It's hard work but the team making up one of Mark Barrowcliffe's shearing gangs wouldn't have it any other way.

If you'd never been in a shearing shed before, you might think this Tuesday morning that you'd landed on another planet.

There are people, sheep and dogs, the noise of machinery, music, fans and unsettled animals, all rocking, reverberating and milling in a solid 1950s corrugated iron building near Piopio.

It is hot and sticky, there's the pungent whiff of lanolin and sweat, and against a wall a pair of chuck-out armchairs covered in elegant but ancient floral chintz, sitting together like old dowagers who've come down in the world. Josh the Muss signed his name on a wall here in 2011, so did Amba, and some others who've passed this way.

Mike Scott FAST PACE: Jock MacDonald, left, shears another sheep alongside James Ritchie while head rousie Susan Turner sweeps up.

Watch the scene for a few minutes, and the purposefulness of it kicks in. And the pride, the skill, and the speed. There are four guys on the stands, shearing the sheep, two women sweeping and grading the wool, another working as the presser.

They move together in harmony. Everyone knows their job. The shearers are bent over, sweating, dancing with sheep, making light movements, turning, turning, holding them down with arms and feet as they work. The wool is flicked away by the rousies on a long-handled plastic paddle. The lesser quality belly wool and pieces go into a vintage wooden press, the luxurious fleeces into a more hi-tech version. One sheep after another; they're pulled out of the pens in long woollen coats, a minute later they go down the chute pristine pink and naked.

The shearers' stands have water bottles, clickers to record their tallies, fans and comb pouches. Combs are changed every hour, the cutters every 15 minutes, the brief breaks give the men a chance to stretch and flex.

Mike Scott LUNCHTIME: Shearing operates to a clearly defined schedule including an hour break for lunch where its possible to have a sleep and James Ritchie, foreground and Sam Brooks do just that. Barrowcliffe and his son Tana, 9, sit in the background.

This is the 300ha King Country sheep farm of Nicholas and Pat Loft, in Mangaotaki Rd at Waitanguru, near Piopio. A gang from Piopio-based Barrowcliffe Shearing will perhaps do 1400 sheep here (mostly lambs) if they crack the whip, on a day when temperatures climb into the high 20s, maybe 35C in the shed. "It just makes the beer taste good at the end," says shearer Jock MacDonald.

Shearers' work is mostly unseen, tucked away on remote farms like this one. But shearing's been in the news this summer with a couple of prestigious world record attempts in the region, one successful, one not.

We're here to meet some of the men and women who get the wool off the sheep's back, and among them in the Loft shed today is MacDonald, 28, son of gun King Country shearer Alan (Mickey) MacDonald. Jock MacDonald grew up in these parts, and was on the team that beat the world five-stand strong wool lamb shearing record in January.

Mike Scott SLIDE: A shorn sheep waits to get pushed down the chute.

He and four others shore 2910 romney lambs at Puketiti Station, a few minutes from the Loft farm. They were 272 up on the previous record from December 2013. MacDonald did 564 sheep, which seems like bloody hard yakka. He trained for the challenge under his father, doing a mix of shearing and gym work. He also spent a lot of time getting his gear up to scratch. "And no drinking."

He says: "On the morning, I woke at 3am, couldn't go back to sleep, I was at the shed by 6 o'clock. I tried to tell myself it was just another day at work."

MacDonald's not going quite so fast this morning, but the wool's still flying, to a well-practised flow. He starts with the belly, then the crutch, working his way over the sheep, then the long blow, the last side, clearing the wool in graceful sweeps of the handpiece. The fleece shimmys off on to the floor, and on to the waiting paddle of a rousie. It's taken about a minute. MacDonald taps his clicker, wades into the pen to pull out the next sheep.

Mike Scott MANAGING THE WOOL: Ashley Andrew works as the presser for the gang. Usually she is on the clippers herself matching it with the other members of the shearing gang.

The other three shearers, Sam Brooks, James Ritchie and Mike Stephens, run the same routine. The rousies, Susan Turner and Holly Black, glide among them with their paddles. They're grading as they go. Ashley Andrew is the presser, bundling up fleeces that may eventually carpet the nation's floors.

Everyone is intent on getting the wool off the sheep in the best possible state for the farmer. No one's thought of a better way of doing it, and this tradition in the King Country is as old as the hills that were cleared for sheep farming more than a century ago.

The gang starts at 7am, and does four two-hour runs. The men bring their own portable shearing machines, fans and other gear. When the clock says 9am, they all stop for a half-hour smoko break, again at 11.30 for lunch, and so on, until finish time at 5pm.

Mike Scott HARD YAKKA: Sam Brooks has a snooze during the lunch break.

Food is prepared by four local women employed by Barrowcliffe Contracting, and it's picked up each morning by the ganger (team leader), in this case Sam Brooks. There's plenty of it: a creamy fettuccine simmering in a crockpot, savoury pastries heating in a sandwich-maker, frankfurters in buns, salad, and more.

At the breaks, the team drifts over to the kitchen to fuel up, and the numbers from their clickers are entered in Loft's tally book, recording individual results, and a team tally of 383 for the first run. They do 395 in the second run when the sheep and shearers have warmed up, and so on.

The breaks are the time to talk to them, you wouldn't want to interrupt the flow on the floor.

Mike Scott READY FOR A HAIRCUT: Sheep are corraled into a pen waiting to be sheared.

Susan Turner, from Aria, has been in sheds for 28 years, starting at age 17. She is Barrowcliffe Shearing's highly regarded senior rousie, and head trainer of floor staff. She's worked in Australia and the South Island as well, but now stays closer to home.

Holly Black, 19, from a sheep farm at Awakino, is an accountancy student at Otago University, and a summer in the sheds will help pay some bills. She's learned a lot: "I've used the broom at dad's, but this is a whole new level."

Ashley Andrews, 26, is a shearer, one of a small group of women nationwide on the stands. Today, due to a reshuffle in the Barrowcliffe teams, she's the presser. She's shorn sheep in the US. "I'm a novelty there."

Mike Scott WORLD CLASS: Jock MacDonald shears sheep. Jock was part of a team which created a new world record this year.

James Ritchie is a rugby player and shearer. He props for the King Country rugby team, and plays for Waitete, famous for being Kiwi hero Sir Colin Meads' old club. He's 28, he's been shearing for 10 years, he likes the camaraderie, the down-to-earth farmers he meets in the King Country, "it's what I know".

Sam Brooks, former Kings College boy from kiwifruit country in Te Puke, has a house in Piopio, and has been a fulltime shearer for four years. "I worked for Jock's old man [Mickey MacDonald], and he taught me how to shear. There's more money in it than farming."

MacDonald's happy to talk (modestly) about his recent world record success. It was a big effort, involved a lot of training, including gym work, and there was lots of support behind the scenes. He had a pretty good idea at lunchtime that they'd do it, but it was tense all day.

Mike Scott THE BOSS: Mark Barrowcliffe, left, from Piopio, operates a shearing contracting business running several gangs about the King Country. Here he talks with shearer Sam Brooks during a break.

MacDonald says it was challenging in a five-man team, it would have only taken one member to let the whole team down. They'd been trained in discipline, and doing the job right. "Not fast and rough, there was a lot of pride."

MacDonald started shearing as a youngster, doing the last half of a sheep, and at age 16 he went to shearing school. His best year of earnings was $110,000, when he was chasing the seasons around the world. Nowadays he has his own tractor contracting business in the Piopio district, and this year he'll go to Central Otago to shear in September. He likes the people part of the job more than anything, "and the lifestyle's pretty good".

Mike Stephens is 45, older than the others he works with today. He sits on the floor by his stand, has a feed, and smiles mischievously at the reporter's mistaken assumption that it may be hard for him to keep up with the young guys. He's probably still smiling about it because he actually beat them all in the first run, and got the second best tally for the day, 401 sheep to MacDonald's 406.

Mike Scott James Ritchie, right, clips a sheep.

Stephens has a farm at Tangiteroria, halfway between Dargaville and Whangarei, he's shorn all over the world, in Australia, Europe and the UK, but mostly Aussie and New Zealand in the last few years.

After working for Barrowcliffes, he'll go back north, do a bit of fishing and head for woolsheds in Kingston, South Australia at the end of February.

"Shearing helps pay the mortgage, and you get paid to travel the world. You meet the true people that tourists will never see, and you make true mates."

What Stephens also likes is that shearers are paid per sheep, on production; "if the country could be run like a shearing shed it would be a great place".

Stephens is self-taught, he picked up techniques from good shearers. "You learn a lot by looking at another shearer, and adapting to yourself, you make your own style."

Stephens tries not to work so hard, he likes to "get it easy", which he says allows you to shear until you're old, and not be absolutely buggered. He says you slow your hand down and fill up the comb, get a lot more wool a lot more quickly. This is in contrast to those who go hard out with a lot of blows and maybe not so much wool per blow.

Stephens says the King Country crew is a good one to work with: "Barrows is a good man, a top man."

'IT GRIPS YOU'

Barrows is Mark Barrowcliffe, 44, the boss of Barrowcliffe Shearing. He's in the Loft shed today, he explains how things work, occasionally breaks off to lend a hand on the floor.

During the two shearing seasons - summer and winter - Barrowcliffe has six or seven gangs out on farms, around 50 people, all on casual employment contracts. He and wife Brenda are the only permanent staff, they have an annual payroll of $2 million, this week alone (end of January) it's $99,000.

They service 120 clients throughout the King Country. There has been a dip in sheep numbers in this region in recent times as dairy support farming changes the focus on some properties, but Barrowcliffe still has plenty of sheds.

Barrowcliffe grew up in Auckland, his mum made him sit School C before she let him leave home to go farming in the King Country. He moved into shearing, did courses offered then by the New Zealand Wool Board, trained under Mickey MacDonald, worked his way into a fulltime stand, and took his skills to sheds around the world before buying MacDonald's contracting business in 2001.

Now some of Barrowcliffe's own kids are training to be shearers.

"It grips you, the sheer fact of wanting to know how to shear, and to get better and better. And you're picked up for work each day, there's music, a feed, a bit of fun as well, and you go hard out for eight hours. There's a cold beer most days at the end of it."

Barrowcliffe pays his shearers $1.70 per sheep; if these guys each do 400 sheep today they'll get $680 before tax. Some may do more, or a little less. They spend around $3000 or so on gear each year.

Barrowcliffe's committed to training new guys, and to good health and safety practice among his staff. He gets satisfaction from seeing his shearers grow in speed and quality. Ashley Andrew says Barrowcliffe "doesn't just chuck you a handpiece and say go hard".

Barrowcliffe says if shearers stick with him for the year they'd likely earn between $70,000-$90,000 per annum. He needs them from November till the end of January/early February, then in May, June and July. If they go to sheds in Australia and Europe during the down time in New Zealand, then the sky's the limit for them.

"You can hone your skills here, become one of the best in the world, and crank out the big money overseas. All we ask is that they come back in our busy times."

The rousies earn between $160-$220 a day, the senior rousies get the top rate.

Most of Barrowcliffe's shearers are men, but he says Ashley Andrew is doing well on the stand, and she has big ambitions for her future. "Women can shear well on lambs but the sheer weight of ewes makes it more difficult for them, and for smaller guys," he says.

Andrew started as a rousie at 16: "I was fresh off the boat, didn't know a belly from a crutch." She liked the money and the lifestyle, trained as a shearer, then had a hissy fit over how long it was taking her to get a stand. She went to work in the city, then came back to shearing. She does about 240-250 a day, but has cracked 300. She wants to push herself, earn more money.

"You're eight hours on your feet, running around sweating your guts out. I wouldn't trade it for anything. It's a demanding but beautiful job, with beautiful people. You have a smile on your face all day."

There's plenty to smile about at the end of this day. They do 1515 sheep, more than Barrowcliffe predicted at the start. Mike Stephens says a good run rate depends on the breed of sheep, the season, the farming techniques; "they're shearing good today".

At the end of the last run Nicholas Loft shouts cold beers for the crew, they sit around and talk some cack (as Ashley Andrew describes it; "is it okay to say cack?"). They go home and clean up their gear, they'll do it all again tomorrow.