The Last Tuatara

By Des Hunt

Jason and his twin sister Jessy live with their parents on a remote farm in New Zealand. They are home schooled and enjoy the picturesque surroundings and peaceful lifestyle of the country. That is until Shawn Morris crash-lands onto their property. Shawn works for Sudpak Oil and Gas and has been sent by the company to survey and drill on the family farm. He is unhurt from his misadventure but he immediately rubs Jason the wrong way with his rude comments and his flirtatious behaviour with Jessy. When Shawn shows an unusual interest in Jelly Mountain, Jason begins to suspect that he is far more concerned with his own personal gain than the interests of the company.

Jason needs to find a way to get to the top of the mysterious mountain that has fascinated him since he was a young boy. What did Shawn see from the air that distracted him so much he crashed the plane? Just as Jason begins to despair that there is no way to get to the summit his sister finds a journal that belonged to Maria Stockwell, a girl who lived on the farm in the early 1900s. Maria has provided Jason with a map and by following a series of caves and tunnels Jason finds his way to the top. There he makes a fantastic discovery. Jelly Mountain is home to many tuatara, a species unique to New Zealand which is in danger of becoming extinct. Unfortunately Shawn has also discovered the reptiles and Jason soon discovers that he will stop at nothing to sell them to the highest bidder. The fate of the last tuatara on earth rests squarely on Jason’s shoulders.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Des Hunt
• Release date: Jul 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9780994122698

Des Hunt

Des Hunt is a well respected educationalist and teacher, responsible for writing the national primary schools science curriculum. He has written a series of successful environmental adventures for 9-12 year olds. He lives in Whitianga, NZ and teaches at the Mercury Bay Area School.

Book preview

Chapter 1

SHAWN MORRIS crash-landed into my life on a lovely spring day in early October, exactly one week before my thirteenth birthday.

We were docking lambs down the back of the farm, a job I always liked because it was one of the few times when Dad let me ride his quad bike. My part was to cruise around on the bike keeping the ewes and lambs in a tight bunch. Our two dogs did most of the work – I just had to yell some instructions every now and then.

My sister Jessy’s job was to catch the lambs with a crook, and then pass them to Dad who worked at the back of the ute putting the rubber rings on the tails and other bits. Jessy liked the close contact with the sheep; I liked using the bike; and all three of us enjoyed being together, especially during the breaks, which were a time for fun.

That day we took our break sitting on the back of the ute, overlooking the paddock where the ewes and lambs were trying to sort out who belonged to whom. The lambs were anxiously running around, crying their little hearts out; while the ewes stomped around, bleating noisily, sniffing at every lamb that came their way. One ewe close to us was particularly loud. I decided to give her some help.

Baa-aa-aa, I cried in my best imitation of a lamb. Baa-aa-aa. Immediately the ewe pricked up her ears and charged towards the ute. Baa-aa-aa, I went again. This time she came right up to my feet that were dangling over the side, and began sniffing.

Hey, Jason, said Jessy, looks like she wants you for her lamb.

Yeah, said Dad, just wait a minute while I get the docking tool, then you can join her.

Jessy thought this was a huge joke. I glowered at Dad in mock anger. Keep away from me with that thing. I like being the way I am, thank you.

Then you’d better convince that ewe you’re not her lamb.

This time I gave a much deeper baa, just like the other ewes in the paddock. Straight away the ewe backed away from me, giving me the evil eye. Then out of the mob sprang two lambs, which began sucking and pushing on her teats. She turned to each to check their smell and, when satisfied they were hers, she relaxed and let them feed.

Then for no obvious reason one of them stopped, moved around to the other side and pushed that lamb out of the way. The deposed lamb quickly scampered to the other side and resumed sucking. Now they were both drinking again, but on reverse sides.

Must have been the wrong sort of milk, said Dad.

I laughed. Yeah, this side must be blue top.

And the other’s green top, added Jessy. That’s why the boy lamb changed sides. Green top’s far too healthy for any male.

Could be chocolate flavoured, suggested Dad, and soon we were all making stupid suggestions about what sort of milk would be in each udder. It was during that happy moment that Shawn Morris chose to arrive.

The first we knew of him was when a plane dived down at us, almost close enough to touch. We all ducked and then stared as it roared away, waggling its wings as it went.

Who’s that? asked Jessy, indignantly.

That’ll be Pacific Oil and Gas, replied Dad. They rang this morning to say they’d start the aerial survey today.

I saw Jessy stiffen. She and Dad had already argued over the oil exploration. My sister was always reminding us to care for the environment. One of her ‘things’ was global warming and how people were destroying the planet by burning oil. She frowned in annoyance as fumes and smoke drifted down on us. I can see why they need to find more oil, she said. They waste so much looking for the stuff.

Dad suppressed a smile. I’m sure they won’t drill unless they find enough to run much bigger planes than that one.

Jessy snorted, but said nothing. I figured that she didn’t want to spoil the afternoon by reviving an old argument.

We watched in silence as the plane began a straight line pass over the land between the bush and the coast. Our place sits at the head of the valley where the river comes out of the forest and heads towards the sea about fifteen kilometres away. It is surrounded on both sides by steep hills. We have a narrow strip of river flat plus some sloping land at the sides – three hundred hectares in all, though some of that is too rough to be farmed.

A feature of our farm is a tall limestone outcrop that sits to one side of the valley, separate from the hills. All the surrounding limestone has been eroded away, leaving this oval-shaped mountain. If I were the one naming it, I would call it Hokey-Pokey Mountain because the vertical limestone cliffs look a lot like hokey-pokey. However it was named Jelly Mountain well before I was born and even before Dad bought the farm. Mum says it’s because it looks like one of those jellies that are made in a mould and turned out upside-down. That may be so, but I can’t see it.

Shawn Morris was flying the plane low over the flat land and only climbing when it got to the bush where he banked to begin the next sweep. Soon Jelly Mountain was in his path, forcing him to climb up and over to maintain a straight line.

The first three times worked fine as he cleared with room to spare. On the fourth pass he lifted the plane early, but then dipped down close to the top of the mountain. For an instant it looked like the plane was going to drop down into the bush, before the nose tilted upwards and it began to rise with a mighty noise that filled the valley.

It would have made it if the biggest tree hadn’t been growing at that point on the mountain. The propeller touched the top, spraying leaves everywhere. At the same time the wheels caught in the branches, almost stopping the plane before it managed to pull free. Slowly it rose above the bush and back over the farmland, leaving a trail of leaves and startled birds in its wake.

Yet, even then, it wasn’t over. As we watched, one of the wheels broke clear of the landing gear and tumbled to the ground.

That’s done it, said Dad. Now he’s in trouble.

A moment later the engine coughed, creating a puff of black smoke.

Is it going to crash? asked Jessy.

Yeah, sooner or later, answered Dad, calmly. Jason, go and clear the top-dressing strip. He might be able to keep it going long enough to land there. But you’d better put your foot down.

I jumped off the ute and ran towards the quad.

Me too, cried Jessy. In a flash she was on the seat behind me. Gun it, Jase, she yelled into my ear. Make this thing fly. I could sense the excitement in her body as she tightened her arms around me. I whistled up the dogs and took off.

The top-dressing strip was about a kilometre from where we were working. It’s a long, narrow paddock with a large fertiliser bin at one end. Every couple of months we would put in a big mob of hoggets to keep the grass down. They were only ever in there for a day or two at a time – unfortunately, this was one of those times. There was no way a plane could land without crashing into sheep.

Never before had Dad allowed me to speed on his bike – I didn’t need to be told twice. I covered that kilometre in about a minute. I doubt the quad bike had ever gone faster. While Jessy was opening the gate, I looked to the sky. The pilot was flying in a big circle as if trying to decide what to do next. Small clouds of black smoke showed the path that he’d followed. Then the motor gave a louder cough and cut out for a bit before spluttering back into life.

We’d better get them out quick, said Jessy as she jumped back on. It doesn’t sound good.

The simplest way to move sheep is to get a few moving and wait for the rest to follow. However, we didn’t have time to wait. I sent the dogs around the nearest bunch and got them moving out the gate. Then, with the dogs on one side of the strip and us on the other, we screamed up beside the fence line hoping that the other sheep would be frightened into following their mates quickly.

When we got to the other end, I stopped the bike to search for the plane. It was banking in a turn to make a landing from our end. The engine sounded like it was almost dead.

We turned and headed back down the strip, hoping we could clear enough in time. With me blasting the horn and the dogs barking their heads off, the sheep started running. Yet there is a limit to how fast a sheep can run, and that’s a lot slower than the speed at which the plane was approaching.

The engine’s stopped, reported Jessy. I glanced over my shoulder to see the plane was just about to touch down. We had only cleared about a third of the length – nowhere near enough. Plus the sheep were getting tired. The only thing to do was clear a path down the middle and hope the sheep stayed close to the fence lines.

Hang on! I yelled. With a dog either side of us I opened up the throttle to roar down the middle. The mob parted and moved to the sides, no doubt welcoming the chance to slow down. Hopefully, they would be too puffed to return.

Hurry up, urged Jessy. It’s catching us!

What about the broken wheel? I yelled back.

He’s kept it off the ground so far.

We passed the halfway mark. I looked back to see the plane racing after us, scaring sheep in all directions. It was slowing but was still much faster than us. Somehow the pilot continued to keep the wheel strut clear of the ground.

Then we were in the part that we’d cleared of sheep at the start. I pulled over towards the fence line just as the plane caught up with us. Its wing was starting to dip. I caught a glimpse of the pilot struggling to maintain a straight path.

A moment later the wing dropped onto the ground and dug in. The plane slewed sideways, heading straight at us. I swerved towards the fence, pulling on the brakes at the same time. That was a mistake. The bike lifted, and for an instant we were running along balanced on two wheels. I felt Jessy lean sideways, and the wheels dropped back down to earth. No sooner had we touched than we were thrust into the air the other way as the wing ploughed through the ground beneath us. By the time we came back down the plane was past and heading into the fence.

There was the screech of tearing metal and the twanging of broken wires before the aircraft came to a halt with its nose tipped over what was left of the wires. Our bike stalled and, with it, peace returned to our farm. High overhead a skylark continued its song, completely unaware of the drama that had just played out below.

However, the emergency was not yet finished: black smoke was coming out of the engine. We’d better get him out, I yelled.

But Jessy was ahead of me, running towards the plane. She climbed up a post and grabbed at the handle. The door swung open throwing her back to the ground. The pilot tumbled out to land on top of her. While they sorted themselves out, I spotted a fire extinguisher attached to the door. I pulled it off. The pilot scrambled up to unlatch the engine cover, and I started firing foam into the space.

After a minute of hissing and horrible fumes it was all over. We stood surveying the damage. The front was a mess and now both wheels were broken, yet from the cabin backwards it was untouched.

It’ll fly again, said the pilot. Then he turned to us. Thanks to you two. Who knows what would have happened if the sheep hadn’t been cleared.

I know what would have happened, I said. We’d be eating a whole lot of minced lamb.

Yeah, he agreed, nodding his head slowly, and I’d probably be eating it for eternity.

Do you like lamb? I asked.

No. Not much. I prefer a big steak any day.

Jessy gave a little laugh. Then next time you decide to crash-land you’d better choose a paddock full of cattle.

Then we all laughed, long and loud; the near hysterical laughter of people who, for a time, thought they may never laugh again.

Chapter 2

THE PILOT was back in the plane using the radio when Dad pulled up in the ute.

Everyone all right? he asked.

Yeah, I answered, but the plane isn’t.

He climbed out and examined it. No, it’s not. He won’t be flying that home tonight.

I’ve just called up the cavalry, said the pilot scrambling back to the ground. They’ll be here in an hour or so. He stepped up to Dad, putting out his hand. Howdy there. You must be Terry Knowles. I’m Shawn Morris. We’ve spoken on the phone.

Dad gripped his hand. Hi Shawn, good to meet you. He turned to us. And these here are Jessy and Jason.

Shawn turned and looked at us as if he hadn’t seen us before. His eyes moved from me to Jessy, then back to me, before resting on Jessy. A puzzled look came over his face. Are you twins? We nodded in unison as we always did when asked that question. We are remarkably alike for a girl and a boy twins. When we were babies, most people couldn’t tell us apart. Later, people would use the length of our hair to sort us out. Now there was no problem: Jessy had developed to the stage where nobody could doubt she was a girl.

Thus it was not surprising that Shawn rested his eyes on Jessy. With her long brown hair, green eyes and small oval face she always attracted more than a glance from people of all ages. I look much the same, except for the length of hair, but nobody seems to want to look at me. Mostly I didn’t