WAITAKI VAL­LEY

An Arche­ol­o­gist’s Par­adise

NZ Today - - FRONT PAGE - BY CHARLES COLE

Icross the long bridge near the mouth of the Waitaki River, where State High­way 1 passes from Can­ter­bury into Otago. Here, the wa­ters of the Waitaki spread them­selves out lazily, ready for their fi­nal re­lease into the ocean af­ter their pro­duc­tive course through a net­work of hy­dro­elec­tric dams. won’t see much of the river proper on my jour­ney up the Waitaki Val­ley, ex­cept when I look at the new bridge up at Kurow, and later when I drive be­side its wa­ters in its guises of Lakes Ben­more, Aviemore and Waitaki.

The main high­way is al­ready tak­ing me away from the river, so within five kilo­me­tres I will be tak­ing a short­cut west down Seven Mile Road which links with High­way 83, the road that will even­tu­ally take me right up the val­ley.

But just be­fore I turn off, I pay a visit to River­stone, where Dot Smith is build­ing a cas­tle.

The Smith fam­ily have al­ready es­tab­lished some­thing of a king­dom on their farm­land here, with gift­ware shops hav­ing taken over some farm sheds, and with the restau­rant, River­stone Kitchen, run by Dot’s son, Be­van. It’s a very pop­u­lar place, if the full car park is any­thing to go by, and re­ceived good pub­lic­ity on a tele­vi­sion cur­rent af­fairs pro­gramme last year, which, un­der­stand­ably, fo­cused on Dot’s plans to build a real cas­tle.

When I ar­rive, I see a lady talk­ing to a few people as they look over a man-made lake to­wards the cas­tle that is un­der con­struc­tion on the other side. This must be Dot, and when I meet her and Be­van over a cof­fee in River­stone Kitchen, I see that her hair is a dark red shade (she is known to have pink high­lights at times). A lady who is not afraid to try and ful­fil the fairy­tale dreams that many of us have and cre­ate her very own cas­tle is hardly likely to be afraid to be seen with pink hair! Dot is charm­ing and open about her cas­tle and seems to have the sim­ple enthusiasm one would ex­pect of a child, but I see the sim­plic­ity as a re­sult of a very ex­pe­ri­enced un­der­stand­ing of the more im­por­tant things in life, not least the con­tent­ment and re­laxed good hu­mour that comes through in her con­ver­sa­tion.

Dot’s story is an in­spir­ing one. In 1983 she and her hus­band Neil left their farm in Wellsford and came all the way down to the wealthy Otago farm­ing district, where the only farm for sale was this one near the Waitaki river mouth, the boni­est of farms, its ground hav­ing more gravel than soil (the name River­stone is there­fore most ap­pro­pri­ate). Their house was in the mid­dle of bare land, Dot used the farm fence as a wash­ing line and the Smiths set about mak­ing a liv­ing with a dairy farm.

Many years ago Dot started sell­ing dried flow­ers, “steal­ing” Neil’s barn for the en­ter­prise, and as the years went by stole bay af­ter bay of the farm’s im­ple­ment sheds as her gift­ware shop ex­panded. Now they are a trea­sure trove of all sorts of gifts and home­wares that Dot sources on buy­ing trips over­seas. The for­mer im­ple­ment sheds are packed with unique and in­ter­est­ing things, from use­ful home­ware to wacky lit­tle or­na­ments.

Af­ter years of hard work the Smiths now have six dairy farms and three dry blocks, and Be­van Smith has made River­stone Kitchen a des­ti­na­tion in it­self. The restau­rant won the Cui­sine New Zealand Restau­rant of the year in 2010, the first and (so far) only time a South Is­land restau­rant has won the prize, and the first and only time a ca­sual restau­rant has won it. Be­van is en­thu­si­as­tic about the way the restau­rant op­er­ates, an un­pre­ten­tious “kitchen” that uses lo­cal in­gre­di­ents, in­clud­ing pro­duce from River­stone’s own vege gar­den. This can be seen be­side the car park and in­cludes patches of pretty flow­ers – and a hen house that is a replica of that of Prince Charles at High­grove.

What can also be seen from the car park is the ris­ing pro­file of Dot’s cas­tle, on the other side of its man-made lake. Dot says that her orig­i­nal idea had been to have a small cas­tle “tucked away” some­where, and it was Neil who had pointed to this site and sug­gested she have a big cas­tle with a lake. It is a huge struc­ture with the mas­sive doors and tow­ers that one would ex­pect of a true cas­tle. It will be their home, but there will also be ac­com­mo­da­tion, along with a ban­quet hall, a draw­bridge, a ‘se­cret’ en­trance, and two mar­ble lions at the en­trance. Gravel from the lake has been crushed and made into con­crete blocks that have been used in the con­struc­tion of the cas­tle, and the build­ing will be heated by a pas­sive heat­ing sys­tem whereby coils in the lake will trans­fer to a heat pump sys­tem. The build­ing be­gan in Au­gust 2012, and I won­der when it will be fin­ished.

“Like all cas­tles,” says Dot, with her typ­i­cal good hu­mour, “in 400 years’ time.”

The ris­ing cas­tle is a point of in­ter­est for many of River­stone’s vis­i­tors, and so is Dot’s whole story. Dot laughs when she tells me the things she has over­heard from cer­tain know-it-all vis­i­tors when they have walked past her while she’s been work­ing in­no­cently incog­nito in the vege gar­dens. She’s heard wild state­ments about how many mil­lion dol­lars the cas­tle is cost­ing, all of which have been news to her, she who would ar­gue that she’s still work­ing hard in the gar­den to make it all pos­si­ble. Cas­tle-watch­ers may get more re­li­able in­for­ma­tion from the book, Dot: Queen of River­stone Cas­tle, which was pub­lished re­cently.

ONCE I FIND MY­SELF on the in­land road, I head for Dun­troon, the first set­tle­ment of any note in the Waitaki Val­ley.

But just be­fore reach­ing it I turn off to Pis­gah Downs, to the farm house of John and Betsy McKen­zie, where I

will be stay­ing dur­ing my time in the Waitaki. Fun­nily enough, they pro­vide ac­com­mo­da­tion for the last night of the High Coun­try 4WD Jour­ney from Glen­roy that fea­tured in the Lake Co­leridge story in is­sue #55 of this mag­a­zine.

Ig­nor­ing the turn-off to Danseys Pass I con­tinue to Liv­ing­stone, the old gold min­ing town which now com­prises just a few houses, then fur­ther up an unsealed road to John and Betsy’s house, 1,300 feet above sea level.

John has fol­lowed his fa­ther and his grand­fa­ther in farm­ing this land, and, hav­ing been in the area longer than any­one liv­ing to­day, is a mine of in­for­ma­tion.

He re­mem­bers the time of his child­hood, well be­fore petrol guz­zling be­came a na­tional pas­time, when there were buses to town (Oa­maru) ev­ery Fri­day night, and when the butcher de­liv­ered to the farm house (and did so un­til the 1960s).

Be­fore his time, in the 1920s, his grand­fa­ther would go down to the bus stop to find work­ers for jobs on the farm.

Not far from the farm house are the re­mains of a Chi­nese min­ers’ hut, just some low stone walls of what had once been a poor lit­tle hut with­out win­dows, on a slope ex­posed to the harsh high-coun­try winds.

An­other old min­ing hut (made of sods) is still used as a small shed, and has over the years pro­tected en­gines within from freez­ing over.

John has mem­o­ries of an old gold miner who ran the mail ser­vice from his cor­ru­gated iron shed down the road at Liv­ing­stone.

Gold was dis­cov­ered in the area in 1868 and it was pro­claimed a gold field the fol­low­ing year, when a three­year pe­riod of race dig­ging be­gan (the long­est race mea­sured around 30 kilo­me­tres).

By 1873 the town­ship was known as Ram­say­town, had three ho­tels, a store, a butcher’s shop, a hair­dresser and a sad­dler. By 1874 it also had a school and it was re­named Liv­ing­stone af­ter the African ex­plorer. In 1876 eighty men were work­ing on the races (which had a to­tal length of over 300 kilo­me­tres) and at the mine.

By the end of the decade the min­ing came to an end be­cause the gold was be­com­ing too fine, and sum­mer droughts were caus­ing wa­ter short­ages. It was re­vived in the 1930s when the gold price soared but was not suc­cess­ful.

John and Betsy’s son, J.R. has taken over most of the farm­ing now and he lives with his wife, Brid­get, and their two sons in an­other farm house up at a slightly higher al­ti­tude. Here, they have two shear­ers’ huts that are hired by hunters, fish­er­men, and high-coun­try walk­ers. In­side the huts some Speights ad­ver­tis­ing posters play on the idea of the “South­ern Man” in the re­mote south­ern high coun­try: out­side the door you can see the real thing. For those want­ing to re­ally get away from it all, they also have an old mus­ter­ers’ hut, an hour’s fur­ther drive to­wards Mt Pis­gah (the jour­ney is quicker by he­li­copter, as one hon­ey­moon cou­ple has dis­cov­ered).

THE FOL­LOW­ING DAY, I set off to ex­plore Dun­troon and its sur­rounds. The area just to the south of the set­tle­ment is rich in fos­sil sites and ge­o­log­i­cally in­ter­est­ing rock for­ma­tions, and in Dun­troon it­self there is a fos­sil and rock mu­seum called the Van­ished World.

A few kilo­me­tres from Dun­troon are the Ele­phant Rocks, lime­stone out­crops that have eroded into fas­ci­nat­ing shapes. The site is on pri­vate farm­land but is ac­ces­si­ble to the pub­lic, and I spend a good hour wan­der­ing around the rocks, alone, ex­cept for the com­pany of dozens of cows and sheep who are do­ing an ex­cel­lent job of keep­ing the grass short, and thus mak­ing the place look as though it were cared for by a team of ex­pert green keep­ers.

The rocks are in a shal­low cir­cu­lar basin of about 100 me­tres in di­am­e­ter and are con­cen­trated around its edges so that they form a sort of am­phithe­atre (it has in fact been the site of con­certs). Many could be said to be like ele­phants, whether they stand alone or are melded to­gether, their sloped grey tops rep­re­sent­ing the curved profiles of ele­phant heads, shoul­ders and rumps that dis­ap­pear into the ver­ti­cal faces of the an­i­mals’ limbs. From some an­gles the rocks look like a herd of ele­phants stump­ing slowly across the African sa­van­nah.

I was fas­ci­nated to see one or two of the sheep step­ping out onto the top of the rocks that are right on the edge of the basin, though whether they knew what they were do­ing was an­other mat­ter. Per­haps these sheep are more in­tel­li­gent than the aver­age; the va­ri­ety of for­ma­tions around which they graze cer­tainly pro­vides more stim­u­la­tion than your aver­age rec­tan­gu­lar field. I hear a rasp­ing sound, and see that it’s com­ing from a cow lick­ing the ex­posed wall of one of the rocks – an­other in­tel­li­gent an­i­mal, adding a min­eral sup­ple­ment to its diet.

VAN­ISHED WORLD PRO­MOTES A trail around the lo­cal ge­o­log­i­cal sites, in­clud­ing the Ele­phant Rocks, the Ana­tini whale bone fos­sil site (a film set of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe), the “Earthquakes” (lime­stone cliffs cre­ated by a land­slide), basalt col­umns, and sites where fos­sils of shells, dol­phins and whales have been found.

Many lo­cal fos­sils are dis­played at Van­ished World, on the main road in Dun­troon, and this is where I head next. This fos­sil cen­tre was started in 2002 by Pro­fes­sor Ewan Fordyce, a palaeon­tol­o­gist from Otago Mu­seum. It is run by Neil Thorpe, who is on hand to show me around and he clearly has an ex­ten­sive knowl­edge of the ge­ol­ogy and fos­sils of North Otago. The fos­sil dis­plays are ex­tremely in­for­ma­tive and there is even a lab­o­ra­tory room, pop­u­lar with chil­dren, where vis­i­tors can scratch out real fos­sils from lo­cal stone.

Most in­ter­est­ing are some fos­sils of gi­ant an­cient pen­guins and the cast of the skull and jaws of an ex­tinct shark­toothed dol­phin. It was dis­cov­ered in lime­stone nearby, hav­ing lain un­der­ground, undis­turbed for 25 mil­lion years. It has helped sci­en­tists un­der­stand a lot more about the an­i­mal for most shark-toothed dol­phins around the world are known only from sin­gle teeth or other frag­ments.

There is not a lot more to see on Dun­troon’s main street, just a garage, a cafe that is not open ev­ery day, the old black­smith’s shop, and the Dun­troon Ho­tel, and across the road an area of wet­lands has been de­vel­oped.

The ho­tel has been closed for 18 months, but from in­side I hear the sounds of saw­ing and ham­mer­ing, and go­ing in­side I meet Ni­cholas Evans, who is leading the re­de­vel­op­ment of the place and hop­ing to have it open within weeks. He tells me it has been a long and frus­trat­ing task, the pre­vi­ous owner hav­ing sur­ren­dered their li­cence, re­quir­ing the new owner to make a new ap­pli­ca­tion which must meet all the new codes.

It will be good for the Dun­troon com­mu­nity when the “pub with no beer”, as Ni­cholas puts it, is open again. He plans to build some cab­ins be­hind the pub to pro­vide ac­com­mo­da­tion for cy­clists on the Alps 2 Ocean Cy­cle Trail. As I dis­cover over the next few days, this trail from Mt Cook to Oa­maru is bring­ing a lot of vis­i­tors into the area.

I HEAD WEST TO see if I can see any­thing of the cas­tle-like man­sion at Camp­bell Park Es­tate, a few kilo­me­tres to the west of Dun­troon.

On the way I quickly stop at the Takiroa Maori rock draw­ings, right on the main road, be­neath an over­hang­ing lime­stone bluff. It is one of only three rock art sites that re­main in the Waitaki Val­ley (only two of which are ac­ces­si­ble to the pub­lic).

Twenty sites have been recorded, but, ac­cord­ing to the in­for­ma­tion panel, most “have been lost dur­ing de­vel­op­ments in the re­gion and sub­merged in re­cently cre­ated lakes”. While it is a fas­ci­nat­ing site with much sig­nif­i­cance it is also slightly dis­ap­point­ing, as much of the art has been re­moved (and was taken to mu­se­ums around New Zealand), and what re­mains is not very clear, al­though there are in­ter­est­ing in­for­ma­tion boards that show what was once there, such as red ochre draw­ings of tani­wha and hu­man fig­ures.

Camp­bell Park Es­tate is found down Spe­cial School Road, for from 1908 this was the site of the Otekaieke Spe­cial School for Boys (un­til the 1950s it was known as the School for Back­ward Boys). Since the late 1980s the place has been un­der pri­vate own­er­ship but its im­pres­sive (coun­cil-owned) Camp­bell House, built in the style of a Scot­tish cas­tle, can be seen from the road.

It was com­pleted in 1877 by Robert Camp­bell, one of the wealth­i­est of the early run­hold­ers (just one of his runs cov­ered most of the land be­tween Kurow and Dun­troon. Dun­troon was the name of the Camp­bell cas­tle in Scot­land – an­other branch of the fam­ily took the name to Aus­tralia, where to­day it is the name of a sub­urb in Can­berra).

De­signed by John Burn­side, the first New Zealand-born ar­chi­tect, the man­sion fea­tures a cen­tral light well and it used Otekaieke lime­stone from the property’s own quarry (which was also ex­ported for build­ing in Syd­ney, in­clud­ing in the orig­i­nal Syd­ney post of­fice).

I visit Wendy and Michael Bay­ley who live on the neigh­bour­ing property, Otekaieke Sta­tion. They tell me that their lovely two-storey home was the orig­i­nal home­stead for Robert Camp­bell’s run, but the 15-room house was dis­missed by him as a “dog’s box” be­fore he com­mis­sioned the 35-room cas­tle.

They have both farmed here for decades (and Wendy has lived al­most all her life here) so have wit­nessed much of the life of the school for prob­lem boys next door. At one time there were 70 staff tak­ing care of 100 boys. The older boys were partly oc­cu­pied with prac­ti­cal work, such as milk­ing cows and run­ning the farm, bas­ket-mak­ing and boot-mak­ing. Some had brought with them the skills of car con­ver­sion and a cou­ple of boys, as pun­ish­ment for tak­ing off with one of the Bay­leys’ horses, were to help Michael on his farm. On that oc­ca­sion Michael over­heard one tell the other that he wouldn’t re­quire keys to the trac­tor – a hair­pin was all he would need to get it go­ing!

They both re­mem­ber with shock the waste of re­sources when the ed­u­ca­tion depart­ment auc­tioned off the school’s equip­ment in 1987 (in­clud­ing good bas­ket­balls and two 44-gal­lon drums of mar­mite!). To­day it is sad to see a com­plete out­fit of school build­ings sit­ting there un­used (in­clud­ing a gym­na­sium, and build­ings that were used as of­fices, staff quar­ters, kitchens and dor­mi­to­ries). The Amer­i­can owner had an in­ter­na­tional school here but this was very small and very short­lived. Though the site is kept tidy Wendy be­lieves the build­ings are now too old to ful­fil the needs of a mod­ern school.

Wil­liam Dansey (the Ox­ford grad­u­ate af­ter whom the nearby pass is named) ran the land here be­fore it was bought by Robert Camp­bell and his old cot­tage still stands on part of the school grounds, and not far away are the gravesites of his two chil­dren.

A DE­LIGHT­FUL PART OF this jour­ney was the ap­pear­ance on the side of the main road of me­mo­rial oak trees, planted just af­ter the First World War. They re­mem­ber lo­cal men who died in the war and have been planted as close as pos­si­ble to the places where they had lived. In some sec­tions of the road they rise promi­nently from the hori­zon at reg­u­lar one-mile in­ter­vals, many spread­ing beau­ti­fully above the road.

This me­mo­rial is unique in New Zealand and can also be seen on the main high­way north and south of Oa­maru and on the in­land road to Liv­ing­stone. There is also a con­cen­tra­tion of them in the Oa­maru streets (and it is in Oa­maru in 1913 that the fa­mous Scott Me­mo­rial Oak had pre­vi­ously been planted, in mem­ory of Cap­tain Scott and his po­lar party, the news of whose deaths was first tele­graphed from that town to the world).

They are a per­fect sort of me­mo­rial: flour­ish­ing liv­ing mon­u­ments that grow old as the men they rep­re­sent did not, en­hanc­ing the land­scape (and en­vi­ron­men­tally friendly!), and hard to miss by the thou­sands of people that drive past them ev­ery day

How­ever, their orig­i­nal num­ber of about 400 has been re­duced over the years, some giv­ing way to road de­vel­op­ment and power lines. A few very young trees are proof that some have been re­placed. In fact, in the 1990s, when new con­crete crosses re­placed the old wooden mark­ers, there were 222 trees re­main­ing.

Prom­i­nent oaks on the Waitaki road in­clude one op­po­site the Dun­troon pub, one right be­side the cave draw­ings at Takiroa, and I see an el­e­gant pair stand­ing side by side op­po­site the Kurow Win­ery. The white crosses at the feet of the trees re­veal two soldiers from the same fam­ily: Pri­vate R.G. Jef­feris, who died at sea in 1915, and Cor­po­ral R.S.C. Jef­feris (M.M.), who died in France in 1917. THE WIN­ERY IS JUST on the east side of Kurow, near the Waitaki River (where once there had been fruit or­chards), and I stop to meet Renzo Mino, the wine­maker, who tells me about the wines pro­duced here.

They are known by the name Pasquale, the sur­name of the di­rec­tor of the win­ery, An­to­nio Pasquale, who founded the en­ter­prise eight years ago. It is the only win­ery in North Otago – there are other vine­yards but this is a com­pletely self-con­tained win­ery, as Renzo shows me.

Mil­lions of dol­lars have been in­vested in the state-of-the-art fa­cil­i­ties, in­clud­ing hu­mid­ity con­trol in the bar­rel room, and a bot­tling plant. The lat­ter is very un­usual, for most vine­yards have their bot­tling com­mis­sioned off-site, which risks ex­pos­ing their prod­uct more to oxy­gen and tem­per­a­ture changes.

Renzo tells me that the em­pha­sis here is on qual­ity rather than high yield. Grapes are picked by hand, of which there are seven va­ri­eties, made into about 20 wine styles. One wall at the cel­lar door dis­plays in­ter­na­tional awards, quite a feat for such a new win­ery. There are three cham­pion wines: Pinot Noir (2012), Dessert Wine (2012), and Gewurtz­traminer (2010), as well as seven gold medals.

Renzo’s own his­tory is quite in­ter­est­ing. He em­i­grated with his wife, Ana, from Uruguay seven years ago, dur­ing the years of cri­sis when he says the coun­try lost a quar­ter of a mil­lion of its three and a half mil­lion pop­u­la­tion to emi­gra­tion. He had been work­ing 16hour days, eight hours as a su­per­mar­ket man­ager, fol­lowed by eight hours with a con­struc­tion com­pany (sleep­ing four and a half hours). He says that, un­like other western coun­tries, New Zealand was wel­com­ing in the early 2000s, and he came to North Otago in time to help es­tab­lish the vine­yard, work­ing on such things as dig­ging the trenches. Al­though he could not then speak English, he was soon of­fered the op­por­tu­nity to study viti­cul­ture. Now, he man­ages the win­ery and Ana works at the cel­lar door.

AN­OTHER DAY AND AGAIN I fol­low the oak trees out to Kurow, the main town of the area with a most in­ter­est­ing his­tory.

It is the junc­tion of High­ways 82 and 83 from Wai­mate and Oa­maru re­spec­tively, which are linked by the two bridges across the river here. The bridges pro­vide im­por­tant ac­cess to the town for the other­wise iso­lated Hakataramea Val­ley on the other side of the river.

This is where All Black cap­tain, Richie McCaw grew up (as is made plain by the poster on the counter of the Kurow Mu­seum), re­sid­ing in Can­ter­bury, and cross­ing the river into Otago to play his rugby at the Kurow Rugby Club.

I see that the two sin­gle-lane tim­ber bridges (opened in 1881, and each cross­ing dif­fer­ent streams of the river that skirt around each side of Kurow Is­land) were be­ing re­placed by two dou­ble-lane bridges in a $20 mil­lion project. (The con­struc­tion has since been com­pleted.)

It is the first time that the weath­er­ing, low-al­loy steel used for the new girders has been used to build a high­way bridge in the South Is­land. It will not re­quire paint­ing and within a few years its rust­ing process will turn it from an or­ange-brown into a dark­brown colour.

Talk­ing of colours, the Kurow Ho­tel on the main street has an in­ter­est­ing colour scheme.

About ten years ago its two own­ers could not agree on the ex­te­rior colour­ing, one want­ing the blue colour of Speights, the other, the yel­low rep­re­sent­ing DB.

So they painted it half and half, and, for good mea­sure, painted “Lion Red” on the roof. The colour scheme re­mains to­day (af­ter a few changes in the ho­tel’s own­er­ship) and has been used in pub­lic­ity. NEW ZEALAND’S SO­CIAL SE­CU­RITY sys­tem had its be­gin­nings in Kurow dur­ing the build­ing of the Waitaki Dam (1928-34), the first dam on the river, sev­eral kilo­me­tres west of the town. It served as a work cre­ation project dur­ing the great de­pres­sion, and three men of the town (the doc­tor, the Pres­by­te­rian min­is­ter and the head­mas­ter – Dr David McMil­lan, Rev Arnold Nord­meyer, and Andrew David­son) for­mu­lated a med­i­cal scheme for the poor and un­em­ployed labour­ers who had de­scended on the area for work (This, it must be said, built on a med­i­cal scheme be­gun by the pre­vi­ous doc­tor in Kurow, Dr Wil­liam Watt).

The work was labour in­ten­sive (pick, shovel and wheel­bar­row) and dan­ger­ous, and the liv­ing con­di­tions for the men and their fam­i­lies were of­ten ap­palling – some even lived in makeshift huts on the riverbed. Nord­meyer and McMil­lan then joined the Labour party which formed New Zealand’s first Labour govern­ment in 1935, and to­gether they de­vel­oped this lo­cal scheme into a na­tional wel­fare sys­tem.

NZTODAY IS­SUE 57

Dot Smith and her son Be­van in River­stone Kitchen

This is no fairy­tale: the cas­tle is un­der con­struc­tion.

An artist’s im­pres­sion of River­stone Cas­tle

One sec­tion of the gift shop

The road to­wards the Kakanui Moun­tains at Pis­gah Downs.

One of Liv­ing­stone’s old build­ings is now a res­i­dence.

NZTODAY IS­SUE 57

The old miner’s sod hut at Pis­gah Downs.

The Ele­phant Rocks

A sheep pre­tends to be a statue.

A cow is caught in the act of lick­ing the lime­stone.

The site of the rock draw­ings at Takiroa.

Neil Thorpe with the shark-toothed dol­phin.

The cas­tle-like man­sion of Robert Camp­bell at Otekaieke.

Wendy and Michael Bay­ley at Otekaieke Sta­tion.

Renzo and Ana Mino at the Kurow Win­ery.

The twin oak trees that re­mem­ber two mem­bers of the Jef­feris fam­ily.

Work continues on the bridge be­tween Kurow Is­land and Hakataramea.

The dual colour scheme of the Kurow Ho­tel.

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