Somewhat desperate for consistent work, we started working as telemarketers in a call center. Our job was to call Australians and try to convince them to meet with one of our consultants to discuss purchasing investment property. Rachel and I spent a few days in college calling people in Dallas inviting them to an investment meeting on behalf of an investment company. It was brutal and left us feeling dejected and annoying each night after interrupting hundreds of family dinners. Our telemarketing in Queenstown made our Dallas experience seem like a breeze. The system in Queenstown was much more high tech and automatically dialed up to 75 calls per hour for 5 hours a day. We both got some pretty interesting rejections, but it was fun to laugh about with each other in between. I was terrible and got 0 meetings booked (that’s almost 2000 rejections). In all likelihood, I would have been fired during my second week because I was so bad. Instead of trying to counter someone’s disinterest like I was taught, I usually just told them to have a great night. Rachel, however, was much better and made at least 3 bookings (so much harder than it sounds). She also had a fun call when she was patched through to a man turning 86 years old. Rachel followed the script, “Hi, this is Rachel calling from Future First…” The man didn’t hear anything after “This is Rachel” and thought his granddaughter, also named Rachel, had called to wish him Happy Birthday. He was so excited that Rachel needed a couple minutes to calm him down and explain she wasn’t his granddaughter, but she wished him a very happy birthday anyway.
My dry spell with job searching changed mid-week and Rachel’s changed shortly after. I got a job up in the restaurant on The Remarkables - one of the major ski mountains on the South Island. The people I work with are young and most are traveling in NZ just like us. Days off and some very long lunch breaks are spent skiing on the mountains. It’s good fun, fast paced, and I’m getting to ski more than I ever have before.
The most exciting news is Rachel just heard back from her top job choice today. The clothing and lifestyle brand, Billabong, is opening a new store in Queenstown on September 4th and Rachel was chosen to be the new STORE MANAGER! She starts work tomorrow and is very exciting about her new role.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
WWOOFing at HIBURN Farm
The Hosts:
The Otago region was largely settled by Scottish immigrants chasing the 1860’s gold rush. Once the gold dried up, the Scots put their farming skills from back home to use. The terrain was similar to Scotland and raising sheep for wool in addition to other animals came easily.
My hosts, Jack and Claire, are both descendents of the early Scotch miners and took up farming 30 years ago after he grew tired of the trucking business he created. Jack is a true Southern Man with a rugged appearance including bushy sideburns and ridiculously untamed eyebrows.
Because of the large Scottish background in the area, they frequently share their heritage with fellow descendent farmers. Jack and Claire’s biggest extracurricular and social activity is curling, which is originally a Scottish sport. The local curling club owns a small pond on the edge of Jack’s property, which is neatly tucked away in a valley so it receives no sunlight during the winter. Checking the thickness of the ice and informing all members is a morning ritual for Jack. It is a perfect location for hosting curling matches and it is the only pond in NZ that can accommodate a bonspiel, or a round-robin curling tournament between all eight area clubs. The curling club hosted a Scottish themed fundraiser on Saturday which featured a haggis ceremony, Scottish dances, and a complete bagpipe ensemble. I joined in for a few dances and especially enjoyed Jack’s reciting of Robert Burns’ Ode to the Haggis.
I was also lucky enough to participate in a curling match on Monday, which takes several hours and includes several tea breaks in between the constant sipping of Scotch whisky (They prefer Famous Grouse). Curling is known as ‘The Roaring Game,’ not because the players become roaring drunk after all the whisky, but rather the sound the 40lb stones make when gliding across the ice. Curling is actually very similar to bocce ball, so it was relatively easy to pick up, although the addition of brooms and sweeping the ice added a new element.
The Work:
I arrived to the farm at 9am last Thursday and immediately hopped into Jack’s tractor and we were off to feed part of their 2200 Merino sheep and 200 red deer. I was amazed at the ease of some of the tasks that must have taken hundreds of hours longer just 20 years ago. There is a machine to do everything. Feeding 12 tons of hay took just over 1.5 hours with plenty of travel time in between the different paddocks. We finished just in time for the morning tea break, or smoko.
After smoko, Jack got out a couple of his champion sheep dogs to bring in some sheep suffering from hoof rot. (Merino sheep are rugged animals and usually live in very dry environments. Otago has received a lot of rain this winter and their hooves aren’t wearing down properly in the mud, so the hooves have grown too long and make walking so painful that many can’t move to eat. Our job was to bring in the sheep and clip their hooves as necessary – basically like clipping toe nails. Watching them struggle to walk around on their knees was heartbreaking, so I was glad to help.) Jack has won a number of regional and national sheep dog titles and watching him work the dogs has been one of my favorite parts on the farm. Jack uses two types of dogs: the Border collie, which chases and corners to move the sheep. And the NZ Huntaway, which herds sheep by barking. (The Huntaway was the main breed used at the Speight’s Dog Derby and Dog Barking competitions during the Queenstown Winter Festival, so the history of the Dog Barking event is more obvious now.)
He let the dogs out and yelled a couple of incomprehensible words and the dogs sprinted out of site. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but before I could ask, the dogs were bringing back a flock of 75+ sheep. Jack kept whistling and speaking some weird tongue as the dogs carefully brought them directly into the pen where we were standing. I asked what he was saying to the dogs and he smiled as his Scottish roots shone through: he’s trained all of his dogs to understand Gaelic. Another funny thing is the naming of his dogs. Not your usual pet names, but I suppose they are more co-workers than pets: Norm, Ned, Hugh, Glen, Sam, and Bess. He told me that the names needed to be easy to shout repeatedly and that ‘Rock’ is a horrible name for a sheep dog because it has trouble escaping the mouth.
Once we had all the sheep in the pen, they needed to walk single file up a ramp where they walked into a pneumatic device that is essentially a giant Venus flytrap. Once they were in position, Jack pressed a button that quickly but softly clamped the sheep and flipped it on its side. Once the sheep was on its side, it was quite relaxed and Jack gave them a well deserved pedicure to make their feet as good as new. My job, meanwhile, was to stand in a puddle of mud at the bottom of the ramp and encourage the sheep to get in line. Sheep are the sweetest and most docile creatures I’ve come across, but they are incredibly stupid which makes it hard to help them. I used my knees to push them, a long stick to jab them, and occasionally grab the whole animal and toss it onto the ramp. I was timid at first, afraid of hurting them, but they didn’t seem to mind and didn’t put up much of a struggle when forced. One thing I learned very quickly is that while this is just a fun experience for me, it is Jack and Claire’s livelihood and they need to get business done quickly. I still don’t have the heart to whack, shove, and drag the sheep like they do, but I do understand the animals more and can move them more effectively.
In between sheep, Jack told me to take a look at their wool. I’ve always thought Merino’s wool looked like dreadlocks due to its clumpy and nappy texture. Jack told me to spread the outer layer and look further down. I was amazed because the first inch of fleece is mangy and stiff, but after that it is snow white and incredibly soft. This became my new favorite activity while lining them up – checking the whiteness and softness of their fleece.
He explained the shearing process, which will occur at the end of August. They have three shearers come in for a week and each worker shears about 300 sheep each day. The individual fleeces are put on a table where Claire determines the color, thickness, strength, and softness. She puts each fleece into one of five bins based on these factors; then they get shipped out to the factories for cleaning and production.
In fact, we had to shear a few sickly sheep. It was funny to watch them transform from a fat, grubby looking animal into a skinny and snow-white one. Claire said some of them get a new lease on life once sheared; the next day two of them were very lively and returned to their pastures
As I mentioned above, the farm is Jack and Claire’s business and they’ve been around these animals for years. One thing I haven’t adjusted to is the frequent deaths of animals and their unceremonious disposal. Jack told me, “Wherever you have live animals, you will also have dead animals.” I won’t go into detail, but I guess there is a reason they don’t name all 2200 sheep and 200 deer and claim them as pets. Actually, that isn’t quite true; after working alongside Jack for over a week, I’ve learned that all the farm animals do have a name…Bastard.
It has been a great experience and I’m glad I was able to spend 10 days out here. My hands are blistered, bloody, and stained brown from mud, plus I think I have tendonitis in my arm from opening and closing the tractor door over 100 times a day (literally), but this is one of my fondest memories of NZ.
The Otago region was largely settled by Scottish immigrants chasing the 1860’s gold rush. Once the gold dried up, the Scots put their farming skills from back home to use. The terrain was similar to Scotland and raising sheep for wool in addition to other animals came easily.
My hosts, Jack and Claire, are both descendents of the early Scotch miners and took up farming 30 years ago after he grew tired of the trucking business he created. Jack is a true Southern Man with a rugged appearance including bushy sideburns and ridiculously untamed eyebrows.
Because of the large Scottish background in the area, they frequently share their heritage with fellow descendent farmers. Jack and Claire’s biggest extracurricular and social activity is curling, which is originally a Scottish sport. The local curling club owns a small pond on the edge of Jack’s property, which is neatly tucked away in a valley so it receives no sunlight during the winter. Checking the thickness of the ice and informing all members is a morning ritual for Jack. It is a perfect location for hosting curling matches and it is the only pond in NZ that can accommodate a bonspiel, or a round-robin curling tournament between all eight area clubs. The curling club hosted a Scottish themed fundraiser on Saturday which featured a haggis ceremony, Scottish dances, and a complete bagpipe ensemble. I joined in for a few dances and especially enjoyed Jack’s reciting of Robert Burns’ Ode to the Haggis.
I was also lucky enough to participate in a curling match on Monday, which takes several hours and includes several tea breaks in between the constant sipping of Scotch whisky (They prefer Famous Grouse). Curling is known as ‘The Roaring Game,’ not because the players become roaring drunk after all the whisky, but rather the sound the 40lb stones make when gliding across the ice. Curling is actually very similar to bocce ball, so it was relatively easy to pick up, although the addition of brooms and sweeping the ice added a new element.
The Work:
I arrived to the farm at 9am last Thursday and immediately hopped into Jack’s tractor and we were off to feed part of their 2200 Merino sheep and 200 red deer. I was amazed at the ease of some of the tasks that must have taken hundreds of hours longer just 20 years ago. There is a machine to do everything. Feeding 12 tons of hay took just over 1.5 hours with plenty of travel time in between the different paddocks. We finished just in time for the morning tea break, or smoko.
After smoko, Jack got out a couple of his champion sheep dogs to bring in some sheep suffering from hoof rot. (Merino sheep are rugged animals and usually live in very dry environments. Otago has received a lot of rain this winter and their hooves aren’t wearing down properly in the mud, so the hooves have grown too long and make walking so painful that many can’t move to eat. Our job was to bring in the sheep and clip their hooves as necessary – basically like clipping toe nails. Watching them struggle to walk around on their knees was heartbreaking, so I was glad to help.) Jack has won a number of regional and national sheep dog titles and watching him work the dogs has been one of my favorite parts on the farm. Jack uses two types of dogs: the Border collie, which chases and corners to move the sheep. And the NZ Huntaway, which herds sheep by barking. (The Huntaway was the main breed used at the Speight’s Dog Derby and Dog Barking competitions during the Queenstown Winter Festival, so the history of the Dog Barking event is more obvious now.)
He let the dogs out and yelled a couple of incomprehensible words and the dogs sprinted out of site. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but before I could ask, the dogs were bringing back a flock of 75+ sheep. Jack kept whistling and speaking some weird tongue as the dogs carefully brought them directly into the pen where we were standing. I asked what he was saying to the dogs and he smiled as his Scottish roots shone through: he’s trained all of his dogs to understand Gaelic. Another funny thing is the naming of his dogs. Not your usual pet names, but I suppose they are more co-workers than pets: Norm, Ned, Hugh, Glen, Sam, and Bess. He told me that the names needed to be easy to shout repeatedly and that ‘Rock’ is a horrible name for a sheep dog because it has trouble escaping the mouth.
Once we had all the sheep in the pen, they needed to walk single file up a ramp where they walked into a pneumatic device that is essentially a giant Venus flytrap. Once they were in position, Jack pressed a button that quickly but softly clamped the sheep and flipped it on its side. Once the sheep was on its side, it was quite relaxed and Jack gave them a well deserved pedicure to make their feet as good as new. My job, meanwhile, was to stand in a puddle of mud at the bottom of the ramp and encourage the sheep to get in line. Sheep are the sweetest and most docile creatures I’ve come across, but they are incredibly stupid which makes it hard to help them. I used my knees to push them, a long stick to jab them, and occasionally grab the whole animal and toss it onto the ramp. I was timid at first, afraid of hurting them, but they didn’t seem to mind and didn’t put up much of a struggle when forced. One thing I learned very quickly is that while this is just a fun experience for me, it is Jack and Claire’s livelihood and they need to get business done quickly. I still don’t have the heart to whack, shove, and drag the sheep like they do, but I do understand the animals more and can move them more effectively.
In between sheep, Jack told me to take a look at their wool. I’ve always thought Merino’s wool looked like dreadlocks due to its clumpy and nappy texture. Jack told me to spread the outer layer and look further down. I was amazed because the first inch of fleece is mangy and stiff, but after that it is snow white and incredibly soft. This became my new favorite activity while lining them up – checking the whiteness and softness of their fleece.
He explained the shearing process, which will occur at the end of August. They have three shearers come in for a week and each worker shears about 300 sheep each day. The individual fleeces are put on a table where Claire determines the color, thickness, strength, and softness. She puts each fleece into one of five bins based on these factors; then they get shipped out to the factories for cleaning and production.
In fact, we had to shear a few sickly sheep. It was funny to watch them transform from a fat, grubby looking animal into a skinny and snow-white one. Claire said some of them get a new lease on life once sheared; the next day two of them were very lively and returned to their pastures
As I mentioned above, the farm is Jack and Claire’s business and they’ve been around these animals for years. One thing I haven’t adjusted to is the frequent deaths of animals and their unceremonious disposal. Jack told me, “Wherever you have live animals, you will also have dead animals.” I won’t go into detail, but I guess there is a reason they don’t name all 2200 sheep and 200 deer and claim them as pets. Actually, that isn’t quite true; after working alongside Jack for over a week, I’ve learned that all the farm animals do have a name…Bastard.
It has been a great experience and I’m glad I was able to spend 10 days out here. My hands are blistered, bloody, and stained brown from mud, plus I think I have tendonitis in my arm from opening and closing the tractor door over 100 times a day (literally), but this is one of my fondest memories of NZ.
Monday, July 27, 2009
short update from the farm
Things on the farm are very interesting and fun. The area is unbelievably beautiful sitting alongside the Southern Alps. I've mostly been working 8-9 hours a day, which is far more than WWOOF expects, but I don't mind at all. The accommodation is listed as 'comfortable'...and I'm sure it is perfect in the summer. It is a small hut with no insulation and the only heat comes from a small space heater plugged into a single outlet. I can see my breath within 15minutes of unplugging the heater. My computer only runs on a/c power these days, so I am forced to choose between staying warm or typing. I usually choose warmth. However, I'm making headway on the activities I've been up to and I hope to post it tomorrow.
In the meantime, here are some ads that will give you a glimpse into my daily life...Basically, I'm attending the Great Southern Finishing School
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tLIKeupkYQg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47AksKNnbQQ
In the meantime, here are some ads that will give you a glimpse into my daily life...Basically, I'm attending the Great Southern Finishing School
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tLIKeupkYQg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47AksKNnbQQ
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
gone WWOOFing
headed WWOOFing again. here is the description from the guide:
Description: Merino sheep and red deer. Hay making, general farm work and maintenance.
General Information: Rugged and interesting area 10 minutes from Cromwell. Irrigation and hill country, rabbit shooting, top working sheepdogs. We enjoy sharing our lifestyle with visitors. Comfortable accommodation.
I told the head housekeeper (a Brazilian with mediocre English) that I was leaving to go work on a sheep farm. He smiled and softly asked, "Are you going to kill the sheep?" I frowned and said, "I hope not; I was just hoping to get lucky and shave a sheep." I never even thought that killing sheep might be part of the work, but the farm is located on Slaughter Road... I really hope I don't have to kill anything, but I suppose I won't be as surprised if it comes up.
I'll let you know how it goes, but it sounds interesting.
Description: Merino sheep and red deer. Hay making, general farm work and maintenance.
General Information: Rugged and interesting area 10 minutes from Cromwell. Irrigation and hill country, rabbit shooting, top working sheepdogs. We enjoy sharing our lifestyle with visitors. Comfortable accommodation.
I told the head housekeeper (a Brazilian with mediocre English) that I was leaving to go work on a sheep farm. He smiled and softly asked, "Are you going to kill the sheep?" I frowned and said, "I hope not; I was just hoping to get lucky and shave a sheep." I never even thought that killing sheep might be part of the work, but the farm is located on Slaughter Road... I really hope I don't have to kill anything, but I suppose I won't be as surprised if it comes up.
I'll let you know how it goes, but it sounds interesting.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Flashback to Rotorua - Maori Experience
We mentioned earlier that Rotorua has an incredible amount of geothermal activity and the year-round warmth attracted Maori tribes upon their discovery of New Zealand. There is still a strong Maori presence, which have encouraged numerous “Maori Experience” programs designed to help understand the culture, legends, and people. They also include a hangi – a traditional Maori meal, which is baked in an underground oven.
The Maori experience started in the evening and we both had the day off work, so we drove 2hrs north to the Bay of Plenty to the hot and sunny beaches of Tauranga and Mt. Maunganui (aka The Mount). Tauranga is on the verge of breaking into the top 4 or 5 cities for population, so while it only has about 115,000 people the traffic was chaotic and stressful compared to the leisurely pace in Taupo. I was pretty tense until we arrived at the beautiful beaches of Mt. Maunganui. Tauranga and The Mount are like a micro version of the DFW metroplex – they are about 4 miles apart and eventually merged into one metropolitan area.
The Mount gets its name from the extinct volcano, which abruptly shoots up from the beach and provides a wonderful vantage point for looking over the Bay and landscape beyond. Before hiking to the top, Rachel and I grabbed some lunch at a beachfront café. The sand was white and the break made for a perfect surfing day. (We hope to get a day of surfing in when traveling back to Auckland next February.)
After a 45 min hike to the top, we had some pretty outstanding views of the beaches below, islands in the bay, and the deep green forests inland..JPG)
After descending from the Mount, we hopped in the car and drove an hour south to Rotorua for our evening of fun and learning.
We were welcomed to the marae (a Maori tribe meeting ground) by the sound of distant beating drums hidden somewhere in the native bush. We walked into the main tent where our hosts seated us and we were told what to expect throughout the evening.
After introductions, they led us down to the stream where the iwi’s (tribe) warriors arrived in the ornately carved wooden canoe. Their faces were focused and brutal with their hard-earned and unique moko. (A moko is a facial tattoo which has several meaningful depictions overlaid and it shows your status within the tribe) Rachel and I have seen several people in public with moko; it is quite startling and it is no wonder the European settlers were afraid of the Maori men…and women. I’m not sure of the actual meaning, but the women’s moko resembles blood dripping from their mouth.
The Maori experience started in the evening and we both had the day off work, so we drove 2hrs north to the Bay of Plenty to the hot and sunny beaches of Tauranga and Mt. Maunganui (aka The Mount). Tauranga is on the verge of breaking into the top 4 or 5 cities for population, so while it only has about 115,000 people the traffic was chaotic and stressful compared to the leisurely pace in Taupo. I was pretty tense until we arrived at the beautiful beaches of Mt. Maunganui. Tauranga and The Mount are like a micro version of the DFW metroplex – they are about 4 miles apart and eventually merged into one metropolitan area.
The Mount gets its name from the extinct volcano, which abruptly shoots up from the beach and provides a wonderful vantage point for looking over the Bay and landscape beyond. Before hiking to the top, Rachel and I grabbed some lunch at a beachfront café. The sand was white and the break made for a perfect surfing day. (We hope to get a day of surfing in when traveling back to Auckland next February.)
After a 45 min hike to the top, we had some pretty outstanding views of the beaches below, islands in the bay, and the deep green forests inland.
.JPG)
After descending from the Mount, we hopped in the car and drove an hour south to Rotorua for our evening of fun and learning.
We were welcomed to the marae (a Maori tribe meeting ground) by the sound of distant beating drums hidden somewhere in the native bush. We walked into the main tent where our hosts seated us and we were told what to expect throughout the evening.
After introductions, they led us down to the stream where the iwi’s (tribe) warriors arrived in the ornately carved wooden canoe. Their faces were focused and brutal with their hard-earned and unique moko. (A moko is a facial tattoo which has several meaningful depictions overlaid and it shows your status within the tribe) Rachel and I have seen several people in public with moko; it is quite startling and it is no wonder the European settlers were afraid of the Maori men…and women. I’m not sure of the actual meaning, but the women’s moko resembles blood dripping from their mouth.
After the warriors landed their canoe and ran off, we headed to an outdoor theater, which was set up as a tiny marae with all the huts and buildings of a village. They showed us the traditional welcome, which was seen on the latest series of The Amazing Race when they visited NZ. The hongi, a touching of the noses creates a spiritual and physical bond.
The group performed several songs and traditional dances in between discussing the history of their people. They showed us arts and crafts and how the flax plant played an integral role in making things from ropes to clothing to fishing nets and hunting devices.
One of the most talked about and exciting parts of the night was the performance of the haka, or the Maori war dance. ('ha' means 'breath'; 'ka' means 'on fire') It is extremely passionate and therefore extremely frightening, especially if you were about to engage them in battle. The national rugby team, the All Blacks perform the haka before every competition as well, which undoubtedly leaves the opposing team more than a little unnerved. The most common haka translates to:
One of the most talked about and exciting parts of the night was the performance of the haka, or the Maori war dance. ('ha' means 'breath'; 'ka' means 'on fire') It is extremely passionate and therefore extremely frightening, especially if you were about to engage them in battle. The national rugby team, the All Blacks perform the haka before every competition as well, which undoubtedly leaves the opposing team more than a little unnerved. The most common haka translates to:
It is death! It is death!
It is life! It is life!
This is the hairy man who caused the sun to shine
Keep abreast!
The rank! Hold Fast!
Into the sun that shines!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BoNmpvkavo
It is life! It is life!
This is the hairy man who caused the sun to shine
Keep abreast!
The rank! Hold Fast!
Into the sun that shines!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BoNmpvkavo
The All Blacks haka: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3o0pv6k37yE
The next part of the evening was the hangi. We walked by it earlier in the evening and caught the aroma of the chicken, pork, lamb, potatoes, and kumaras (NZ sweet potatoes) cooking in the natural underground oven. The meal included many more sides and treats, but the traditional hangi usually consists of the aforementioned items.
Once we’d finished eating, they took on a nighttime walk through the native bush. Our guide told more Maori legends and history from the area. One of the most fascinating parts of the walk was his lesson on NZ ferns. The national emblem for NZ is the silver fern, but there are over 150 different species of fern in NZ. He flashed his light up to the underside of the silver fern and it shone brightly back. He explained that his people actually used upside silver fern leaves to light their path on night excursion. (Rachel and I tried it a few weeks ago at night and were surprised at how well it works.)
Afterwards, we thanked our hosts and bid farewell to the sulphuric smells of Rotorua and headed home to Taupo.
Once we’d finished eating, they took on a nighttime walk through the native bush. Our guide told more Maori legends and history from the area. One of the most fascinating parts of the walk was his lesson on NZ ferns. The national emblem for NZ is the silver fern, but there are over 150 different species of fern in NZ. He flashed his light up to the underside of the silver fern and it shone brightly back. He explained that his people actually used upside silver fern leaves to light their path on night excursion. (Rachel and I tried it a few weeks ago at night and were surprised at how well it works.)
Afterwards, we thanked our hosts and bid farewell to the sulphuric smells of Rotorua and headed home to Taupo.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Speight's Dog Derby
The Queenstown Winter Festival ends today and it has created a really fun and lively vibe around town. I’m sad that it’s over, but there are still tons of events on the calendar. I had a little more freedom than Rachel to volunteer at some of the events up on the mountain. My favorite activity of the festival was the Speight’s Dog Derby. Speight’s is a brand of beer made in the south of NZ and their ads are reminiscent of the old Marlboro cigarette ads. Southern NZ and its inhabitants have a reputation for being extremely hardy. Speight’s beer and the Dog Derby caters to these hardy southern farmers.
Over one hundred farmers and their hard-working dogs showed up to the base of the ski mountain in their torn and tattered work clothes, as if they cut their morning work short to make it up to the mountain in time for the event. I found out later that this event served as an annual reunion for all the southern farmers, and after the day’s event they’d spend the rest of the afternoon and evening catching up at the Speight’s Ale House.
While their owners registered for the Dog Derby, the hundred or so dogs ran around marking and re-marking everything in the area, including a box of contestant t-shirts, my backpack, and a couple human legs. Once all the dogs had their numbered vests on, the chaos was ready to begin.
The Dog Derby had all 100 contestants and their dogs ride the chairlift to the summit of the ski mountain. The race started with all 200 bodies running, sliding, flailing, rolling, and tumbling down the mountain at breakneck speeds (taking out several oblivious skiers). Upon reaching the base, the owner has to stay out and instruct his dog to run 50m up the hill to a checkpoint before turning around and running back to owner. I was a judge for the finish and was told it was going to be hard, but nothing could prepare me for it.
The first few dogs and owners absolutely flew down the mountain and it was easy to track the dogs’ progress as they started creeping up the hill. However, before the first dog made it to the top, all 100 dogs were zig zagging across the hill. Keep in mind that 95% of these dogs are all basically the same breed of sheep dog and it was impossible to tell if a dog made it to the top and was on its way back down, or if it was just wandering aimlessly confused by all the whistling, calling, and barking.)
The main judges hoped that we’d be able to get accurate results approximately 30 deep, but it was hopeless. After deliberation with the other four judges, we managed to pick just the three top finishers.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wR7RdJUD3vY
After the awards for the race down the mountain, they held the Dog Barking contest, which wasn’t nearly as exciting, but still worth mentioning. They had each dog get on a hay bale and try to bark the loudest or most unique. The funniest part was watching the normally large and proud sheep dogs nervously walk up to the bale and cower. The large audience laughing (and the sea of dogs barking their disapproval) didn’t help the stage fright. If the dog couldn’t bark under the pressure and eyes of its fellow colleagues, then the solemn farmer had to climb up on the bale and bark.
Anyway, it ended up being a really fun event and I’m glass I was thrown on that volunteer crew last minute. The festival concludes today with the annual rail jam and fireworks up on the mountain.
Hope everyone had a Happy 4th of July!
Over one hundred farmers and their hard-working dogs showed up to the base of the ski mountain in their torn and tattered work clothes, as if they cut their morning work short to make it up to the mountain in time for the event. I found out later that this event served as an annual reunion for all the southern farmers, and after the day’s event they’d spend the rest of the afternoon and evening catching up at the Speight’s Ale House.
While their owners registered for the Dog Derby, the hundred or so dogs ran around marking and re-marking everything in the area, including a box of contestant t-shirts, my backpack, and a couple human legs. Once all the dogs had their numbered vests on, the chaos was ready to begin.
The Dog Derby had all 100 contestants and their dogs ride the chairlift to the summit of the ski mountain. The race started with all 200 bodies running, sliding, flailing, rolling, and tumbling down the mountain at breakneck speeds (taking out several oblivious skiers). Upon reaching the base, the owner has to stay out and instruct his dog to run 50m up the hill to a checkpoint before turning around and running back to owner. I was a judge for the finish and was told it was going to be hard, but nothing could prepare me for it.
The first few dogs and owners absolutely flew down the mountain and it was easy to track the dogs’ progress as they started creeping up the hill. However, before the first dog made it to the top, all 100 dogs were zig zagging across the hill. Keep in mind that 95% of these dogs are all basically the same breed of sheep dog and it was impossible to tell if a dog made it to the top and was on its way back down, or if it was just wandering aimlessly confused by all the whistling, calling, and barking.)
The main judges hoped that we’d be able to get accurate results approximately 30 deep, but it was hopeless. After deliberation with the other four judges, we managed to pick just the three top finishers.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wR7RdJUD3vY
After the awards for the race down the mountain, they held the Dog Barking contest, which wasn’t nearly as exciting, but still worth mentioning. They had each dog get on a hay bale and try to bark the loudest or most unique. The funniest part was watching the normally large and proud sheep dogs nervously walk up to the bale and cower. The large audience laughing (and the sea of dogs barking their disapproval) didn’t help the stage fright. If the dog couldn’t bark under the pressure and eyes of its fellow colleagues, then the solemn farmer had to climb up on the bale and bark.
Anyway, it ended up being a really fun event and I’m glass I was thrown on that volunteer crew last minute. The festival concludes today with the annual rail jam and fireworks up on the mountain.
Hope everyone had a Happy 4th of July!
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