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.