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

Papatuanuku te matua o te tangata (Mother Earth is man's Parent)

The last weekend of our long and enjoyable Kiwi summer holiday the Kloss family undertook a wee camping holiday at a lovely spot less than an hours drive from home, Vinegar Hill, which is located on the Rangitikei river, a major gathering point for several rivers which roll out of the Ruahines and a few other ranges as well. It is a renowned North Island river for trout fishing, rafting, kayaking, and also offers some choice camping spots. Vinegar Hill is a council reserve, maintained by the local council, and while offering a shower and toilet bloc, operates on the honesty system of taking out your own rubbish, not starting fires unless using your own wood, and leaving the camp site chosen clean and tidy. Really not so much to ask, but more on that later. The difference between tramping and Kiwi camping in places like this is the ability to drive right to where one wishes to set up camp, and so borrowing my father in laws two room tent, and loading up his trailer with everything but the kitchen sink we set up our camp in a lovely spot. Joined by our friends Chris, Erika, and their two boys Jake and Sam, along with my young nephew Mack, we settled in to enjoy a few days by the river. Pretty luxurious life compared to lugging a big pack, but then again, a taste of Nature is always a pleasure for me.

These places and these moments are where I am at my best. Away from stuff and things, though we did have a fair amount of gear to be sure! But just enjoying the presence of these people around me, Tara, Taylor, Charlie, and Mack. Chris and Erika my dearest friends here in Aotearoa, and Jake and Sam whom I held as babies. These are the moments that slow down and take on deeper and richer hues, and we look around and breath slower, laugh easier and more genuinely, and I feel calm and capable.

My oldest son Taylor, above, and I used to be so close. When he was little he was my shadow, and at nighttime I used to think the best part of being a father was simply holding him while he slept, remembering how when I was a boy the safest place in the world for me was my father's arms. And while we perhaps are not much different than most teen age sons and fathers, this growing distance between us sometimes troubles me. It has been some time since Taylor has accompanied me to the mountains, his interests right now lie elsewhere. Yet I could see during this brief and easy trip to nature, that his early mountain wanderings have held him in good stead. He had a very assured and confident air, getting stuck into the setting up of the main tent, tying off all the knots, handling the kayak, swimming, and roaming the area, and it was refreshing to see these three teen age boys communicating with us through more than grunts and nods, at times they were positively ebullient. Taylor traveled at a very young age into the mountains, and from ages 7-13 he got to quite a few places not many those ages would get to, and maybe I pushed him a bit too hard. Perhaps the mountains are still lying inside Taylor, a gift given to him when he was very young that lies dormant waiting for him to Open. I could see the spark in his eyes. I just enjoyed resting my eyes upon him, watching him, that little boy, now a strapping young man. In the blink of an eye.











And what of little boys? Charlie and Mack played and swam, fought and made up, built dams and sand castles, found a "secret spot" and built a fort, all the things boys should be doing. It won't be too long till I take these two out to the Ruahines,though I will no doubt be a bit more testing of the waters than Taylor's full on immersion. A moment I relish the thought of is sharing Top Maropea with both Taylor and Charlie, a place so important to me, my Taurangawaewae in Aotearoa, a place I have already shared many times with Taylor, a place where I carried and buried Charlie's placenta in the Maori custom of Whenua, or Connecting to the Earth. It is there waiting for us.




















Sitting around our brazier fire in the evening toasting marsh mellows and telling old stories and memories, Mackie and Charlie bravely decided they wanted to hear ghost stories, so I told my story of Brittain Brittain, the old Ruahine culler and his ghostly presence in the hut with John and I one night, the lonely howls of his dogs faintly heard on the wind. I could see Mackie mulling over that one when Taylor upped the ante with the infamous "Drip Drip Drip" tale. Just as Taylor got to the end bits, Mackie lost his nerve and came leaping into my lap clinging on for dear life and begging Taylor to stop. So he did, and as it was late for the little fellows I went and lay in the big tent with Mackie who was still clinging to me. When he fell asleep I pried myself away from him and went back to the fire to find Charlie still there with Tara waiting for me as Charlie wanted Taylor to finish the Drip Drip tale. Just as Taylor started to speak we heard a little shaky voice from the tent, "Plleeasse don't tell it Taylor, I'm really not asleep yet"!


I think that will be the one biggest memory I will have of Mackie in the years to come. Just delightful.




Charlie and I by the trailer, which allowed us to bring a large amount of gear including the Weber grill to the left, kayaks, a brazier for our outdoor fire, cots, chairs, a table and umbrella, it was all a first class set up. Tara even slept in here on the second night when the rain had settled in and her attempt to sleep with me in my mountain tent aborted when she, rather unjustly in my view, accused me of snoring too much! I also chucked a few arm loads of firewood from home on board, which Charlie and I rendered into use able pieces. So we had plenty for cooking and for our nightly fire.

And this is where this post takes a different direction. As I wrote earlier this place is a Council Reserve, meaning camping is free based on the assumption people will take out their rubbish, bring their own wood, and leave the place clean. The council has provided toilets and showers, but not bins for rubbish, nor wood for fires. Fair enough. Before setting up our camp Charlie and I filled up half a council rubbish bag full of cans, bottles, and lord knows what garbage. At around 6:00pm I began to hear thrashing from the scrub and bush around the river, like an army of possums deciding to invade. It was groups of campers in there pulling, cutting and hacking at the trees and bush for wood, and believe me there was little dead wood in there to be had. As it got dark we could see smoky fires of live wood flare up for a bit then settle into a haze making mess.


New Zealand prides itself on its "Clean and Green" image, yet for the most part that is a fallacy and it was more than driven home here in a spot we should be proud of and take care of for our selves and for our children. And I suspect these were not tourists we like to blame for our ills and stupid actions, these were home grown Kiwi campers destroying and rubbishing our own back yard.





"Be a Tidy Kiwi - Please Take Your Rubbish Home"

What can I write? Why is it more important for us to be able to drive away from nature with a tidy clean car than to leave it unspoiled? How can people actually turn onto the highway and leave this behind with a clear and guilt free conscience? Charlie and I walked by the river with a small rubbish bag and filled it with in 15 minutes full of crap, and by the time we left there was more rubbish stacked here waiting for it to become someone else's problem, someone else's concern. And the world turns.





It breaks my heart to even have to post the above photo, it brings tears to my eyes to even look at it. Every one of these big pine trees has been hacked at, chopped at, had all their branches within reach sawn off, and even desecrated further by graffiti. Each one of these huge sores weeping yellow sap, like pus representing the callous disregard by man. It is the complete representation of the brutal disconnection we have to Nature, to the Earth. I could hear these trees weeping and crying in the wind, could feel the muted song of the river as it sadly passed. It is of little wonder to me how we humans are capable of treating one another when I see this, how we can treat the Earth in a place like this. It wounds my soul and I feel a cloud of depression wanting to descend upon me. I can only fight myself, teach my children a better way, talk to my friends until I bore them to death, write to those whom read here of our need to Connect to the Earth. It is not a product, not a storage facility, not a pool of resources waiting for us to use and burn up, and it is certainly not a rubbish tip, She is our Mother, and She needs to be cherished and loved as we love our own children, family and friends. The Gifts She offers us in return are vast and beyond us, and so simple to Connect with. Go and stand in your own back yard and just let Her find you.

I can think of no better words to conclude this post with than words, the very last words, written by Sir Peter Blake before his tragic death. When I see photos like those above I realize just how important his message was, how much he was needed here, and how it is up to those with much smaller voices than his own to speak together and be heard :

"We want to restart people caring for the environment as it must be cared for, and we want to do this through adventure, through participation, through education and through enjoyment... The top of the environmental awareness mountain that we are endeavouring to climb may be out of sight through the clouds right now. But to win, you first have to believe you can do it. You have to be passionate about it. You have to really 'want' the result - even if this means years of hard work. The hardest part of any project is to begin. We have begun. We are underway. We have a passion. We want to make a difference." Peter Blake, 4 December 2001

Aroha,

Robb