I was nudged awake. Confusion engulfed me for a moment as I opened my eyes. We were still in the car, still driving. And it was blacker than pitch outside. Only the road before us was illuminated.
“What…?” I mumbled. It took me a few moments to remember. Toby turned from the front seat. “We’re almost in Queenstown,” he said. “Oh, of course.” We’re still driving to Queenstown… I must have slipped into quite a deep sleep, because I was only gone for 2 hours. “Where can we pitch the tent?” Tommy asked without turning to look. “I’m getting pretty tired. I can’t drive forever.” Queenstown was the district I knew well - it was expected I could find a place for us to camp. I said I could, back in Haast. “Yeah, I think I know a place,” I said peering out the window, trying to get my bearings. Hmm, let me think.
As we drove on through the darkness, I wrought my brain trying to think of a spot to pitch a tent. We didn’t have the money to pay for a campsite, and I knew I could think of somewhere to put up a tent in secrecy. But where?! My boil was beating again, and I desperately wanted to return to that deep sleep I was just in. Arrowtown, by the river…? No, its dark and we don’t have torches. We need a place where we can shine the headlights of the car to put up the tent. Uhhh… Somewhere not obvious. Lake Hayes, maybe? No… that’s a paid campsite. “Is it nearby, the campsite?” Ethan asked in a voice heavy with exhaustion. “My back is getting sore.”
Shit! Where can we put up a damn tent in this place? The Emerald Wagon continued to speed towards Queenstown. Freedom camping has a big penalty in these parts - we couldn’t just park up and pitch a tent anywhere. No way, not in Queenstown. “Umm, I think…” I trailed off. I couldn’t admit that I didn’t know where we could sleep, not even to myself. I thought even harder, overturning entire folders of memory to think of a secret spot. Nothing. It would have to be Moke Lake. “Yeah, I know a spot. It’s in the hills on the other side of Queenstown. Just keep following this road,” I said finally. Damn… Moke Lake is ages away though. “It’s not too far,” I told them. “Maybe another 10 or 15 minutes.”
40 minutes later…
“Man where is this stupid campsite. You said it was nearby,” Tommy said, fed up from all the driving. We were on the back country road headed to Moke Lake by this stage, but it seemed to go on forever. “I swear it’s just around the next bend,” I said. It really was the middle of nowhere. “Shit, we are almost out of gas,” Tommy cursed. I looked over at the dashboard - the gas pointer was pointing at empty. “Ah man,” Toby said. “Yep, we’re gonna be stuck out here,” muttered Ethan. Oh no, what have I done?? We rounded the bend, and Moke Lake really was there, campsite and all. “Phew. There it is. You can’t see it but there it is,” I said, pointing. “Yeah but how are we gonna get back?” Tommy said. “There’s no gas station out here.”
We rolled into the campsite, and found a patch of grass hidden by shrubbery. We fumbled about setting up the tent, washed by the headlights of the Emerald Wagon, and practically collapsed inside when we had our sleeping bags in. Sleep was so very welcome, because in sleep, no problem mattered any more. No problem at all.
Until the morning.
“It really is empty,” Ethan said with his head inside the Wagon. The morning sun was glinting off the bonnet, making the Wagon shine more emerald than ever. Toby and I were busy unfolding the tent and packing it away, and Tommy was sitting by the calm lakeside with Fish and Mouse. “Na don’t worry,” I reassured him. “I’m sure there’s enough gas to get us back to Queenstown.” I sure hope there is…
Nestled deep in the mountains as we were, being stuck at Moke Lake wouldn’t have been so bad anyway. Moke Lake - hidden from the crazy world, it seemed. A place of refuge and reflection, untouched by noise and chaos, and cradled by endearing mountains. The lake itself, like a pool of wisdom, was skimmed lightly by a breeze that didn’t dare displace its serenity. I went to sit with Tommy and our tiny travel companions by the lakeside, to let the deep blue waters hush my thoughts as it did Tommy’s. I could see that he was at peace by the small, grateful smile on his face. “I like it here,” he said, almost as quietly as the wind. Toby and Ethan came to sit with us too.
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I admired the views. It feels so good to be back here in the mountains. With Tommy, Toby and Ethan. I’m so glad we have a gig in Queenstown. A smile split my face. “What an epic journey it has been” I said. Even my voice was smiling. “Yeah thanks for arranging a gig down here Josh. I love Queenstown,” Toby said. “Oh yeah, can you tell us about the gig tonight Josh?” Ethan asked. It was normally me asking him that question. “Oh just you wait. You are gonna love it!” I didn’t want to ruin the surprise - it was truly the show I was most excited for on the whole tour.
With Moke Lake’s blessing in our hearts, we all took our seats in the Emerald Wagon. It was my turn to drive. “Alright, now to make it back to Queenstown with no gas!” I said excitedly as I kicked in drive. “I’m telling you guys, miracles happen in these mountains!” The gravel road was loud beneath the wheels, but the music of the Mint Chicks was even louder. “To Queenstown!” The massive, stolid mountains guided us up and out of the valley. Cecils Peak came into view, and then Lake Wakatipu below it, glistening like a jewel. It was a gorgeous day - I expected no less for our time in Queenstown.
The gas pointer wavered below empty, but I knew it was just the Emerald Wagon being mischievous and playing tricks. I knew it was far from empty. We skirted along Lake Wakatipu, and slowed as we came into Queenstown. It was bustling with all kinds of people, eating ice cream and pies, booking adventure activities, lining up for Ferg Burger, taking pictures, checking into hostels. I drove to the gas station on Gorge road - the one with the view of Coronet Peak between two forested valley walls. The mountain had only a touch of snow at its top, I noticed as I filled the Wagon with gas. It drank up heartily. When I went to pay, I refused to look at the price this time. “Alright, now for some food,” I said, heading us in the direction of Coronet Peak. “I know the perfect cafe.”
The cafe was called Provisions - a dainty little cottage in Arrowtown. The most unlikely place you would expect to find a punk band. We sat around a table on the sun-soaked porch overlooking a shaded garden, munching on what food we could afford, and relishing in the pleasantness of Arrowtown. Quaint. That’s the word. From where we sat, you could see the tree-covered hills kneeling beside Arrowtown, budding with light colours like some marvellous weaving. “In Autumn, that hill explodes with colour,” I told them, pointing up at it. “It’s beautiful.” Arrowtown was always juicy with inspiration, like a ripe peach. If there was any place in the South Island that truly inspired me to undertake a life of Art, it was Arrowtown.
We sat there for sometime. Tommy had disappeared. Toby was doing some work from his phone that he had been commissioned to complete - he lived in Melbourne, and was due back after the tour. Ethan was doing tour administration, organising our final gig in Dunedin the following day. And so, I pulled out the secret companion - my journal - and caught up on our drive down the West Coast. Writing the journey was like re-living it from a new perspective. It enabled me to see the true nature of the journey, and notice the nuances that I otherwise missed. I felt trills of joy when I wrote that we were now in Queenstown, in the very place where I had created my vision for Joshua St Clair. It really is a Pilgrimage, I wrote. I look forward to arriving in Dunedin, to see what this journey is really all about.
We found Tommy in the Art gallery next door, talking with the Artist - Graham Brinsley was his name. The tiny room was brought to life by Graham’s many oil-colour paintings, depicting vivid scenes from around the South Island. They were truly breath taking pieces. By the time we got there, Graham and Tommy were practically best mates. “So you’re the rest of Sheep aye? Good o!” He said to us as we walked in. “Here fellas, take these.” He handed us each a booklet with a collection of his paintings within it. “Wow, these are stunning!” I exclaimed, flicking through the booklet. In there were paintings of Queenstown, Milford Sound, Arrowtown… “amazing work!” Toby exclaimed … Dansey’s Pass, Te Anau, Lake Wanaka, and… “St Clair Beach!” Graham hobbled over. “Ah yes! One of my favourite places in the South Island, that is!” I felt a wave of awe wash through my body. St Clair beach, in Dunedin. Oh my God, of course! Of course!!
I couldn’t wait any long to return to Dunedin now. And yet, we still had the Queenstown show that very night. The show I was looking forward to the most!
THE 5TH SHOW: THURSDAY NIGHT JAM, MICKEY’S FLAT, QUEENSTOWN
Right in the middle of town, there is door. I clicked the code into its keypad, and revealed the dark alley behind it. Ethan went first, followed by Toby carrying his drum cymbals, Tommy carrying his guitar, and then me carrying my synth. The door closed behind us. “Wow this is cool already,” Ethan said, heading the procession down the alley. “Just you wait mate,” I said. “The Thursday night jam is the best!”
In late 2017, I discovered the Thursday Night Jam out of pure serendipity. It was somewhat of a secret gathering of musicians and nomads in the heart of Queenstown, to have epic jams on a feast of instruments and vibe the night out. I had always suspected there were secrets in Queenstown, and this one had been under my nose the whole time. I was surely destined to find it - I came to Queenstown to study Hospitality Management, but ended up pursuing music instead. It seemed only natural to stumble upon this jam night when I did. A musicians’ dream.
From going along every Thursday, I had gotten to know Mickey, the guy who hosted it. And so I had asked him if we could play a SHEEP show there as apart of our New Zealand tour. He had said yes. And that night had come.
Mickey greeted us as we hobbled in with our instruments. The lounge had instruments scattered all over the place - a mini keyboard, bongos, maracas, cohone, guitars - just as I had remembered it. “This is miiiiint,” Tommy said. “The lounge is for the somewhat chill jam,” Mickey informed the others. “It’s out there that the louder stuff happens.” He pointed to the small courtyard, and ushered us out. Outside, there was a small canopy over the drums and amps, but the courtyard remained bare. Light specks of rain tapped my nose. “Yeah it’s going to rain tonight. We are just waiting for one of our guys to bring his canopy. Rain ain’t gonna stop musicians.”
The rain was heavier when the guy arrived, but with the other folks that began showing up, we had the canopy up in no time. With the electric gear and the people protected from the rain, we set up our instruments, and were perched behind them ready to kick-start the jam. I watched as more people trickled into the courtyard and huddled underneath the canopy. Fewer people than I remember. Must be the rain. Some faces I recognised.
Tommy didn’t bother with our introduction this time - it would seem a bit strange. It wasn’t our gig anyway. We were just some random dudes, bedraggled after driving down New Zealand, come to play some punk music. So we just started playing our first song. We didn’t throw it all in - it just didn’t feel like the kind of show we c
The folks huddled in front of us were getting more and more into it as we played through our set. We had played the same songs over and over in the past 2 weeks, so I changed things up this time, and just improvised. This is a jam night after all! I thought as my right hand shredded the top range of the synth between thick bass notes. Tommy glanced over, reading my mind within the instant, and launched into some kind of solo. The vibe seemed to lift with our spontaneity. Some people were dancing, some tapping their feet, others were lighting up cigarettes and bobbing their heads. It was definitely our most vibey song - just 2 chords. Heck, this could almost be a blues! Tommy was still soloing, and I quickly changed my bass tone to a keyboard tone, then picked it back up, playing funky keyboard.
It’s all about the jam. Bugger the song. The jam is where the fun is! Toby’s drumming transitioned from heavy to groovy. Some guy with dreadlocks joined in shaking two maracas. Smiles and laughter spread rapidly amongst the people huddled beneath the canopy, and more and more continued to arrive. The Thursday Night jam had begun!
And so, SHEEP was swallowed by the jam. Spontaneity prevailed! The electric guitar was passed around. Various vocalists took hold of the mic. The drum sticks were gripped by different hands. There was a Reggae jam, a Rock n Roll jam, a jazz jam. I played as much keyboard as I could before needing to use the bathroom, coming back to see another fella taking the duty, playing its string sounds. I was swayed by the jiving assemblage, finding myself on the edge of the canopy, looking down at the piece of paper that was our setlist an hour or so ago, soaking in the rain.
Another hour went by. Maybe two. The party was in full swing now. I saw Toby drumming some, and Tommy also drumming. I had a go on the drums, and played some more keyboard. I stumbled back into the lounge, and found Ethan behind the mic, singing to his hearts content to a room full of people. He was having a blast!
We stayed and jammed until the gathering began to dwindle. Tommy ran off to get the Emerald Wagon, and Toby and I had to pull Ethan off Tommy’s guitar in the courtyard so we could pack it away and make our final move. I slung my synth bag over my back. “Lets get outa here!” I said, leading the procession back down the stairs and through the dark alleyway. I opened the door at the end, and on the other side was the wide open boot of the Emerald Wagon, waiting to load us and our gear back in for the last leg of our journey to Dunedin. “Alright, time for another game of Tetris,” Tommy said, starting to shift things in the boot and slotting his guitar in.
With everything packed tightly in the boot again, we slammed the boot shut. Rain pattered the shelter above us, and muffled sounds from the jam upstairs bled into the atmosphere. “It’s only about 3 hours to Dunedin,” I told the others. “You good to drive Tom?” He nodded. “Yeah I feel more awake than ever. Yaaaheee!!!” Ethan was standing out in the rain, looking above us. “Oh yo! Look at that. Mary’s Sheep!” We looked up. The sign indeed said ‘Mary’s Sheep’ - it was the name of the shop beneath Mickeys flat. “Hah! It was always meant to be,” I said enthusiastically.
“Miracles happen in these mountains!” I told them again as we all squeezed inside the Emerald Wagon one last time. Tommy kicked into drive, and sped out of Queenstown. “Alright. Onwards, to Dunedin!”
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