For anyone – myself included – who has ever browsed the real estate sites and imagined a blissful existence on a rural lifestyle block, Rebecca Hayter’s openhearted memoir High Heels and Gumboots is likely a must read, as she recounts her years of doing just that. 

Hayter is a respected yachting journalist, and the first woman editor of Boating New Zealand, a position she held from 1999 until 2015 when she resigned to move to Oceanspirit, a beachfront lifestyle block in Golden Bay. During her years in The Bay, alongside continuing to write about boating, Hayter penned a regular column for North and South magazine named High Heels and Gumboots, chronicling her efforts as a rookie living on the land. These columns form the basis for this book.

Moving to a small community can be tough, but Hayter’s path is smoothed by her Golden Bay heritage. She grew up in Takaka, born at the local hospital to GP Dr Tamsin Hayter, to whom she dedicates the book. The author’s turbulent relationship with Tamsin, and efforts to bridge this divide before her mother’s death, form a thru-line amongst the anecdotes, as the author questions why she was drawn away from her career in Auckland to return to her roots (and gumboots).

As in her popular column in North and South, the chapters of this book read as self-contained stories, often funny, always heartfelt and generous to the local characters who reoccur throughout. She arrives charmed by the land, the house and the resident animals, but the reality of drought, flooding and the brutal truths of the adage, ‘where there is livestock, there is deadstock’, test both physical strength and emotional courage. 

As they also say, you should never work with animals, and the sheep, ducks, and ridiculously political chicken community throw many curveballs at their caretaker, with hilarious results. It pays to ask yourself before that 4-hectare block on your watchlist, could I tackle a duck the size of a swan and pull an eel from its nostril with pliers? The author found out, and her Muscovy duck Dyson made it onto the News.

'... I noticed something hanging, snake-like, from Dyson’s nostril at the top of his bill. It was a small eel, about a centimetre in diameter and 15 centimetres long. Its gills were acting like a barb inside Dyson’s nostril, and every time he tried to shake it off, it wrapped around his bill like linguine.'

Many of the stories told in the book involve remarkable resourcefulness. The author, having adventured around the world on yachts, is very capable, but the challenges at Oceanspirit are all new, including wrangling an ancient Massey Ferguson 315 tractor with dodgy brakes, and a crash course in drainage and plumbing. What’s evident from her exploits is the importance of drawing on the knowledge and help of her community. Neighbours show up as readily with practical help and advice as they do armed with food and a bottle for the many parties and games of 500. 

Ever a journalist, Hayter writes for the local GB News, and sheds light on governance issues for small communities, and touches on the raw nerve of the rural urban divide. Where there is conflict, she’s balanced and informed, telling her stories with a humble acceptance of her own shortcomings and a keen sense of humour. When mechanic and local character Nobby comes to help with tractor maintenance, the author unlocked a new life goal:

'"Key?' Nobby said. “We don’t need a key.” He sounded like Doc in Back to the Future: "Roads? Where we’re going we don’t need roads." Nobby pulled out a screwdriver. Sparks zizzed and spat. Zizz-spat. Chug-a-chug-a-chug-chug-chug-CHUG-CHUG. I hoped that, when I grew up, I could start a tractor with a screwdriver.'

This book will provide inspiration and warning for those contemplating a sea change, making it an excellent bedside table addition for the lifestyler, and the lifestyle curious. While Hayter doesn’t dwell for long on the emotional journey, she does bring the reader along on her personal quest of growing confidence and reconciliation. High Heels and Gumboots is easy to pick up and join in the adventure for a short stint, or settle in and relish the escapism of someone else’s ruddy hard yakka. 

Reviewed by Anna Scaife