Reindeer Raincoat

Thrilled with my new raincoat, made from a recycled duvet, the fabric is treated to become shower proof. Made by New Zealand designer :

http://mushamaandme.com/

Photo taken in Lyttelton, Christchurch.

Young Bull Elk Struggles to Stay Awake

Great video of heavy antlered elk swaying head while sleeping...


http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=fdb_1444856796

Deer Cullers Reunion Nelson 1972

I found this while searching for some info on early deer cullers reunions. Nelson 1972:

http://photonews.org.nz/nelson/issue/NPN142_19720819/t1-body-d16.html



I'm not sure who these lads are. Photos amongst Frank's collection, not labeled. So for the sake of a giggle, lets call these guys Bill and Harry, and they're on their way to a deer cullers reunion.

"Bugger, hope Harry's passing by soon..."

January 30th, just received an e mail from Jock Fisher with the following info...

Hi Louise

The photo of the crashed land rover with the popped up top.

That is Max Kershaw standing with cig in his mouth and hands on his hips. He was the driver, and it was at Waimate on the wallabies. 

Cheers Jock!

...Meanwhile Harry's also got a situation on his hands.

"Ah shit, this isn't looking good, better get going by hobnail express, up to the junction my furry friend, Bill's always late we'll cadge a ride with him.

Shorty Clefton - A Shorty Story

Before the story begins, here's a few things about Shorty's past...he used to be a government deer culler, a top tally man, a crack shot, did fifteen seasons with the Forestry Service mostly down Central Otago, and South Westland. Was married once but not for long, she buggered off, yelling as she drove away in the old Humber 80  “you scrubbed up good that first date and caught me off guard! Now look at you.”

Shorty stood on the front porch wearing only Y Fronts and old holey socks waving her goodbye. He didn’t care, he knew how to darn holes and make a good stew, so he just kept on doing what he like to do: hunting, fishing, scratching his balls whenever he felt like it, and doing his needlepoint. Yes. That’s right, with fingers as fat as Pops Heveldt’s pork sausages but with a delicate touch, he liked to sit by the fire humming away to his scratchy Jim Reeve LPs and embroider his tablecloths and doilies. That is, in between cleaning his rifle and dressing out a deer for the deep freeze. 

He’s getting on in years now, but still likes to get out into the hills every now and then…

****

Shortie Clefton, who isn’t short at all, and quite large, sat precariously on a heap of cushions, a mismatched ensemble, and a desperate attempt to salvage his favourite chair. Wires poked through the frayed upholstery as Shorty bounced his ample body this way and that pushing the 15-inch metal file between his heel and the shoe.

It worked damn fine as a shoehorn and just as good cracking the ice off the chooks water bowl this time of year. But this morning his foot wouldn’t do its business. It sat wedged like an over baked loaf spilling out the tin. He soon got fed up with it all and sat back wheezing, the file still in his hand.

After a bit his breathing evened out and he took his mind of the shoe situation by thinking what to get out the freezer for dinner… mince and throw in some vegies.

Shorty slammed his foot into the shoe. Ha…done!

Shorty looked at his rifle and old canvas pack sitting by the front door. All ready for tomorrow morning. Now that thought got him excited, off to the farm of a mate’s mate near Cromwell, and getting picked up by old Tommy Blackbird or Blackturd as he was always called when they hunted together.  Hell I might get a decent deer for the freezer, that would be me meat for winter.  

With a renewed sense of purpose Shorty heaved himself up off the chair and walked the five steps to the fridge, got the mince out, took the three steps to the bench and dropped the frozen block down with a bang. He took the eight steps back to the chair sat down and poked the log he just poked earlier with the file. Days like this stretched out endlessly and gave Shorty a sense of foreboding, made him a bit anxious. He started to think of things to do…chook house needs a clean - eggs weren’t collected yesterday. He decided he needed to get busy with some odd jobs around the yard, a cup of tea would be a good start, then bugger it he said to himself I’m going outside.

He boiled the jug poured the water into his mug,chucked in a tea bag, splashed in bit of milk and then poked round for the sinking bag burning his fingers in the process, in protest he lodged the dripping teabag with such velocity into the sink it slapped against the side discharging a milky brown rivulet that made its way slowly into the plughole.

With the warm mug cupped in his hands, he manoeuvred back into position on the chair, lowering his hulking frame onto the mountain of cushions, and with a contented sigh he took a sip of tea. Damn I didn't turn the radio on, he muttered to himself, He wanted to check the time.

Shorty leaned a little too far to check the clock - that was now hidden behind the cupboard door opened to get the mug out - and found he couldn’t regain his balance. The arm of the chair gave way, the chair tipped over, he fell out along with the cushions and the hot tea spilt down his leg and into the shoe.

He lay on the floor holding the empty mug in his hand.

The clock chimed the hour: 7.00am and at precisely that moment there was a thud at the front door, the morning paper had been delivered. He thought about yelling out but instantly rejected the idea with the thought: damn old fool don’t want anyone seeing me like this.  He heard the front gate click shut.

Shorty crawled on all fours dragging himself over to the dining table, he grabbed the edge with one hand then the other and began the slow process of hauling himself up.

After what seemed a very long time he stood holding onto the table for dear life; wheezing and exclaiming out loud that he needed a bloody cigarette or his inhaler, or bloody both.  He looked down at his feet. God damn it! He bellowed. The shoe had come off.

He set the cushions back on the chair, and managed to push the wooden arm into place making a mental note to hammer the bastard in with a six-inch nail. He sat down and for the second time that morning pushed the metal file between his heel and shoe. The back seam split as the swollen foot fell into position.

Not to be outdone Shorty stood up and tested the shoe, it wasn’t going anywhere, he pulled down his jersey, lugged his woolly hat over his head and trundled off down the hallway to the back door, he slipped on his swanny and with the file in his hand opened the door…

“…Better go crack the bloody ice off the chooks water and find the hammer and nails.”

Authors Note: So the idea for this story all started with a visit to uncle Al's- one of Franks brothers. Al died in 2010. Well that chair in the photo was his and he'd sit there in front of a roaring pot belly fire. He had this bloody great big metal file and he used it as a shoe horn. So thats how this story came about.

Story and images Louise Maich © 2015

Deer Cullers Reunion Kuripapango 2015

My tent up on the ridge, the basecamp to the left mid photo.

Last weekend of February and  a great time had by all at the NZ Deer Cullers reunion, held on the edge of the Kaweka Forest central North Island.

A few photos from the weekend, didn't get a shot of the beautiful Ngaruroro River where some of us went swimming to cool down, was a very hot and sunny weekend. Great turn out and catering and hospitality from the sub committee led by Paul Mucalo was awesome. We ate crayfish, and lots of venison of course. Full breakfasts of bacon, eggs, tomatos, huge pots of tea, billys on the boil all day on the old coal range in the hut.

I stayed as its called 'up top' up from the main Doc base my tent pitched alongside the historic Robson's Lodge, built early last century.

Was a thrill to meet two deer cullers from the Internal Affairs days, thats pre 1956 David Logan who remembers working under the 'Major" G. F.Yerex, he was a delight to talk too, and Ash Cunningham who had a book for sale Bush Yarns, he signed a copy for me and we had a good ol yarn. I interviewed Ross Courtney, he knew Frank and hunted a winter season with him doing possums. I made several new contacts and generally soaked up the atmosphere and enjoyed hearing many wonderful stories from both south and north island cullers.

Was fantastic to meet Dave Pratt the president, and other committee members, to wish Sandy Heslop Happy Birthday on the Saturday and hear him yodelling!! His lovely partner Sandy, yes there were a few women there, wives and partners.

Unfortunately I missed meeting the professional hunter Natalie Curnow who turned up but next time hopefully. Will treasure these memories and looking forward to next years, it will be the big 50th reunion, what a milestone and a party that will be!!

The camaraderie amongst these fellas is strong, and perhaps the most intimate memory is when I upped my tent pegs and stayed the last night down in the hut in my own bunk room and woke early to hear the first man in the next room rousing from sleep then another who said, 'okay you put the billy on,' then slowly they all rose, (about six of them) and wandered out to the kitchen where by torchlight they sat drinking tea and talking about old blocks hunted and other things.

I lay in my bunk listening to them and thought wow this is what they would have done when they were working, they'd be sitting in the hut in the semi dark with a brew talking about the day ahead, it was an honour and privilege to be privy to this.

Thanks everyone for making me so welcome...see you next year.

Historic Robson's Lodge.

Ashley Cunningham, Internal Affairs culler.

Terry the Scotts man, told some great yarns. Now that guy on the right we talked at length about the flora around Comet Hut.

Up near Comet Hut guessing the range of 3 cardboard cutout deer across the valley. Sandy Heslop won the competition.

Russell Hulme's hat , retired culler and gunsmith from the Hokianga.

Russell having a rest from the sun.

Paul pouring the compulsory shot of whisky for entrants guessing the range.

Komata or Comet Hut where we had lunch on  the Saturday.

Inside Komata Hut

Logan who worked hard all weekend to see we were well fed and generally looked after, what a guy he just never stopped. Here he is flipping the venison patties for lunch at Comet.

Hey Allan lets take a Selfie. The treasurer and me inside Comet Hut , he never stops smiling! Such a fun and great guy. See you next year Allan.

Deer Cullers come on in!! Ernie and his partner Alison drove all the way from Tuatapere, Southland for the reunion. He yodelled and sung along with Sandy for a bit on Saturday night.

RIP Mike Bennett aka Bonehead

With Mike at his home in Barrytown on the West Coast 2011. 

Mike Bennett

11.01.1935 - 20.02.2015

It was at the Deercullers' reunion over the weekend that I heard of the passing of Mike Bennett. Although he hadn't been well for awhile it was a shock to hear this sad news.  I was fortunate to have the opportunity to meet and hear Mike recounting the good old days, his storytelling always delivered in a rich well spoken English voice, sometimes appearing quite gruff in character but always a gentleman and a very articulate and skilled raconteur. 

I phoned him from time to time to see how he was and he always had time to talk and always bemoaned some local council or government policy and was always in the middle of some dispute with both, writing letters and sometimes he would e mail me these to read, saying something like, 'look what these bastards are up to now!' 

His book The Venison Hunters published 1979 was made into a film of the same name, and the link at the bottom of the post will take you the website which also has his wonderful film where he plays the legendary Westcoast icon Arawata Bill.

The following is a combination of the meeting at Barrytown and recorded phone conversation from 2011. All told in Mike's voice...

I used Vic (Erceg) in a film called Alpine Airways. I was the director and we were a bit short of people, we went up the Dart and we were pretending to be deer cullers. We crashed across the creek and did a few things and we had a little tent camp way up on the ridge flat. Vic and I we were mates years ago you lose touch with people you know.

And George, I remember him.

He was a lovely man.

I played Arawata Bill in Denis Glover’s sequence of poems set to film and we had to cart a bloody DOC officer around with us because we were in the wilderness zone but let's not get into that, my blood pressure goes up.

I’ve been on the coast for thirty years and I’ve lived in Barrytown for twenty.

I knew Frank reasonably well; we kept bumping into each other. I always remember him, I’m not sure if he was best man or groomsman (Frank was groomsman and Rod Rudolf was best man) at Doug Jones wedding and he had bare feet and Doug’s rather posh wedding turned out to be a deer shooters party – so you said you’ve been talking to Doug.

I didn’t shoot with Frank but we were deer cullers together – not together on the same block – he was around Makarora and he poached into the head of the Te Naihi.

He probably didn’t discover - but he certainly used Newlands Pass, a very difficult pass at the head of Newland and under the flanks of Mount Alba. It’s a series of very step terraces and a bit like the OLeary Pass at the head of the Arawata. 

'The Mueller Glacier is a tributary of the Turnball and all these headwaters come together on the same bit of the Main Divide. He would have known about that country, they’re all interlocked with ridge systems; once he was up at that altitude it's easy enough to keep walking along the top and drop into these main river systems.'

Would you believe it, my former wife Lorraine, was over last year and we went to Hokitika for the day. I said that’s funny, that’s an old Fox Moth flying around. We went up to the airport and it was the bloody plane I pulled out of the sea on my back, old APT.

I actually have the bottle of whisky from Henry Buchanan for saving the plane.'

Lorraine was talking to these various people and they were interested in meeting me. They said their Dad - Malcolm Forsyth one of the pilots from the early meat day’s winter 1959 - was the pilot and they said we’ve got these photographs from dad’s collection and we don’t know any of the people.

They all looked alike to me; well they were me forty years ago! Its funny to see all these photographs you didn’t know existed.  I thought God I was a handsome young bugger in those days. The first colour photographs of their dad and me and taken on that same strip when we nearly lost the plane. Such a coincidence.

We were lucky to have that photo Frank and Cummings (being brought down off the mountain) that’s not only the first two people who died on meat operations it was a very significant and historic event.

There were just a handful of us and Frank was one – we all used .222s. People scorned, in fact Tim Wallis would never hire me because I shot a .222. .243 was the smallest calibre Timmy would allow on his helicopters. I told him to stick it, nobody tells me what calibre to use. Frank was a .222 man and Alan Duncan; there were just a handful of us.

'You do have to be a good shot that was the thing you see, that was our rifle. And even today I have friends in the Police who say its bloody ridiculous using a calibre like that on a deer, it’s a small bullet, its high velocity against really big stags you have to really place your shot.

If you remember in the Cascade (refers to The Venison Hunters) I shot 87 deer one day 12,500 Ibs some of those stags were 300 pounders and the .222 did the job. And this is the thing you can just put shot after shot into a neck of a stag around the time of the roaring period and he’ll just shake his head because it wont penetrate the muddy hair and the thick skin on his neck, where if you stick it in the ribs he goes down because that’s his one vulnerable spot. Funny enough most of the .222 shooters on big game we were lung shooters. Once you get a bullet into there, the poor sods, that’s it.

On the Log Cabin up the Arawata:

You wouldn’t be allowed to do it today; you’d have to have all sorts of resource permits.

Mike Bennett.

Here is the link to Videosouth Productions and the film featuring Mike Bennett as Arawata Bill:

https://videosouth.com/component/virtuemart/people-of-new-zealand/arawata-bill-detail.html?Itemid=0 

Gonna miss you Mike, be at peace in those mountains. 

Rivers II

What once was, is now gone.

What grows within the rivers flow eventually succumbs

The water doesn't even know the tree holds out its arms

Then one day its ripped away, the place it held is gone

The river holds no memory, the water just rolls on

From the song 'Still Her Heart' Delaney Davidson
Album: Sad But True Volume 1

More on Delaney here:
http://www.delaneydavidson.com/

Photo: Frank Erceg

Rivers

Stop
your snivelling
creek - bed:
come rain hail
and flood water
laugh again.

Hone Tuwhare.

Come Rain Hail, Haiku. 

More on Hone Tuwhare and his work please visit:
http://www.bookcouncil.org.nz/writers/tuwharehone.html 

The poem has been referenced from Page 122 Gordon Roberts and Brian Turner "New Zealand High Country Four Seasons."

Photo above from Frank Erceg Archive. Location unknown, could be the Arawata? 

Campfires

Aloysius Erceg. Photo: Frank Erceg

"There is a silent voice in the wilderness that we hear only when no one else is around.
When you go far,
far beyond,
out across the netherlands of the Known,
the din of human static slowly fades away,
over and out."

Rob Schultheis, Fools Gold: Lives, Loves, and Misadventures in the Four Corners Country.


http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/wilderness

Aoraki Mount Cook

One of Frank's 35mm colour slides: Aoraki Mount Cook, South Island New Zealand.  Height 3,754m = 12,316.3 feet. The photo was taken from Hooker Valley and below is a map showing the location.

Many of Frank's slides and negatives are not named and some have been scanned wrong way round. I initially thought it might be Mount Aspiring, but when I did a search on the internet I could clearly see the outline of Aoraki but that it just needed to be flipped. And when I did there it was! Our tallest mountain. 

Map from:

http://nzfrenzysouth.wordpress.com/e5/