Another wee trek I had taken in the sun was to adventure across the rocks beyond the St Clair Salt Water Pool at low tide. This is usually an area covered in water and pounded by swells as waves break on the point. However on one such occasion with the sea calm combined with a low tide, I spent an enjoyable hour scrambling over the rocks. It was during this time that I came across something altogether unexpected. There, sitting attached to a rock, surrounded in seaweed sat a plaque to Rex Von Huben. Just who Rex was I wasn’t sure, but clearly he must have been a person of note to be remembered in such a way. I decided to find out.
A short time later, having left the rocks behind and thanks to the wonders of Google, I discovered that Rex Von Huben was one of New Zealand’s earliest recognised big-wave surfers in the deep south who at the age of 43 lost his life in a car crash in 1998. The following year, as a memorial to Rex, his widow Lorraine and friend Kyle Davidson organised New Zealand’s first big-wave surfing event the following year called the Quiksilver Rex von Huben Big Wave Challenge. And if I learnt nothing else during summer, that was good enough for me.
Before the last day of summer ended, I decided I wanted to prove to myself that summer hadn’t been all bad and that there had actually been some rather splendid days in the sun. With this in mind I went back to a group of images I had taken recently during one of Dunedin’s finer spells.
And so it was that on a Monday morning I found myself at the beach, watching the last day of summer begin. Now, I don’t want to say that I always start March feeling cheated, it’s just that I always exspect so much more out of a Dunedin summer. Every year December rolls around and my head becomes filled with visions of deliciously hot, warm, cloudless days that stretch on well to early March. The reality is much different. Usually I’m buying firewood by the second week in January and then refusing to use it on principle.
So, with time almost up on summer and with less than twenty four hours before autumn officially started, the beach seemed an appropriate place to be. It was a warm Dunedin morning. I watched the sun appear from beyond the horizon and rise into the sky. It also seemed ironic that the last day of summer was going to be warm and fine, given that so many days over the last three months had been overcast.
This is more or less where I spent an evening on Smaills Beach. It had been a long summer’s day and the last rays of the sun were slipping below the horizon. The tide had revealed rocks all covered in green seaweed as the yellow and orange sky in the distance seemed to dither for a minute or two. Somehow in that second everything seemed a lot closer yet further away than ever before.
I had a strange hour exploring the Dunedin Botanical Gardens. There was a family putting on an impromptu acapella concert near the duck pond. The children were singing classic hits such as ‘I want more food for the ducks’ along with ‘he took all mine’ and finally the classic ‘why can’t we ride the train.’ A lady (who I assumed was the mother) was adding backing vocals based around a repeatedly chorus line of ‘I can’t take you anywhere’ while a man (who I assumed was the father) was playing the baseline of ‘this was your stupid idea.’ I had hoped the children would add to the drama by actually performing in the duck pond, however they unfortunately set off for the car park instead. Just then a congregation of students heavily armed with alcohol made their way from one entrance to the other. As they seemed to be heading in the same direction as the aforementioned family, I wondered if Dad was tempted to join them, or the mother for that matter!
I went for a long walk with no real agenda, other than to see this spot. The day was warm, the sun was out, the water was still and I had no time frame or schedule for the day, other than to be close to a beer at around 4pm. As it was only just a little after 1pm, I had many hours in front of me and very little plans. I had no idea where I was going, but I’d figure it out somehow.
The way I see it, there are many reasons to love Dunedin, and this is one of them. The town belt and scenic reserves. There’s also a lovely metaphor about life and choosing directions in this image which is what drew me to this location. That, and the fact I like all the textures.
It was only after a little way along the beach that I realised I was missing something. Although this feeling isn’t new to me, generally it involves wondering if I’ve turned the oven off or some other appliance as I’m leaving the city on holiday. This is then followed by a quick phone call to a relative or friend with a desperate plea to ‘please headover home and check the place isn’t a pile of ash!’ It then struck me what I was missing, my tripod! As I turned and headed back to the car to fetch the item I allowed myself a moment of reflection…‘well, at least I didn’t lose it this time’ I reasoned.
I stood watching the surrounding plant life gently swaying in the indecisive wind. One moment it felt like a hurricane had launched itself at me, threatening to push me down the rather steep bank I was beside. Then, suddenly the wind would drop away and reveal patches of still and calm that would cause me to lower my guard. Just when I would start to relax, another typhoon like gale would hit me. But then again, I was standing on the highest point in the city while a high wind warning had been issued.
I had the idea to venture a lot further down the harbour than I eventually did. I had overslept and so by the time I was out the front door and driving in the predawn darkness, I knew I would be late. Aramoana had been my intended destination however I had quickly given up all hope of getting there in time for a sunrise. Instead, I turned my attention to a well known overbridge in Ravensbourne where the morning colours in the sky were lingering long enough to make the morning trip worthwhile.
We crossed the harbour and headed back to the hangar via a fly over the heart of the city, the Octagon. It looked quiet with a handful of cars scattered about, buildings of all ages stood at strange angles to accommodate the geographical shape that makes up the area. Ever since I was a child, I had always wanted to see the place from such a view, and now I had. You could see all the big main features of the city like the Town Hall, The Catherdral, The Central Library, along with all the other smaller buildings that were tucked into narrow alleyways. Everything was exactly the way that it seemed. And that was just fine with me.
Further on, having crossed the Otago Peninsula we started to track the coastline back towards Macandrew Bay. The whole place looked stunningly pretty with long views down to the blue sea, bordered with majestic shades of green, separated only by a road that snaked its way along the base of the land by the sea shore. Perhaps it was the time of day, the weather or the sense of experiencing the world from a different view but it seemed perfect. The land rolling down to the water in splendid hues of colour. I could have looked at it for hours.
Finding myself looking over the Otago Peninsula and back up Otago Harbour I was astounded by the length and shape of the Harbour, but then again, I always am. Many years ago when I had returned to Dunedin after living overseas, one of the most enjoyable parts of my day was being able to drive around the harbour and the peninsula. I remember reading somewhere that it’s’ like a beckoning finger lying between the Pacific Ocean and the harbour. I prefer to think of Robbie Burns’ ‘My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go.’
Among the many hundreds of things that have come a long way in Dunedin since my arrival to the city in November 1978, unfortunately my golf game isn’t one of them. If we could drain the ocean around Lawyers Head, (particularly on the left hand side from the ninth tee) I’m sure most of the golf balls found would in fact be mine!
By the time we reached the Hot Salt Water Pool, a public facility perched on the end of a rocky point sitting below a line of cliffs, I was quite amazed. There were all sorts of patterns and textures, shapes and colours, some natural features and some made by man. Some of the features showed the wear and tear of time while other features like the seaweed growing off the rocks and the contrasting blues of the water made the whole area sparkle in a rugged, less than perfect kind of way.
And so on to St Clair we flew. We arrived at around nine thirty in the morning in beautiful sunshine. The day had broken fine and the streets were quiet, the occasional car leisurely making its way through the placid suburban streets that backed onto the beach. I’d spent most of my life living in Dunedin and thought I knew it reasonably well, but a city can take on a whole new complexion when viewed from the air.
I had long wanted to take photographs from a helicopter. I have no idea why, it’s just always been one of those things that seem like a fun thing to do. So, having woken early full of excitement and then signing a form saying I wouldn’t touch anything, follow all the pilots instructions while ensuring my pockets were zipped up, we took off. What made this trip even more thrilling was the fact that the helicopter had no door. It had been taken off so I could get cleaner, clearer shots without any annoying windows or glass being in the way. I don’t think I have ever gripped my cameras so tightly and been so grateful to be wearing a harness in all my life. Flying through the air with nothing between myself and the Pacific Ocean 1000 feet below, it was wonderful! It was as we reached Blackhead Beach that I hoped I would spot someone I knew, then I would be able to say ‘I just photographed the top of your head!’
I finished with a slow meander through the Dunedin Botanic Gardens, enjoying all the different sprawling gardens, the bird life and discovering paths I’d long forgotten. It all made me smile.
The flowers at the railway station reminded me of Dunedin’s town belt and other bush areas. I couldn’t remember the last time I had walked through some sort of bush and so I set off to discover some sort of path that zigzagged it’s way up from the city through the townbelt to the hill suburbs of Roslyn, Maori Hill and over to Kaikorai.
I remembered passing the Dunedin Railway Station on one of my walks and contemplating how different a building looks when half of it is covered in scaffolding and plastic wrap. What hasn’t changed are the gardens out the front. At one point in time when it was called ANZAC Square it was a major junction point for the busy Railway Station. Now it has been transformed into a splendid garden that changes with the season. It was these gardens I had come to see and the blues, greens, soft pinks and yellows that had carefully been planted gave the whole place a cool, elegant yet understated feel. I almost forgot half the building was covered in wrapping paper
I eventually made my way along Princes Street to a line of buildings that sat near an area known as ‘The Exchange.’ In recent times there has been a substantial investment in restoring the old buildings in this area of the city and so I’d had it in mind to photograph a number of them. On this occasion it was the address of 201 Princes Street I was capturing.
Setting up my tripod and making the two gentlemen sitting in the window feel a tad uncomfortable, I set about capturing the scene in front me. It was at some point during this time that it occurred to me that in one building I had the ability to tuck into a lovely breakfast of eggs bene accompanied with a deliciously tasty hot coffee, and then head upstairs where I could get a haircut and beard trim, all in one building! Now if that’s not convenient, I don’t know what is!
I pushed on up Princes Street as the light morning rain gave way to a stunning hue of pink. I passed restaurants, cafes and bars that wouldn’t yet open for many hours. There were takeaway outlets, barbers and art galleries that sat in darkness and faded blue and red dots of all shapes and sizes covered the road. I came to a stop on the corner of an intersection and watched time pass in the city. Directly across me, the Savoy Restaurant which was once considered the finest dining room in the Southern Hemisphere sat beneath a sky that continued to shift and changed in colour.
I arose and enjoyed spending a few minutes watching the city come awake. The air had a fresh untouched feel to it. I watched barista’s carrying out tables and chairs happily singing away to themselves, delivery vans came and went as signatures were quickly scribbled. That’s what I love about mornings, they have a fresh, new, anything is possible feel to them. Unless of course you’re wildly hungover. Fortunately I wasn’t and so as the rain started, I savored watching the city stretch and yawn. Just then the smell of fresh coffee hit my nostrils.
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The Experience of Seeing doesn’t follow set themes or ideas. Instead, it’s about seeing beauty in everyday objects and creating photographs that ask and answer the questions I have. It’s about taking a photograph in a way that reflects what I was thinking and seeing. That’s what these photograpgh’s are about, The Experience Of Seeing.
I spent an afternoon wandering with no particular purpose. I had set out from home with really no intention other than to walk to the edge of the harbour. The sun was shining, the city was still, the temperature a lovely 21 degrees and I had no plans at all. Now, some 6 kilometers I found myself wandering past empty student hostels that were receiving some much need TLC before the yearly invasion started in a few months time. It was then that I came across this painting of a Hoodwinker Sunfish which is part of the Dunedin Street Art scene. At one point there used to be a map locating every piece of art that had been added to the city and where to find them. Now however there are so many you can walk around a corner and discover something you completely forgot about.
To be honest with you, I can’t ever imagine using horse manure to light a property. However, that is exactly what William Larnach did at his house which is set in 14 hectares of grounds on Otago Peninsula. The Castle was built in 1871 by Australian banker and politician William Larnach for his family. To light the Castle, horse manure was piped underground from the stable to a purpose built chamber outside, directly behind the music room. Above this, Larnach built a privy for the use of family and staff so human manure could be added to the mix.
The brew of methane gas was then captured in a glass bubble and pumped up to the castle by a boy working a foot pump.
According to Local legend, Tunnel Beach is the scene of a tragic drowning. The story goes that after John Cargill made the private beach for his family, one of his daughters drowned there on her sixteenth birthday at high tide. Overcome with grief, John Cargill was so heartbroken that he left New Zealand and never returned. However, there are no sources to prove this story is true.
Finding myself watching a storm roll in from Dunedin’s south coast, I decided a good vantage point to watch it from would be Mount Cargill. Mount Cargill is named after Captain William Cargill, an early leader of the Free Church Settlers to Dunedin. It is situated around 15 kilometers north of the city and gives a panoramic view of the whole city which is simply astonishing. As I stood and watched the darkening clouds engulf the harbour, I had to admire the geographic location of Dunedin. On one side of Mt Cargill a summer storm was bringing wind and rain, while the other stood in beautiful sunshine.
One of the delightful aspects of Dunedin is that it doesn’t have a cluttered skyline. In fact, it’s hard to imagine how the city would look with a large collection of buildings more than 20 stories high. That’s one of Dunedin’s charms, it’s big enough while not being overly big.
What I have always found slightly confusing about Tunnel Beach is that it is there at all. As spectacular and interesting as Tunnel Beach is, it is hard to imagine the Cargill children getting excited by a visit. Let me explain. Tunnel Beach was commissioned to be built for John Cargill and his family in the 1870s. This was so that his family could visit a private beach, away from the ‘peeping’ eyes of the general public. To me, this is where the confusion starts to happen. To get to the beach his family would have had to go by either foot, cart or horse alongside the high, steep cliffs, which couldn’t have been a pleasant trip. The beach is shaded by the sun from the steep cliffs and is small and rocky with a small low tide window. Hardly a place you could spend all afternoon at while the kids built sandcastles! So, somehow I can’t imagine the Cargill children leaping with joy when their father would announce they are ‘going to the beach’ for the day.
… 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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Summer Colours at St Clair– Buy or view the Ōtepoti | Dunedin gallery
Hoodwinker Sunfish Street Art
