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Wild Heart: The possibility of wilderness in Aotearoa New Zealand
This book searches for an understanding of 'the wild', of what makes wilderness such an important part of our psyche. The seventeen essays come from trampers, scientists, conservationists, policy-makers, photographers, historians, and writers. Together they examine many aspects of the idea of wilderness. What and where is New Zealand's wilderness? Is the wilderness something that we lock up or not? How do Maori see wilderness? How is it defined by law and what is government policy? Why? Where does that leave us? What do we want of wilderness? Can we exploit its resources?
- GenresNonfiction
244 pages, Paperback
First published November 8, 2011
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
April 13, 2025
Review published in Landfall Online, 1 June 2012
http://www.landfallreview.com/2012/06...
By Philippa Jamieson
Although we are becoming an increasingly indoor nation, our wild and natural landscapes, our ‘clean, green’ image, and our agricultural heritage all remain strong in the identity of most New Zealanders. The topics discussed in these two books have wide appeal. Both books address current and contested questions about our use of and relationship with the land, and provide glimpses into history. My concern is that they may be read by only a narrow range of potential readers – mostly by academics and professionals over 40, I suspect, unless interviews, magazine articles, blog posts and so on can draw other readers in.
Of the two volumes, [I reviewed Making Our Place, ed. Ruru et al, alongside this volume] the more attractive cover and compelling title of Wild Heart drew me in first. The ‘possibility’ of wilderness in the subtitle intrigued me. Don’t we have wilderness in New Zealand?
The 20 viewpoints presented in this multi-authored book stretched and challenged my ideas of what ‘wilderness’ is. The contributors explore the different meanings of wilderness: as a place, a legal definition, an experience, and a perception. Wilderness is different things to different people. It can be majestic natural landscapes untouched by humans, or a scruffy bit of bush down by the creek where kids build huts. The editors liken the many different views to channels of a braided river, sometimes meandering apart and at other times converging.
Many of the contributors are experienced trampers, like Shaun Barnett, who describes wilderness experiences of his own, including the isolation, remoteness, and sense of achievement. ‘In New Zealand,’ he writes, ‘the strict legal definition of a wilderness is about as wild as it gets’. Here he is referring to the eleven formally designated ‘wilderness areas’, which are accessible only to the few who are fit, experienced and completely self-reliant; here there are no huts or tracks. Barnett argues that such places are essential (for those who are able) to experience nature completely without human intervention, and even those who don’t or can’t access such places agreed with the statement ‘It’s good to know wilderness exists, even if I decide never to use it.’ Barnett agrees with the ‘recreation opportunity’ spectrum — a zoning system which places wilderness areas at one end of the spectrum, and wheelchair accessible tracks at the other, so there are opportunities for everyone to experience natural places.
Mike Boyes writes about wilderness in outdoor education, arguing that wild places may be close at hand, and that Māori concepts of whakapapa and mauri offer a sense of interrelatedness and life force that promote a ‘way of embracing wilderness personally.’
Poet Brian Turner’s essay explores the exploitation of the environment, and the use of the words: nature is seen as a ‘resource’ to be ‘managed’. He touches on his opposition to the siting of big wind farms in Central Otago, and the insidious encroachment of development, particularly hydroelectric dams, warning that: ‘unless the majority of people who live in New Zealand alter the way they think about our relationship with, and obligations towards, nature, we will continue to behave in ways that result in further damage to the “wilderness”.’
Jonathan West challenges the concept of what is natural or undisturbed; humans have irreversibly changed the New Zealand landscape, and of course nature has changed and evolved over millennia before we arrived here. Yet many of us have a dualistic idea of humans separate from nature, rather than part of it; and a polarising concept of land either being pristine and untouched, or already tainted and therefore open to development.
There is some history included, particularly of the establishment of the Department of Conservation in 1987 and its various policies since; campaigns to preserve our wilderness; and nineteenth-century explorer and settler ideas of wilderness, and their impact on Māori. The concept of wilderness as expressed in New Zealand literature shifted over the decades, writes Julian Kuzma, from that of a hostile place of fear to a place of reverence and of tourism. Tom Brooking explores the differences between New Zealand and U.S. views of wilderness, and why our attitudes have shifted towards those of the U.S.
Many of the contributors lament the increasing encroachment of human impact on our wild landscapes; the success of the ‘100% Pure’ branding has contributed to their erosion. Les Molloy asks should visitor access be restricted in certain areas? Philippa Wells documents an early attempt to harness the Bowen Falls in Fiordland to generate electricity, showing that while we have become more aware of our environmental footprint, we have also become more and more exploitative, pushing for roads and gondolas in wild areas, and that ‘economic thinking continues to dominate the conservation debate’.
Alison Ballance wrote her essay on a ship in the Southern Ocean, exploring her idea of wilderness through recalling wildlife encounters on trips to the subantarctic and various islands, as well as mainland tramps. In addition to the other contributors’ ideas of wilderness as being remote, challenging, and bringing a sense of joy, discovery and wonder, she talks of wilderness having a living heart and soul — a resilient natural ecosystem.
Jacinta Ruru offers the concept of wilderness as a walled garden, looking at how colonists deemed indigenous place wilderness, with specific reference to the gifting of Tongariro by the paramount chief of Ngāti Tūwharetoa in 1887 for use by Māori and European as a national park.
Wild Heart is a lively mixture of ideas and deserves to be read and discussed, not just among conservationists, trampers, farmers and those in the tourism industry, but more widely. There is refreshingly little obfuscating academic-speak. What makes it engaging are the personal wilderness experiences of the writers: the sense of joy, awe and spirit; the passion for our wild places; being pushed to physical and mental limits. However, there are three things I would have liked this anthology to possess: more perspectives from Māori, a contribution from a hunter, and a larger typeface.
http://www.landfallreview.com/2012/06...
By Philippa Jamieson
Although we are becoming an increasingly indoor nation, our wild and natural landscapes, our ‘clean, green’ image, and our agricultural heritage all remain strong in the identity of most New Zealanders. The topics discussed in these two books have wide appeal. Both books address current and contested questions about our use of and relationship with the land, and provide glimpses into history. My concern is that they may be read by only a narrow range of potential readers – mostly by academics and professionals over 40, I suspect, unless interviews, magazine articles, blog posts and so on can draw other readers in.
Of the two volumes, [I reviewed Making Our Place, ed. Ruru et al, alongside this volume] the more attractive cover and compelling title of Wild Heart drew me in first. The ‘possibility’ of wilderness in the subtitle intrigued me. Don’t we have wilderness in New Zealand?
The 20 viewpoints presented in this multi-authored book stretched and challenged my ideas of what ‘wilderness’ is. The contributors explore the different meanings of wilderness: as a place, a legal definition, an experience, and a perception. Wilderness is different things to different people. It can be majestic natural landscapes untouched by humans, or a scruffy bit of bush down by the creek where kids build huts. The editors liken the many different views to channels of a braided river, sometimes meandering apart and at other times converging.
Many of the contributors are experienced trampers, like Shaun Barnett, who describes wilderness experiences of his own, including the isolation, remoteness, and sense of achievement. ‘In New Zealand,’ he writes, ‘the strict legal definition of a wilderness is about as wild as it gets’. Here he is referring to the eleven formally designated ‘wilderness areas’, which are accessible only to the few who are fit, experienced and completely self-reliant; here there are no huts or tracks. Barnett argues that such places are essential (for those who are able) to experience nature completely without human intervention, and even those who don’t or can’t access such places agreed with the statement ‘It’s good to know wilderness exists, even if I decide never to use it.’ Barnett agrees with the ‘recreation opportunity’ spectrum — a zoning system which places wilderness areas at one end of the spectrum, and wheelchair accessible tracks at the other, so there are opportunities for everyone to experience natural places.
Mike Boyes writes about wilderness in outdoor education, arguing that wild places may be close at hand, and that Māori concepts of whakapapa and mauri offer a sense of interrelatedness and life force that promote a ‘way of embracing wilderness personally.’
Poet Brian Turner’s essay explores the exploitation of the environment, and the use of the words: nature is seen as a ‘resource’ to be ‘managed’. He touches on his opposition to the siting of big wind farms in Central Otago, and the insidious encroachment of development, particularly hydroelectric dams, warning that: ‘unless the majority of people who live in New Zealand alter the way they think about our relationship with, and obligations towards, nature, we will continue to behave in ways that result in further damage to the “wilderness”.’
Jonathan West challenges the concept of what is natural or undisturbed; humans have irreversibly changed the New Zealand landscape, and of course nature has changed and evolved over millennia before we arrived here. Yet many of us have a dualistic idea of humans separate from nature, rather than part of it; and a polarising concept of land either being pristine and untouched, or already tainted and therefore open to development.
There is some history included, particularly of the establishment of the Department of Conservation in 1987 and its various policies since; campaigns to preserve our wilderness; and nineteenth-century explorer and settler ideas of wilderness, and their impact on Māori. The concept of wilderness as expressed in New Zealand literature shifted over the decades, writes Julian Kuzma, from that of a hostile place of fear to a place of reverence and of tourism. Tom Brooking explores the differences between New Zealand and U.S. views of wilderness, and why our attitudes have shifted towards those of the U.S.
Many of the contributors lament the increasing encroachment of human impact on our wild landscapes; the success of the ‘100% Pure’ branding has contributed to their erosion. Les Molloy asks should visitor access be restricted in certain areas? Philippa Wells documents an early attempt to harness the Bowen Falls in Fiordland to generate electricity, showing that while we have become more aware of our environmental footprint, we have also become more and more exploitative, pushing for roads and gondolas in wild areas, and that ‘economic thinking continues to dominate the conservation debate’.
Alison Ballance wrote her essay on a ship in the Southern Ocean, exploring her idea of wilderness through recalling wildlife encounters on trips to the subantarctic and various islands, as well as mainland tramps. In addition to the other contributors’ ideas of wilderness as being remote, challenging, and bringing a sense of joy, discovery and wonder, she talks of wilderness having a living heart and soul — a resilient natural ecosystem.
Jacinta Ruru offers the concept of wilderness as a walled garden, looking at how colonists deemed indigenous place wilderness, with specific reference to the gifting of Tongariro by the paramount chief of Ngāti Tūwharetoa in 1887 for use by Māori and European as a national park.
Wild Heart is a lively mixture of ideas and deserves to be read and discussed, not just among conservationists, trampers, farmers and those in the tourism industry, but more widely. There is refreshingly little obfuscating academic-speak. What makes it engaging are the personal wilderness experiences of the writers: the sense of joy, awe and spirit; the passion for our wild places; being pushed to physical and mental limits. However, there are three things I would have liked this anthology to possess: more perspectives from Māori, a contribution from a hunter, and a larger typeface.
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