Hunting and Gathering in the Catlins

We race down the track at dusk, the morning light barely filtering through the thick bush. There are whoops and whistles, a tangible thrumming of excitement felt in the air. These kids are stoked to be out in the Aotearoa bush, breathing in fresh air, and away from the hustle and bustle of their town of Invercargill. I’m spending a week out here in the Catlins, located in the southern east tip of the South Island, the home of the powerful Māori woman who runs this rangatahi tumeke.

Every morning, the twenty of us rise from our sleeping bags, throw on some clothes, and hit the trail that leads to the ocean. The simple act of this routine is a practice in togetherness, and one of the many covert lessons this camp teaches these young Māori rangatahi (children). We run together, we eat together, we sing together, we fish together, and we lift each other up. It’s a special program I feel fortunate enough to participate in and also a reminder that spaces like this camp give kids the opportunity to grow and learn from both their community and their natural environment.

We spend most of our days hunting and gathering. Out in the water at low tide to gather kai moana (seafood) like pipi and crabs, standing at the mouth of a river hoping for a tug that would mean hooking a trout or crayfish, and waiting for some tuna (eel) to swim into our nets. What we gather, we cook on the stove or on the fire, a connection that you can’t really make when you’re buying these things in a grocery store. We head out on the waka (canoe), another practice in team work, it is a bit bumpy at first but slowly leads into a rhythmic lull that has everyone silently absorbing the experience. The sound of paddles dipping into the water soon becomes the only background noise.

At night, we all cosy up to the roaring fire, built by the steady hands of those that collected the firewood. Songs drift across the open room, from traditional melodies to more modern tracks. And like any camp, we sit around to tell ghost stories after playing a game of spotlight (hide and seek in the dark). Like many things in Aotearoa, the things we’ve done on camp reminds me of home. It is like I am transported back to my own childhood years, the ones I spent in the back of my home searching for strawberry guava and building tree forts out of ferns.

Time is nonexistent at this point and at the end of the week, it feels like I’ve been with everyone for at least a month. On the last day, goodbyes are said, plans are made between the kids to hang out in school, thank-yous were given to the aunties and uncles, and they’re off with their families. After the final goodbye, I am left with a sense of fulfillment. This week was a good reminder of how impactful these types of experiences are for younger generations, and even for myself. . .

On one of our days, my fingers dug into the sand, on the search for large pipi shells. We took just enough to make a stew back at base camp. I am reminded of the statement my mother always told me "only take what need and leave the rest for another day, another year".

At Dusk, we walked up one of the grassy hills to watch the sunset and to get a different view of the basking seal below the cliffs.