Shear magic casts its spell on Te Kuiti

A quiet moment after the 'Running of the Sheep'. Photo / Amos Chapple

If the sport of shearing was taken seriously in this country, Te Kuiti would be awash with pilgrims year round. They would be taking photos of themselves at the base of the 7m high statue of a shearer in the main street, the closest thing to a shrine for all the shearing guns that have come from this district.

As it is, the shearing fraternity flocks to Te Kuiti every March for the New Zealand shearing championships and, on its final day, the locals and a few pilgrims spill out from the shearing venue to crowd the main street as it closes down for Te Kuiti's Great Muster.

There's a constant queue at the ice cream truck, the shade cast by trees and verandahs is popular, and streams of punters weave down the main drag.

The garden art stall is busy, but not as frantic as the Hangatiki School sausage sizzle, and every now and then someone steps aside to look more closely at the temporary tattoos, smoked fish, natural soap, and innumerable other stalls.

Kids can't get enough of the hot dogs, candy floss, and drinks the colour of demented chemistry experiments, and can climb a 5m high artificial rock-wall in less time than it takes for them to say, "Hold this, mum".

But almost everyone seems incapable of ignoring Glen and Mark the Clydesdale horses. Some just stand and admire, some kids stretch up to stroke their long faces, and for some older ones, there's a touch of nostalgia.

One elderly Maori chap told me, "We used to go haymaking with these. Ten snotty-nosed little kids."

He strokes Mark again and adds, "Mind you, that was a while ago."

The owner, Nick van der Sanden of Pirongia, somehow turns and steers these horses up and down the crowded and noisy street as they haul a carriage full of families. The horses don't even blink when the Te Kuiti and Districts Highland Pipe Band march past, playing some tune that can only come from Scotland.

And if the volume doesn't freak out the horses, perhaps the band's uniform will. They're wearing heavy boots, red tartan kilts, sporrans, grand black belts with silver buckles, black singlets and, attached under their red tartan caps with pompoms, striking red wigs.

And if Glen and Mark don't balk at that, perhaps they will at John Martin. Compering the event for the fourth time, he's wearing red, blue, yellow, orange, and crimson balloons tied in the shape of - well, something peculiar - on his head. But no, these horses have seen it all before.

It's only 11am but Martin and fellow compere, Ronnie Phillips, are already hyping the crowd; "Don't go away too far, folks, because at two o'clock this afternoon we're going to experience the world-famous 'Running of the Sheep' right down this street here."

Throughout the day, you can guess how many sheep will run and, as most locals know such things as how many sheep can fit on the back of their ute, calculating how many will fit through this street is made that little bit easier.

At 2pm, the crowd holds up a half-metre high shelter cloth on each side of the road to control the sheep. And it works - mostly. They divert into a carpark, swirl around a couple of trees for a while and form a whirlpool among themselves as indecision reigns.

Finally they reach the top end of the street and a woman from Eketahuna guesses there are 1899 sheep.

The crowd is happy and John Fagan, who helped crank up this event, tells me, "This sort of thing is good for country towns. We've got to stick together."

In the late 70s, Fagan was, in the words of poet Bernie Walker, "a human shearing machine".

He and contemporary rival, Sam Te Whata of Kaikohe, battled each other to shear the greatest number of sheep in nine hours. Te Whata shore 650 in November 1979 and Fagan replied with 722 in December.

A year later, Te Whata managed 743. Three weeks later, as Walker puts it: "With a lamb each forty seconds the man from Pio Pio shore /
Standing now is his record an incredible eight hundred and four."

But then Fagan's younger brother, David, hit the scene. He's won the Golden Shears 15 times and the world title five times.

As Listener sports columnist, Joseph Romanos, noted, "Over the past couple of decades we've saluted such champions as Richard Hadlee, Susan Devoy, Sean Fitzpatrick, Russell Coutts, John Walker and Erin Baker for their ability and longevity. Surely it's time to acknowledge that Fagan belongs in their company."

Last year, David Fagan was made an officer of the New Zealand Order of Merit. He reckoned, "It's not just for me, it recognises rural New Zealand."

The 46-year-old is still at it but didn't make the grade this year - Napier's John Kirkpatrick took the top slot.

Meanwhile, the younger shearers anxiously wait their turn.

On stage and under lights, with a big screen to one side, a judge that watches their every blow, and a commentary to rival any horse race call, shearers sprint through up to 20 sheep each.

All the way from Invercargill, Nathan Stratford gives it his best and tells me later, "I didn't hit the shears the way I wanted to."

But he couldn't stop the smile when he told me the South Island team beat the North Island team last night.

Whatever the outcome, you can be sure they will turn up for next year's New Zealand Shearing Championships and Te Kuiti's Great Muster.

CHECKLIST

Further information: This year's Great Muster will be held in Te Kuiti on April 4. If you don't want to drive, there are chartered trains from Auckland and Palmerston North for $99 return. See railfan.org.nz about trains or waitomo.govt.nz for muster details.