Dean of Studies | Mrs Julie Quinn

Rhodes Scholar Assembly

Last Friday we celebrated the appointment of our eighteenth Rhodes scholar Mr Damian Maher. It was a wonderful celebration where not only did we celebrate the success of Damian but also, we were able to share the celebration with five other past Rhodes Scholars and past Principals who travelled to be with us on the day. Damian’s speech (outlined below) gave a clear message to our boys on the trials and tribulations of life. It was an inspirational day for us all.

QCS practice days

On Monday and Tuesday of this week, our Seniors completed a final practice for all QCS papers. The Seniors have worked hard across the year to maximise their results on all four papers. Formal testing dates are 4 and 5 September.

QTAC evening

A reminder that this evening is the QTAC information evening for Year 12 students and parents. This will commence at 6pm in the GT125 theatre. The presentation will be delivered by Mr Paul Ianniello our Career’s counsellor.

Year 8 into Year 9 subject selection evening

On Thursday 23 August the information evening for all Year 8 students and parents to select subjects for next year will take place. The evening will commence at 6pm in the Campbell Centre. All Year 8 students will receive a booklet outlining the content and assessment for each of the option subjects offered. The evening will commence with general information about subjects followed by specific subject presentations, followed by an opportunity to speak with individual subject coordinators and Heads of Faculty.

Year 11 into Year 12 – English Extension and Music Extension

Year 11 students have been informed of the extensions subjects in English and Music that are offered in Year 12. The information evenings for these subjects are- English Extension - Tuesday 21 August, 7pm in the GT125 theatre; Music Extension – Wednesday 22 August, 6pm in the Music room.

Busy time

With Week 5 almost completed, many students will have assignments that are nearing completion and submission. Every student should ensure that he has checked his work prior to submission so that he is confident that he has produced his best work. Good planning leading up to due dates will always allow for checking and refining. Poor planning will result in handing in work that can compromise a student’s best outcome. I strongly encourage all our students to make sure that their planning always allows for a checking and refining time prior to submission.

Damian Maher’s speech

Last December, I set out to walk the length of New Zealand. I was to start at Cape Reinga, the northern-most point of the North Island, and after walking 3021 km, would finish at a small town unimaginatively named Bluff, the Southern-most point on the South Island. So, a similar distance to walking from here to Cairns and back. I was not alone in doing this, around 1000 other, alternatively mad or masochistic, people walk this long-distance hike known as the Te Araroa every year.  

I walked along beaches, through rain forests and beech forests, across moors and valleys, along knife-edge ridges and up mountains, through farmland, towns, and cities. Sometimes there was a trail, sometimes I walked along a back-country road; often, there was no path, just an orange triangle hammered into a tree a little way off or a white-capped pole on a ridge a few hundred feet away. I walked through heatwaves, rain, horizontal rain, thunderstorms, snow, hail, and (by far the worst) horizontal hail. I finished the trek at around the start of April, which meant four months (with the exception of time off for an injury) of waking up every day and just walking, sometimes with other people, but often alone. 

I was alone when I entered the Richmond Ranges, which are a very remote mountain range in the north of the South Island. The last person I had seen was a bearded park ranger when I was leaving Havelock, a small coastal village, and that had been three days before. The park ranger told me, when I asked what the weather was predicted to be, that there might be “a bit of rain coming”, but you should still be “sweet as.” I’m meant to be using this speech to doll out advice to you all, so here is my first dollop: whenever a Kiwi tells you you’ll be “sweet as”, you’re in for a bad time. 

After walking for two days along the Pelorus River, which I thought sounded ominously like Perilous River, I climbed up into the Ranges, which are about 1500 to 2000 m above sea level. Fortunately, in these ranges are a series of back-country alpine huts left over from hunting, forestry, or alpine sports. They’re essentially a shack with a fire place, a few wooden bunks, and lots of mice. At around 5pm, with the sun still high, I saw black clouds bruised purple tumbling across the sky. So I gathered some firewood, hunkered down in a hut near the base of the tallest mountain in the ranges, and fell asleep.

The “bit of rain” the ranger predicted was actually ex-cyclone Gita, one of the worst tropical storms to ever hit New Zealand. Roads were destroyed, power was knocked out, towns evacuated, the military was called in, and a state of emergency was declared, and back home, my parents watched with horror images of flooded rivers pushing cars off bridges, and tried desperately to call me. 

Meanwhile in a mountain hut, I was reading TE Lawrence and was oblivious to the surrounding maelstrom. I only knew it was raining, then hailing, then raining again; that the small lake beside the hut was doubling in diameter about every six or seven hours; that I should have chopped more firewood; and brought more whiskey. After two days, the sky was grey, not black, and the rain had (at least temporarily) ceased. I knew that I could not climb the mountain in these conditions, but I was running low on food and came up with a plan. I knew that there was another way through the ranges. I could walk down the valley and then hike up the other side. All that stood in my way was a small, thin, dashed blue line on my map, a stream so small it didn’t even have a name. 

After walking for three hours and losing about 600 or 700 metres in altitude, I arrived at the nameless stream. What would have probably been only ankle deep was now an ill-tempered, broiling, pummelling torrent. There was nowhere nearby to camp—the rocky bank was inhospitable; therefore, I either had to cross or turn back. Being stubborn, I did not want to turn back, and the stream was only a few metres across; however, as I plunged a stick in to measure its depth, the river snatched it from my hand—not a good sign. I dumped my pack, found what I thought was the most favourable spot, and started to sidle in. Around one-third of the way across the water was chest deep. My lower-half was already numb from the cold, but the pressure on my chest felt like I was being tackled over and over, and all I could hear was the water raging around me. I climbed out, I tried further up to cross the river. This time I made it halfway across, but knew I could go no further. So I did the only sensible, logical thing: I stood in the middle of the river, and swore at the top of my voice. It was one of the many moments I asked myself the question I still haven’t answered: why am I doing this? But after exhausting both my lungs and my extensive vocabulary of expletives, I was still in the river, with no way to cross. And it had begun to rain. 

I climbed out, picked up my pack, and trudged back up to the hut where I had started the day. Leaning against the hut was a French man called Kevin. He was also walking the Te Araroa. He and I had walked together about two months before, around 1000 km ago, but I hadn’t seen him since. He was smoking, and he looked at me—wet, cold, bedraggled, irritated—and smiling said, “You’ve had a good day, no?” No, I hadn’t. 

The next day was perfect. The sky was a gentle, brittle blue. Cloudless. Together, Kevin and I, not only climbed the tallest mountain of the range, but the one after that as well. He would hike up the mountain with a cigarette dangling from his lips, but he never once was out of breath. The day was so clear that from the top of the peak, we could see to the edge of the South Island on three sides around us. Three days later, we walked out of the ranges. 

Stories don’t necessarily have to have a point, but ones in speeches seem to require it. I suppose the only honest advice I can give, the point of the story as it were, is that life, and the life each one of you will lead, is unpredictable. That can be frightening, but it is also exciting. It is what makes each one of our lives our own, and lives worth living. Much of life is out of your hands, due to an ex-cyclone or other reasons; much of it comes down to luck, much of it is strewn with setbacks, and almost all of it is unplanned. I never planned on going to Oxford to study literature. After leaving Terrace, I studied law and economics. I found law to be soul-desiccating dull. I dropped out, and changed to English literature—a field I had never thought of studying during my time here. As for the Rhodes Scholarship, I may have worked hard, but there was luck there too. I had been rejected from another scholarship just before my Rhodes interview—turned back as it were. Had it not been for the support of my family, the support of Terrace—particularly Mr Covill—the support of my professors; plus several chance events going my way including being offered a second chance at the scholarship; one of the judges on the panel being ill; and one of the other applicants taking another scholarship instead therefore narrowing my odds, I would not have won the Rhodes and be standing here before you. None of this is to say that work, diligence, passion or talent, don’t matter—they do. But sometimes none of those can get you across a flooded stream, and sometimes being turned back leads to something far greater.