On the Lam in Paradise

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.

Story and Photos (unless otherwise noted) by Linda Cortright

David 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.

David Wightman, owner of Winterslow Station on New Zealand’s South Island.

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 16 day journey on foot, scaling 5,000- foot 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.

A quizzical look from one of the ewes who must be wondering “What just happened?”

The word “muster” wasn’t always used in relation to soldiers. When David began talking about his annual musters and crews of five to seven men going up into the mountains for weeks at a time equipped with a handful of pack horses, 30 to 40 dogs, and thousands of sheep, I half thought to myself: There has to be a better way. Yet surely there is great appeal for some to spend time with their dogs in the wilderness, sleeping in huts, playing cards, and drinking a bit of whiskey when the day is done. Do I need to mention that mustering is not a women’s sport?

The new captives are awaitng the last leg of their jour-ney (by land!) to the farm.

How do you catch a sheep with a helicopter is the question I have asked myself countless times since I first learned about this mission less than three weeks ago. What David has explained is that the animals are so encumbered by their enormous fleeces that they simply can’t run very fast and so the heli-musterers are able to jump down and wrestle them on their sides with relatively little chase. Once they’ve been caught their feet are hog tied and the helicopter lowers a long rope with a hook and away they go.

The first sheep travels to a nearby plateau suspended upside down and surprisingly relaxed when she arrives.

Somehow I just know it isn’t going to be quite so simple.

Musterer Donald Greig takes a wild leap from the helicopter skid to capture one of the wayward woollies.