Meandering in the Makaroro

There is always, for me, a slight sense of forboding and unease when I undertake solo journeys into the mountains. A recent run of comments on my last post addressed solo travel, and the book by Aat Vervoorn, Mountain Solitudes, a book I read at least once a year. Don from over at Like Minds - New Zealand Landscape and Thoughts - http://www.likeminds.co.nz/ , I thought summed it up pretty well writing he has recognized when on solo trips that "this is not the day, nor the time to continue Donald", and that as Aat alludes to about traveling alone in rugged country that "we need to have all our ducks in a row emotionally and mentally". And physically as well.



So for a few reasons I felt somewhat reluctant to take on my planned trip to the Ruahines, in spite of having the time to do so, a rare enough occurrence these days. The arthritis in my hip has been acting up, it is the roar or deer mating season meaning the mountains will be filled with hunters so the chances of a completely solitude filled journey I thought fairly remote, the weather which had been lovely was meant to turn while I planned being away. All easy enough reasons to postpone, yet I also had reason to celebrate. The wind mill farm proposed for the Puketoi ranges has been defeated, a battle won in a big war. And as always in the fall I want to roam in the mountains and feel and taste the change in the seasons. They seem more wild and more moody for some reason. And so, after changing my route 3-4 times, I simply chose a route that would let me move in any weather, packed my swag and left early in the morning. When the sun rose is was a most beautiful day.




Beech forest at the bottom of Parks Peak ridge after climbing the connecting spur.



Looking across Makaroro valley to the main Ruahine range, Maroparea and Te Atua Mahuru are the high points.




South from the ridge looking back at the main range and Te Atuaoparapara and the Three Johns.

Looking back south on Parks Peak ridge. A lot of climbing, and a ways to go yet!

6 April

Parks Peak

Sitting out on the ridge looking across to the Totara spur and main range, wee dram in hand. I am not, as I thought, to be alone in the hut. Back in 2004, on a similar fall excursion I met two hunters in the old hut and spent some time with them. And here was one of them again, and he recognized me straight off - though there probably are very few big Yanks running around these hills to be fair. His mate Adam, had a 9 point stag head he had shot after a grueling stalk. I also ran into a guy fly camping way back on the ridge and a nice chat with him as well. So instead of being miffed my solitude is impacted, I am just going to enjoy the company and my time here. It seems pretty clear in my formerly doubtful head up here. I have my bivvy bag but it is pretty chilly already and that hut fire seems to be calling me.

It was a long walk, it always is. This is the 10th time I have done it, Nigel, John, Taylor, Gyro, Jeremy, Jacob, all have done the hard yards. And now 5 times on my own. Another reason for celebration, and each one of those people would acknowledge it has never been easy. On a day like today, all my doubts faded when I finally got up that spur and I just toughed it out and made sure I stopped to smell the roses.

Pete, left, and Adam with the 9 point stag head.




North west from the ridge, in the distance is Ngauruhoe, one of the active volcano's in the north island.


6 April
Evening
Parks Peak hut


I got back in the hut and was handed a cup of tea by Adam. We all sat down by the fire, and pretty much the first thing Pete asks me is "How do I feel about all this wind mill stuff going on?". Pretty amazing really, and after he, Adam and I thrashed that one around, we also got into talking about 1080 poison, conservation, and loving Wild Places. Not religion, or politics. Pete has hunted here at Parks Peak for 9 years now, Adam for 4 - today was his first well earned stag. These guys have history here, they have things to say, as do I. The interesting aspect I think I just observed here was that being amongst a wild place, becoming immersed in it, almost part of it, doesn't make it less wild, it makes us love it more, and thus make us more aware, and more sensitive to how easily it is to impact that, to change it forever and irrevocably. I am moved to find these guys who care as much as I do. I have found that from far away, and it is so beautiful to find it within.

We feasted on fresh venison back steaks and tenderloins that Pete and Adam most generously shared with me, and toasted our astute observations a few times as well. It is after all, a Celebration, and any moments in these mountains are ones to enjoy. The tough ones make the easy ones better.



Almost a full moon at Parks Peak hut.



7 April, 2009
Afternoon
Upper Makaroro hut


Even on the longest of summer days the sun never lasts long on this narrow part of Upper Makaroro valley. In the fall and winter the afternoons grow short. Here I linger by the river, I am free to relish and roam this remote flat. The Makaroro rolls by gently, its song muted by the recent lack of rain. She starts to reveal her symphony, steady and beat keeping up on the calmer straighter end of the flat, then gathering into a higher string section gathering into the small rapid below, and releasing into a final crescendo below. From above an ominous wind reaches down from the high tops, out of sight far above, and rolls through the beeches and river grasses. I get to sit here the rest of this day and just Listen.

Makaroro river and pool across from the hut

The view down river from the flat in front of the hut

The Makaroro quietly rolls by.


7April
Upper Makaroro
Late Afternoon

My son Charlie, 6, asked me a few days ago if I could "understand" birds because I whistle a lot, and in particular to the tui's which live amongst our little patch of unruly bush we call a yard. Charlie has learned to whistle and so has a lot of questions and observations about whistling. So I was sitting down here by the river thinking about that and I decided to practice my very bad imitation of a Whio call.

As if by fate, within 30 seconds a Whio came whistling around the corner of the above black and white photo, and flew directly over my head and landed at the upper end of the flat. I was stunned, I was shaking, it is the first Whio I have seen in over 2 years and I have missed their presence enormously. They, to me, represent the Heart and Soul of these mountains. They are reason enough for me to wander these mountains, to care for them, to love them. With tears in my eyes I crept quietly up the flat and just watched him, perfectly in sync and in tune with his mountain home. He flew off up river in that marvelous unerring flight, and even more to my delight flew back a few minutes later, followed by another pair! A few moments with the Whio. All the doubt and fear and worry I may have felt in my solo journey is now gone, these few moments have validated the other side of those emotions, and I am filled beyond words with Joy and Love for these mountains.

Whio above photographed by Pohangina Pete. More of Pete's outstanding photos can be viewed at http://worldsenz.blogspot.com/ , or his equally outstanding writing and photos at: http://pohanginapete.blogspot.com/ .

The start of the track from the Makaroro river to the top of Parks peak ridge. In almost dead center on the dark beech is the next marker. A very steep climb of over 2 hours awaits. Through one of the most beautiful forest walks in the Ruahines.

It climbs.......

And climbs......

And climbs........


And then climbs some more.....


And finally there! The Makaroro now lies below and Parks Peak hut only a few minutes away. Time to boil the billy for a well earned cup of tea.


"Makaroro Climb"

I roamed high above the pristine waters
the whio's domain still within
as up hard and relentlessly I am pulled
till the river is but a gentle murmur far below
and the forest emerges and encompasses my soul
Shafts of sunlight paint colours
beyond my words
Stunted beech hold their weary appendages to the sky
beseeching but never yielding
to the familiar brutal gales
even now whistling high above
Cold, snow, and sleet greet my presence here
and I meet the rough and beautiful leatherwood
the most resilient of all
I roam amongst this place and smile
These last few moments mine alone
and I look down upon this intimate Journey

Pete and Adam getting stuck into chopping and sawing firewood. A hut bound day for hunters with gale like nor'west winds, and a storm about to blow in.

Moss and lichen covered stunted beech, a stunning feature of this damp and wind blown ridge.





Stunted beech forest and track on Parks Peak ridge near the hut.

The storm rolls in over the main Ruahine range.

This guy accompanied me the whole time. He didn't say much but was a pretty good guy. I liked him!

8 April Parks

Parks Peak

The sun sets on this day, on this trip. I have been wandering around outside all through this stormy day just being amongst the mountain paradise and this magical place. It is easy enough to retreat back to the hut for hot cup of tea or soup, then head out again. The wild weather just adds to the ambience. I have had moments of doubt and moments of unequaled joy. Moments to reflect upon already as I sit here writing by candle light gazing out the window of Parks peak hut and upon this place I love so much. She whispers gently in my ear.

Aroha.

p.s. - To those whom may read here and took the time to read and sign our petition against the Puketoi wind farm project I offer my humble thanks and gratitude. The project has been defeated and I firmly believe we helped create awareness. As Abbey wrote, "We stand for what we stand on". Kia kaha!

Dweller on the Threshold*

Cloud and mist moving in the headwaters of Pourangaki valley

" I'm a dweller on the Threshold, and I'm waiting at the door, and I'm standing in the Darkness, I don't want to wait no more". - words written by Van Morrison from the song Dweller on the Threshold and the album Beautiful Vision.

I keep Listening to this song, to this album. It speaks to me. I have two more weeks of frenetic paced, high pressure results driven work until I can escape into the mountains to regroup and gather myself. In these times of economic stress the strain from both buyer and seller is not far beneath the surface. The importance of what I do is trivial in comparison with most, yet it is the bread and butter of our ticking world, something I am not entirely comfortable with, but that is a subject for another time. So right now when I crawl into bed at night I imagine myself in my tent, or a hut, a mountain river running close by, a Corker stove crackling as the embers die from the evening fire, and thoughts of a another day ahead in the mountains.....

Above: Nigel and John in the mist and cloud below Tiraha

All these thoughts bring to mind a nostalgic recollection of my earlier adventures into the Ruahines beginning way back in 1993 when I first arrived in New Zealand. That very first walk with John and Nigel climbing up the steep Gold Crown Ridge and arriving on these beautiful rolling tussock tops, seeing crystal clear water falls far below, I was entranced, captured, as if somehow I knew my life had changed that day, and it had. I hardly knew Nigel, and it was first time I met John. Both are to this day among the best friends I have.

These are the earliest photos I have of my time in the Ruahines, taken on my second outing with Nigel back in autumn of 1994. We did a crossing of the southern Ruahines over Maharahara. The ranges are relatively narrow at that point and it took us about 8 hours to cross over where Tara was waiting for us with food and cold beers. It was another eye opening experience into traveling in such country. I recall Nige and I heading up through farmland on the western side in a persistent drizzle looking up very concerned at the grey and forboding looking hills above. I was carrying a rubber pack I used for canoeing in the Boundary Waters, wearing a very sub standard pair of boots, and a heavy cotton sweat shirt! Nigel was wearing blue jeans. And check out that authentic Russian hat Nigel is wearing. We had a bit to learn yet we headed on up into the mist where it began to snow. As the snow fell the sun also poked out in places at times illuminating the droplets of moisture in a myriad of colours that simply took our breath away. Once again I knew I had entered a place that was never going to let me go. Nige and I probably got away with making a few mistakes back in those days, bad gear, wrong gear, dubious navigation skills, yet we always came through and we always were eager for more. The Ruahines had entered my soul.

In the winter of 1995 Nigel and I began to explore a bit deeper into the Ruahines, still doing day trips though we had done a camping trip or two into the Tararuas by then as well. Something about these ranges to the north kept calling us back. We did a thorough exploration of the Ngamoko tops around the Knights and Shorts track areas. Beautiful steep beech forest giving way to twisted and stunted Kaikawaka before emerging into Leatherwood and finally the golden tussock tops. On our first trip we were stopped short of tops by wind and completely cloud hidden tops. I recall finding it very mystical being up high in that cloud and wind, knowing I was in some fairly serious country. We were climbing up and suddenly ahead of me Nigel stopped and as I came up to him a bit up the track from him stood a great Red Deer stag, in full glory as it would have been just before the roar. I have seen more than a few white tail deer hunting in Wisconsin, but this was something else. We could see the steam on his breath, then he turned, walked up the track a bit then silently disappeared into the Kaikawaka.

Our second trip, with pictures above, was on my 35th birthday, and I have celebrated each birthday since in the Ruahines, back then just a walk for the day, now for 3-4 days. We stopped where the Kaikawaka merges into the leatherwood and filled Nigel's now well traveled billy with snow for a cup of tea. I can still put myself in that exact spot with that cup of tea warm in my hand, above us a wonderful mountain world of snow surrounded by a flawless blue sky. Our equipment and experience was slowly improving, we were starting to understand what traveling in these ranges was all about. Our enthusiasm continued to grow.

Nige standing above the Pohangina river and Leon Kingvig hut, a long steep climb up the Ngamokos awaits!

Robb, just outside Leon Kingvig hut after a very long day.

Nige by a tarn up on top of the Ngamokos, a quick task to refill the water bottles in a gale like wind.

In 1996 we upped the ante, having decided that while doing day trips was a rewarding experience, the buzz we got being amongst such places would be better served by venturing further into the mountains, to some of the many huts contained in this wonderful place, and staying for a night, or even longer.

The first trip we attempted I found out later was, is, called the Apiti track, and is another crossing of the ranges from a much wider point than Maharahara. We would go in from the east side of the ranges, climb up and down, up and down, and drop into Pohangina valley and Leon Kingvig hut. Then the next day climb up to the Ngamokos and out to the western side via the now familiar Knights track. Once again we had a steep learning curve. Our gear and food were mostly fine, but we badly under estimated how much water we might need, especially me. It was a brutally hot day, and a lot of up and down steep climbing and dropping, and hell, even then and pretty fit, it is just a long way from the road end to Leon Kingvig hut. I am sure I was quite dehydrated when I finally stumbled down to the hut, and straight into the river where I tried to drink it all! And as I have since come to relish, a change of clothes, a cup of tea and some salty chicken soup and the world comes right, a very simple recipe. There were hunters at the hut so Nigel and I set up his tent a ways down river, built a little fire and had a lovely time. I was just buzzing. I remember thinking how I wish we did not just have to pack up and go the next day, that we should have more time here to wander and explore, and enjoy this wonderful feeling that comes to me. The next day was beautiful, though very windy and we battled through it to meet up with Knights track and down to where the beautiful Tara, with 3 year old Taylor in tow, once again met us with cold beers at the road end. As we drove away I looked back at those Ngamokos looking golden and majestic, and I was more in love than ever.

Nigel and I at Lake Colenso, perhaps one of the remotest parts of the Ruahines. Once that Leon Kingvig trip was under our belts we came into our own really. we started covering some fairly extensive ground, going out for days at a time moving from place to place. I developed a very cool rhythm with Nige, we became true tramping partners, from planning, to gathering supplies, to navigation and decision making, and that silent unspoken but very prevalent communication that is developed in such places. It allowed me to develop not only a lasting and important relationship with this man, but also the silence between us allowed me to find the Spiritual place that Nature and these mountains fill in my life. And I never once ever felt like I was not talking with Nige, he was always there. He still is.

Perhaps the greatest gift of having such a person in my life was the confidence it gave me in bringing my son Taylor, now almost 16, but then 7, on his first mountain tramps. Nige had, has, his own bond with Taylor, and to have him along was again a silent blessing, another pair of experienced eyes, ears, and hands to help guide this precious boy. And man we took him on some trips! Places not many 7-8 year olds would normally go. Maropea Forks, Parks Peak, Triangle, Daphne to name a few. Taylor earned his stripes. Now Charlie awaits as well.

Taylor, age 7, on way to Top Maropea.

Taylor and Nigel above Armstrong saddle in inclement weather. This was on our return trip from Top Maropea on a decidedly unpleasant day. Another group of far more well attired trampers appeared not long after this photo, coming from Waikamaka and a different direction. They were very impressed by Taylor's efforts. It was a proud moment for me really, and for Nigel too, knowing we had come from such humble beginnings here in these ranges, to confidently taking others.

Taylor, age 12, and Robb, on Camel Back ridge.

The Journey Continues! Kia ora Nige!

Aroha

Reflections of Autumn

The early light of dawn comes later and more muted, the morning air starts to contain a chill hinting of colder mornings to come. It is a time of year I find myself very busy with work requirements, Tara and the boys resuming school after the summer holiday, and knowing the day to day realities of our lives keep the mountains just out of reach for me for at least another month. My yearning to be amongst them and free is strong but I must content myself here for now.

I am not entirely sure why the mountains call so strongly to me in the autumn. There just seems to come a time when I have to go there to get away from myself out here. I always manage to arrange a visit sometime after my busy period ends, but unfortunately that usually coincides with the Roar. The Roar is when the Ruahine stags go into rut, claim a piece of mountain terrain, and fight for the right to gather and mate with the fertile hinds. Which means the mountains become the domain of the hunter for that month or so, seeking out these bellowing enraged large animals and perhaps even finding a trophy set of antlers. So the huts are more likely to be occupied, and for longer periods of time, than other times of the year. Though I have managed to avoid them in more than a few years, it is just a fact of life and I accept that. I also carry my tent.

In a vicarious way the hunters do not bother me so much. I used to be a hunter, and perhaps one reason I feel a need to roam in the fall are the memories which emerge deep within me at this time of year. Learning to walk in the forest, how to handle a weapon, how to hunt, the smell of gun oil and powder. Or just sitting in the woods on a still and quiet November morning waiting for a deer to walk by, but more so just relishing in the beauty of the woods. It never really mattered to me much if I actually shot a deer, rabbit, pheasant, or partridge. Eventually I just stopped hunting and began walking, and when I moved here it seemed just a natural progression to become a keen tramper. Yet part of me understands that urge. There is something very magical about walking on a clagged in Ruahine ridge, the track barely discernible ahead through the grey mist, and then to hear the bellowing roar of a stag down below somewhere in the head waters of a stream or deep in some steep bush clad gully, or even to SMELL them. It will make the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

Some of my most memorable walks have been done alone on these cold autumn days, when the cloud and mist shrouds the ranges like a grey cloak. While it takes away the panoramic view, it brings into very sharp focus the immediate view, the forest comes alive and trees sway and moan the mountain blues. And while it has taken many years to develop that cognizant recognition of the beauty in each step these walks always fill my soul with joy. The simple act of stopping on chilly day, if there is no great wind, to change a sweaty poly prop shirt for a fresh warm one, or simply putting on a warm jacket on a spot on the river while the billy boils and sitting down to enjoy a cup of tea by the river. A huge smile never seems to leave my face, there is always a song in my heart. I wish that were true out here in the world I inhabit most of the time. My friend Adam at Bloggenpucky recently wrote on his post from 15 Feb. words that really impacted me. " As we hiked, I collapsed to the Earth at the sound of a canyon wren. There were times I could not step three times without a stunned silent look, or a cameras shutter release. We were home. Why is it that (insert worldly beauty or wisdom) sounds, looks, or seems silly when put into the context of this place? Why is it that edicts of churches and states seem like the prattle of thin, pasty, drawn out old women when voiced under this sky? We had sung songs that sounded majestic within white plasterboard walls with curtain windows and they were now laughable or sad. We need to find a way that is as equally meaningful at home, in places of worship and labour, and in this wilderness. Our ideas ought to be in harmony and synergy with all these places in order for our species to find its home".

These words summed up so much for me, this battle I have between two worlds, or maybe more even than that, this battle I have at times with myself. I think I am arriving at a better place out here slowly, but oh how those mountains whisper to me. Adam's writing and photos can be found at : http://bloggenpucky.net/

My thoughts are somewhat fragmented lately. I again think of hunting. I never had to hunt in order to supply meat for our family, it was sport, challenge, and for me, a much deeper introduction to Nature. Having to be quiet and letting the Earth fold back in around me as I sat above a deer trail or tried to stalk as silently as I could through the fall woods. I wonder had I HAD to supply meat if I would have seen things the same way, or maybe I would known more and seen less if that makes sense. The point is if I had to supply meat now, I would, or at least I would try. I see little difference between killing a deer for its meat, than ripping open a package of steak or chicken, its death far removed from my conscience. But if I had to do that would I lose some of the reason for which I seek out the mountains?

Which for some other seemingly disjointed reason has me thinking of food. Many of the places I visit seem to be asking similar questions about these times we live in, how we relate to one another, to the Earth, to our food. Many, such as ourselves, have started small gardens, or already have large ones. Many are paying attention to the food we are eating, where we buy it, and how we prepare it and share it with our loved ones more than before. Perhaps a sign of these troubled economic times we are living in. We have started a small herb and tomato garden and for some time I have been attending our local Saturday morning farmers market and buying our weekly vegetables and fruit, and now chutneys and eggs. It has taken a wee while but our family is now eating healthier, the dinners may take longer but are filled with the real love of cooking we gladly share. Two things stand out to me over the past few weeks, one is that we seem more connected as a family, calmer and better organized, and secondly I have noticed the amount of trash we produce has been reduced to less than one council rubbish bag per week. Recycling paper, glass, plastic, tins, and card board we have been doing for years, but reducing the amount of packaging and plastic wrap quickly adds up to a big benefit. Maybe not much in the big scheme of things but hauling out that small bag of rubbish on pick up day gets my day off to a more satified start. Maybe there are benefits to these times of uncertainty we have not fully considered.

19 April 2006

Maropea Forks

Solo

The corker stove warms the hut quietly, rain bounces on the tin roof, I can hear the river as it mutters past outside. It was a magic walk down from Top Maropea, I almost felt outside myself as if watching my own self, I felt light and free. I came down river with no burdens, I shed those last night at Top Maropea, and I realized my fear of not Being Connected here was baseless. Shedding anger and pain and frustration has allowed me to feel something other than the thick fog of those heavy emotions. I suspect they will still be waiting somewhere beyond my mountain cocoon, but not today, not here at this beautiful place. I did not hurry down river, I was hardly cognizant of any time, I walked very slow and deliberate and arrived in faster time than ever before. How is that? A whio greeted me at the waterfall 20 minutes from the hut. I sat on the huge log and watched him, he also seemed in no hurry. When he finally left in his graceful unerring flight back up river it seemed as if in slow motion, every detail stood out, the sound of the river, the sound of the waterfall joining the river, the rocks and bush, and the whio seemingly hovering above me. I arrived at the hut with tear stained cheeks.

I feel very clear, and very focused in this moment. Everything seems to have a reason and make sense, even the pain I brought here with me. Maybe letting go of that is measure or mark to where I am at as a man. I have two more days to contemplate these things. I have been given a great Gift. I am happy for me.

Aroha

Robb

Tilting at Windmills

Today our recently elected National government announced it's plans to begin to dismantle the Resource Management Act. Developed in the 1970's and 80's with growing world wide recognition of environmental awareness, and put forth as legislation by the Labour government in 1989, it was underpinned on the concepts of sustainable management and the integrated management of resources, in other words the balance between protection of the environment and development. Interesting in an historical perspective that the Labour government was outed in 1990, yet in 1991 the National government, with many alterations, passed the RMA into being. Today, the same National government seeks to dismantle it. Developers and business groups are welcoming the changes with open arms, power companies no doubt frothing at the mouth at the prospect of all those rivers and mountain ranges to be exploited, and farmers are hailing it as "a good start". Interesting to me is that these groups claim the legislation is so restrictive and time consuming in involving local councils, and god help us, citizen input from the local communities, that "projects" become bogged down in the "red tape". Yet out of an average of 50,000 applied for environmental consents each year 74% of those submissions WITHOUT public comment are processed on time, and 56% WITH public participation are also done on time, which is a 1 to 4 month time frame. How big of a problem is that really?


In these economically troubled times our government, duly elected, sees it best to stimulate the
need for development and growth by sacrificing the need to protect and look after the environment for future generations. Sustainability is now open to becoming a flood gate for making money and no doubt many are rubbing their greedy hands in glee.


Which brings me to an update on the wind farm project of which so many of you supported my opposition to going ahead with. While there has been a stir created, and ripples made on large pond, I am afraid at the end of the day it is all tilting at windmills. The National government has "called in" the Turitea project, effectively removing decision making away from the local councils and deeming it a "project of national significance". Mighty River has reduced the number of projected turbines by 9 out of 100 plus, and has put forth a very self serving campaign as to their intentions and caring for our communities. Meridian Energy, in on the Puketoi and Waitahora schemes today announced a 6% price rise, their second in 6 months, in spite of making a 128 million dollar profit last year. Needed for new power generation investment they say. Just who will be paying for these wind farms, and who will be taking the profits paid for by the users I might write? In any case those projects are also in danger of being "called in", though I have read of being notified of a public meeting sometime this month. Let me be clear, it is not wind power I am against, it is rather sustaining the unsustainable I object to, simply revenue generators and future tax credit symbols for the power companies who then rob us blind.


There has been much public interest in this issue, strong feeling on both sides. I have had clients refuse to work with me for my opposition to these wind farms. So be it. I have to write what I believe, I have to be a voice for wild places. A common phrase I keep hearing in the business
world is "I am not here to make friends, I am here to make money", well I write "I am not here to make money, but to help save the earth, and it just happens I have made some friends".

There is also a lingering sense of disconnection that hovers around me. This inherent disconnection we as the human race are seemingly developing to Nature, to one another. The fact that the solutions to our economic problems always seem to be in attacking Nature, in creating more and more of what has gotten us here in the first place. A few days ago I read a post written by my friend Maithri. Maithri's place is well worth visiting for the work he does and the message he puts forth, http://soaringimpulse.blogspot.com/ , but his particular post tells, and shows a little story of a classically trained musician playing a Stradivarius violin in a New York subway for 45 minutes. Over a thousand people walked by him as this stunning music pours forth. Seven people stop to listen, seven! It made me think of the importance of music in my life, in our lives, the sheer beauty of it, yet how disconnected we become to that in our busy lives. I wonder how many of those people were "connected" to music through ipod ear plugs? Or late for that important meeting, or not stopping as it is not the sort of music we are "into"? How many street musicians have I wandered by without a second thought to the music? Music surrounds us from morning till night, yet how often do we actually Listen?

It made me recall the above evening with my friend Adam, and Tara's brother Davey. Adam, a classically trained violinist with a passion for the Irish fiddle, and Davey a classically trained guitarist never having played Irish music ever before. Not long before I had lent him a few blue grass albums as he loved the picking and fast structure of the music. So these two together, running through a few basics Adam showed Davey, and then jamming for almost two hours of simply stunning music, only Tara and I for an audience. I wonder had I walked by them on the street, playing with the same looks of joy and fun on their faces as they played with that night, pausing only for an occasional sip of beer and to laugh, then carry on. Would I have felt the same? Would I have connected to beautiful music away from my own comfort zone?

I had the pleasure recently of seeing a man named Mike Chunn give a talk to a work gathering I was involved in up in Auckland. Mike was a member of an old Kiwi band called Split Enz, perhaps one of the most successful New Zealand bands of all time - Six Months in a Leaky Boat, History Never Repeats, they were known to me even in the states back in those days of my youth. Mike now is grown up, kids of his own, an accomplished muso. From time to time he found himself giving talks to groups of kids at schools and at one stage Mike encountered a group of 8 year olds. He asked them, "how many of you here think they could write a song?". All the children immediately put up there hands, and wanted to start NOW. A few weeks later Mike found himself in front of a group of 14 year old kids, and asked the same question. Reluctantly, two put their hands up. Which caused Mike to stop and ponder, what in gods name are we doing to our children between 8 and 14? Or at least listening to him talk, that is how I understood the question. Think about our own lives as Responsible Adults! What are we doing to the Music! It is our most purest, and most accessible form of communication, yet we seem to cut ourselves off from the very form that can bring us closer together. If not as strangers, then as lovers, partners, fathers, mothers, siblings, parents, friends. Turn it up!

Mike decided to Do Something. He started a nation wide song writing contest for teen age children. The results he produced, and played for us, brought most of us to tears. Teen age boys writing songs to their fathers, teen age girls to their mothers, to their grand parents, to their peers, and playing and recording in front of those very people. It was, is amazing. It fills me with hope and light. It is music communicating where all else has failed. God knows I did that for years. But at least I was trying, and these kids with their amazing lyrics and music unleashed upon the people to which it should matter the most was almost unbearable. An amazing Gift Mike Chunn has given those people and the world.

Mike's web site is at : http://www.playitstrange.co.nz/ Please check it out, and just support it, acknowledge it, and most of all, go Listen to some Tunes and Turn it Up Real Loud!!!!

Aroha,

Robb