#dailyat6am, #fromtheroad, Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

Dunedin City Across The Harbour

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Daily Photo – Dunedin city across the harbour

From Portobello on the Otago Peninsula, I was heading for the harbour settlement of Port Chalmers on the opposite side of the harbour. I was travelling by car, and since it was such a lovely day, I decided to take what we locals call “the bottom road” to the city. The alternative route is the “top road”, which passes through the rolling farmland of the peninsula, divided by long stone walls built in the nineteenth century. The bottom road, by contrast, snakes its way around the base of the peninsula, eventually linking up with the central city.

At just 18 km, it’s a narrow, winding road that leaves little margin for error, with the cold lap of the harbour tide ever present close by. Every other month, a vehicle has to be salvaged from the harbour after a moment’s distraction results in a watery end. Unless, of course, you travel with a local. Then it’s a daring drive where every corner and porthole is known intimately.

As I drove, the weather was fine, the harbour still, and the traffic light. Across the water, the city sparkled in the warm, mid-morning sun. It was all rather fetching.

#dailyat6am, Travels in small-town New Zealand, Wild Horses

Arrowtown

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Daily Photo – Miners’ Cottages in Arrowtown

Destination: Arrowtown from a Small City

Geographically, Dunedin is in a rather odd place. Due to the fact that it is surrounded by hills, if you want to go in any direction by vehicle, you have two options. Let me explain! If you want to travel north, you have to head north along the Northern motorway. If you want to head south, you have to travel south along the Southern motorway. If you want to head west, you have to first travel north or south for 55 kilometers (35 miles) before turning west, and if you want to head east then you need to get a boat. As I was driving inland to Arrowtown, in a kind of west by north-west direction (some 270km away), I could either first head north or south before pointing the car inland. So, with the flip of a coin, on a cold and wet Dunedin evening, I headed south. 

An hour was spent in Friday evening traffic that traveled at a brisk but uneventful pace. I stopped and ate at a Subway restaurant in Milton, I listened to a podcast and generally tried my best to not become a statistic of the long weekend road toll. I drove through places like the Manuka Gorge, Beaumont, Rae’s Junction, Judge Creek, Benger Burn and Slaughter House Creek, where there was occasional drizzle, some wind and a Lexus driver that didn’t seem to know the give way rule, or how to calculate a safe following distance while traveling at speeds in excess of 100km per hour. I stopped and looked at stars at Lake Dunstan, discovered newly formed round-abouts in Cromwell and watched the temperature drop by 10 degrees to -1 at my final destination, Arrowtown. Arriving just in time for a beer and a short walk in the chilly night air. 

The next morning I awoke to the sound of birds chirping and a temperature gauge reading -2. So, after sorting myself for the day which included donning the thickest pair of socks I had, I headed out into the crisp morning air. It was early enough that most people were still tucked up somewhere warm, so the streets were all but empty and it wasn’t long before the shops came into view. I crossed at the corner of Centennial Ave and Bedford Street when suddenly I found my feet involuntarily giving way beneath me and I was no longer in control of my own equilibrium. Doing my best to imitate a drunken giraffe on roller skates, I eventually came to rest beside a conveniently placed handrail. Turning to view the sparkling patch of ice that had broken my stride, I found that my balancing act had been witnessed by a small group of early morning walkers. As they generously applauded my efforts, in return I assured them that yes, I do in fact do my own stunts! 

A while later and back in the warmth of the cottage, armed with the morning paper, coffee and deliciously fresh croissants I sat down to examine the state of world affairs. Sometime later, I noticed the plants outside were defrosting as the sun peeked over the surrounding hills. This, I took as my cue to leave as I had to stop by Pak n Save Supermarket (something I was not looking forward to) and I was also wanting to see the former Lower Shotover Bridge. 

I have a history with supermarkets which means that I am rarely allowed to go in them without supervision. The sum total of my shopping experiences up to this point in my life have led me to form the opinion that life can be tough, being a modern male. It all starts by being expected not to yell at morons who have forgotten how to drive in car parks and insist on holding up traffic for ten hours while they wait for a car to leave a parking space, just because it’s three spaces closer to the shop’s main entrance! Then, we have to remember reusable shopping bags, shopping lists, maneuver shopping trolleys without pretending they’re race cars, workout where the hell they’ve moved the alcohol section too. Yes, it’s fair to say that as my age increases each year, my tolerance for Supermarkets diminish. Still, on this occasion, apart from making a few wheelie noises as I was going around the corner of the biscuit aisle and remembering that I had forgotten a list, I survived the Frankton Pak n Save somewhat unharmed. It must have been something to do with the mountain view. If there is a more picturesque location for a Supermarket, I would like to see it. Every time I turned down a new aisle and felt my frustration levels rising, I would happily gaze out the windows to the mountains. Eventually I successfully escaped the Supermarket, and the carpark for that matter with my carefully selected items safely tucked away and headed off to find the Old Lower Shotover Bridge. Tracing my steps back towards Arrowtown for a distance, I turned off the main road until 300 meters down a side road I came across a car park with a sign that read “Carpark for Old Lower Shotover Bridge.” I guessed this must be the place. 

I’m not usually that curious about bridges, however I had driven past this one many times and so I was very intrigued to see it up close. The original Shotover River bridge was built in 1871 so farmers, miners and merchants could access the Wakatipu area however it survived a mere 7 years before it was washed away by flooding in 1878. A new bridge was then erected before the building of the current structure was completed in 1915. This bridge then lasted until 1975 when it was decided that it no longer met requirements and so a new bridge (a forth) was built further downstream. It was the 1915 structure that I was now standing on as following years of neglect it was restored to its former glory in 2003. 

Nowadays, the very fine bridge is enjoyed by walkers, runners and cyclists who take in the sweeping views of The Remarkables to the South, Coronet Peak to the North and the river below. I spent some time looking both up the river and down the river. For a few moments, hypnotized, I watched the river pass below me before walking back to my car. 

The rest of the day I spent wandering beside streams, walking in leaves, strolling through the local museum (which is quite lovely may I added although a tad expensive at $10) and looking at old buildings. I dined at the New Orleans Hotel where I fought with the visiting ‘Vocal Collective’ (whoever they are) for a table and read my book before walking back to my cottage guided by street lights, in a not altogether straight line.

#dailyat6am, Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Travels in small-town New Zealand, Wild Horses

Portobello Musuem

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Daily Photo – Portobello Musuem

The thing about being so far removed from the rest of the world is that we become obsessed with seeing it, often forgetting our own backyard. Recently, I read about a small local museum in nearby Portobello on the Otago Peninsula. It was at that moment I realised I’m as much at fault as anyone. I’ve been to Te Papa in Wellington many times, and I’ve visited London’s Natural History Museum, yet here was a small local treasure not far from my house that I’d never stepped foot in. I felt slightly embarrassed, almost as if I should write to the curators to apologise. Instead, I decided to go one better and went for a visit.

I had already decided to visit the port town of Akaroa on the Banks Peninsula near Christchurch, and this museum stop would be the start of my trip, on the Otago Peninsula. As a logical travelling route, it didn’t make any sense at all, but I was curious to see the Portobello Museum, and it seemed as good a place to start as any.

The wonderful thing about small, locally run museums in New Zealand is the random, shared nature of what you’ll find inside. It’s like rummaging through a back shed and discovering a long-forgotten antique clock given to you by your Uncle Tony. I mean that in the most affectionate way; I really do.

The Portobello Museum is closed for 165 hours a week, apart from a brief window on Sunday afternoons. On this occasion, it wasn’t a Sunday. Fortunately, you are free to wander the grounds, peering through windows at the collection of wooden buildings, including the community’s first jail and equipment from the lighthouse at Taiaroa Head. For 45 minutes, I was completely engrossed. Walk around Te Papa and you know what to expect, one eloquent display follows the last. This was back to basics: printed and laminated signs, slightly faded in the sun, and objects of no description carefully placed in well-tended gardens. It’s a community museum run by volunteers at its very best, kept alive not by foot traffic, but by local pride.

Standing by the white picket fence, next to an old cannon used as a flagpole base, I took one last look. It was a wonderful insight into early European life. They arrived with next to nothing, built rickety shacks, and had a drink at the end of the day, developing both our national No. 8 wire thinking and our enduring obsession with a cold beverage to finish the day.

#dailyat6am, #fromtheroad, Travels in small-town New Zealand, Wild Horses

The Long and Winding Road

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Daily Photo – New Zealand Road Sign

Just getting to historic locations, walking tracks, the beach, or a cup of coffee for that matter, can be an adventure in itself. While most developed nations view four-lane divided motorways as the standard for inter-city travel, here in New Zealand State Highway 1, the main artery of the country, remains in some parts a psychological relic: a winding ribbon of chip seal that connects small-town dairies and scenic lookouts. In the UK or Europe, a 300 km drive is an international expedition. In China, the G-series Expressway is a hyper-efficient conveyor belt from the future. In New Zealand, a 300 km trip often involves a quick hop over a mountain pass, three one-lane bridges, four hundred sheep, and at least one section of unsealed road where you pray for your car’s suspension. And to think there remain large stretches of the main highway that narrow down to single lanes, with speed limits as low as 35 km/h on winding bends. After which, having successfully navigated these obstacles, you find yourself stuck behind an annoyance of campervans and multiple livestock trucks for the next two hours, with no legal way to pass. Yet here’s the kicker: there’s something quite delightful about it all. For all the frustration it can bring, I wouldn’t change it at all. If you ever get the opportunity to drive the 128 km from Kaikōura to Blenheim on a fine day, or a miserable one for that matter, with its breathtaking coastal scenery and spectacular wildlife, you’ll see what I mean. You’ll be instantly hooked.

#dailyat6am, Notes from the Road, Russell, Tapeka, Travels in small-town New Zealand, Wild Horses

A History Worth Exploring

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Daily Photo – Tapeka Pā in the Bay of Islands

And then, of course, there is the quiet, persistent notion that as a country, we don’t really have any history worth exploring – a thought usually held right until the moment you find yourself on a windswept peninsula in the Bay of Islands, standing in the middle of a strategic located Māori Pā from the 18th century.

#dailyat6am, Notes from the Road, Travels in small-town New Zealand, Wild Horses

The Golden, Endless Dream of Summer

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Daily Photo – Summer’s Day at Lake Tekapo

When you grow up in New Zealand, you quickly develop the sense that the world is a pretty big place, and you’re a long way from it. As a child, I would gaze at world maps or spin a globe and marvel at how European cities like London, Paris, Brussels, Amsterdam, Berlin, Geneva, Milan and Barcelona seemed clustered together like sprinkles on an ice cream. The countries of Central Europe looked positively cozy, as though you could hop between Switzerland, Austria, Hungary, and Slovakia on a leisurely afternoon stroll. Beyond that, if you were feeling particularly adventurous, you might venture to the exotic, far away lands of Egypt, Italy, Greece or to Scandinavia, which, on a map to a young boy, seemed tantalizingly close. 

Eventually, after spinning the globe several more times and surveying with astonishment the vast far-flung landmasses of Africa and South America, my eyes would eventually slide back to the Pacific Ocean and find little old New Zealand – a faint speak drifting on the edge of the world’s consciousness. 

Attempting to locate New Zealand on a world map was an adventure in itself. More often than not, I’d find it tucked away in the corner somewhere looking like an afterthought. I’ve seen maps where New Zealand has been reduced to something reminiscent of an ink blob or a cocktail stain on a t-shirt. Others position us precariously close to Australia, as if we’re one high tidal current away from merging. On the worst offenders, we vanish altogether, as if midway through the design process the Cartographer has gotten bored and thought, “well, they’ll figure it out!” 

Believe me, I can assure you that finding a world map that is printed accurately and shows New Zealand’s correct geographical location, with its precise size and shape at its correct proximity to the rest of the world is like finding a White Peacock in the wild, like seeing the Sea of Stars in the Maldives or catching a glimpse of a total solar eclipse. It’s like witnessing a shooting star streak across a perfectly still night sky, or Charlize Theron herself, a rare and beautiful thing. 

Anyone who has spent a decent amount of time in New Zealand will know that at some point, you eventually stop questioning the local logic, put on a pair of jandals and simply start going with the flow. We just accept that a mince pie and a cold can of Fresh Up is a perfectly balanced breakfast if eaten before 10:00 AM. We maintain a rock-solid, slightly irrational belief that the All Blacks will thump the Wallabies each year to keep the Bledisloe Cup where it belongs. And, despite the evidence of our own eyes, we insist that last summer was a golden, endless dream – even if the current one has been nothing but a string of southerly fronts from Christmas Eve through to mid-January, with the odd fine spell thrown in.

#dailyat6am, Dunedin, Notes from the Road, Travels in small-town New Zealand, Wild Horses

Notes from Small-Town New Zealand

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Daily Photo – Sunset of St Clair in Dunedin

It was a cold and windy Sunday afternoon in early November, 1978 when I arrived in Dunedin. It was Guy Fawkes and soon the air was to be filled with all sorts of lights and noises that would make it hard to get a 2 year old to sleep. 

That year across the world John Travolta and the Bee Gees had set dances floors alight with the disco hit Saturday Fever; the Sex Pistols split up after one album, while across Europe at the Vatican, Pope Paul VI passed away after spending 15 years at the head of the Catholic Church.

In New Zealand the population had decreased to 3.1 million with the Prime Minister at the time being Robert Muldoon (this of course was years before he got drunk in parliament and called a snap election, which he lost!). Across the country people had been delighted with the national medal haul of 20 at the Commonwealth Games held in Edmonton – Canada, the band Hello Sailor produced the album of the year and Kawerau crooner John Rowles had been named vocalist of the year. The AM broadcast band had moved from 10 kHz to 9 kHz, a programme called Fair Go was the best information show on TV and the 85th National Chess Championships were held in Tauranga. 

So, while Wellingtonian Craig Laird was winning the crowning glory of the New Zealand Chess world, a Dunedin man called Cliff Skeggs was starting his second year as Mayor of the southern city. That year the spring temperatures in Dunedin had fluctuated between extremes, this was something I was to find out much later was actually quite normal. Heading towards the end of spring that year, Dunedin had been cool and wet, however, the local trolley buses continued to rattle with prams precariously perched on the front and at the local supermarket you could purchase a kilogram of Ham Steaks for $4.50, three 750ml bottles of Coke for $1 and a head of lettuce for 35c. That November in town Hallensteins had a sale on men’s stubbies that featured a half elastic back, 1 hip pocket and came in colours of white, green and brown or fawn for only $5.99 and the once popular Tuck-Inn Burger on Princess Street went into receivership. That year it would hail on Christmas Eve and snow on Good Friday in 1979.

All of this, I wasn’t aware of as being only 22 months old, mastering the art of walking and talking were much more pressing issues in my life up to that present point in time.  The move my family made from Auckland that November day I was quite oblivious too and while I didn’t know it at the time, it would affect my life most wonderfully in the years to come. 

Decades have a habit of slipping away quietly. The Dunedin of trolley buses and 35-cent lettuces eventually faded into the background, like a sun-bleached Polaroid tucked into a family album. Those first clumsy steps gradually turned into something more assured, yet permanently restless, filled with a need to be on the move, to see what lay around the next headland, and then the one after that.

So it was that nearly fifty years later I found myself one summer evening floating on the tide at a nearby beach as the sun slid toward the horizon, the land glowing in the distance. There was salt on my lips, a soft swell lifting and lowering me, and the comforting knowledge that tomorrow I would be on the road, visiting places I’d had long since forgotten. I’d be driving through quiet country towns with quirky bits of history, listening to stories involving strange, shady, controversial characters from New Zealand’s past. Stopping in small towns in-out-of-the-way places. With daylight fading and plans forming loosely in my mind, I remained suspended between where I had come from and where I would go next.

iphone, Observation, Wild Horses

Ten Christmas Facts for the Festive Season.

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Daily Photo – The Festive Season

Ten Christmas facts for the festive season.
Here are ten Christmas facts with a bit of quirk and character that you might not have read in your Christmas cracker this year.

1. Christmas was once banned. In 17th-century England, Christmas was outlawed by the Puritans, who felt too much feasting, singing, and general merriment was suspiciously unholy.

2. Santa has a postcode. Letters sent to Santa in Finland are delivered to Rovaniemi, right on the Arctic Circle, which has an official Santa Claus Village and an alarming amount of elf-related infrastructure.

3. “Jingle Bells” is not really a Christmas song. It was originally written for Thanksgiving and makes no mention of Christmas, Jesus, or presents at all, just horses and snow.

4. Tinsel was once made of real silver. Early tinsel used finely shredded silver, which looked wonderful until it tarnished.

5. Norway gives the UK a Christmas tree every year. Since 1947, Norway has sent a giant spruce to London as thanks for British help during World War II. It now stands in Trafalgar Square looking stoically festive.

6. The world’s largest Christmas dinner was eaten by penguins. The Australian Antarctic Division once served a full Christmas meal to researchers surrounded by penguins, who were unimpressed and declined pudding.

7. Christmas lights arrived late. Before electric lights, people clipped candles to trees. Unsurprisingly, this led to a strong festive association with house fires.

8. There is a Christmas spider legend. In parts of Eastern Europe, spider webs are considered lucky Christmas decorations, thanks to a folk tale involving a poor family and a magically glittering web.

9. Rudolph was created by a department store. He was invented in 1939 as a marketing character for Montgomery Ward, proving that even Santa’s team has a corporate backstory.

10. Christmas mince pies once contained beef. Originally Christmas Mince Pies include beef & meat, mixed with fruit and spices as a way of preserving it. Modern mince pies quietly dropped the beef centuries ago, but kept the name, which continues to confuse people every December.

Dunedin, Wild Horses

Merry Christmas

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Daily Photo – Merry Christmas from Me to You

Christmas in a small city in the South Island of New Zealand has a habit of sneaking up on you. One moment it is just another ordinary December day, and the next there’s a tree, a few baubles, and suddenly the year is asking to be wrapped up and put away. In this part of the world, even the decorations seem to carry a faint hint of salt air and southern light.

There is something reassuring about the simplicity of it. A tree, a bird, a name written proudly across a red circle. No snow, no roaring fireplaces, just the quiet understanding that Christmas looks different depending on where you stand in the world. Down here, it often means a BBQ warming up, jandals by the door, and the vague but persistent idea that a trip to the beach should probably happen at some point during the day.

Wherever you are today, I hope there is something small and familiar that reminds you where you belong. Merry Christmas from Dunedin.

#dailyat6am, Canon Camera, Dunedin, Otago Peninsula, Ōtepoti, Travel, Wild Horses

Dawn on the Otago Peninsula

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A Glimpse At What’s To Come

Daily Photo – Dawn on the Otago Peninsula

Dawn on the Otago Peninsula has a habit of rewarding poor decisions. Decisions like setting an alarm at an hour normally reserved for bakers, fishermen, and people who have clearly wronged themselves in a previous life. I was back on the hills again, chasing first light, convinced that this time would be different, even though experience suggested otherwise.

The hills rolled out in front of me, looking entirely unimpressed by my effort. They have seen far more determined early risers than me. Māori travellers crossed these ridges long before roads or coffee existed, and later European settlers arrived with grand plans, questionable footwear, and a firm belief that fences would solve everything. The hills endured it all and carried on regardless.

Below, the harbour caught the sunrise and held it gently, as if aware that this light was not to be rushed. A lone cabbage tree stood nearby, doing its usual job of looking vaguely historical and deeply unbothered. These trees have been guiding people across this landscape for generations, and now one was quietly supervising my tripod setup.

As the sky slipped into shades of gold and fire, the tiredness faded, replaced by that familiar, foolish sense of triumph. Dawn does that. It convinces you that getting up this early was entirely sensible, at least until the alarm goes off again tomorrow.

#dailyat6am, iphone, Karitane, Wild Horses

The Adventures of the Whaleboat Māori Girl

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Daily Photo – The Adventures of the Whaleboat Māori Girl

Standing on the rugged cliffs of the Huriawa Peninsula near Dunedin in the 1870s, the crew of the Māori Girl watched for a telltale mist on the horizon. To look at their vessel, a mere 9-meter wooden boat – and then at their prize-an 80 ton Southern Right Whale (double the boat’s length) is to witness either the definition of bravery or complete madness.

Whether driven by a silver-tongued leader or the promise of a payday, these men possessed a courage that bordered on the impossible. Upon sighting a “blow,” they didn’t have the luxury of a mother ship; they launched directly from the beach, through the crashing surf.

The hunt was a test of raw endurance. Often, the crew spent over 24 grueling hours at sea, tethered to a thrashing giant that refused to die. They survived solely on their rowing strength and an intimate knowledge of the Otago coastline. When they finally towed their captured home, the struggle transformed into a community triumph, with the entire village gathering on the sand to turn the haul into a massive celebration.

#dailyat6am, Canon Camera, Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

Dunedin’s St Paul’s Cathedral

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Daily Photo – Dunedin’s St Paul’s Cathedral

In 1862, amidst the chaos of the Otago Gold Rush, the first St Paul’s Cathedral rose from the empty, muddy landscape of Dunedin’s Octagon. Constructed from Caversham stone, the church was an ambitious symbol of English heritage in a new and raw town. Unfortunately, the soft local sandstone proved to be completely unsuitable for the biting southerlies that whipped through the city, the stone crumbling so rapidly that the church’s elegant spire had to be dismantled within a few years to prevent a complete collapse.

Despite this, by the turn of the century the congregation had outgrown the rapidly decaying structure, so thoughts turned to designing a new, less collapsible building. Enter architect Edmund Sedding, who had plans for a cathedral of grand proportions. As the world descended into war during 1914 and 1915, the old Dunedin church was razed to make way for a Gothic masterpiece of reinforced concrete and Oamaru limestone. For four years, stonemasons laboured on a magnificent vaulted ceiling, the only stone-ribbed roof of its kind in the country.

Yet the shadow of the Great War drained both coffers and manpower. By 1919, the grand vision had stalled. With no funds left for the planned central tower or chancel, builders erected a “temporary” wooden wall to seal the end of the nave. In 1920, the truncated cathedral was consecrated, a majestic but unfinished torso of stone that would wait fifty years for its completion.

#dailyat6am, Canon Camera, Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

The Otago Coastline

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Daily Photo – The Otago Coastline

There’s something quietly wonderful about standing above the ocean and watching the land fall away beneath you. From up here, the coastline dissolves into haze, headland after headland, each one slightly less certain than the last. The sea moves with that steady confidence it always has, unconcerned by the surrounding hills or the thin lines of road carved into the slopes.

It’s a view that encourages slowing down. Not stopping entirely, just easing back a notch or two. You notice how the light skims the water, how the cliffs carry the memory of older shapes, how distance gently erases detail until only form and feeling remain.

This is the kind of place where thoughts wander without effort. Where the city feels present but politely distant. You don’t come here looking for answers. You come to let the questions stretch out a little, carried off toward the horizon.

#dailyat6am, Dunedin, Night Moves, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

Dunedin’s Unity Park at Night

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Daily Photo – Dunedin’s Unity Park at Night

At night, Unity Park looks out over a Dunedin that does little more than whisper under the moonlight. The streets below glow in soft lines and clusters, streetlights tracing familiar routes down toward the dark, unruffled harbour. The peninsula becomes a suggestion rather than a place, its shape replaced by shadow and imagination. It’s a quietly satisfying view, the city settled, content to exist in the space between light’s edges, where you’re led away from the straight world into a place where details slip and time becomes misty around the edges.

#dailyat6am, Beach, Beach Life, Travel, Wild Horses

The Colours of Dusk at Blackhead Beach

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More from The Beach

Don’t forget you can click on the catergory names above each post to see more photos related to that place. For example, you can give it ago here with Beach, Beach Life and Travel.

Daily Photo – Blackhead Beach

I spent the evening watching the waves roll in a steady rhythm at Blackhead Beach. The colours of dusk lasted deep into the evening as they swept over the rocks as if in perfect harmony to classic symphony. Beneath an ever changing sky, offshore, an island sat quietly as if it too were patiently waiting for night to return.

#dailyat6am, Creativity, Dunedin, Travel, Wild Horses

Revisiting the Adam Scott Jetty

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Wonderful Audible

When I’m not listening to Spotify or a Podcast, then I’m on audible listening to books. Audible is amazing and it really is mindboggling how many titles are on there!
You can find it here: https://www.audible.com/ep/audiobooks

Daily Photo – Reasking the question, who is Adam Scott?

Back in March of 2021, I asked the question, who is Adam Scott? You see, near the upper reaches of Otago Harbour, stretching out some 15 metres over the water is a jetty, named after Adam Scott. Four years ago, I did some digging but couldn’t find any reference to further information – and I still can’t. At the time, I stated that until I had a true story, I’d decided to make-up the widely untrue assumption that the naming of the jetty happened in 2013 to celebrate Australian golfer Adam Scott’s 2013 Masters win at Augusta. Thus, the Jetty was named after him in recognition of his wonderful achievement. 

Now, over four years later, I can reveal that I am still no closer to having an answer to the question, who is Adam Scott and why is there a jetty named after him?

#dailyat6am, Beach, Beach Life, Dunedin, South Island, Wild Horses

The Rocks at St Kilda Beach

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Daily Photo – The story of St Kilda beach begins quietly ….

The European story of St Kilda Beach begins rather quietly, without a single dramatic landing or a heroic explorer planting a flag in the sand. Instead, it arrived in the form of sealers and whalers who moved up and down the Otago coast in the early 1800s. They would have stepped ashore on these beaches as casually as you or I wander down the street for an ice cream, leaving little behind except footprints in the sand and a few scribbles in ship logs or a footnote at the bottom of a page.

A few decades later, when Dunedin began to spread south and the dunes slowly acquired fences, roads and houses. The suburb needed a name, and a developer called George Scott, fresh from Victoria, borrowed one he liked from Melbourne, Australia – St Kilda. Initially taken from a cluster of windswept Scottish Islands (that didn’t actually have a saint at all), the name had already travelled halfway around the world so when it was added to Dunedin’s coastal stretch of land, it was adopted without much fuss.

Today the beach feels like one of the city’s great locations. Everyone comes here at some point, whether to surf, swim, walk the dog, see the wildlife or simply stand and watch the sea rearrange its thoughts in a quiet yet moody sort of way.

#dailyat6am, Beach, Beach Life, Wild Horses

The Dunes of  St Kilda Beach

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Daily Photo – If you walk along St Kilda Beach on a quiet morning …

If you walk along St Kilda Beach on a quiet morning, before the dog walkers and joggers appear, it is easy to imagine the place long before Dunedin ever existed. The dunes once rolled back into a patchwork of wetlands, lagoons and sandy ridges that shifted with the seasons. Long before the name St Kilda arrived from halfway across the world, this coastline was part of the wider food gathering network of the Kai Tahu and Kāti Māmoe tribes. It was a place where shellfish were gathered, fires burned quietly against the wind and travelling parties camped while moving between coastal settlements.

Standing there with the waves tumbling in, it is comforting to think that the same rhythm drew people here centuries ago. The long, straight run of sand would have made an ideal landing place, and the nearby wetlands were a natural pantry filled with fish, birds and plants. Every so often, when the light is right, you get the sense that the waves remember, even if the city has forgotten. The gulls still circle in the same lazy patterns and the land sits with the sort of confidence that comes from having been here a very long time.

#dailyat6am, #fromtheroad, Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

A Quiet Pause by the Otago Harbour

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Daily Photo – Otago Harbour in Scattered Sunlight

There are moments along the Otago Harbour when the world seems to quieten itself, as if it has paused to take in the light. Walking the shared cycleway near Glenfalloch, I found myself stopped by the sight of sunlight scattered across the water. It shimmered in a way that felt almost theatrical, each ripple catching the sun and tossing it back like a handful of tiny stars.

I had only planned a short wander, the sort where you tell yourself you will keep moving, but the harbour had other ideas. There was something soothing about the gentle slap of the tide against the rocks and the steady rhythm of bikes passing behind me. The city was just across the water, close enough to feel familiar, yet from that spot it might as well have been a world away. Standing watching the water glitter, I was reminded that some of the best moments arrive quietly, asking only that you stop long enough to notice them.

#dailyat6am, #fromtheroad, Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

Dowling Street in Dunedin

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Daily Photo – Dowling Street in Dunedin

I had an enjoyable, meandering amble through Dunedin’s Octagon and around the streets that sit above it, where I joined a series of paths that led me back down into the city. That is where I came across a smallish street called Dowling Street. A short but steep two-block street in central Dunedin, its finest feature is the way it manages to encapsulate a multitude of layers from the city’s past. It is, I suppose, about 400 metres in length and lined on one side with a steep bank where the road was cut through a hill, while on the other stands an assortment of buildings of various ages. Further on, the street crosses the main thoroughfare of Princes Street and is surrounded by everything from office blocks to art galleries.

At first glance it doesn’t appear unique, but it is very much a living slice of history. Many of its buildings are heritage listed and their uses have evolved over time, which gives the street a layered feel. You can sense the old industrial-Dunedin, even as people live, work and create there today.

This small street has seen everything from industrial clothing manufacturing to decline after boom times to the revitalisation of art and culture. Its steep, narrow contours and worn stairway remind you of how much the city had to be reshaped, yet the area is creative and alive with galleries, studios, small businesses, creative energy and busy foot traffic. As far as streets go, it is not particularly handsome, yet it doesn’t need to be.

#dailyat6am, Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

The Otago Museum Atrium

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Daily Photo – The Otago Museum Atrium

If there’s one place in Dunedin that still makes me feel like a wide-eyed kid let loose in a treasure chest, it’s the Otago Museum. Every time I step through those bright, echoing atriums, I’m reminded that curiosity is a muscle that never really stops working. From the upper levels you can look down across the glass walkways and clean lines of the building, watching people drift in and out of exhibitions like they’re moving through different eras of history.

On my latest visit, the place felt alive in that familiar, quietly energetic way. Kids buzzed around the edges, adults wandered with that purposeful museum stride, and somewhere below, the gift shop chimed softly every time someone decided they absolutely needed a puzzle or a picture of a bird. I paused at the railing for a moment, taking in the reflections, the lights, and the polished floors that seem to stretch out like a map, one that leads to every corner of the Pacific, every tale of Southern people, every strange sea creature lurking in the “Sea Monsters” exhibition.

What I love most is that the Otago Museum doesn’t just display things. It invites you in, sits you down, and says, “Here’s the world, let’s explore it together.”

#dailyat6am, #fromtheroad, Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

Long Grass near Portobello

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Daily Photo – Long Grass in Summer

If there’s one thing this photo reminds me of, it’s how quickly summer settles around here. I took it near the Marine Studies Centre in Portobello on a stunning Sunday afternoon, the kind of day when the heat shimmers off the dry grass and you realise the season has truly arrived. Here in Dunedin, the daylight feels endless and the city has relaxed into what is hopefully a long warm-weather rhythm. Even the simplest scene, like these sunlit grasses, seems to hum with that easy summer energy. It’s a gentle reminder that this is the time of year built for slowing down and soaking it all in.

#dailyat6am, Dunedin, iphone, Observation, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

Marinoto

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Daily Photo – Marinoto

The story of Marinoto begins in 1878 with a vision so grand that even the budget couldn’t keep up. Commissioned by part-time engineer and part-time entrepreneur John McGregor, the house was built from solid Port Chalmers bluestone and finished with pale Oamaru stone. Well, the part that was finished, anyway. After completing the exterior and the ground floor, McGregor ran out of funds and the house sat half-done for the next few years, quietly waiting for its next chapter.

That arrived in the form of Arthur William Morris. A director of the Union Steamship Company, he stepped in at a mortgagee sale and took over the property. By 1883, the first floor was complete and he named the house Marinoto, a word thought to mean calm or peace. It was an impressive home by any measure with fourteen main rooms, a grand foyer, coal-fired central heating, electric lights powered by its own generator, formal gardens, and even a tennis court.

Then came 1903 and the Sargood era, which turned Marinoto into its most glamorous version of itself. Under Sir Percy Sargood, the house became a lively hub of Dunedin society, the sort of place where you almost expected a brass band to strike up the moment you stepped through the door. The Sargoods hosted balls that spilled onto the wide lawns and garden parties that made full use of the thirteen acre estate. Guests wandered among the rose beds, paused beneath old trees, and did their best to look as though they were part of a grand period scene. Inside, a substantial staff kept everything running with the quiet precision of a well rehearsed performance, polishing silver, preparing feasts, and somehow ensuring no one was ever left with an empty glass or a spare moment. For a time, Marinoto truly became the place to be.

#dailyat6am, Dunedin, Observation, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

First Church Dunedin: How One Man Moved a Hill for a Masterpiece

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Daily Photo – The Steeple Of Dunedin’s Iconic First Church

If you stand outside First Church on a bright Dunedin day, it’s hard not to feel slightly dwarfed by the whole thing. The spire seems to poke at the sky in that confident way only nineteenth-century architects attempted, and you can almost hear the distant echo of someone saying, “Yes, this will do nicely.”

The story behind it begins with the Reverend Dr. Thomas Burns, who arrived here in 1848 aboard the Philip Laing with 239 determined Free Church settlers and what must have been a very firm sense of purpose. Burns, nephew of the poet and spiritual anchor of the new colony, found himself the sole minister for the entire settlement. It’s the sort of job description that would make most people carefully rethink, but Burns pressed on.

As Dunedin swelled during the Gold Rush, Burns became convinced the town needed a proper church. Not a modest wooden chapel, but something permanent and impressive. The only problem was Bell Hill, which loomed inconveniently in the way. The solution was simple in theory and maddening in practice: carve the hill down until the ideal building site emerged. It took the better part of a decade, and Burns kept a close watch throughout, making sure the dream didn’t drift.

In 1862, architect Robert Lawson won the design competition, offering up a Gothic Revival masterpiece that looks as though it was dropped in from a much grander city. Burns was still very much the project’s champion and had the honour of laying the foundation stone on 15 May 1868. Sadly, he died in early 1871, two years before the church was finally opened on 23 November 1873.

He never saw the Oamaru stone finished or worshipped beneath the soaring interior, but you feel his presence all the same. First Church may be a place of faith, but it’s equally a monument to one man’s persistence, vision, and refusal to accept that a hill – even a big one – should stand in the way of something remarkable.

#dailyat6am, Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

The Great Dunedin Fire of 1867

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Daily Photo – Dunedin House & Otago

Recently, while wandering through central Dunedin I experienced a momentary bout of amnesia. The kind where you forget where you’re going, why you’re going there, where your car is parked, if I turned the oven off, that kind of thing! During one of these lapses in brain function, I caught myself gazing up at the buildings on the corner of Princes Street and Moray Place, wondering what once stood there. It seems, in this case, the answer begins with one of the most dramatic nights in the city’s early history when a fire swept through central Dunedin. It was so catastrophic that flames leapt across the streets and for a fast growing city in the middle of a  gold rush built mostly of timber, it was nothing more than a nightmare.

The alarm was raised on a Monday night in April, 1867 when flames were seen coming from the shop of ironmonger George Willson – whose premises sat on the westerly side of Princes Street. Not far from where Dunedin House now stands. Within hours the entire block had disappeared under a pile of ash. The Criterion Hotel, perched right on the corner of Princes Street and Moray Place, vanished into smoke, the Theatre Royal and the Octagon Hotel were completely destroyed and by Tuesday morning, the heart of Dunedin looked as if it had never existed.

Yet, like many Dunedin stories, the aftermath was not just about loss rather more about rebuilding. The fire showed that wood possibly wasn’t the best building material to construct a commercial city from and that brick and stone might be a better solution. Within six months new structures were rising from the rubble ushering in a Victorian and Edwardian building era of grandeur and magnificence.

The corner where Dunedin House now stands would have been taken up by one of these masonry buildings. The old Criterion Hotel site was rebuilt to suit the wealth still flowing into the city. Herbert, Haynes and Company rebuilt their large drapery store, a business that later became the DIC and is now part of the Public Art Gallery block. For decades the whole area was filled with ornate nineteenth century commercial buildings.

These stood for roughly a century until they were removed to make way for the modern commercial block known as Dunedin House. It is not the grandest building in town, but it occupies a site that has seen disaster, recovery, architectural ambition and a complete cycle of change.

#dailyat6am, #fromtheroad, Creativity, Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

The Dunedin and Port Chalmers Railway Line

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Daily Photo – Ravensbourne Overbridge

The Dunedin and Port Chalmers railway line has the distinction of being New Zealand’s first public railway. The story begins in the early 1870s, Otago was booming from the gold rush and Dunedin was effectively the country’s commercial capital. As Dunedin grew, the nearby docks at Port Chalmers became the region’s lifeline with everything being shuttled by horse, cart, or boats around the harbour. Eventually, a fast, reliable railway link between the harbour and the city was considered essential and the new line promised speed, efficiency, and a bit of flair.

The work was undertaken by the Otago Provincial Council who controversially gave the contract to a British firm called John Brogden and Sons. The Brogdens were Victorian railway builders of the formidable, moustachioed variety. They arrived with boatloads of workers, crates of equipment and a confidence that suggested they knew what they were doing. 

It was then that things got messy. Many of the workers arrived expecting plenty of work and good wages, only to discover there wasn’t, conditions were poor, the workers were often drunk, there were wage disputes, demands for better housing while the Brogdens’ were accused of inflated claims, and demands for extra payments. Not only was progress slow, the whole project became an administrative, political and financial tug-of-war between local and central government. All of which made the project a pretty consistent mess for a simple 12 twelve kilometres of track. The line itself was not simple. The track had to thread its way along the steep harbour edge, where cliffs met water and space was tight, extensive cuttings and embankments were required and many large stone retaining walls were required to make the track safe. 

Fortunately, the line was finished in time and officially opened on 31 December 1873 and almost immediately transformed the movement of merchants, passengers, mail, and freight between the port and the city. Unfortunately, for John Brogden & Sons, by the 1880s their business empire had collapsed and they were financial ruined.

#dailyat6am, Dunedin, Otago Harbour, Otago Peninsula, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

The Many Adventures of Captain James Cook

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Daily Photo – Otago harbour

When Captain James Cook and his little tub, the HMS Endeavour, appeared off the Otago coast in February 1770, he was already on something of a hot streak. He had been sent to the Pacific to observe the Transit of Venus in Tahiti the year before and, having completed the task, was given free rein to bob about the South Pacific to see what else he could find. What he was really looking for was the assumed existence of Terra Australis Incognita, the great unknown southern continent that many Europeans were convinced lurked somewhere down under.

By the time he appeared off the Otago Coast, he had completed his scientific observations, his botanist Joseph Banks had collected and recorded thousands of previously unknown species of flora and fauna, he had named and claimed a number of islands for the British Crown, circumnavigated the entire North Island, identified and sailed through Cook Strait – proving that the North and South Islands were separate landmasses, created a remarkably accurate chart of the North Island coastline, and had begun charting the South Island.

By any standard it had been a successful trip. Once off the Otago coast, he noted several things in his journal. Firstly, the many coastal features suggested a potentially sheltered harbour. Secondly, he observed an abundance of whales and seals. The interesting point here is that he thought the entrance to Otago Harbour was nothing more than a bay and sailed on, while Europeans would return and slaughter the whale and seal populations to near extinction.

It had been only a few months since the Transit, but an astonishing amount had been achieved. So, apart from the small matter of almost wiping out an entire collection of marine species, the rest was pretty good work for someone who wasn’t really a captain at the time  – he just called himself one!

#dailyat6am, Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

So This Is Christmas?

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Daily Photo – Christmas in Dunedin

I was running an errand in the centre of town the other day when I wandered into the Octagon. There, proudly displayed in the lower Octagon, was a large Christmas tree. Now, I hate to sound critical, but the Dunedin City Council seems to have gone for the sparse look with the Christmas decorations in recent years. Throwing a 45-foot tree up in the middle of town and draping a bit of tinsel from a few lamp posts hardly inspires the Christmas spirit.

It’s not as if we’re expecting a dense, glittering display of thousands of blue, white, and red lights with a massive, brightly lit tree dominating every shop window beneath a starry sky. Take this photo for example: if you were to whisk the tree away, it could be any other sunny Saturday afternoon in Dunedin. What’s more, it’s the exact same tree as last year, and the year before that, and the year before that. They’ve had twelve months to come up with a plan, and the best they managed was shifting it slightly to the left! What’s next – getting rid of the New Year’s fireworks and replacing them with a disappointing light show? Oh wait, that was last year.

#dailyat6am, Dunedin, Taieri Mouth, Wild Horses

Low Tide at Taieri Mouth

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Daily Photo – Low Tide at Taieri Mouth

I’ve always liked wandering around fishing boats. There’s something noble about them, as if they carried a calling from an age when everyone travelled by sea and the world felt much larger. In truth, I like all of this far more in theory than in reality. I’ve no sea legs and my enthusiasm for fresh fish sit somewhere between mild suspicion and polite refusal. The idea of spending time on a fishing boat feels more like a challenge than a pleasure, although I understand why others enjoyed it.

I was in Taieri Mouth, wandering through the village, when I found myself drawn to the look of the boats themselves. They aged in a way that suggested they had lived proper lives. The faded paint, the battered timbers and the sense that they had weathered more sunrises than I could ever hope to see all added to the atmosphere. If they had been able to talk, I imagined they would have needed a long sit down and a pot of tea to get through their stories.

Not far from there I found my way to a line of cribs surrounded by surfboards, flagpoles, boats, flower pots in cheerful disarray, ornamental fish and a few lifebuoys hung with equal parts practicality and pride. It all felt like a perfect slice of backyard Aotearoa. Slightly weathered, gently chaotic and full of stories for anyone willing to notice them.

Aotearoa, New Zealand, Summer, Wild Horses

The Classic Kiwi Summer

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Daily Photo – The Kiwi Summer

If you have ever wondered what it might feel like to live inside a postcard, you need only visit New Zealand in summer. The days stretch on with an air of confidence, lingering until nine thirty or even ten at night as if the sun sees no good reason to leave. 

A Kiwi summer is essentially a national migration either inland to Central Otago or to the beach. Every person in the country seems to own a pair of jandals, a chilly bin, and a slightly overoptimistic idea that the days will be long, hot and sunny. Most of the time, temperatures sit in the comfortable twenties which is perfect for tramping, cycling, or leaping off bridges while attached to a glorified rubber band.

In the evenings the entire population gathers around barbecues sizzling with sausages and fresh seafood. All of this is accompanied by a UV index so fierce you can get sunburned simply by thinking about going outside. Thankfully there is fresh fruit, real fruit ice cream, and endless road trips to make you forget your glowing red shoulders.