Last month I cut my hair short. No longer was I the long-haired lad who sat reading Proust in the summer sun. Instead, I endeavoured to become the beer-guzzling, duck-shooting, rugby-loving, Southern man which my rugged short hair prescribed me to be. Yet how is it possible to make such a rapid transition in the throngs of studentville? I can’t be a deluded soft boy one minute and full on country boy in the next. Something had to happen; a trial by fire perhaps? There was only one obvious answer to my conundrum. I had to conquer the Southland pubs that scared me most, in a quest that would hopefully shape me into the ‘Southern Man’ I so desired to become. Thus, the decision was made. I would journey south to search for the scariest pub while asking myself the scariest question of all: what makes a man?
Owaka Pub
Owaka pub. What an institution. Walking in, you confront a bottle store linked to the entrance of the bar. The presence of the liquor store greatly diminished my fear upon entering, having reminded me of the comforts found in the hallowed halls of Leith Liquor. Venturing in, it became apparent that I had arrived far too early to see any of the duck-shooters who were likely still geared up in the middle of their paddocks. The crowd left behind were merry; the patriotic home-front, it seemed. All but one dilapidated gambler wore a smile. When queried about how his night was going, the pokie player gruffly replied, “The bloody machine’s broken,” before proceeding to have another go. Turns out the machine was actually broken! But alas, the fixing of the machine did little to improve the poor man’s luck. Overall, the Owaka pub was not nearly as scary as I had expected. I was brazen in my demeanour, though, chatting amicably, ordering a jug, and at one point brushing a man’s shoulder while playing pool, eek! The sense of fear I felt upon entering was quickly overwhelmed by a sense of joy provided by this quaint little burrow of civilization. My pool game was applauded by bored onlookers, and even the gruffest inhabitants didn’t seem to mind my flaunting. The Owaka pub also had a framed, signed petition stating, “We the people of the South prefer DB Draught to any other kind of beer.” The fact that over 200 people had signed that petition attests to the importance of the pub as a hub for the Owaka community, though it also made me reconsider ever buying Speight’s again.
Standards needed to overcome fear: 8
Longest acceptable hair length: Shoulder length
Overall vibe: 32% scared
Clutha
Balclutha is the definition of what is truly Southern and scary to a young city slicker like me. The pub scene in Balclutha was tainted by sorrow rather than fear. Balclutha’s iconic pub, the ‘Southy’, was destroyed in 2022. The Southy had a tumultuous reputation, and was renowned for an incident where one patron stuck a pool cue up another’s ass during a particularly rowdy Stag Do. In nervous anticipation, I wondered if my venture would end similarly before realising that the pub had been demolished in hopes of establishing a much “nicer” venue. Balclutha is trying to become Auckland and it pisses me off. All power to those developing new infrastructure in the burgeoning metropolis but as Troy Bolton famously queried in the hit song ‘Bet on It’ - did you ever lose yourself to get what you want? You did, Balclutha, and it disgusts me. Our only pub alternative in the city was ‘Casafuego’, which had both a restaurant and bar. Though the restaurant’s vibes were strong, this atmosphere completely shifted upon entering the cordoned off bar area. The room was exceedingly cramped though there were at least 12-15 people within its embrace. Despite the significant numbers, idle chatter was at a minimum and most patrons stood awkwardly watching an extremely tense game of pool. The tension was so palpable that my entrance into the bar warranted 6-7 onlookers to glare at me in abhorrence. The ordinary inhabitants had produced a malice which was unbearable to my - at this point, hopelessly upset - self. I left the bar on the verge of tears. “Is this the fate of the Clutha pub?” I questioned desperately. Would Owaka soon meet the same end? Was I perhaps witness to the death of the Southland pub? This question was scary enough to ponder as I climbed into the car, inconsolable.
Standards needed to overcome fear: Not even alcohol suffices
Longest acceptable hair length: Balding
Vibe: 100% scared
Milton
Coming into the ‘Town of Opportunity’ I had high expectations that the White Horse Inn, also known as ‘The Kink ‘N The Road’, would be bat-shit crazy. Images of bar fights, robberies, and pool tournaments beset my enraptured mind. In reality, none of these promises were fulfilled as we engaged in a few quiet conversations and an embarrassingly unbalanced game of pool before leaving. Yet it was hard not to be scared by the obvious local domination, made apparent by all those who arrived festooned in gumboots and the bright orange of Toko RFC. As we played pool it became apparent that our intrusion was unwelcome, increasing both our fear and uncertainty as we questioned the morality of our journey down south. Despite the pub’s size, inhabitants refused to spread out and instead gathered around the bar as if it were an altar, chatting in a celebratory fashion. Duck shooters regaled their tales of success and we sat alone on the verge of a community, unable to be penetrated by even the wittiest of banter.
Standards needed to overcome fear: 30 (a crate)
Longest acceptable hair length: Any length as long as it's a mullet
Vibe: 82% scared
Waihola
As the light pollution worsened on track to Dunedin, I began to question my entire reason for indulging in the trip. Except in Balclutha, the South Otago pubs had shown not the fearsome nature of the Southern man but instead the quintessence of humanity. Perhaps the reputation of the South Otago pub as something to be feared was leading to the scariest sight of all - the death of the pub. Our venture into the Waihola tavern further confirmed these fears. Tired of pool, we sat down to watch Moana Pasifika get within an inch of beating the Blues. It seemed as if the whole bar had rallied behind the underdog team, old grumps and families alike. Within this microcosm there existed a million worlds, merely glimpsed into for but a second at a time: Walter was “at it again” according to the bartender, and two 20-somethings were teaching their brothers/sons how to get it done on the pool table. The harmony of human nature in all its elements was obvious. I left chuffed. My fear of the mythical South Otago pub had been conquered!
Standards needed to overcome fear: 3
Longest acceptable hair length: Above the ears
Vibe: 44% scared
After this long journey, it became apparent that the South Otago pub was not a place to be feared but to be celebrated in its ability to centralise and unite small communities. It had become apparent that the construct of “manhood” has no currency in a setting where humanity in itself is championed above all else. In this sense there is something to be savoured in the South Otago pub. Sadly, the reputation South Otago pubs have garnered as places belonging to only the scariest of individuals has hampered rather than helped these venues' existence. The death bells tolled as we passed through Balclutha and other locations which could soon be slaughtered. Yet the journey did achieve its goal. In visiting these pubs it became apparent how fruitless it is to shape your identity to meet an idealised end: you can’t and you shouldn’t. South Otago pubs prove that love for the community must always triumph on the path to becoming anything - no matter how long your mullet.