It’s big country. Huge. The High Country station stretching ahead of us covers 50,000 acres on the map. Throw in the guts, gullies, creek beds and river catchments, and the number scales up — dramatically. Fortunately, we were mainly interested in the front lowland area. Still more country than I could cover with a good horse and a few fine days up my sleeve, but huntable.
The high ridges, burnished like steel in the dawn, towered over hoary gullies with a crackling of frost covering the grassy patches. The thorny bushes known as Matagouri were charcoal smudges on the hillside, while tall pines on an opposite terrace stood stiff like palace guards. A creek burbled politely as it shouldered through the crowded vegetation, and three red deer looked quizzically at the intruding four-wheel drives.
“Easy Crimpy,
