There are many things New Zealanders love. If I had to name a few I would say walking and running on things, swimming in things and jumping off things. I would also add summer, trying to cook almost anything on a BBQ, the beach, Dave Dobbyn and Neil Finn, Pies, Ice Cream and Rugby. To be fair, not everyone likes rugby however you’ll generally find that people either talk about rugby, about how there’s too much rugby or about how they know nothing about rugby.
So, when you take a hot summer day and add it to rugby, thrown in a BBQ with a wee bit of music you’ll generally get a day that pleases a lot of people. This just so happens to be how I spent the day at the recent Spartan X’s, annual charity rugby tournament.
Why is it that I always seem to end up walking up hills? It could be that I enjoy the challenge and satisfaction of reaching the top. Or, it could be that as Dunedin is surrounded by hills there’s always a better than average chance that I’ll end up walking uphill at some point.
So it was that on a reasonably fine Saturday I decided to head up Dunedin’s 41 peg track from Tomahawk lagoon to the Soldiers Memorial on the Otago Peninsula. This seemed a simple enough plan, however it wasn’t till I was halfway up the first paddock that I realised it was all up hill! In hindsight this seems obvious however it really didn’t occur to me when I started out.
I’m not entirely sure what the Octagonal contest is. I know it involves bagpipes but details beyond that I’m a tiny bit lite on. Having stumbled upon the contest in Dunedin’s Octagon, I thought I’d have a go at summing the whole thing up. Here’s what I know, and I must apologize as even in these details I’m making a few assumptions.
In Dunedin each year there’s a Pipe Band contest which is called the Octagonal contest. This involves Pipe Bands from around the South Island. From what I could gather, the bands spend a lot of time standing in a circle warming up by playing a tune and pulling strange faces. Each group then takes it in turns to walk down the street, stand in a circle and play the same tune as everybody else. While doing this, people (who I assume are judges) watch their feet and make lots of marks on paper before everybody claps and cheers. Once finished, the group moves off to discuss their performance while a few of the older gentlemen calm their nerves with a cigarette. This is then repeated by the next group.
On a side note, I would like to mention how mind boggling it is that people who smoke can play the bagpipes. Just how a smoker would have the lung capacity to play the bagpipes for an entire afternoon is quite beyond me. Another mind boggling fact is that the bagpipes are the only known musical instrument to have been used as a weapon of war.
This is the stunning West Coast of The North Island near Taranaki somewhere (I think) at sunset. I was flying up to the Bay of Islands and the light was amazing all the way up to Auckland.
I spotted this little one happy resting on the window of an old shed between Tunnel Beach and Blackhead on Saturday. I wouldn’t have even knew to keep a lookout for it if it wasn’t for the Otago Daily Times. I loved the texture and age of the shed with the grass so much I just had to included them. Plus, I didn’t want to create a copy of the ODT’s image. I had planned to shoot this shed like this anyway so the Owl is a nice wee addition.
I found this awesome light hitting First Church here in Dunedin the other week just after 7am. I had loads of fun playing with the shadows and all the different ways the light was silhouetting the gothic structures of steeples and spires. The foundation stone for First Church was laid on 15 May 1868 but even before construction began, in 1862, the Otago authorities decided to lop 12 m from Bell Hill for the project.
I found myself walking through the gates of Chingford Park looking forward to a nice relaxing stroll. I put the thoughts of the campervan I had been following along a busy North Road at a frustrating slow pace to the back of my mind and headed for the tranquil surroundings of the park.
Leaving the charm and beauty of Port Chalmers and the Hotere Garden Oputae behind, I now headed for the stables at Chingford Park. It had been some time since I’d seen the stables and the park itself and while I had the time, and the weather was nice, it seemed an ideal way to pass an hour or two.
To make my journey to Chingford Park (and the stables) more interesting, I decided to divert through the student quarter of the city. There really is no better way to make you appreciate your own home than to drive through large areas of student accommodation. I drove along streets with names like Forth, St David, Harbour Terrace and Dundas. Past flats with names like 8 Mile, TAB, The Asylum, The Bird Cage and The Playground. I navigated my way through an obstacle course of microwaves, tv ’s, washing baskets and mattresses until I found myself stuck behind a campervan. Now I don’t mean to be rude, but I hate having to follow campervans.
I had been home from my trip to the Bay of Islands for nearly a week and already my feet were getting itchy. My newly purchased water blaster had proven to be a most useful investment and now that I had almost destroyed everything in sight, my wife was threatening to take the ‘damn thing off me’. I think the turning point had come when in an attempt to remove a flaking piece of paint from a garden wall, I had inadvertently taken out almost an entire garden bed. With my toy taken off me and my list of ‘I’ll do that job during summer’ not being very appealing, I decided a walk was in order. With that, I headed for the delightful harbour village of Port Chalmers.
I’ve recently discovered the joys of morning photography again. When I say recently, I mean the last seven days. I would like to put forward the argument that until now I never really had time in the mornings to think about taking photos however that would be a straight out lie. The fact is, I like sleeping in and being a creature of habit it’s too much effort to change my routines. So, having not so long ago changed jobs, I found myself with an extra few minutes in the morning last week and naturally I decided to fill that time chasing the morning light.
I had spent the earlier part of the week exploring the way old buildings in the central city as the first rays of light hit the old gothic structures that are a part of the Dunedin CBD. A few days later as the dawn broke on Thursday, I felt a yearning to see what the beach was like.
Having arrived at St Kilda Beach and parked my car a suitable distance from anyone else to avoid getting drawn into time wasting chit-chat, I changed lenses, adjusted camera settings and I happily stepped out of the car. I would like to be able to say it was a warm, still morning, but I can’t. That would be another lie! The sea looked a tiny bit angry, the wind a tiny bit annoyed and the temperature on the chilly side. If the morning weather was a person, you might say they seemed a bit miffed!
On a side note, and if you will indulge me for a moment, I do so like the words chit-chat and miffed. Oddly, these are words that for some reason make me smile. Try and use the words chit-chat in a sentence without smiling. I bet you can’t!
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Misplacing 30 years, damaged by water, rats – The Treaty of Waitangi.
Of all the things I’ve discovered recently, the most interesting and peculiar is this. The Treaty of Waitangi, our nation’s founding document was lost for nearly 30 years. At the time, this was something I couldn’t quite believe. Even now, a month later, I still find it mind boggling yet somehow very typically kiwi.
Much like the rediscovery of the treaty, I came across this information quite by chance. It was during a recent visit to the treaty grounds in the Bay Of Islands. It was a lovely fine morning and after a short 30 minute stroll along Te Ti Bay I found myself at the Treaty Grounds in Waitangi. With a good 30 minutes to spare before the next tour, I had decided to pass the time by looking through the Waitangi museum. I had been assured it was well worth a look so I figured, well, why not!
I casually strolled through the various exhibits which I must confess was very captivating until I happened upon a display cabinet containing a very worn and ripped piece of paper that resembled a school notice that had been at the bottom of a child’s bag for some time. The document, as it turns out, was an exact copy of the actual Treaty.
It seems that after the initial signing at Waitangi on the 6th February 1840, the treaty then went on a kind of regional tour around New Zealand so other Maori chiefs could sign. Unfortunately the next year the document was nearly destroyed by fire. Then, sometime after 1877 it was ‘misplaced’ (for nearly 30 years) before being found by historian Thomas Hocken in 1908.
The story goes that the highly esteemed Thomas Hocken was rummaging around in the basement of a Government building in Wellington when rolled up, thrown in a corner, damaged by water and eaten by rats, he discovered the Treaty of Waitangi. It was then damaged further when restoration work (a little DIY presumably) went horribly wrong. It was at this point, after misplacing it for 30 years, damaged by fire, water, rats and restoration work that everyone decided it was best to leave the thing alone, put it in a tin case and lock it up for another 50 years.
As I moved out of the museum into bright sunshine and towards a gathering crowd that I assumed was the tour party I was joining, I had two thoughts. Firstly, what other important national documents are we missing? Secondly, has anyone thought to look for them in remote hay barns?
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The plan for the day was to catch the ferry across to Paihia, then walk the 2km around the bays to the Treaty Grounds at Waitangi. Seeing the grounds where the Treaty of Waitangi was signed was something I had been looking forward to, so I was extremely pleased that the weather was kind for such a trip. The ferry ride was a short one but the local’s had assured me that a full day would be needed to make the most of the grounds. The previous day in Russell, when I had announced my intention to walk to Waitangi from Paihia to some of the long term residents, I had received a most indifferent response. Some were very encouraging of this plan and had assured me it wouldn’t be more than an hour’s walk. Other’s had looked at me like I had gone bonkers, shaken their ahead and assured me that to get to Waitangi from Paihia on a Saturday, I needed to have left last Wednesday, and even then I’d be pushing it. However, upon mentioning I was from Dunedin, their advice changed entirely. I was quickly told that I’d have no problem covering the distance. I’m not sure how this changed things, but apparently it did.
One of the intriguing phenomena I’ve noticed when traveling in New Zealand is this. As soon as people find out I’m from Dunedin, I end up having one of two conversations. Either I end up discussing southerly weather patterns that include wind, rain and general cold temperatures or I end up discussing travelling distances. I’m not sure why this is, maybe everyone thinks all we do in Dunedin is walk in the rain. I’m not too sure.
As the 9:30am Russell to Paihia passenger ferry pulled away from the dock the temperature had already climbed to a lovely 23 degrees. The ferry had a small scattering of passengers as it quietly eased it’s way across the still, calm bay. It seemed almost the perfect way to travel. Looking across the bay, all sorts of water activities were getting underway along with a multitude vessels that were preparing for something called the Tall Ships Regatta. Whatever the event was, they had a splendid day for it and I was glad to be free of the hired car.
Fifteen minutes later the ferry pulled into its berth in Paihia. After disembarking from the ferry and somehow managing to trip as I did so, I set off for my destination. It was a lovely fine morning and after a short 30 minute stroll along Te Ti Bay I found myself at the Treaty Grounds in Waitangi. With a good 30 minutes to spare before the next tour, I had decided to pass the time by looking through the Waitangi museum. I had been assured it was well worth a look so I figured, well, why not!
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I like Russell, I really do. It reminds me a lot of Arrowtown in Central Otago. It’s not that the towns are similar at all, nor are their visual characteristics that draw direct comparisons. What each town possesses is a feel of timelessness. There really is something quite lovely about being able to stroll down a street and without trying too hard at all being able to picture what it was like 130 years ago. In Arrowtown at any moment I keep expecting a disheveled miner to appear from the hills carrying with him a fortune in gold. In Russell, take a walk along the The Strand, a street that runs almost the entire length of Kororareka Bay and you can picture sailors from all sorts of nations sleeping off a nights inebriation on the pebbly beach. I had been in Russell for four days and was liking the place very much.
The morning in Russell was bright and clear. Overhead, the sky was a crisp light blue with no wind to speak of. It was going to be what we Kiwi’s called ‘a scorcher’. That’s one of the great things about us here in Aotearoa, we’re so easily pleased. Give us seven days of clear, warm, fine weather with a beverage at the end of each day and we’ll be sweet as.
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One of the aspects of creativity that I really believe in is that of observation. Personally, I find creative thoughts really come alive after a period of observation. It might be walking down the street listening to music, it might be sitting quietly watching something, but once I allow my brain time to see what’s in front of me and for it to formulate its own thoughts, I know the creative process is well underway.
This is a photo I took at Dunedin’s Botanical Garden’s. I sat and watched the flowers for at least 10 minutes, just letting my thoughts and eyes go wherever it may. Occasionally the flowers would move in a breeze, occasional a bee would stop by. After a while I started to see textures and patterns within the flowers. I let my brain continue on that line of thought before setting out to create what my mind had seen.
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What a wonderful place New Zealand is during summer. The country comes alive with boats, surfboards, bikes, slushies and ice creams that drip onto the footpath. The days are long, the weather is deliciously warm and the summer evenings perfect for drinking a glass or two of your favourite drop while the air is filled with the smell of the classically Kiwi bbq sizzling away as the sun slips from sight.
Yes, it’s these idealistic and wistful perspective’s of summer I hold on to as I patiently wait for 9 months to pass and summer to roll around once more on December the 1st.
Diners enjoy a summer evening in the Bay of Islands.
One of the wondrous things about New Zealand, when compared to the rest of the world, is how young our country actually is. As an example, The Falcon Hotel in Stratford Upon Avon, Britain was first built as a town house around 1500 and had a second floor added around the time of 1645. It’s first use as an Inn was then recorded in 1655. Even today, you can call in and have a pint under the timber-frame that props everything up and wonder how the hell it’s managed to stand for 355 years. And that isn’t even the oldest pub in Britain!
Travel 18,000 km to New Zealand and you’ll find that the title of New Zealand’s oldest pub goes to The Duke of Marlborough in Russell which was opened 172 years after The Falcon in 1827.
While New Zealand’s history is relatively young, having history worth celebrating is a recent realisation to many Kiwi’s. I’m not saying that until now we have been ignorant of our own history, more unaware that it is even there. So, when the chance came up to spend a week in the historical village of Russell in the Bay of Islands during summer it was an opportunity I jumped at.
This photo was taken on the waterfront by The Gables that was built in 1847. As I understand it, The Gables served a brothel, a shop, a bakery and Salvation Army Boys Home. However, not all at the same time!
Today, it is a wonderful restaurant and the perfect location to enjoy a delicious dinner while watching the sun set over the Waitangi Treaty grounds.
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The best thing I’ve read about creativity is Twyla Tharp’s book “The Creative Habit, Learn it and use it for life.” I’d read a lot of books on creativity but this was the first book I read that made a real connection with me. There are many passages in the book that spark my brain into gear. It’s hard to read it for long periods. If there’s one underlying view of creativity that I keep going back to it’s this: ‘Creativity is the product of preparation, effort and hard work’
Here’s an example, this is a boat I found on Otago Harbour and after looking at in silence for a while my brain clicked into gear I saw how I wanted the finished image to look.
Hale T-Pole has a close encounter with a local sealion.
It was early January, I was sitting watching the rain pour down across a city I couldn’t see, on a summer’s morning that felt more like winter. I was already beginning to regret my decision.
The problem was I’d recently decided to focus my blogging efforts for 2021 on travel photography. But, with heavy rain falling, I instantly noticed a few problems with my less than carefully thought out plan. It occurred to me that I couldn’t travel overseas due to the borders being shut and the time I had to travel around New Zealand was limited. The fact was dawning on me that I had effectively made myself a travel photographer and writer with nowhere to go. Did this mean I was now a tourist within my own home? As the rain fell I dwelled on this thought for a while. The one idea that I did particularly like was I would be able to tell people ‘I’m a tourist here myself’.
Alleyway on Moray Place and Street Art by Phlegm (UK).
Happy New Year everyone, 2021 begins right here, right now! This is my promise to you and hopefully the many more people who decided to follow my journey through 2021. I’m going to bring to you a unique blog post three times a week from my creative and curious mind. In 100 words or less (however I suspect I will view this word limit as more of a guideline than an actual rule), I’ll provide you with a unique, curious and creative view of Aotearoa and Ōtepoti as I explore the themes of culture, regional and social identity. After one visit, you’ll definitely be curiously motivated to return, as I photograph and write about life on a small island, in a small city, located at 45.52° S, 170.46°E in the South Pacific Ocean. These are the couristies of my island home.
See you every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Mā te wā (Bye for now, see you later)
I made a very stupid decision the other day. I decided to try and find a place to park in town. After my plan to easily slip into a space in one of the many parking buildings was quickly thwarted, I then joined the other like minded drivers who were making multiple laps around the city centre. If ever there was a breeding ground for road rage, this was surely it. After some time, and resisting the temptation to yell helpful driving tips out the car window, I eventually found a spot and skillfully maneuvered into it. Upon leaving the car, I found that in actual fact I was only a block from home. (But of course this is not true!) Proceeding on foot, sometime later I reached my destination of the local mall. On entry, I found myself listening to Michael Buble telling me that was ‘beginning to look a lot like Christmas.’ Apparently, everywhere I went.
The other day, I was happily taking a virtual walk through my lightroom catalogue when a sudden buzzing of my phone alerted my attention to something important. These alerts are fantastic. So fantastic I have my own vocabulary of four letter words that I used to describe them. I know I can turn these alerts off, and before you ask, yes, I do know how. it’s just, I always forget!
On this occasion my phone had drawn my attention away from the mist covered Otago Peninsula that I was currently enthralled in to tell me that I had a podcast from the Guardian that was now two/three days old. With my phone desperate for me to listen to the content, I took a look. The title read: ‘US election 2020: will Donald Trump accept the result?
I couldn’t help myself. Before I knew what was happening I was in. You see, I have recently become a lot more acquainted with CNN than I ever wanted to be. Like the rest of the world, I’ve become fascinated with the US numbers game.
St Clair, there’s so many reasons to love it. Firstly, there’s surfing at the beach. Secondly, swimming at the Salt Water Pool. Then there’s the kids playground and all the cafes and bars along The Esplanade and so much more. Dunedinities simply can’t get enough of the place.
Nothing is more comfortable than sleeping in your own bed. After being away for a few nights, I awoke feeling refreshed. I’d survived my Walk In The Snow, my Walk In The Badlands and A Walk In The Bush. Now, I had the day free to myself. With no plans and not having to be relatively useful to anyone, I decided a walk in town would be just the ticket. Besides, there was a Colin McCahon Exhibition showing at the Art Gallery which I very much wanted to see. With the day still young, I headed for Dunedin’s Lower Stuart Street.
I’d imagined Evansdale Glen as nothing more than a small reserve with an impracticable carpark, some scattered picnic tables, an ineffective rubbish bin and a small path leading up to some type of creek or stream. There’s an unwritten rule in Aotearoa that every reserve must be placed beside a waterway of some sort.
I awoke to pain that left me in no doubt about the agony I was set to suffer for the rest of the day. Usually, these symptoms are associated with a pounding head, a throat feeling like sandpaper and an overwhelming feeling of dehydration. Today, things were different. The endless pain was not coming from a pulsating vein in my left temple. Nor the result of overindulging the night before, but from my calf muscles.
Some people are blessed when it comes to clothes shopping. They have an innate ability to trust their inner voice and listen to intuitive hints when shopping. Somehow, without trying, they understand both fashion and style. Unfortunately, I possess neither of these. I have a long history of poor choices that prove my hunches and gut feelings should not be listened to. I am not allowed to shop by myself. It’s not that I can’t, it’s just that my fashion judgement can’t be trusted.
Recently, I found myself traversing a Dunedin street when I came across a sight that both frightened and scared me. While I resisted the urge to scream, I had to admit that I was a little bit scared. As it is, I’m not the only one to feel a tiny bit scared by what can only be described as an invasion.
Twice a year, there are times when photography and writing have to take a back seat. One is late June, early July and the other is early December. It’s no coincidence that these times are when school reports have to be written and assessment data analyzed. Unfortunately, these tasks have been occupying my time and mental capacity of late. However, last week I managed to put these tasks to bed and turned my attention back to my newly created ‘Jacinda’s Law’ and exploring Dunedin.
Jacinda’s law states; where possible, we are to get out and see our own backyard. With this in mind, I recently found myself walking up a misty and muddy track on one of Dunedin’s surrounding hills. The beautiful thing about Dunedin is that it’s relatively easy to escape onto a bush track or path. From the city center, you can be on a bush track in 10 minutes if you wish.
Engulfed in mist, the track I was now on twisted and stretched up into the forest. Initially looking like a vehicle access track, it quickly narrowed. Continuing, gently falling rain collected in the autumn leaves which had created a blanket on the narrow bridge. Wet and muddy, with rain running into a stream, the track continued until deep grooves started crisscrossing the trail before me.
Suspecting the trail …..
Suspecting the trail I was on was a mountain bike track, I now feared that I might get struck down at any moment without having the faintest idea of what hit me. Proceeding, but with a greater awareness of my surroundings, I continued on through the mist. I passed exit signs that read ‘No Entry, Rockin Roller Exit’ and ‘No Entry, Three Little Pigs Exit’. As I walked, it became clear that on this day, I had the area to myself. Feeling confident, and no longer worried about being bowled over by an adrenaline filled speed rocket, I continued. My concerns of having to arrive home with tyre makes across my back abated further when a sign appeared that read ‘No Chicken Lines, Don’t Ride Wet.’ Relieved, I spent the next hour exploring the surrounding tracks, jumps and paths that wound their way through the forest.
Feeling wet, I made my way back to the car as the mist lifted and the rain got heavier. Once again reaching the small bridge, I couldn’t help but get distracted by a casually ambling stream. It appeared from the thick bush, ran under the bridge and continued on down the hillside. I stood listening to the sound of the stream bubbling over rocks and branches. For a moment I forgot about the Dunedin traffic noise. That’s the beauty of nature, even silence has a voice.
When Wellingtonian William McLean imported the first two cars into New Zealand in 1898 he can’t of been aware of the chaotic madness he was about to unleash on the country.
Just what the 53 year old Scotsman and former politician was doing in Wellington in the first place is an interesting tale. Born in Grantown (a district of North Edinburgh), Scotland and the son of a shoemaker, William was first adopted by a parish priest before he moved to Rochdale in England to work as a cotton spinner at the age of 13. When the American Civil War caused a cotton famine, at the age of 18, William decided to head for New Zealand and the Otago Gold Rush.
Unlike many others who ventured into the Otago gold fields with the hopes of finding a fortune, William it seems, had some success. After making enough money to open a small shop, when the West Coast Gold Rush in Hokitika sprung up, William packed up and headed for the coast. The West Coast must have suited him because during his time there he not only prospected for gold, he was a schoolmaster, an auctioneer and a mining and commission agent. At this point, in April 1877, William married Mary Elizabeth Crumpton where they continued to live happily on the coast until they moved to Wellington in 1884. Once again, William held several positions of employment which included an auctioneer, secretary for the Wellington Loan Company before becoming secretary to the Empire Loan and Discount Company and standing for parliament.
After coming last in the 1881 Inangahua election, he was also unsuccessful in the 1887 Thorndon election and the 1890 Wellington election before successfully winning the 1892 City of Wellington by-election. William’s time in office lasted until he lost his seat in the general election of 1893. What all this means is that William McLean’s contribution to life in New Zealand wasn’t as a great businessman, he wasn’t known for heroic deeds on the gold fields and he clearly wasn’t a politician with a long and lasting career. Yet, his contribution to New Zealand’s identity is long reaching and forever lasting. William McLean’s gift to New Zealand, was the 1898 McLean Motor-car act.
The act of 1898 which was passed in government legalised the operation of motor vehicles and set out the rules under which McLean’s two Benz cars imported from Pairs could operate. Among the rules and regulations that William McLean (and other motorists in years to come) had to follow was that they must be lit after dark and did not go faster than 12 miles ( 20 kilometers) per hour.’ Just think, if we could have somehow brought William McLean forward in time with one of his Parisian Benz cars to the year 2020, even he would have had to slow down on George Street in Dunedin to make the recently enforced 10 kilometers an hour speed limit. Although he would have found the assortment of blue and red dots covering the street quite bewildering.
And so it was that in 1898, thanks to William McLean, New Zealand’s love affair with cars was born.