On the Lam in Paradise Story and Photos (unless otherwise noted) by Linda Cortright
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Deep in the mid-Canterbury mountains of New Zealand, a band of wayward woollies has been on the run for years at Winterslow, one of the oldest high country sheep stations still in operation. The only way to catch and save them is to take to the air.
avid Wightman is part of a dying breed. At a hail and hearty 63, he is witnessing the inevitable dissolution of a lifestyle that has defined the essence of New Zealand sheep farming for centuries—the life of a high country farmer. David’s family has owned Winterslow, one of the oldest high country sheep stations still in operation, since 1946. It encompasses 29,000 acres at the edge of the Canterbury Plains and in the shadow of Mt. Hutt. It is seemingly one of those few places in the world I have visited where the word “paradise” does not seem like hyperbole. Part of what drives David’s passion for Winterslow is the annual muster, the New Zealand version of an unimaginably massive sheep roundup. For many years the muster at Winterslow involved a sixteen-
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Wild Fibers Magazine
day journey on foot, scaling 5,000foot peaks in the rain and snow, and herding thousands of sheep that were completely keen on running in the opposite direction. Men talk about mustering in much the same way that fishermen puff up their chests about the one that got away, or car buffs shine up their fenders and brag about horsepower. The camaraderie between musterers is founded not only in physical endurance but also in gentlemanly respect. As I make the thirty-minute drive down the long dirt road into David’s home away from home, I understand with each bend in the road why this magical kingdom is such an inseparable part of David’s soul. What I do not realize is that in just a few short days it will also take root in mine. High country sheep stations are often not well understood outside
of New Zealand. Much of the South Island’s landscape is dominated by spectacular mountain ranges that rival the European Alps minus the tourist-trodden footprint. They are scarcely populated by humans, although well traversed by the millions of sheep who wander their slopes paying little mind to their wondrous surroundings. Yet as magnificent as they are in the summer, most high country stations are notoriously treacherous in the winter. I first met David several years ago when he took me to a Merino farm in Lake Tekapo owned by his friend John Simpson. Not only was it my first introduction to New Zealand farming, it was also where I first learned that Above: David Wightman, owner of Winterslow Station on New Zealand’s South Island. Opposite: Two rescued sheep from deep in the mountains of Winterslow Station.
