It is winter. The land is being embraced by the frozen touch of winter's hand. The crisp scent of morning tickles your nostrils sending sharp shivers down your spine. A mysterious haze descends across the contours of the hostile valleys creating an unwanted feeling.
Ploughing assertively across the river the distinctive yellow Ute grabs tyre foot-holds on the moss encased river stones. Grumbles from the straining motor bellow across the river flats and invade the silence of the surrounding forests. The truck grasps safety between its wheels as it clambers up the gradual slant of the river bank. The time-stricken woolshed sits on its perch watching and awaiting for the yellow wagon to arrive with its noisy, eager cargo. Hesitant looks from nosy cattle overwhelm you. Broken steps encrusted with moss lead you up to the rustic door. The cold touch of the steel handle stuns you. Scratching noises from the old and slowly dying door arise as the rollers scrape across the ancient floor boards. A sharp and pungent odour from anxious preceding sheep escapes the shed as if it has been locked up within the corrugated walls forever; their wool still entangled on the splinters of the greasy wood slats. Rusty food tins left in the corners with congealed droplets of candle wax. Looking around you see elapsed evidence from previous hunters that create visions of the woolshed as a juvenile.
Standing under the woolsheds shield you look over at the lines printed on the rocks that flaunt the fluctuating levels of the stream. This stream twists its way through the sinister gulleys below Mount Hikurangi; like a rata vine entwining it's self around a Totura tree. Visualize the water that travels down and around the tranquil washed-out boulders. It hides in every shady crevice made by these placid creatures. Listen to the sound of the persistent trickle that resonates through the valleys as the translucent water carries on, following its destiny of unknown paths. Taste the tang of crisp fresh water that flows from a constant source. Feel the icy touch of the water as it transfers itself into the tips of your fingers. It is here that you stand, mesmerized as the sights and smells pervade your being.
It is night time. Returning to the gulley's of Mount Hikurangi you look over to the secluded shadow of a dormant giant that stands tall amongst the brooding clouds. Sounds from flowing water grow louder by night and intrude into your ears. The forest profiles crawl across the Rocky River flats as the Ute headlights beam through into the darkness.
The river beckons the long lost truck into its peculiar rocky depths, making the driver uncertain. Once again you hear the sneaky liquids surrounding the truck as it submerges into the waters. Driving up that well-known track vivid memories spring to mind. The silhouette of that time-stricken woolshed appears over the crest of a hill welcoming the familiar sound of its rugged friend. A distant low thudding sound echoes from the ephemeral feet of disturbed cattle in the night. Vibrant glowing eyes peer at you from these illusive cattle. Dim lights shine over to the woolshed presenting once again the defeated stairs to our sights. Darkness seeps out from the cracks in the door as the rollers scuff against the floor boards. Candles sitting in the rusty food tins alight the entire shed, spreading rays through to all the dark corners. The shadows warp the surroundings making every outline seem mystifying to ones eye.
Here you feel secure from all beings in the darkness, all creatures that lurk beneath the forest, all curious cattle that wander the hills and most of all, safe from the dark over-looking shadow of Mount Hikurangi.
