In the Antarctic summer of 1972, four young scientists set off on a trimaran from Cape Bird for a quick outing on a clear day. They would spend the next five days stranded at sea, jumping between ice floes that shattered and sank beneath them, risking their lives with every leap.
Robin Morrison reset New Zealand’s view of itself with his 1981 photography book The South Island of New Zealand—From the Road. The print run of 2000 quickly sold out, and it won the New Zealand Book Awards for non-fiction, but arguments over unpaid bills with the Japanese printer sank any hope of a second edition. Thirty years after Morrison’s death, the book has just been republished by Massey University Press.
New Zealand’s most valuable work of art lay waiting in a Taranaki swamp for 150 years. In this condensed extract from her new book, Te Motunui Epa, Rachel Buchanan details what happened when these exquisite carvings awoke, were smuggled across the world, and became entangled in the ransom of a millionaire’s kidnapped daughter.
You find something, something old, something with a tale to tell. Who do you call?
The Baton Valley, at the top of the South Island, was named after a young runaway sailor, Batteyn Norton, and it remains a place where life is isolated, physical, self-sufficient, and largely dictated by the weather. It hasn’t been much of a destination since an anticlimactic gold rush in the late 1800s—but the opening of a new cycle trail passing through the valley has put it on the tourism map. Now, its residents are wondering how to retain the identity of their home in the face of change.