Boulevard of Hoisted Cones

You’re not being paranoid, the old saying goes, if someone is out to get you. I’ve been trying to explain this to my parents. They think my cone concern is bordering on obsession. (See here, here, here, here, and here - come to think of it, that list is a tad long.)

At least they used to think I had a cone problem – until they came to visit New Zealand. Now they have seen firsthand how I am stalked by cones, tormented by them. Everywhere I go, there they are. Just trying to look natural. As if they belong. Checking their watch. Tying their shoe lace.

I used to think these contacts were mere conal abuse, that young lads, drunk or otherwise addled, were taking their frustrations out on these perfectly innocent cones and that I was just a coincidental witness. I’m no longer sure that’s the case. I’m being taunted or haunted.

Mum and Dad get it now. “There certainly are a lot of these cones about,” Dad said, with his usual understatement.

“And in odd places too,” I added unnecessarily, for they have seen me pull out my camera frequently and always at inappropriate times in unbelievable places.

Last week, for instance, we opened the doors onto the balcony of our wonderful apartment in Kaikoura to see this:



Magnificent tree - a Norfolk Pine. Epic Cone. This is the one that finally convinced Mum that the problem wasn't mine. There was an issue here, one which she wished to get to the base of.

While last time I was here I wrote that Kaikoura is a lobster-lover’s haven. Turns out, it is, in fact, a cone in the crown of New Zealand. It is a coners paradise. Mum discovered that there's actually a gang here who call themselves the coners and who have taken to “coning” all the most prominent points in the town. They have done an impressive job. In their minds they aren't stealing cones, they are merely relocating them, by the way.

I can’t fathom how much alcohol it must take to climb one of these trees – with a cone in your mouth, pirate-like. An insider, who does not wish to be identified - he has probably taken a cone of silence - told Mum that he has advised the coners to use their legs while climbing the trees, but to hold their arms out wide, a la Titanic. That way, when they fall, they will be easier to unscrew from the ground.



When pressed about the identity of these intrepid pioneers of coning, he would say only that they are about to leave High School and this is their farewell prank. A gift of sorts to the community. They did the whole Esplanade in Kaikoura. Every tree that had a suitable sticky-uppy bit at the top, and I know there's a more technical term than that, is now adorned with a cone. It is a thing of beauty.

The South Island as a whole has proven to be fertile coning ground. It is extraordinary the nationwide obsession with placing cones in unusual places that New Zealand has. We saw:


Stoner Coner - these guys were at about 3,000 feet.


Cone on a pedestal, where it can be worshipped and danced around. (I-cone-ic.)


Camo-Cone.


Beware the dirty old Man cones.


Beware the drinking water in Dunedin cone.


I love sunsets-and-getting-drunk-on-the-beach cone.

I have so many more pictures of cones, but I have to stop. You get my point. New Zealand is full of cones - and people who want to do silly things with them. So many cones are being abducted, by the way, that recently a cone amnesty was announced. Anybody who turned in cones that they had stolen could do so for a certain period without feeling the full force of the law. I do feel a little vindicated by this, by the way. Imagine a smug smile.