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The Drop Bear

We may have convinced our daughter that there are drop bears living in the trees around our campsite. Stay within the light of the tent, or stay with a parent, and they can't get you. It's worked a treat. No arguments, no wandering off after dark chasing whatever's caught her eye in the bush.

It's our latest addition to a repertoire that's been building for years. Bush goblins, fairy trails and trolls under bridges have always been part of it, the taniwha came in a bit before the drop bear, and now the drop bear has claimed the trees.

Looking into where it actually came from, the drop bear turns out to be proper Australian folklore, a carnivorous cousin of the koala said to wait in the branches and drop on anyone silly enough to wander underneath. Nobody agrees on how it started, some reckon it was soldiers hazing new recruits, others say it's just old bush yarns told to keep kids close. Either way it stuck well enough that the Australian Museum has given it a proper fake scientific name, Thylarctos plummetus, and a spot in their exhibits, deadpan enough to catch a few unsuspecting tourists out.
What we like about it is that the myth was never really about the bear. It was about keeping people, kids especially, inside a safe boundary without having to argue the toss every five minutes.

So we've leaned into it elsewhere too. There's a taniwha in the fast water near us, which keeps our daughter well clear of it without dulling her love of swimming, she just sticks to the calm stretches and leaves the current to the taniwha.

It doesn't always land the way you plan though. Told a mate's boy there's a dinosaur in the forest to keep our daughter out of it, and all it did was send him running straight in. Same story, different kid, opposite result.

Still, between the drop bears and the taniwha, we've got the whole campsite covered, and the fire's where everyone wants to be anyway.

Makes you realise most old bush folklore was doing a real job once. Keeping kids off cliffs, out of deep water, on the track after dark. So we'd love to hear what's in your family's repertoire. What story did your parents tell you, or what have you told your own kids, to keep them safe in the bush or by the water?

Camped subzero on the Kaimanawa side of the Desert Road last weekend with the girls, and our Feldon Shelter Hawke's Nest side tent earned every cent we've spent on it.

We arrived to ice already sitting on the ground. Our gear boxes had a thin skin of frost on them before the sun even went down. Got the fire going, cooked up a proper feed, kept the kids fuelled on hot chocolate and enough lollies to hold two small humans in one place beside a river for an evening.

Once we climbed into the tent, the winter liner did exactly what it's meant to. Zipped in tight, it creates a real air barrier between the outer wall and the inner wall, and that gap is what got us through the night. Ice formed on every metal fitting inside the tent, but under the sleeping bags, piled in with the kids, everyone stayed properly warm. There's something to be said for a family sleeping in one heap when it's that cold. Easy to keep a hand on whether the kids are cold too. As usual, they didn't seem to notice a thing.

By morning the puddles outside had frozen half an inch thick, and everything else was coated in a fine layer of ice. Fire back on, baked beans for breakfast. Then the best part: as soon as the sun hit the panel, the inside of the tent started drying itself out and everything cleared up.

Genuine tip: buy the winter liner. It adds a bit of time to setup, but it's worth every extra minute for what it does on a night like that.

We've had a couple of small things go wrong with ours over time, nothing major, and every time the team at Feldon Shelter have sorted it fast. Easy to deal with, easy to fit.

If you're stuck choosing between the twenty rooftop tent brands out there, this is the one we'd point you to. Genuinely not sponsored. We're the ones who've paid them, not the other way round.

"The Fake Hunt" , a reflection on New Zealand's Hunting Elitism.

Modern hunting reflects modern life.

I'm not going to pretend I've earned every notch the hard way. I've had opportunities most hunters never get. Days on the hill I don't take lightly. I know how lucky that makes me.

Inclusiveness would say that you don't get to decide someone else's hunt isn't real, but a lot of Kiwi Hunters seem to do just that.

Modern life is busy. Balls to the wall Monday to Friday for most , With the weekend being a quick recharge.

The father who books a guided hunt because it's the only window he gets all year isn't cutting corners. The Parent who takes their child to a mate's farm to cull a few wild deer on the boundary aren't posers. Far from it.

You also have to consider the Partners holding things together at home. A week in the back country is, for a lot of good people, just not realistic anymore.

They're making it work.

The parent who finds a way to get their kid out there in a safe environment where success is actually possible - that's not laziness. Those are priorities.

The consideration of the shot is the same.
Your heart rate, your breathing, the weight of the moment - none of that gets easier because the day was shorter.

Hands in a warm animal, the smell of it, the work of it - unchanged.

The memory made between a parent and a child out there - real, whether it took one day or five.
Tearing down someone's hunt and calling it fake because it wasn't difficult enough for your standards, is not protecting the tradition.

You're shrinking it , and you are causing the damage to our sport.

Every person sneered at for not doing it the hard way is a potential dropout. Every kid who has a good first experience becomes a lifer.

Don't think this means i don't respect those who are out there roughing it in the hills for days on end. That sh*t's hardcore, and I wish i could do more of it.

But life hits you fast. And Children grow up faster.

Hunt when you can, However you can , for as long as you can.

Bring someone with you.

That's it. That's all it boils down to.

Two wagons, a trailer, and fairy lights strung between the lot of it for maximum daughter engagement.

Three deer down.

Two little girls who won't ever forget weekends like these.

Now. Some of you may have seen this already over on Instagram. Some of you may be about to see it twice. That is because somewhere between good intentions and the labyrinthine machinery of Meta, the post made it to one platform and not the other.

You would think someone who appreciates traditional craftsmanship, heritage gear, and things built to last would have a handle on basic social media. It turns out the algorithm and Raptor have a complicated relationship.

We are working on it.

In the meantime, apologies for any double ups as we navigate the beast. It feels fitting somehow.

Build a company around old world values and handmade Finnish knives, and it turns out the modern digital world may have quietly gotten away on us.

Could be worse things to be bad at.

New knives in. A proper limited run from Harri.

We have been working with Harri Merimaa from WoodsKnife in Finland for a while now, and every time a new batch arrives it is a good day in the Raptor office.

For those who do not know the story: Harri is a third-generation knife maker based in Kauhava, Western Finland. His grandfather L.V. Kuure was running a puukko factory there back in the 1940s and 50s. Harri's father Esa worked alongside him. Now Harri carries that tradition forward, making the blades and the sheaths himself, in the same region, with that same quiet commitment to doing it properly.

That kind of lineage does not get manufactured. You either have it or you do not.

This batch is a limited edition run, and we will be honest. We are watching how these go before we commit to more. That is part of how we operate. We get requests, we notice patterns, we talk to the maker, and we try to bring in what people are actually after. It is a slow, enjoyable process, and working with people like Harri makes it worthwhile.

What has arrived:
WoodsKnife Bear Paw

WoodsKnife Wild Bear

WoodsKnife Wild Wolf

WoodsKnife Big Leuku 180mm

Each one carries its own markings and detailing. They are not interchangeable, and they are not mass produced. Made by one person in Finland who has been doing this his whole life, and whose family has been doing it for generations before him.
Worth a special mention on the Big Leuku. A 180mm blade is a serious piece of kit. The Leuku is a traditional Sami design, longer and heavier than a standard puukko, built for bigger tasks. Our 145mm Lapplander has gone well and there had been a few asks for something with more reach. The Big Leuku answers that.

These are not on the website yet. We will be loading them over the coming days and will let you know when they are live. Small run. If you have got the collecting bug, this one is for you. We are not immune to that condition ourselves, which is probably how we ended up with a box of Finnish knives on the bench in the first place.

We appreciate that Harri trusts us to share his work down here at the scenic end of the world. That trust is not something we take lightly.

Watch this space

This year, our three-year-old heard her first roar.

The kind that rolls through the hills at night. Deep, distant, and loud enough to feel like dinosaurs moving through the dark. We were tucked into the tent, listening. Out there, in the right spot, it’s deafening.

She sat on the ridgeline, eating the extra chocolate and biscuits her grandfather had packed, learning to roar back with her little hand cupped to her mouth. Learning to move quietly. Learning to “get in behind.”
For a moment, she was the toughest, proudest little girl in the world.

Now, as she edges closer to five, you start to wonder. Did I make the most of that window? That small stretch of time where everything is new, everything is magic, and even a leaf falling off a tree is enough to stop them in their tracks.

You only get about 157 million seconds in those first five years.
Or roughly 260 weekends.
That’s it.

And knowing that every second spent in the mountains, by the fire, in the tent, in the forest, or swimming in the river is time well spent makes the choice a little clearer.
There is plenty of time after that, but not like this. Not with that same wonder.

So sometimes the jobs can wait. The list can sit there a little longer. The better call is to just pack up and go. Even if it is only for a day walk.

We have been a little quiet on here lately.
Not by accident, just out trying to steal a few more of those seconds while we can.