By the time I arrived in Naseby the fog had cleared to reveal a beautiful, yet chilly winter’s day. Having taken a backroad as a shortcut, my first sight of the small town was of the Naseby Indoor Curling Rink and Adventure Park. A place that seemed incredibly busy for the middle of the week. Spotting a parking space, I squeezed my car in between two extremely large 4×4’s and proceeded to go for a wonder and find out just what attractions an Adventure Park on the Maniototo Plains holds.
Across the road, in a stroke of what was simply dumb luck, I found a curling competition was taking place. Feeling rather pleased with my good fortune, I inquired with a few people who I assumed were locals if this was bonspiel? They quickly replied ‘no’ in between chuckles of laughter and explained that the ice wasn’t thick enough for that yet, however if the run of weather continued, they’d get close. This, they went on to explain, was a local tournament. It was then that I sensed that I might be holding them up and as they seemed rather agitated and keen to get back to what was being referred to as the ‘ice’. Following them through a line of trees, I discovered a rather large gathering of people who were having the most wonderful time on a frozen outdoor pond. They were bundled up in winter gear, using brooms and curling stones on the ice. Nearby equipment and beverages were scattered along the edges of the pond, giving the whole scene a delightfully casual, community feel. I took some time to take in the surrounding landscape featuring tall trees and dry grass, while the light from the now clear sky cast long shadows across the ice. It really was the most peaceful, wintery atmosphere. And not one of them slipped over! A feat I was very impressed with.
The Corner of Ridge and Kyeburn/Ranfurly Road near Kyeburn
I reached Kyeburn, a small rural settlement on the wide Maniototo plains which stands at the junction of several state highways. Here the mist started to lift a little, for a moment giving a glimpse of the surrounding fields. It was about the time I was passing through Kyeburn that I became hopeful that I might come across some curling at my final destination of Naseby. Recently, I had read that due to the prolonged low temperatures and formation of thick ice, several curling competitions had been held in the area and the current conditions I was passing through gave the indication that the run of low temperatures would continue for some time yet.
Leaving Dunedin I headed north for nearly an hour. The mid-morning traffic was light and I was pleased to find that apart from an occasional ute or truck, I mostly had the road to myself. This was a pleasant surprise as having driven this particular section of State Highway 1 between Dunedin and Palmerston enough times to do it blindfolded, I can tell you this isn’t always the case. Usually the road is filled with campervans, trucks and vehicles whose primary objective seems to be to frustrate me until I develop a healthy dose of road rage. However, on this occasion I arrived in the small town of Palmerston with relatively low blood pressure and that’s always a bonus. At Palmerston, I left State Highway 1, turned on to State Highway 85, heading inland for Central Otago and Naseby. More commonly known as the Pigroot (although no-one knows just why), I made my way over the Kakanui Ranges before dropping down onto the Maniototo Plains. Which is where I once again found the brainsucking, apocalyptic fog.
With the world having disappeared into a world of mist and fog and visibility reduced to a ten metre bubble surrounding my car, I slowed to a speed that would give me enough time to dodge anything that might suddenly appear in front of me. This also meant I could enjoy looking at the heavy layer of frost that had settled on the fence lines that ran alongside the road. This continued for some time and at my slow speed, it also gave me the time to decide just what it was that I was going to do in Naseby. Until that moment, I didn’t actually know.
When it comes to naming places, it pays to be first or to know the right person. Take British surveyor John Turnbull Thompson for example. He spent fifteen years in Singapore and has a long list of walks, views, roads, rivers, regions, parks and even a medical centre named after him due to his work in the region. Then, upon arrival in New Zealand, he set about surveying and exploring large sections of the South Island. As did so, he named many areas after places in Northern England and south-east Scotland where he and his family were from. Take the area formerly known as Dunstan Creek, when John Turnbull Thompson arrived to survey the area, he decided to rename the place. So, he chose the birthplace of his maternal grandfather, Abbey St Bathans in Scotland. Now the area is simply known as St Bathans
Oh how I do like the name ‘The Gimmerburn’. It’s got that whole, ‘where the hell is that?’ feel to it. So, if you’re wondering, Gimmerburn is a farming community and is about 11 kilometres southwest of Ranfurly. Which means it’s pretty much in the middle of nowhere on the Maniototo Plains. I guess that’s what makes it interesting.
Not long after I took this photo I discovered I had a flat tyre, which wasn’t really ideal! If you get a flat tyre on a busy road, at least you know the consistent stream of traffic that’ll pass you by offers some comfort in that help is never far away if you need it. However, on this occasion I really wasn’t close to anything! I’d been travelling for some time on gravel roads and I stopped to photograph a fence line that looked interesting. Well, I’m not sure what I parked on, however once I headed off again, I noticed my car wasn’t functioning as smoothly as it was before. Pulling over to investigate, I discovered the flat tyre. Later, after changing the tyre I decided there was only one action to take. I headed back to the pub I was staying at and settled in for the evening.
How I like the small Central Otago town of St Bathans, I wish I owned property there. I wish I could afford to own property there. If ever I was to buy a place I used to think it would be Arrowtown, however as a town it’s changed dramatically over the last few years and so my thinking has changed to St Bathans. I like the idea of relaxing in the quiet solitude, making art inspired by the way the landscape changes with the seasons. But, since owning property is out of the question, I’ll settle for the odd day trip here and there.
I found my way to Clyde and Dunstan House, which I was quite looking forward to seeing. I always enjoy places with a bit of history and ‘The Dunstan’ as it is affectionately known dates back to 1900 and the building before that was constructed in the 1860’s during the gold rush. The building has all sorts of stories to tell, some of which I heard from the owners. One goes along the lines of, back in the gold rush days the house had a hatch from the cellar to the bar where dancing girls would pop up from to entertain the miners.
The Alexandra Bridge, like the clock on the hill, is a bit of an icon. While the newer version of the bridge is the one most people are familiar with, it’s the remains of the previous bridge that is the real monument. When it was built in 1882, the Alexandra Bridge was one of the country’s most glorious structures and a true feat of engineering. These days, the surviving piers and towers are a testament to its wonderful construction, having withstood the force of the Clutha river for more than 140 years.
In Naesby I found people curling which wasn’t really a surprise considering how cold it was. So, I decided to stay and watch a while. It was quite interesting really. Over the half hour I was there, I walked around and heard all sorts of terms I’d never heard before and didn’t really understand. But, I can say this, they seemed to be having a great deal of fun and what’s more, not one person slipped over while I was there. A feat I was rather impressed with.
I stayed here one night and almost had the place to myself. I’m not sure what I would have done if it was busy. It was the perfect spot to process a few photos over a pint or two of Speight’s. Apart from a Grandfather and Grandson at the end of the bar happily sharing tales about fish and a lady in the dining room, it was a very quiet night. They certainly didn’t mind me setting up my camera for a photo before the landlady told me about the local ghost.
The story goes that many young ladies came to the Otago gold fields seeking employment in grog tents, bars, and dance halls that sprang up all over the region. At the time, it was thought that a lady could earn a substantial wage on the gold fields, and thus create a better life for themselves. So when a lady called Rose started working in the area as a prostitute near the town of St Bathans, she most likely wasn’t alone. During her time in the area, Rose worked at the dance halls while also renting a room at the Vulcan Hotel at night to see male clients. Having collected a small amount of gold in payment, one night a male client of Rose strangled her, robbed her of her gold and threw her body into the nearby lake.
The killer was never found and to this day the restless ghost of Rose haunts the Vulcan Hotel and particular male gentlemen who stay in the famous Room 1.
I drove through places that had names like Shingle Creek, Roxburgh, Beaumont, Lawrence and Waitahuna to name a few. Places that were born out of the search for farmland or from the discovery of gold, often a little of both. As I wound my way over the countryside I couldn’t help but think of the extraordinary efforts people had made to traverse the landscape on foot. Often walking in the bitter coldness of winter or the extreme heat of summer. The trek to the gold fields on ‘The Dunstan Range’ and the Molyneux River took nearly a week to complete. It was as daunting as it was physically gruelling and completed while carrying close to 40 kilograms of equipment on their back. Something that is impressive by anyone’s standard.
I had time to ponder all this as I found myself stuck behind a tractor! As were about ten other vehicles until the driver had the good sense to pullover, before he was forced! Now travelling at a quicker clip, eventually we left the barren countryside of Central Otago behind and dropped down onto the more lush surrounds of the Clutha District and further beyond to Dunedin.
The drive through to Alexandra was simply marvellous. In fact, there was only one word that could describe the day, and that is ‘delicious’. Everywhere I looked, everything had a radiant autumnal glow as the sun hung in a rich blue sky that reflected off the shop windows as I drove past. The whole town had a relaxed, lazy sort of feel. It was almost as if no one was in a hurry to do anything at all. I was certain that if at that moment a meteorite the size of texas had come hurtling out of the sky and headed straight towards this spot, all the town residents would have casually looked up at the sky and said, “well, would you look at that”.
As I passed through the town, I suddenly decided to detour to look at the former town bridge, a structure that is a true feat of skill and engineering. Built in 1882, the remains sit right next to the newer version that spans the Clutha River. Beyond the bridges, the banks of the river were lined with autumn colour that was reflecting off the water. I wished I had longer to enjoy my current surroundings, however time was now starting to press against me and I really did need to get back to Dunedin. I vowed to return at some point to do the place justice.
At about the time in my podcast that Ms Patterson (The Mushroom Cook) was discovering that the Australian police were a little suspicious about her actions and that she would be facing charges of both murder and attempted murder, I was coming into view of Lake Dunstan. This was at Bruce Jackson Point, above where the old Cromwell township used to be, before the lake was formed. As I continued along State Highway 8, I now had the lake for company out of the right hand window, and a truly lovely scene it was. I rounded a bend and was greeted by a serene view of the lake. It was placid and tranquil as the mid-morning sun took over the surrounding hills that once formed the Cromwell Gorge. Not being able to resist, I called in to a picnic area at Jackson’s Inlet for a closer look.
When I arrived an elderly couple were just packing up a picnic that they had been having under a row of Poplar trees. The trees were covered in golden leaves, glowing in the mid-morning air and not a breath of wind was out on the lake. It looked rather pleasant and somewhat idyllic. Standing on the shoreline, looking out to my picturesque and blissful surroundings, I found myself for the second time that morning tempted to start negotiating a time of departure. Alas, aware that I had a prior appointment to get to in Dunedin, I went back to my car and rejoined the line of traffic that was snaking its way past Lake Dunstan to Clyde and further on Alexandra.
Fortunately when I passed by the museum was open – although it was hard to tell. With the entrance on a busy highway, I wandered how many people had driven past without even knowing it was open. However, on this day it was and I was extremely pleased as it meant I could spend all morning wandering around the backyard of an original Kiwi innovator such as Ernest Hayes and the famous Hayes Engineering Works, Museum and Homestead.
I wanted to have a little bit of fun editing this image. It’s taken from the top of a very steep lookout in the Lindis Pass. While finishing the image, I began to wonder what it would look like without the road passing through it. So, I took it out!! Doesn’t it look like another world? I imagine this is what the surface of Mars might look like.
At one point in history, The Dunstan Hotel, or ‘The Dunstan’ as it was known locally was the most popular spot in Otago and possibly the entire country. At the height of the Otago Rush, miners from all over New Zealand and the world were flocking to the Otago region, as news of the ‘The Rush’ spread. The gold rush caused many small towns to grow rapidly, one of which was Cylde, known at the time as Dunstan. The Dunstan Hotel was originally built in 1863 and not only featured accommodation but dining, drawing and smoking rooms, as well as a theatre for Saturday night entertainment. It was also the stopping point for the famed Cobb & Co’s coaches that ran from Dunedin to ‘The Dunstan’ and journeyed further on to Arrowtown and Queenstown.
The Matrix is fixed. You might have noticed there’s been a bug over the last few days as posts appear and then vanish or don’t seem to appear at all. It turns out there was a problem with an update in one of the widgets and a few other bugs that had crept into the system. Essentially my blog had a cold! The good news is that it’s all fixed and normal business has resumed.
A landscape from one of my trips into Central Otago. Visits to areas like this seem to be becoming more frequent for me. I’m not sure why, maybe it has something to do with capturing the sparse beauty that seems like it comes from another world.
When Gold was discovered in Otago by Australian Gabirel Reid, in 1861, it started what was to become known as the Great Otago Rush. The rush brought miners from all over the world to the Otago region who steadily made their way inland as the hunt for gold, fame and fortune took them all over the barren hills of the Central Otago landscape.
By around 1863, the search for gold had brought miners to an area known as Dunstan Creek, a place now called St Bathans, and a town quickly grew. The famous Vulcan Hotel was built in the area in 1882 and by 1887, the place had developed into a bustling town of over 2000 people. In the area, one of the main ways to search for gold was by sluicing, where powerful jets of water are blasted at banks that wash gravel into sluice boxes. The boxes then trap the gold at the bottom of the box. In St Bathans, this method was so popular that the nearby Kildare Hill was transformed into a 168 metre deep pit. It was only when the pit started getting too close to the town that mining was halted in 1934. Once mining was stopped, the huge hole was filled with water which created the beautiful blue lake that we see today.
Back in autumn I was fortunate enough to spend some time in Arrowtown. I say fortunate because I wasn’t meant to be there at all. I had planned to spend some time near Christchurch, but my accommodation was unexpectedly cancelled. So, I had to choose an alternative destination and Arrowtown was it. What a joy the town is during autumn when the colour takes hold.
Is it just me or is there something fascinating about old animal skulls? After leaving Butchers Dam, I ventured the short distance up the road to Conroys Dam. An historic gold mining site that was dammed in 1935 for the Last Chance Irrigation Scheme to provide irrigation for orchards on the Conroy and Earnscleaugh flats. Having arrived, I enjoyed a pleasant amble around the conservation area, which is where I spotted an old animal skull in the long grass. An object I found most captivating I must admit. For a moment I considered taking it with me but being stuck by a moment of clarity, I realised it wouldn’t fit on the mantelpiece. A while later, I continued on to Alexandra, skulless, yet knowing my wife would be a little happier with my decision.
I drove to Cromwell along the shores of Lake Dunstan. It really was a picture to behold. The lake was still and clear with the surrounding, snow covered hills reflecting in the cool, lake water. All along the shore, people were packing up campsites at the end of the long weekend. As I continued on towards Cromwell I passed roadside stalls that were advertising pine cones, honey, and horse poo, while orchards offered seasonal fruit, vegetables and nuts. The closer I got to Cromwell, the busier the traffic became till at last I found myself in a queue for petrol. If there was ever a sign that the long weekend was coming to an end, this was surely it.
The next day I headed for Luggate. Another of those small South Island towns that had developed during the Otago Gold Rush of the 1860’s as miners made their way inland in search of alluvial gold, fame and fortune. The day was still with clear blue skies as far as the eye could see while all the surrounding peaks were covered in snow and the ground lay frozen. The lakes of both Wanaka and Hawea looked tranquil, serene and undisturbed as I passed them. Having the road to myself, when added to my surroundings, the drive was calm and relaxing, almost peaceful. In fact, it wasn’t until I was close to Lake Hawea township that I came across other traffic. This annoyed me somewhat. In the short time I had been on the road I had started to consider it my own private highway and now discovering I had to once again share it, I was a little displeased. So, I turned to the radio for comfort.
A short while later I reached my destination of Luggate. I had read that there was a red bridge of some significance in the area which I felt obligated to see. After a short argument with my wifi connection and Google Maps, I located it not far away, spanning the Clutha River. Listed as a local icon, the Luggate Grandview Bridge is on the local council’s historic register. It was opened on October 28, 1915, and has been described as ‘one of the most attractively proportioned steel truss road bridges in the country.’ I stood looking at it for a few moments watching cars and campervans slowly make their way across, secretly hoping that it would suddenly collapse in front of me. Making for a very drymatic and historic photo. However, since I had to drive back across it to get to Luggate, I decided I was thankful it was made of such sturdy construction and that it could collapse at a different time, when it would disrupt my own travel plans. It was around this point in my thinking that I noticed my fingers and toes were growing extremely cold and that I wasn’t much of a bridge enthusiast. So, I headed for my car and pointed it in the direction of Luggate and further on, Cromwell.
I spent the night in Alexandra, Central Otago, a small town with a population of 5,500 which is 195 km north-west of Dunedin at the junction of the Clutha and Manuherikia Rivers. Alexandra was founded during the Central Otago gold rush of the 1860s and has steadily grown to be a major junction point for people travelling to popular destinations further inland such as Cromwell, Wanaka and Queenstown. The town is a pleasant place that is always filled with both travellers and locals from the surrounding farms stopping off for refreshments and supplies on their way through which gives it a busy, bustling sort of feel. It also has a clock on the hillside that lights up at night which I rather like. However, since I had left Dunedin late in the day, it was already dark by the time I arrived at my motel. I’d have to wait to see the clock until morning.
I would like to suggest, and I’m talking from experience, that walking the hills above Clyde on a winter’s morning really is a unique experience. What made it all the more interesting was the fact that it was dark when I set out, there was a hard frost on the road, snow on the surrounding peaks and it was at least minus 4.
I knew there was a lookout somewhere nearby, a bartender had told me about it the previous night and I had set out in the predawn darkness with lofty ambitions to find it. That morning, when I reached a point that was more ice than road, I left my car parked in a spot where I hoped I would find it again and enjoyed walking the hills on a winter’s morning.
There are many amazing and magnificent features about Central Otago. My favourite being that it feels like another world. It really does have its own characteristics and qualities that make it such a special place. I hope it remains the unspoiled beauty it is now.
Isn’t it hard not to like autumn? There are so many reasons why it is just a wonderful season, the least of which is seeing the colour change on the trees throughout the month. There’s something lovely about walking through a city or town as leaves full of colour fall all around you. It’s a very poetic feeling, particularly when it’s one of those still, slightly overcast autumnal days.
There’s something quite wonderful about the entrance to Blackstone (Hills Creek) Cemetery. It sits on the side of a hill, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Separated from the surrounding farmland by a fence line, the best thing about it is the large concrete gate that is also a War Memorial. In a place that was once a bustling town, it’s a poignant reminder of human existence in a barren and harsh landscape.
… from a Small City. My daily musings from Ōtepoti to get you inspired. Read the blog, view the photos, embrace the creativity.
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Curling in Naseby 
The Corner of 
The Vulcan Hotel in St Bathans
The Lindis Pass – 
The Ida Burn – 
