“My whole life has been in nature. I grew up with two parents who dragged me into the hills at a really early age, and I set an ambition of walking every valley between Hokitika and Haast by the time I was 17, which I pulled off.”
That early immersion shaped a career that took him from the forests of South Westland to the sub-Antarctic islands, from policy rooms in Wellington to field huts in remote valleys. Now, as a board member of various conservation charities, Sanson’s mission continues with a focus on enabling others to take action.
“I really wanted to contribute back to the incredible career that I’ve had into fundraising and keeping the movement going,” he says. “The job is too big for any one agency. The New Zealand Nature Fund is able to do the heavy lifting when government cannot do it all.”
During his eight years leading DOC, Sanson saw that combining government resources, philanthropy, community energy and commercial support produces results that no single group could achieve alone. He sees the NZNF as a conduit for that collaboration, a channel that directs funding to where it will have the greatest impact, whether that is large-scale predator eradication or volunteer-driven hut restoration.
The operational cost to deploy DOC staff in the field is high once overheads are included. Through community conservation, the same work, such as trapping stoats or cutting tracks, can be done for the cost of supporting local volunteers, with DOC providing technical expertise and science.
“It is the magic of bringing philanthropy, community and even commercial partners together to achieve bigger outcomes,” he says. “When the technical skills come from DOC, the community provides the human resources, and the funding supports both, it is a win-win.”
The NZNF’s projects reflect this model. Sanson talks about the albatross programme, which began as a volunteer effort and is now tackling the added challenges of climate change. He mentions the Predator Free Rakiura partnership and the annual $100,000 commitment from hunter Robert Burke to repair and build backcountry huts.
“Somebody says, ‘I love hunting, I love that country, I love the huts, so I am going to give every year until I die.’ That is magic. With Robert’s money we have been able to do five different projects, from the brand-new Waiau Hut to upgrades on Lake Manapōuri.”
For Sanson, the message to everyday New Zealanders is simple: contribution can take many forms.
“Every little bit helps. If it is money, that is fine. If it is labour, that is fine. It is what you can do to restore nature in New Zealand and bring back incredible birds. Whether it is a farmer fencing off a patch of bush so bellbirds return, or someone in Timaru putting up a bird feeder, everything helps to value this incredible biodiversity we have.”
This belief ties into what he calls New Zealand’s national identity. He argues that few countries, perhaps Costa Rica, Norway, Tasmania and Iceland, have the same ingrained connection to their natural heritage. That connection, he says, is both a privilege and a responsibility.
Sanson’s love of wild places is punctuated by moments of awe. He still recalls his first albatross, seen on Campbell Island in the sub-Antarctic. “I first saw an albatross on Col Saddle there, and I remember famous American naturalist Robert Cushman Murphy’s words: ‘I belong to a higher state of mortals where I have seen an albatross.’ The whole spiritual basis of an albatross, I will never forget that. It began my long love affair with the plight of the albatross.”
More recently, those formative encounters have been relived through the eyes of his granddaughter. “To take Lily out into Niue’s ebony forests, see the spider webs in the early morning light, the moths, the rock pools, it was like reliving my childhood through her eyes,” he says. “That is what most of us can do. You can actually touch nature through the eyes of your grandchildren.”
For him, those experiences are more than sentimental. They are the foundation of environmental commitment, and a reminder that connection can begin with the simplest acts, such as throwing stones in a river, watching birds feed in the garden, or feeling the textures of a forest.
Sanson sits on several boards, including The Nature Conservancy, WWF NZ, the Les Hutchins Conservation Fund, and the NZNF, which gives him a vantage point on how NGOs and government can operate in concert. “It has given me a unique insight into how all these organisations work together without tripping over each other,” he says. “I do see a future where community groups get bigger over time and the role of DOC shifts more to working with and enabling others to succeed.”
That shift, he suggests, will demand a more decentralised model in which DOC’s core functions, such as science, technology and regulatory oversight, are paired with empowered community action. “When you look at Predator Free, it is a social movement. It brings people together to think about how they tackle rats, stoats, possums and cats in their area and bring their precious birds back.”
He is also thinking ahead to how conservation can fund itself. Voluntary carbon credits, he says, could provide that solution, monetising the carbon stored when pest animals are removed and native forests regenerate. “If we are successful with Predator Free, we could pay for the whole future of conservation in New Zealand out of voluntary carbon credits created by taking possums and pests out and enabling nature to fix more carbon. That is the way of the future.”
It is an ambitious vision, but one grounded in decades of watching conservation evolve. He has seen the scale of challenges grow, including climate change, biodiversity loss and funding pressures, and has also seen communities rise to meet them, from school trap lines to iwi-led marine protection.
The New Zealand Nature Fund is, in his view, a critical bridge between aspiration and action. It connects donors, whether individuals, corporates or foundations, to projects with proven impact. It also complements other players, from The Nature Conservancy to the Next Foundation, ensuring efforts are aligned rather than duplicated.
That orchestration matters. On Auckland Island, for example, a predator eradication project will require unprecedented coordination among government, NGOs, scientists and funders. On Rakiura, community-driven trapping programmes are bolstered by national-level expertise and logistics.
Sanson sees the NZNF’s role as both practical and catalytic, getting resources into the hands of people who can make change, and showing that big wins for nature are possible when everyone plays their part. In the end, his message circles back to the valleys of his youth and the belief that conservation belongs to everyone. “It is who we are. It is part of our DNA as New Zealanders to care for nature. Every little bit helps.”
Sanson’s experiences show a profound truth at the heart of NZNF’s work; the future of New Zealand’s wild places depends on all of us. Whether by giving, volunteering, or teaching the next generation to notice spider webs in the morning light, every contribution matters.
The work is far from done. We need to become a nation of guardians, each doing what we can, when we can. It is work that can endure, valley by valley, bird by bird, and preserve that magic for the next generation.
