Driving past the rock scattered lunar-like paddocks in pursuit of New Zealand's southern pubs. Photo / George Menzies
Driving past the rock scattered lunar-like paddocks in pursuit of New Zealand's southern pubs. Photo / George Menzies
Flat out and straight up Moonlight Rd, we were close now. Driving past the rock-scattered lunar-like paddocks. Driving past an occasional hayshed. Driving past fences after fences draped with the heads and skins of dead pigs. Driving past Butter and Egg road. Driving past Moonlight itself, yet another name on a map that never materialises to anything more than that. There is a recurring theme emerging here. A theme of almost and mostly being lost.
Tourists of a cultural bent arrive at the gates of the City of Paris and look to enter each and every museum and art gallery in the travel guide. Sports fans arriving in any large US City look to get as many games from as many sports in as possible. Culinary fans arriving in the madness of downtown Tokyo are so excited they don't know where to lift them sticks first.
With all of the above, there is a search and discovery of all new things. A surreal playground with endless opportunities.
But if your thing is New Zealand's southern pubs, you might find your search taking you to places in the South Canterbury and North Otago regions. It might take you to a town called Cave. It could take you on a drive across Danseys Pass It might have you driving up one side of the Waitaki River, only to cross and drive straight back down the other side. It might even take you to a little old gold mining town called Macraes, which is in the present-day still a little gold mining town hosting New Zealand's largest active gold mine - and after we pass Moonlight on a map, we will arrive there for real.
Wherever you find one, Southern pubs are deeply engrained in their communities. Photo / George Menzies
Why the Great Southern Pub search and discovery? It would be fair to say, one pint at the Vulcan is no day at the Louvre and two pints at the Kurow Hotel is no Yankees' home run in the Bronx; however, if you were looking for a Richie McCaw shrine those two pints might be the best two you ever had.
No longer lost, already past Moonlight and on up the road a few more miles. Arriving in Macraes you are greeted by a small mining township main drag. Front and centre of that main drag is Stanley's Hotel, with a park across the road holding a sign with a few clues as to the history of the town:
Thomas Stanley, who became a well-known businessman in Macraes Flat bought the Macraes Hotel from Bob Donaldson in 1882. From all accounts, this was a dilapidated wooden structure. He had the current hotel built on the site by stonemason John Budge in 1882 for 72 hogsheads (1 hogshead was the equivalent of around 286 litres) of beer. It took until 1887 to finish the hotel, when it was renamed Stanley's Hotel.
Stone for the building was quarried from the nearby hill. Legend has it that the entrance was laid with marble destined for St Joseph's Cathedral in Dunedin. It appears the marble was waylaid on its route.
Stanley's Hotel is a stone building with a stone floor. A bar and a pie warmer at one end, an open fire at the other. Miners dropping in and out, pies, cigarettes and beer. On a shift break, their mine-spec'd utes outnumbering any other vehicle in the small town.
Most Southern bars share more or less these same features. All will have a fire, open or otherwise. The most loyal servant of all, never skipping a beat, is always a stack of firewood nearby. Another loyal servant is the dog. Either blind, deaf or missing a limb, this pub dog has seen almost one too many spilt Speights or dropped pies, almost.
Any discerning NZ pub fan won't say no to two pints at the Kurow Hotel. Photo / George Menzies
Southern pubs are deeply engrained in their communities and this is evident in all the mementoes across the walls of these fine establishments. Of recent times and times long now past. Local Rugby Team photos. Photos of the time the local community hall experienced a working bee and much-needed renovation. My favourite by far, the record boards of the local sheepdog trials. With dogs like Smoke, Duke, Buck, Chum, Sweep, Pawl, Bruno and Fern getting a little representation down at the local. Dogs are not the only ones getting a little shout-out on these walls though, horses are fairly prominent as well. A local trots champion that won big up in Christchurch, a local hunt legend and of course wherever you turn, that pack of Clydesdales. Heads of pigs, heads of stag and on the side of the hotel, the head of a creepy old man facing the street.
After conversations, some brief and some deeper, with the proprietors of these establishments, the following began to become a theme, that they act simply as custodians. As the centre point of these communities, the pub will live longer than any publican ever will. The publican will start to tire over time, the passion they once had will wane slowly, they'll grind down until the next candidate steps up. Like Bob Donaldson when he sold the place to Thomas Stanley. Bob would have seen his fair share of pub antics and was ready to move on. What happened to Bob I do not know but it would be safe to say he would have been a happy man the day he moved on. It could also be safe to say that the greatest two days of a publican's life are the day they acquire their new livelihood and the day they bid it farewell. Generation after generation of locals will keep walking through the front door ordering pints. Let the locals be locals in their local and stay out of their way. Those who understand that can prosper during their time in charge. Those who believe that converting these sanctuaries into inner-city cafes-cum-art galleries with four different kinds of milk are sometimes not so prosperous.
DB draught beer is a mainstay on the Aotearoa beer circuit. Photo / George Menzies
Sitting in here in this little house of rock, fire chugging away, in the heart of Macraes, the Stanley's is so ingrained in the local community that the building and surroundings are actually owned by a local community trust. The publican will lease from the trust with the hopes they can keep it running and turn a tidy profit during their specific tenure. As one publican moves on, the trust facilitates another moving in. As was the case on my visit – the pub was on the market and I seriously considered putting my name down on the lease.
Most Southern bars, the Waihao Forks Hotel included, more or less share the same features. Photo / George Menzies
But maybe I'd be a fool to tie myself down to only one pub. Maybe a more lucrative future is to replicate my little tour around the countryside for other pub tourists (it has to be a thing). We could hit all the spots in a little bus - Boots and Jandals in Ōmarama, cut down to Kurow, north side of the river to the mighty Waiho Forks Hotel (a sure highlight), work back up and round and hit Danseys Pass Hotel, and then sort of zig and zag and zig again through Macraes, Ranfurly, St Bathans, Chatto Creek and maybe back to Lumsden via the New Orleans in Arrowtown. A lot of weaving (not on the road, designated drivers only on this tour) through this beautiful countryside, after the first couple of stops the direct route takes a backseat and the adventure begins.
Or maybe… more research is required.
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