This page last modified 17 September 1998
by Brian Turner
1994, March 4. 'The Independent'
©Brian Turner
Writer, poet, and spokesperson for Public Access New Zealand
Just as people are drawn to
one another, they are also drawn to places and the experiences
they instil. Myself, I've long been drawn to the high country
of the South Island, and by high country I mean most of the land
starting no more than a few kilometres inland from my home in
Dunedin and rolling and arching west as far as the often sombre,
yet equally as often lustrous, forests of the West Coast.
I love the expansive open hill country of Central Otago, especially
those hills that look as if they've been shaped and smoothed and
edged by giant plasterers working with trowels. And in areas--far
fewer than when I was a lad--where tussock grassland is still
healthy and thick, the tussock ruffling and surging in the wind
on the hillsides is like a coat on the bodies of prehistoric beasts
slumbering, biding their time.
The mountains get higher and the valleys deeper the further west
you go, and the journey increasingly takes on the nature of a
quest, at times almost an odyssey. The heat quickens and the mind
takes flight the more the mountains loom; expectancy and apprehension
vie with each other when people are about to heft a pack and set
out on a tramping trip in the mountains. The thought that crosses
many minds is, "Am I up to this both physically and mentally?"
When I was stroppy, gangly and callow--as opposed to my current
state, gangly, bemused and cussed--I was passionately into angling,
tramping and mountaineering. I'd read of early Maori, then European
explorers, and wanted to visit places that they might not have
got to. Certainly to see valleys and set foot on peaks that few
before me had seen or stood upon. I wanted to be bold and adventurous
in my own land; to be self-reliant, independent, to exult in the
clear air and green and blue (they being the predominant colours)
magnificence of our natural world.
In time--and it didn't take long--my experience in the outdoors,
along with a developing love of literature and the arts, imbued
in me an ardent sense of what New Zealand offered, and what was
possible for a New Zealander.
Thirty years ago people still referred to sparsely-populated places
as the "wop wops" or the "back of beyond,"
and people like me as going on trips "off the beaten track."
To me the "wop wops" and the "back of beyond"
were terms used by people with no sense of adventure and little
imagination. I discovered places "off the beaten track"
that seemed as close to paradise as any to be found on earth.
(Ironically, some of those places now have well-worn beaten tracks
leading to them.)
In forest glades sunlight danced and lanced in the cool of the
forest, on springy trails, beech leaves lay like scuffed medallions,
birds snickered and sang; clouds of mayflies darted and dithered
along rivers and streams where water was fresh, cool and spangly,
and where the sun sometimes turned previously blue-green pools
into smarting sheets of silver.
In the sixties, when I began to explore with a vigour that now
seems to have belonged to another self, there were fewer "beaten"
tracks, fewer and smaller huts, fewer bulldozed tracks for vehicles,
loss of a clamour to "develop," "interpret,"
"open" things up. More people camped out, carried their
own gear.
Companions were mainly hunters, anglers, trampers and mountaineers.
Musterers worked with horses and dogs, not helicopters, planes
and four-wheel-drive vehicles. Tourists were still something of
a novelty, had yet to discover New Zealand, and had yet to be
provided with the "facilities" they "need."
"Adventure tourism" had hardly begun and "concessions"
were rare.
Now I'm not going to get into a lengthy debate here on the merits
or otherwise of the changes that have taken place in the back
country and mountain valleys in my time, save to say that to me
they have brought more bad than good. In my experience what is
termed "progress" often results in loss rather than
gain; sometimes the most progressive thing we can do is resist.
And sort out our priorities. The first priority should be to maintain
the quality of our environment and the experiences to be gained
from access to it. By this I mean taking all possible steps to
ensure that environmental degradation and pollution cease, and
that the quality of recreational opportunities remains high.
I am inclined to think that providing more and more tracks, huts
and roads only works against those aims. Of course such talk doesn't
appeal to the rabid utilitarian element in society, those to whom
the phrase "intrinsic value" is about as persuasive
as a tick on the hide of an elephant. Unfortunately, this utilitarian
faction, which is still politically powerful in New Zealand, refuses
to take a wider view of its responsibilities. It includes those
who think that stripping native vegetation and replacing it with
grass suitable for intensive grazing is "improving"
and "developing" land. Another view, which I share,
is that in today's world it is short-sighted and destructive.
If we want to protect the natural values of our mountain valleys,
then don't make it any easier for people to get there. Two of
my favourite Otago valleys, the Greenstone and the Caples, were
inaccessible by road when I first got to know them in the 1960s.
To get there you had to walk, or take a boat across Lake Wakatipu.
The Caples, in particular, with its lovely grassy flats and clearings,
its chuckly river and high mountains at the head of the valley,
seemed remote and charming. The hunting and fishing were superb.
Nowadays the hunting is mediocre, to say the least, and the fishing
varies from good to only so-so. Increasing numbers of trampers
use the valleys.
As far as the slump in the quality of hunting and angling is concerned,
it related directly to the extension of the road down the lake
from Kinloch.
Nevertheless, these are still wonderful valleys to visit. Until
recently they were part of three pastoral leases. In 1992, after
overtures from Ngai Tahu tribal leaders, the government bought
the leases, saying the land would go into a "land bank"
for "possible use" in part-settlement of Maori land
claims.
Negotiations with Ngai Tahu have been carried out in secret, yet
these are publicly-owned lands.
Extraordinarily, the Minister of Justice, Doug Graham, says the
public's not going to be consulted because it doesn't have a "clear
and appropriate interest."
To me, and thousands like me, these valleys should remain in public
ownership, either by adding them to the Mt Aspiring or Fiordland
national parks, or by putting them under DOC's banner. It is not
in the public interest for the Greenstone and Caples valleys,
whose conservation and recreational values are of major national
significance, to be given to any private organisation on either
a freehold or leasehold basis.
The Waitangi Tribunal found that these valleys were not wrongfully
or illegally purchased from Ngai Tahu, so it has no valid claim
to them. These valleys, if they are "owned" at all,
now belong to all New Zealanders, irrespective of where we hail
from, or how long we have been here. I find it culturally insensitive
and unjust of government to say otherwise.
We all live with a sense of both past and present, and with hopes
for the future. In the Greenstone and Caples one senses presences
which swirl like fog around the tops and in the valleys, and one
sees the imprints of animals and of human feet and hears the sounds
of water, insects, birds, wind, and human voices. There is a mingling
that transcends all efforts to fix things in a linear interpretation
of time. It seems to me that all of us, Maori or Pakeha, have
a right to be there and that no one has more right than another.
[Reprinted in 'Public Access', No. 4. May 1994]
November 1994. 'Public Access', No. 5
© Brian Turner
FROM TIME TO TIME successive
governments have looked to revise the 1948 Land Act which is the
main instrument for controlling and managing what happens in that
great swathe of New Zealand known as the high country. For reasons
both contentious and mysterious, but typical of the beast known
as "the political process", and because of the political
clout of rural--especially farming--New Zealand, most governments
have shied away from high country tenure review. But now things
seem to be moving again, and at racing speed. Why?
On the one hand it appears that rabbits, hieracium, and ideologues
who wish to privatise just about everything, are behind moves
to freehold some of New Zealand's finest open country landscapes
and natural grassland ecosystems.
On the other there are those who see a review of the Land Act
as opening the way for the creation of a network of high country
conservation parks and reserves. It could also enable nature conservation
and public access to be two of the objectives for the management
of pastoral leases.
To large numbers of people, especially those who live in the South
Island, mention the words high country and you arouse feelings
which go right to the heart of their sense of identity, their
sense of what is uniquely New Zealand. The mountains, rivers and
valleys, and the tussock grasslands have a significance for us
similar in importance to the pampas and prairies of the Americas.
Over the years, high country lessees have developed a deep sense
of belonging; they have both a financial and an emotional attachment
to place. To all intents and purposes they regard themselves as
owners not tenants. It's easy to understand how this has happened.
The fact that they have, in the main, paid peppercorn rentals
for the privilege of occupying these lands seems only to have
enhanced rather than lessened feelings of ownership.
To people like me, a regular visitor to the high country since
the 1950s, and thousands of others who go there to tramp, climb,
ski, hunt, fish, sightsee and so on--there is an extremely wide
range of public conservation and recreational interests. Lessees
are stewards of lands and resources that rightly belong to us
all irrespective of rank or station, of ethnic origin or religious
creed.
Some lessees argue that the remaining conservation values are
proof that private interests can and do protect natural values.
In some cases this is true. But in the main it is closer to the
truth to say that where such values do remain, in many cases it
is in spite, rather than because, of farming activities.
All farmers today claim to be conservationists. It is unpolitic
to say otherwise. Yet the reality is that most farmers don't adopt
a conservation practice unless they can see some productive gain
in it for themselves.
The Department of Conservation is acutely sensitive to criticism
that it is too hard line, not flexible enough, wants to "lock
everything up", and is a poor neighbour. Senior staff often
say, with curious logic, that the fact that they often find themselves
a little at odds with both "developers" as well as conservationists
and public recreational groups is proof that they must be getting
it right. In my view DOC is silly to think that it can be all
things to all people; its priorities must be with conservation
and recreational needs.
And then there's the question of adequate funding to do the job
that DOC is charged with. Often DOC's fiercest critics are those
who object to it being voted the money it needs to do a better
job. There's no doubt that many DOC staff feel under siege.
So there is sympathy for the department and its predicament. However
it is clear that senior levels of DOC are susceptible to political
interference, and that personal ideological views colour the advice
to ministers and other authorities. It's often a puzzle as to
who prepares or requests some of the many reports and discussion
documents that get written and released.
So what is required in order to protect conservation values, and
provide for recreational interests in the high country? Firstly
to retain in public ownership and control those lands with significant
conservation values, and secondly to secure legal public access
to these and other lands and waters for recreational users.
Some areas, particularly those suitable for intensive farming
and other activities like grape-growing and forestry, could be
freeholded. Subalpine and alpine areas should be surrendered from
leases; other areas could be the subject of special leases to
cater for a variety of activities mindful of the need for sustainability.
It's certainly time to protect a raft of qualities such as water
and soil, scientific, botanical, and landscape/open space values.
Wetlands and the margins of rivers and lakes should be better
protected. So should historic sites for their cultural value.
Native forests and shrublands need more recognition, and there's
an urgent need to conserve both our short and tall tussock grasslands.
Some people--not too many I believe -- think that private owners
will quite happily and responsibly attend to these matters, I
don't. Some promote the idea of covenants. Covenant is a word
with a nice ring to it, but I'm not convinced that this approach
will work. Covenants can be amended or extinguished in secret
without any public input.
To many, the best way of resolving the issues and coming up with
tenure reviews which cater for the considerable variety of interests
and concerns about the high country, is to reclassify the land
on a property by property basis. Subject to provisions for sustainable
land use, public access, marginal strips and conservation values,
freehold much of the lower country ("developed" river
flats and terraces), issue special leases over the mid-altitude
lands, take out the rest and give it to DOC. (Perhaps a separate
category for currently highly degraded land. )
In Otago and now in Marlborough there are instances where this
has been done to the satisfaction of all parties. This approach
is not as "clean" a method as the privateers would like
-- but it's one which is most likely to achieve the best result
overall.
Such a system would seem to provide benefits all round: conservation
values would be better protected, the public's recreational and
other interests would be secured and often enhanced, and others
would be able to get on with diversifying and optimising and land's
productive potential.
[Brian Turner lives in Dunedin and is a spokesperson for PANZ.
His books include 'Beyond' which won the 1993 New Zealand Book
Award for poetry. He also writes on sport and recreation]
This article first appeared in 'Forest & Bird', November 1994
31 March 1995. 'The Independent'
© Brian Turner
Just about everyone agrees that
a high proportion of New Zealanders are passionate about rugby.
But we are also, I think, passionate about a whole lot else.
Many years ago Gordon McLauchlan wrote a book in which he upbraided
us for being a "passionless people." I think he was
wrong. What he should have said was that we tended -- and still
tend for that matter -- to be undemonstrative, except when tanked
up. It's then that many of us, especially males, become physically
aggressive, ugly and generally boorish. I think we are a people
whose passions smoulder away. We bear grudges, harbour resentments,
and are stupidly quick to take offence, take umbrage. We don't
like criticism, too often taking it personally. In other words,
we are always getting miffed.
But gradually we are becoming more open with our feelings, although
one has to feel apprehensive about the mob enthusiasm for rugby
and rugby league. The violent overtones are a great worry.
Because rugby, league and cricket get so much media coverage,
there's a tendency for our other popular, more reflective pursuits
to be under-emphasised. For instance, New Zealanders have an enthusiasm
bordering on passion for the outdoors, for the sea, rivers, beaches,
lakes. For golf courses and bowling greens. For horses. For fishing.
And especially for the high country, our magnificent mountain
lands.
That is why there's so much heat and passion over moves to privatise
more of the high country, why tens of thousands of anglers, hunters,
trampers, climbers, canoeists and others are concerned about the
effects of the growing commercial interests.
For years recreationalists and runholders co-existed amicably.
Friendships were -- and still are -- widespread. All shared a
love for the magnificent, spiritually and visually glorious high
country lands.
Those of us imbued with a love of the high country saw it as the
heart of what made New Zealand special. It was an essential part
of our identity as New Zealanders.
Many of us liked to think that in this regard Maori and non-Maori
shared a deep sense of belonging to this country, this place,
this land.
But over the last decade or so things have changed. Attitudes
have changed, divisions have opened up. Some Maori claim high
country lands were stolen and want them back.
Unfortunately, they seem unwilling to accept or concede that many
non-Maori have an equally deep sense of belonging to these places,
and feel there should be a greater acceptance of their importance
as part of a public rather than predominantly a private estate.
Some Maori are also scornful of those non Maori who see the natural
world as having aesthetic appeal and spiritual taonga and everything
in it as intrinsically valuable.
Those of us who object to Maori claims to the Greenstone and Caples,
for instance, and say that before the government should consider
handing over such lands to any private interest groups, claimants
should have to prove that the lands were nicked in the first place,
are accused of being racist.
It's long past time that those who bleat about cultural sensitivity
showed more of it themselves. The moral high ground is a knife
edge.
Overseas interests are moving in, raising hackles and fears --
justified in my view -- that they lack an appreciation of the
ethos which has long been that while runholders have rights allowing
them to deny access to the public, this clause in their leases
is a bit draconian and in practice has rarely been enforced.
Most runholders in my experience have fully understood why recreationalists
want to roam and enjoy high country lands and have placed few
restrictions in their way.
Country folk often refer to their right to "peace and quiet."
I sympathise. But like so much else, it's all relative, as urban
dwellers will attest.
And haven't farmers and the like led the way in introducing helicopters,
light aircraft, trail bikes, four-wheel-drive vehicles and so
on, into the back country? So much for peace and quiet. If access
to some high country areas needs to be controlled -- and there's
a good case to be made in some areas and for some activities --
then surely priority should be given to the public, not to commercial
interests. The fear is that the trend is in the other direction.
Recently I read where high country farmer Bob Brown said that
after the Land Act of 1948, farmers in the high country became
private owners in all but name. This is a revealing remark, one
that overstates and misrepresents the facts.
The government, acting on behalf of the public, never intended
that lessees be seen as owners. They were given grazing rights,
but were required to keep stock numbers to a level that didn't
harm the land, and generally to ensure there would be no degeneration.
In return for a willingness to care and tend for these magnificent
parts of our collective natural heritage, they were treated with
extraordinary generosity and leniency by being asked to pay only
peppercorn rentals and given leases with a perpetual right of
renewal.
The result, for a variety of reasons, has been that over time,
many of the runs have got to the point where they are no longer
commercially viable as farming units. In many areas tussock grasslands
have all but disappeared. Natural values have been destroyed;
land degradation is widespread.
It is a sad story all round.
Rather than pointing the finger, recreationalists and conservationists
are now saying: Let's do our best to protect what remains. Lets
reclassify the lands, let lessees freehold the bits with high
farming values and little remaining conservation and recreational
value, and take out the higher altitude lands and put them into
the conservation estate.
Make it a requirement that marginal strips and access ways are
provided to waterways etcetera, and through freehold land to conservation
lands.
Where appropriate, issue permits to graze non-freehold lands.
For some reason, government ministers are reluctant to do this.
It seems whenever the High Country branch of Fed Farmers jumps
up and down, successive governments run for cover.
High Country Fed Farmers bleat about a "land grab" where
the reality is that for them the status quo has always been the
bottom line, and that their aspirations involve more control,
a good deal of add-on.
Conservationists and recreationalists (often one and the same)
simply want to see remaining natural values protected and the
public be given security of access where it doesn't exist already.
This need not impinge on legitimate farming operations, nor strip
lessees of rights to which they might reasonably be entitled,
given current attitudes to land and other species, and to the
condition of the lands.
Aldo Leopold hit the nail on the head when he pointed out how
many of our problems come back to the fact that too many people
saw land as "a commodity belonging to us" instead of
"a community to which we belong."
We need to examine what we mean when we talk of "land development"
and consider the ethics of what we do.
Utilitarianism, when driven by those who put private interests
first, too often results in abuse.
Perhaps we'd all do better to revise our thinking about our relationship
to and so-called "ownership" of land.
Perhaps we'd be better to concede that it is just as great a privilege
to be allowed to farm land, as it is for the wider public to enjoy
and have access to it.
Perhaps we all ought to recognise that none of us truly owns land
at all, we merely own property.
Perhaps Maori and non-Maori alike should stop wrangling over who
did what, when, and to whom, in the past. Say, "Look, we're
sorry, but every race and community has, and has had, its ratbags,
so let's get on and try to do better from now on."
Of course, when it comes to saying sorry, we have been saying
it for years and years.
I'm not saying sorry any more, sorry.
I don't feel guilty. I don't feel shame for the actions, real
or otherwise, of predecessors with whom I have no perceptible
connection. I can certainly understand how some people feel ashamed
of the actions of some of their forebears, and feel it important
to work towards tangibly atoning for some of the transgressions
of the past. But you can't force people to keep on eating humble
pie, anymore than you can expect them to meekly walk away from
a place, or give up their share or rights in it, when another
group decides it will act as judge and jury on matters relating
to perceived historical grievances.
I'm also conscious of the fact that the system some say was devised
by non-Maori for the purpose of oppressing and suppressing Maori
appears to have served the likes of Derek Fox, Ranginui Walker,
Tipene O'Regan, Sandra Lee, and scores more, a good deal better
than most of my relations, materially and educationally. I quite
agree with those who point to the injustice of having such a disproportionately
large percentage of Maori and Polynesians on low incomes, and
of the dangers and problems inherent in it, but I think the cause
isn't racism. Rather it is the socioeconomic consequences of political
ideology and the system evolved from it.
In the end, anyone who feels committed to living here belongs
here, in my opinion. And while most of us come to regard it as
"our" land, we're jumped-up if we think we really "own"
it.
Perhaps we might all do better to make a genuine effort to share
more and be less avid in our desire to acquire more at the expense
of others, and of the world around us.
Perhaps we'd then have greater cause to be proud of ourselves
as human beings, and be less overbearing all round.
[Brian Turner lives in Dunedin and is a spokesman for PANZ. His
books include 'Beyond' which won the 1993 New Zealand Book Award
for poetry. He also writes on sport and recreation]
[Reprinted in 'Public Access', No. 6. August 1995]