The Annual Cricket Match

On Breakneck Road, just East of the Forest Headquarters was Bennett's Sawmill. The mill was owned by Bert Bennett (H.J.) and his Sawyer was my mate Keith Gibson.
Bert sold the sawmill to Fletchers, who were trying to muscle in on the industry and they in turn later sold it to Burnie McMullen when Keith became the Manager - later his son Steve took over.

Back then the forest was too young to supply sawlogs to the mill but we were sort of colleagues in that we were in the same industry and from time to time we cooperated in fire training. But gradually as the forest matured we had a closer relationship.

I have no idea who's idea it was, but Keith made up a trophy using an old saw blade and we were to play a game of cricket for it.
We prepared a wicket by mowing the grass and removing the stones from an area on the paddock Bert Moir leased off the NZFS and Colin, who was a keen cricketer supplied secondhand bats, wickets, keepers gloves, pads, balls and the bag to keep them in. All courtesy of the MCC - ah no, not them, Maheno Cricket Club (now in recession).

The match became an annual affair and was contested fiercely. All who came played, or had the opportunity to do so. Even wives should they want, but most wives just enjoyed the spectacle. Everyone had to make a run, everyone had to have a bowl - and no quick bowling. One young fellow called Grant bowled a quickie to Wayne Coleman and smashed his glasses! It didn't matter that Bert preferred to bowl underarm, or Albert bowl with a chuck. The ball was seldom lost and the paddock was large enough for sixes to be a rare and wonderful thing - worthy of celebrating even! When batting, old Bert Moir even took his pipe from his mouth! Most of us missed at least one catch (in my case to allow someone to make his mandatory run!)

The drinks breaks were for beer and it was not necessary to have a break as the fielders took beer with them. So the toss winner would bat first because the fielders' became a little impaired as the game progressed.

It was great! People ran who you would never really expect to run, and people really tried to catch the ball - perhaps for the first time in their lives!

Generally it was fun times, enjoyed by all and often, later in the evening there was a barbecue to round off the day. These matches continued until the demise of the NZFS 1987.

Tree Marking

Tree marking was deemed to be an important task to ensure tree selection was accurate. Trees needed to be selected because high stocking numbers were planted and about a third of them were selected for low pruning - most of which were to be high pruned and kept as final crop, while the others were culled - thinned either to waste of for some sort of production.
There was a certain science in selection, and every tree was considered. These days there is virtually no marking done. Tree breeding has contributed to an evenness in tree growth/form and most work is done on contract with quality control. Not always the best but cost effective in these times.
It was mandatory to mark.

Our crew was very experienced and were able to carry out self selection while working on a bonus rate. Sometimes I would mark some outside trees [after pruning sometimes) just to keep Geo Wilkinson happy. (or off my back)

But there were times we marked for pruning over a wide area - sometimes one dot for low pruning only and two a later high prune.
Usually Colin and I did the marking and occasionally Colin would do the lion's share with me contributing from time to time. You had to be fit because it involved a lot of walking. Pushing through gorse and blackberry - once I wore out the legs of a new pair of corduroy trousers in one day due to blackberry!

Of course we played those childish games such sharing sweets and keeping a corner of a sweet to 'luxuriously' eat it in front of the other! Or hiding the toilet paper so the other had to use the shiny label off the paint can! [Colin thought I used it - never did becuse grass or pine needles were markedly softer.]
Sometimes I would mark a few of the trees on Colin's row - just to annoy him. It would interfere with his spacing plan because after all spacing was important in the mix too. He would retaliate in a similar way but on occasion he would climb a tree and wait for me to catch up, then try to pee on me trough the branches. The smell usually gave him away before it got me, but I wore the odd splash from time to time!

Old George Mitchell would growl at us if we marked a tree that was difficult to prune and we would often purposely mark a tree covered in bush lawyer [hooked prickles] just for old George.

The marking was a good supervision tool for the post cutters and I caught them out often. Marked trees were good for them because they were big and straight, and of course they did not need to trim them.

Spacing was important but not only as a management tool for the crop. It was better to leave a rough pine tree in a gap rather than allow the gorse to grow, so we left a tree in the gaps - good form or not.

Venison

Writing about shooting deer reminds me of Albert.

I had been out with my .22, to shoot rabbits that had been destroying some young plantings. As I came to a small clearing, there was a stag standing there.
I did not like to chance aiming for the head, instead I aimed at the neck [windage was ok I was concerned about elevation - rifle sight]. The deer did not drop, and I emptied the magazine of five shots into the deer's neck.
While I stopped to reload, the animal moved into the trees. I followed and found the dead animal.

After butchering it, I took it down to HQ and Albert suggested I keep it in his freezer at home. Good idea - not!

Every now and then Albert brought a flask of hot stew and at lunch time he would inform me that it was venison! I didn't click until too late, and when I did ask for some of my meat, he told me it was all finished.

Sounds bad but I'm grinning. Albert has done many a good turn for me and I've sampled a lot of his food. Really it was a joke.

I'm no angel. Albert kept an address stamp in his drawer, one of those that you use a pad to apply the ink. Now Albert was bald and wore a cap - my challenge was to quietly open his draw, then quickly grab the stamp with my left hand, whip off his cap with my right and apply the stamp to his scalp - then run! Not always did I succeed because he was no willing party, but sometime he was addressed to go to Dunedin!
He took his share of revenge!

A bit more on hunting

There were plenty of times when we went hunting - 'to control the animals'. Mick Hill and I had our dogs and we would go together. Colin and I would also go together and we had interesting challenges as well.

There are those who think killing animals for sport is gross and a bad thing, but for young men to go out and challenge themselves to pound the hills, fight the vegetation and pit their cunning against wild animals who's senses are more intune than their own is surely a good thing. We had a great amount of fun. Now I'm personally not so interested - I guess you do move on.

Mick and I challenged ourselves to go out without a rifle, which means we had to dispatch the pig with a knife - I used a short Green River knife to cut their throat - jugular vein.
Well the dogs caught the pig alright and Mick took hold of its hind legs to roll it on its back. To make it easy for me to kill it. But every time I went to use my knife, the pig kept snapping at me. I looked at Mick and he was grinning from ear to ear. He was turning the pig so it was always attacking me!

Another time, after Hughie Muldrew, the meat buyer had asked me not to cut the pigs throat too much because in Germany they sit them frozen in the window to look 'alive'. As a display, I guess. So this day the dogs held a big boar pinned, by its ears [a dog on each]. I was going to use my knife by sticking into the pig's heart. This did not kill, or even slow down the pig! I guessed the knife was too short, so I pushed it in - handle and all! The pig was by no means dead, and the dogs let go. I straddled the big bugger and held on to his ears! He bucked, but I stayed put! Mick had not turned up - he was a slower runner than me! I yelled for him to hurry and he came with his rifle. But he sat down on a rock and watched as I was bucked among the gorse! Grinning widely, he finally shot the animal and I retrieved my knife.

Colin always complained to me that dogs killed the piglets and therefore ruined the hunting. He also had the theory that he and his rifle could bag more pigs than I could with my dogs. So we went out together to test it.
We were going to test two hour each with us walking with my dogs and then the pair of us walking without the dogs. Well we didn't get on to any pigs.
As we drove around Queen's Road, a large boar ran down the road in front of us. 'Right' I said as I stopped the truck, 'here's your chance - shoot it!'
Buy the time he was out of the truck, the pig had disappeared into a stand of Macrocarpas. I let the dogs loose and they soon had the pig.
Smugly I said nothing, but the next day I had my gloat when I told the story [with the necessary embellishment] to our co-workers.

Colin was a really good shot and cool with it.
We had seen a lot of deer sign on the planting area that bounded on to Glencoe Run. So we went up there on those frosty nights with a hand light - me with the light and Colin with his rifle. We regularly bagged a deer and always left the guts where the workers would find it - particularly Doug Turner who was vocal in his envy [but never went out himself]. I was well aware that he checked my boots for blood splats each morning.
One night we spotted a small mob of pigs, and as I held them in the light - pigs don't dazzle easily - I was aware Colin was taking his time taking aim.
'Shoot the bloody thing!' I muttered.
Finally he fired and two pigs dropped! He was purposely lining them up so he increased the possibility of hitting two with one bullet.
Then another night he carefully took aim at the glowing eye of a deer. Bang, the eye did not go out. I held the light steady. Bang again - the eye still did not go out! I told him to take another angle and the eye went out.
His first two shots had hit the deer just in the joint of the jawbone no more than a centimeter apart. This can happen - a shot animal can just stand there; shock I suppose. The other shot had been right on the eye. Colin was a very good shot!

Old HQ

The old Forest Headquarters was Rodman's homestead and it stood on the corner of Rodman & Diamond Hill Road. It was a fine old house with two roof ridges parallel to each other; it was built of Matai, Rimu and Totara, presumably logged from the forest.

Surrounding the homestead was a paddock used for the house cow and probably horses. Around the homestead building were Ngiao trees - possibly natural, but maybe planted. The tradition surrounding these trees is that they only grow where they can 'see' the sea. They could.
There were large Eucalyptus trees, globulus and one housed a wild beehive in the trunk - Colin Bartrum robbed the honey from time to time by cutting a square into the trunk and covering it with a piece of ply that could be removed.

There was a large barn/shed that had a sliding door - this was an amazing pioneering building. Adzed boards/slabs of Rimu and Miro - about 30cm wide and 30mm thick, placed vertically. The frame, including the rafters was made from trimmed poles of what was then called Black Matipo and Red Matipo. The old guys misidentified the species. Black Matipo is Pittosporum tenuifolium while the Red is Myrsine australis, not that it matters particularly.

Of course there was no electricity there and I suspect there was a problem with water. Rodman harvested rainwater from the roof and had piped water from a spring up the road - I never saw it carry water. Down on the flat area at the start of Pa Road there had been a cattlestop erected and there was a well dug. Unthinkingly Albert and I from time to time filled it with rubbish!

Sadly all this has gone now. The house was used as the first Headquarters for many years until 1965 when the new Headquarters was set up on Breakneck Road near the sawmill. Now that's not quite right. The old cadastral maps reveal that the road is actually Middle Ridge Road, which continues up to Glencoe Run - somehow the road became known as Breakneck - which actually starts where Middle Ridge turns to climb the hill.

Then for many years the Old HQ became a wet weather shelter until a new one was built on what is now the camping ground.
Sadly I did not know Rodman or any of his kin nor have I heard of any of them - there will be many happy memories of that old house and no doubt challenges too.

I was responsible for removing almost everything there. First it was my job to establish trees in the 20 acre house cow paddock. This involved aerial spraying the gorse with 245T. We flew from McLean's Hill (North of Herbert Township). John McDonald was the pilot of the Fletcher aircraft and as it was a single-seater, I sat in the hopper and rattled around as he took off. Uncomfortable and probably illegal. But you have to show the pilot where to apply the chemical.

After the spray had dried the gorse, we burnt it. This was a challenge because part of the fenceline was too steep for the bulldozer to form a firebreak. So we cut one by hand. During the fire, Colin became hot so hung his woolen jersey on the fence - the fire became so intense that when he lifted it off, it fell to pieces! Beyond the fence was the young forest - small Radiata Pine growing in gorse, highly flammable! We were so lucky that it did not ignite because it surely would have burnt the whole catchment beyond!

One wet day some new Porter Pruners had arrived. These are long handled loppers. Old Russell began to annoy the rest of the forest workers by clacking the pruners in their faces. He clacked too close to Bert however and cut a nick in the join between his nostrils. Blood dripped slowly, drip, drip.
Bert stuck his pipe to the side of his mouth and sat in a chair so the blood dripped on the floor - not cool to show any pain. 'Silly old bastard.' he muttered.

On wet days there were always challenges - mental as well as physical. Not showing pain was part of the aim and bulldog clips would go on ears and noses. And there were wrestling matches. Colin managed to break one of Bert's fingers, but nobody knew until months later, when Bert's wife let the cat out of the bag.

It was comforting to those hard men though to go into the old HQ on a cold day, start the fire and smoke, talk and drink tea. Their tactic was the same even when they used the new shelter. They would take turns to come and annoy me until I told them they could go home!

The old building became a ruin and sometimes pig hunters and others took shelter there. It was dangerous because one day it was bound to burn down - so we demolished it and the workers took the good materials home - the rest was bulldozed and buried. Oh but I have a very old bottle from there.

Going back to Pa Road. We built a log bridge over Hoods Creek - that's gone now too - and while the road was new and the edge still not compacted, Old Russell driving 1140, the old K Bedford - full of men - drove too close to the soft edge. Slowly the truck began to tip over - slow? Bert had time to take his pipe from his mouth and place it safely in his pocket. The truck flopped over on its side rolling twice - nobody was seriously hurt except from hobnail boot marks as Albert wanted to be first out!

Just a note

During a conversation, I recall my two old mates having heart problems. Bert had thin blood and was taking medicine to make it thicker while Gib had thick blood and his medicine was to make it thinner.

We were working in the gully behind Dr. Douglas' property - cutting lines in burnt gorse - and during the one day, both collapsed and we had to carry them out. To be honest, looking at them then, I thought their days were numbered. Not so, through the miracles of medicine they slowly improved and worked more, then to happily retire.