All clagged in...

The Waitakere Ranges are situated on the west coast of the Auckland region. That's where I live, on 4.7 hectares of tranquil native bush. Most of the property is part of the QE11 Protected Open Space Covenant scheme. The QE11 National Trust helps private landowners in New Zealand protect significant natural and cultural features on their land through these open space covenants.

Our property consists mainly of kauri and rimu, with manuka, punga, niku and various native ferns. The mahoe's shedding leaves are aptly called "fairy wings" as they disintegrate on the forest floor leaving a fine lace skeleton and are fun to gather and spray different colours for craft type projects.

Anyhow, the last week there's been a lot of clagg around here, the bush has been dripping constantly, the chooks are huddling under the house and the cats are bored being inside all day.

Clagg, now there's a good South Westland word to add to your vocabulary. I'd never heard it until I met Chris Brown, my traveling companion from Westport to Haast. ( See earlier posts).
As we drove through Hokitika down to Haast, Chris kept saying , 'looks good now but it could clagg in at any time; glad we didn't fly down.'
The next day he looked to the hills and confirmed, 'yep its clagging alright.'  The day after, Tuesday, while walking around Jackson Bay Chris looked back to the mouth of the Arawhata River now hidden in a heavy mist, and he searched the horizon saying, 'its difinitley clagged in.'

Ian Rendell from Haast General Store and local historian said 'its all claggy' it in a fine Scottish accent on our way up the cattle road alongside the Jackson River. Mike Bennet never said it while I was interviewing him, he would probably say it in a Shakespearean dramatic type way, draw out each part of the word c-l-a-g-g in a rich tone.

I did a quick google and clagg is possibly derived from klagg a Danish or Scandinavian word that was also in use in the north of England and translates as: dirty, muddy, sticky, clinging as mud; that sort of thing. In South Westland's context its when the weather closes in.

Maybe it came to our shores from the settlers at Jackson Bay? Whom were a mixture including many non English speaking people from parts of Europe (cited from The Encyclopedia of NZ website) including Italian and German immigrants.
Well, where ever it came from and how it got here... its an interesting word. Another word I heard a lot down south is the synonym for goodbye - cheerio or just cheery. I think I'll be using it, it has a lovely old fashioned warm scones just out of the oven sincerity to it.
So then...cheerio !

All clagged in at Jackson Bay the mouth to the Arawhata River lost in the soup. South Westland October 2011

The book takes shape...

Some research material, that B&W photo is my dad and Frank in Wellington 1950s.

Well its crunch time, there's enough material amassed to begin looking at the book format and start writing. That includes transcribing all the interviews - and I won't know the gaps in my research until I start formulating chapters and arranging the content, and there are gaps.
There's not much on Frank as a child growing up in the King Country near Taumarunui, and his early years out in the world. For that I have family. A few years ago I gave mum a journal and said, 'mum just write whatever comes to mind about growing up, home life, school, anything.' She's a very good writer and has filled pages with wonderfully detailed stories of these years, some of this will be great for setting the scene so to speak for a chapter on childhood years. I've contacted the Taumarunui Historical Society for any information on the Erceg's and also how life would have been for a family of eight living rurally in the 1930-40s in that region.

Also, my trip to Croatia in the 1990's will assist with origins of the Erceg family, the ancestral homeland, a mountainous region bordering Croatia and Bosnia, thinking about how they were and still are, such a hardy bunch, physically tough, stubborn, tenacious, focused on acheiving goals, artistic, athletic, (Abby Erceg the football player comes to mind). Their love of the outdoors. Generally speaking here of course, but there does seem to be certain traits running through the generations, like being content with their own company; and all this adds to surviving in extreme situations such as being a Deer Culler, Mountaineer, River Ranger (oldest brother Joc Erceg on the Whanganui River) or trotting off over mountains from South Westland to Wanaka, to meet mates at the pub for New Years Eve. Yes Frank did do that at least once.

There's  loads to do.  I'm still interviewing people, spoke to John Van Tunzelmann today, ex Deer Culler and Field Officer, he shared a few stories that were useful and he's sending up a few  slides to scan. There's the Freelance magazines to find, I have no idea what issues Frank submitted photography too, are they at the Alexander Turnball Library? Are they digitised? Dave Richardson NZFS Archivist thinks they might be, spoke to him today, or can I view them in hard copy at the Auckland Libraries? Dunno, but its on the list.
And I'd love to get my hands on any old hut books, apparently the Cullers signed in at each hut and some times wrote extra notes in the margins, provocative things, started rumours, told jokes etc. I heard once Doc came along, a lot of this material got biffed, and loads went up in a fire in Wellington, bloody shame. But in true Erceg style I will do my damnedest to find old letters, diaries, hut books, rifles, empty shells, army biscuits, (well maybe not the biscuits) but pretty much anything to add flavour and show the story as well as tell it.

So for now, its creating chapter headings and content and write, write, write.

Out West Essay Competition 2011

Overall Essay Winner Franich Diamond Prize.
Although I have updated my personal profile to include the award, I'd like to mention it here in more detail.
The Out West Essay Competition is held every year for west Auckland writers to write on any subject pertaining to the region. Previously called the J.T. Diamond Essay Competition, after Jack Diamond,  the west Auckland historian and photographer, whose life's work is housed in the J.T. Diamond Room at the Waitakere Libraries, Henderson, Auckland.
With the Auckland supercity restructure there was a fear the competition could be discontinued, it has been saved from extinction and renamed by the West Auckland Historical Society. Thanks WAHS !

All winning essays from the various categories are conserved in the J. T. Diamond Room for future reference - to build on and preserve the diverse stories that are west Auckland.
On October 27th whilst resting from my ride up the Arawhata River, my good man Gazza, was at the awards on my behalf, where I was the recipient of the Overall Essay Winner Franich Diamond Prize and winner of the Adult Memories Category for the essay titled: Retrieval. 
For the essay I drew from interviews with my father and his sister Aunty Kathleen, both grew up in Henderson, they're wonderful story tellers and their memories from those times are told with incredible attention to detail. Kathleen is now 92 and dad 85. I juxtaposed their stories with my moving to west Auckland and what it means to be a second generation New Zealander of Dalmatian ancestry living in the Dally capital of NZ.
Dad and Kathleen remember all the orchards and vineyards and who owned what including precise locations. Of course a lot has changed now but some of those early emmigrant families are still in the area and I've  interviewed a few of them including Maria Yukich, previously married to Mate Yukich from Montana Wines.
The essay is essentially the story of reclamation of culture and identity, of growing up in Christchurch isolated from the wider Dally community and eventually finding this colourful vibrant culture still alive and thriving in and around west Auckland.
Both my parents are of Dalmatian ancestry. Frank was my mother's younger brother and their parents were born in Vrgorac a small town in the mountains bordering Croatia and Bosnia. I've been there, its a beautiful country and I have been told that somewhere back in the family was an ancestor who was a mountain ranger, when I think of Frank and his brothers and what they achieved - and their love of the mountains and wilderness - this makes sense. But hey, that's another story, or chapter in the book.

In 2009 I won the Adult Memories Category of the J.T. for an essay on Aunty Kathleen and her recollections of growing up in Henderson. I'm extremely proud - quite chuffed actually, that these stories have garnered awards. Adds a nice polish to the CV and thus getting Frank's book published.

Louise enjoying a Lake Hayes Pinot Noir at the Refreshment Room, West Auckland. Previous location of the great Montana Wines vineyard.

Cheers everyone for dropping by, stats show a good amount of traffic since I started the blog.  Better go it's venison casserole for dinner, thanks to Bill Henderson.

From Makarora to Clyde and home...

Frank's grave with wild flowers and chocolate fish.

On Sunday afternoon Bill Henderson picked me up from Rhondda's and we had a good drive down to his place in Clyde. We stopped into Wanaka on the way to visit Frank's grave. Frank loved wild flowers and he loved chocolate. Cadbury's Nut & Raisin to be precise, and apparently chocolate fish. So, I stopped at a dairy and bought him some chocolate fish and I'd gathered a bunch of spring bulbs from the old Makarora Forestry Hut surrounds before leaving Rhondda's.  His headstone looks very tidy and the plot well kept. Whoever's doing this, thanks.

Gerald Goodger and Bill Henderson.

Bill was a culler the same time as Frank, a few years younger Bill looked up to him like an older brother and Frank showed him the ropes when he started out. Bill has some great stories about Frank from these days, especially at the season's end, when they hit the pubs and let their hair down. I like the one about Frank picking the lock on the White Star Hotel's kitchen door late at night to make cold meat sandwiches.
Bill arranged for a visit up to Gerald Goodger's just north of Tarras. Gerald hunted the Wilberforce with Frank's brother George and recounted with wonderful detail several hunting trips with George and some insightful observant reflections on Frank. Gerald is a great storyteller and we could have sat there for many hours talking and him telling stories of his hunting days. He has a delightful laugh and smiles easily, would have been a bit of a lad in his day I reckon. He's a keen mountaineer he still climbs the mountains and has climbed Mt Cook twice, once not long ago he told me.

Wild thyme Central Otago

I stayed with Bill and Annette Henderson for two nights; they were the most generous of hosts. This is where I feasted on venison Bill shot in the Haast earlier this year and whitebait patties from the Haast River.
I spent Monday morning driving round with Bill as he did his daily rounds checking the water meters and waterways on nearby orchards and vineyards. The region is charming and historic Clyde town with its stone walls and neatly preserved buildings along with fruit trees in every front yard, all adds to a quaint picture; easy to imagine a horse and cart coming up the main road.

All this made me feel as though I was in the centre of Mother Earth's fruit bowl. The cherry orchards had me standing in awe, I love cherries and these orchards are huge and pretty with their shingle roads lined with Poplars and waterways and small ponds for irrigation,. The wild thyme that covers the hills and roadside was out, the air was permeated with the aroma and only added to the atmosphere of the place.
 It was a lovely end to a great trip. Annette drove me through to Queenstown on Tuesday morning and I headed home flying out over Lake Wakatipu and the multi million dollar real estate - hell give me a dry rock, a box of matches and a billy any day.

Stock of Frank's old .222 Frank always decorated his stocks with deer carvings.

Makarora and Wanaka

Thunder Creek Falls Haast Pass.

I left Haast for Makarora on the Newsman's bus Friday 28th. The trip takes about an hour and the fare was $15.00. It's a great service, the driver did a brief commentary going through the Haast Pass, the scenery and building of the pass is impressive. We stopped at Thunder Creek Falls to see the 96 meter waterfall and I did the tourist thing taking photos on the platform alongside everyone else, then we headed up and over The Gates of Haast bridge and on to Makarora where I disembarked.
Rhondda Osmers is the owner of the Makarora Tourist Centre, her late husband Dave started the business in the late 1950s as a young man with a vision he bought some land and developed the centre into what it has become. Beautiful alpine chalets set amongst native bush, sweeping mountains, the Wilkin River and Lakes Hawea and Wanaka nearby.
I stayed two nights in the family and friends guest house. I'd hardly arrived and Rhondda had me loaded with old boxes of Daves photos, newspaper and magazine cuttings. I set myself up with pen and notebook and spent  all afternoon combing through the piles.

Finding some gems in old pie boxes, Dave Osmers Archive Makarora.

Dave and Frank were very close - and he never forgot Frank so when I contacted him back in 1998 he was my most keen supporter of the book idea and wrote me letters and gave me the first of the wonderful B&W portraits of Frank taken on his Rolleiflex. Dave was a professional photographer for the NZ Weekly and his photos have contributed to many articles and books on deer hunting and the venison meat industry.
On the Saturday Rhondda arranged a meeting with Sir Tim Wallis in Wanaka . Tim was so lovely we chatted about the beginnings of the venison meat industry as he and Dave were both involved in the early stages along with hunters like Frank Erceg, John Cummings, Frank Woolf and many others.

My crib in the bush Makarora.

I also visited Doug Jones of Cromwell. Doug had meat processing plants back in the day,  Frank sold his meat to Doug while meat hunting on the Arawhata. Frank was Groomsman at Doug's wedding, he said he'd find some photos to send up. I asked him if he had any old records or ledgers from those days, showing any of Frank's transactions. Doug shook his head and said it all went with the fire. He had a couple of big blazes go through his factories, what a shame, but he was very helpful with the finer details of the operation - prices paid for meat, how the meat was cut and prepared. He said Frank's haunches were always tidy and cared for, not fly blown.
No mean feat, this is before the days of freezers and chillers, when meat was stored in meat safes, wire mesh enclosures with the meat strung up. It wasn't chilled directly, and wouldn't meet todays standards by a deer cullers mile! Amazing to think how it all started. As Doug said, it was trial and error and of course techonology helped. Having the more advanced meat chillers roadside for hunters to store the meat helped and the trucks coming through regularly. But it could be a day or two from killing the beast and hauling it from where it fell onto boats, planes, piling up the Land Drover, securing it onto bonnets of cars, in the boot, on the back seat, or the back seat was ripped out for more room; floating it down rivers on tractor tubes - apparently this didn't work so well - all means were tried at least once to transport the meat to the roads.
This was all good to hear from Doug. I interviewed him for a good hour and learned more on the beginnings of the venison meat export industry.

Jetboating up the Arawhata River

JJ Nolan and his jetboat "Arawata Bill"

A brief intro before I write about the Arawhata. I'm now back in Auckland, it was a full on twelve day trip - I hardly had time to brush the west coast debri from my hair, down the whitebait patties and savour the tender vension steaks - let alone write up blog posts. I spent all my time seeing as many people as possible and the trip was well worth it, more on the summing up later.
The overall highlight of my trip has to be the trip up the Arawhata River with JJ and Kathy Nolan. Thursday 27th October, 11am, the sky is a clear blue with a smattering of cloud and the river sparkling and beckoning. Kathy backed the boat,  aptly named "Arawata Bill" down the shingle bank. The Frank E boat and Lindsay Kain had urgent business to attend too and we were unable to hook up for this ride; however I did get to see the Frank E while in Haast. JJ's boat is named after another interesting past resident of this region.   

Heading upriver to the Waipara Confluence

William O' Leary aka "Arawata Bill" was born in 1865 and lived most of his adult years in and around South Westland and the Queenstown district. A gold prospector and he also served as the Waiatoto Ferryman for a few years. He lived alone and walked the valleys, hills and mountains dressed in a white shirt and a waistcoat complete with fob watch and chain. His faithful companion for thirty years was a horse named Dolly, he'd leave Dolly to graze in the pastures  whilst he went in search of his elusive gold and precious rubies that he was convinced were lying somewhere in the surrounding hills. Dolly always stayed near to where Bill left her waiting for his return. Denis Glover immortilised Arawata Bill in his 1953 sequence poem of the same name. Easy to digress here as the coast has so much history and interesting characters.
The valley's wide on the Arawhata, that is until you get up to Ten Hour Gorge (named after how long it takes to boulder hop your way through it) where it closes in just past where Frank biult the log cabin.
It was exhilarating flying across the water and JJ's skill at the wheel and his knowledge of the river impressed me. 'He knows every part of it like the back of his hand,' Kathy yelled over the noise of the boat as we turned and navigated through massive tree stumps and other semi submerged obstacles. It's a ribbony river with a lot of pathways to consider, but I felt completely safe with JJ and enjoyed every minute of it. I think we must have been in the boat a good hour and a half there and same back.

Waipara Hut where we lunched.

We stopped three times, first at the confluence of the Waipara River where we lunched in the Waipara Hut. JJ showed me some old fencing Frank and Murray Gunn constructed along with JJ's dad Kevin Nolan. The Nolan's have stock all through this area and have done so for decades. He pointed up to the Waipara Valley to where Noel Skinner and Ralph Blanchard hunted. Noel and Ralph feature in "Those were the Days" one of Dave Asher's South Coast Productions DVDs. Noel sent me his Arawhata map recently, the one he always carried with him when hunting. I have it pinned on my studio wall and tresure it dearly, an old Lands and Survey Map dated 1959.

Frank's old campsite. Grassy Flat Arawhata River.

After some kai and a cuppa we headed down the Waipara back onto the Arawhata and up to Grassy Flat where Frank built the "Grassy Flat Motel" three weeks before he died. JJ showed me an old camp site Frank used before he built the hut,  we found one of Frank's old beer bottles by a tree there. The hut itself is still standing thanks to JJ who has a keen interest in preserving the history of the river.
Then it was onto what used to be called Massacre Flat where a large mob of deer was shot,  now called Log Cabin Flat, where the cabin was situated. Collins Creek has eaten away a good chunk of soil right where the cabin used to sit. JJ said when they decided to dismantle the cabin and save the timber for rebuilding it somewhere else, the chimney was about to topple into the creek. This was 1967 the cabin was built in 1962 and after the dismantling the hut never got rebuilt, all the untreated beech logs felled from the adjacent bush were now spongy and useless. JJ built another hut around 1970, away from the water and used the original flooring, window frames, a table and the chimney. I have an article written on all this published in NZ Outdoor Hunting June/July 2011 issue. It will be up here soon, so I won't go into the details of how the cabin came to be built and what happened to it.
I collected a nice stone, took photos  and learned the name of the waterfall I'd seen so often in all the photos of the cabin and its surroundings, Paulin Falls.
I'd love to go back and camp a few nights and hang out, the sense of wilderness this far up the river (about 60ks) is truely magical.
While there I imagined Frank up early, cup of tea in his hand, roll your own cigarette in the other, thinking about where he'd hunt for the day.
Looking down the valley I could understand why Frank chose this particular spot. I didn't want to leave but also knew how lucky I was to see this remote location, its not a tourist river, very few people get to see it this far up, thanks to JJ Nolan I did.

Louise sitting on site of old cabin. Paulin Falls in background.

Welcome to my blog

I’m Louise Maich, Frank Erceg’s niece. Here’s how the whole thing started…

In 1998 I was working on a film being shot in the Queenstown Lakes region. I distinctly remember the day when driving to our next location near Wanaka, that it hit me I was in Uncle Frank’s country – and it got me thinking about him.

Next stop was Christchurch, and while poking around in the Arts Centre Bookshop I came across Philip Holden’s recently published book New Zealand Hunter. I scanned the contents page and noticed the name Erceg. On page 87 was a reference to Frank, and that he was “perhaps the greatest hunter of them all.” I bought my first hunting book that day.

Many New Zealand hunting books mention Frank and talk about his exceptional abilities as a marksman, mountaineer, and wildlife photographer.

His talent seemed to know no boundaries and he was on his way to carving out a place in New Zealand history with his photography already published in the Weekly News and other periodicals of the day.

There’s no doubt he would have gone on to produce his own publications. He was already talking about it with his mates. The tragedy is his life ended at age thirty on June 1^st 1965, along with his mate John Cummings – they were the first fatalities in the helicopter meat-recovery industry.

Since 1998 I’ve been researching and collecting stories, anecdotes, photographs and correspondence relating to Frank, and the book I’ve always wanted to produce is taking shape, it’s a big job for sure, however the support thus far has been tremendous.

This blog’s been set up to generate further interest in the project. Please contact me if you have anything to share, any stories, photos, letters, anything you think I'll be interested in that helps to build the story of the life of Frank Erceg. I’ll be keeping you updated on progress. Let's get Frank his own book; he bloody deserves one!

Frank Erceg  early 1960s