Four hours of driving. One cotton dress. A pair of retro pink Nikes almost as old as me. And a whole lot of stag calls.
The Sika Show 2025 in Hamilton delivered everything it promised: gear, venison, laughter, and a healthy dose of “only in New Zealand” energy.
We rolled in around 10 a.m. and immediately bumped into a guy my husband knew from work. Handy, because nothing breaks the ice like seeing someone who already knows how many coffee breaks your other half takes. We scoped out the stalls before buying anything. Hunting gear isn’t exactly a budget hobby, so it pays to look twice before you remortgage the ute for a new rifle sling.
The Prime Minister showed up later with three plain-clothes bodyguards and one guy in a full winter-weight suit, possibly an MP or someone who forgot it’s November. The PM himself was dressed perfectly for summer: casual but neat, like a man who owns an iron and checks the forecast. His aide, on the other hand, looked ready for a Treasury meeting in Antarctica.
“Met the Prime Minister at the Sika Show. Handed him my card, he laughed at the title ‘Chief of Coolness, Jack of All Trades.’ Forgot to tell him my name though. Oops. Mysterious stranger energy achieved.”
Later I listened to his official speech. It went something like this:
“From a social fabric point of view, hunting and fishing are a big part of life in New Zealand. The sector contributes around $300 million to the economy and supports a lot of jobs across guiding, gear, conservation, and more. I’m proud of how the sector gives back, including food donations to food banks, and we’ve got a strong future ahead if we keep encouraging people to get outdoors.”
Decent points, just a bit too press-releasey. You could almost hear the commas being approved by committee. If he had gone off-script, cracked a joke, or mentioned the price of ammo, the crowd would have loved him for it.
Also spotted Sam the Bushman from YouTube wandering about. Meant to go say hi, but I got distracted. Story of my life.
Then came the roaring competition, easily one of the day’s highlights. The adults went first, and some of them sounded like stags in peak season, while others sounded like they needed an exorcist or a doctor. The seriousness levels were off the charts. You could see foreheads bulging with commitment. Then, the kids took the stage. My seven-year-old gave it a go, charming the crowd even without a trophy. The mixture of tiny roars and adult ones still echoing in the background was pure comedy gold.
Caught up with some lovely folks at the ACT Party stand. They were a bit gutted. Zane didn’t win the Taupō mayoral race but said to tell him hello. Consider this the official hello.
Somewhere between the food stalls and the merch tent, I saw a guy wearing a T-shirt with Jesus pointing and the words “You all are a disappointment.” I probably shouldn’t have laughed as hard as I did, but it summed up the crowd’s vibe perfectly: enthusiastic chaos wrapped in humor only Kiwis can pull off.
The whole day had that friendly, chaotic Kiwi spirit. Big brands showing off, hunters swapping yarns, and couples turning it into a date. Nothing says romance like matching camo.
Food was top-tier, smoky, hearty, and perfectly greasy. I went full practical chic: cotton dress, retro pink Nikes, boots in spirit only. It was a solid 24 degrees of heat, and I was melting like an ice cube left on the dash. No breeze, no mercy, just pure summer. I would have loved even the faintest puff of wind, but the air stood still like it was on strike. Still, the dress survived the crowd, the dust, and the occasional waft of venison smoke.
After two hours up to Hamilton and two back home, I was shattered, but in that good, earned-your-day kind of way. Between the laughs and conversations, and the moment I accidentally branded myself as an enigma to the country’s leader, I’d call it a win.
Four people, three burgers, and a mountain of chicken and chips later, we finally rolled home, no sunburn, just happy-tired. Even my berry water tasted like victory (and warm plastic) by the time I got back in the ute.
Next year will do it all again.
Leave a Reply