Eric van Hooydonk is passionate about Highlands.

Even Eric himself, a tall Totara of a kiwi farmer seems to be from a bygone era – one where men worked the land not for money, but for the sheer love of seeing nature at work.  On the floor is a Highland pelt, while an enormous shaggy head adorns the wall across from a clock that has stopped – as if to confirm time has stood still.  You almost expect to find Mel Gibson’s Braveheart warriors gathered around the table.  Instead you find Jill – a quiet, unassuming woman with a shy smile arranging home bottled beetroot.

It is hard not to let your gaze drift back to the mounted head guarding the entrance of the 102 year old farmhouse.  While some may find the head unnerving and even unpleasant it is soon apparent this is Eric’s way of honouring a breed he is deeply passionate about.

“Look how majestic he is,” Eric told Rural Living. “This is a breed for the discerning, a very natural old breed that has held fast to its characteristics.”

Over coffee Eric talks enthusiastically about the Highland Cattle he’s been breeding for around 14 years while Jill nods in agreement from the kitchen.  Highlands are everywhere – stickers, calendars, magazines, photographs, a stunning oil painting of a favourite cow painted for Eric by his artist brother.

“See the pottery mugs on the shelf?”  Eric points to a small collection of sturdy pottery mugs each with the words “Scottish Highlands” and beneath those a shaggy cow.  Rather than holding coffee, it’s easy to imagine they would hold mead or ale. “Jill did those, freehand.”  Eric’s pride is impossible to miss. “I just loved the look of a fully horned animal.”

The horns on Highland cattle help with temperature control.

In fact he has over seventy sets of polished horns – a collection he estimates is possibly the largest in the country. 

Eventually we move outdoors – but first Eric casts a dubious eye over my bright pink tee-shirt, shakes his head and disappears to find me a more subdued shirt.  For Eric’s Highlands are not show animals and so do not have the same handling as many Highlands.  Nor are they used to lots of strangers. “We had an AI girl up here once and she had bright colours and fast, jerky movements.  It made the cows nervous.”

Glancing back at the formidable horns on the mounted head, I decide the very last thing I want to do is make the cows nervous.

On a hill paddock above the farmhouse stand what is left of the herd Eric originally started in the Hokianga when the family lived entirely off the land, even generating their own electricity.

“Up in the Hokianga – it’s the highest altitude in Northland.  Feral pastures, reverting back.  It’s harsh. The Highland’s just seemed suited to the conditions and they just thrived.  They convert poor quality pasture to flavoursome meat.”

It’s not difficult to imagine these shaggy, sleepy creatures or Eric more at home in the quiet bush areas of Northland.

Eventually Eric and Jill, who have three daughters, decided to move closer to town and a more conventional lifestyle. With them they brought the Highland cattle they had grown to admire and love.

“They do have docile natures and are very even tempered but you have to be aware of the horns.”  I resist the urge to tell Eric I am very aware of the horns.  The cows don’t appear to be unnerved by either the flashes of pink from my shirt or the whirring of the camera – I on the other hand am in nervous awe of them.  “Especially when they have calves.  They have a strong maternal instinct.  They are really fantastic mothers.”

Eric prefers as little intervention as possible.  He has found the animals to be naturally resistant to parasites and bugs and has had little need to drench.  He manages his pasture with liquid organic fertiliser and the lush grass is testimony as much to his care as to the recent rains.   His preference for nature doing what nature does should not be confused with lack of interest in his stock.  He knows each animal by nature and physique – and some by name - as well as having observed the traits of the breed closely over the years.

“The calves are born hairy to the conditions.  Down here where the climate is more hospitable, they aren’t as hairy as up in the rough terrain.  The horns help with temperature control.”

Although Highlands have a reputation for a docile nature, Eric warns not to underestimate their herd instinct. “Once or twice I’ve been checking a new born and it will bleat.  Suddenly I’ve got the whole herd bellowing and investigating to see what I’m doing.

As if on cue, a calf calls for its mother and the entire herd, including the large, sleepy looking bull is in full throat – the sound echoing out over the hills.

As we move back toward the house, where Jill has a lunch of beautiful soft brown rolls, cheese, salami and a pot of tea waiting for us, Eric explains he and Jill have decided the land they are on is not the best land for Highland’s to perform at their best so are slowly phasing the herd out.

Looking back to his beloved animals,  he smiles wryly and adds: “Well except for one or two we’re really attached to.”