The Beehive

The Beehive in Wellington

I awoke in the morning feeling refreshed, well rested and more than ready for a walk and something to eat.

I ate breakfast at a very retro place called Midnight Espresso. After ordering, I sat in the window watching rain fall and Cuba Street slowly come to life, passing the time by marveling at how maple syrup instantly improves bacon and banana pancakes. When finally my plate was empty and my stomach full, I set off into the sleepy Wellington streets.

I made my way from Cuba Street along Wakefield and Willis Streets to Lambton Quay. Suddenly everything was busier. Feeling very underdressed without a shirt and tie on, it occurred to me at one point that I seemed to be the only one to not have a lanyard around my neck. As I walked, I pondered if these lanyards had a practical use or if they were part of some fashion movement I’d missed, like wearing trousers that are too short!  It crossed my mind to stop and buy one as a way to blend in, however I began to feel dizzy under the pressure of such an important fashion decision. Besides, I had arrived at my destination, the Beehive.

The Beehive as a government building opened on the 27th February 1977,  however its origins date back to 1964. The birth of the Beehive came about when British architect Sir Basil Spence sketched the building on the back of a napkin while dining with then Prime Minister Keith Holyoake.

I spent some time wandering around the parliament grounds, however there was only a certain amount that could be seen without going inside. For a moment, I considered booking a tour, but I wasn’t in the mood. Besides, I’d promised my wife I wouldn’t hang around and annoy anyone who was trying to run the country. So, I left the pencil sketched building behind, crossed several streets and jumped in a few puddles before arriving at the waterfront where a zealous wind was swirling off the harbour.

Gee’s Flat in the Kawarau Gorge

Kawarau River in the Kawarau Gorge

Tucked away in Otago’s history is the short-lived mining settlement of Gee’s Flat. It emerged during the height of the Otago Gold Rush as miners pushed into the rugged Kawarau Gorge, searching for new riches. By 1862, nearly 100 prospectors had set up camp here, battling the harsh terrain in hopes of striking gold. But mining at Gee’s Flat was no easy task. Water supply was unreliable, with miners depending on nearby creeks or the river itself fir a steady water supply. This was relatively easy when the river level was low, however when the river swelled, the dangers became all too real—flooding was common, and drowning became a consequence of life on goldfields near rivers.

The Taieri Gorge Railway

The Taieri Gorge Railway carriages at Middlemarch

I had driven out to Middlemarch, a small town nestled in the heart of Otago’s Strath Taieri region- intent on finding something for lunch. It was then, a few blocks from the main road that I found the town’s railway station. The Taieri Gorge Railway carriages stood silent on the tracks, their once vibrant hues faded from the sun. The windows were clouded with dust, no longer pulsing with life and ferrying passengers through the dramatic Otago landscape. As I wandered alongside the idle train, long shadows were cast in the afternoon light, the air crisp with the faint scent of rust and aged wood. In that quiet moment, I could help but ponder what railway’s have become.

The Gullies and Terraces of Hindon

Hindon car and railway bridge

When Gabriel Reid discovered gold in a small gully near the Otago town of Lawrence in 1861, everyone went absolutely bonkers! Within weeks, the population of Dunedin skyrocketed as news of his announcement spread and everyone headed for the newly discovered gold fields in the hopes of getting rich. Following Gabriel’s initial find, small towns sprang up all over Otago as people with very little knowledge or experience in how to mine for gold arrived, and everyone went crazy with gold fever. One of those places was a small settlement in the Silverpeaks Mountain range near Dunedin, called Hindon.

At the time of the gold rush, nearly 1200 miners swarmed the gullies and terraces of Hindon hoping to strike it rich with an easy find. However, given the nature of gold rushes, once the gold ran out, miners quickly moved on to new goldfields while the real fortunes were made by the merchants selling shovels, the innkeepers charging exorbitant fees for a night’s rest, and the people who figured out that gold is easier to extract from the desperate than from the earth itself.

Sutton Salt Lake

Sutton Salt Lake

The next day I drove to Sutton, through scenery that looked like the backdrop of a Hollywood movie-mainly because it was. The vast, rolling hills covered in golden tussock grass with scattered schist rock were one of the filming locations for Peter Jackson’s epic trilogy ‘The Hobbit’. But I wasn’t there to see film locations, I was in the area to visit New Zealand’s only inland salt lake at Sutton which sits in a enclosed shallow basin and is accessible via a 3.5 kilometre walking track. 

Upon arrival. I discovered the car park empty and no sign of human activity on the trail. Please by this, I set off through the tussock to Sutton Salt Lake

Before the Chaos of Day Came Bliss

Autumn dawn in Dunedin city

It was one of those autumn mornings that was fresh, crisp, and clear. Across the harbour, a late burst of colour from the sunrise hung over the city and reflected off the still, calm waters of the harbour. The new morning light glowed as it reflected off new and old buildings throughout the city. In a few moments, the street lights would switch off, the light would shift above the horizon, and the day would begin. I stood and watched for a few fleeting seconds, for before the chaos of day came bliss.

Hollis Brown

Homestead near Dunedin

In 1964, Bob Dylan released his third album, titled The Times They Are A-Changin’. On that album was a song called The Ballad of Hollis Brown. In that song he told the fictitious story of Hollis Brown, a South Dakota farmer who, overwhelmed by the desperation of poverty, took a shotgun and shot his five young children, his wife, and finally himself. When I listen to that song, in my mind’s eye, I like to think that Hollis Brown’s cabin and surrounding farmland looked something like this.

The Ballad of Hollis Brown. (song: Bob Dylan, 1964)

Sunrises and Shoelaces

Sunrise on Dowling Street

There are two things I discovered after taking this photo. Firstly, the lady who walked past me moments before I captured this scene seemed to be having an extremely good morning, judging by the high pitched enthusiasm with which she was talking on the phone. Secondly, it was on this day in 1790 that Brit Harvey Kennedy made our lives a little easier. He patented the modern shoelace with an aglet. Thus, no longer would the fibers from shoelaces unravel. They became easier to hold and could be fed through eyelets relatively trouble-free.

From there, things got really crazy. The invention of different fibres and fabrics meant the colour of shoelaces changed. The aglet became plastic, zips and Velcro replaced the shoelace altogether, and finally, highly embellished buckles came back into fashion-where the whole thing started in the first place.

Lower Hutt Street Art

Lower Hutt Street Art, created in 2021.

Before I experienced the madness and chaos that is the Lower Hutt traffic system—which seems obsessed with roundabouts—I went looking for some local street art. I had read, back in 2021, that twenty-one internationally acclaimed street artists had their work on show as part of The Most Dedicated: An Aotearoa Graffiti Story exhibition, held in the city. Intrigued and curious to see what was still around, I left the Queens Gate Mall and hit the streets.

The Organ Pipes in Dunedin

Mount Cargill from the Organ Pipes in Dunedin

If we take ourselves back in time, say, 15 million years ago, we’d find Dunedin to be a very different place. While such a journey would bring with it a number of issues, one of the most pressing problems would be that annoyingly active local volcano that just won’t quit erupting. During one of these eruptions, molten lava flowed across the landscape. As the lava cooled, it contracted and cracked, forming hexagonal basalt columns that can be found all over the region and at well-known local places such as Lawyers Head, Blackhead, and the Pyramids at the Okia Reserve on the Otago Peninsula. However, over the last 10 to 15 million years, erosion has shaped the landscape and features like the Organ Pipes into the forms we recognise today and love to climb over.

Otago Anniversary Day

The Exchange near Water Street

Generally speaking, whenever you travel somewhere you’ll have given some thought to what you’ll do when you get there. Where you’ll stay, how you’ll get around, what you want to see and do, who you want to visit and some idea as to why you’re there! Now, imagine travelling to a place and having to build your accommodation before you can stay in it. Well, that’s exactly what the first pilgrims to Dunedin did upon arrival. 

If you stand on Water Street in Dunedin’s Exchange, you’ll find a memorial plate that marks the spot where the first European settlers from the ship John Wickcliffe came ashore on the 24th March, 1848. Upon landing following a 3 month voyage, they stepped ashore to find themselves surrounded with rough, uneven ground, intersected by a small stream with bush clad hills rising steeply immediately in front of them. To the right were mud flats and wide marshy ground with Mount Cargill looming high above. To the left, more swamps, marsh land and lagoons separated by a line of sand dunes that connected to the Peninsula. Before them, apart from a few survey lines cut through the bush and scrub the land was all but untouched. This was their new home.

Autumn in the Octagon

Autumn in the Octagon

I made my way back down the hill as the Otago Peninsula rose into sight from across the harbour. Set neatly between St. Paul’s Cathedral and the nearby office blocks, the iconic clock tower of Dunedin Railway Station emerged, rising high above the harbour. In the foreground, trees from the Octagon displayed warm yellow undertones and traces of ochre and olive, scattered amongst the domed steeples of the Law Courts, Dunedin Railway Station, and The Otago Daily Times. All of this was backdropped by the calm blue waters of Otago Harbour, with distant houses and farmland stretching across the Otago Peninsula.

The Autumn Equinox

Sunset over Saddle Hill in Dunedin

If I may talk scientifically for a second-well, as scientifically as I can, there are two days every year when night and day are the same length. These are called the equinox or a solar equinox. 

That is to say, the sun appears directly above the equator, rather than north or south of it. Here in New Zealand, the autumn equinox happens in March (March 20 this year) and the spring equinox happens in September. Now, for those in the Northern Hemisphere they will obviously be reversed. What all this means is that for us folk who live in the Southern Hemisphere, the daylight hours will now be getting shorter, and for those that live in the Northern Hemisphere, the daylight hours will become longer. So, while all the nations north of the equator are heading into the spring and summer months, here in Aotearoa we’re stacking the firewood, plugging in the electric blankets, putting away the speedos and bikinis because winter is just around the corner. 

To celebrate the equinox, the official start of the autumn and winter months, and all the glorious colour that is appearing to this part of the world, I sat in the afternoon sunshine, enjoyed a beer and watched the sunset sinking below the horizon.

Waterfall on the Ross Creek Trail

Waterfall near Ross Creek

I arrived to find the usually sedate stream had become inundated with water after three days of intense, heavy rain. The torrent of water before me cascaded over three levels and crashed through a series of rocks before continuing its journey through the gorge. In this area of the bush, several small rivers ran from around Ross Creek and the Leith Valley before connecting up with the Waters of Leith.

Otago Harbour from Harbour Cone

Otago Harbour from Harbour Cone

About halfway down the hill, I came to the road. On the way up, this is where the true ascent of Harbour Cone really starts. At this point, I realised I must have taken a wrong turn, I shouldn’t be on the road at all! I should be on the other side of Harbour Cone walking down the side of the hill, dodging sheep poo and enjoying the coastline views of the peninsula. Having said that, the view of Otago Harbour that was now in front of me was fairly amazing.

I Spy with My Little Eye the First Church Steeple

The First Church Steeple

I walked across town on foot, heading up into Dunedin’s hill suburbs to take in the view over the harbour. It was a little over seven kilometers (four miles), not too far, but enough to feel like a decent stroll. Once I’d seen what I came for, I suddenly realised-I had to walk all the way back. 

For a moment, I considered catching a bus, but that felt like cheating. Besides, it was a splendid day, and I wasn’t in a hurry. So, with time to spare, I set off for home. Along the way, I kept myself entertained by spotting as many different angles of the First Church steeple as I could-a task that was both much harder and much easier than I anticipated. 

Dunedin’s First Chruch In Autumn

Dunedin’s First Chruch surrounded by autumn colours

One of the great things about living in a city full of hills is that there’s always a view worth the climb. The downside? Well, you actually have to make that climb. If you’re driving, it’s no big deal, but if you’re walking—which, given the choice, I usually prefer—it’s a whole different story. Still, more often than not, the effort pays off.

That’s how I found myself walking seven kilometers (four miles) across the city just for the view from the Stuart Street overbridge. It was early autumn—the kind of season that couldn’t quite make up its mind. The days still clung to the last traces of summer warmth, but the mornings carried that first real bite of chill. Around me, the city was slowly shifting into autumn mode, trees just starting to swap their greens for flashes of gold and red.

The Beauty of Otago Harbour

The Otago Harbour

I had made my way from the wharf and the busy Steamer Basin, through Dunedin’s urban centre and into the hills above the city, eventually, hoping to end-up in the hillside suburb of Roslyn. It was while wandering through one of Dunedin’s many streets named after Edinburgh, Scotland, I came across a rather splendid view of Otago Harbour. 

The harbour was still and undisturbed, shimmering a deep blue hue, backdropped by the light green and brown tones of farmland on Otago Peninsula. In the foreground sat the lush greenness of the Dunedin Town Belt in all its glory, flanked by Southern Rata and Red Mangrove trees. I stood there a moment and exclaimed “well, that’s all together lovely!” to no-one particular.

The Sad Tale of Mr John Harris

Toitu Musuem

Inside the museum, while wandering past the timeless faces of Dunedin’s past, I discovered the fascinating story of one Mr John Hyde Harris. Born in Deddington, England, into an aristocratic family, John Harris seemed to have always had high ambitions—after all, he could trace his lineage back to the first Earl of Clarendon. So, it’s hardly surprising that he trained in law before emigrating to Otago, where he arrived in Port Chalmers in 1850.

Within a few years, he had married the daughter of one of Dunedin’s founding fathers, Captain William Cargill, and went on to hold numerous high-profile public roles. He served on the Dunedin Town Board, was elected Otago Superintendent, became captain of the Otago Light Horse Volunteers, presided over the 1865 Dunedin Exhibition, and was a University of Otago councillor. If that wasn’t enough to fulfill his illustrious pedigree, he was also considered one of Dunedin’s merchant elite and invested heavily in land.

However, it all fell apart for the distinguished Mr. Harris when he attempted to develop a township called Clarendon at the head of Lake Waihola. The sections didn’t sell, and he lost £28,000, ultimately declaring bankruptcy and being imprisoned for debt in 1885. He died a year later, his estate was worth just a mere £100.

A Walk Along Lambton Quay

Wellington’s Lambton Quay

Instead of being where I needed to be, I’d taken a detour to check out Wellington’s Lambton Quay—as if I had all the time in the world. The city lights flickered in the fading daylight, and for a moment, I convinced myself this was a scenic, intentional choice rather than me just getting distracted again.

I was supposed to be at a restaurant 2.5 kilometres away—Monsoon Poon. With a name like that, how could I not be intrigued? Just off Wellington’s famous Courtney Place, it’d been a local favorite for years, known for its Southeast Asian cuisine. If the reviews were to be believed, I was in for a treat. I’d read that the food was delicious, the atmosphere was great, and the whole place had a vibe you just couldn’t help but enjoy. Either that, or the reviewers had all had one too many cocktails.

I was hungry, thirsty, and more than ready for a wander through the city—with the promise of good food and a cold beer waiting at the end. And honestly, at that point, I would’ve settled for a mediocre meal and a lukewarm beer, as long as it came quickly.

A Walk Up Harbour Cone

Otago Harbour from Harbour Cone

On an impulse, I’d decided to walk up Harbour Cone. Well, in actual fact that’s not totally correct. I looked it up the night before, so it wasn’t on impulse at all. I decided I was in need of a good walk, and now seemed as good a time as any to scale the 315 meters (or about 1,033 feet) to the summit! The previous evening, I’d looked up a local pamphlet, which said time: 3 hours, distance 4.5 km.‘Three hours? To walk 4.5 km? Even if it is uphill, surely that can’t be right’ I’d thought to myself. I’d noted it had stated: Difficulty—hard, very steep. I’d nonchalantly discarded this as meant for those people who were doing this sort of thing in jeans and sneakers and weren’t quite as outdoorsy as myself.

The next day, I woke up to rain. The clouds were dark and grey, a soft misty rain was falling. I’d read the track up Harbour Cone began from the suburb of Broad Bay. This is where I headed and undeterred by the changing weather, I parked my car and set off. Confident it wouldn’t take too long and I would be home in time to mow the lawns!

I hadn’t gone more than 50 metres—maybe 100 if I’m being generous—before my hands were on my knees and my lungs were already screaming. Clearly, this is something I’d wildly underestimated.

When I got to what I felt was about halfway up, I found a viewing spot and stopped there for a rest. Suddenly I heard the voices of two people coming down the track. When they arrived, they weren’t out of breath at all. In actual fact, they were in quite a spritely mood. They looked to be in their seventies and were wearing jeans and sneakers. I did my best to stand upright and pretend that I was just merely catching my breath in as manly a way as I could, trying not to act as if I was about to collapse at any moment.

“The lady informed me, ‘There’s rain in the forecast. I checked on my app—it’s meant to come down at 1:00 p.m.’ I looked at my watch—ten to one. ‘It’s a lovely view up there, if not just a tad windy.’

‘Enjoy,’ she added before bounding down the hill.

I trudged on. The rest of the walk up the hill was steep, very steep as it turns out. I wasn’t so much walking, as slowly trudging up the hill. Every time I looked up, just as I thought the summit must be near, I’d find in astonishment that another peak loomed further on. Wearily, I continued up the hill, wondering why I’d brought so much camera gear with me and cursing myself for bringing that extra lens and camera body that I knew I wasn’t going to need anyway.

At one point just as I thought that the top was in sight, I stepped over a row of rocks hoping to see the last few feet in front of me. “Oh, fuck,” I said, finding that instead of being at the top, I was still only three-quarters of the way up with another 20 metres to go.

At the summit, I stayed a while to take a few photos, enjoy the view and have a drop of water. It really was quite spectacular. I stood a moment, fixed my gaze beyond the horizon as the wind blew through my hair. Standing there, at the highest point on the peninsula, I suddenly knew what it must have felt like for Sir Edmond Hillary when he reached the top of Mount Everest. It was nice to have something in common with the great man. That’s when I noticed—it was spitting with rain again, this time a wee bit harder. And the wind? Oh yeah, definitely picking up. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now I was actually starting to feel rather cold. It turns out that pamphlet was right. It was steep, very steep and the weather was changing quite quickly. Who knew that the people that wrote these things actually knew what they were talking about.

I started my descent, taking in the view. About halfway down, I met a couple that were on their way up the hill. They were looking tired and exhausted. So I said to them in a spritely voice, “It’s a magnificent view up there. Starting to spit with rain a wee bit, though. Enjoy.” And off I went, striding down the hill like someone who hadn’t just been on the verge of collapse 20 minutes earlier.

Dunedin from the Roslyn Overbridge

Dawn over Dunedin

For those that know Dunedin, it’s highly likely you’ll be familiar with the Roslyn overbridge. In fact, if you’re anywhere near the hill suburbs overlooking the city, you’ll know how important the bridge is in linking the suburb of Roslyn to the rest of the city. It’s James Kilgour who we can thank for the Dunedin suburb of Roslyn. Arriving in New Zealand in 1853, by 1860 he owned a substantial block of land in the hills above Dunedin. When his property was subdivided in 1862, creating 56-quarter of an acre sections which sold for around £115, the village of Roslyn was formed. In 1954 an overbridge was added to connect the hill communities and people have been admiring the view of Dunedin from it ever since.

Tales From Mount Cook

Mount Cook & Lake Pukaki

High on Mount Cook, in the cold, early hours of Saturday 3rd December 1910, Australian mountaineer Freda du Faur and her companions Peter and Alec Graham started their final ascent on the summit. 

Born and raised in Sydney, Freda taught herself to rock climb and pursued it with a passion. In 1906, at the age of 24, she summered in New Zealand and after seeing images of Mount Cook became determined to climb it. She then spent the years between 1908 and 1910 preparing for her ascent on the peak. So, on Saturday 3rd December 1910, accompanied with two companions, Freda du Faur became the first woman to successfully climb Mount Cook.

A Walk in the Sunshine

Boat shed on Otago Harbour

Just when you think you’ve got the hang of Dunedin weather, it will surprise you. Recently, when the calendar clicked over from February to March, thus marking the end of summer and the beginning of autumn, almost as if by the flick of a switch, the mornings had taken on a distinctly autumnal chill. Fairly soon, the days would be getting shorter, trees would start losing their leaves covering the ground in an autumn blanket. The temperature would slowly start to creep towards those wintery single digit numbers and migrating birds will make the very wise decision to head to warmer places.

Then you get days like the one I was presently experiencing. It had started out with overnight rain, high clouds and light winds. However, by the time 3:00pm had rolled round, it had turned into a splendid afternoon. There wasn’t a breath of wind, in a clear blue sky. It was sunny and warm, the kind of weather that makes you smile because it brings with it an almost peaceful feel.

I decided to take advantage of this surprise turn of events and went down to the harbour to enjoy the sunshine on a pleasant afternoon stroll. I soon found out I wasn’t the only one with this idea. I shared my afternoon amble with cyclists, runners, other walkers, all of us enjoying the delights of the afternoon. As I walked, I wandered past boat sheds, most of which were locked up. However, one in particular was open. It had cars parked in front of it and a gathering was taking place. You could smell it; the smell of the barbecue wafted out across the low tide and along the cycleway. The occupants were standing on a balcony over the harbour, happily enjoying each other’s company in the late afternoon sun. It really did look altogether serene, I was almost tempted to ask if I could join them. 

With time moving on, I made my way back along the cycleway to my car. As I did so, I couldn’t help but wonder how many more afternoons there like this were left before autumn really takes hold. But then again, just when you think you’ve got the hang of Dunedin weather, it will surprise you.

Oban on Stewart Island

Dawn over Halfmoon Bay

The great thing about small towns is that they are so intensely quiet in the early morning hours. Oban, on Stewart Island is no exception. I had risen early to photograph the sunrise and with that task ticked off my list, I went down into the town. Usually in those predawn hours I see at least one other person, foolish enough as myself to be up at such time. But, on this occasion I didn’t see a single soul. I wandered the empty streets as the first hints of daylight crept in, it was almost as if I had the town all to myself. It felt like a world apart—silent, peaceful, and entirely my own.

In the Shadows of Morning

Twilight on Lower Stuart Street

After I’d spent some time photographing trucks barreling along the city’s one-way system, I took the time to casually wander around some of the city’s historic buildings that have been lovingly restored to show-off their magnificence and glory. They all looked rather fetching, lit-up in the half-light.

As the twilight faded and vanished from sight, the sky seemed to sing in a golden chorus of echoes that hung in the air and  lingered in the empty streets and dimly-lit lanes. It was that strange time of day when the shadows of morning took hold, and the city wasn’t really awake, yet no longer asleep.

The Dunedin Law Courts at Night

The Dunedin Law Courts at Night

One of the things that happens to you when you get older is that you start to wake more often during the night. Along with my hair thinning and that annoying lower back pain that never really seems to disappear, this has started happening possibly more often than I care to admit. I’ve tried many times to find a pattern to these nocturnal awakenings, but I never do. It really is amazing what you remember you forgot in the middle of the night; the answer to that lunchtime crossword puzzle, song lyrics, what I was meant to buy at the supermarket on the way home. Then there are those seemingly random questions that come from nowhere; What is the weather forecast? Who invented the microscope? Which countries border Bhutan? Who is the current British Prime Minister? Is it snowing? Is it too late in life to become a heart surgeon or a pilot? 

The benefit of all this is that my alarm clock is now pretty much redundant and is quite usefully acting as a dust collector. In the hope of getting back to sleep, there are times when I’ll read for a bit, and other times when I’ll simply give in completely and just get up! This is how I came to be standing outside Dunedin Railway Station- opposite the Dunedin Law Courts at 5:15am on an idle Tuesday morning in mid February, photographing trucks barreling along the local one-way system heading for some unknown commercial supply chain. 

A Walk On An Empty Stomach

The Solider’s Memorial on the Otago Peninsula

In the evening I decided to walk one of the peninsula tracks up to the Solider’s Memorial. Having not heard any news in the past week, I loaded a podcast that promised to bring me ‘all the latest news from around the country’. Having set off, after several minutes I quickly discovered that the major local news focus seemed to be centring around the government’s restructuring of a nation-wide school lunch programme. Essentially, wanting to save money, the government took a well run scheme that provided healthy, nutritious and tasty school lunches to thousands of children and slashed millions of dollars from its budget. The result of course has been disastrous! Schools have been delivered an endless quantity of uneatable macaroni and cheese that simply gets thrown away by children due to its nasty taste and off putting smell. In his infinite wisdom, the Prime Minister responded to the uproar by advising parents to pack a sandwich and an apple if they weren’t happy. 

I pondered this problem walking up the hill. Nearing the end of the track and the monument, I began to think of solutions instead of throwing the lunches away. I also wondered if the schools in the Wellington region had really investigated all the food recycling options available. I would like to suggest that they could gather all the uneaten meals and send them to the houses parliament via Uber Eats. The cabinet could have them as an afternoon snack while discussing more ways to stumble and stammer through interviews and avoiding giving straight answers to straight questions.

Ben Rudd’s Place

Ben Rudd’s property

I was heading for Ben Rudd’s property. Located on the northern flank of Flagstaff, Ben Rudd was a hermit who gave up urban life to live the last ten years of his existence in solitude. On his land he built a stone hut, fences and fiercely protected his property with acts of violence against trespassers. When he shuffled off this mortal coil in 1930, the Otago Tramping Club purchased the 45 hectare property and have managed it ever since. 

From the Flagstaff Track I found a trail heading along the northern face of Flagstaff. A sign indicated that Ben Rudd’s place was a mere 15 minute stroll through the bush- which naturally I assumed was an easy 5 minute stroll. Well, I was wrong. Unlike the Department of Conservation, it seems that the Otago Tramping Club’s 15 minutes is an actual 15 minutes! 

The track wound its way downhill until the path eventually widened and opened to clearing. Ben’s hut is no longer standing, but has been replaced with a brick shelter, partially hidden by overgrown bush and long grass. I stopped to look around. Inside the shelter people had written all over the walls and left messages like, ‘Katrina was here 2010” as was”Taylah “,”Zara ” and”Henry “. For a moment I considered adding “Ben Rudd was here 1929” but thought better of it and headed back to the trail.  

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