Dartmoor orchardist Stu Kilmister (left) inspects the state of his trees with Danielle Adsett from New Zealand Apples and Pears.
Dartmoor orchardist Stu Kilmister (left) inspects the state of his trees with Danielle Adsett from New Zealand Apples and Pears.
As the rain pounded on the roof, Stu Kilmister leapt out of bed and ran to his motorbike.
The stopbank along the Tutaekuri River, at Dartmoor, was his destination.
“I was like ‘are the stopbanks repaired?’’’ Kilmister said.
This was a month ago and the second-generation apple and pear growerwas still living in a container on the family orchard with his wife and two children.
“I drove the length to check, because I didn’t want another hole. I knew we’d get out, but we’d just recovered all the machinery and there was no way I could have that happen again.’’
“Nice and high. It was either that or Te Mata Peak. I couldn’t afford Te Mata Peak,’’ Kilmister said.
This interview had been billed as an opportunity to see how a family operation was recovering, six months on from the devastation of Cyclone Gabrielle.
But it soon became apparent that the events of February 14 are the thing Kilmister is still trying to move on from.
Not seeing his childhood home and the orchard built by parents Bruce and Robyn ruined. Not the months he and brother Philip have spent on their hands and knees, trying to remove silt and save their trees.
And not the crushing financial cost of the cyclone, either.
No, it’s being rescued by a jet boat. It’s then tearing off roofing iron and lowering ladders from a helicopter to pull neighbours, friends, family and RSE workers to safety.
It’s army-crawling across silt for hours - because walking or riding a motorbike was impossible - to get to Moteo and make sure his mum and dad were all right.
“You’ve got the economic side but, at the end of the day, money is money and it comes and goes. But my reason for saying anything is to let people know what other people are going through,’’ said Kilmister.
“A lot of people might not be all right after this and I want to let people know there are people in the community that are still having to recover and deal with this every day.’’
The news moves on. Relief packages are announced and orchards are cleared of debris.
We assume things are largely back to normal and that fruit growers are rich enough to absorb all this anyway.
“In this district 80 per cent of our growers - apple growers being the majority affected - had less than a hundred hectares in holdings,’’ Danielle Adsett from New Zealand Apples and Pears said.
“So we’re not talking about the big corporations. Yes, they have taken a hit and they will feel some pain, but it’s the mums and dads like Stu and [wife] Rachel that are really affected.’’
Silt still sits on Kilmister’s trees. It doesn’t wash off and machines can’t shift it. You have to remove it from every branch, twig and bud by hand.
There’s no way of absolutely knowing if they will fruit again or exactly what damage has been done to the roots by water and silt.
Stu Kilmister's days of living at Dartmoor appear to be over, with his family now preferring higher ground.
“Stu’s sitting here wondering if his trees are going to come back up and if he’s going to have income this year,’’ said Adsett.
“Other growers are sitting there thinking ‘do I take up the [government] finance scheme and reinvest?’ Knowing it’s going to take another five years’ worth of work before they ever see anything from it.’’
Kilmister’s pears were ready for harvest when Cyclone Gabrielle struck. He was up and down all night to check the wind hadn’t blown too many off the trees.
It was about 5am when he saw torrents of water coming from two directions. Unlike neighbours, who woke to water lapping at their beds, Kilmister at least had enough time to get his family into a car and up to the highest point on Omarunui Rd.
He was in those clothes for days. The shoes he wore only survived the first hour or two, so he was barefoot for most of it.
“I was lucky,’’ Kilmister said.
Just not as lucky as some.
He remembers eventually going into Havelock North and being shocked to see folk in bars and cafes sipping coffee and wine.
“Life goes on and we’re living in a warzone.’’
The battle is different now. Days are still spent cleaning up the orchard, but nights are lost to compliance work, recruiting labour and working out how to pay everything.
If there is light at the end of the tunnel, he hasn’t seen it yet.
“But you can’t just give up. You have to keep going. There is no other alternative,’’ he said.
