MAN'S PLAYGROUND.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 205, 29 August 1936, Page 1 (Supplement)

MAN'S PLAYGROUND.

AND NATURE'S WORKSHOP. tongariro national park. (By R.T.M.) This, it seems, is Nature's workshop; here elie brings forth the clouds and mist and sunlight that flood the land in turn; here she patterns the living gold of sunrise and the quiet, glowing splendour of a brilliant day's end; here she makes her home, ever-changing but ever invincible.

In but a few short days such a phantasy as this seems not too -unreal an impression of the Tongariro National Park, one of the Dominion's most previous heritages. Here man's playground is being modelled alongside of Nature's workshops —but the more modern of the two will never supplant the old; it is wild Nature, glorious in her wildness, and by her energy, indeed, herself providing this playground for man. Little wonder, then, that the three peaks— Euapeliu, Ngauruhoe and Tongariro— the swelling, dominating strongholds of the park, are set against so romantic a background of Maori history and colourful folk-lore. Little wonder that once, barely a generation ago, to the Maoris these places were tapu—the mountains of the gods.

The sacred spell was broken in part ■when tlie Maori chief Te Heulieu Tukino presented to the Government the nucleus of the park, the three mountain peaks. Mr. James Cowan, in his book "The Tongariro National Park," tells how this famous gift was made. "Tongariro is the Mountain; Taupo is the Lake; Te Heulieu is the Man"—this, one of the proverbial sayings of the Taupo. tribe, the Ngati-Tuwharetoa, was an example of the proud poetic sayings of the Maoris, wrote Mr. Cowan; Tongariro, the sacred snow-clad volcano, and the great sea of Taupo were the only objects sufficiently grand and imposing to be compared with the god-like chieftain and high priest Te Heuheu, who was killed in IS4G, and whose son gave the mountains to the Crown. In such esteem and awe were held the glorious peaks, haloed by long-standing tradition and story. "A Gift For Ever." The scene of their presentation was a sitting of the Native Land Court at Taupo 50 years ago. The question of the disposal of the mountains came up for settlement. The old and noble chief Te Heulieu looked troubled. He confided in his friend and adviser, Mr. Lawrence E. Grace, M.H.R. for Tauranga. What would become of those sacred peaks if they were dealt with in the ordinary way ? What could be done ? Let them still be tapu, sacred from private hands, suggested Mr. Grace; ! why not give them to the Government as a reserve and park for the people of New Zealand? The old chief agreed. The mountains should be "a sacred place of the Crown; a gift for ever from me and my people."

And thus waa brought about the foundation of a national wonderland of forest, plains, streams, mountains and snow, the scene to-day of an international winter sports gathering. Man has trespassed on forbidden fields, and has broken in a sense the ancient tapu with his improvements in communication and his provision of accommodation, but the park is still a sanctuary, tapu yet to commerce and wanton destruction. With its mossed beeches, its golden tussock plains, its old blue streams of melted snow and ice, and its restless panorama, it will remain so. For the young and active it offers sport of the most exhilarating kind; to the jaded city dweller the drama of the mountains and the sparkle of the air bring untold relief. The old fear once inspired by the seemingly overbearing might of the mountains and by the vast loneliness of prairies and forests has gone; its place has been taken in the heart of man by the joy of exploration, the exhilaration of activity thousands of feet high, the breathless realisation of the everchanging beauty of sunlight and mist and snow.

The Royal Crown. Grand king of the park and the mountain peak best known is Ruapehu, swelling from the plains in noble isolation from the others. Like a royal crown, its broken crest towers above its sister mountains. On its summit, quite easily reached in normal conditions, heat and cold are found side by side —the great valley of ice, the beginnings of glaciers, and the crater lake, whose waters are .warmed by subterranean springs. From the mountainside the Tongariro River, later the Waikato, flows' towards Lake Taupo. Countless smaller streams, fed by the melting snow, tumble in cold blue cascades down the rocky slopes, swelling and broadening as they bubble into the dark forests.

Ngauruhoe, rumbling, mysterious cone, lies with the smaller Tongariro across to the north-east, with a steam cloud hanging above its white sugar-loaf form. Lava flows have occurred in recent years from 'its active crater.

For those who leave the mountainsides there are rivers, waterfalls, lakes and forests to be explored near at hand. Tributaries of the Wanganui well up endlessly from bottomless springs. Sunrise on the Snow. Clear sunrise on the snow—what a wondrous miracle! Against the first streaks of light the peaks stand out blue-black and cold; the land about is dark and grey, but in a sudden flash the highest ice point is caught by 'the hidden sun and becomes a crest of glowing gold. Slowly the rim spreads down across the snow, as the surrounding land opens to the strengthening light of day. As perfect as the dawn the day may pass; but the restlessness of Nature hero brings sudden changes. Low-lying blankets of mist that now softly fill the valleys below, looking from a height like mystic lakes whose downy waves break on the distant hillsides, may roll up with the uncertain winds, flooding the snowfields and woodlands with driving fog and rain; The sunset of a brilliant day comes in a breathless hush, with a quiet splendour never to be forgotten. A wonderful peace spreads over the land as the winds becomes breezes and then fall altogether. Softly, gently, caressingly, the evening comes, a contrast to the bursting glory of the morning. Across thef plains the forest ranges melt into blending shades of misty purple and mauve and blue, and only the bubbling of the streams and the lonely evening cries of birds sound in the cars of he who witnesses the end of day. But high up there the snows catch the last rays of sunlight when the world below is already growing dark, wreathed in the deepgr valleys with the rising wisps of mist. In the flood of soft, radiant light the crowning peaks seem to make their last glorious gesture of supreme majesty, until they, too, with the fullness of the night, are , shrouded in rest. 1