Nicolo "Big Mick" Radovo (?)-28/7/1888.

THE GOVERNOR'S VISIT TO MOUNT COOK GLACIERS. (excerpt)

We now passed the station of Nicolo Radov, more familiarly known as "Big Mick," who has taken up all the country on the western side of the Tasman as far as the Mueller glacier. His house is at the foot of a high spur, and we left it a mile on our left. Following up the flats on the western side of the river for four or five miles, a branch valley opens to the left, which is that of the Hooker river, and in this valley we determined to camp.   -Timaru Herald, 3/2/1873.

Birch Hill Station. Hocken Library photo.

LATEST TELEGRAMS

Frostbite. — It was reported that Nicholas Radovo, of the Mount Cook Station, had been so badly frost-bitten that it was found necessary to bring him to Timaru for medical treatment. The report was correct as to his being frost-bitten, but not as to his having been brought to Timaru. It appears that while walking on the ranges, the snow water penetrated Radovo's boots and froze, rendering it necessary to get his boots off by the aid of warm water. His feet were very bad, and it was at first feared they were completely frost-bitten, but it subsequently transpired that the injury by frost-bite was confined to the toes. It was at first intended to bring him to Timaru, but as the injuries were not so severe as anticipated, he was left at his residence and attended to there.   -Timaru Herald, 26/5/1875.

The Royal Geographical Society have presented to Sir F. D. Bell the gold medal awarded to Professor Von Haast, of Christchurch, for his explorations of the New Zealand Alps. We are glad the Royal Geographical Society have given a gold medal to Dr Haast, because it will gratify him and make Dr Hector green with envy till he gets one too. We always like to see a healthy rivalry among men of science. Besides, Dr Haast deserves any number of gold medals for his management of the Canterbury Museum. There is something very comical, nevertheless, in the notion of his being rewarded for his explorations m the New Zealand Alps. We remember once sitting in the Divorce Court at Westminster when an interesting trial was going on. One of the allegations was that the fair respondent had habitually pulled her husband about the house by his hair, and in her evidence she showed an inclination to evade this point. Sir Cresswell Cresswell, who was dead against her all  through, said in a stern voice: —"Be good enough to say at once, Madame, whether you did or did not pull the plaintiff round the room by his hair." The respondent, a very pretty woman with a bit of the devil in her, answered the Judge's question with another. "Have you ever seen my husband, my lord?" At this moment the plaintiff popped up from the front bench beside his solicitor. He was as bald as a bandicoot. The Court burst out laughing, and the question was pressed no farther. When we read of the Royal Geographical Society having awarded a gold medal to Dr Haast for his Alpine explorations, we could not help enquiring, without wishing to be personal, whether the Society had ever seen the worthy and learned Herr Von Professor. Does he look the sort of man to explore Alpine  peaks! There is a story told of him — ben trovato anyhow —that when he was once prowling about the hills at the foot of Mount Cook, he stopped for the fiftieth time to admire the scenery, and exclaimed: — "Poof, poof! Ach Gottes Then dis is the sommet of Mount Cook. Gott in himmel! — I am glat I am got higher as no oder man. Poof, poof! I am like Robinsohn Crusoe, monarch of all what I survey!" Just at this proud moment his solitude was invaded by the voice of Big Mick about a hundred feet or so above him, calling out "Cooo-ee! I say, you down there! Have you seen any of my sheep knocking about as you came along?" Tableau. Donnerundblitzonspitztausendteufeln!!!!  -Timaru Herald, 20/5/1884.

A MACKENZIE COUNTRY PIONEER.

The present generation knows little of Nicolo Radovo, whose death is announced in another column, but years ago everybody in South Canterbury nearly was familiar with his nick-name "Big Mick," though few indeed could then have been familiar with the man. A Sicilian of powerful physique, a soldier who had borne the severity of that historic winter in the Crimea, he came to this colony upwards of thirty years ago, and soon after strayed into the Mackenzie Country, where, in a climate so different from that of his native land — unless, indeed, he was bred on the heights of Etna — he found a home congenial to his grand and simple nature. For some years he worked as a station hand, usually at Ben More or Ben Ohau stations, where his strength and industry were not more valuable than his unfailing good temper and kindness of heart. "Big Mick" — he had been given this nickname on board ship, on the way out, and it stuck to him and he to it — "Big Mick" was a general favorite wherever he went. Temperate and thrifty, he saved money from his regular weekly wages and his shearing cheques, and presently finding himself the owner of a small stock of capital, he made a start on his own account, by taking up and stocking — very lightly indeed at the start — the run now well known as Birch Hill, which lies on the south bank of the river Tasman, and includes the southern spurs of Mount Cook as far as they are worth including, and probably further. It was as the owner, manager and staff of this run that Big Mick came to be talked about on this side of Burkes Pass, for his mountaineering exploits, performed, not for the love of the thing, as is the case with many modern mountaineers, nor out of a spirit of bravado or of emulation, as is the case with other, but simply in the pursuit of his vocation as a sheep farmer on one of the most rugged runs in the colony. Most old identities here will recollect some stories of his lonely clamberings after wild sheep that led him anything but merry dances over splintery slates, the tumbled moraines and icy streams of the "second" and "first" order on his glaciated run, how on one trip he wore the soles off his boots and arrived home barefoot; how on another he was out all night, and owing to the frost having made the hillsides like glass he was obliged to save his boots by hanging them round his neck and walking barefoot to be able to walk at all; how on another occasion, determined to bring home as sheep animals which appeared to have become chamois goats, he remained out until be was fain to share their food, compelled to eat the roots of snowgrass to stave off the pangs of hunger. His adventures usually, if not always solitary, would make an interesting volume were they recorded. It will probably be many a day before another can safely say he has scrambled about the spurs of Mount Cook as much as Nicolo Radovo. To be sure Mr Green and his Swiss guides outrivalled him, and so have others, in respect of altitude attained, but these were equipped for mountaineering, not for sheep mustering, and had climbing as a special end in view. Mr Radovo sold out of Birch Hill about 1874, having done very well there, thanks to his industry and thrift. He went to the North Island to look for a run there, but found nothing to suit him, and acting on the advice of his old neighbour and friend Mr Burnett, he returned to South Canterbury and purchased Mistake Station, another rugged piece of country on tho south bank of the Godley river, the chief stream flowing into Lake Tekapo, and draining a huge glacier of the same name. Here he missed the good counsel of his friend, Mr Burnett, who had formerly exercised some supervision over his business affairs for him, and by a continuation of bad luck with probably some bad management, the Mistake justified its name for him, only too well, and he was compelled to relinquish it about three years ago, leaving it empty handed. After a short sojourn in Timaru he and his wife obtained a situation at the Hermitage, where "Big Mick," as a guide, was a great favourite with tourist visitors as he had been in the old days with his neighbours. It was fitting, too, that the man who first set foot on the great Tasman glacier should, while he continued capable of it, have the privilege of introducing others to its chilly wonders and its grand surroundings. Many a tourist of the past two or three decades must remember him well. Those who knew him thoroughly will much regret his death. He was a rough diamond, indeed, but kind of heart, and when in a position to play the host, hospitable to a notable degree, even in a region where hospitality is a sacred duty. For a long time past Mr Radovo had suffered from a liver complaint. Becoming worse he was brought to Timaru, by the advice of Dr. Macintyre, about a week ago, but the disease had progressed too far, and he died on Sunday evening. He leaves a widow, but no children.  -Timaru Herald, 31/7/1888.

AN EYE FOR EVERYTHING

by Cyclops

I see by a Timaru telegram that Nicolo Radove, otherwise and better known as "Big Mick," is dead. He was, as the press agent puts it, a settler and mountaineer, and he used at one time, and for all I know, did to the last, own or lease some land on the slopes of Mount Cook. It was of him that a story was told at the expense of an adventurous scientist who attempted to scale Mount Cook in the early time. The explorer made every effort to scale the mountain, and having gained a considerable elevation, sat down to mop his forehead and console himself with the thought that he had got higher than any one else had ever done. Chancing, however, to glance upwards, his hopes of fame were dashed to the ground by a sight of Big Mick shepherding a flock of his sheep on a still higher slope. Big Mick has acted as a guide for the last year or two, and surely few men knew the mountain better than he. Peace to his ashes.  -Mataura Ensign, 3/8/1888.

Timaru Cemetery.