Before the Kapiti Expressway opened, a drive north up State Highway One from Wellington would take you under a 14m statue of the Virgin Mother standing high on a foothill of the Tararuas. As a child it was an important landmark on our journey to my grandparents’ house in Waikanae. That house was also high up on a hill, one we call Hemi Matenga. A place where the breath of the Tasman meets the immovable Tararua mountains.
I now live below Hemi Matenga on the coastal plain between the sandy beaches of the lower North Island’s west coast and the stout peaks above. The mountains are known for being a formidable leg of the Te Araroa walking trail, for pig and deer hunting and as a dividing obstacle which makes traversing from the arid east of the country to the humid west difficult. Once, between deep draws on a cigarette, an American bartender told me they were a dead ringer for the Appalachians.
What is probably less known is that these mountains are home to several monasteries. Tucked into mountains, inland from my house sits the Ngatiawa River Monastery, a community of Anglicans. North of here, in the foothills behind Levin sits the incredibly ornate old-world fortress of the Greek Orthodox Monastery of The Holy Archangels. And on the other side of the range sits New Zealand’s only Trappist monastery, Kopua Southern Star.
Here in the beer world, the word Trappist immediately summons up images of hefty, rich Belgian ales brewed under the watchful eyes of habit-wearing monks. A lifetime ago, when I was discovering the world of beer, the beers brewed by Trappist monks were of particular fascination to me; they still are.
There are currently 11 Trappist brewers who can use the Authentic Trappist Product seal. Members, however, come and go as monasteries close, their monks having died out, while others open breweries keen to fund their devotion. While the five Trappist brewers in Belgium and La Trappe from the Netherlands are the most well-known, there are others. Earlier this year enjoyed a few bottles of Tynt Meadow, a delicious rounded dark ale brewed at the Mount St Bernard Abbey in Leicestershire, England. As an aside the installation of the brewery at the abbey in 2018 was funded by a New Zealand businessman.
Of the classics, I love the golden herbal spice of the tripel from Westmalle, the funky clout of Orval, and the raisin and prune-laden brews from Rochefort. On the occasions I have been lucky enough to try it, I have thoroughly enjoyed Westvleteren 12, the so-called best beer in the world. One memorable bottle was shared during a lock-in at a Birmingham pub with a hearty array of cheeses on the table.
These beers all hook into our romantic ideas about the old world, and their place at the dinner table or cheeseboard is hard to match.
Back in 2022 I had my own brush with the world of Trappist brewing. I was contacted by the journalist Jono Galuszka. He had been contacted by Brother Jonathan Craven about the possibility of brewing a beer to mark the 70th anniversary of the Kopua Southern Star Abbey. My passion for Belgian brewing, plus my brewery’s proximity to the Abbey made me the obvious choice to help the monks realise the idea. From there ensued a somewhat surreal process of working with Brother Craven to determine how a brew could work, the costings, the recipe, and ideas of how the profits would be used.
There was always a tension to my involvement. I am far from Catholic, far from Christian and while I do have a thing for sacred heart paintings and icons, I also have a thing for heavy metal and t-shirts about Satan. At one point, my local vicar reported the monks had raised their eyebrows about some of my more colourful ways of expression. He moves between the Catholic and Protestant worlds like the Reformation was 500 years ago, and drinks with me on a regular basis. Better the devil you know …
Regardless of heavy metal, Brother Craven and I continued to work together on the project. I had to pinch myself as a beer I was working on awaited the return of the Abbot from the Vatican. Usually, I would just be waiting on Mainfreight with a pallet of malt. Ultimately, the decision was made not to brew a beer — I don’t know if my t-shirts were the deciding factor!
I can’t see any sign that the anniversary last year was marked at all. That is probably the way with Trappist monks, quiet contemplation rather than making a song and dance about things. It seems to come as a surprise to most people that is even a Trappist monastery here in New Zealand.
Even though the beer didn’t come to pass, the process is a memory I will treasure, wonderful and absurd.