A walk along a creek.
We begin at the delta, where the creek abruptly splits, first into arteries, then into veins, making its way through small stones and silt toward the lake. Standing on a rectangular tongue of wood that protrudes over the water, dozens of longfin eels slither below among the piles. The song of the pūteketeke – the Australasian crested grebe – drifts towards us, while the sound of water meeting water flows outwards from the corner of Roy’s Bay, where the spring-fed Bullock Creek runs into Lake Wānaka.
The surface of the lake looks like an ocean of glass. It reflects the wintry afternoon sun, the greens and browns of the trees, and a sharp skyline layered with angular ridgelines and peaks dusted in snow. This is it: the view tourists flock for, the reason they measure land values here in the millions. For me, it’s a scene that feels like home.
Local photographer Sampford Cathie is with me, snapping shots on his Leica film camera. After a brief period of communion with the view, we make our way off the jetty and across the beach towards the mouth of the creek. Today, we are going to walk the length of it – from the mouth to the source. The aim? To get to know our local waterway and discover what makes it so special.
As we head upstream, the water flows more briskly, passing an assortment of native flaxes, grasses, and large deciduous trees. A fence line surrounding the Dinosaur Park (named for its prehistorically-themed slide) diverts us away from the creek’s path so we follow it along from above, inside the park, until we reach its junction with Ardmore Street, Wānaka’s main drag.
We’ve heard rumours that there is a culvert, located somewhere along the lower section of the creek, that locals refer to as “the hydroslide”. According to those in the know, at the stroke of midnight, newcomers to town can be found thrusting themselves feet-first into the cold, mossy, water-filled culvert as an act of initiation into their new home. They say that once you’ve done it, you’ll keep going back. They also say the pipe itself is only wide enough to fit an average-sized human (not something I’m confidently average enough to test out).
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Sampford and I dodge a couple of confused campervans as we cross Ardmore and reconnect with the creek next to the Speights Ale House. This is a spot I love returning to – it’s a touchstone to Wānaka, where I can reconnect with my sense of place. It was here, just a few weeks earlier, that I’d participated in a ‘Feet Wet’ session with the good folks at the non-profit organisation Wai Wānaka, who work to improve ecosystem health, reverse biodiversity loss and keep local waterways healthy. As the name suggests, the ‘Feet Wet’ session involved getting wet feet in the name of freshwater science. We used a technique called “kick-netting”, where we systematically kicked up the creek bed and collected the disturbed debris in a tightly woven net. We then dumped the debris into a plastic tray and sorted through it, looking for alien-like critters known as macro-invertebrates – mayflies, caddis, stoneflies and chironomids – whose presence is a good indicator of stream health. We also measured nitrate levels, conductivity, PH, temperature, and turbidity using a variety of funky instruments of different shapes and sizes. I left the session feeling amazed at the comparative health of the creek and inspired by the passion and knowledge of the community.
Beside us, a rusty steel sign reads, “Bullock Creek: our local spring water.” The creek reportedly gets its name from an incident in the late 1800s, when the fledgling township was known as Pembroke. A bullock yoked to a horse cart slipped down the bank into the creek, broke its neck, and died where it fell. The incident was big news in Pembroke, and the name stuck. Locals still uncover evidence of this early settler colonial history in the dirt near the water today – old fence lines, mining pipes and tools. Before colonisation, the creek bore another name which, like so many of Aotearoa’s place names, has been erased. Fortunately, though, not all the old names have been forgotten. The name of the nearby kāinga nohoanga and mahinga kai – Take Kārara – was preserved thanks to the rangatira Te Huruhuru, who recorded the names of the settlement and food gathering place on a map during an encounter with Englishman Edward Shortland in 1844. Take Kārara was known for its plentiful pora (turnip), mahetau (potato), tuna (eel) and weka, as well as its position along an important ara tawhitō (travel route).
We continue along the creekside trail, pausing periodically to peer through the toetoe, watching mallards bob in the flow and savouring the sing-song sound of the water as it weaves through small, sparkling pools. There are footprints in the dirt here, evidence of others also seeking the secrets of the creek. In this stretch, the water’s clarity becomes apparent; it’s more like an apparition of light and shadow than typical H2O, thanks to its spring-fed origins in the Wānaka Basin aquifer. Although the water quality in the creek has fluctuated over the years due to poor environmental practices, it has a tendency to return to its natural state – clean and clear – given a chance. The aquifer is currently replenished by rain and snow that fell eight to twelve years ago in the upper catchment. From 1963 to 1980, Bullock Creek was so pure the residents of Wānaka sourced their town supply from it. I crouch down at the edge of a fast-moving pool, dip my cupped hand, and chance a small gulp, curious as to the taste. It’s cool and crisp – sublime.
At the bridge below the library, we spot our first trout. It’s a solitary rainbow of about three pounds, sides painted metallic pink, clearly visible through the airy water. I am mesmerised. I could watch it swaying in the current all day. Late winter to early spring is the best time of year to see these fish as they return home to the creek, back to the gravel bed where they were born, to spawn a new generation. Above the library, we spot more rainbows, two or three in each pool, some hiding beneath the bank, others finning nonchalantly out in the centre of the flow. There are also large brown trout here earlier in the year, returning home for the same primordial reason as the rainbows: procreation. Although some people are wary of the perceived negative impacts of trout in Aotearoa’s waterways, their presence in Bullock Creek is another good indicator of stream health, and their history in the area is undeniable. First introduced into Lake Wānaka in 1876, trout flourished in the cool, deep waters of the lake and quickly made themselves at home in every accessible corner of the watershed, including Bullock Creek. Over time, the fish became so valued by the community that, in 1948, a hatchery was installed, which operated at a feverish pace hatching, rearing, and releasing salmonids – brown trout, rainbow trout and chinook salmon – right up until 2006 when it closed.
We cross Brownston Street and follow the waterway into the freshly landscaped food truck zone. I half-joke to Sampford that we should stop for a midway snack – cheeseburger burrito? – but we push on instead. Here, we struggle to follow the creek as it becomes hemmed in and blocked off by fences and hedges, a reminder that private property rules here. Whole sections have been tamed by adjacent landowners with an assortment of bridges, stone embankments, stairs and statues. Despite the obstacles, we do our best to trace the water’s path closely, occasionally vaulting over fences where necessary (and unwitnessed).
We’re not the first people to attempt to document this walk. In 1994, Jenny Moss, teacher of the Year 2 class at Wānaka Primary School, undertook a six-month long study of Bullock Creek with her class. Back then, the school was at its original site on Tenby Street, with the creek flowing nearby. It was common in those days for classes to visit the fish hatchery, but Jenny and her pupils walked up beyond the hatchery to find the springs where the creek began. Over the following weeks and months, they explored the waterway from its source to its outlet at Lake Wānaka. They made a mural to document their studies and mounted it in the corridor of the school, adding to it after each expedition so that it continued to grow as the year progressed. Jenny still has the mural, and recently passed it on to Friends of Bullock Creek, a community charity group that acts as guardians of the creek and its watershed. Thirty years on, it has a new life.
We had a chance to unroll the children’s creation and pore over it as part of our research. Some of the landmarks have changed – Clifford’s Hotel is now the Wānaka Hotel and the school grounds are a subdivision (albeit with a street called Primary Lane) – while others remain as familiar as ever.
The neighbourhood starts to emanate with the steady sound of flowing water as the creek splits off into little tributaries around us, creeks within the creek. We get momentarily befuddled when we realise we’ve followed a false lead and have to backtrack in an attempt to relocate the main stem. Then a sense of relief as we eventually reconnect with it and settle back into our walking flow.
As we reach Hatchery Springs, the location of the original fish hatchery, it’s clear that this spot is different. A wooden boardwalk leads us towards an abundance of head-high native flaxes. The creek is so narrow here that a person could easily jump across it. Small bugs hover in the air over the water, backlit by the low-angled sun, while the songs of tui rain down from the trees above. The air is fresh and smells sweet. It’s clear that everything is connected: the water, the air, the plants, the bugs, the fish, the birds, and us. But it didn’t always feel like this here.
We wander over to a shed to meet up with two men who have been influential in making the Hatchery Springs wetland into the special place it is today. Friends of Bullock Creek’s Roger Gardiner and Paul van Klink are both determined to use their time on earth for good. Since its inception in 2017, Friends of Bullock Creek has completed an astonishing amount of work restoring the 2.7-hectare wetlands, planting more than 10,000 natives and racking up more than 7000 volunteer hours. “When we started this project, the site was a mess, overgrown after years of neglect,” Paul says. “The focus to date has been on removing the invasive bracken and weeds and preparing areas for native planting. Then, once the planting and initial maintenance are done, areas can become self-sustaining within just a few years. The goal is to create a space that reflects the natural beauty and ecological integrity of the area. It’s not just about planting, though, it’s also about getting the local community involved and connecting kids to the natural environment.”
Other projects the group has completed so far include installing the boardwalk, maintaining honey hives that are used for fundraising and education, installing access for the local retirement village, hosting school trips and educational sessions and building a perimeter fence to keep pests out. There are volunteer planting days every Thursday, with tea and homemade cake provided. In 2023, the Bullock Creek Hatchery Springs wetlands was granted a QEII National Trust open space covenant, protecting them forever from future subdivision.
Friends of Bullock Creek are in it for the long haul. “Even at the current rate, there’s another 20 years of work to be done here,” Roger says. “It’s a long-term project. But it’s incredibly important work. Having an open space like this close to town is so special, and the fact that it’s a spring creek, they’re really rare in New Zealand, especially urban ones. I tell people, if you’re having a bad day, come and sit here, listen to the water flowing out of the hillside, it’s good for the soul.”
Another successful community initiative has been the ‘Fish on Drains’ campaign, which involves the installation of stencils above drains that run into the creek with the words ‘Only Rain’ inscribed. The idea is to remind everyone that only rainwater belongs in the stormwater system. (For example, it’s best to wash your car on the grass to prevent soapy residue running into nearby drains, because non-organic materials like soap are toxic to freshwater ecosystems.) It started with fish-shaped stencils, but the range has expanded to represent not just trout, but other freshwater critters like eels, galaxiids and pūteketeke. ‘Fish on Drains’ has been a joint effort. Freshwater scientist Chris Arbuckle from Touchstone Project, which is focussed on the Lake Wānaka water catchment, had the metal fish and bird silhouettes made with the help of a drill press provided by the Wānaka Community Workshop. Wai Wānaka made an ‘Adopt a Drain’ information leaflet to be distributed to Bullock Creek’s neighbours and helped with installing the stencils.
When Sampford and I finally reach the source of the creek, the first of one of the many aquifer-fed spots where it seeps out of the ground, there is a small rock cairn that symbolically marks the end of our walk. It’s perfect timing, as the sun has just slipped behind the silhouetted mountains, and the temperature is starting to drop. I lean down to take another drink, and the water tastes even better than before. There’s a slightly earthy tang.
Although not a long walk, just three hours or so, the journey opened our eyes to the stories this little spring creek still holds and to the people who care for its pulsing waters. Months later, when I write this, I no longer live in Wānaka, but its memory lives in me. I realise that, no matter where I go, water will always be there too. And, like water, I am shaped by where I’ve been.
WORDS: JASON HARMAN
PHOTOS: SAMPFORD CATHIE
