Waiting for the weather — hay in the front paddock

The hay in the paddock in front of my place has been ready for cutting and baling for several weeks now. Unfortunately, with the weather being so unsettled, this might be the view for a while yet — not that anyone could complain about a view like this.


 [29 December 2013, Olympus OM-D EM-1, 12–40 mm f2.8, ISO 200, 1/30 at f11]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Glad these don't bite (native tabanid fly)

At the top of the No. 1 Line track a few days ago, these big flies were patrolling a small clear area. When one alighted on a leaf of horopito (pepperwood; Pseudowintera colorata), I switched to the macro lens and managed a series of photographs. Although these are slightly bigger than a blowfly, the high magnification meant focusing was critical, and only a small number of the photographs were satisfactory.

An impressive proboscis, isn't it? Fortunately, these feed on nectar and perhaps pollen, so calling them horseflies, as other species of the family are known elsewhere in the world, isn't appropriate here. Guess we're lucky. I've been bitten by horseflies in Mongolia, and they HURT.


[24 December 2013, Olympus OM-D EM-1, 60 mm f2.8 Macro , ISO 200, 1/250 at f2.8]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Leaf litter on the No. 1 Line track

When I last managed to get up the No. 1 Line track a fortnight ago, just before the marking began, the track was sodden. Now it's like this underfoot.


 [23 December 2013, Olympus OM-D EM-1, 60 mm f2.8 Macro , ISO 400, 1/8 at f8]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

After the hay

The hay paddocks next door were cut and baled today.This morning the wind rippled through the long grass; by evening only the rough areas remained, the rest razed, pressed into the enormous round bales that have increasingly replaced the traditional lozenges that one person could pick up and throw onto the back of a truck; the giant bales carted away by tractors larger than my kitchen. A couple of kahu cruised the evening sky, perhaps wondering what had so suddenly happened to the land they'd hunted over all year. Farming as an industrial operation; efficient only if you don't consider the cost of making and running the machinery. A necessary evil; the evil of necessity. Someone has to feed the world.


[21 December 2013, Olympus OM-D EM-1, 12-40 mm f2.8 at 12 mm , ISO 100, 1/100 at f11]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Evening in the Pohangina Valley

We've been having some lovely evenings here in the valley lately.


[14 December 2013, Olympus OM-D EM-1, 12–40 mm f2.8 at 12 mm, ISO 200, 1/125 at f8]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Kniphofia

On a grey, mild evening, a red-hot poker seems like a small statement of joy.

[Update: I see the problem I had with Pohanginapete not updating in link lists on other blogs now affects this blog, too. I'll try to work out how to fix it, but in the meantime, you might have to check here regularly instead of waiting for updates on another blog.]


[12 December 2013, Olympus OM-D EM-1 12-40 mm f2.8 at 20 mm , ISO 200, 1/200 at f5.6]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Guest in the kitchen — white-tailed spider

White-tailed spiders are common in New Zealand houses and sheds, where their most common prey is the grey house spider (Badumna longinqua). They have an undeserved reputation for bites that can supposedly cause large, necrotic ulcers, but sound evidence for this is lacking. The bite has been documented as being painful, though, so I treat them with respect when shifting them outside. If you want to know more about these spiders, including a clear discussion of what's known about their bite, I recommend the Landcare Research page on white-tailed spiders.

On the basis of the known distribution of the two species in New Zealand (Australia has 61), I assume this is Lampona murina. It's certainly a male: the mark that looks like a slight depression on the abdomen where it joins the cephalothorax (the front part of the body) is not present in females. I managed two photographs of this one after moving it from the kitchen to the verandah — then he was gone.


[26 November 2013, Olympus OM-D EM-1, 60 mm f2.8 Macro , ISO 200, 1/60 at f8]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Argyrodes antipodiana — a kleptoparasitic spider

These tiny spiders, commonly called dewdrop spiders (for an obvious reason), are just 3–4 mm long and live in the webs of other spiders, usually Eriophora pustulosa, where they steal prey from the host spider's web. This one was on its way to retrieve a  sciarid (dark-winged fungus gnat), which might have been too small to alert the host spider to its presence.


[6 December 2013, Olympus OM-D EM-1, 60 mm f2.8 Macro , ISO 1600, 1/320 at f8]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

More foxglove

An overcast evening softened the light in a way that seemed to suit the foxgloves. So far, I haven't tired of photographing them.

[New post up on Pohanginapete][Update: Apparently the feed isn't updating, so those friends good enough to list Pohanginapete in the links on their blogs will still think the last post was about three months ago. It wasn't—it was yesterday. I've tried republishing the post but the problem persists, and I'm apparently not alone. Nice one, Blogger/Google—yet another item to add to the long list of stuff-ups. Maybe that's why the post is still sitting on zero pageviews :^( ]


[3 December 2013, Olympus OM-D EM-1, 60 mm f2.8 Macro , ISO 200, 1/125 at f5.6]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Long-tongued bumblebee and foxglove

While the foxgloves still flower, the bumblebees make the most of the opportunity.

Four species of bumblebee were introduced to New Zealand, but one is found only in the South Island. Of the other three, one, Bombus terrestris, has a short tongue, meaning it's less effective at pollinating some types of flower. The bee in this photograph is one of the two long-tongued bumble bees (probably B. ruderatus — please correct me if I'm wrong).


[30 November 2013, Olympus OM-D EM-1, 60 mm f2.8 Macro , ISO 200, 1/1250 at f4]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Spring wind at dusk

Spring weather in this region usually means an overabundance of wild winds. Yesterday was no exception, and when I wandered out the back with the camera in the late evening, I made sure I was well rugged up. The sun had long gone, but the afterglow hadn't yet faded and the colours in the sky suffused the whole world.


[30 November 2013, Olympus OM-D EM-1, Panasonic 100-300 mm at 100 mm, ISO 1600, 1/8 at f8]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Foxgloves on the old road

Some people — particularly those to whom every blade of grass represents potential profit — consider foxgloves a weed. When they're flowering, though, they're undeniably striking, and the bumblebees love them. The old road cutting at the front of the terrace seems to be a favoured place for foxgloves and they've been flowering profusely. Now, however, the final flowers hang high up on the long stalks, and I imagine the last of the flowers will fall over the next week. The place will be a little duller without them.


[29 November 2013, Olympus OM-D EM-1, 12-40 mm f2.8 at  12 mm, ISO 400, 1/1250 at f5.6]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Harvestman among the lichen

Look hard at the small things and you'll find another world. This harvestman was resting in the miniature jungle of lichens encrusting an old fence batten. I'm glad these arachnids aren't the size of rottweilers.

[25 November 2013, Olympus OM-D EM-1, 60 mm f2.8 Macro , ISO 250, 1/160 at f5.6]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Mayfly (Coloburiscus humeralis?)

Last night was one of the warmest we've had this spring, and by the time I'd started to think about going to bed the kitchen windows were covered in insects (mostly moths) trying to reach the light. But moths weren't the only insects attracted to the light. This morning I found this gorgeous mayfly on the verandah rail. I'm fairly confident this is Coloburiscus humeralis, but if you think this is wrong, please let me know.


[24 November 2013, Olympus OM-D EM-1, 60 mm f2.8 Macro , ISO 200, 1/10 at f11]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Hare, No. 1 Line

As I drove back down the No. 1 Line road I noticed a hare feeding on the far side of a small gully. I stopped the car, picked up the camera, and wound down the window. Fortunately, I had the telephoto zoom mounted, but I've still had to crop this substantially.

Notice the split ear. I could guess at the cause, but I'd probably be wrong.


[17 November 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 400, 1/400 at f8]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Hound's tongue, No. 1 Line

Kōwaowao (hound's tongue fern; Microsorum pustulatum) grows in profusion at the start of the No. 1 Line track and has a knack of catching the light in a way that makes attempting a photograph almost irresistible. I didn't put up much of a struggle this afternoon.

[17 November 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 100 mm, ISO 200, 1/200 at f4]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Ti kouka flowering

I love this time of year — the days lengthening and warming; birds fledging; the ti kouka and so many other native plants flowering.


[3 November 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 100 mm, ISO 200, 1/60 at f8]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Mercedes at Puerto Natales

Many people seem to consider Puerto Natales as nothing more than a staging point for visits to Parque Nacional Torres del Paine or Cueva del Milodón Natural Monument, the latter an attraction as much because it was made famous by the book that made Bruce Chatwin famous as for the fact it was once home to the giant ground sloth, the eponymous Mylodon. But I liked Puerto Natales — much of it, at least — for its own sake and stayed a little longer than many visitors. I even thought this was one place I'd like to stay for a protracted period, improving my bad Spanish, writing, wandering, watching the birds, photographing the old boats I suspect the passers-through don't find. Maybe, I thought, if my Spanish improved enough I'd eventually be able to listen to something of the ruins of their moments.

[4 December 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 30 mm, ISO 100, 1/160 at f16]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Karearea (NZ falcon) on the No. 1 Line track [2]

This was the other of the two karearea I had the privilege of watching on the No. 1 Line track a few weeks ago.


[14 September 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 400, 1/250 at f8. I've cropped this photograph a little more heavily.]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

The central Ruahine Range from Top Maropea hut [2]

Top Maropea hut is an historic hut, and when you're there it's hard not to think of the innumerable people who've stayed there, the events that have taken place, the stories told around the open fire. Like Ngamoko and the other Ruahine huts, it's part of the cultural landscape, not merely an object in the physical landscape.


[20 September 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 45 mm, ISO 200, 1/50 at f16]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

The central Ruahine Range from Top Maropea hut

The weather wasn't great at Top Maropea hut when I arrived there a bit over a week ago, but late in the afternoon the cloud broke up enough to let the sun through. I sat in the clearing, drank Ali Shan High Mountain GABA Oolong tea, and enjoyed the sight, the solitude, and the sound of the wind roaring in the beeches and hissing in the snow tussocks. Surprisingly, only an occasional gust buffeted me.

 

 

[20 September 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 23 mm, ISO 200, 1/320 at f16]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Top Maropea hut, Ruahine Range

Late last week I managed to get away for a few days in the Ruahine Range. Work commitments meant I wasn't able to go in with a couple of friends, but I followed them later and met them at Top Maropea hut, a delightful place that overlooks the heart of the central Ruahine Range. Although the weather wasn't great (as you can see), it stayed dry when it mattered most, and the ferocious winds typical of this part of the Ruahine even abated a little at just the right time — namely, when we were crossing the tops.

Those couple of nights in wild country did my soul good.


[20 September 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 200, 1/25 at f16]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Karearea (NZ falcon) on the No. 1 Line track

The demands of work and the wild spring weather meant I hadn't been for a walk up No. 1 Line for almost a month. It felt like an age and probably was.

Today I finally made it up there. I sat at the top in the blustery wind, writing a little while the water heated, then sipping Lapsang Souchong. I watched patches of sunlight drift across the far mountainside and listened to the wind and a little riroriro somewhere a long way off, and I remembered the pipiwharauroa I'd heard yesterday — the first this spring — and wondered how many riroriro would end up raising pipiwharauroa chicks instead of their own this summer. 

A little light hail tapped at the hood of my parka on the way down, but it amounted to nothing. Near the bottom of the track I heard a bird call — a tui, I thought. But it didn't sound quite right, even allowing for the huge range of calls tui can make. I heard it again and became even more convinced it wasn't a tui. I thought I knew what it might be, so I retrieved the camera and headed off the track. 

I was right. This was one of two karearea — New Zealand falcons — sitting high in a massive dead tree. The whole time I photographed them and watched them through the binoculars, they said nothing. Just those two calls as I came down the track, as if they were calling out to me rather than at me. 

I'd like to believe they were saying, 'Welcome home, Pete'.

[14 September 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 200, 1/320 at f5.6]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

The Pohangina Valley from the No. 1 Line road

The view from the top of the No. 1 Line road always slows me down.


[6 August 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 100 mm, ISO 200, 1/125 at f11]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Gold leaf

The original gold leaf, a month and a half ago. Now these branches — the uppermost of the plum — are blossoming.

[If you haven't noticed already, there's a new post on Pohanginapete.]


[5 July 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 200, 1/400 at f8]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Dawn; western hills, Pohangina Valley

I've been away for a while. Before I left, I was treated to this sight from the verandah outside the kitchen.

Not bad, eh?


[23 July 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 200, 1/250 at f5.6]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

The magpies’ flight at dawn over No. 3 Line

South of my place, the terrace drops via a steep, rough paddock to Te Awaoteatua stream. On the far side another hillside, even steeper in places and with extensive stands of kanuka, rises to the ridge you see here. Beyond the ridge, No. 3 Line follows the valley of Tokeawa stream. Birds live in this sky.

I thought briefly about cloning out the magpies — after all, they're almost indistinguishable from specks of dirt, aren't they? But they were there at that moment, and the reason I pressed the shutter at that moment was because they were there — I have several similar photographs from moments just before. That something so apparently insignificant can change a photograph to such an extent, ... well, it fascinates me. Those two tiny specks fix a precise moment; none of the preceding photographs (which are almost identical otherwise, save for slight differences in framing) can be pinpointed in time as precisely.

Moreover, arguments about whether to talk about photographs (or other artworks) will probably rage for as long as anyone's around to photograph or view the photographs, but I lean towards the view that if you need to say something extra (and that includes the title), the photograph (or other artwork) has mostly failed — the photograph should say everything that needs to be said. (I said I lean towards that view; I'm not confident enough to claim it as a belief.)

But what if the title and the accompanying words, not just the photograph alone, are part of the artwork?

(Apologies for the white on black text. When I set up this blog I didn't intend writing more than simple captions.)


[5 July 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 234 mm, ISO 200, 1/500 at f8]


All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Evening, low on the No. 1 Line track

A fortnight ago the late light slid through the bush near the foot of the No. 1 Line track and I lingered there, looking, photographing, enjoying. Today, occasional cold showers passed over, and the only sunlight lasted no more than a few seconds. I reached the car as a downpour began.


[5 July 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 30 mm, ISO 800, 1/80 at f11] 


All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Pohangina valley from the No. 1 Line road end

At the top of the No. 1 Line track this afternoon the cloud came and went — I seemed to be just at the level where the cloud couldn't make up its mind whether to lift or close down. I stayed a long time, brewed lapsang souchong, wrote, sat cross-legged on the wooden seat, listened to the wind and the rushing of the stream and its waterfalls far below, and thought about many things. On the way back down I found myself arrested by light and patterns, so the last quarter of an hour must have taken three times as long as usual as I stopped frequently to photograph. By the time I reached the car, evening had begun to fill the gullies.

[5 July 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 200, 1/320 at f8. The faint texture in the background is an overlay.]


All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Late afternoon, No. 1 Line

The next day I returned in better weather, brewed organic Yunnan Black Needle tea, sat bundled up against the cold and scribbled thoughts in the little moleskine cahier until my hands grew cold and slow. Below, far out over the Rangitikei hill country, a band of grey rain inched closer, but low sun slid past the southern edge of the veil and lit up the lookout. I could even feel a little warmth on my face, like a reminder that winter’s only temporary, that we’re heading towards longer days and heat.


[24 June 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 200, 1/40 at f18]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

After the weather, No. 1 Line

Most of New Zealand has just come through a huge storm that dumped several metres of snow over much of the South Island, flooded various parts of the country, and hammered Wellington with severe gales. Here in the valley we escaped the worst — we had a bit of rain, nothing remarkable in the way of wind, and the temperature, while hardly summery, dropped only to what seems reasonable for midwinter. The Ruahine behind my place had what appeared to be a dusting of snow high up when the weather cleared today, so I headed up No. 1 Line. Near the top of the track the remaining snow seemed determined to test my reaction time as I slipped and slithered frequently; fortunately, I never hit the ground.

This is the view looking back towards the Manawatu from the lookout.


[23 June 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 200, 1/40 at f22]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Autumn kereru

Have I said this before? Increasingly, I prefer photographs that show the bird in its environment, as you might see it  — glimpsed momentarily, caught in the moment of disappearance, or studied as it peers back from beyond a screen of branches. Kereru (New Zealand pigeon; Hemiphaga novaeseelandiae) in sycamore — the former endemic, the latter introduced and sometimes considered a weed.


[6 June 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 200, 1/400 at f11]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Rain coming

At the top of the No. 1 Line track the steam from the Lapsang Souchong rose almost straight up into the cold air. Through binoculars I could clearly see the grey silhouette of the South Island on the horizon, far beyond Kapiti Island. I looked for deer, saw none, sipped tea, wrote a little, brewed another cup. The heavily overcast sky began to dissolve as rain approached.

I photographed the view north from the car as I started back down the Line.


[15 June 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 45 mm, ISO 200, 1/30 at f11]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Mist; No. 1 Line

A combination of work and weather meant I'd last been for a walk to the top of the No. 1 Line track a week ago. The forecast looks bad until later next week, so I knew if I didn't get up there today, I'd either be walking in the rain or skipping the walk for another week. Neither prospect appealed, so this afternoon I packed a few items — including, of course, tea brewing gear — and set off.

Light rain set in about a third of the way up the track, so I pulled on a parka and carried on. At the top, everything was saturated, and although the rain had stopped, I'd climbed well up inside the cloud. This is the view from the lookout, where I usually settle down to brew Lapsang Souchong, write, scan the far mountainside through binoculars (and not infrequently see deer), and enjoy the solitude. I've been up here so often it feels like home.

Today, though, the afternoon felt so caliginous that I decided not to linger. I took the camera out briefly, then paid my respects to the place and headed back down. The Lapsang Souchong could wait for next time — and besides, I had a new package of exquisite teas waiting at home.

I made my way down the cold mountain, thinking of Han Shan and tea.


[1 June 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 16 mm, ISO 200, 1/10 at f16]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Feather

I couldn't help picking this off the ground, and as I did so, I felt I was holding nothing more than the tiny droplets. The feather I think must have come from an eastern rosella—the faint tinge of red fits no other local bird I can think of.


[21 May 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 45 mm, ISO 400, 1/80 at f5.6]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Dawn on the coast of Ghana

A day short of six years and one month ago I photographed the sea at dawn on the coast of Ghana. I loved the early mornings, when only one or two people had already risen and the tremendous humidity hadn't yet become almost unbearable, when the big sand crabs hadn't been frightened back down their burrows by human feet, when the sea fog hadn't yet been vaporised and anything might have materialised from the mist. The light and the colours seemed suffused with a softness utterly at odds with the brutal tropical heat that dominated the day.


[19 May 2007, Canon 20D, 10–22 mm f4 L at 10 mm, ISO 200, 1/50s at f11]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Dawn in the valley

You've seen a few evening photographs from the valley — here's one from the other end of the day. From the verandah outside the kitchen, looking south-west.


[23 April 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 114 mm, ISO 200, 1/160 at f4.1]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Kahu, the swamp harrier

Kahu (the swamp harrier; Circus approximans) are common here. I see them every day as they patrol the terrace and the road, looking for dead possums or whatever else might be edible. Getting close enough for a decent photograph's an entirely different matter. They're exceedingly wary and have astonishing eyesight. This is the closest photograph I've ever managed, and even this has been cropped heavily. A couple of kahu had been feeding on a possum corpse in this creeper and I could watch them from the kitchen. I managed to inch my way out onto the verandah for a series of photographs; this one best portrays the character of these beautiful birds.

[7 April 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 200, 1/1600 at f5.6. Heavily cropped.]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

First dawn in the fjords of Chile

We slept on board the Evangelista at Puerto Natales and set sail before dawn. Apart from the crew, I was one of the first up, not wishing to miss anything.

[Pohanginapete has a new post. Short, but it means the blog hasn't died.]

[6 December 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 800, 1/6 at f8]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Squall in the fjords of Chile

Squalls of rain sailed along the fjords as we motored north towards Puerto Montt late in 2011. The wildness seemed fitting.


[7 December 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 100, 1/250 at f11]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Evening at the end of the year

Daylight saving ended last Sunday morning. I can't say I'm not glad of the extra hour in the mornings, but I miss long evenings, especially when they're like this.


[30 December 2012, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 200, 1/80 at f5.6]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Pahautea, No. 1 Line, southern Ruahine range

Autumn has begun to feel its way into the valley. In the late afternoon at the top of the No. 1 Line track, sunlight grazed the ridges, lighting up the old pahautea (Libocedrus bidwillii) — some dead, some still with a tenacious grip on life. White puffy clouds in a blue sky, a small cricket singing in the grass nearby, a tui calling in the gully below the lookout. I drank Lapsang Souchong tea, wrote a few notes and let the sun dry the remains of my old icebreaker top.


[23 March 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 264 mm, ISO 200, 1/640 at f6.3]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Oroua River

A week ago a friend and I walked up the track towards Iron Gate hut. Where the track drops down to the main river, we crossed over and enjoyed a leisurely lunch, then wandered down the river and climbed back  to the car park. Not surprisingly, the river was as low as I've ever seen it, but it still retained the beautiful clarity typical of Ruahine rivers before they leave the mountains and enter farmland.


[12 March 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 19 mm, ISO 200, 1/20 at f16]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

We're all just passing through

Based on a photograph. Nothing more to say, only in part because I'm pushed for time.


All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Cinnabar moth at Iron Gate hut

The cinnabar moth, Tyria jacobaeae, was released over much of New Zealand from 1929–1932 in an attempt to control ragwort, but the moth established good populations only in parts of the southern North Island. In the 1980s, a redistribution programme saw populations become more widespread, but many people still have no idea of the identity of this spectacularly coloured moth.

The moth's host plant, ragwort, has reached far beyond the farmland where it used to be a major weed (and still is in some areas), but biological control agents often have an extraordinary ability to locate their hosts. This cinnabar moth was fluttering around outside Iron Gate hut in the Ruahine range a few days after Christmas 2011.


[28 December 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 200, 1/50 at f5.6]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Dusk, Pohangina valley

We've had no appreciable rain for weeks now and everything's turning crisp. But the evenings are wonderful.

This was the view from my back door five evenings ago.The distant peak is Maharahara, the highest point on the southern Ruahine range.


[23 February 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 45 mm, ISO 200, 1/6 at f5.6]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Powelliphanta sp., Pohangina headwaters

On the last day of the whio survey in the Pohangina headwaters just before Christmas, we checked the uppermost reaches of the river. I picked a few rocks out of the river to see what sort of fauna was living there; Nathan had just started doing likewise when he found this beautiful native snail submerged in the stream. These Powelliphanta spp. are terrestrial animals, and if Nathan hadn't rescued it, it would surely have drowned.

We photographed it, then Nathan carefully placed it in patch of scrub where we trust it lived at least a little longer.

Apologies for the hiatus between postings. My ISP turned a simple change of plan into a fiasco that left me without a home Internet connection AND without a landline for 16 days. Normal service has resumed.


[19 December 2012, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 45 mm, ISO 400, 1/80 at f5.6] 


All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Track from Leon Kinvig hut to Ngamoko Range

The track from Leon Kinvig hut in the Pohangina headwaters to Toka on the Ngamoko Range begins on the far side of the river and immediately climbs steeply until it briefly levels out, here. Then it starts climbing again.

The photograph I posted a couple of weeks ago looks back down the track from this spot.


[7 January 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 200, 1/320 at f11]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Morning in the Pohangina headwaters

When we left Leon Kinvig hut for the steep climb out over the Ngamoko Range, mist still clung to the sides of the valley. Mornings like this in places like this make the heart sing.


[7 January 2013, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 200, 1/500 at f11]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor

Whio (male) at Leon Kinvig hut

When I photographed this male whio, the light had almost gone, but ISO 800 and some careful work in Lightroom rescued an otherwise very dark photograph. This is how you often see whio — at dusk, the edge of the water, the edge of the night.

I didn't know I'd see him again a few weeks later — that time accompanied by a female.



[17 December 2012, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 286 mm, ISO 800, 1/200 at f5.6. Grain added.]

All content © 2013 Pete McGregor