ACROSS THE WAITAKERE RANGES.

Auckland Star, Volume XLV, Issue 16, 19 January 1914, Page 6

ACROSS THE WAITAKERE RANGES.

f (By G. E. McLEOD.J From Christohurch to the West Coast is a far cry, involving a. few days' holiday, and-many hours of travel must be undertaken before- we can obtain a glimpse of the sea on the other side. But when in Auckland, if our host says, "We shall take you to the West Coast this afternoon,"' we experience but a momentary thrill of wonder. Remembering the shape of the maps we drew at school we Tealise that by motor the journey should not be too long, and the scenery is certain to be satisfying. So at 1 p.m. we step into a comfortable motor-car, not- without a qualm of misgiving, because we remember Porter's Pass, the Otira Gorge, and the long, arduous fording of the Waimakariri River in the old coaching days in Canterbury, when circus-Kke horses did the trip in relays in two days. Will there be passes and gorges and riverbeds here? However, "Nothing venture, nothing Lave," and away we go through Mount Albert district, "with the suburb of Kingsland on our right. From Avondale we pass through New Lynn, and hereabouts we see a signboard with "Lynwood Road" upon it. The familiar name gives pleasure in spite of the introduction of the "y." A smurt run through preaty country, over very uneven roads, brings us to Waikumete, where Auckland's largest cemetery lies, far away from the strife and turmoil of the city—an extensive, peaceful "God's Acre" high and dry above the sea-level, the wholesome soil not unlike the Linwood Cemetery in Ohristchurch. Froni now on the scenery presents more character. We are nearing the higher hills, and, as we pass orchards teeming with fruit and gardens smiling in the sunlight, frequent exclamations of "Oh, look!" result in a swift but futile turning of heads, for the one objection to skimming over beautiful country on. a perfect day, with congenial company in a motor-car, is the utter hopelessness of sharing the brief and tantalising peep. Later on, when the view was rarer, our driver halted where we wished- and we enjoyed a feast of beauty. But at this early sage a mere rosebed or a tree, though never so lovely, receive scant attention. And all the time the far hills beckon with alluring promise. Bush clad and enveloped in a blue haze the Waitakere Ranges call us to hasten, for hero is the plain, there thp virgin bush, here are gardens -and orchards, clothes-lines and fences, there an enchanting road, a limited fernery, and the primeval forest. Up hill, down dale* Variety is everywhere. Monotony finds no place in this region of hili and valley and the everchanging sea. Wij speed along while the road allows of speed, and about an 'hour after starting we begin to ascend this road whose soil varies as much in colour as the landscape does in feature. Red, brown, amber, dark blue, and pinky grey earth appear in turn at .different points, the volcanic nature of the soil neeounting for this peculiarity. Energy, skill, confidence and power are all required on this wondrous road which is perfectly safe so long as nothing unforeseen occurs, but which could in a moment become most dangerous. Our excellent car, holding five adult*, i≤ in perfect order, aiid handled by an expert chauffeur; otherwise staid, sober citizens would forgo the thrill and glamour of this enthralling road, and decide that "To sftay at home is best." And now we have committed ourselves to the exigencies of the road in real earnest. Away ahead, visible only here and there, is a thin winding line, representing the track upon which we must, travel to reach our goal. Nervous folk were wise to avert the eye, and enjoy the present, rigorously leaving speculation on the possibilities of the immediate future in the background of imagination. Rea! enchantment begins at Titirangi. The bush becomes denser, the sky in contrast bluer, the greens more varied ai:d richer in tone: the banks on either side of the track arc higher, with overhanging decoration of native bushes, ferns, and creepers; the gorges are deeper, the punga or tree-fern taller. Swiftly we are borne through the heart of the bush towards the West Coast and the famous Blowhole. The "Halfway House" stands truly "in its own grounds," extending, apparently, as far and further than the eye can reach. They do not. of course, reach so far. for here, as elsewhere, property is divided by certain landmarks and barriers distinguishable enough to the initiated, but to tho casual observer this isolated yet modern house appears to stand in the limitless pleasure grounds of bountiful Mother Nature, whose "pomp and prodigality" are nowhere more lavish than here. As we approach Waiata-rua (the Half-way House) a break in the chain of mountains that encircles the road reveals a panoramic view of the city of Auckland, so loved by those who know it best, so much admired by those who conic from cooler, but not fairer nor greener quarters. The whole city is before us, looking from our vantage point like a gigantic colony of white beehives; and though, from our height, the dwellings of man look insignificant, there is yet a, well-kept, orderly appearance about them suggestive of happy, thriving humanity. But they are small, so small! —mere dots on the plain, with here and there a spire or tower to mark man's best effort. The contrast with our present position on the heights is striking. Here is immensity, breadth, and depth. Gigantic trees are all around; an impenetrable undergrowth baffles the eye that "would follow its intricacies; acres of punga, manuka, and ti-tree, all 'blossoming, seeding, living—aye, and dying, too. For here and there, right through the forest «an be seen gaunt, skeleton trees, stretching ibare, bleached arms towards the eky, heaTts dead, limbs smooth and lifeless, with parasitic gigis growing on their sapless trunks like a tuft of coarse, new hair- on a bald head. Leaving the half-way house, we enter at once into mortal combat with the difficulties of the road. This, in itself, ie well-formed and remarkably good, considering its remoteness, and that it winds right through the fastnesses of the repelling hills and the dense primeval forest. But the wet weather that prevailed all over the Dominion before Christmas has left signs of storm and stress. Gigantic furrows and gutters, worn by the water tearing over the face of the road, seam and disfigure it as relentlessly as disease and its accompanying pain write unlovely lines on the human face. Our car faces the hardened seams boldly, guided by a sure hand. But she grumbles and growls as she faces the unyielding ridges. She climbs and clutches and crawls like a sentient thing, ■but she suffers, or appears to suffer. Her breath comes in great gasps. Raucous grindings and guttural groaninga

■tell of strain and iatress. The plneky little heart of her throbs till every bearing and bar is quivering. Still she forges ahead, a triumph of mechanical perfection. Overhead all is silken sheeny smoothness. What so placid and unruffled as a cloudless sky* Not even a still lake at eventide, nor the face of a sleeping babe. To the right is a steep cutting—our roadway —where every step < brings a new enchantment of moss-covr-red tree trunk, spreading fern, sentinel-like lancewood, flo'.vering ti-tree, fragrant manuka, and occasionally a kauri king by the wayside. To the left are low hills, undulating and bush-clad, wreathed in a blue haze that rests the eye and relieves the immeasurable distance. The car has successfully wrested with the storm-wrecked portion of the road, and with a purr of relief she glides on to smooth going again. Round and round we go in truly serpentine fashion. We are reminded of ithe road between Governor's Bay and Lyttelton, though apart from the winding there is little similarity. The Lyttelton road, 'though very winding, is a3 nothing to this ever-round-about track. There are breathless moments, too, as we emerge from one delightful curve to enter instantly on another, and another, and still others, the horn tooting frequently for fear of encountering other vehicles even on this little-fre-quented highway. Only one moving object was met on the outward journey —another motor car. It hummed and droned along the enchanted way; but that was before the road took to the corkscrew method of conquering difficulties and distance. A little rurther, and, with a shout of exultation, we get our first glimpse of the Tasman Sea. It is only a glimpse at present, but there are the white breakers, dashing high against the rocks, and

A little rurther, and, with a shout of exultation, we get our first glimpse of the Tasman Sea. It is only a glimpse at present, but there are the white breakers, dashing high against the rocks, and we shout "Hurrah!" for the glory and the joy of it. Further on still the sea ia spread before us for a few minutc3 like a new and different sky. It is hard to believe that the pale blue is ocean and the deeper blue is sky, but a steadfast look confirms the driver's assertion, and as we gaze, first at the blue of the ocean and then at the green expanse about us, we are glad, glad t/hat the fresh young year finds us alive and just here.

Two roads now invite us. The fingerpost tells us that 'the one leads to the Blow Hole and the other to Kare Kare. There is no hesitancy. We are bound for Kare Kare with its waterfalls, its pohutukawas, and its excellent accommodation house.

Down we go, deeper and deeper into the recesses of the forest; Another storm-beaten pinch is before us, and to lighten the load and to stretch, our legs we alight from the car and walk a little way. Progress is slow, partly because of the roughness of the road and partly because of the surpassing loveliness of the way. If we put out a hand we may gather a bunch of Nature's most beautiful, offerings. Ferns of every description line the banks. We raise our hands higher and pluck feathery boughs of what appears to be native tamarisk; higher still we may reach glossy-leaved kuraku all polished and pure. Nor is the music of running water absent. The ripple and gurgle of a stream is heard, and, peeping between the trees, we see a shining thread that soon develops into a mountain wiUj;. its-AVjatqrfall. Another glance discovers a lakelet,'tiny but pellucid, in the sunlight. Refreshed by this glimpse of Nature's draught, we wander along the path. Countless friendly faces here seem to smile in welcome, though we are far from home. Marguerite daisies nod and bow as we pass. Yellow dandelions contribute colour and familiarity to our walk, and even the stern Scotch thistle bends in stately and touch-me-not friendliness.

Lopk yonder! A giant kauri seems to point to eternity. Close by, and below us, is an undulating sea of tree fern tops—acrps of living green and vivid colouring; for, as if to give a touch of passion to a calm and majestic landscape, the crimson flower of the pohutukawa glints here and there athwart the green, suggesting life-blood and warmth. The car is out of sight. We stand—three human triends —looking as it were into the heart of God revealed in this matchless ravine of tlie Xorth.

And yet, though never seen before, it is all strangely familiar. As a crowded stTeet may show U3 no face that we have seen before, yet every f'.ce is like unto some other face that we have nret, and, perchance, have loved; so here every hill-top, every tree, every dump of fern reminds us of some other spot in this, our native land, remembered and cherished. Twenty years ago we stood in Otira, on the other West Coast that Canterbury folk call "ours." Was. Otira so different then? No! The majesty, the harmony, the luxuriance, the silence, the music of bird and breeze, the wealth of greenery, the rata for colour—all were there, perhaps enhanced toy higher ranges and the eternal enow' not far away. Again, two years ago we stood hy Taieri's banks in Otago, and by Clntha's roaring torrent. Was all the beauty there? No! Fields of pink and white manuka made a picture that neither pen nor tongue can describe. Towering bill-tops reared age-old heads far above us, while hundreds .of feet below, the water of the Mdiyneaux foamed between its stupendous banks. Beauty, immensity, enchantment was there, as it is here. There the handsome, sombre beauty of an athlete's -wellknit frame; here the lovely fragrant lips of the face of the Great Mother unto whom we may offer the kiss of filial love.

At this point we are arrested by the spectacle of a cable tramway that goes right over the high ridge. This belongs to the Government sawmills, and extends for many miles on the other side. At last we skirt a forest of pohutukawa, rush, past the full blaze of blossom, and draw up veritably on the West Coast. Here again are familiar features on a strange face, The coast is very like parts of Sumner, in Canterbury. The bluff is certainly firet cousin to Whitewash Head. The breakers dash in just such reckless fashion. over .rocks higher and more plentiful. But 'here the hills are covered with bush, and gleams of colour 'brighten the scene, and away up, near the skyline,, a stooping, sprawling giant betrays the fact that here, as well as elsewhere, etormy winds can blow, merciless rain can beat, and everywhere there is effort, and sometimes failure.

Tea at the house t>ring3 us back to ■things transient and sartMy. Scones, cakes and courtesy leave as pleasing an impression as fern and forest, and we start on the homeward journey satisfied with things in general.

Ou-r driver is reminded that three coaches will be met on the way back. He is requested to blow his horn frequently, which he does right loyally. Away from the forest we hurry, round the corvee we glide, coaches are met and passed unharmed. Through the balmy air we pant. Past the halfway house we merrily'skim,-pausing* to enjpy the far, far view of Manukau harbour,

Auckland city, 'and Waitemata, ' which are bathed in'softest evening light. Tho Mm is setting in splendour behind us. Gorgeous yellows and pinks light up our faces, arid we see* the joy of bur own hearts reflected in the faces of those •who -with Oβ <have spent one perfect day in sunny, smiling Auckland.