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| Basil The Beehive Maker |
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| Molly Eating The Grass |
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| Clare On Murphy |
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| Floyd; My Horse Had Spots |
The plan had been for Clare to ride horses and for me to sky dive.
As it turned out, the sky dive company favoured by the Top 10 Camp Site was the only one in town to prohibit cameras. The explanation was that loose cameras may endanger the aircraft which was entirely sensible. The policy started to break down a little when the issue of fixed cameras came up for discussion.
The fact that their employed camera man, whose services were offered to record the once in a lifetime experience for the reasonable sum of $295NZD, used exactly the same camera and harness as I did, seemed to be beside the point. The twelve year old behind the counter started to cry when I gently pressed the inconsistency and I had to give him my lollypop to placate him before his burly mum came windmilling into the delicate customer service discussion, from her position in the back of the shop.
It was a deal breaker for me, having shelled out on a tough little Go Pro HD camera specifically for the purpose, and now I was down one lollypop into the bargain. So, having turned down one opportunity to fall heavily on the ground from a bone crunching height, I chose another.
I went riding with Clare instead.
The fact that their employed camera man, whose services were offered to record the once in a lifetime experience for the reasonable sum of $295NZD, used exactly the same camera and harness as I did, seemed to be beside the point. The twelve year old behind the counter started to cry when I gently pressed the inconsistency and I had to give him my lollypop to placate him before his burly mum came windmilling into the delicate customer service discussion, from her position in the back of the shop.
It was a deal breaker for me, having shelled out on a tough little Go Pro HD camera specifically for the purpose, and now I was down one lollypop into the bargain. So, having turned down one opportunity to fall heavily on the ground from a bone crunching height, I chose another.
I went riding with Clare instead.
The South Westland Horse Treks booking started inauspiciously when the stables appeared uninhabited for half an hour after our appointed departure time. What appeared a problem was actually a bonus as the delay was caused by the extra time enjoyed by the earlier trek which had yet to return. We enjoyed the same treatment.
Basil was our guide and an out and out Kiwi of about 25. His father was born in badlands of Torquay, less famous for its horsemen, and he was seeking a UK passport to travel in Europe with his Irish girlfriend. He was open and charming with a stack of stories about life in the Western saddle, complete with pommel, bucket stirrups and a high back.
He had an equal number of hair raising stories which revolved around green horses that had parted him from his saddle and a side line for the quiet time, making bee hives. The stable was piled high with his work in progress.
He had an equal number of hair raising stories which revolved around green horses that had parted him from his saddle and a side line for the quiet time, making bee hives. The stable was piled high with his work in progress.
Clare rode a forward Chestnut called Murphy, Nicola a Grey called Molly and I had a larger Painted Appaloosa called Floyd who was the elder statesman of the stable. We hacked in a wide arc across the valley floor, crossing clear mountain streams, dry stone river beds and fern laden forest. The horses munched happily on whatever greenery they could steal and Floyd was partial to bracken that Basil said was particularly sweet at this point in the season.
Embarrassingly, we passed the sky dive base, not only where I had caused such a scene, but where Basil’s girlfriend was on the staff, so I pulled down my peak and waited for the inevitable chat to finish before we were on our way. My defection from chute to saddle remained undetected and at the end of the ride I was not sorry to have made the exchange.
Embarrassingly, we passed the sky dive base, not only where I had caused such a scene, but where Basil’s girlfriend was on the staff, so I pulled down my peak and waited for the inevitable chat to finish before we were on our way. My defection from chute to saddle remained undetected and at the end of the ride I was not sorry to have made the exchange.
When the ride was over we had coffee at a bench outside the stables and then said our goodbyes to the Kingscote clan who were heading south for Milford Sound. We began the long road to Christchurch, hoping for the miracle stories which, thankfully always follow such tragedies.
On the way news broke of baby saved from the arms of its dead mother and an office worker pulled unscathed from the rubble of the collapsed P&G building from which no one else had emerged.
These were small but important mercies.
On the way news broke of baby saved from the arms of its dead mother and an office worker pulled unscathed from the rubble of the collapsed P&G building from which no one else had emerged.
These were small but important mercies.
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