South Otago Pubs Ranked by How Scared I Am to be In Them

The Search For Identity, Manhood, and Belonging

An Experience by Hugh Askerud

Art by Dan Van Lith

Last month I cut my hair short. No longer was I the long-haired lad who sat reading Proust in the summer sun. Instead, I endeavoured to become the beer-guzzling, duck-shooting, rugby-loving, Southern man which my rugged short hair prescribed me to be. Yet how is it possible to make such a rapid transition in the throngs of studentville? I can’t be a deluded soft boy one minute and full on country boy in the next. Something had to happen; a trial by fire perhaps? There was only one obvious answer to my conundrum. I had to conquer the Southland pubs that scared me most, in a quest that would hopefully shape me into the ‘Southern Man’ I so desired to become. Thus, the decision was made. I would journey south to search for the scariest pub while asking myself the scariest question of all: what makes a man?

Owaka pub. What an institution. Walking in, you confront a bottle store linked to the entrance of the bar. The presence of the liquor store greatly diminished my fear upon entering, having reminded me of the comforts found in the hallowed halls of Leith Liquor. Venturing in, it became apparent that I had arrived far too early to see any of the duck-shooters who were likely still geared up in the middle of their paddocks. The crowd left behind were merry; the patriotic home-front, it seemed. All but one dilapidated gambler wore a smile. When queried about how his night was going, the pokie player gruffly replied, “The bloody machine’s broken,” before proceeding to have another go. Turns out the machine was actually broken! But alas, the fixing of the machine did little to improve the poor man’s luck. Overall, the Owaka pub was not nearly as scary as I had expected. I was brazen in my demeanour, though, chatting amicably, ordering a jug, and at one point brushing a man’s shoulder while playing pool, eek! The sense of fear I felt upon entering was quickly overwhelmed by a sense of joy provided by this quaint little burrow of civilization. My pool game was applauded by bored onlookers, and even the gruffest inhabitants didn’t seem to mind my flaunting. The Owaka pub also had a framed, signed petition stating, “We the people of the South prefer DB Draught to any other kind of beer.” The fact that over 200 people had signed that petition attests to the importance of the pub as a hub for the Owaka community, though it also made me reconsider ever buying Speight’s again.