Olympic and Commonwealth Games heptathlete Sarah Cowley Ross carves out a new career

WORDS Nicky Adams PHOTOS Graeme Murray + Supplied

The Olympic and Commonwealth Games heptathlete’s journey to redefine herself is about leaning hard into her core values and carving out a career where sport still takes the centre stage.

To reach the standard required to represent your country as an Olympic and Commonwealth Games athlete is extraordinary. To reach that standard across multiple disciplines is, in my view, verging on superhuman. To be so talented, disciplined and dedicated, and still be a well-balanced, grounded and thoroughly lovely person – surely that’s impossible? Apparently not.

Aotearoa heptathlete Sarah Cowley Ross is all of the above and more. If you’re a little hazy as to what a heptathlon actually involves, to clarify, it’s a combination of track and field events that requires both speed and power. Over a period of two days, athletes compete in a total of seven events: A 200m and 800m run, the 100m hurdles, and the high jump, long jump, shot put and javelin. Heptathletes are given points for their best performance in each, then ranked according to the highest overall score.

Sarah competed in the heptathlon event at the London 2012 Olympics, where she placed 26th out of 38, having previously placed 10th out of 12 at the 2006 Commonwealth Games in Melbourne. At the 2014 Commonwealth Games in Glasgow, she narrowed it down to the high jump, placing ninth out of 24. Although these are the events that have garnered her the most attention, they’re only the pinnacle of myriad incredible achievements during the course of her career.

I’d presumed the world-class athlete would be a certain type of person, perhaps buzzing with pent-up energy. In fact, I found her to be warm, relaxed and only identifiable as an athlete by her long, lithe legs and an aura of fitness I sometimes fantasise about possessing myself. So deceptive is her demeanour, it’s hard to imagine her out on the field, mentally slaying her opponents one by one.

With a smile, Sarah tells me, “A lot of times people have said, ‘You’re too nice to win – you’ve got to be more mongrel.’ But I can turn it on and off when I need to. I’m very competitive. I always want to win, but that’s changed in the sense that I’m quite comfortable with who I am, so I don’t need to win Pictionary every time! I’ve also changed in that now I want to win for the collective – for communities.”

Sarah was born and raised in Rotorua; her mother Robyn Cowley is New Zealand European and her father Jerry Cowley moved to New Zealand from Samoa when he was seven. Sport was always an integral part of family life; Jerry (who sadly passed away when Sarah was 19) represented New Zealand in basketball, and her brothers Garrick and Richard are also blessed with more than their fair share of sporting prowess. Sarah says that when they were children, there was an expectation that they incorporate sport into their daily life, but not at the expense of other things.

“Looking back, we were allowed to be kids, and play was a big part of our lives. I was just fortunate that I had brothers who were better than me physically and who unconsciously pushed me. I was just always trying to keep up. Later, they’d join in my training sessions. My brothers are two of my closest friends, and when I reflect on my journey, it’s been a family one.”

By the time Sarah reached intermediate, she was keen to shine at netball. In fact, it was her love of netball that initially sparked her passion for sport. “I really wanted to be a Silver Fern – Bernice Mene was a hero to me. Half Samoan, she played netball and did athletics at a young age, and that was it – I wanted to be her. When I was 12, I went on my first representative trip to Dunedin and sat next to her on the plane, which was amazing. Then she came and watched us compete; she’d been in the same competition when she was young. Seeing your heroes is powerful – and Sandra Edge and Chantal Brunner are others I really looked to as well.”

At high school, it was clear that rather than just excellent, Sarah was gifted. She began representing New Zealand at 16, and life became very busy with events and the overseas travel that came with it. That’s not to say her studies took a back seat, though. “I was never not expected to go to university,” says Sarah. “Sport is a vehicle. I got awarded the Prime Minister’s Scholarship, which funded two degrees, and I would’ve preferred to have been training. But I know the value of education, so I got a Bachelor of Health Sciences so I can work as a physiotherapist, and I’ve also got a BA in Communications.”

It’s hard not to be blown away by the sheer commitment that would have been involved in juggling study and part-time work with training and competing as a heptathlete, which is essentially a case of taking the top level of each code and multiplying the expectation by seven. The sheer physicality involved is mind-blowing, and alongside this the mental capacity required to keep up the momentum not just for a short burst, but for 48 hours. Adding into the mix the recovery time for each event and the fact that different sports are known to “peak” at different ages, how is it possible to excel?! I feel exhausted even contemplating it.

“It would’ve been a lot easier to pick one sport,” admits Sarah. “When I was eight, I watched the 1992 Olympics and I knew that’s what I wanted to do. My greatest potential in athletics was heptathlon as I was a natural jumper. I was resistant for a long time because I knew it would be hard and I’m not naturally a thrower, but in 2005 I roomed with a heptathlete and realised it was what I was most suited to. Five months later, I made the Commonwealth Games.”

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Throughout this time, neither Sarah’s dedication nor her family’s support wavered, something that brought both amazing highs and undeniable lows. “Everything was focussed on the performance,” she says. “My friends were buying houses and I had a dollar in my bank account because I’d spent it all on supplements and massages. There were times when I was like, ‘I’m 28 and I haven’t done what I want in athletics yet, I’m single – what am I going to do with my life?’ You finish in your 30s with a lot of great skills but very little job experience.”

Still, Sarah says her ultimate high was when she qualified for the Olympics in Götzis, Austria. “I knew I was in good shape, but a really significant moment was in the high jump when I jumped 191; at the time my best had been 184. I was really free. For a long time, I’d put a handbrake on my life, and for the five years previous I hadn’t improved in the way I wanted to. For a long time, something had been holding me back. A year before, I probably wanted to quit, but I managed to turn it around, and in that high jump I finally unleashed what I was physically capable of. It was one of the purest moments of my life.”

The decision to step away from the world of international athletics in 2014 was similarly momentous, but at the same time natural. There was no big blow-out, no horrendous injury – the timing just seemed right. “I felt done,” says Sarah. “I was 30 and it seemed like a good time to retire. I got married the next year and in 2015 we had our first child, Max.” He was followed by daughter Poppy two years later. Nevertheless, going from training for five hours a day to a desk job was a huge shift, which Sarah says she struggled with.

“For so long in my life, I knew what I was aiming for, so to then have a blank canvas was hard. Immediately after retirement, I worked in marketing for one of my sponsors, Asics, and I loved the job, but I wasn’t expressing my physical gifts through a sport I love with people I love around me. And not being outside was a massive thing too.” Part of Sarah’s journey became identifying a new set of goals to satisfy her competitive nature. The excitement of becoming a mother was also part of the process, and the physical changes of pregnancy meant another mental shift. “It was a transition out of elite sport and out of a body I was used to being in, so I didn’t recognise myself,” says Sarah. “In some ways, it was a release for me to eat anything because I’d been on a performance diet.”

Fuelling her body differently was freeing, “but liberation created a disconnect about who I was and who I was becoming. I had no control – well, I had control over the chip packet! – but not over what was happening to my body.” Throughout this challenging period, Sarah was supported by her husband Angus Ross, a former Olympic sportsman who competed in bobsleigh events. Now a sports scientist, Angus was the perfect person to guide her on what she needed to do to stay well and nurture herself.

For the past few years, Sarah has been on a journey to redefine who she is. Her days are very different and elements of her psyche have undoubtedly changed, but acknowledging her core values has been central to her next chapter. “Self- acceptance became a really big part of who I wanted to be,” she says. “I ‘do’ athletics, but it’s not who I am. There’s a lot more to me than I realised, and sport is a mechanism for living my values, which are legacy, and love and courage.”

These days, Sarah says, her life is like a heptathlon. She’s equally passionate about all her projects, including Olympics- related governance positions, work as a marriage celebrant and as a columnist for online forum LockerRoom (at newsroom. co.nz), for which she exclusively covers women, advocating for them in sport. “I’m really grateful to shine a light on people and provide a platform for these stories to be heard,” Sarah says. As she well knows, it’s vital that young athletes coming through the ranks can find someone to identify with. “I know the power of seeing women in sport.” Sarah also acts as an Olympic ambassador in schools. Through talking about her own journey, she brings the Olympics to life for our youth and encourages kids to be active.

An exciting upcoming role is covering the Tokyo 2021 Olympic Games for TVNZ. Sarah’s thrilled to be a part of this; she’d watch the Olympics regardless, but in this capacity she gets to communicate what’s going on to our whole country. Plus, she says, she’s constantly looking for ways to stretch herself, and the buzz of live TV is similar to the rush of competing.

Despite moving out of the international arena, Sarah certainly hasn’t left sport, and still trains for and competes in triple jump events. “In 2017, I needed something to train for,” she says. “I always really wanted to do the triple jump, and I was highest ranked in Aotearoa. After I had Poppy, I thought I’d try it again, so last year I did and came second at the Nationals. This year, I had a back injury and got third.”

I marvel that she can switch back to the training and diet regime required. “It’s amazing that I still have that,” she concedes. “I can still turn it on. Saying no to things I know won’t help me is empowering.” That’s just another reason why Olympian Sarah Cowley Ross is a cut above the rest.

You can follow Sarah’s behind the scenes journey covering the Olympics on Instagram: @SARAHCOWLEYROSS

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Tokyo 2020 TVNZ Presenter

“For the Tokyo 2020 Olympics, I’m excited to be presenting alongside Toni Street and Scotty Stevenson on TVNZ. We’ll bring all the top sporting moments to you every hour, as they happen. All the Kiwi news and more will be beamed straight back into our homes in Aotearoa. I’ll be cheering on my friends like Emma Twiggs in the sngle skulls. and all my sisters in the Black Ferms sevens team. And, of course, I can’t wait to see how the athletics events unfold.”

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Governance roles

“A significant part of my work right now is as a board member of the New Zealand Olympic Committee and as chair of the NZOC Athletes’ Commission. The advocacy work in this role has created meaningful change for Team Aotearoa and the wider sports high-performance system. I enable athletes’ voices to come through the commission and into the boardroom. Athletes are very goal-oriented people, and want to see action come out of mahi. It’s vital they see their opinions being voiced.”

Award-winning Israel Randell talks art, new challenges and the bigger picture

Through multi-media, moving image and sound, award-winning Tauranga artist Israel Randell articulates the spiritual and unseen. Now, in her new role as curator at Whakatāne Museum & Arts, she wants to help amplify the voices of local talent.

WORDS Maria Hoyle PHOTOS Quinn O’Connell

The question ‘what is art?’ is a tricky one to answer. One person’s masterpiece may be another’s monstrosity, making it hard to reach a consensus. Yet for multi-disciplinary artist Israel Randell, it’s not complicated at all. Art, she says, is a conversation, and as a newly appointed exhibitions curator at Whakatāne Museum & Arts, it’s one she is very much looking forward to having with the local community. 

Originally from Hamilton (Tainui, Ngāti Kahungunu) and of Cook Islands descent, the mum-of-one has her work cut out for her when she arrives at her post (the week after talking to UNO). She and the team will be busy preparing for the February exhibition of the winners of the Molly Morpeth Canaday Award: Painting & Drawing, presented by Arts Whakatāne and held at Te Kōputu a te Whanga a Toi – Whakatāne Library & Exhibition Centre. Although that will be Israel’s immediate focus, she talks excitedly about the bigger picture. 

“I’m really interested in being embedded in the community, getting to know the artists, and finding out how I can help them to realise their ambitions and be that person who bridges the community and the gallery,” says the Toi Ohomai Bachelor of Creative Industries graduate. “I’m also excited to be learning from my colleagues. Going into any new role, it’s good to be listening.”

Listening will be crucial for her dialogue with local artists too. Some may not see the gallery space as relevant to them – for example, those who may be more focused on selling their work, or those from other disciplines such as dance, theatre or acting.

Is it fair to say that galleries are often seen as no-go zones for certain sections of the community? “Yes,” she says decisively. “A gallery space is definitely always viewed as a white space by people outside looking in.”

So breaking down the boundaries between practices is one way not only to showcase a wider variety of work, but also to change the perception of what and who a gallery is for, of reaching those who aren’t, for whatever reason, engaging with it. “It’s constructive to help different types of creatives,” says Israel. “I think it does start with having a structure that caters to every kind of practice, not just the 2D practice or sculptural practice.”

Israel’s no stranger to having a dialogue across disciplines and amplifying the voices of indigenous artists. She arrives in her new role fresh from a Mana Moana research residency with arts agency Circuit, where she looked at the experimental practices of Māori and Pasifika visual artists, writers, choreographers and musicians to produce a collection of interviews and online content. 

Israel’s own work experiments with moving image, multi-media and sound – quite a departure from the large-scale paintings she did as an art student in Auckland. “I took a break, moved to Tauranga and started off again at Toi Ohomai. But I didn’t want my work to be flat on the wall anymore – I wanted to occupy the space between the walls. I wanted to paint with light in space, so I was looking for materials that would let me do that. Lots of painters say all painting is about light and dark. I was interested in using light in a sculptural way to activate space.”

She originally considered working in neon, but it was costly. A classmate suggested wire would be cheaper, so she sourced some on Trade Me and started experimenting with it in the school studio.

Playing with wire and light sounds like a lot of fun, but it was no walk in the park. Israel’s daughter Lola, now two and a half, was just eight months old when Israel started the course. “I was still breastfeeding so I was worried. But I needed something else, a direction or passion, that was separate from my identity as a mother.  I needed that for my own mental health and that in turn made me a better mother.”

It also, she believes, made her a better artist. “You go in there with no bullshit, no excuses – you get things done. You don’t have time to fluff around, then go home and work till 2am, because at home it’s all about your child. So I was way more focused. I think that drive elevated my art practice to something it maybe couldn’t have been when I was a single person.” 

“I didn’t want my work to be flat on the wall anymore – I wanted to occupy the space between the walls.”

That ‘elevated something’ is a compelling body of work that speaks clearly to ‘maatauranga’ – what she describes as “the whole way of being Māori, the many layers that there are.

“I look a lot to cosmological narratives to explore things that aren’t material,” she says. “I’m interested in actualising the intangible. It’s hard… I don’t know if I’m successful half the time. This year’s body of work has focused on water and the elemental phases it goes through, and the spiritual things they hold for Māori and Pasifika people. I’m interested in exploring things that I can’t see that have been told by generations of elders, and trying to connect with it and make sense of it in my own way.”

Israel might not know if she’s successful half the time, but her work certainly impressed the judges of the 2020 Miles Art Award, presented In March by the Tauranga Art Gallery Toi Tauranga. To her surprise, she landed the Supreme Award for Wahi Ngaro, a compelling installation in which triangles of electroluminescent wire reference whakapapa and an in-between space with infinite potential. It’s a beautiful piece, one you can appreciate without knowing what it represents. Does it bother her when she’s asked to explain her work? 

“If people do ask me, I want to have a conversation,” she says. “That’s really all art is, a conversation. The artwork is there to trigger that. Sometimes it’s real honest conversations, like, ‘What the hell is that?’ or ‘Why do I hate this work so much?’” That’s the kind of things that artwork brings.”

And then sometimes the work exists, well, just because. “Sometimes we totally make it because we want to make it. It’s important to let people know that and uncomplicate the way we speak.”

WHAKATANE MUSEUM & ARTS

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The rise of the local rock star with his feet firmly on the ground

WORDS Nicky Adams PHOTOS JOEL MCDOWELL

Like any self-respecting frontman, L.A.B vocalist/guitarist Joel Shadbolt has that certain something you can’t quite put your finger on, the upshot of pure talent mixed with a palpable drive. Add the edge that makes his vehicle of choice a Harley-Davidson, and it’s a heady mix. But Joel’s also a man with a firm grip on reality, so although he may perform to sold-out stadiums, he’s also happy to mow his mum’s lawn.

L.A.B is riding high on a wave of success. After a year of chart-topping brilliance, November’s Aotearoa Music Awards saw them pick up two prestigious gongs for Best Roots Artist and People’s Choice. They’re currently working on their latest album, L.A.B IIII, due for release in January. It’ll be their fourth, with the previous three making waves in the industry and gathering the band a following that (on social media, at least) increases by the minute. 

It was the 2020 summer single In the Air that created the seismic shift that took the band from successful to household name. It’s one of those tunes people just can’t get enough of, crossing genres and leapfrogging age groups to get everyone tapping their feet and singing along. It’s nothing short of musical gold.

Despite L.A.B standing on mixed-genre musical terrain (soul, reggae, blues, R&B, funk…), the latest album sees them really grow into their groove. Reflecting on this, Joel says, “There’s always a common thread between the albums, and like any band, the sound evolves over time. This album has more strings, which we only dabbled with a little bit on the last album, and we’re using a horn section for a couple of songs. We’re experimenting with different instruments, which in turn makes you try out different styles. We’re not a band that’s stuck in one place – we’ve got reggae, funk, blues and electronic influences in there.” 

I wonder if the pressure of trying to follow one chart-topper with another leads to a less natural or experimental creative process. Joel thinks not. “In the past, we’ve tried to write in a way that’d suit a certain market, going in with the mentality ‘Let’s write a hit’, and that’s never worked for us,” he says. “We figured out quickly that to write well, we just need all the instruments set up in the room and to jam as a band. That’s when the best stuff comes out. It’s interesting that as one song out of 40-odd, In the Air is what people gravitated towards. It’s not a ‘pop’ song as such. It was an organic, jam-an-idea-then-press-the-record-button type of song.” 

The thing about this kind of out-of-the-box success is that the follow-up is going to be hotly anticipated and expectations sky high. You’d imagine this would make releasing the new album a bit nerve-wracking. “Definitely,” says Joel. “But our approach has always been the long game – to be a band that writes albums, tours a lot and builds a solid fan base from the ground up. We’re doing what we love. Yes, all eyes are on us, and there’s the ‘Can they do it again?’ question, but we felt that pressure with the first album, which put us into the vortex. Although the second album didn’t do so well, with the third – boom! We’ve taken that same concept and I think the songwriting is stronger. We’ve been playing together for five years now, so there’s a very strong chemistry and that’s a key ingredient in good songs – a band that’s cohesive and works together. I think our fans are going to love this next album. It feels really cool.”

When Joel got the call from founding member Brad Kora in 2015 to see if he was interested in joining L.A.B as its lead singer, he knew it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Never mind that he believed his main strength was as a guitarist rather than a vocalist – he jumped at the chance. Brad and his brother Stuart were already big names in their own right with their band Kora, and Joel himself had grown up a fan of their music, so he couldn’t sign on the dotted line fast enough. “Preparation met opportunity, and I was prepared to sacrifice everything for that moment,” he says. With Joel, Brad, Stuart, ex-Katchafire member Ara Adams-Tamatea and Miharo Gregory in the mix, the chemistry took hold, and the first album proved it was a winning formula. 

“Preparation met opportunity, and I was prepared to sacrifice everything for that moment.”

In many ways, Joel seems too grounded to be the New Zealand rock idol he’s become, although music has been his world from the start. Growing up in Papamoa, he went to the local primary school then onto Mount College, staying for three years before the decision was made to move him to Bay of Plenty Polytechnic (now called Toi Ohomai Institute of Technology), where he’d been offered a scholarship to study a two-year diploma in performance and production. On completing this, he studied jazz for three years.

“While I was at polytech, I went to a summer music academy in LA,” says Joel. “That was a moment where I realised that if I wanted to take my music seriously, I had to study on a higher level. At that time, you could either study classical or jazz at a tertiary level, and if you wanted to get good at understanding the harmony of contemporary music, that was the way to go.” 

The Shadbolt household was a musical one. His dad is professional country singer/guitarist and his mother is also a music enthusiast, boasting a collection that would make anyone with an ear for a tune weep. With songs by Jerry Coker, Van Morrison, The Doors and The Doobie Brothers the soundtrack to Joel’s early years, he still loves those ’70s beats today. Busking and playing in cover bands and other groups at local pubs was his rite of passage, as was the usual OE, which he spent in Cornwall.

Joel returned to New Zealand when his father fell ill, and felt a shift once his dad passed away. It was time to get serious about his life goals. He joined L.A.B the following year; five years later, they’re one of New Zealand’s hottest bands. 

The celebrity part of fame is hard to get your head around, says Joel. “You’re never ready for the attention that can be thrown at you – no one teaches you how to deal with that. The energy it requires to have your game face on every day just isn’t natural.” 

We talk about fellow Kiwi band Six60’s upcoming documentary, Till the Lights Go Out, in which its members discuss their vulnerabilities and struggle to cope with the level of success they’ve achieved. Joel can identify with how they sometimes find themselves in a dark place. “Your world gets noisy,” he says. “I used to sit and play guitar all day, but it’s like your reality gets flipped. I’m doing what I love, but now there are other things that are a part of that.”

“You’re never ready for the attention that can be thrown at you – no one teaches you how to deal with that. The energy it requires to have your game face on every day just isn’t natural.” 

Being a musician is, after all, not the same as being a performer. In a sense, the two go hand in hand, but the performance aspect is notoriously daunting for many talented musicians. Joel agrees that talent doesn’t guarantee the X-factor needed to front a band. “In the early days, I struggled with stage presence and confidence,” he says. “I worked on being more outward with my personality and learned a lot just by playing and being in a band with musicians who had toured on that level and played the bigger stages, just how to work the energy of the crowd a bit better, as well as my energy as a performer. That’s something I’ve crafted over the last four or five years. I’m constantly refining and analysing.” 

As seasoned musicians, Brad, Stuart and Ara have been generous with their guidance, and not just in a musical sense. At the start, the band sat down and wrote on the back of a pizza box a list of things they wanted to achieve. Hit songs and house purchases were included on it – not exactly drugs, groupies and throwing TVs out of hotel windows. As Joel points out, though: “It’d be different if we were a group of 29-year-olds, but we’re not.” 

Having been on the circuit for some time, the older band members were all too aware that fame is transient, and so is the influx of cash. To ensure financial harmony, the group set themselves up equally, in a similar way to bands such as U2 and the Rolling Stones. “It doesn’t matter who writes the songs – up the guts, it’s an equal spread through the whole band. The person who writes the hit song doesn’t get the credit, the band gets the credit, and everyone gets an equal share of that pie, which is key to everyone feeling ownership of the band and working hard because you’re getting paid properly. It keeps you accountable. We want to be a band that has depth; we want to be here for 30 or 40 years. The success is amazing, but we’ll carry on regardless.”

It’s this focus and work ethic that sees the band tour relentlessly. They don’t take their fans or success for granted, and continue to play at everything from small venues to stadiums and arenas. Covid-19 has obviously changed the dynamic, with the international side of things stalled for the time being. However, Joel doesn’t seem too fazed by this and social media means L.A.B’s still getting its name out there. Pre-pandemic, the group had been making inroads into the Australian market, largely via the ex-pats over there, and there are still a few opportunities coming up. They’ve got their feelers out in the US and Europe too. 

Joel has his head screwed on in some areas, yet he’s still a loose cannon in others. He had a minor mishap on his motorbike earlier this year, but it’s part of his rockstar DNA (and possibly his actual DNA – his mum is also a biker). His accident couldn’t have happened at a worse time, just a day before the band was due to open for Fat Freddy’s Drop in front of a massive crowd. Things weren’t looking too peachy for a guitarist with a dislocated shoulder, but despite being told he needed to stay in hospital, in true frontman style, Joel topped up on painkillers and whisky and played on. 

The ability to temper success with reality is in part what makes Joel and the rest of L.A.B such an awesome combination. Fame’s not the incentive – bringing beautiful music to life is what drives them. They don’t take themselves too seriously, and if this wasn’t obvious before, Brad’s acceptance speech for their Best Roots Artist Award well and truly captures their spirit. He told the audience: “Five years ago, I met Joel, I was writing this song and we had about two fans. I was looking for a singer and I heard this guy on the Good Morning show, and he sounded like a black man, so I looked at the TV and it was this ginga...”  As Joel basked in Brad’s humour, it was clear that a prouder, fair-skinned redhead could not be found in all of Aotearoa.

@LAB_MUSIC

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FUN FACTS ABOUT JOEL

• Joel’s 29, an only child and with the world at his feet, would still rather live right here. Town, country or beach? “I’m not fussed,” he says. “As long as I’m in the Bay, I don’t really care.”

• If he could play with anyone, he’d play with Eric Clapton. “I’ve listened to him across his whole career,” says Joel. “His voice, his songwriting, his career has been massive.” 

• What’s one gig he wishes he could have been at? “I’d have loved to be a person in the crowd at Wembley watching Queen, with Freddy Mercury singing and Brian May on guitar.”

• He still teaches beginner guitar lessons. “There are parts of my old reality I don’t want to change and I love teaching,” he says. “So on a Saturday night, I’m rocking out to 1000 people, but on a Tuesday, I’m teaching a kid how to play a G.”

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The multisporter making his own way in the world

WORDS Sue Hoffart PHOTOS Graeme Murray

For four-time Coast to Coast champ Sam Clark, dodging explosives in China and kayaking from Sweden to Finland are what makes adventure sports not just a hobby, but a way of life.

Endurance athlete Sam Clark credits cartoons with kick-starting his career as a jet-setting adventurer and multisport titleholder.

In recent years, the tenacious Welcome Bay resident has managed to dodge explosives in a Chinese quarry and container ships in the Baltic Sea. In February, he ran, biked and kayaked across the South Island in just over 10 hours to scoop the prestigious Coast to Coast world multisport championship. It was the fourth time in five years that he’d won the gruelling 243km race from Kumara Beach to Christchurch.

His early forays into sport were far less successful. As a boy, Sam proved uncoordinated with a hockey stick and similarly awkward with a soccer ball.

By age 10, he had his priorities sorted. If the painfully slow school bus couldn’t deliver him home in time for his favourite martial arts cartoon, he would bike to and from Otakiri Primary School himself. Given the school was 11km from the Clark family abode in the rural Eastern Bay of Plenty, Sam easily clocked up more than 100km of riding each week. It also set a precedent; if he wanted to venture into downtown Whakatane on the weekend, his parents knew he could cycle the 70km round trip himself.

Young Sam had discovered the joy of independent travel and found himself quickly, accidentally fit.

“By default, I became one of the fast kids,” the 30-year-old recalls. “And winning cross country was pretty important at primary school. Once I was fit, running opened doors.”

Sam and older sister Sophia began training for triathlon competitions, piling in the back of their father’s ute to swim train at Lake Rotoma. From a young age, the siblings also embarked on challenging multi-day tramping and kayaking trips in Urewera National Park with their outdoorsy parents, Environment Bay of Plenty Councillor Bill Clark and recently-retired primary school teacher Alison. 

Sam suspects his thirst for adventure was inherited from his poetry-loving father, who had lived and travelled in Africa, owned sawmills and gave up an accounting degree to become a deer culler. Bill Clark also competed in the Coast to Coast multisport event that his son would go on to win four times.

“Growing up, complaining was not an option. I think there’s something in my blood that makes me push myself to do mad things,” says Sam.

The school teacher’s son was also studious and bookish and a trumpet-playing member of the Bay of Plenty Brass Band till age 14. To earn any screen-watching time, he and his sister needed to chalk up the equivalent period in music practice.

At Whakatane High School, Sam discovered interschool multisport races. He borrowed a mountain bike, dusted off his father’s old kayak and fared unexpectedly well against a much bigger pool of teenage peers. Hooked, he asked his parents whether he might perhaps have a racing kayak for Christmas. 

“I woke up Christmas morning to find there was a splitting axe under the tree. It was their way of giving me the opportunity to earn it, and I spent most afternoons and holidays splitting firewood,” explains Sam.

It took months of work to earn the $2000 ticket price.

“By the time I could afford the new kayak, I had the strength to paddle it.” 

Even before he was legally old enough to hold a licence, Sam would load up his prized craft and drive 10 minutes down country roads to the Rangitaiki River, to practice paddling. 

His final year of high school was a blur of entry forms and weekend races, including the rugged Motu Challenge multisport race where he finished fourth amid an adult field. He was only 18 when he entered and won the non-elite, two-day section of the Coast to Coast event for the first time. 

“I thought I might truly be good at this kind of racing, but how could I fund it?” recalls Sam.

Unwilling to face the prospect of more full-time study, he opted instead for a mechanical engineering apprenticeship at the workshop where he had spent his school holidays. While he was an able enough worker, Sam was not a model employee. 

“I was constantly at odds with my bosses about staying late or doing overtime because all I wanted to do was go and train. And I was taking a lot of unpaid leave to go do sports events around the country,” says Sam.

For four years, his apprentice’s wage was spent on race entry fees, travel and sporting equipment, ticking off Ironman events and world championships, eight-day expedition races with a team and individual challenges in New Zealand and overseas. 

Once he had his fitter and turner’s qualification in hand, Sam continued to mix work and sport.

“A lot of athletes my age dropped away. They went to uni or couldn’t fund themselves any more. But I was always able to find work and some way of getting to the start line. Eating baked beans, using borrowed gear; if you really want to do it, you’ll somehow make it work.“

Disappointments came with the wins and placings. A planned trip to Europe, for a season of  cycle racing, had to be abandoned when Sam tumbled off his mountain bike and broke his wrist. Those events that didn’t go well only served to spur him on.

“I thought I’ve got to train harder, come back better, more well trained, better prepared and faster,” says Sam.

“I made an awful lot of mistakes but I learned from them. What to eat, what not to eat. What gear to use. Lining up and doing ultramarathons, thinking running 90km will be easy, then having to walk 40km at the end because I didn’t fuel properly, or train. 

“There’s nothing like the absolutely darkest moments to learn from.”

In China, Sam has raced through northern provinces using Soviet-era maps to traverse roads that no longer exist. He has paddled on the Yellow River and through one of the world’s largest cave systems. In later years, mobile translation apps have helped him communicate with friendly, curious locals as well as fellow Chinese competitors. Once, he and his teammates found themselves in the middle of a quarry, surrounded by explosives. 

“There were sticks of dynamite and blasting caps in the rocks around us. What did we do? We ran extra fast to get out of there! No, my mum doesn’t know about that,” laugh Sam.

“But part of what makes racing in China so appealing is that when you finish each day, all the teams sit around a dinner table and share war stories, so there’s a lot of camaraderie involved. It’s the hardest and most challenging races I’ve ever done, in places nobody has ever heard of.”

Some destinations are easier to love than others. He talks fondly of a particularly satisfying world swim-run championship event in Sweden that involved 72km of running and 12km of swimming between islands in the Stockholm archipelago. The spectacular scenery was part of it, and the Baltic Sea’s low salinity level meant he didn’t need goggles and the water tasted almost sweet.

Sam has become far more appreciative of the places racing takes him. He now makes a concerted effort to stay with local residents, to explore and try the local cuisine rather than focussing solely on race preparation and recovery. His favourite memory of a French alpine event involves staying with a local family for a week and helping them concrete their driveway.

The failed soccer and hockey player has certainly discovered the joy of being a valued part of a team. He has found his tribe; a like-minded international group of adrenaline-fuelled athletes who have taught him about organisation, team dynamics, friendship and the thrill of pitting himself against a series of outrageously difficult challenges.

Two years ago, when he raced – and won – with the Swedish military adventure team, he found himself paddling from Sweden to Finland.

“It was terrifying. You’re in the middle of the open sea with towering waves, in kayaks that aren’t up to the job, trying to avoid enormous container ships and knowing you just have to keep going, turning back’s not an option,” says Sam.

“For me, it’s such an exciting, unpredictable way of living.

“I don’t always look forward to a race, sometimes I dread it. I put an awful lot of pressure on myself… And yes, I do that in life as well, because all this has an opportunity cost. I look at friends who have gone to uni, have steady jobs, own houses and sometimes you can’t help but compare what you have.

“But of course, I’ve now had 15 years of travel and adventures. It opens you up to having these absolutely wild experiences you could never hope to achieve any other way. I love the sense of fulfilment. I certainly wouldn’t change it.”

Boy meets girl

Sport and social media brought Welsh medic Zoë Cruse into Sam’s orbit.

The pair became Facebook friends after he spotted the dreadlocked doctor out for a run in Whangarei, where she was working in urgent care after emigrating from the United Kingdom.

Then, when Zoë was living in the Philippines and Sam was racing in China, they found themselves in similar time zones and began chatting online. Once they were both back on New Zealand soil, they met in person for the first time. On their second date, mutual love was declared. By their sixth date, in the summer of 2018, she agreed to move to Tauranga with him.

Since finishing her medical degree, Zoë aims to spend six months practicing medicine and the other half of the year travelling and teaching yoga or scuba diving.

“The reason we are so good together is because our lifestyles are similar and we have similar values,” she says.

“I think I’m a bit nomadic, I have the worst itchy feet. Helping people and making a difference to people is a big part of what I do but I’ve never wanted medicine to define me. It’s one of the things I do.”

Zoë is also an amateur triathlete and a current member of Tauranga’s musical theatre group.

A locked-down world

Sam and partner Zoë ought to be in Europe right now, recovering from an Ironman-style event in Germany. But the global COVID-19 pandemic has scratched almost everything from the international racing calendar and removed Sam’s ability to earn from sport.

“COVID-19 really forced me to evaluate the way I’m living a little bit,” Sam says. “Without having an income stream from overseas races, I’ve had to go back to doing a bit more work using my trade.”

He is currently working as a landscaper, taking engineering work when he can and studying towards an engineering diploma, while fitting in 14 to 20 hours of training each week. And he considers himself one of the lucky ones.

“There are an awful lot of athletes out there stacking shelves or making coffee to make ends meet. They are really struggling with their own sense of worth because there aren’t races to target and work towards. And that’s not just professional athletes.

“For now, overseas events are not going to be a reality for most Kiwi athletes. It certainly makes you appreciate what we’ve been able to do in the past.

He says domestic events are starting to pop up again.

“One I really want to do is the Geyserland Mega Grind, a 700km bike packing race from Rotorua to Gisborne and back via Urewera National Park,” says Sam.

“In the absence of overseas travel, I’m turning my sights back on grassroots New Zealand events. This is a great opportunity to look at what we have in New Zealand. People flock here from all round the world to fulfil their sense of adventure and there are still many parts of the country I have not been to.”

Master + Commander

Lisa Hunn has a lot of achievements to her name. A member of the Royal New Zealand Navy (RNZN), she’s represented New Zealand as an acting captain in 2016 exercises aboard warship USS America and been chair of the RNZN Women’s Steering Group. But all that and a diploma in fine arts pales in comparison to the moment she’s most proud of.

WORDS ANDY TAYLOR / PHOTOS TRACIE HEASMAN

On June 14, 2017, she assumed command of HMNZS Te Mana, becoming the first woman in our navy to captain a frigate. Accepting the symbol of command, she uttered the immortal phrase: “I have the ship”.

The frigate is a battle-ready component of our navy, with all the bits to blow things up. “And the best part is that Te Mana’s symbol of command is quite big,” says Lisa. “Other ships have pounamu and the like, but with the hoe, I get to tell everyone that mine is bigger than theirs!”

This line is typical of Lisa. She has a very, very serious job, with the lives of 180 people directly in her hands, and often the lives of hundreds more indirectly, dependent on her command. And yet she’s retained that classic Kiwi ability to find humour in all areas of life.

This ability to look on the bright side is essential when you’re “driving” (as she puts it) through rough seas and storms in a warship the navy describes as “designed to fight and evade her enemies and take battle damage”. And you think you need light relief after a bad day in the office.

Lisa talked to UNO just a couple of days after being rushed to hospital with acute appendicitis that saw her have emergency surgery. “It wasn’t exactly what I had planned for the week,” she says, dryly.

Lisa’s story starts in Wellington, in what she describes as a yachting kind of family that could often be found out on the water in a variety of small boats. Her parents regularly attended the local yacht club, and while they were there, young Lisa spent her time with the Sea Cadets. For many of us, childhood interests like this are a passing distraction, but it was clearly more formative for her.

“It did have a huge effect,” she says. “I’d always loved being out on the sea, but the cadets showed me that there was more to it than that. It was a real passion, and the
navy offered something that allowed me to combine that love of being out on the ocean with seeing the world. If I was to try a philosophical explanation, I’d say that the navy offers access: access to the world, to challenges and to experiences that not
many other careers can match.”

Commander Hunn’s experiences are a roll call of foreign locations and corridors of power. She entered the navy in 1990 on the ‘general list’ as a midshipman, and did initial officer training, then a Bachelor of Science in geology. A promotion to sub lieutenant and a stint on her first seagoing unit followed, with time on HMNZ ships Endeavour, Wellington, Canterbury and Takapu. She received commendations for excellent service throughout the ’90s, and by October 2002 was a lieutenant commander and had added a New Zealand General Service Medal (Afghanistan) to her decorations for participating in Operation Enduring Freedom in the Gulf of Oman. She represented New Zealand at international AUSCANNZUKUS meetings (it’s pronounced Oz-Can-Zoo-Kiss, since you asked), then became executive officer of HMNZS Te Mana, whose home port is Tauranga. Executive officer is the second in command, and Lisa’s trajectory seemed fairly clear – until she started looking for another challenge.

“I’d always been interested in the arts and it had always been a passion,but the navy kind of got in the way. There came a point where I thought, ‘It’s now or never’, and so I started a Diploma in Fine Arts. It was the biggest challenge I’d ever faced.”

Bigger than navigating a warship through a cyclone? “Well, yes – in many ways it was! It was such a different approach, a different set of parameters, but I really loved it, and when I graduated I thought I could juggle a life of some part-time work for the navy with being a part-time artist of sorts.”

It didn’t quite work out that way. Instead, in 2014, realising the sea was a stronger calling and that she was missing the navy more than she could have imagined, Lisa re-engaged in the navy’s regular force. Once she was back in the thick of it, a few high-ranking land-based appointments presented themselves, but it wasn’t until that moment at Auckland’s Devonport Naval Base, when she said, “I have the ship” and became captain of HMNZS Te Mana, that it suddenly all made sense.

“It wasn’t so much about the command alone,” she says. “It was about knowing I could lead and inspire – that I could help bring up the next generation that would get to see the world. Commanding a ship is a privilege, but helping to shape young people into the future generation that will serve in our navy is an honour.”

The role of our navy is at a crucial turning point, something Lisa is very much aware of. “We have such a strong naval tradition in New Zealand, and such a strong naval reputation, which is respected all around the world. In 2017, the USS Fitzgerald was in a collision and it was to HMNZS Te Kaha that they turned to fill the gap. That’s the level of respect our training and ability has given us. And yet in some ways we’re very inward looking; we’re an island nation, and the sea is in our heritage, yet we don’t look out to those oceans around us.

“But I believe that’s changing now, and there are several initiatives before the government that are about having a new focus on the Antarctic, because that’s going to be such a huge part of us as a county going forward. So many other countries will be looking to have an influence in our part of the world, and we need to have a presence there – it’s our backyard, after all, and not many other interested parties can say that.”

It’s quite nice to know New Zealand will be flying the flag in our backyard more and more in the coming years. And it’s really nice – and very reassuring – to know someone like Lisa will have the ship when we do.

navy.mil.nz

Trekking across Greenland with Hollie Woodhouse

Can you imagine dragging something heavier than you are across a canvas of ice all day, every day for a month? Hollie Woodhouse reckons it’s all about the top two inches. 

WORDS JENNY RUDD + HOLLIE WOODHOUSE PHOTOS KEITH PARSONS + BENGT ROTMO

When I first came across Cantabrian Hollie Woodhouse’s magazine Say Yes To Adventure two years ago, I was completely captured by its exciting stories and eye-widening images of people doing things that make you feel like the world is something to climb to the top of so you can truly see how magnificent it is. She published tales of scaling barren mountains in countries I’d never heard of, camping in the ice under the Northern Lights and cycling across continents. At the centre of it all was Hollie herself, a diminutive, blonde handful of sparks. As well as writing about her own adventures, she edited, designed and published the magazine too.

That afternoon, I went for a walk around the Mount and on the spur of the moment, decided to say yes to adventure. I left the track and headed diagonally up, fighting my way through scrabbly scrub and eventually getting stuck. Sweaty and a bit scared, I perched halfway up the slope facing out towards Matakana Island. My only option was to let gravity lead me back to the base track through the dense bush. I arrived home breathless and muddy. ‘Probably won’t mention that to Hollie…’ I thought.

If you ask Hollie about her achievements, she’ll tell you, “I’m not some ultra-athlete, I’m just a girl next door who goes out and gets involved.” But when you consider what she’s done, you realise she’s anything but average. Among other feats, she’s competed in the Coast to Coast, run 250km across the Moroccan desert in the brutal Marathon des Sables, and most recently crossed the 560km Greenland ice cap pulling a sled heavier than she is.

I was expecting her to be a no-nonsense, laser-focused high achiever; instead, when we eventually meet I find a funny, self-deprecating woman with a flair for graphic design. Originally from Ashburton, she’s been spending more time in different parts of the country through being invited to speak at events and share her experiences. Talking to her in Cambridge, I ask what she learned from her Greenland crossing.

“I learned what it feels like to really, really struggle,” she says. “I used to be pretty dismissive of people when they said they couldn’t do something, especially physical things like running 5km or swimming in the ocean, but now I know, because that was me at times in Greenland. I felt like I just couldn’t do it, but our team encouraged me and spurred me on. So I suppose you could say it made me a nicer person!”

I asked Hollie to tell us more about her extraordinary Nordic feat. Here, in her own words, is her story.

---

I was three hours into trekking across the Greenland ice cap, and all I wanted to do was quit. I’d spent the past six months imagining myself as a strong warrior gliding over smooth snow under bright blue, never-ending skies, the sun warming my bronzed face. The reality, however, couldn’t have been further from the truth. 

My 55kg were struggling to pull the 60kg pulk (sled). My skis had a mind of their own, sliding uncontrollably from underneath me, too often seeing me face plant into the icy snow. It’s funny how dreams never quite work out that way we intend, but to hell with happy endings. Ultimately, I was there for the story.

I was part of a six-man team (Antarctic Heritage Trust executive director Nigel Watson, polar guide Bengt Rotmo, and four explorers: New Zealanders me and Brando Yelavich, and Australians Bridget Kruger and Keith Parsons) led by the Antarctic Heritage Trust for its third Inspiring Explorers’ Expedition – a 560km trek across the Greenland ice cap. The trust’s mission is to conserve, share and encourage the spirit of exploration, something they believe is critical in the 21st century. This expedition was to do just that while honouring the remarkable legacy of Fridtjof Nansen, who made the first crossing 130 years earlier. 

“I learned what it feels like to really, really struggle.”

Growing up on a sheep and beef farm prepared me for the rough and tumble of the outdoors, but nothing could have prepared me for this adventure. Even though expeditions in freezing climates had never been on my bucket list, however, I knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, not to be missed.

Best described as being trapped inside a ping-pong ball, Greenland was far removed from my everyday reality. Life was broken down into the most basics tasks. It would take me 15 minutes every morning to squeeze my feet into my frozen boots while balancing awkwardly in our two-man tent. After boiling water, eating breakfast, then clumsily taking down our tent (a small feat in itself when wearing three layers of oversized mittens) we’d line up ready to tackle the next 20-odd kilometres of the day. 

Using the sun and wind to navigate, we’d ski in a line, one behind the other, with a 10-minute break every hour. After anywhere between 10 and 16 hours of skiing, time would be called and the evening routine would commence. Tent up, water boiled, dinner eaten, team meeting, diary entry and finally, sleep. Wake up, repeat. I now understand the meaning of the term ‘Groundhog Day’.

We battled unseasonable wild weather, including two hurricanes. Each time, we dug down our tents to escape the full force of the ferocious winds. Using the excess snow, we built giant walls, their proximity to the tents critical, down to the last centimetre. We hunkered down for up to 30 hours at a time, snow falling like cement around us. These delightful moments were considered ‘rest days’; there’s nothing like the steady drum of 180km/h wind to lull you to sleep. 

As the days turned into weeks, my body slowly became accustomed to the new normal. With every step, I managed to grasp the skill of Nordic skiing. Instead of fighting the unnatural movement, I was able to switch to autopilot and would often find myself in a state of flow. It was during these moments that I was reminded why I say “Yes” to the unknown.

“Instead of fighting the unnatural movement, I was able to switch to autopilot and would often find myself in a state of flow.”

We were told the trip would take us anywhere between 22 and 25 days, so we took 27 days worth of food, just in case. Our fuel was high-energy, high-fat foods including nuts, chocolate, chips and lollies – a five-year-old’s dream. On the morning we were due to leave, Bengt was concerned we didn’t have enough to eat. A small detour on our way to the ice cap took us to a tiny supermarket where we bought more food, including three blocks of Norwegian butter. At the time, I questioned if I’d ever be in a situation where I’d voluntarily eat three blocks, but towards the very end of our trip, as I sliced off chunks and ate them straight, I cursed myself for not buying more.

Towards the end of our journey, we were up against it. Storms and sickness had slowed us down considerably, and with five days left and more than 170km still to cover, tensions were high among the team. Would we make it? More importantly, did we want to make it? Frustrations aside, we decided not to call the helicopter, instead opting for human power to get us to the finish – or at least as far as possible. 

Pushing on, the final day provided the best conditions of the entire crossing. With our boat having literally sailed, a helicopter was organised to pick us up, regardless of our location. After battling whiteouts, powder up to our knees, relentless winds and temperatures as low as -39.5°C, we could finally smell the salty sea air.

After 22 non-stop hours, I ungracefully pizza-wedged to a stop for the final time. With tears sliding down my sunburnt cheeks, I was overwhelmed with emotion: elation, pride and an immense sense of achievement (and relief in knowing I never had to pull on my boots again!). In a season in which only a handful of teams successfully made it across the ice, I couldn’t have been prouder.

As I peered out the window, safe in the helicopter that was transporting us back to a warm shower and a decent meal, I watched the vast white of the ice cap below. From east to west, 29 days later (five days more than expected), Greenland had brought me many lessons, complete hopelessness, uncontrollable laughter and life-long friendships.

Eight years ago, I made a pact with myself to do one big adventure each year that challenged me, like New Zealand’s Coast to Coast, and ultra-marathons across Morocco’s Sahara Desert and through Peru’s Amazon jungle. While these experiences left me wanting more, Greenland changed me. I came home with a huge appreciation for my life – my boyfriend, my family and friends, my job and just how lucky I am to live in this incredible country.

This adventure taught me the true definition of resilience, and that ultimately, it’s all about the top two inches. I go on adventures to push myself, and to experience moments I never thought possible. Greenland dishedthese up in bucketloads. 

In Nansen’s Footsteps, a documentary about this epic expedition, can be viewed at inspiringexplorers.com. 
HOLLIEWOODHOUSE.COM 

The Captain: the rise of Sarah Goss

WORDS AND PHOTOS CAM NEATE

The Black Ferns Sevens team has dominated the Women’s Sevens Series, claiming three of the four World Series crowns since its inception in 2012. Cam Neate meets the captain, Sarah Goss (Sarah Hirini), and looks into the background of this world-class athlete.

Sarah Goss led her team to take silver at the Rio Olympics last year, which also happened to be the sport's debut appearance at a summer Olympics. From the frozen fields of Manawatu to an Olympic grand final on the other side of the world. For the majority of young Kiwi sportspeople, the idea of success is often found at the post-match tuckshop. The victorious mince and cheese pie or perhaps the player-of-the-day Moro bar. In conversation, it seems our cover story subject knew from a young age there was success to be had far beyond the walls of the tuck shop.

Armed with the exciting task of writing this feature on Sarah I found myself tracing my own steps back to the cold winter mornings in Blake Park, Mount Maunganui (the location for our cover shoot), searching for inspiration. Rugby, the great New Zealand sport, is for me rich in nostalgia: Wednesday after-school practices, freezing cold feet on game day, thick jerseys, mouth guards and half-time oranges. The nerves, the burning feeling in your throat as you sprint down the wing and the sweet victory of that very first try. It appears, despite my youthful obsession with the sport, my knowledge of the game, and the status quo of women’s rugby in New Zealand is today, rather lacking. Or was, until I sat down with Sarah. 

Growing up in rural Manawatu, Sarah and her two siblings spent any spare time they had outside of school helping mum and dad on the family farm. A modest upbringing according to Sarah and a household that has not seen a lot of change since, with both parents still grinding out the farm work every day. "My parents would be working on the farm from 5am until sometimes 8pm. I remember getting home from school and we’d have to do our chores. We’d bring in the firewood in and cook dinner whilst my parents worked. We’d have dinner, watch the news and go to bed."

It was in the frosty winter fields surrounding their home that Sarah began to dream of her future: an aeroplane pilot, a champion hockey player, Big Macs, hot chips and fizzy. Quite the banquet of ambition, but anything is possible when you are a kid. Once high school rolled around Sarah was off to boarding school, which not only saved her parents an hour daily return trip but it was there at Fielding High where Sarah was able to fully immerse herself in sports.

“It meant I was able to play whatever sport I wanted without my parents having to drive me around everywhere. It was all just there”. Gymnastics and netball transitioned into competitive hockey, and ultimately rugby in her final year at school. At the time, Sarah’s coach had recommended taking up rugby to help improve her fitness for hockey but she soon found the full contact and competitiveness of 15-aside rugby much more stimulating than hockey and as a result, traded her hockey stick for a pair of rugby boots. However, it was not a completely smooth transition into her newfound passion.

“I hid it from my parents for about three months, thinking they were going to tell me off for playing rugby. I felt like back then, there wasn’t much support for women’s rugby despite my family being massive rugby supporters.” But once Sarah decided to tell her parents of her new secret love, they were only disappointed they had missed watching her games and according to Sarah, “they’ve watched me ever since. I remember telling my parents back in seventh form when they asked what I was going to do following year and I remember saying I’m going to become a professional rugby player and back then they kind of laughed, but I am someone who will just go after it and I will do everything I can to prove people wrong. I’m stubborn, and it ended up happening.”

In 2010, the Black Ferns won their fourth consecutive World Cup against England on English soil. The live final on Sky Sports was something Sarah recounts as pivotal to women’s rugby, and it was a key moment that truly sparked the flame for her own competitive campaign. That same year, aged 17, Sarah was selected to represent New Zealand in the New Zealand Maori sevens rugby team, travelling to Italy.

Despite playing at an international level, these were still early days for women’s rugby in New Zealand and players were having to hold down full-time jobs to support their rugby careers. Finally, in 2013 the New Zealand Rugby Union were able to offer full time contracts to the women’s teams, which Sarah simply says was “massive” and a transitional period she is certainly proud to have been through. “It makes you really appreciate what you get now”.

Throughout that period, Sarah studied at Massey University (she has been the recipient of the prestigious Prime Minister's Athlete Scholarship for a number of years), and has worked hard to fit her studies around training. It's clear that Sarah feels that education is the key to a life after rugby.

Sarah would train in a makeshift garage gym with local police officer and fellow teammate, Selica Winiata. The 5:30am training sessions were followed by extramural study and then back to the garage at 6pm once Selica had finished her shift.

Allan Bunting, coach of the Black Ferns Sevens teams says Sarah has an “unbelievable work ethic, a relentless desire to learn, grow and look for every opportunity to better herself.” There was no funding or fancy recreation centres in those earlier years of Sarah’s career, but her concentrated self-motivation and gruelling hours of training would soon begin to pay off. 

Goss modestly accepts that leading New Zealand to victory in the World Sevens tournament in 2016, and winning silver in Rio, were particularly proud moments. It is evident however that these awards and accolades are somewhat trivial to her true personal pillars of success; being able to fly her parents to international games, working with local school children and donating sponsored gear to those who need it is. Sarah says "Being successful to me is about knowing I’ve done everything I possibly can to achieve my goals, this hopefully means I’m inspiring others to do the same." Fellow Kiwi Olympian, Rose Keddell from the Black Sticks, acknowledges Goss’s unique journey in women’s rugby, the milestones and the success it has had under the guidance of Goss. “Sarah has been through all the major changes in New Zealand women’s rugby. From gaining contracts and funding, seeing women’s rugby become a professional sport and of course being in the Olympics last year. The sport is in a really good place.”

Compared to Sarah’s fierce and powerful on field performance, there is a very soft and warm side to her demeanour. Sarah’s eyes are teary when she speaks of pride and family, the personal trials and tribulations of a closet rugby player to one who performs now on the world stage. At twenty-four years young, you could say Sarah Goss is killing it, though contentment is not a word used often in her vocabulary. Sarah is conscious about keeping everything her life fresh and exciting and not allowing rugby to be her only passion.

“If there’s something in my mind that I want to do, I have to do it. I was in 6th form and called the local aerodrome and said I wanted to join the flight school. They sent me out a package and all of a sudden I was going up in a two-seater Cessna before school, watching the sunrise around the Manawatu ranges.” 

I like to stay busy. If I didn’t have something outside of rugby then I'd feel stale and I would worry about rugby all the time and that's not healthy for anyone. For me, having that rush of being in an aeroplane, it gives you perspective. This is a theme we often return to in conversation. Sarah recounts one time she was up in the air on a practice flight and her door swung wide open. “All I could see was the ground below me. I got such a rush, I wasn’t really scared, it just made me feel alive. It’s important to have these moments, and life outside rugby to give balance. I did 12 hours towards my PPA and then had to stop because rugby took over. Once I get my degree then I will get back into it." Sarah has also nearly completed her bachelor of arts degree, majoring in Maori studies and a minor in sports science. It has taken her about seven years so far, fitting in papers between tours and training, but the end is in site.

“I’m doing a full immersion Maori paper at the moment which I’m finding very difficult because I’m not fluent in Te Reo”, she laughs, “then I only have one other paper to get my degree. My sister was the first person in my family to get a degree and now I can’t wait to get mine.” It all comes back to those words from her rugby coach, Allan Bunting, that Sarah “has a relentless desire to learn, grow and look for every opportunity to get better. She is a natural leader who inspires by her actions and words. She will be successful with whatever she puts her mind to.
And the rest of those childhood ambitions? “Before Rio, I didn’t have hot chips and fizzy for a whole year. The nutritionist was like ‘what are you even doing?’ I didn’t have to give them up totally, but it was my inner competitiveness. I convinced myself that if I gave in, I wouldn’t make the Olympics. The night after winning silver I went straight out for hot chips and fizzy and it was all I ate for a month”.

Photographing and speaking with Sarah on the exact rugby field I once played on was quite surreal. I probably would have thought back then that I would be the one being interviewed as a rugby star, not the dude with the camera around his neck. But there we were. A professional rugby player standing on my old patch of grass looking amazing and strong and elegant and determined. And me, well determined to capture all that.

This was a new adventure for me, not a job or a task or work but more an opportunity and a challenge to do something new. I find people fascinating, it is almost a hobby of mine to hear new stories and gain knowledge from all walks of life. Sarah’s story is intriguing on so many levels and it was humbling to spend the day getting to know her. I am proud of what she has achieved so far in what is only the beginning of her career and in particular her stance on success and the importance of being a positive role model. Perhaps once the battery dies for good on my camera career, I’ll make a late comeback for number 12 in the black jersey. After all, it’s a game of two halves.

Siblings surfing: Jonas and Elin Tawharu

Jenny Rudd meets two of the world’s top junior surfers, brother and sister, Elin (15) and Jonas (17) Tawharu. They have grown up surfing on their doorstep, here in The Mount.

WORDS JENNY RUDD PHOTOS JEREME AUBERTIN, SALINA GALVAN + CAM NEATE

“Representing New Zealand in any sport gives you the grit and resilience needed to get through difficult times in life.” John Tawharu is the father of Elin and Jonas, two of New Zealand’s brightest surfing stars.

The siblings have just returned from the Azores in Portugal, where they competed in the 2016 VISSLA ISA World Junior Surfing Championship. Elin came 3rd in the U16 girls’ division (the first Kiwi podium finish in nine years), and Jonas was the top Kiwi competitor in the U18 boys’ division. This year was the biggest in the competition’s history, with 370 competitors from five continents, and the first in the era of surfing as an Olympic sport.

We meet Elin and Jonas at the UNO office. In their Mount College uniforms, they look like any other teens, but they are world-class athletes competing at the highest possible level.

IN THE BLOOD

There’s a fair bit of sporty blood flowing through the family; John, a teacher at Omanu Primary School, has represented New Zealand in softball and rugby. Step-mum Jo teaches at Tauranga Intermediate. They both coach the surfing teams at their respective schools. Jo has toured with the New Zealand women’s team as a qualified judge.

“My children have grown up surfing at every opportunity,” says John. “Living by Moa Park in The Mount, they have always been able to skip across the road in their wetsuits. Every weekend for years has been taken up with surfing, either here at home, or out on one of our infamous weekend surf missions. We study the weather reports, checking swell and wind conditions, work out where the best surf will be, and leap into action. It’s such an exciting way to live. Jo makes a stack of homemade pizzas the night before, and we start getting chilly bins, portable chairs, and all our kit out of the basement; everyone’s hunting around for wetsuits, fins, boards and sun-block.”

“Jonas decides exactly what time we need to leave to get the tide at its best, and I always say that Jo is our lucky charm: she almost always calls the surf conditions bang on. The adrenaline’s pumping as we round the last few corners, desperate to get a glimpse of the waves after a few hours on the road. I’ve lost count of the number of times we have zoomed down that hill at Manu Bay, Raglan! I feel very lucky to do these adventures with my partner and children.”

WAVE AFTER WAVE

The ocean has been the backdrop to Elin’s and Jonas’s lives. As toddlers, John would kick a ball into the waves. They would dive in and scoop it up, so the water splashed on their faces, giving them confidence in the water. As small children, John took them out boogie boarding in the rougher white water, to teach them about the power of the ocean. “Ever since she was little, I have always called Elin my Storm Girl. I’d take her out in cyclones, when the white water was smashing around all over the place. She just loved getting rumbled over and over in the waves, and even now she doesn’t ever care about being smashed by huge, dumping waves. That’s her thing – gnarly waves. Jo calls her the Queen of Gnarly.

“As a youngster, Jonas would surf all day with no rest, wearing himself out completely. Then he’d be wrecked for a few days. He’s had to learn to come in and get food and drink every few hours. He has an analytical mind, and has always been particular about his technique, practising over and over again to get it right. Jonas’s love of physics and interest in how things work is ingrained in him; as a nine-year-old, he gave me a lesson on weight transference on his skateboard!“

“The surf season is long and hectic, running from January through to November. And expensive. All us parents worry about how we are going to find the thousands of dollars needed for travel and accommodation as we take our children on the national tour. If they make the national team and go to the World Championships, it’s even more expensive. It always comes together, though. We fundraise hard, doing movie nights, garage sales, and car washing. And the community really gets behind us, which is fantastic. Jo is our master-organiser in the family, making sure everything stays on track. Everything clicks when she’s on board; her brain is amazing.”

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ELIN

“Dad used to push me into two-foot, glassy waves on his fat fish board when I was little, and I would try and stand up. It was exhilarating, and I was hooked. Those are my earliest memories of surfing at my local break, Crossroads. Learning to surf at The Mount has given us such a great advantage. There’s so much coastline here, and the curves, peninsulas and islands create lots of different waves. The Mount has produced a lot of good competition surfers, as it’s a beach break, which is changeable. You have to be flexible to adapt. If you always surf a point break or river mouth, you don’t get enough practice with the smaller, slushy waves.

EARLY ADOPTER

I picked up surfing properly when I was nine. I’ve always been competitive by nature, and won my first national competition when I was eleven, in Taranaki. I was given a greenstone surfboard trophy. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that feeling. And being round the professional surfers was the most exciting thing I’d ever experienced: watching them sign autographs, have their photos taken, and engage in awkward chatter with fans (like me!). Just to be near them, I was frothing as a grom. I wanted to dress like them, look like them and, one day, surf like them. Everything changed after that. I set myself the goal of making the New Zealand team before I turned 18, with a vision in my young head of travelling overseas and representing my country.

NATIONAL TEAM

Then, just as I turned 13, I was selected! I wasn’t expecting it at all. What made it doubly exciting was that Jonas made the team too. I think it’s the first time a brother and sister combo have ever been selected together. Can you imagine the excitement in our house? I have been selected to represent my country each year since then, and this year I won the bronze medal in Portugal in the U16 girls’ division. It was beyond my dreams to make it to the final, surfing with the best in the world at Praia do Monte Verde, where a large swell pounded the beach break. Even though the conditions improved throughout the competition, the waves were pretty unruly and hard to read, so I was seriously stoked to get a medal.

FAMILY

I’m so lucky to have four supportive parents. My mum, Anna, and her partner, Paul, are yoga instructors, so have always practised lots of yoga with us. It’s great for keeping your body strong, open and flexible. All those extra things really give you an edge when competing at a high level. And Mum and Paul are always ready with a good massage after we’ve been training hard. So we can dissect our technique, Jo spends hours filming us, and offers fantastic analytical advice. She’s incredibly supportive of women surfers, having been with Surfing New Zealand for so many years.

My dad has always coached our sports teams, like many other supportive parents, and he and Jo drive us for miles looking for swell. He and Jo have given up so much of themselves to help us succeed. My dad’s always out in the surf. In fact, he’s the biggest grom I know. He’ll be out there when it’s absolute crap, just loving it, for hours on end. I’d surf every day of my life if I could. It’s an addiction, a habit your body and mind craves. I love the exhilaration that comes from the challenge of riding waves and speeding along the face. I’d like to have a go at the professional junior circuit in Australia. Finding funding for that is the biggest challenge. And I also have next year’s World Champs on my mind. I want to win it.”

ELIN’S ACHIEVEMENTS

2011 U12 Women’s Champion, Taranaki. 2013 Ranked 3rd nationally (U17 girls).

2013 New Zealand Primary Schools U13 Girl’s Champion.

2014 U16 Women’s Champion, Gisborne. 2014 Vissla ISA World Junior Surfing Championship, Ecuador (U16 girls), 13th place.

2015 Ranked 2nd nationally (U17 girls).

2015 Vissla ISA World Junior Surfing Championship, California (U16 girls), 16th place. Best result for New Zealand team that year.

2015 Ranked 7th nationally (open women’s).

2016 Ranked 2nd nationally (U17 girls).

2016 U16 and U18 Women’s Champion, and placed 3rd in Open Women’s, Dunedin.

2016 Vissla ISA World Junior Surfing Championship, Azores, Portugal (U16 girls, 3rd place. First Kiwi in 9 years to reach podium, best result in New Zealand team that year, helping New Zealand team to finish 10th overall.

2016 New Zealand Secondary Schools U18 Champion, Raglan Academy Competition.

2016 Toi Ohomai Institute of Technology Secondary School Sportswoman of the Year for Bay of Plenty.

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JONAS

“Surfing is my passion, and I’m completely committed to it. Elin and I are at Mount College during the week, but all weekend we are on the road or at home, surfing. We have done this for as far back as I can remember.

THE HOME FRONT

Having surfed all over our country, as well as many other places in the world, I’d say New Zealand is as good as it gets. Nowhere else will you score pumping waves with epic landscapes and backdrops like we do here. You can surf a volcanic crater at Muriwai, and see great whites and sea lions in Otago. You seem to feel much more immersed in nature and the ocean. Although there are better and more consistent waves in other countries, it still cranks here when it needs to, especially on the east coast of the North Island. But of anywhere, I have the most fun at home, here in The Mount. Even when it’s two-foot mush. We grew up surfing at our local break – the coolest place with the best locals.

AIM HIGH

This year, I won all three Billabong competitions on the circuit here in New Zealand, which put me at number one in the national rankings for the U17 boys. That helped me get selected for the U18 boys’ team to compete at the Junior World Championships this year in the Azores. Elin and I are pretty competitive with each other, but more than that, we support each other. At the Junior World Championships this year, I watched my sister smash her way into the final and get a bronze medal. I was so stoked for her! Supporting her from the beach, with all our teammates, as she competed with the best in the world was an amazing moment.

BUILDING RELATIONS

The cost of competing is really high. Elin and I recognise just how lucky we are to have two sets of parents who do so much to support our surfing financially. We have some fantastic sponsors too, many of whom have become friends, as we’ve spent so much time together on the circuit. Getting sponsored isn’t just about getting stickers on your board: it’s about working together to make sure both sides benefit. Surf companies do want to support young athletes, but they expect us to use and promote their products in a positive way.

ACADEMIC SUCCESS

I really enjoy school. I think having a strong academic background is important, and have just finished year 13 at Mount College. I studied physics, calculus, biology and sport science, and am considering studying further at University of Otago. My greatest achievement so far was recognition from one of the world’s greatest surfers. Around a thousand surfers, from all round the world, entered the ‘King of the Groms’ video competition last year, each submitting a video showcasing their surfing. Californian, Dane Reynolds, picked my video in the top 30. It has spurred me to work harder on my surfing. Looking to the future, I’d definitely like to craft a career in surfing. I’d like to work with companies in the surf industry, and advertise and market for them. But that’s in the future. Right now, I’m concentrating on getting selected for the 2017 New Zealand team and the pro juniors in Australia next year.

JONAS’S ACHIEVEMENTS

2014 April: Vissla ISA World Junior Surfing Championship, Ecuador (U16 boys), 43rd place.

2014 U16 Boys’ Champion, Gisborne. 2015 Ranked 2nd nationally (U17 boys).

2015 Vissla ISA World Junior Surfing Championship, California (U16 boys), 47th place.

2015 Quiksilver King of the Groms World Top 30 U18 Boys’ finalist.

2015 New Zealand Piha Grom Series, (U17 boys), 3rd.

2016 Ranked 1st nationally (U17 boys). 2016 U20 Boys’ Champion, Hawkes Bay.

2016 Vissla ISA World Junior Surfing Championship, Azores, Portugal (U18 boys) 33rd, top performing New Zealand U18 boy.

2016 Champion Billabong U17 Boys Grom series, at Mount Maunganui, Whangamata and Piha.

2016 U18 Boys, Dunedin, 3rd.

Father + Son: Tim and Finn Rainger

Both freelance writers, father and son team Tim and Finn Rainger talk about their relationship.

FINN RAINGER: SON ON FATHER

My Dad, or Munter as I more frequently call him, is far from your average human being. He’s a self-described outsider with an affinity for the strange. Surfing, he reckons, brought purpose into his life as an alienated and vexed youth. The memory of my first proper wave, aged 16, at Taupo Bay with him hooting from the beach, drifts into my consciousness every so often. “No wife, no career, no mortgage – it is not a lifestyle that many live, and thank fuck for that,” he stated during lunch recently. I admire his resolve in pursuing a lifestyle that suits him.

This year I indulged our shared obsession for chasing waves by joining him for the season in Indonesia, where he has spent the last four years away from the New Zealand winter. We have many similarities: a psychotic tendency to twirl strands of our hair when concentrating, and a passion for reading, writing, and taking photos. One of my earliest memories is sitting in the passenger seat of his van in Cornwall, England, probably on the way home from the beach, with Sublime playing loudly and smoke billowing out the window.

Like the surf, Dad can be fickle and stubborn, and hard to contact, but when you do have his attention he usually brings something to the table, whether it’s a plan, story idea, or advice on the age-old question of what is the point? He is adept at putting life into perspective, and it was his advice combined with my Mum’s that convinced me to take a job working as a reporter for the Gisborne Herald in 2015.

His capacity to impart advice and wisdom to people who want to hear it, as well as those who do not, earned him the nickname “The Sheriff” from the Canngu, Bali, locals. He patrols the line-up in the water, always on the lookout for a snake (someone who commits the cardinal sin of paddling inside other surfers and not waiting their turn for a wave), and does not shy from the confrontation that ensues (never violent in my experience).

The nickname is applicable on land, as he has a sharp moral compass that he willingly extends beyond his own periphery. A group of European “hipsters,” as he labelled them, were drinking and listening to dodgy music at around 10pm at our homestay in Canngu and around 10pm at our homestay in Canngu and Dad, wanting to sleep, got out of bed with a grim smile on his face and headed over to sort them out. “This is a homestay. There are plenty of places to party in Canngu without keeping me awake. Live and let live!” They were not happy and got a few digs in, “This is what happens in Canngu now. It’s not the 70s anymore old man.” But he had a point, and they vacated the premises soon after, honking the horns on their scooters as they hooned down the driveway.

All those hours spent battling his two brothers at home, and bullies at Auckland’s Kings College have toughened his edges and he can be an intimidating, yet compelling character. Dad’s a softy at heart though, and has a tender spot for the underdogs of life. A couple of German girls recently told him that if he were to write a story on his life, they would read it. Me too - if I hadn’t heard most of it already.

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TIM RAINGER: FATHER ON SON

To commit to print my thoughts and feelings for my son is hard. Relationships are so fluid and print is pretty final. Every word scrutinised for each subtle nuance. Plus I’m sharing a room with him as I write this; we have been for eight weeks. Surfing together every day, eating, drinking, hanging out. There is no luxury of distance. But here we go.

Let’s start with the bigger picture. We are more like an older and a younger brother than most fathers and sons. Most of the time. There are obviously moments when I have to lay down an ultimatum but they’re pretty rare. Ever since he did a milk-puke down a cold Kronenberg I was drinking (without me noticing), and which I subsequently gagged on, I’ve cut him a bit of slack. He’s always been quite determined to do stuff by himself, and certainly never wanted my advice.

When he was about two, his mum was on the phone so he flipped over a bucket, got up on the bench and merrily began chopping potatoes, which apparently was going fine until it wasn’t. By the time I got there to take him to hospital, there was blood sprayed all round the kitchen walls. He’s very close to his mum and his young brother, as well as his step-dad and all their extended family. There is a sixteen-year age gap between him and his little bro, and it’s funny observing how their patterns of behaviour mirror ours. At times he parents him hard, and others they josh around and have lots of fun.

He’s always loved reading and music, and especially loved being read to as a kid. “One more story dad!” was a line I heard a lot. It’s a great pleasure now, sharing books and bands, picking the guts out of movies and so on.

We’ve done a lot of surfing together since the beginning and it’s been a great thing for our relationship. Setting the clock. Getting up in the dark. Trading waves. It’s our mutual happy place. It’s our second season in Indo; this time we’re here for 6 months, and that’s a lot of time living cheek by jowl.

A few people raise their eyebrows when we tell them what we’re up to, like I’m being irresponsible letting my kid quit his job and spend all his savings on a surf trip. My take is: well, he’s qualified, and he works for his own dough, saving for a year to get here. And now he’s really focused on surfing hard, doing yoga, eating well. This is an experience that will shape him physically and mentally in really positive ways, and is one he’ll never forget.

He’s a good kid. I’m proud of him. And I like hanging out with him. Most of the time.

Teenage Entrepreneurs of Tauranga: an artist, a Youtuber, a knife sharpener, and a photographer

Each of the teenagers featured in this article is self-employed, earns money using their own skills, manages their own income, and in some cases, earn more than many adults.

WORDS JENNY RUDD PHOTOS QUINN O’CONNELL

If Hope, Jared, Tom and Rose are anything to go by, the future of our country looks as rosy as their youthful cheeks. Gone are the days when teenagers wanted to get qualified and get out, looking to the big smoke and high-flying executive jobs. This new generation of entrepreneurs have clearly learned plenty from their parents, many of whom moved here when their children were young, and helped the Bay of Plenty achieve its current status as the highest-performing area in the Regional Economic Scoreboard.

HOPE MCCONNELL, ARTIST, 19

“My earliest memory is my bedroom in Hamilton; my mum had painted the galaxy all over the walls and ceiling. She used to be a professional artist, and has always encouraged me. I have a very close relationship with my mum.

“Much of my work is painting commissioned portraits. People often buy them as gifts and I get lots of work through my Facebook Page. I am working with watercolours at the moment, but use lots of different mediums to get the look a client wants.”

Most of Hope’s portraits are on A4-sized paper. Her work rate is exemplary. Every time I visited her she had fresh work up in her work space. There is an ordered uniformity to the presentation of her work and her range of skill is incredible, I thought some of the work she showed me belonged to other artists, they were so varied.

“As well as the portraits I have two other ventures on the go; a website which should go live in April – it’s called TwoBrokeDesigners – and will feature young designers on the blog and insights into student-design life. We’ll sell prints and artwork on there by little-known artists and designers.

“The other project is designing a range of t-shirts. My parents have fostered in us a desire to strive for excellence and help others. We have a family rule to set goals to raise money for different charities that we all choose together. The proceeds from the t-shirts will go to young girls trapped in sex slavery.”

At the age of ten, Hope moved to Tauranga with her brother, sister and parents. “I was close to my textiles teacher who encouraged me to enter the Young Designer Awards. I made a rainbow dress and was placed second, so was invited to fly to Christchurch with my mum. We stayed in a hotel together, went on tours and rode trams. It was incredibly glamorous and adventurous for a ten-year-old from the Waikato.”

Hope’s work ethic is enough to make me slightly embarrassed about my own. At 13, she entered a fashion-stylist competition in Girlfriend magazine. “We had to send in a mood board of our fashion ideas as the entry. I was selected as one of four finalists round the country and was given Bayfair vouchers to spend each month and compile different looks. Because I was so young, my mum took me to Bayfair and helped me photograph the looks for the magazine.

“I was selected as the competition winner by Girlfriend readers. It was one of the most exciting achievements in my childhood and the team at Girlfriend were really supportive, offering me opportunities in styling. I wasn’t old enough then to decide on what I wanted to do, but I know now how to forge a creative career for myself, and I’m loving every bit of it.”

facebook.com/HopeMcConnellArtandDesign

JARED SHAW, YOUTUBE BROADCASTER, 17

Jared has two YouTube channels: The Big 10 and The Gamer’s Joint. From his home in Papamoa he shares with his mum and step-father, these two channels have been watched 46 million times. Yes, 46 million. I bet you’ve stopped reading and reached for your phone to check him out.

The Big 10 features list videos, the most popular being ten extremely strange body modifications which has attracted seven million views (only watch that one if you have a fairly solid constitution). His real passion, and the channel he has spent most time developing is The Gamer’s Joint, which is devoted almost entirely to the study of one video game: Kingdom Hearts.

“When I started my channel in 2010, there were a few others around reviewing Kingdom Hearts, but none were particularly big. For the first few years, uploading videos on my channel was just a hobby but by 2014, it really started to kick off and my subscriber base was growing steadily.

The Gamer’s Joint’s popularity is down to two things: consistency (Jared works 10am to 8pm every weekday and uploads two videos per day to The Gamers Joint), and personality.

“There’s lots of planning involved with each video, and I usually do it a day or two in advance: I mix things up with a couple of comedy skits, live streaming, analysis, reviews and revealing hidden info inside the game. I’m known for losing my shit and raging at the game. Each video needs to be planned, researched, the script written and recorded, then edited and uploaded.

“Just before I started to do this full time, I went to a gamer’s convention in Boston where I chatted to different networks and channel owners. It is possible to self-monetise your channel, but there are bigger benefits in signing up with a network; you earn money each time a video is watched, and networks have lots of information and help on how to increase your number of views and can help with copyright issues.

“I already had a contract with TGN before the convention, but they offered me a better deal and I became one of their VIP channels. My income increased immediately and on my return, I decided I wanted to leave school to concentrate solely on my YouTube channels.

“I had to pitch it to my mum – it’s not easy trying to convince your mum that leaving school to play video games professionally is a good idea, but I have my NCLA Level 2 already, so if it didn’t work out, I could still go to university. I think she was surprised when I showed her how much I was earning from YouTube. I treat it as a business – I have an accountant, as I’m paid in US dollars, and I want to make sure all my tax is in order and that I’m saving.”

The success of Jared’s gaming channel has far exceeded any of his peers who also review Kingdom Hearts. He has about 125,000 subscribers, which puts him in the top rankings of gaming channels in New Zealand.

“It’s hard to know what you want to do at our age, we are often asked what we’ll do in the future, but how can you make a decision with no insight? I’m extremely lucky to love my job so much at my age. It doesn’t feel like a job at all, it just feels like fun.”

youtube.com/user/thegamersjoint

TOM HOFFART, KNIFE-SHARPENER AND TOOL REFURBISHER, 13

Learning a trade seems old school in a digital world, and Tom’s trade dates back to, well, about two and a half million years. “I have always loved knives. I got my first when I was three from a family friend. That same friend gave me a machete when I turned nine. Each time I got a knife, I got a box of plasters.”

Tom offers a knife-sharpening service with delivery. “If a client lives close by, I’ll cycle to their house to pick up and deliver their knives or tools. If it’s any further, we arrange a central point in town to meet.”

“I started my business because I’ve always loved making and refurbishing old tools and knives, and I have an excellent workshop at home with equipment I have bought and been kindly given by my uncle in Matamata. He and my grandfather taught me some good knife sharpening skills too.

“At the moment I am reinvesting most of the money back into the business to buy better equipment. My Facebook page and newly purchased cell phone have significantly increased my customer base and workload.

“I keep a ledger to record my income and expenses, and have spoken to the tax office – there are some generous tax brackets for school pupils. I love my work – I have never seen myself working in an office when I’m older.”

“A few months ago I went to buy a knife I’ve had my eye on for a while. My mum said ‘Why do you need another knife? You already have so many.’ I replied, ‘I could ask you the same question about shoes’.”

facebook.com/NeighbourhoodKnifeGuy

ROSE MCMAHON, 15, PHOTOGRAPHER

There is no doubt that Rose’s homeschooling has been a huge contributor to her incredible success as a professional photographer.

“I got into photography about three years ago. A family friend lent me her camera for the winter, while the wedding season was quiet. When the time came to return it, I asked her how much it cost so I could get one myself. $5,000. I thought my world would end. I cried myself to sleep.

“I thought, ‘I’m not having this,’ and looked around online until I found something similar second hand. It was still way out of a 12 year old’s reach, so I rang the seller. He was a professional photographer who’d started at eight years old. He gave me a discount, so I gathered all my Christmas and birthday money, both past and future, and bought it.

“At the beginning, I offered to take photos for free. I did the Zespri Head Office Christmas party, which led to paid work; I have photographed weddings and portraits for people at the party. I have now shot in every major wedding venue in the Bay of Plenty.”

As well as using her own initiative and hard work to learn her craft, including building a website, marketing her work and managing her administration, she has sought out guidance from other well established photographers.

“A couple of years ago, I found it very difficult taking pictures of people as I didn’t have enough confidence telling groups of adults what to do. Maree Wilkinson, one of the Bay’s top wedding photographers, took me with her on photo shoots and showed me how to get over that stumbling block.

“It’s useful being young when running your own business. You have much less fear than adults. I don’t worry so much about things going wrong, I just work out how to fix them myself. And because I’m homeschooled I can spend lots of time practising and improving.

Rose is in hot demand and is well-respected by her peers; our photographer for this shoot, Quinn O’Connell, borrowed one of her lenses and talked shop with her throughout. The girl can certainly hold her own. And she is ambitious.

“The biggest job I’ve had so far is a stills photographer on a movie, recording what’s going on behind the scenes. In fact, I’ve just been approached to do the same job on another movie. I’d like to get into directing movies so it’s been a great opportunity.

“Although there are lots of perks to being a teenager in an adult industry – people are extremely generous-spirited towards me – there are downsides too. I have to pay someone to drive me to my jobs until I’m old enough to legally drive.”

rosemcmahon.com