Wildlife pictures late photographer’s legacy
David Hallett could have fixed a brass plate on his front door: ‘‘Dr Dolittle – Animal Linguist’’.
The renowned photographer had a rapport with animals, fourfooted or feathered. Within 24 hours of his return from a sixweek holiday in Italy with wife Brilly, his ‘‘pet’’ seagull and duck flew in to renew their acquaintance.
The cat which he had tearfully left in care luxuriated once more in his presence.
But David was no ‘‘do-little’’. He was a ‘‘doer’’.
After years of arguing with the Earthquake Commission, insurers and various tradesmen, he got stuck in and did the quake repairs himself. He built a retaining wall on his hillside property and had started replacing the patio when death called cruelly in the night.
David could annoy people. He was a man of such unmitigated honesty and sense of principle that his rows over earthquake repairs were almost inevitable.
I was proud to call him a friend. Many times, after travelling to distant South Island localities for my Heartland column in The Press, I would drop my camera card in his hand.
He was never too busy to take on the extra task of selecting images and processing them for publication.
After retiring from the newspaper to focus on publishing, David suggested we do a book based on my South Island stories. He had already done the photographs for four books and published the last one himself.
For our book he toured the heartland in his elderly Land Rover taking pictures to accompany my yarns. He travelled and slept in the Land Rover, though not at the same time.
How he loved that rugged vehicle. When we travelled together on Press business, he complained about the deficiencies of company cars. None could match his trusty beast.
He insisted the Landy was comfortable to sleep in but I noted he sometimes drove huge mileages to get home around midnight, rather than stop for a nap.
Not one to talk about himself, David would ‘‘open up’’ as we travelled. He told of being coached in rugby by former All Black Ross Brown as a Taranaki child.
He described his work with the reviled British paparazzi, including a brush with prickly footballer Wayne Rooney and the gut-tearing fear of the shelling and bombing in Middle East hot spots.
He professed deep admiration for American yachting figure Dennis Conner who took him sailing on the Hauraki Gulf.
He laughed at how he and some colleagues boxed-in Lady Diana’s Mini with their cars and how she smiled gaily for their cameras before they would let her go.
When David set out to photograph people I had previously interviewed, I would warn him about those who might be difficult. He would later assure me he had got on fine with even the worst curmudgeon. He had a gift for ‘‘getting alongside’’ people.
Never hurried, he could chat knowledgeably on topics from race relations to fly fishing. He appreciated the almost spiritual element of angling for trout in upland streams.
Most of all, David loved nature and practised conservation. His bird photographs enthralled many people, though few knew the hours he spent hidden among the rushes to catch each perfect image.
He joined in a recent mass clean-up of the Avon-Heathcote Estuary.
He was a good friend. His jovial nature matched his large physique as we shared a merlot at each milestone in production of the book we tackled together.
David’s death was a shock. I miss him badly.
Journalist Mike Crean was a long-time colleague of David Hallett’s at The Press.