Daily Photo – The Great Glasgow Pie House.

A few blocks up and along from the Law Courts Hotel is Dowling Street, a interesting wee street that has transformed into a make-shift artistic hub. Walk up Dowling Street from it’s terminus at Queens Garden, and at about halfway you’ll come across 31-33 Dowling Street. Look closely at the top of the grand, former Excelsior Hotel and you’ll spot a quirky piece of Dunedin history hidden in plain sight. High up, etched into the Victorian plasterwork, are the words: “ESTD 1862 J. DONALDSONS.” It looks like the proud mark of a high-society banker or shipping magnate, but it’s actually a monument to the humble mutton pie.

John Donaldson was a Glaswegian immigrant who arrived during the 1862 gold rush. Like thousands of others, he tried his luck panning for gold in the freezing rivers of Central Otago and like many others, he found absolutely nothing. Realising the real money was in feeding the desperate masses rather than digging in the mud, he returned to Dunedin and opened the Glasgow Pie House.

It was a stroke of genius. His hot, savoury pies and legendary multi-tiered wedding cakes (one reportedly so enormous it took three grown men to carry it through the streets) made him a fortune. By 1887, the successful baker had amassed enough wealth to buy out the ramshackled wooden hotel that previously occupied the site. He knocked it down and replaced it with the brick-and-plaster landmark we see today.

When the Excelsior Hotel finally opened its doors in 1888, Donaldson made sure his culinary empire was permanently commemorated. Instead of putting the hotel’s actual name on the main parapet, he stamped his own name instead.

Daily Photo – Dunedin Sunrise Vibes

Behold dawn! I stand at the crossroads of my mind, after the night time drifts, let the past be reborn in the unfiltered light.

Daily Photo – Evening Amble on the Esplanade

The Esplanade first became a destination in the 1880s, when Dunedin’s growing population began looking beyond the city for somewhere to escape the noise and smoke of urban life. What they found at St Clair was wind, surf, and an endless stretch of sand facing directly into the Pacific Ocean. At the time, getting there was no simple matter. The road across South Dunedin could be rough and muddy, and much of St Clair itself was little more than dunes and paddocks from William Henry Valpy’s old Forbury estate.

Everything changed with the arrival of the cable tramway in 1881. Suddenly, the beach was accessible to ordinary Dunedin residents, and St Clair quickly transformed into the city’s seaside playground. Families arrived carrying picnic baskets, couples strolled beside the sea, and bathers cautiously entered the cold southern water wearing heavy woollen costumes that must have weighed twice as much once wet.

The Esplanade developed in stages as cafés, hotels, bathing facilities, and promenades appeared beside the ocean. By the early twentieth century it had become one of Dunedin’s social centres, particularly during summer evenings when crowds gathered to walk the waterfront and “take the air” in a tradition borrowed from British seaside resorts. The St Clair Baths, built into the rocks at the southern end of the beach in 1884, further cemented the suburb’s reputation as a place of recreation and leisure.

Yet for all the elegance of the Esplanade, storms repeatedly damaged sea walls, roadways, and buildings, forcing generations of repairs and rebuilds. On calm evenings, when the lights from cafés spill onto the pavement and the ocean fades into darkness beyond the railing, it is still possible to understand why generations of Dunedin people were drawn here in the first place.

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Daily Photo – Sky Reflection along the Silver Stream

It was one of those quiet, midweek afternoons with nothing much out of the ordinary happening, and I found myself near the Silver Stream River, which flows close to the suburb, or town, of Mosgiel. I parked the car and set off along a path that followed the river with an easy sort of confidence. In the still of the afternoon, the sky reflected in the river as it gently ambled past lush paddocks, farm machinery, and the Maungatua Range in the distance.

Now and then I’d cross paths with another person out for a wander, and we’d swap a “hello” before continuing on our separate ways. Aside from that, it was just me and the quiet, taking it all in. I kept moving, occasionally stopping for a closer look at something that caught my eye, or for the odd short conversation along the way. It was an unhurried sort of stroll, the kind that doesn’t demand much from you at all. In time, though, the daylight started to slip away, and I figured it was probably wise to turn around and work my way back to the car.

Daily Photo – Walking to Nicols Creek Waterfall

I ended up at Nicols Creek Waterfall without much of a plan, which is usually how these things happen. The track felt longer and steeper than expected, damp underfoot and just uneven enough to keep you paying attention. When the waterfall finally showed itself, it was a narrow ribbon dropping through thick green bush. Everything around it felt dense and slightly overgrown, like it had been left alone for a while. I stood there for a bit, listening to the water more than looking at it, thinking it was quietly better than the walk in had suggested.

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Daily Photo – A Stroll along the Silver Stream

If you’re familiar with the geographical make-up of Dunedin city, you can probably afford to skip the next few sentences and skim further down the page. For the uninitiated, Mosgiel is a suburb roughly 15 kilometres from the city centre, a place that sits somewhere between suburban living, retirement homes and a country town. It was here that I found myself on an idle Tuesday evening.

I can’t say I’ve spent much time in Mosgiel, apart from the occasional visit to the rugby ground or a quick stop at the supermarket or takeaway, so I decided to take a stroll along the Silver Stream. It was autumn, and over the previous few days the afternoons had taken on a noticeable chill as the light lingered into the evening – perfect walking weather.

If you’re feeling adventurous, there’s Silver Stream walk that’s classified as “hard”, described as covering rough, uneven ground with partly cleared vegetation, the odd marker to guide the way, and short stretches where the track becomes steep. As I wasn’t evening adventurous, on this occasion, I opted for something far more sedate, a gentle walk along the floodbank on the edge of town. Having identified a likely starting point, I parked the car and set off along a path that followed the river with an easy sort of confidence.

Every so often I passed a fellow walker and we’d exchange a casual “hello”, but otherwise I was left to quietly take in the surroundings. Lush paddocks stretched out on either side, farm machinery sat idle in the distance, and beyond it all rose the outline of the Maungatua Range. I walked on and on, sometimes stopping to look more closely at something, sometimes pausing for a brief chat. It really was a most pleasant sort of walk, the kind that asks very little of you. Eventually, though, the light began to fade and it became time to retrace my steps and remember the way back to the car.

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Daily Photo – The Ōtepoti Building in Dunedin

If there’s one thing to be said for modern buildings, it’s that they are incredibly interesting to photograph. You can always find an odd angle or a strange arrangement of glass or tiles that sticks out in an altogether unexpected way and gives your photo a bit of intrigue.

I mention this because one of the newer buildings in Dunedin is done in a style I like to call pointy and angular, and it’s a perfect example of what happens when architects are given a ruler, a lot of money, and a lot of confidence.

I stood across the street for a moment, trying to make sense of it. From one angle it looked sharp and deliberate. From another, it felt like it couldn’t quite agree with itself. The light didn’t help much either. It caught one edge, missed another, and reflected everything except what I was actually trying to photograph. Still, I took a few photos. Modern buildings, if nothing else, always give you something to work with, even if you’re not entirely sure what that something is.

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Daily at 6am from a Small City

Discovering small towns, forgotten points of interest and the everyday curiosities of my island home.

Daily Photo – Silhouette’s of the Dunedin Coastline

It had been an unusually warm autumn day. That morning, as day broke, dark, heavy cloud cover hung over the city like a thick blanket. By lunchtime, however, it had lifted and dissolved leaving a bright, clear, sunlit afternoon that lingered well into the evening.

Sometime in the early evening, I decided to make use of what daylight was left and headed out for a walk along a nearby coastal track. I strode along Tomahawk beach from the base of Lawyers Head to the end of the beach, I climbed through the sand dunes, joined the footpath and a short time later was standing on the point looking out across the Pacific Ocean. I watched the sun drop below the horizon, leaving the faint but recognisable silhouettes of the Otago coastline far into the distance.

Daily Photo – Dunedin’s Saddle Hill at Sunset

One of the more forgotten features of the Dunedin landscape, strangely enough, is also one of the most prominent. Namely, Saddle Hill. Within reason, it can be seen from almost every part of the city, yet it goes by with barely a mention. Apart from when it snows, that is. Then you’ll hear the locals saying, “Well, there was snow on Saddle Hill this morning,” quietly noting that another cold front has passed over the city during the night.

Located 18 kilometres to the west of the city centre, with an elevation of 473 metres, it’s not particularly massive as far as hills go. Yet a visit to the lookout on its northern slope provides a commanding view across the Taieri Plains, stretching all the way to Lake Waihola, some 25 kilometres away to the west.

In terms of the Dunedin landscape, it’s one of the old-timers. Saddle Hill has been around for millions of years, formed when molten rock pushed up through the Earth’s crust and cooled into a hard volcanic plug. It resisted the steady wear and tear of time while the surrounding softer land gradually eroded away, leaving behind that distinctive saddle shape we see today.

If it has a Māori name, I’m slightly embarrassed to admit I don’t know it. Its European name, however, was given by Captain James Cook during his 1769 voyage of discovery. As he sailed past, he noted in his journal that it had “a remarkable saddle”. And, as these things tend to go, the name stuck.

The thing I like best about it, though, is something a little more fleeting. As the earth turns and the sunsets shift across the western horizon, there are a couple of times each year when the sun drops directly behind it, creating a wonderful silhouette set against a rich wash of yellow and orange. It may not be the most dramatic sunset you’ll ever see, but it doesn’t really need to be. It makes me smile, and sometimes that’s enough.