Cave in South Block

The two Trig points in the center of the South Block are remarkable in that there are large rock formations and the actual Trigs are marked by extensive rock-work. Below them are some small caves and I took a newspaper reporter to view one of them.
The actual geology of the area is a mystery to me because it appears that the conglomerate rock has been molten and actually flowed and burnt into tree roots to take place of the root in the soil - then the soil [often] has been eroded away. Now I know enough about geology to doubt that conglomerate rock can be molten, but anyway that's what it looks like to me.

After the picture was published, someone wrote to the paper saying that it looked like I was talking to a Troll.

Diamond Hill Hut Is Moved

Mick Hill asked if he could move the miners hut on Diamond Hill out on to Matheson's, Glencoe Run.
He, Sam Kennedy and Merv McCabe pulled it out on to Table Hill using Merv's tractor, and they carried out modifications to make a hunting lodge [in the broadest of terms].

Four wheel drive vehicles were needed to gain access and that was provided by Mick's Willys Jeep - an ex army one. At one time we took out a Trekker - made I think by Skoda - to test its capability. We were not too sure about this machine because the rear wheels were turned in at the bottom, the more the load, the better the alignment. We thought it might tip over easily on a sidling. Well the vehicle could surely climb - we gave it a good tryout! Up a steep incline, the only thing to stop us was the tree roots, lifting the front wheels off the ground, thus losing traction. We took it spotlighting through the worked up paddocks.

One Easter we all went out to the hut for a weekend's hunting and adventure. Well most of the adventure turned out to be in the hut or in the vehicles. We never shot any animals, due largely to the flagons of sherry the others took with them! For some reason sherry had become the drink of choice [only for a while] and they took more than enough. I didn't touch the stuff! But it made them sleep in in the mornings and disinclined to walk far. We saw a large number of deer, but they were not prepared to stalk them. So we basked in the sun chatting and telling tales.

Merv had bought a big Dodge 4x4 and tried it out. The area we drove across was soft and once the grass surface was broken, it was easy to become stuck - even in four wheel drive! The Dodge with its big, baggy tyres managed fine but became stuck in a shallow gut because the bumper was jammed against the opposite side bank.
Mick would pull it out with the Jeep!He struck a soft patch and could not get forward motion, so we three pushed - and pushed. With no room for Sam at the back, he leaned his shoulder to the drivers door to push. Mick turned the steering wheel slightly and covered Sam from head to toe with mud in a strip about as wide as the tyre. The mud was almost black and his white eyes were round with shock. His open mouth completed the picture.

It was getting dark so Mick and I decided to go and get the D6 to pull both vehicles to safety. Once through the creek and on the flat [now a worked paddock] Merv came with a torch to show us the way, and Mick chased him! Merv ran from side to side, struggling through gorse and matagouri. Revealing cuts and welts later. All but he were amused!

We pulled the vehicles to safety and parked up for the night.
We had all sorts of food and ate well, mind there was no pork or venison! Later with a cup of tea, Sam brought out the Malt biscuits and I showed how decadent I could be by plastering condensed milk on them. Merv was quick to try this too and as he was about to take a bite, Sam got his revenge buy pushing the condensed milk covered biscuit into his face! What a mess!
Too much sherry seems to make the face a purple shade, and the hangover didn't appear to be too good either.

I left early to drive the Dozer back into the forest the next day and later Mick picked me up, then dropped me off at home. A totally fruitless, but most entertaining weekend!

Poachers

We used to call people who took pigs and deer from the forest without permit 'poachers'. They were never really poachers as such because after all the animals needed controlling and they had no real effect on populations anyway.

I'm really talking about local young men, who's recreation was to go out into the hills, bag a deer or pig and later have a few beers.
Nig Gloag though was more of a professional as his income came largely from the land. Possum hunting and selling deer or pigs. His Landrover was well known and I remember he took it down a ridge on the South Block right onto the river bed. Showed exceptional driving skills!
This track was the old pack horse track to Dunback that Moeraki Station used. Old Gib Green used to take pack horses over there. [That's why you find broom there]. It might have been the main road to Central Otago but the Pig Root turned out to be an easier route.

They were mainly young guys from Hampden. We used to try to keep them out of the forest, but they were resourceful and always found a way in - mainly by lifting a gate from its hinges. Never damaging things or stealing anything - more it was a game between them and me. I knew them well.

Bill Pile was a fisherman who used to help muster sheep and cattle - he had dogs and used them to find pigs on his expeditions. He would on occasion give me some blue cod or crayfish because he enjoyed pig hunting and was not looking for trouble. Bill took us out to a drilling rig once to deliver fresh vegetables to the workers - just as a friendly gesture and enjoyable boat trip for me.
Sorty Hyland also had sheep dogs and a Landrover which allowed him to use the forest effectively for his pig hunting. He been used to hunting when Bert Fraser owned the South Block and essentially kept going. Shorty purchased a trawler and operated out of Moeraki and Colin & I went fishing with him a number of times. As a fisherman, it was good to go hunting when the weather made to sea to rough to go out.
Andy Patterson lived at the end of Mile Flat Road farming there. He had quality trial dogs [and the trophies] and would use them for pig hunting. He had a lame leg and his friends called him 'Hoppy' - not unkindly. Famous for the phrase 'no lollies for naughty boys' when he was warned off for being too frisky with his wife after drinking a little too much. Andy left the others to kill and carry out game - just commanded his dogs by whistling instructions to them.
Nobby Jameson was also among these guys and they particularly liked to go out spotlighting at night. Some people would ring me because they saw the light, and perhaps some were a little jealous that someone else was taking their sport. I never went out chasing spotlighters as I know myself, I could go out there and nobody could catch me.

Things a different these days and we have all moved on. Those guys [as well as me] are doing different things, but when we do meet up, it is just like meeting up with old friends.

Oops I Made a Splash

One drizzly day, as I went out to the wood heap, I noticed a wisp of smoke from the south side of Diamond Hill.
I was not too concerned about a fire spreading, because of the drizzle, but there remained the need to check it out.
I climbed into the old Commer truck, much like this one, but NZFS yellow and with a canopy on the back. This old girl had a crash gearbox, so you had to drive it. It lacked power too and was temperamental - the heater blew cold air when going down hill - but that is just what I liked, because nobody else wanted to drive it, it was always available to me. Low geared, it was no speed demon.

I charged up the hill and did notice a group of people standing at the bottom of Breakneck Road, but took little note because I was on a mission.

The wisp of smoke and it was coming from the bottom of Road 15B and that was a dirt road, therefore if I drove down there, I would not get out because of the wet. I walked down.

After rounding a corner, I saw there was a vehicle and tent with a camp fire and the young couple inside the tent were doing what young couples do - well in the circumstances there was not much else to do!
With no intention of startling or embarrassing them, I retraced my steps a little and then returned and coughed at a safe distance. There was a certain amount of quick movement and a red-faced guy poked his head out of the tent flap.
The obvious line was, 'What are you doing?' but I decided against that preferring, 'Hi there, sorry but this area is State Forest, and you are not allowed to camp here.'

The couple had been looking for somewhere to camp and had driven down this road but were unable to drive out because of the wet. I could see they were telling the truth because there were tyre marks there to prove it.
It was unwise to allow them to stay, so I told them I would return with tyre chains to put on my truck, then I could pull them out.

On my return down the hill, a guy was standing in the middle of the road forcing me to stop.
'You splashed my father before,' he said, 'now his trousers are wet.'
My reply was not polite and I drove off.
I have the greatest respect for older folk, but I had none for this guy. Well the guy who had stopped me had built a small house down the road and had stolen fence posts from our heap that was stored in the paddock. I knew they were the posts because ours could not be purchased anywhere. So this old guy [in my book] got wet because he was standing close to a puddle as I passed. Well there is some justice.

I returned for the couple and extracted them without incident and they set up camp in the Forest HQ area where there was a water tap and a toilet. They were happy for their rescue.

The Waianakarua Garage

One of the only things for sure in life, is that there will be change and the Waianakarua Garage is one of those things that is now in the past - though the building is still there.

Jim Robertson and Bert Bennett started the garage, Jim was a mechanic and Bert an auto electrician. They ran a workers' bus into Oamaru and it was well patronised.
It was a different era then. Those older cars and machinery, older style petrols and oils and the need to fix things. The Waianakarua Garage served the community and was an important service because their work was to a high standard - and practical.

When I came on to the scene, Bert had started the sawmill and had sold his share in the garage back to Jim (affectionately known as 'JR'). JR had a mechanic, Jim Jameson (Nobby) and a grease monkey, Reg Moses. Reg did not remain at the garage for long - a young fellow moving on, I supposed.

Nobby was a very good mechanic but was not qualified [people said that he did not like to study]. However his expertise was exceptional and he took the D6 apart completely and fully reconditioned it - track rollers and all! NZFS had its own workshops - Conical Hills Workshop - and we never trusted them even with a wheelbarrow! Most times things came from there, they needed to go to the Waianakarua Garage to be fixed properly!

On wet days local farmers congregated there for a yarn or minor repairs to bit and pieces they had now found time to have repaired. It frustrated JR and Nobby because they were not able to operate efficiently.
I managed to win the right to purchase our petrol there instead of going into town with a 200 litre drum.

When our sons were born, JR took money from the till and gave it 'to add to their savings'. He was a generous man.
My old Commer Cob station wagon would from time to time be covered in pig/deer blood and JR would wash it out with disinfectant, claiming that the vehicle stunk! Well I thought that the disinfectant was worse than the dog and blood smell.
Once after a grease and oil change, I took to the forest looking for pigs and noticed the oil pressure light had come on. I stopped the vehicle and dipped the oil - none. I rang JR telling him that maybe the sump plug was not tightened properly. He came and town the vehicle back to the garage - will I had hit a rock and torn the sump plug off completely!

Another time I lent the old Commer truck to some student foresters who were staying at Hampden - they rang to say that the gearbox had seized. Nobby to the rescue this time and he found the gearbox to totally dry, no oil whatever. I drove that truck daily and had noticed no problem.

Times changed and JR could no longer afford to keep Nobby on and he went truck driving for Hampden Transport. He met a tragic accident and was killed. Nobby had been a bit of a larrikin in his time and I know a story or two about him, but one time we were hunting together and I shot a very large deer. We were going to auction it off in the Hampden pub, so had to carry it a long distance to the vehicle. Nobby and Mick had their turn at carrying the animal across their shoulders and winking at each other they lifted it across mine. Well my legs gave out so the deer and I formed an untidy heap.
Later in the pub, after having sold off the deer, we enjoyed a few moments together. Constable Cruikshank came to talk to us - as was his duty - and we had a chat. During this chat, I had an urge to collect one of the silver buttons on his tunic and he laughed at the suggestion. I drew my Green River skinning knife, but thought better of it and just gave him a wide smile. Try the same thing today....

JR sold the garage to Robert Hutton who kept the garage running successfully for a number of years. Later Robert came to work for me on the forest and he enjoyed his time there until we all faced redundancy.

Robert managed to sell the garage as a going concern but all who bought it failed because of the changing times.

I am sad that the garage has gone and also some of the good people. I hope this serves to remember a little of that past.