By Virginia Winder

With a snort and a roar a protective mother charges at teacher Robert Wells.

In his hands he is holding a rifle and a camera. He has a split second to drop one and run for his life.

"With no wish to be mauled or savaged by an angry old sow determined to defend her litter, there was no time to do anything except drop the rifle, which she could not damage, and to scramble madly, one handed for the nearest tree, a stunted old mahoe," he writes in his self-penned Mokau River Memories 1927-32.

Stuck Pig: A wild pig bailed up by a dog beside the Mokau River in 1930.

Image: Robert Wells Collection, Alexander Turnbull Library

"The camera she could easily ruin, so I had to hang on to that with one hand, and to hug the tree with the other arm, hoping I would not slip. My feet were dangling just out of reach.

Great White Hunters: Nob Goyle (left) and Cyril Rutland with a pig at Mokau in 1930.

Image: Robert Wells Collection, Alexander Turnbull Library

"For a very long ten minutes or so, she stayed there, snorting and stamping and trying to reach me. When she finally moved away, I came down very soberly, having learned that lesson: When you go hunting pigs, don't take your camera! After that I didn't."

Beast On Back: Nob Goyle (right) unloads a big pig on to Cyril Rutland's boat at Mokau in 1930. Image: Robert Wells Collection, Alexander Turnbull Library

For five years, Robert was the sole teacher at Mangatoi School, 16 miles (nearly 26 kilometres) up the Mokau. The school was only accessible by boat.

Still telling stories

The New Plymouth man wrote his river story at the age of 82, believing he was near the end of his life. That was 17 years ago and Robert is still telling stories.

This feature article combines those written words with his living memories, gleaned during a series of interviews over some months.

Robert's recollections of his Mokau stint are unwaveringly clear. He even remembers everything he shot - both pigs and photographs.

Wild boars were blasted with bullets from his single-shot target Vickers .22 rifle, while schoolchildren and river life were captured on either a Quarter Plate Reflex camera or an old-fashioned Thornton Picard whole-plate field camera.

The latter, described by Robert as a "Rolls Royce of cameras", would fit perfectly into a scene from a period drama. "This camera had to be mounted on a very sturdy tripod. Then I had to put a large black cloth over the camera and my head, while I arranged and composed on a ground glass focusing screen, the photo I intended to take," he writes.

Taking time to focus

Talking about technique, Robert admits to being a perfectionist. That's why taking pictures up the Mokau River suited his style. "I could return or revisit most scenes again and again until conditions were exactly as I wanted," he says.

"Almost always I wanted sunshine to give life and sparkle to the scene. Then I would want some shadows to give depth or the 3D effect."

The results have been widely published, appearing in the now-defunct New Zealand Freelance, Auckland Weekly News, Dairy Exporter Magazine and Tui's Christmas Annual. Some of his school photos, all taken with the big old camera, can be seen in a book called Unwillingly to School brought out by Reed Publishing in 1976.

A Good Wicket: Arthur Rutland wields a Wells-made cricket bat, while Len and Jean Sampson stand in the slips. Image: Robert Wells Collection, Alexander Turnbull Library

One of those was of pupil Arthur Rutland taking a wild sweep at a cricket ball with a bat that Robert had fashioned out of willow. That shot even made it into an American education book. It, along with the surviving Mokau pictures, is in the Alexander Turnbull Library in Wellington.

Rowing to school

Arthur was a son of Cyril Rutland, a farmer whose family Robert first boarded with during his Mokau years. They lived on a farm called Pukeruru.

Every morning Robert would have to row Arthur and his brother, Ray, to school in an old boat. "It had broken ribs, cracked planking and leaked constantly. It was clinker built, 18-feet (5.5 metres) long, and very heavy to row as I soon found out."

It took half an hour to paddle to school, which had its own landing.

Robert has never forgotten the first sighting of Mangatoi School.

"It was set down upon a very small area of flat ground, up from the riverbank, surrounded by long, rank grass and looking like a farm shed dumped down in an empty waste section," he says. "And I thought 'that's not the school, it can't be'."

But it was.

Playground paddock

Next to the over-grown school ground was a paddock, kept trim by cows. It was there that Robert and his pupils played cricket on a pitch marked out by wickets of willow sticks. "The school provided absolutely no games or play material of any kind."

The paddock was also the location of the out-house toilet.

Not happy with school-ground situation, Robert attacked the waist-high paspalum grass with a scythe. He also made a pathway from the boat landing to the school and later took up a Government offer of free pine and eucalyptus seeds. These, along with a tree lucerne hedge, were grown to create shelter around the school. Golden rod and blue Michaelmas daisies were planted beside the pathway and three flowerbeds below the school windows added more colour.

Inside the school, the previous teacher, Nora Hayes, had added blue curtains and a strip of red carpet running the length of the room.

When the earth moved

In 1931, Robert saw that carpet move. "At my school we were in the middle of our usual routine when the earthquake struck. Suddenly, everything began to move. The water in the tank outside began slapping against the sides. The building began creaking, and when I looked down at the floor, I saw small waves running along the 18-foot length of carpet runner, just like waves at sea. That was enough. We all got outside and stood around, waiting till all was quiet again."

The epicentre of that earthquake was about 20kms north of Napier, on the opposite side of the North Island. The quake measured 7.8 on the Richter Scale and lasted for 2.5 minutes with a 30-second lull in the middle. In Napier, Hastings and Wairoa a total of 258 people were killed.

Up the Mokau River the people lived by other forces of nature.

Ruled by the water

"I know this sounds a very tall story, but it is quite true. When spring tides came... the incoming tide from the sea would back up the river water as far as Mangatoi Station, all 25 miles up. There would be a reverse tide, flowing up the river equally as fast as the normal downriver flow.

"Kahawai (a salt-water fish) would swim for miles up the river, and when the current slackened, and there was dead water, with no movement at all for a few minutes at high tide, these fish would swim on the surface with dorsal and tail fins right out of the water, and they would swim around in small circles."

Once, Robert, with the two Rutland boys aboard, came across a circling kahawai doing just that. "I managed to clout it with an oar and take it back for a surprise fresh meal," he says. "But their flesh is dry and not at all that appetising."

Flowing with fritter critters

Whitebait also acted oddly at times.

Once a year, the Mokau would run thick with the inanga, attracting people wielding huge nets - and other predators. Eels, herrings and kingfishers had feasts of the wee flashing fish during the peak of the season, around October.

Robert witnessed these non-human attacks. "There would be a faint splashing sound and we would see a silvery ribbon of whitebait leaping some three inches out of the water. This silvery line, rising and falling, could be several yards long as these tiny fish tried to escape from their natural enemies."

Even if eaten, there was still plenty left for the bank-dwellers. "While I was living with the Rutlands we had whitebait so often that, in the end we tired of it."

Robert and his mate, Nob Goyle, designed a giant net that reaped huge numbers of the teeny creatures.

The men were so successful they went into partnership to provide a New Plymouth fish-and-chip shop with the wee delicacies for one shilling per pound. The flashing critters were used to make whitebait fritters.

But this deal ended in disaster when the shop owner claimed he never received the last consignment - 12 gallons' worth. He refused to pay-up and that was the end of the Mokau men's get-rich-quick deal.

High waters force time out

But the ever-flowing river continued to control their lives.

Every year, the honey-coloured water would flood, rising 12 feet (3.6 metres) or more. "With a roar that could be heard nearly half a mile away, it came down as a brown torrent carrying all kinds of debris from logs, farm fittings, broken-off willow limbs and odd bits and pieces of timber."

Only Eric Lewes, who skippered the creamboat, would tackle the river. For Robert and his pupils it meant an enforced holiday, one that sometimes lasted up to three days and was often served up with fine weather.

Cream of Boats: Former creamboat the Cygnet now takes tourists on a Mokau River cruise of memories.

With his rifle at the ready, Robert would go hunting in the back area of Pukeruru Farm.

That's when the 20-something teacher would turn into a lone "cowboy", with the bit between his teeth.

"Diving a hand into a pocket for another cartridge every time you had fired was just 'not on'. So, I made a practice of always carrying four or five cartridges between my lips, with the bullet sticking out. That way I could reload very swiftly and get off four or five shots in quick succession."

Shooting from the hip

He also had his rifle loaded, with the safety catch off in case of a surprise attack. This precaution saved him once, when a big beast came hurtling down a track. "There was no time to aim at him. With the rifle at hip level, I pointed it in his direction and fired. He would have been within some 10 to 15 yards (9.1 to 13.7 metres) from me and going flat out when suddenly he stumbled, rolled over once or twice and stopped, quite dead. That shot really was a fluke."

Robert downed hundreds of wild pigs during those years and became an ace butcher. While the meat was eaten, the real bounty was the wild pig snout. In his early days on river, the Government was paying out one shilling per snout, so the young man began his own piggy bank.

Returns from his hunting enabled him to fit a suppressor and a telescopic sight to his Vickers rifle.

Piggy bank goes belly up

"By the time I left the river in 1932, I had saved over 230 snouts, dried and sealed in two seven-pound (3.1-kilogram) treacle tins, all ready to cash in when the bounty was again advertised."

Robert's savings ended up being worthless because people had been trading in snouts from domestic pigs, rather than the wild beasts. The Government then said that tails had to be included and so the teacher's snout investment was quickly curtailed. "They finished up in the New Plymouth dump," he says.

As well as hunting and photography, Robert was passionate about another river pastime - motorboating.

During those five years, he had two boats and three motors.

Tired of struggling with the cumbersome school rowboat, Robert decided to invest in his own motorboat. The first was a 12-foot (3.6-metre) boat from Onehunga, which was later transformed into a hydroplane. On that he put a four-horse-power Elto motor.

Drive-by shooting

But that didn't have enough power for the intrepid man, hell-bent on exploring the upper reaches of the river. "You couldn't turn the boat around against the current," he says.

Full Throttle: After spending 30 hours travelling at half speed to break in his seven-horse-power Johnson Seahorse motor, Robert Wells finally gets to go full-speed ahead on the Mokau River. This picture was taken by Robert's mate, Nob Goyle in 1929. Image: Robert Wells Collection, Alexander Turnbull Library

He upped his throttle, replacing the Elto with a seven-horse-power Seahorse Johnson motor, making him the fastest boatie on the river. Even a little gung-ho.

Picture this. With hands on wheel and rifle cocked, Robert would roar down the river shooting at wild pigs mooching around the watery banks. But his drive-by shooting only once hit the target and he claimed the carcass.

While this may sound dangerous, Robert had made sure he was the most knowledgeable boatie on the water. He learnt of the dangers lurking below the surface, all the way from Mangatoi School right up to Mangatoi Station.

Near the end of his five years he sold the boat to Alec McKenzie of Mackford, halfway down the river.

Red Slipper a perfect fit

When Robert's replacement craft arrived from Auckland, he looked at the seven-foot-long (3.1-metre-long) craft dubiously. It was only three-foot (less than a metre) wide and less than one-foot (304-millimetres) high and was extremely light. The bottom of the boat was marine three-ply, while the rest was canvas tacked on to a light wooden framework and painted vivid red.

Knowing he couldn't swim, Robert was extremely careful in his early travels on the boat, driven by a 10-horse-power Seahorse Johnson.

"To test its turning ability I chose a wide stretch of the river. Then I spun the steering wheel around, and only just managed to save myself from pitching overboard. It did a U-turn on the proverbial sixpence! It was much faster than my first speedboat and at full throttle the willows, only a few feet away were a green blur as I streaked past."

The river folk nicknamed the boat, the Red Slipper.

Red Slipper: That was the nickname given to the last boat Robert Wells rode on the river. Image: Robert Wells Collection, Alexander Turnbull Library

Robert left the river in 1932, after a long stretch living with the Cartwright family. His next posting was Kirihau Road School out of New Plymouth.

When he drove off in his 1914 Model T Ford, the Red Slipper was strapped to the roof.

"Coming down over Mount Messenger on one very sharp bend, I met an oncoming motorist, who was so shocked by the red apparition he was meeting, that he shot off the road and only just missed colliding with the cliff-face. The expression on his face was so comical I was still laughing when I reached the bottom."

All in the past

After he left the river, Robert went back a few times to go shooting, but it wasn't such a relaxing past-time doing it for days at a time. Instead he focused on his photography, shooting to thrill not to kill.

Sadly, many of Robert's river photos were lost after he lent them to a former Mokau storekeeper, who did an overnight runner. Some have turned up over the years, but not enough to calm the 98-year-old's feelings of betrayal.

Those pictures capture a time now gone.

The coalmines, timber mills, big farms and even the Mangatoi Station have closed down. From spring through to autumn, The Cygnet, relives its creamboat days. It chugs up and down the river with tourists keen for a glimpse of the past.

More than 50 years after leaving the Mokau, Robert also went back. "When I revisited my old school site in 1986 - but this time by car along a metal track - the only thing now marking the spot are two very old storm-embattled pine trees, with a (trunk) diameter of about three-feet (nearly one-metre), the last of those I planted there back in 1930-31. All else has changed."