Queen Anne's Lace

Queen Anne's Lace (Wild carrot; Daucus carota) is a common weed around here. The intricacy and form of the flower heads fascinates me.

The dark object on the left of the flower head is the bum of a striped dung fly (Oxysarcodexia varia).

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Macrocarpas and rain

We've had plenty of rain in the valley lately, but it has its compensations—like the way it shows up these gnarly old macrocarpas.

[1/80 sec at f8, ISO 200]

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Honeybee on tarata

Spring is well under way here in the valley. The blossom on many of the fruit trees is well past its peak, new leaves are expanding on many of the deciduous trees, and this morning I watched a thrush gathering a bill-full of earthworms for its insatiably hungry young. I walked to the gate and, on the way back, stopped by a big tarata (lemonwood; Pittosporum eugenioides). The air was full of the sound of honeybees working the pale yellow-green flowers.

[1/800 sec at f4; ISO 320]

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Tui at the Pohangina Wetlands

Photographing tui on the Massey University campus among the cherry blossom is one thing, but photographing a tui feeding on the native kakabeak (kowhai ngutukaka) at the Pohangina Wetlands is another: somehow intrinsically more satisfying. I'm not entirely sure why. Perhaps photographing the Massey birds, which are habituated to constant human presence, seems too close to photographing animals in a zoo, or maybe the juxtaposition of a quintessentially New Zealand bird and a plant most closely associated with Japanese culture seems slightly contrived.

Of course, while kakabeak is a native plant, it's almost extinct in the wild, and if you see one it's almost certainly a cultivated plant.

[1/400 sec at f4, ISO 250]

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Korimako on kanuka

More korimako, I'm afraid, but I can't resist these marvellous little birds. On a heavily overcast, dull day, I prowled along the edge of the terrace and encountered this female korimako inspecting the bark of an old kanuka for tasty invertebrate morsels  —  a change of diet from the more usual tree lucerne nectar.

I loved the scratch and papery rustle of her little claws on the peeling bark as she spiralled up the trunk.

[1/200 sec at f4, ISO 320]

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Korimako in tree lucerne, Pohangina Valley

Korimako (NZ bellbird) can be frustratingly difficult to photograph. They move fast and often, and around here they're usually flitting about within dense foliage. To make matters worse, a bright background sky frequently creates an impossible range of contrast.

This female (instantly recognisable by the white stripe at the corner of her mouth) certainly didn't make it easy, but, of the three photographs I managed, this one turned out acceptable.

[1/1600 at f4, ISO 250]

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Late autumn, Pohangina valley

Less than a week to go until the official start of winter, and many of the deciduous trees have apparently not realised they're supposed to have shed their leaves. I don't mind, especially when a combination of an approaching thunderstorm and a little leftover sun produce this kind of picture. I was standing on my verandah when I photographed this.


[1/160 sec at f4, ISO 250]

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Autumn grasses

The cold of autumn has just started to become noticeable. But autumn has consolations, too, and the greatest of those is the light in the evenings.

[The poll about the blog format has closed. Opinions were divided exactly down the middle, and I've had thoughtful feedback supporting both formats. In the meantime, I'll leave the blog with the old, dark background. Thanks to everyone who provided feedback or voted.]

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Seedhead: late summer, late evening

We've had enough rain recently to avoid a drought, but still the late summer's turning the land to the colours of dry grass and dust. In a few months' time this photograph will be hard to believe, but maybe it'll help me through the cold short days. These fragments I have shored against my ruins.

To those who've given feedback on the changes to the blog, thank you. More feedback would be appreciated: you're welcome to email, leave a comment, or just vote in the poll below.

Update: I've reverted to the old, dark, blog settings to let you better assess your preference (ideally I'd offer both versions simultaneously, but that's not possible). Thanks for the feedback, and keep it coming — and lurkers, please vote ;-)

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

The No. 1 Line track

This is where the No. 1 Line track ends. Well, this is where DOC's maintenance of the track ends; the old track continues right through to Kiritaki hut on the other side of the Ruahine Range, but that's negotiable thanks to the efforts of volunteers from the local tramping club.

This is a panorama stitched from three photographs. I originally stitched six together, but realised it was pointless when viewed on a computer monitor. A print running most of the length of a room would be a different story.

All content © 2016 Pete McGregor

Hover fly on Wahlenbergia, No. 1 Line track

On the No. 1 Line track this afternoon I'd stopped to photograph a sun orchid but its flowers remained closed despite occasional periods of sun. Who'd have thought flowers can get grumpy? But a few tiny Wahlenbergia flowers remained resolutely open, and I'd noticed this hover fly (Melangyna novaezelandiae) making repeated visits to this flower, so I waited until I was rewarded with this photograph.

The official common name for M. novaezelandiae is 'Large hover fly'. 'Large', needless to say, is something of an overstatement (I guess it's just to distinguish it from the 'Small hover fly', Melanostoma fasciatum).

All content © 2015 Pete McGregor

Melia at dusk, Pohangina Valley

All around the valley the farmers have been making hay even when the sun hasn't been shining. The hill between my place and the southern Ruahine Range has an intriguing pattern, but this evening at dusk it was the bead tree that drew my eye. I've photographed this many times before but can't resist its allure. This time I decided to give the photograph a different kind of feel — something to reflect how I was feeling. Something, I hope, to make you pause.

All content © 2015 Pete McGregor

View from the top seat, No. 1 Line track

Yesterday, after the rain had eased and before it threatened to set in again, I did a quick walk up the No. 1 Line track. I didn't stay long enough at the top seat to brew tea, but I did set up the tripod and experimented with some photographs.

Fine weather's, ... well, fine, I suppose, but weather like this offers more interesting opportunities for photographing. As usual, I felt hugely grateful to have such convenient access to a place like this.

The yellowish-orange plant is mountain horopito (Pseudowintera colorata), the bright green plant is haumakaroa (Raukaua simplex). Both are among the most common shrubs in this altitudinal zone.

All content © 2015 Pete McGregor

Clematis time in the Ruahine

Many of New Zealand's native flowers are small and nondescript, even though they have their own kind of restrained beauty. A few, though, are eye-catching, like the native Clematis, which flowers profusely at this time of year in the Ruahine.

All content © 2015 Pete McGregor

Wineberry

Many of the plants along the No. 1 Line track are flowering now, but it was this wineberry (Aristotelia serrata) seedling that particularly caught my eye this afternoon.

All content © 2015 Pete McGregor

Moss drop

I'd stopped to search the overcast sky for the falcon I'd heard calling around the top of the No. 1 Line track late this afternoon. No luck, although just hearing these marvellous birds and knowing they were so close was lucky enough.

Then I got distracted by some pixie cup lichens growing on the long-fallen, overgrown tree stump on which I'd been standing. As I photographed the lichens I realised the stump also had a profuse growth of beret lichens, and as I photographed those, I noticed this tiny tuft of moss caught in a water drop and suspended from a line of spider silk. The more you look, the more you see.

(P.S. If, like me, you can see at least one face in this drop, you might be interested in this article, which discusses pareidolia.)

[Update, 20 Oct. 2015: I published another post on Pohanginapete this morning: An hour upon the stage. It's long (about 3500 words), so allow plenty of time if you're interested enough to read it.]

All content © 2015 Pete McGregor

Foxglove

The foxgloves have begun to bolt. They're strikingly graphic plants at most stages of their life history and, even though they're considered weeds, I'd think the place poorer if they weren't here. So too would the bumblebees.

All content © 2015 Pete McGregor

Evening detail, Pohangina Valley

The lower North Island's being flooded right now. I'm O.K. up here on the terrace, even though the ground's completely waterlogged and some large areas of ponding have developed. If this rain keeps up, the already massively swollen Pohangina River will probably flood the river flats and there's a slight chance the road might close. That won't affect me, because I can hunker down, stay put, read, write, brew tea, and not go anywhere. Others won't be so lucky.

But a few days ago we had a brief spell of brilliant weather, and an evening like this.


[If you're interested, I have a new post over on Pohanginapete: The No. 1 Line hare.]

All content © 2015 Pete McGregor

The last leaves of autumn

Over the last few days we've had tremendous winds, along with drizzly rain interspersed with brief,  torrential downpours. Last night the house shook and I wondered whether the new verandah roof would go the way the old one went last year. It proved up to the task, though, and the house came through unscathed. This afternoon, needing time outside, I braved the gale and took the camera for a walk. Surprisingly, not all autumn's leaves had been ripped from the trees.

All content © 2015 Pete McGregor

Early morning apple tree

This morning threatened rain (and eventually delivered on the threat), but for a few seconds — maybe less than a minute — a low shaft of sunlight stretched out and lit the old apple tree near the edge of the terrace. I grabbed the camera, stepped out onto the verandah and managed a single photograph.

Then the sunlight faded and the valley turned dark again.

All content © 2015 Pete McGregor