Chris Barfoot - Show Me a Huia!

The gangly young man in T-shirt and jeans bounded two at a time up the stairs of the Geology Department, then loped along a deserted corridor lined with cases and cupboards filled with ancient rock specimens, whistling at the top of his lungs.

It was nine oclock in the morning two weeks before Christmas at the University of Auckland. The white Italianate tower with its delicate wedding cake tracery soared into a Mediterranean-blue sky. Beneath its shade the dew still sparkled on the dark green, leathery leaves of the taraire trees, but the cicadas were singing their hearts out as they welcomed the first heat of a perfect summers day.

The students had all gone. Exam papers had been sat and marked, and results had been awaited and received, celebrated, rationalised or commiserated with until at last these feelings faded in the stress of finding holiday jobs. Finally, as Christmas neared, for those who had not found jobs came the delicious anticipation of holidays in the sun on far-off beaches where the long waves curled and crashed on the golden sand.

Though he loved surfing, not for this man today the thundering rollers of Muriwai, Piha or Mangawhai. Instead he was riding the crest of another wave.

You could not blame Dr David Corbishley, graduate of the University of New Zealand with a doctorate from the world famous School of Mines at the University of Washington in Seattle, for being exhilarated with his career, or, should we say, the brilliance which this career was about to bring him. Already he was finding his niche in his Department by his contact with the corporate world which was the elixir for its survival. Now he believed himself to be on the cusp of a discovery which would in his opinion involve these financial interests in profitable development of his countrys untapped mineral resources. The prospects were mind-boggling.

Today he would start to pull it all together.

But suddenly the whistling broke off in mid bar.

Wheeling round the corner, he saw before him a stranger in a well-cut light grey suit. He appeared fifty-ish with greying hair, but with a short, powerful physique. He was studying intently one of the geological maps.

Hoping his enthusiasm had not affected the image he wanted to convey, he applied the brakes, slowed down, parked and cleared his throat politely. May I help you?

The man turned. The face was square and commanding and the blue eyes piercing. Are you a student here?

It was an understandable mistake. He was thirty-one but looked younger. Actually, Im a senior lecturer Dr Corbishley. He offered his hand.

The stranger lifted his eyebrows momentarily but kept his hands at his side. Instead he indicated the map. Im looking at the Raukumaras. What can you tell me about the geology?

David put on his knowledgeable lecturers voice. The Tapuaeroa valley has some interesting igneous extrusions. Several mineral surveys have been done there.

Im only interested in the middle.

Beyond Hikurangi?

Thats what I said.

These sorts of men were brusque. Business people went straight to the point. The profit, of course. Although its a Forest Park under the Forest Service theres great potential. Unfortunately, we havent any detailed mineral surveys. One of my colleagues went in there three years ago, but he took all his research when he left. Realising as soon as he said it that this would be discouraging, he went on quickly. However, it would be easy enough to do another survey and we could give you an idea of which areas would be the most likely.

He paused expectantly, but the other continued to examine the maps.

Its a good opportunity now because the Forest Service may be changing the zoning. However, the survey would have to be done soon, and youd need to show there was mineral potential before the submissions on the new management plan proposal close on May 1st.

The other still had his eyes on the maps.

He decided to take the plunge. As a matter of fact Im just completing some new research which may be of interest in the presentation of a case.

At last the businessman turned and his glance was so direct that it was disconcerting. What was his name?

Who?

Your colleague.

Oh Tane, Dr Tane Ngata.

Where can I contact him?

Youre sure I cant help?

No.

Well were not sure where hes gone.

You mean hes at another university.

Not exactly.

So you dont know if he found anything.

We have no record.

For a moment the sharp, deep-set eyes bored right into him. Then they focused on the maps again. He spoke in an undertone. Perhaps thats just as well.

Sorry, I dont understand.

If he had, that would be the end.

The end of what?

A prime wilderness area, the last in New Zealand.

David watched his visitor go away down the corridor. The suit was not so well cut after all. His shoulders were wide and muscular, and for a short man, he walked with surprisingly long, lunging steps.

What an idiot trying to disguise himself as a businessman!

Strangely, his whistle had gone and his zest for work. He sat in his office drumming on his desk with fingers which should have been flying over his typewriter. His mouth was set in a hard frown and a deep vertical furrow ran down the middle of his forehead.

The guy was obviously a greenie and opposed to all that he was about to do.

But that, curiously enough, was not the problem. His open youthful face suddenly twisted and there rose up in him an uncharacteristic and inexplicable anger.

Tane! Why the hell did he want to know about Tane?

The last rays of the sun lingered on the river flat below the newly completed Forest Service hut. Around the hut the waving grasses which had shimmered golden-brown all day were turning grey as a light breeze rustled through them. The crisp bite of a mountain evening was already in the air.

Two men were kneeling behind a large rock close to the hut which commanded a view right down the flat. One held a pair of binoculars, the other a Winchester 308 rifle that rested on the rock itself. Both instruments were trained on some objects further down in the valley.

The man with the binoculars turned and eyed the finger on the trigger. Put it away.

The man with the rifle lifted it up and as he did so the sun glinted momentarily on the barrel.

The speaker had a ginger goatee beard and a crisp, authoritative voice. He focused his binoculars again. Theyre staying down there by the river, he said. Mad Kiwis. He added a few words in another language.

The other man answered with a hollow laugh.

Shortly afterwards, the two watchers got up and strode briskly up the rise to the hut. As they went, the sun dipped below the ridge. The shadows from the bluffs behind the hut came out towards them, and a damp chill spread over the valley as the mists began to drift down from the mountains.

Thisll do us, Bill!

The short, square-faced man with the greying hair lowered his pack on the grassy flat beside the river and lay down to test a patch of springy pohuehue, commonly known as Maori mattress. Having done this, he jumped up and started breaking off dry twigs from the bushes nearby and making them into a little pile.