It's a story that is firmly embedded in Maniototo farming folklore.
That time Laurie Inder could not find his heading dog while camped at Tailings Creek during the annual Mt Ida Syndicate muster. He later shone his torch down the long-drop toilet and discovered two little eyes peering back at him.
"Yeah, yummy," as syndicate shareholder Grant Geddes laconically says. So what did Mr Inder do? "Kicked the toilet over and ran."
While many tales abound from syndicate musters, probably none were quite so legendary as the tale of Inder’s Dog, later immortalised in print by Naseby poet Ross "Blue Jeans" McMillan.
This year marks 125 years since the Scott, Inder and Hore families first saw the potential of the land, in the mountain range north of Naseby, to relieve the pressure on their home farms on the Maniototo Plain after dry, difficult years.
Since then, those three families have worked together, later joined by several others, moving sheep into the mountains in the summer, and then mustering them for the return home.
It has been a yearly ritual, eagerly looked forward to by successive generations, joined by neighbours and casual musterers, and a way of life specific to farming in the Maniototo. Those involved were proud of their stewardship of the land, and how they worked harmoniously together.
Originally, grazing was allowed under a pastoral occupation licence, which, unlike a pastoral lease, had a fixed term, with no right of renewal.
But since as far back as the 1960s, there has been debate about continued grazing on the land.
In 2008 the Commissioner of Crown Lands designated the Mt Ida Syndicate land for vesting in the Department of Conservation for conservation purposes. The farmers then sought a judicial review of the commissioner's process.
In 2011, the farmers and Doc reached an out-of-court settlement, with grazing allowed for a 12-week period every year for the next 10 years, while the more than 8000ha block — now known as the Mt Ida Conservation Area — remained conservation land to be managed by Doc.
Farmers later accepted a three-year wind-down period — the alternative was "out then" — with grazing to cease by 2026. There was little point continuing to fight; if it came back to being reviewed, then the same people that made the decision would be reviewing it, Alistair Scott said.
"It’s a goner," Jock Scott — Alistair’s cousin — added.
Those involved were saddened that such an integral part of their own family and the wider district — even New Zealand’s pastoral history — was disappearing.
But given this year officially marked the 125th anniversary since the syndicate was established, Jock Scott said they could not let it pass by without marking it and, while details were yet to be finalised, a gathering of those connected with it over the years would be held.
Run 362B — or as it was known, the Mt Ida Syndicate — was between the Soldiers Syndicate — which continues to function — on the southern boundary and Aviemore Station to the north.
In Beyond the Buster, compiled by Beth Bain to mark the centennial, then chairman, the late Laurie Inder — of the dog fame — wrote how those first shareholders only had a bell tent for shelter.
Stories of the packer having to scrape the snow away with a frying pan at the fly so he could light the fire to cook breakfast were common. The men put their wet clothes under their swags at night and slept on them to try to dry them enough to wear the following morning.
The first major progress came in the early 1930s with the building of the stock bridge over the Otematata River, followed the next year by the Chimney Gully, Wire Yards and Boundary huts — those first to reach the huts would cut tussock to lay on the floor for bedding — and the real change came with the road to Tailings Creek in 1965 and finally right around the run in 1969.
The comfort level might have improved over the years, but what had never changed was the love and respect for what was dubbed "the syndicate" which was passed on to successive generations.
Laurie Inder wrote it was a small boy’s dream to be allowed to go out with the sheep. His first trip was as an 11-year-old on a Shetland pony called Sunny — "and a very tired but proud little boy struggled home three days later".
Alistair Scott had to be 10 to go on a muster, so he was old enough to look after his horse. He recalled trotting along on a big, half-draught horse behind a mob of wethers. "You never caught up with them, they were just going there to go home, they just took off. You just kept following along."
Sam Inder — Laurie’s brother — was never a shareholder but recalled the excitement of taking the sheep out over the holiday break — "shivers, was it ever".
He recalled the length of the days and reaching Tailings Creek in time for a cup of tea, while the "old fellas" would go to sleep. All he wanted to do was go fishing.
Gary Hore also went out as a young lad, where he gained valuable experience in driving a Landcruiser — particularly useful practical experience in handbrake starts — while Grant Geddes, the most recent addition to the shareholding, described it as "all fun" — "like a holiday... [a] working holiday."
Mustering used to be done in conjunction with Kyeburn Station, which had its own mules. Mules could carry a bigger load than a horse and were more sure-footed.
The original hut at Tailings Creek was transported by mules and pack-horses, as was the swing bridge over the Otematata River. The wire ropes were coiled up around the mules, and they reckoned it was the best behaved mule team ever.
When the syndicate celebrated its 65th anniversary in 1961, Walter Cameron, from Aviemore and Otematata stations, then aged 76, rode Monty the mule around the Kyeburn Hall.
Mules also showed their worth during a huge dump of snow in 1967 when musterers were trapped in a hut for three days. By that stage, they were running out of food.
The sadder part, as Jock Scott recalls, was they were also running out of booze; musterers were allowed two long-neck bottles of beer each while the syndicate supplied a bottle of rum or whisky.
They decided to make a break; it was still snowing and there was no horizon or landmarks to be seen, and the mules led the way. Ron Hore and Bill Scott were a little worried the mules were not going in the right direction — but they were right on track and led them to safety.
Sam Inder recalled hearing the story of the musterers getting snowed in for several days at Wire Yards hut. Boredom eventually set in. His father, syndicate boss Jack Inder, booted them outside into the snow to "cool off a bit".
Still full of energy, two musterers were "having a bit of a wrestle" when one went backwards and put his foot in the uncovered pot of stew. Booted outside again — and getting a bit cold — they decided on some retribution, so put a green sheepskin over the chimney.
It was not long before the rest of the crew were smoked out. Every time the shareholders came out of the hut, the musterers would let the dogs in. About midnight, a truce was called and the sock stew was eaten.
There was another night at Tailings Creek when a musterer — fortified with a bottle of rum — started swinging from the rafters. A crack of the stock whip from Jack Inder took him down.
By the time the muster drew to a close, the musterers were usually fairly thirsty. In their hobnail boots, clothes they had been wearing for a few days, and unshaven, they were a sight for sore eyes.
Sam Inder recalled how it used to be "just about an event" to watch them come in from the muster on their horses, surrounded by dogs.
One night, Jock Scott and fellow musterer, the inimitable Bill Sutherland, decided to have a wrestle at full gallop, on their way home from the Danseys Pass Hotel.
A very relaxed Mr Scott fell off on the road and was picked up by Sam Inder who double-banked him home, as his own horse had already headed for home. Sam could still recall seeing him hobbling back up the road to the hotel, stirrup still around his foot.
Alistair Macdonald, from The Plains Station, near Te Anau, was a regular among the mustering team. Grant Geddes recalled them encountering a mob of geese on the road, on the outskirts of Naseby, and Mr Macdonald suggested they catch them. Laurie Inder was somewhat surprised to find one in his bed.
But rather than goose, Jock Scott said it would, without a doubt, be mutton that would be served at a 125th celebration. His eyes light up as he describes how there is "nothing like a camp oven stew".
But cooking on the musters was not a job that people often clamoured to do. In fact, sometimes the cook had to be shown how to cook — usually helped by the more senior members of the team.
The chops for breakfast could often be black, served on a tin plate with a chunk of toast. Sometimes an effort might be made to eat the eye, but often they would be fed to the dogs and some honey slapped on the toast instead. Stew seemed easier for the novice chefs to cook, Jock recalled.
While technology had changed over the years, infrastructure had improved and fewer horses were used, there was still the need to cover the country. But no longer were there foot-sore dogs.
Jock recalled seeing the dogs lying in the tussocks in the morning, on their backs, sometimes having to be coaxed to follow the musterers. Now their trip to the hill was taken care of, on trucks.
In 2001, Country Calendar filmed a hugely popular episode which covered the muster; Grant Geddes recalled they were a good crew — one of the cameramen had been a musterer — even if they had to "walk over the same bit of tussock 10 times", he said. He added he was still recognised for appearing on television.
For Jock Scott’s son Andrew, the syndicate had been part of his life since he was a young boy. He was disappointed his own children would not get to experience it.
As he reflected on those previous generations that had been involved, Matthew Scott — son of Alistair — said he was so much more aware "of how socially everything has changed now — [it’s] another thing disappearing on us."
Closing up extensive tracts of land was pushing farmers to intensify. It was "pretty sad" for the businesses of the families involved to see the syndicate cease and he was also concerned about the effects on the environment by recreational users of the conservation area.
Sam Inder takes tours of the Central Otago backcountry, including the syndicate area. What was driving him "nuts" recently was the mess four-wheel-drive enthusiasts were leaving out there.
"The state of the roads and workings ... any bit of mud they’ve found, they’ve got stuck in it. I think that sort of fraternity have done more harm out there in the last half-dozen years than the farmers have done in 120 years. It was shut up for the whole of New Zealand to walk over, now it’s becoming a play park for that sort of fraternity."
The farmers said it was distressing to see the land "chewed up" by vehicles — supposedly when the area was under "better" management. They had no issues being part of a conservation area if they could still graze their sheep, even if it meant reducing their numbers a little.
While they were legally allowed to graze 9000 sheep, there had only been about 6000 ewes for the past 10 years.
In 2012, Manaaki Whenua Landcare Research was contracted to implement a biodiversity monitoring system for assessing the impact of grazing on the indigenous populations, species, communities and ecosystems in the area.
Vegetation plots and photo points were established and remeasured in 2017. The remeasure detected limited evidence of impacts of grazing over the intervening five-year period.
In the permission decision support document, Doc said the appropriate management objective for the area should be to enhance the ecological conditions. Sheep grazing was not considered compatible with that objective.
Under climate change considerations, it said the stock would emit methane and the activity might also involve emissions from vehicles using diesel or petrol, and that emissions from agriculture formed a significant amount of New Zealand’s greenhouse gas emissions.
While Alistair Scott said they argued that science was on their side, they were told that did not apply and the sheep had to go. "They want sheep out of the high country."
Jock Scott — who was "gutted" about the pending end of the grazing history — said the syndicate’s involvement added to the conservation experience. "I’ve got nothing against it being a conservation park, but why can’t we be part of it? To be fair, sheep are still going to get there ... they’ll find a hole in the fence or tourists [will] leave a gate open."
