RAKAIA GORGE

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 58, Issue 87, 22 January 1938, Page 8

RAKAIA GORGE

DIFFICULT ACCESS TO RUNS.

TERRIBLE GULLY AND WHISKEY CREEK. BURIED PUBLIC WORKS CAMP. (Specially written for the “Guardian” by John Brown). (Copyright). Thrills are not wanting when you enter the Rakaia Gorge after a heavy rain storm. -1 had heard that the road into the stations on the Mid-Can-terbury side of the Rakaia. River was “a pretty rough road” ; I “would want a good ear—an old one would peter out with me”; “the road was not so bad” ; but very few actually knew much about it. It was more hearsay with them than anything else. T had been delighted with the Ashburton Gorge, for there, now, the road, right into Lake Heron and to Lake Clearwater and the Rangitata is a good one and well bridged, and for beauty cannot be surpassed—a scenic asset of great value at Ashburton’s door that few have viewed, that all should try to view.

The pioneers of the Ashburton Gorge country—more especially those who had mustered on the runs there, had also mustered on the Rakaia Gorge runs, and from what they had

told me I had made up my mind to get to “the back of beyond”— in other . words to see for myself what I had already studied on the map over a year ago and had thereby considerably increased my geographical knowledge of my own county—and the historical knowledge that has come since from the pioneers has been a sheer delight. Geography and history have become “live” subjects to me now.

The family packed into the car and, in fine weather, we started—the member who does the driving over new country for me feeling fairly certain that, the day being good and the road to him twice familiar, there would be no difficulty in getting to Double Hill —our objective. As the distance from Ashburton to the mouth of the Gorge is approximately 30 miles and We intended to go close on the same distance up the Gorge, the driver “made the pace,” at the same time showing us where the hack of the run was from the Methven Road front. A cloud, not bigger than a man’s hand, rested on one of the peaks showing through the front ranges, and there was the promised land. The snow had disappeared from Mount liutt and the shingle showed hare and strikingly inhospitable. At the old Dairy Factory established when Donald McLean “milked 500 cows,” but now turned into a dwelling house we turned to the left up the River at the foot of the mountains—the road to the right leading past, the factory and flown the Terraces to the bridges. For the first seven miles up the Gorge tliore are several farms and then “Blackford” is reached, the property of Robert C. Todhuntcr, a runholder generally admitted to have been a benefactor to Canterbury’s hill-countrv men through the importation of highclass Merinos from Australia, his excellent management of the pure-bred stock and the improvement of bis run flocks.

The road runs through several gates and past the homestead till a bridge

is reached over “Little River.” The bridge has no sides but is Avide enough to cause no trouble. Over it, tho Mt. Hutt Run comes down off the hill to relatively fiat land—freehold, and used for the production of root crops which groAV Avell all along the river frontage. The small cottage and large Avoolshed belong to Messrs Richards, of the Mt. Hutt Station, whose run extends for a distance of close on a dozen miles up from tho Homestead on the Gorge Bridge—Methven Road, Avhere, of are tlie main buildings of the run.

From here on avc neared the river and suav before us a Avide sAvirling stretch of Avater—“thick as pea-soup” —for tAVo days before the heavens had opened and a deluge had come forth. It was only Avlien Ave reached this point that a knoAvledge of it became apparent. Though avo had had heavy rain in Ashburton, there was nothing extraordinary about it. Thus we learned one of the first lessons of the Gorge dAveller—that-the weather of the Plains is not the Aveather of the Gorge. At frequent intervals there were gullies in the hills down which rushed turbulent streams which, in time of actual flood, are treacherous torrents rolling down boulders, fragments of rock and shingle gathered from the shingle hill tops, and depositing them in fan-like formation down the gentle slope from the hill to the river.

It was at one of these. “Hutt Stream,” the boundary between Messrs Richards’ Runs, 100 A and 1008, avc s.sav disastrous results. An attempt had been made by some public body to bridge this stream close to the outlet from the hill. Piles had been driven across the opening, and work was proceeding satisfactorily—the men doing the job happy in their camp alongside of the work. One night they went, so it is told, in a body to some function in Methven and, Avhilo there, a storm arose and the rain poured down. They stayed the night in the town, and enjoyed themselves—' “Xo sleep till morn when youth and pleasure meet To chase the gloAving hours with flying feet.”:

“But hark!” When they reached tlreir work .at Hutt Stream next day their camp Avas gone—buried under masses of rock Avliicli the angry stream had shot sideAvays from the piles of the bridge. Nature, in wild mood, had shown Avliat she could do and the Avork was stopped. But the piles are still to bo seen—the tops only—and, near the old camp, cabbage trees grow astonish ly Avith stones up the stems almost to the leafy croAvn. We went Avell down “the fan” and though the rain Avaters had gouged out the banks a little Ave were able to cross Avith but a hump or two after a levelling of the banks by a spade with which our driver had provided himself (a gorge-dweller had told him never to go up the Gorge without a shovel—and it Avas good advice). We began to see that Ave might have trouble. But we Avere not yet dismayed, and Ave went, on hoping that Ave had got over the worst. This was optimism, unadulterated, but we did not know it.

At the bottom of “Steep Hill”—a forbidding-looking bluff of bill size— avc ran into swamp Avitli a fair depth of water owing to the banking-up by the river, but the driver said lie had been told there Avas ahvays a hard bottom here and if we “took it steady” avo would have no trouble. Neither had Ave, and avo began to admire the precipitous mountains Ave Avere travelling under, while away across the river were the trees of “Snowdon,” through which run John Grigg’s cattle had been driven to the West Coast after crossing at tho “Upper Ferry,” just above “Blackford.” The old road of a dozen miles or so, just lately improved, from the Lake Coleridge Road to Porter’s Pass, shows more clearly than book-reading that the old cattle trail to the Coast was a very direct one—and not always a. vorv sale one.

Then we came to “Terrible Gully.” It is a fearsome name and, in time of flood, I have no doubt the gully could be awesome. Strangely, there was no water in the first creek bed, but there was a wicked little dip over rounded banks. In the same neighbourhood is the locally-named “Catastrophe Creek” —a gig overturned, .with wheels askew crying to high heaven in their distress. We were able to cross this, and another creek with water in both, after picking decent fording places. “Terrible Gully” is the boundary between Mt Hutt run and Glen rock run (Mr Peter McCracken’s), and somewhere in the Gully in tho old days Mr McLennan* s camp was buried in the same way as the Public Works Camp at the Hutt Stream.

By this time we thought we knew the way to cross these little streams and we were admiring the lay-out of Lake Coleridge Power House across the river with the symmetrically-lined plantations and the switch-back water pipes from the surge chamber down, when we came to another creek—the banks well gouged out—a trickle of water across what had obviously been a bankcd-up ford. There was a fair amount of water both above and below the ford, but we thought that by a little levelling of the banks, as before, we would be able to negotiate it all

right. The bank Avas harder to knock doAvn Avith a spade than Ave anticipated and Ave were someAvhat over-confident. Doavii the bank Ave Avent drunkenly into the ford of Whiskey Creek, and in this case the hard bottom Avas wanting. Staggeringly, with many", stops and churnings and levellings Ave crept out at the far side. Just beyond Ava-s another crossing Avith its bottom groin-cd-side broken through, and with a steep drop below. We did not like the look of it, and it Avas far away from anyAvhere if avo did actually get stuck. Further on Avas Glenariffe (Mr J. I). McCracken’s), and beyond that again and miles aAvaA’ was Mr Hugh Ensor’s “Double Hill” and “Glenfalloeh” Avas beyond that till it joined the Ashburton Gorge run, Lake Heron. We saw a car abandoned—over the Creek, and Ave hesitated. Just then avo saAv two cars coming toward us, and they stopped at the Creek edge. After a short discussion young musterers from the Double Hill Station said they would “have a go.” They were used to conditions such as these—they had a comparatively new truck and even if “Old Belinda,” their sedan, could not manage it they* could pull her through—as they had a good rope and a good shovel to level the shingle. Both went through the ford we were afraid of “flying,” and the truck took the lead this time and stuck ignominiously where we had stuck. These five men wasted no time. Belinda Avas called up, and her driver rushed the soft place and Avith all hands pushing behind rose gloriously up the steep bank beyond. Out came tlie rope and was fastened to the truck. Belinda pulled nobly, and we shoved behind. Out weiA the truck. Then the lads, laughing, said they were ready for us, if Ave stuck. We thought discretion the better part of valour and while help Avas at hand avg would turn back—more especially as we. found that Mr Ensor had probably never received our letter, sent about 10 days _ before, .as he was on the sick list in Christchurch. The track having been hardened somewhat, our car, with a push from behind, and “a bold little run at the very last pinch,” landed beside Belinda and her mate. After general good wishes and thanks had been expressed the others gaily set off doAvn tho Gorge, and Ave tailed on behind—neA'er too far away from the others. When Ave reached the .swamp, “Dear Belinda” Avas being hauled back, .tailfirst. by the truck. She had taken in too much Avater. They Avaved us on, shouting that she Avould soorj. dry out. And before long they had her going again and, Avhile avc took things easy, they passed, us and were soon out of sight. As it Avas only just after mid-day, and avo Avere out for the day T , Ave made up our minds to go to Coleridge and see Double Hill from the hill beyond tho Lake overlooking the Wilberforce and Algidus Run ; the Mathias and Manuka Point Run; and “Double Hill” and the Rakaia running off into its fastnesses beyond. From afar avo vieAVecl the Promised Land. And from the roof of the PoAver House Ave vieAved, across the flood, our “Waterloo.”

(To be Continued.)