the absurdity of sameness

In the past month or more that I have been tripping around New Zealand I have visited around 20 towns, and driven through dozens more. New Zealand towns are all similar...you go through a 70kmh zone before slowing to 50kmh past the Lions and Rotary signs and whatever garish entity is the soul of the town (a kiwifruit picking pukeko or some such lovable mascot).

A four square or dairy is the hub of the town and the petrol station is getting just a bit glitzy if it's open past 7pm. A smatter of odd shops toddle down the main street and the odd side street leads to the mechanics thats been run by the same family for generations. There's comfort in the predictability but enough variation to give each town a quietly distinctive character. Of all the towns I have been to thus far, the unique and special mainstreet of Takaka has now become the benchmark. What a funky town...may well have been the inspiration for that song...

The town doesn't have a sprawling big box retail development on the outskirts....that acts as a magnet to commerce, annihilating the heart of the township. The Pagani/Starbucks/Flight Centre/Muffin Break/Countdown/$2 Shop/Whitcoulls splatter is all a bit painful when you can stand in the centre of it and quite literally be anywhere in the country.

What it means is that if this trend continues of such cookie-cutter commerce worming its way into enclaves of development under the banner of 'progress', and small communities dont resist the tentacles of the Westfield empire then we may as well all stay home. No need to travel anywhere because they all look the same anyway. It's like the most perverse form of relocalisation and strikes you as the planning equivalent of Groundhog Day. Twenty times over I have driven in to the same place....its surreal...resist the scourge...

...the good life in the top of the bottom

My only time in the South Island to date has been a few days in Christchurch some years back for a brief conference. One of the great perks of my research road trip is that I get to see the bottom half of our stunning country and I have not been disappointed so far. It's been an intense couple of days since arriving in Nelson but I am in love with the landscape.

The towering snow capped mountains are in full view as you wander along the warm beaches and some of the most amazing of our National Parks are within easy driving distance. The weather has been immaculate since arrival and promises to remain so for at least a few more days. I'm thrilled about that considering my weekend in Motueka will hopefully include a not-insignificant amount of twitching at Farewell Spit, a premier birding locations for feather fans like myself :)

I have now settled in to the roadtrip/rockstar lifestyle. I think the boredom and fatigue of the first couple of weeks was due to familiarity of surroundings. Now that I am spending all my days glued to a map like any other of the scores of tourists I am happy. I enjoy being lost and unfamiliar. My biggest concern is the readjustment to the gentle lifestyle of the Hamilton student when all this is over...two years of analysis and writeup awaits which will be a rather less riveting way to spend one's time.

In saying that, it's likely that I will think differently as the weeks pass by and Christmas draws near. I dare say that by the time I clock ten weeks away from home I will be looking forward to my own bed like any normal person. I miss my kitchen too as cooking is a favourite hobby, and the freedom to cook without swarms of 2-minute-noodle-loving gypsies like me tripping over me and each other is much missed. In saying that, I spent this evening enjoying wood-fired veggie pizza and locally brewed lager at the funky pub over the road....so you know, there's ways around any problem ;-)

on the creation of wetlands...

The last two days have seen me escape the desk and file room and trot off into the wide world again. I spent Thursday checking out subdivisions in the coastal dune environments north of Wellington and then today on the majical Kapiti Island. They illustrated nicely the difference between purportedly creating nature and then just leaving it to do its thing for 112 years. The outcomes are somewhat disparate.

The coastal estates I went to were in large part, epic environmental failures. One was amazing and I hope the developer responsible gets an easy ride to heaven (ka pai my brother, ka pai). But the other three were dismal. All were retired pastoral estates that were to be fashioned into posh subdivisions with the standard suite of features being sea views or proximity at least, cheesily named Lanes and Dales (quite often named after the miscreant that the proposed the whole disaster I have noticed) and plastic infrastructure with an asset life about as long as the laptop I am writing this on.

Nevertheless, the purported saving grace of these little oases from the stress of everyday life was that they would create or recreate WETLANDS! The boggy, swampy, marshy geek kids of the ecosystem world. All the developments proposed to create wetland wonderlands where stormwater could go and settle out before entering the nearest waterway and wildlife could frolic metres from the future new residents in a perfect semblance of high class country estate and 'sustainability'.

And a wonderful concept it is...where it works it's great. The wetland areas absorb the stormwater from the development, performing a utility function, and extensive ecosourced revegetation calls all the usual suspects to bear...scaup, coots, mallards, pukeko (when it isnt appearing in Genesis ads) and if you're lucky, the tiny dabchick. I know it works because I have seen it...which makes it all the more frustrating when I must spend an afternoon plodding around what might be politely described as abject failures.

These created wetlands.....sigh. Steep sided ponds with no vegetation on the outside (oh no wait, some had weeds in abundance) give way to copper brown water and algal wonderlands. They drain out through choked channels with sludge layers thicker than my bootsole. The tributary they flow into carries a plume tens of metres down the line as a reminder of what happens when muppets get to play in the environment for their own fiscal gain.

And these wetlands (according to the application and the advertising that persists) that were to be created were intended to be centrepieces of the fine stately development itself. But instead they sit idle with perhaps one lone mallard trawling around in them forlornly. A spur-winged plover shrieks protectively from the grassless common area adjacent which has the odd miserable liquidamber shoved into the ground. In the worst case, thick mounds of litter are strewn around the shoreline where it's not too steep and theres no water motion to disperse it.

In 50 years I intend to hop into by then vintage Toyota Corolla hatchback, walking stick in tow. I will stalk the coastline of New Zealand to see what became of these coastal developments orchestrated by muppets. And I hope not to see sterile ponds void of life; but functioning, richly planted and well maintained wetland environments.

Because creating those were the trade-off for introducing the pressures of 80 more families less than 200 metres from the beach. they were the tradeoff for 29000 square metres of earthworks where the topsoil mysteriously disappeared. They were also the tradeoff for clearing whatever was left of natural vegetation and restricting a dune system with three foot high retaining walls (yeh, good luck with that). It was part of a deal and one side just keeps defaulting.

If they continue to be what they are today then the walking stick will become a weapon. But perhaps sea level rise will beat me to it. One can only hope...

...keeping it simple, at the risk of seeming stupid....

As my research time in the capital draws to a close, I can reflect on what has been a pretty interesting week. PhD research is like the world's longest rollercoaster. Some days you you're on the straight and narrow, the wind's in your hair and there's not a green-faced, puff-cheeked kid in sight. Others....well, it's like it stalled upside down, you didn't tuck your shirt in and theres a storm brewing on the horizon.

This week's been more positive than some, and included a conference in which several presenters indicated that research like mine was needed and fast. That's always a boost because you're never far from feeling pointless as a research student (the dabbling duck with its beak caught under a rock is my favourite analogy). The conference was a trans-tasman one and covered a range of environmental management issues that are just not all that different to the usual.

The same themes filter through everything....the same type of people turn out, spouting the same things...only their faces really change. They talk about systems, and 'paradigms', and predictive models, and what three case studies indicated to them about another fifty thousand....

I'm sure the generation of ecology types before me endured lectures not dissimilar (probably identical!). And despite all these decades of posturing, politicking and chest-beating about exactly how to theoretically save the world....biodiversity continues to diminish, systems continue to fail miserably and the only thing that stops us looking like total idiots is that we dont monitor well enough to show the problems clearly enough. Phew...?

I am glad my research is what it is...it might not be the most technical or have the fanciest name but it suits me because I am simple too (yes, funny, I know). The research process is more about conducting mini archaeological digs in council file rooms than conquering wild forests in some far flung corner of the globe. I spend more time speaking with landowners about the excess turnips they just cant find a use for than quizzing them on the meaning of life under controlled conditions. And I certainly couldnt stand alongside the bright bods presenting today, with more jargon and acronyms than the free world really needs.

Nope...I'm just going outside and seeing what really happened and figuring out what we can learn from it. Not heavy stuff....KISS model...suits me...

...tomtits, paunch cutters and motorcycles...

When the context of your research is the real world (wait, isn't all research fully applicable to everyday life? No...oh right!) it is easy to become distracted. The trick is to fret and flap about your research as much as possible until it almost, but not quite, limits your ability to have any fun at all. I'd mastered such a skill up until the day before yesterday when I hit what I think was the first wall.

I did, in true tree geek style react in the only way possible...trudge off into a National park for several hours of largely uphill trekking. I had a good time though, so enjoying myself watching the tomtits and tuis that I didnt notice what must have been a million sharp things I wandered through. When I got back to my accomodation it looked like I'd gotten into a fight with a combine harvester with scratches on all bare skin. Despite being cut to ribbons I had a blast :)

I slept like the dead after an intense week. I had sloshed around a piggery watching fat piglets squirm delightedly in the mud. I then went to a rendering plant, savouring the delicious odour of rotting flesh and blood drying merrily in the sun, all the while enduring the most matter-of-fact description of exactly why paunch cutters are crucial parts of the process. Finally I discovered the joys of the killing floor of a meatworks and....well, long held visions of vegetarianism moved sharply back into focus and the mass produced meat industry will no longer recieve my custom.

I woke this morning and prepared to ship out of sleepy Stratford. The day started well with free range eggs and SOLDIERS (some people never grow up!) and the drive through to Levin was uneventful despite onerous traffic reports. I took a minor twitchers detour to Kuku Beach which I knew to have shorebirds present. Sure enough before long I had my binos trained on a bunch of them, scurrying happily around the dunes and flats. A horrendous sound and flying mud all over where a pair of oystercatchers were quietly sitting brought into view a motorcycle rider.

Said rider was shouting for an ambulance and me and a pair of tourists also attempting to bird watch as they scooted noisily and dangerously all over the dunes quickly obliged in ringing triple 1. Turned out that while jumping over a dune (shorebird habitat *cough* waahi tapu *cough*) one of their mates had managed to break his femur. What then ensued could have been a silent movie, black and white of course. Frantic piano music could have easily accompanied the confused fluffing of the scores of locals that quickly showed up.

There were many cooks in this here kitchen, and the first plan to emerge from this gaggle was to bring the guy back off the beach (3km away) on the bike. I gently pointed out that if they were to nick the femoral artery with an edge of broken bone they would have all of two minutes left alive with their friend. That ended that concept thankfully and they then set to work figuring out which of them would go onto the beach in the 4wd with the trailer to apparently 'carefully' transport him out on the flatdeck and which of them would stay back and guard their bikes.

Thankfully as the self appointed medics were setting off, the ambos arrived and it was decided that since the beach was now apparently impassable to the 4wd, it could only be crossed in a tractor. One of the riders helpfully piped up that he had a tractor and would go and get it. St John's finest agreed to go in on motorbike and have the chap follow them in his tractor which seemed a good solution. I dusted my hands of the whole pending disaster and headed off back to the main road.

Halfway up the road, Tractor Guy waved me down. He'd managed to run out of gas and faced a 1.5km walk if he was to get his tractor down to the beach. I told him to leave his bike roadside and hop in and drove him to his farm. He reeked of alcohol, but in that acrid way that makes you think he sees drinking as a marathon not a sprint. I dropped him off and headed for the nations capital where I now sit reflecting on a rather odd week in the wild Naki. Let's see what the windy city has in store....

...on the assumptions associated with clouds...

A few days into my Stratford adventure, there isn't too much else to report. Field work is as always a juggling act. Trying to get ten different sets of site information and attempt to visit them is something of a challenge. I am glad on reflection that I kept the number of different councils in each region to a minimum as working between any more than two or three would probably send me packing. The weather with the exception of one day has been poor and it's freezing. But I am hesitant to worry too much as it will only get colder as I go down the country. Next week I am in the capital and have a conference to work in around my field work.

On the mountain visibility front we have made some progress. The morning after I complained about the cloud cover I looked up from my toast at breakfast and saw Mt Taranaki in all it's glory through the window. Its an incredible feature on the landscape and it seems that no matter how many times I see it still has that same effect. I am thankful that the clouds stepped aside for one fine morning so i could hurriedly drive up to the plateau and take some snaps.

Nevertheless, I am still a fan of clouds, especially scudding ones. They always seem the most modern and progressive of all the clouds as they determinedly whiz across the sky. I find myself drawn to paintings of clouds which I suspect would scud if given half the chance.

The owner of the B&B I am staying at is an amateur artist and the whole place is covered with samples of their work. The landscape around the mountain is so crisp and beautiful on a clear day that you can well see why it would inspire such a hobby. Of all the things in the world I'd like to be better at, painting would be one but me and paint brushes (despite some genetic indications that I should be good at it) just dont mix....gotta work on that....

...taranaki rocks....

Yesterday I spent the day immersed in Hamilton-related festivities before setting off westward to the Taranaki Region. Most people dissolved in giggles when I told them I was spending more than a week (or is that a day?) here. Buoyed by other more positive accounts I kept an open mind.

Well...Taranaki rocks....protrude from everywhere.

Every hillside on the road in (SH 3) had giant boulders; some smooth, some scraggy, some flat sticking out all over the place. It became the seared-in first impression of the region in my brain. The kind of image that makes you check everywhere for sticking-out rocks and other associated trip hazards such as loose pebbles.

Someone extends their hand to you and you half expect a rock (perhaps one suitable for skimming?) to be proudly protruding from their forearm. Its all rather strange and it wasn't until I saw the beautiful mountain that I had any greater visions of Taranaki.

The cloud ate the mountain that day and each day since. You can only see the foothills, and even if you drive 50km trying to get a better view (*looks guilty*)the cloud still wraps it in it's fluffy arms, guarding it jealously like I might a bag of candy for example. If there's not one clear day between now and Sunday, me and that cloud are going to have words...which is unlikely to change anything...because nature has every right to guard such treasures.

Have had a productive day though, have learned a range of exciting new things in relation to some of the industrial sites I will be going to. "Stick-water" is not something you want to swim in, Im suspicious of any place with an entire room devoted to offal, and remain oddly impressed by people who seem to invent the most digestable euphemisms for the most disgusting processes....amazing...no really it is.