RIDING NORTH.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIX, Issue 127, 1 June 1938, Page 9

RIDING NORTH.

COUNTRY CHANGES. 1 WEALTH OF CATTLE LANDS, s » < A BULL AND A BATTLE AXE 1 (By H.A.B.)—No. HI. \ The bridge at Topuni pronounced j "Topeny," with a long "o") is where the j Winterless North is said to begin, i There is a subtle change in the atmos- ! phere as well as a definite change in the ; type of country. If it is possible to imagine a wild land tnat is at the same time aboundingly fertile and definitely ■well fanned, then one 'has a mental picture of the rolling panorama of hill and valley that unfolds towards the north. The cyclist was tired after the long ride from Wellsford in the hot sunshine, and he lowered his billy into the stream. As his head was bent he heard the "clop, clop" of hooves and looked up to see a Maori boy of seven or so astride a racing-like, rough-coated pony. This was the correct foreground for the wild scene beyond. It came as somewhat of a shock when the youthful descendant of a noble native race said his name was Tom . Oh, yes, he was a Maori all right, but his grandfather had been an Englishman. "The inevitable _ white man," as Jack London phrased it. However, at Kaiwaka, a few miles further on, the cyclist met one whose surname was as Maori as his own smiling, dignified personality. He wrote a note for his friends, the Maoris, in Spirits Bay. It came as a surprise to learn that the very northernmost tip of New Zealand was inhabited. "Oh, yes, plenty Maorjs up there," he said. "They nice people, too." Mounts were changed for a mile or so, and the cyclist felt it to be somewhat in the nature of an accolade when, the Maori complimented him on his horsemanship. Perhaps those years in the cavalry had not been entirely wasted after all.

After a night at Maungaturoto as the guest of the local branch of the R.S.A., the cyclist pressed onwards bearing ir billet doux to a young lady at Rawene from another Maori. Grand Herefords. And so to Matakohe, the home of the Smiths, the Stirlings and, of course, the Coates. Here the cyclist was held up by rain*for the first time on his journey, and he came to the aid of beauty in distress, for two ladies drove up in a car with a fiat back tyre, and he went to a neighbouring farm for assistance regarding the portable jack. A fine old pioneer answered the door. It was Mr. George Smith, who has lived in the lovely Matakohe Valley for 79 years. Would the cyclist return after fixing up the car? Of course he would —and did—and stayed the night. It was a delightful experience to fare forth with his host and feed the stock. And such magnificent stock. There was a young Hereford bull, aged 14 months, but with the physique of a two-year-old, who was regaled with an afternoon tea of about 401b of chopped up turnip and pumpkin. The cyclist won the old man's heart when he ejaculated " Why, he's got hams ! on him like a Berkshire pig!" For that i is just what those w.ell-fleshed hind legs , were like. "See that axe," said Mr. Smith, pointing to the broad-bladed | weapon with which the cyclist had ; chopped the turnips, "that was brought from England by my grandfather nearly ' 100 years ago." The cyclist fondled it | like a battle-axe. ' There followed a game of snookei , with one of the younger sons, which the visitor lost, but had the satisfaction of sinking the black, and then came tea , for which sons, daughters, daughters-in- ' law, and children to the tune of some , half dozen adults and a similar numbei Jof children turned up. Of course the ) conversation got round, to facial eczema f and the visitor was glad to learn that it is almost unknown in the winterless j North. Mr. Dick Smith had his own pet theory regarding the cause. "It's r the chlorophyll, the * green colouring I matter in the food," he said. "There's ; an abnormal quantity of it for the time . of the year and it goes yellow, after e passing through the animal's blood, 1 stream, at the places where the skin is most exposed to the sun."

The Mighty Kaipara. Another interesting scrap of information that the visitor gleaned from Mr. Smith, sen., was that there are 6000 miles of coastline in the Kaipara- Harbour. It could accommodate the navies of the world, and the bar is not troublesome, either. | Next day on to Ruawai, a few miles I beyond which the tourist made the acquaintance of a branch of an ■ English family he knew, and was able to give some much-desired genealogical data. Over the way a Maori tangi was beginning. Old George Edmonds, a distinguished Arawa, lay calm and dignified amid a retinue of weeping women. Outside they had skinned an ox, to be roasted whole, and Maoris were coming from near and far. Oh, yes, the real New Zealand at last. A night's rest at Dargaville, and then, ho, for Kaihu, Donnelley's Crossing, and the giant kauris of Waipoua.