Open Writing

So Mackenzie left New Zealand and Friday took to the hills. What comes next?

The Mackenzie country had been discovered and was soon explored and with that came the realisation that it was “grand hills” for sheep. This glorious country lying beneath the watchful eye of Aoraki (Mt Cook), Its slopes of scree and braided rivers, turquoise blue water filling the lakes from melting glaciers, clear blue skies and circling hawks backing the golden tussock, temperatures well below freezing in the winter and rising to above 30 degrees Celsius in the summer. What “grand hills” indeed.

Once the explorers had had a good look round, it wasn’t long before the settlers moved in to create the big sheep runs of thousands of acres. The first settlers where John and Barbara Hay, who in 1857 established the first sheep station at Lake Tekapo. The Murray’s, still there today, five generations on, set up the Braemar station and in 1861 the first hotel was established and a ferry crossed the Tekapo river, followed, in 1881, by the first bridge, things were on the move.

But what are sheep stations and how are they run? We are looking at vast areas, thousands of acres, where stock runs wild, to be rounded up by men on horse back with the help of the ever faithful descendants of our friend, Friday. Once a year the sheep are brought down from the high slopes in the autumn, to winter in the sheltered valleys until after lambing. In these valleys they are shorn for their soft merino wool, then in the spring they return to the freedom of the high country. The folk of this land are more at home on horse back than behind the wheel of a car. They have weather-beaten faces with crinkled eyes, shaded by cowboy hats, and their hand shake is strong enough to break bones. A hardy group, more capable of laughing than crying, with a stoic acceptance of the hand life has dealt them and a “she’ll be right” attitude to all difficulties. A breed of people accustomed to the hard life.

Let’s join the musterers. The men gather together with their dogs and horses and the “packer” loads up the pack horse team with provisions, he is the cook and collects up the musterers’ bed rolls and gear, at the end of a search in one valley, to move it on to the next and await the men. Scattered around the high pasture, beneath the inaccessible mountain peaks are ‘musterers’ huts.’ These are makeshift buildings, usually wooden huts, besides streams for fresh water. An open fire warms them and provides the means of cooking. Bunk beds, with canvas bases or wooden slats, line the walls and a plain wooden table and benches occupy the centre. Often potatoes and fruit bushes will have been planted near the hut to provide fresh food and a sheep will be killed to feed men and dogs, very basic.

All day the men roam the hills on horse back, whistling up the dogs to gather up the sheep from the bluffs and screes and slowly, day by day, the mob grows in size as it is driven down towards the low valleys. At night the men gather in the hut, enjoying their food and a smoke while the dogs keep an eye on the sheep. Each morning, before sun up, the men check on the herd and move off to gather in more, slowly moving down into lower areas to the shearing sheds, the drenching troughs and shelter from the fierce winter on the high slopes. To see a mob of sheep being driven along by the musterers with the dogs racing around, constantly keeping things in order, is indeed a sight worth seeing, the sheer size is amazing. For over a fortnight these men may have roamed the hills searching for sheep, no doubt they are glad of a shower and a decent bed at the end of it and a few cold beers.

So here we are, the Mackenzie Country is coming into its own. It isn’t the soft life of the Canterbury Plains, no little villages here, or not yet. Around the sheep stations small communities develop and services for station holders and workers, a link with the outside world. It is beginning to establish its own identity, it is growing.

Which brings me to “The Church of The Good Shepherd,” what an apt name for a church in this area. Wherever men go they take their god with them and “where two or three are gathered together” they begin to feel the need for a place to worship.

The idea for a church in Tekapo was mooted by the Vicar of Fairlie, one of the towns lower down the valley. The run holders saw it as an opportunity to commemorate their ancestors, who in those first harsh years had established the big runs. An artist, Ester Hope, sketched an idea for the church and this was given to the architect R S D Hansen. The Murray’s, descendants of the first Murray’s of Braemar, donated land on the shores of Lake Tekapo and a simple, concrete, medieval type building, faced with stones from the lake side was completed in 1935. It has no grandiose stain-glass window above the altar, instead it has a clear sheet of glass which frames the Mount Cook range at the head of Lake Tekapo, a much finer picture than any artist could create. The church has a constant stream of tourists from all over the world visiting it nowadays, but the person on duty always reminds them that first and foremost this is a place of worship. It is just a little church but it is a serene and peaceful place, a church fit for “The Good Shepherd.” A fine memorial to those first hardy folk who broke in the land, living in humble dwellings and taking with them their dogs, horses and those first small herds of sheep and their god.

Not far away from the church is a bronze statue to Friday, Mackenzie’s dog. It is a statue to all the kelpies without whose aid the land could not have been developed. Looking at the statue I wonder what Friday thinks of his off-spring still racing around those hills, rounding up sheep.

But the Mackenzie Country has changed. It is still the place of the big sheep stations but now it is open to all comers, to climbers and skiers and bus loads of tourists from all over the world. Why is it now so accessible? That’s another story and all to do with electricity, a cable and the stars at night. I’ll tell you about that next time.