Little Auks

After what seems like an eternity, I’ve managed to reach the colony of little auks. More than once, my feet had slipped on the treacherous terrain of broken boulders that lead up the steep slope. But at last, I’m here.

They are nervous birds and scare easily. I have to swap to my long lens because I cannot get near enough. It doesn’t take long for me to get frustrated with the speed and agility of these tiny birds against the cumbersome weight of my big telephoto. I swap back to a shorter lens, resigning myself to the fact that I won’t get the close-up I seek.

But my luck changes.

An arctic fox is picking their way through the rubble along the slope. In a flurry of activity, a section of the colony leap into the sky and race down the hill, veering sharply as they reach the water and then back up. Once, twice and then a third circuit before they resettle in their rookery.

It is enough to dissuade the fox here and as it moves to another part of the colony, the same occurs with another group of dovekies. I quietly sit, watching how narrowly they skim the broken surface of the jagged outcrops, wondering if they’ll strike them if they’re careless. Their nimble forms negotiate the obstacles with consummate ease. I feel very fortunate to witness their everyday.

Mt Ngauruhoe

In the early evening light at the base of Mt Ruapehu, it looks far more sinister than I was expecting. Tendrils of cloud cling desperately to its surface, giving the impression that the mountain is ready to speak. Despite its dormancy, Ngauruhoe inspires trepidation.

As part of a large expanse of volcanic terrain, it is unusual for the symmetry of its cone. The surrounding mountains have been torn asunder by the ferocity of blasts in histories past. However, for this infant structure, its time to tyrannically dominate the landscape is yet to come. While it waits, it is content to silently hide in the pink hues that dusk paints across its ashen peak.

 In this still and gorgeous light, its hostile charisma is unnerving. I am hypnotised and not surprised that it was used to portray the much-feared Mount Doom in The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Perhaps, even now, it is watching me.

At the Gem Festival

“C’mon,” he beckons. She shrugs and hides sheepishly behind the felt brim of her new hat. “I’m sure you’ve had tougher rides,” he teases. She giggles at the innuendo and her friends begin to cajole.
“What’s the go?” She takes half a step forward. He holds out his hand and calls her over with a nod.
“Climb up, and hang on. Nothing to it.”
“Are you sure I’m not going to come a cropper?” By now, she has covered the distance between them. Skilfully, he helps her up in a single motion as he answers.
“Just fall toward the mattresses, and not the street,” he smiles. “Besides, you’re in Quilpie, what could go wrong?”

Friends hoot as the mechanical bull starts to gently roll. Awkwardly at first, she quickly finds her centre and counteracts its motion. “That’s the way, Love. Now let’s see how you go.” Almost as soon as he finishes the sentence, the beast bucks her high. Her expression reflects the surprise, but the hollering of her friends quickly returns the smile to her face.

It gets faster, and more unpredictable. She squeezes her legs hard against the leather of the saddle and conquers its rhythm. Her smile continues to broaden.

There is much applause as she dismounts and staggers back over to her friends, her balance thrown by the ride. He turns to the group, and while adjusting one of the mattresses with a kick, challenges them to beat her. There are no takers, and they wander off in a cacophony of amused chatter.

The showman laughs after them, content in the knowledge they have enjoyed the spectacle. With a practiced eye, he begins to search for another group he can engage.