To the west and south of Diamond Hill are bush gullies which contain quite remarkable examples of remnant Podocarpus forest and I recall noting in my survey book 'merchantable quality Rimu and Miro.' Those were the days when Rimu timber was an important commodity! But this is old indigenous forest with huge Kanuka, Broadleaf, Marble Leaf and all the other mixed Podocarps. Admittedly, the under-scrub was thin because of pigs, deer and possums but it was still beautiful and rare bush.
When Mick was bulldozing the firebreak, the topographical limit he could go to was the actual planting boundary of the compartment.
But according to Geo Wilkinson, the District Forester, it did not look neat on the map! The boundary was not square because a few pockets (gulley bottoms) of bush thrusting up into the proposed pine plantation.
Old George! He was an English forester with a neat trimmed beard, and thinking back, perhaps he was a bit nervey because he shook a bit. I remember one morning smoko (tea) when he became excited about a tale of pig hunting, he absent mindedly ate all of his lunch! Realising the fact only when he folded the brown paper bag that carried it in! Another time he was staying at a boarding house in Oamaru, but had wanted first to catch a pig - he like wild pork. I shot the pig alright, and gave him the job of gutting it and carrying to the truck - well, after all, I was carrying the rifle! His clothes became saturated with with blood and I can still imagine the horror of the boarding house proprietors thinking he had been involved in some massacre or other!
Anyway, George came up with a plan to 'tidy' up the boundary of the Diamond Hill Block. I was to cut a straight line on a designated bearing to act as the permanent boundary. That was one of my skills and I cut an accurate definable boundary to work to. Then everything above this boundary was to be poisoned using a substance called ammate. Notches had to be cut in the trees and the crystals applied with an old spoon. Once the trees were defoliated, the bush was to be underplanted in the more valuable species, Douglas Fir! Never mind the intrinsic value of the indigenous forest!
So I sent Bert and Gib into the forest each armed with an axe to cut the notches and to apply the ammate. After about an hour, I returned there thinking I would stop them because the morality of the exercise was nagging at me. To my surprise, Bert and Gib were sitting down on the roadside looking glum. They stood as I approached.
'We are not too happy doing this job,' Bert told me, 'can you find someone else to do it?'
'Not happy about poisoning the bush eh.' It was my statement and reply.
'What can be done to stop this?' Gib asked.
Both these guys were as loyal to the forest as people could be, and both had served in WWII, so they knew about orders from 'on high'.
'Well I doubt if George will do the job himself.' I replied, thinking for an answer. 'So if it doesn't happen then it doesn't happen. Maybe we should enlist the aid of Alan Dick. He could talk to the minister (of forests). I can't really do anything because of my position here but I'm cobbery with old Alan. If one of you could write him a letter and I could explain things to him on the quiet.'
Bert said he would write the letter. I had a lot of time for Bert - he had courage and a sense of 'right'.
Alan Dick was our local MP and a mate of mine. I had even blasted some rock for him to use as a feature wall for his house, and I helped him establish some trees and shrubs in his garden. Many a time I shared the hospitality of Alan and his wife Betty as we discussed many issues, setting the world to rights.
Oh yes they bought the property from old Mrs Thorpe, a lovely old widow, but the house had an earlier, sinister history, or was that just rumor? Another [old] woman had lived there who was apparently an associate of the infamous Minnie Dean - some believe there are babies buried somewhere there - oooh. Maybe its just an urban myth!
Sometimes around New Year, Betty and Alan would host us forestry boys for drinks and bites. Alan was never backward in sharing his whiskey - it came in half gallon flagons! A few of those sessions produced the odd headache and I recall one 'morning after' when Bert sat in pain with his hat pulled over his eyes to protect then from the glare of the morning sun. Convalescing he was! Alan passed by in his car and tooted. 'Vote catching bastard!' Bert muttered. He didn't really mean it.
Anyway, Bert wrote the letter and I spoke to Alan who wrote a letter to the minister; simply asking,'Why are they poisoning native bush at Herbert Forest?'
So the minister asks the Conservator and the Conservator asks the District Ranger and I guess the District Ranger asked the District Forester, George They got cold feet! The answer came back to Alan, through all the channels of course.
'There is no poisoning of native bush taking place at Herbert Forest!'
District Office was furious! But we locals had made a pact nobody was going to say anything! Simply deny all knowledge of any letter to anyone!
Keith Prior, the District Ranger came to pay us a visit, smoke was still coming out of his ears. But I knew him to be a forester! So I took him up there and asked him to give me time to mark out a walking track, so I returned him to HQ for a cup of tea. I used strips of survey cloth to mark [flag] out a proposed walking track, a loop, through the best of the indigenous forest area, past some of the very special trees.
Keith saw the potential of the track and readily agreed to save the bush and allow us to form the track. Bert and Gib were much happier doing that job!
In those days primary schools used Camp Iona as a base and thousands of children passed through the area each year. This track was to become a highlight for them - sometimes I would guide them and give a talk.
On one occasion, I took a group of Catholic girls and a couple of Nuns, and to thank me, one of the Nuns told me they would sing a song for me. Well a rough, tough, insensitive forestry man finds it difficult to face such things! So after the song I thanked them, at the same time watching my feet as I kicked off the imaginary mud from my boots.
'Oh, we are so please you liked it!' smiled the Nun and began conducting again to give me an encore!
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