asked why I didn't read more books about New Zealand. Yes, indeed, why? Probably because I meet a steady stream of people who are fonts of knowledge and all keen to impart to me nuggets of live information that will forever be linked in my mind to a face, a voice, a landscape admired, a laughter shared.
John got on the Aukland-Wellington 'Northern Explorer train after Mount Tongariro. I had been straining to see the snow covering its cone-shaped summit. Clouds parted for a split second and I heaved a sigh of wonder.
' Tongariro is part of the Taupo volcanic zone', John announced. ' Three volcanoes under what is now Lake Taupo last erupted in 183AD and the black ash apparent in the sediments -that you can see here, and there, yes?- is a result of that great eruption.' I am a rapt audience. John is 77, has got a white beard and a twinkle in his eyes. He used to teach biology and natural science. Ah well, that explains it.
'Not only that!, he continues, 'but Roman diaries and Chinese documents of that time reported cooler summers and incredibly red sunsets. We are due an eruption any time soon, by the way. Every 2000 years.'
The train rattles past a paddock with strange antlerless deer. 'Young', he explains, 'that's why. They are bred for venison.'
Aaah! I exclaim, 'and since when...?'
'In the 19th century, some bright spark introduced a stag and three does. Within a few decades, they were all over the place, munching down the primeval forest. No predators, you see. They are a DOC (Department of Conservation) nightmare but hunters love them and love the goats too, champion chompers. And the wild boars. People would shoot deer from helicopters, the most daring would jump onto their backs.'
'No!!! Really!!!' (I do have to say something from time to time).
'Yes! They even invented a gun with four barrels and a corner of a net in each barrel to shoot the net, catch them alive.'
We glide on a dizzyingly high viaduct, a small river snaking at the bottom. 'See this canyon dug into grey green clay? ' he returns to his running commentary, 'Well, that was deposited by ashes blown by underwater volcanoes, was sea-hardened, until it was pushed upwards. It makes for a very brittle and ever-eroding landscape.'
Unprompted, he switches topics.
'My wife is 20 years younger than me. (wink, twinkle) She works as a nurse in the outback.'
'In Australia!!'
'Yes, with a mobile medical unit between Alice Springs and Darwin. She takes care of the Aborigine population. 3 months on, one month off. So we have a new honeymoon every time.' (wink, wink, twinkle, twinkle).
He shows me a picture of a beaming lady, his wife, holding a round-faced newborn.'This Aborigine woman comes to her out of the bush. Waters just broke. Had never seen a doctor during the whole pregnancy. My wife, she calls the flying doctor. Just a few hours later the baby was born in Alice.'
And on he goes. I get a glimpse of his life. I understand better the land where he lives.
The landscape looks depressingly bare after the luxuriant greenery of the north, rolling hills of dun grass parched in the unusual summer drought.


Thea lives in Christchurch, originally from England, also on the same train. She has planted a tree garden on her land. Pines for windbreak, others for seeds, for birds, insects, others for fruit then fruit canes...
'Jacinda Ardern has promised to plant 1 million trees this year', she tells me as I deplore the bare landscape.
Well, between her and Andrea up north, the quota is already looking good.

At Te papa museum of New Zealand, in Wellington, I learn that the Maoris landed by successive waves from 1200 AD. They had already deforested the islands down to 55% when the Europeans arrived, who were not idle either in that department, trying to recreate a bucolic austral landscape away from home.
My friend Roswitha, in Palmerston, takes me to Bushy Park sanctuary near Whanganui. It gives an idea of what those islands were like before, a land of huge trees and birds, before the Moas were killed to extinction by the Maori settlers, before our stoats, weasels, rats, the Australian possums, before the aforementioned deer and goats. The sanctuary is surrounded by a double fence and explodes with bird songs among the ratanuis, rimus, pongas, among the nikau palms -the southernmost palm tree- and a variety of ferns that give the whole forest a Jurassic Park feel. A native robin, white breasted and just as familiar as the European ones, hops close to us. A fantail, a drab little bird with a melodious song, shows off on a vine. We see the red and black flash of a saddleback, swopping between branches.

Back home, Jeff, her husband, smokes a freshly caught trout on manuka wood. I am told (another nugget) that manukas, a type of tee tree, are the best to start reforesting as it grows fast, not very high and efficiently prevents soil erosion. There you go. A few thousands of those for Jacinda Ardern's planting.




In Nelson, on South Island, as the rain pounds the land, Marcia and Brendyn welcome me with open arms. Conversations float easily across the dinner table. Felim and Niamh, their children, explain to me all about the new Zealand school system and I learn that the biggest eagle ever used to live on those islands. Haast eagle had a wingspan of 3 metres.  It disappeared at the same time as the Moas.
Nuggets, nuggets, and more nuggets...















South Island is stunning and awe-inspiring, in spite of the grey wooly hat that sits on its high summits. Still, the sun peeks out just at the right time. After a drive through the beating rain, I start to despair but no, it comes out and sets behind the mountains at Hanmer Springs, as I am getting lobstered in thermal pools. It shines on me as I walk up the spectacular Pororari gorge and down the Punakaiki river. It seeps through dark clouds as I stand on the swinging bridge above the Hokitika gorge and turns the milky waters from the glaciers into a pale turquoise. It dives this evening in all its glory into the Tasman sea.















But around Lake Kaniere, I walk up a gloomy track on wet leaves and slippy rocks. All is drippy, mossy, hanging with lichen and vines, trunks are shrouded in green growth or loom black against ferns and leaves. I am susceptible to moods. I just want to see the lake, then will turn back. This really is a Lord of the Rings landscape. It doesn't bode well. Even the little tomtit that hops near me doesn't dispel the disquiet.


It reminds me of John's stories again. With the young Americans and Germans who do woofing in his farm,  they reenact Lord of the Rings characters. 'I have beard extensions to play Gandalf'. (twinkle, wink, wink). He shows me pictures. 'The hat was really difficult to make... Ah, and this is how I made Gollum's costume, etc...' We agree that the dark rider in the film was truly sinister, its flanks bathed  with an otherworldly sweat.
And I think of the evil that happened in Christchurch, of the pain, trauma, shock and grief wreaked on a town that was only just going back to normal after the 2010 earthquake. And I think of the generosity of heart of its Prime Minister and I can't believe that it occurred here on these peaceful islands.




1 comment:

  1. You take us, dip us, sit us, walk us, to all those precious moments, like flicking from chapter to chapter of a new book in our favourite series, impatient to go there, so full of anticipation for what could possibly come next, super superlatives. I love this pace, style, it's rich, yet spacious, so wide, as fresh horizons usually are!

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