Cock and Bull Stories

by Peter Anderson

  ‘I’m meeting James Heremaia tonight,’ said Alan. ‘He’s got a share in this boat and we’re off to the Pelorus Sound for a week’s cruising.’

  James Heremaia at the time was an even more senior public servant, the Chief Veterinary Officer no less, more or less the gaffer.

  ‘Then you’ll need a scallop dredge. Take mine and you can drop it back on my boat when you come back.’

  The offer was accepted and I left the dredge with Alex. The next day at work, I mentioned to Pete Anderson about meeting Alex, the scallop dredge, James Heremaia, etc.

  Pete looked at me strangely. ‘The scallop season is closed,’ he said. ‘It closed at the end of February.’

  So two of the most senior officials in the then New Zealand Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries were off somewhere in the Pelorus Sound, fishing for scallops out of season.

  I thought about it briefly.

  ‘No one will notice them,’ I thought. ‘It’s pretty unpopulated round there.’

  I considered, momentarily, calling them on the VHF radio on Channel 65, but it was a bit new to me and I couldn’t remember the boat’s name to call. It’ll be all right.

  Ten days later I was at work and the phone rang. ‘Alex McDougall.’

  ‘Oh, gidday, Alex, how’s things?’ I said nervously.

  ‘You might have bloody told me it was out of season,’ he growled. ‘We got nicked.’

  A diligent resident had seen them dragging for scallops and had rung the Ministry of Ag and Fish. When they returned to Picton to the charter company berth, two uniformed MAF officers were waiting on the wharf.

  The questioning was detailed, the answers given (as far as I could ascertain) were along the lines of ‘experimental fishing for oysters’ and it would be less than naïve to believe that an exchange of business cards took place. I am reliably informed that no prosecution was entered into. How the wheels of bureaucracy can turn in different directions. But it would have been a difficult moment for the two erstwhile gents.

  Some months later, the replica of James Cook’s Endeavour came to New Zealand. We met her at the entrance to the Sounds, by now in my newer yacht, Ten Speed. It was a marvellous occasion, heavy and sentimental with the drama of the historic moment, as the wonderful replica, in full sail, came into the bay to which Cook had returned five times on his three great voyages. The bush on the hills was little changed in 200 years and the Maori waka full of bare-topped paddlers alongside the copy of the great ship had me gulping back tears of emotion. As one of my friends would say, the bladder was getting close to the eyeballs.

  Later, as we motored towards Picton in a huge flotilla of boats of all kinds, accompanying the brilliant replica, I realised there was a Lotus 10.6 with a familiar red stripe on the hull, right beside Ten Speed.

  ‘Hello, Alex,’ I called. ‘Had any scallops lately?’

  He tapped his mate on the shoulder and pointed accusingly towards me.

  ‘That’s him there,’ I could plainly see him mouthing to his senior colleague standing beside him in the cockpit, glass in steady hand.

  I think they were smiling, but not very much.

  Names in this story have been changed.

  REFLECTIONS — PA

  As we approach the end of our careers, I look back and reflect with pride on what PJ and I have achieved. Neither of us can claim any fame for publishing lots of peer-reviewed papers in leading veterinary journals — for some a measure of an individual’s expertise and standing in the profession — but we have never backed down from an opportunity. We have always been prepared to take risks and give things a go when an opportunity arose. Some were successful while others were costly experiences.

  We were innovative in a number of ways, and there were several reasons for this. However, probably the most significant factor was the very extensive nature of the province. We had to be realistic about what we could handle. We worked in well with our neighbouring veterinary practices and we had good clients, many of whom were close friends and who we liked to think trusted us.

  As a result, along with the other local vets, it was not too difficult to implement our own deer develveting scheme well before the national one was started. Some of the national scheme was based on what we had working in Marlborough.

  Another programme we implemented early on was to control Brucella ovis, which was rampant throughout the country in the 1960s and 1970s. This is a venereal disease of sheep and while it does cause the odd abortion, its main effect is to cause infertility in rams. We implemented our own control scheme before a national accreditation scheme began. Later with the national scheme in place, and with the excellent cooperation of our sheep farming clients, we soon had very good control of the disease, and have maintained that in our own client flocks for at least the last 20 years.

  Most sheep and beef farmers spend their lives trying to improve the performance of their flocks and herds. In the case of commercial farmers, they do this by improving feeding management and by buying the best bulls and rams from stud farmers who have animals similar to the ones they aspire to have. Stud breeders also improve the genetics of their studs by buying top sires from other studs. They have also introduced new genetics by using artificial insemination or AI. This has been extremely important in the dairy and beef industries for many years.

  Artificial insemination using frozen or fresh semen is a relatively simple process in the cow. However, in the sheep, introducing new genetics using artificial insemination and frozen semen is a more complex process and requires skill with a laparoscope. In the early 1980s artificial insemination of sheep was becoming popular and some of the local farmers, especially stud merino farmers, wanted to be able to inseminate their top ewes using frozen semen, mainly from Australia.

  Few people had the expertise to do this, so PJ went to Australia to learn the technique for both collecting and freezing semen and for inseminating ewes. He became an expert in this field and then carried on to develop this expertise in the canine world.

  When angora and cashmere goats became fashionable, there was a high demand for purebred animals. This stimulated a demand for embryo transfer. With artificial insemination the genetics of a top male could be used over literally thousands of females, but top females could only contribute to one or two off spring. However, with embryo transfer (ET) the female would be induced to shed many eggs. Hence with a good ‘flush’, 20 to 30 embryos or fertilised eggs might be able to be collected from a top female. We were early on the scene to learn the technique and did a lot of early ET work in goats. Later we used our skills doing embryo transfers in hinds.

  We were one of the earliest sheep and beef practices to introduce a so-called planned animal health and production scheme when, for the first time, vets started looking at sheep flock and beef herd performances, and put in place animal health programmes to prevent problems. Following on from that, and in conjunction with a local sheep pregnancy scanner, Jeff Sewell, we did ground-breaking analysis of scanning and lamb survival data from sheep flocks.

  We were also involved in quite a bit of on-farm research, both our own and for drug companies. For companies it involved drench, dip and vaccine trials. One important vaccine trial was with Schering-Plough’s Campylovexin vaccine when, for the first time, the significance of the Campylobacter bacteria in causing lamb loss, and not just abortions, was illustrated. We have also spent a good deal of time and energy trying to determine the importance of vitamin E deficiency in New Zealand’s pasturefed free-range animals.

  I have, over the years, also wasted time. When certain species became popular I have upskilled on them. At different times rabbits, possums and fitches or ferrets were farmed in the area for their fur. I studied them up and became relatively knowledgeable on all of them. I even went to Tasmania and studied salmon farming. For the first three it was a waste of time because the ventures were unprofitable and within a relatively short time all the farms folded. With the possum venture, it wasn’t helped by an unfortu
nate breakout, many of the escapees waiting on the railway line close by for the next train, with rather tragic results. In the case of salmon my expertise did not seem to be required. At the time there were two major competing companies in the Marlborough Sounds and I suspect they might have felt threatened by an independent. I drew the line, however, when ostriches and emus became fashionable. Wisely I felt it was time for someone else to become the local expert. I would stick with sheep and beef cattle.

  I have had the pleasure of working with some excellent large animal vets in our practice. Rob Ander worked alongside me for a number of years. Rob was a real worker and very capable and was only really happy if he was busy. Always with a cheery smile and immensely popular with the clients, he was a pleasure to work with. A very capable Scotsman, John Howie, joined the practice for a couple of years. His accent and sense of humour kept us and the clients amused for much of the time. John and I agreed to disagree on what was a more difficult job — being a sheep vet or a dairy vet. For the last couple of years, Mary Bowron has been part of the team and has had to fill some pretty big shoes after Rob left. However, she has tackled the job with enthusiasm, is a pleasure to have on the team, and has been quickly accepted by the local farmers.

  In 1998 Pete and I joined forces with Stuart Burrough and built a new clinic. We lost our Pete and Pete’s Pussy Parlour tag and became The Vet Centre (Malborough). We know that the practice will remain in good hands as Stuart is an excellent business man and an outstanding small animal veterinarian. It really has been a pleasure being in practice with this gentle compassionate man. He is one of the country’s leading clinicians and has also been the president of the Australian College of Veterinary Scientists, members of which are Australian and New Zealand vets who have passed specialist postgraduate examinations. Stuart is these days an examiner for the college.

  Not all of our work life has been that happy and easy. At the end of his veterinary career PJ and Ally lost their beautiful talented engineer daughter Jane, in the French Alps on a climbing trip. Pete has written about this so there is no need for me to elaborate. However, it is only when a tragedy like this happens to people close to you that you realise the impact it has on people’s lives. They, along with their two other children, Tom and Pip, have shown huge courage in coping with this tragedy. My admiration for the manner in which they have pulled themselves out of this horrific period in their lives is endless. Coping no doubt has been greatly helped and made possible by the support and affection shown by the many friends they have built up over the years in Marlborough.

  This support from family, clients and friends has also been a significant factor in helping me cope with cancer. In late 2005 I was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, a bone marrow cancer. I was not particularly surprised, because I had had some warnings. The hardest part at the beginning was telling Caroline and George what I had and that the prognosis was not really that good. My best chance was a bone marrow or stem cell transplant. Very fortunately both my brothers were good matches and after a fairly arduous preparation I underwent both an autograft using my own stem cells, and then a few weeks later, an allograft with my younger brother Jeremy’s stem cells. It was an emotional moment lying in hospital after a day of being nuked with chemotherapy and total body radiation, seeing both my brothers at the end of the bed and watching Jeremy’s lifesaving stem cells slowly being infused into me.

  I have huge respect and gratitude for the bone marrow transplant team at Christchurch Hospital. It can’t be an easy job dealing with patients who often, if not close to death, are certainly feeling like it. To be treated at all times by a warm, kindly, understanding and compassionate nurse or doctor was so important when it could have been so easy for them to express even the slightest displeasure at the mess you might have just made.

  While I wouldn’t wish having to deal with cancer on anyone, I believe at the end of the day after facing it, surviving the treatment and recovering, I am a better person for it. I value friendships more and have a far greater respect for all those, including my family, who have been an influence on my life. I also don’t tend to ‘sweat the small stuff’ quite so much.

  These stories could have been very different or may never have happened if it wasn’t for Chick and Ally.

  In my case, I might have never graduated with my veterinary degree if Chick had not put some stability into my student days. My academic performance before she came along had been mediocre to say the least.

  Later, during PJ and my early days in business, she and Ally worked in their own careers, as well as for us, and almost single-handedly raised our children.

  I will also be forever indebted to Chick for the manner in which she has managed everything and nursed me through the times I have been recuperating from various injuries, sickness and cancer.

  And for the future — who knows what lies ahead? I don’t really ever want to fully retire. With a bit of luck, I will carry on for a few more years yet doing what I love doing with the wonderful people with whom I have been so privileged to spend a lifetime.

  DARKNESS AND LIGHT — PJ

  This book was to have been published four years earlier, in 2007.

  When Pete A became ill in 2005, and was in the process of a stem cell transplant, a fearsome and debilitating affair, he became pretty moribund. We had talked about writing a book together for years, and we had a list of topics more or less drawn up. In an attempt to find something positive for him, I suggested he start the writing we’d always planned.

  He did, and the result was brilliant. Before long he had half a dozen very funny and well-written stories finished. That inspired me to get cracking too, and before long we were in touch with the Dunedin publishing house, Longacre Press, who had encouraged me to write more after I had co-authored a book on training working dogs.

  The result was that we had a contract sitting on my desk in July 2007, three months after I had retired from practice.

  Then the sky fell in.

  Our beloved and brilliant daughter, Jane, died in the mountains in France. She was 26.

  Only parents who have experienced the loss of a child can truly understand the utter desolation that follows. The pain is indescribable, and it is impossible to function fully and normally for a long time afterwards. I don’t think it ever goes away.

  Jane was an extraordinary young woman: dux of her school, a sportswoman, and an ebullient character with a large circle of friends. She had always had a feeling that she wasn’t as clever as her siblings (not so) and had spent the second half of her life proving that she could do everything.

  An engineer with first-class honours from Canterbury University, she had gone to Grenoble in 2003 to do a masterate, a one-year concentrated course. Fatefully, she graduated first in the class, which earned her a French government scholarship to stay on and complete a doctorate, another three years.

  She contacted us most days, certainly every week, by email, phone, text, and even real letters. She shared her hopes and fears, her adventures and her doubts. She was our friend as much as our daughter. She returned home three times in the four years in France; we visited her on three occasions.

  She sang in a semi-professional ensemble, rock climbed, tramped in the Pyrenees, cycled to work every day. She fell in love with a fellow engineer, Yorkshireman Mark Emerson, an alpine climber.

  With two other young friends they began to climb peaks in the Alps, and in the mountain ranges which surround Grenoble. They did ice climbing and safety courses. Their goal was to climb Mont Blanc, Europe’s largest peak, and visible from the hills above Grenoble on a clear day.

  On 23 July 2007, Jane, Mark, a Chilean woman Mariana Huerta, and a French woman Morgane Clément were caught at 4000 metres by a sudden and devastating summer storm on the Dome de Goȗter, a shoulder of Mont Blanc, on the fourth and final day of their climb. Over the following 12 hours, battered by the storm, with temperatures of -30°C, the four friends succumbed to hypothermia and exhaustion. They were half an
hour from shelter. It was my sixtieth birthday.

  Jane was four months from graduating with her doctorate. The thesis was mostly written, the field work complete.

  Three months later I returned to Grenoble with my much-loved brother-in-law to scatter some of their ashes, with 50 of their friends and colleagues, on La Dent de Crolles, a peak in the Chartreuse mountains above Grenoble. A year later, Ally and I went back to Grenoble for Jane’s soutenance, or defence of her doctorate thesis. A group of eminent geotechnical experts from around the world heard Pierre Foray, Jane’s professor and mentor, deliver her findings. The doctorate was duly awarded In Memoriam, scant comfort for Jane’s family, but recognition of her contribution to science. Her specialty (as was Mark’s) was liquefaction of sedimentary soils in earthquakes. They had both secured jobs in Canterbury. It is bitter irony that the 2010 and 2011 earthquakes there would have given her the opportunity to play a vital role in the rebuilding of Christchurch.

  In the months that followed, our friends and extended families kept us alive, and a new property we had moved into only three weeks before their accident kept us busy. The sudden halting of the omnipresent communications from Jane was shocking, and very difficult to believe. I found myself checking my mail every day, just in case. I wept in the shower every morning, and in many other places and times. It seemed so outrageous.

  We did what we could to keep Jane’s memory alive. We dedicated a new drama block at Marlborough Girls’ College to her, with a large illustrated plate on a wall. We put a beautiful macrocarpa seat, Jane’s Seat, on top of the Wither Hills behind Blenheim. And we scattered the remainder of hers and Mark’s ashes on the St Arnaud range in the Nelson Lakes, a place where Jane and Mark had spent a lot of time together. Point 1787, above Parachute Rocks, will always be known to us as Jane’s Peak.