THROUGH THE EARTHQUAKE REGION.

Press, Volume XLV, Issue 7172, 6 October 1888, Page 6

THROUGH THE EARTHQUAKE REGION.

Bt "Thk Wabkigal." There is time to look for the picturesque even when in search of earthquakes, and the journey from Christehurch to the borders of the Nelson province offers many interesting views. Crossing the northern portion of the Canterbury plains, one sees, on either hand, a level and fertile country. A country that is formed of the debris of mountains, brought down by many a flood, swept into the sea and levelled by the action of the waves! When first the Canterbury plains showed above the ocean, it was not picturesque, even when the yellow tussock grass grew, and covered its surface, it would be monotonously level. But besides being level, it was fertile, and man has improved i its appearance by cultivation, and ! now one sees bright green pas* tures, orchards, gardens, plantations, homesteads from Papanui to Amberley. When Amberley is passed the cultivated plain is left behind, and that line of tussock downs which forms the northern boundary of the plain is reached. There is time whilst we are waiting at Waipara to see where the level plain and the rounded hills converge. It is like a smooth harbour meeting the swell of the ocean. The hills are the swelling waves, and we enter amongst them leaving the broken level and its placid cultivations. Amongst the hills there are sights picturesque enough without cultivation. Wild breezy tussock slopes, cliffs and bluffs of limestone. Here is the land of sparkling creeks and bracing atmosphere; here is the best grazing land in Canterbury, in New Zealand perhaps, Thousands upon thousands of sheep feed on these hills, growing fleeces for the wool mills of Leeds, and mutton for the London market. Slowly the train passes through the Weka Pass until it reaches the highest point of the railway, then descends towards Waikar* with a rush and a roar. Waikari is passed, the Hurunui River is crossed, the end o* the railway line is near. We dash out on to the wide-stretching Amuri plain, reach Culverden and Cooper's Hotel and thus finish the first portion of the journey. After reaching Culverden the traveller can proceed as he chooses, either eastwards and north through Rotherham, through Waiau and on across rivers and hills to Kekerangu and Kaikoura, or across the plain unti the Waiau river is met, then westwards along its left bank towards the Hanmer. This latter route I followed only a few days ago and I have not yet lost the memory of its picturesqueness. Will Cooper drove mc along this route in a comfortable buggy drawn by a fine pair of horses. The road is nothing to boast of, but the scenery is delightful. To the left of the road rise noble terraces and steep hills, to the right runs the river. This river is not a shallow valley of wet stones, such as one sees in Canterbury,—but a foaming mountain torrent fresh from high regions of snow, tumbling along a rocky bed that even its tremendous strength has failed to smpoth down. There are few river beds in the country that can show such rough and ragged rocks. One would think that they had never been washed by floods and scrubbed with shingle. A few miles up the valley on the opposite side of the river there is a perfect natural amphitheatre, such a one as would have gladdened the eyes of a Roman multitude, and given them fresh zest for gladiatorial shows. Nine terraces, level edged and perfectly formed, curve round a bay in the hills, rising in noble steps towards tussock covered slopes. We leave the amphitheatre behind and after a few minutes' drive stop to let our horses drink at Brown's CreekBrown's Creek issues from a rocky cleft in the hills, rushes headlong over a rocky ledge into an ever boiling pool, hurries out of the pool over rocks and boulders, and tumbles into the river in a state of con. fusion. Passing Brown's Creek, we see below us in the river-bed Cabbage Tree Island, like an oasis of palms in a desert of rock. Further along, the hills which edge the river are broken off into bold black scarps and rugged bluffs; and then we see the strangest feature in the valley—a reef of metamorphosed limestone forming a dam across the river. It is difficult to guess when this stratum of rock was upheaved to its present position, but I should say that for a long time it formed the lower boundary of a small lake and that the whole volume of the river tumbled over it in a grand waterfall. But the lake got silted up with the detritus brought from the surrounding hills and the limestone dam became cracked, per. haps during some earthshake. The water entered the cracks and by insinuating, perseveringforcemadebreachesin the dam and drained the lake. This stratum of limestone can be traced on either side the river. To our left it rises in steep bluffs that are cracked and broken to such a degree as to lead one to suppose that a stronger power, a more vigorous power than frost and water, has been at work. Beyond the limestone bluffs is Glen Allen, more a ravine than a glen, with a large creek roaring along the bottom, scores of feet below, but only dimly seen through the tangle of vegetation which clings to the steep sides of the glen. There is a bridge across Glen Allen now, but not so long-ago travellers were obliged to make a detour and ford the creek juet below a curious T shaped terrace which frowns above the road like the battlement of a fortress. Past Glen Allen, past the Ferry Hotel, over the new bridge across the Waiau, down the steep cutting and on to the Hanmer Plains. The day is drawing to a close now; black clouds are drifting up from the southwest. There is still a rosy light on the snow covered peaks of Mounts Percival and Isabel, but the wild plain and the wilder hills that surround it are growing dark with shadows. We drive through a wilderness o* manuka, we enter the shadow of trees and see before us the outline of a house, it is St. Helens. I alight from the buggy and approach the building. It is ruined and desolate; its chimneys are fallen, th e roof broken in; it is a miserable sight; a mute witness to the power of the earth' quake on September Ist. We mdve out of the shadow of the trees, the night seems to have undergone a wonderful transformation and in fancy low rumbling sounds strike the ear, echoes of the world's internal struggle. Th e ground seems to quiver and gape, but it is only the wheels of the buggy jumping a rut. The scene around us is weird and awesome, a fitting picture for a night drive through an earthquake region The great rain clouds have drifted up from the south-west, they have piled chemselves in solid masses upon the rugged mountain peaks, the snow-covered spurs shine ghostly-white in their shadow, the gullies and ravines are black as jec. Away to the north one great dense cloud, forerunner of rain and storm, bridges the serrated circle of sow-covered peaks, and becomes lost in the darkness on either side. The lurid jjlare of fire —of flames from a newborn volcano perhaps, but more likely from burning tussocks—casts its reflection on the lower edge of the cloud-bridge. It imparts a weird colouring to the broken hill?, and fills all the northern sky with light, giving the finishing touch to & remarkable picture. The rain clouds gather overhead, envelope the mountains and the lower hills, sweep northwards and hide the fire,bringingdarknessandrain; but we have reached the Jollies Paaa Hotel, finished our night journey, and found shelter.