Central Otago has a whole life of it’s own. Deceptively high and cold with an undercurrent of toughness that just can’t be ignored. The golden tussock dances in the wind as the sunlight reflects off its blades. The land itself rolls and undulates for as far as the eyes can see, mesmerising you into thinking that the vastness continues forever more.

The skies appear to be as vast as the ground which lies beneath. As the moisture congregates, it takes a vast array of forms. Having travelled a fair distance from the Southern Alps, the fronts have been mished and mashed into something a far cry from which they began when they first discovered the land of the long white cloud.

Today, as on many other days, there is a moody gloom. Colouring and shaping the light with a creamy gleam. Even the hardiest of wilding pines struggle to take a strong hold in this empty place.

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