“There is plenty of it left in the hills,” the tempter said, nodding towards the foothills of the Old Man Range behind his property.
Invariably they reported that it glowed with some inexplicable inner warmth.Ī life-long gold-bug, jeweller and treasure hunter, Rob too knew how to fuel the heat. Later I would learn about another gold dealer in Alexandra who used to hand his buyers a large nugget to hold for a few moments. It’s so pleasingly tactile you want to finger and fondle it, and definitely not put it back in the bottle. (Gold’s chemical symbol, Au, comes from the Latin aurum, meaning “shining dawn”). And raw gold-pieces not bought but found, and nuggets in particular-seems to exude a certain magnetic aura. I have owned items of gold over the years-bits of jewellery, an odd bar, once even an engagement ring-but never before had I been so near so much gold, up so close and personal. The shovel and panning dish of this unknown gold prospector photographed in the 1880s may have largely given way to the electronic wizardry of the metal detector wielded by Alexandra jeweller and prospector Rob Heydelaar, but both men are impelled by the same urge. The prospect of imminent wealth that would turn the wolf at the door into a loving pet visions of eclectic leisure and luxuries-all stretched before me. The early gold-hunters must have felt the same fervent excitement that was short-circuiting my neural network as I stood in Rob’s Alexandra workshop. Thus gold became the primary motive for the exploration of New Zealand’s interior and for the influx of settlers, which is why our folklore explorers usually have a panning dish dangling from their swag. The major New Zealand gold rushes, on a par with those in North America and Australia, put the country on the world map, making it a promised land where instant fortunes awaited the most industrious and daring. At times it has seemed as if this country was built on and because of gold. There have been vestiges of gold wherever I’ve looked. In my decade and more of roamings for this magazine hardly a story has failed to contain at least some “colour”: the Barrington duffer rush in the south-west and Charlie Douglas’s ruminations on gold and human nature Cavie diving the rapids of Buller River the gold diviner in Marlborough the Moria-like mining tunnels in the Paparoas the sieved-through landscapes of Charleston the Clutha dunes piled high by dredges. To be sure, I’ve come into contact with gold many times before. But I was unprepared, innocent and vulnerable, and before I knew it I was rapidly coming down with severe gold fever. In retrospect, this sensation-like a mild malarial shiver mixed with a pang of want-would be easy to anticipate, and perhaps to avoid. A wave-part heat, part excitement-rushed over me, leaving in its wake goose bumps and tingling hair. Its contents seemed radiant, each sliver a miniature gem, beautiful in its imperfection. If ever there was a land of gold this is it! Written by Derek Grzelewski Photographed by Derek Grzelewski