Going Postal
The clatter of a postie's bike on the pavement, an outstretched hand, the tumble of mail into the dark cradle of a letterbox...
The clatter of a postie's bike on the pavement, an outstretched hand, the tumble of mail into the dark cradle of a letterbox...
Human geography is concerned with the interaction of humankind with the planet, for better or worse. While producing this issue the editorial team found themselves considering that interface in two realms: on land and under the sea. The Three Kings Islands were inhabited by Maori for centuries, and visited by the first European explorer to sight these shores, Abel Janzoon Tasman. Tasman arrived at these islands some 53 kilometres north of the mainland in 1643 searching for fresh water, of which he was desperately short. He found none, but noted the presence of Maori and the absence of trees, which had been cut down to make way for crops. Marion du Fresne witnessed a similar scene 130 years later, though by that time every square inch of Great Island had been cleared and cultivated but for the cliffs. Maori continued to live on the islands until about 1840. In 1889, two goats were introduced to provide ready roasts in the event of a shipwreck. Needless to say, they decimated the bush that remained and multiplied in number to 393. Since then the Three Kings have had little human contact save for commercial fishing boats sweeping the waters with nets or recreational fishers reeling in marlin. Yet even this light brush with humanity has left the marine environment around these islands dramatically changed. According to a team of scientists from five institutions that visited in April, there is a profound absence of apex predators—sharks, marlin, kingfish and grouper—that might be expected in an ecologically unmodified environment. Here then, from the very first, is the history of New Zealand in microcosm: human arrival, land clearance, cultivation, agriculture and the selective exploitation of the marine realm that removes an entire category of life. Closer to the other end of the country is another object lesson in human geography. The history of East Otago has left a deep imprint on the land. From mud banks and river mouths, archaeological evidence erupts which speaks of the region’s prehistory. Sediment at Shag Point carries the bones of plesiosaurs, and further inland, where there were once dense forests, lie the remains of moa and Haast eagles. The bush was cleared by the first humans to set foot here, and moa were a plentiful prey, for a time. Whalers and sealers, then missionaries and crofters, pastures and fences left their mark on a landscape that kept giving: sheep, wool... gold. Then milk, and more gold. Families and towns, layers of human relationships and social wealth, gave this corner of New Zealand a timeless quality, even as farming and mining was changing it before their eyes. We idealise these social beginnings and rightly feel connected to the spirit and determination of pioneers—both Maori and Pakeha—who laid the foundations of what we now realise is a culture to be proud of. But these lessons in human geography also have an unsettling quality. The wild, rugged frontier of New Zealand that also forms part of our collective mythology has been largely denuded and tamed. Its rivers turn turbines, its rolling hills now feed our stock within electric fences. The Haast eagle no longer casts a shadow here, and even the predators of the deep are conspicuously absent. Both Maori and Pakeha came to New Zealand in search of a new land in which to fashion a new society. But what ultimately resulted was not dissimilar to the civilisations they had left. It was human nature that needed to change. It still does.
Rats see the world differently
The blight that caused the Irish potato famine has been discovered by using leaves pressed inside old herbaria.
Introduced trout are steadily killing off native fish.
While carbon-fibre catamarans hydrofoil around America’s Cup courses, the roots of New Zealand yachting were formed around another prize. The Lipton Cup—donated by Sir Thomas Lipton, who made no fewer than five challenges for the Auld Mug—actually stands two inches taller than the America’s Cup, and this year at least, attracted more entries. It has been the prestige annual event of the Ponsonby Cruising Club for nearly a century, held under the shadow of the Auckland Harbour Bridge. In a good year, 10 ‘mullet boats’—22-foot ballasted centreboard yachts directly descended from 19th-century fishing boats—face the starter. Even if the shores are no longer lined with spectators as they were in the 1920s, the event remains a major sporting occasion, right at the core of the city’s culture.
Editor-at-large Kennedy Warne considers the place of poets as stewards of landscape
Parliamentary Commissioner for the Environment Jan Wright.
This versatile track can be used as a short half-day loop, as part of a two-day hike, or as part of the continuous Te Araroa walk. Starting from the Northern side, begin by following the Te Araroa markers from the intersection of Cove Road and Bream Tail Road. The track begins by crossing over the contours of farmland, winding its way back towards Mangawhai Heads. Once reaching the coastline, you will be afforded views to surrounding islands and landmarks—the Hen and Chicken Islands, the imposing Sail Rock, Little Barrier Island’s distinctive spine and, further afield, Great Barrier Island. The coastline leg of the track is framed with flax bushes and nikau palms, and frequent bird life. The walkway winds up with a descent down to Mangawhai Beach. After a jaunt along the beach, the walk concludes a Mangawhai Heads. This track can be turned into a pleasant half-day loop by starting at the Mangawahi Heads Surf Club, crossing the beach, and looping around the coastal leg of the walk. The two-day hike can begin with this track in full, then continue through Mangawhai Heads Bream Bay and down to Te Arau beach. You can rest overnight at the Pakiri Beach campground, before heading up Te Hikoi O Te Kiri to the summit of Mt Tamahunga (with the new route down the western ridge opening later in 2013), and completing your journey with refreshments in Ruakaka R Matakana Village. It’s best to check the status of the track on sby the Te Araroa website before heading out, as it closes annually for lambing season.
What can we learn from a tiny octopus?
The Biblical tale of three magi with gifts has an ecological equivalent at the Three Kings Islands, 53 kilometres north of the New Zealand mainland. There, swept by the cool waters of the Tasman Sea, life springs in profusion. This year, five agencies voyaged to the islands to explore this unfathomable biological wealth.
Extreme temperatures power the world’s most destructive weather.
"We shall bless him forever..."
From Moeraki to Karitane, and inland to the edge of the Maniototo, East Otago is a seldom-traversed province where the rich legacy of whaling and gold persists. Today, mining and agriculture shape the fortunes of this land of rolling hills and rose-gold beaches.
Photographer Jocelen Janon on understanding your subject
Generosity may not be just a virtue, but the secret of survival itself.
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