FROM WELLINGTON TO TAUPO

Press, Volume LI, Issue 8728, 26 February 1894, Page 3

FROM WELLINGTON TO TAUPO

Moawhango is in a sort of broad gully, with erase-covered hills rising up around it. Here ana there, ac the end of different spurs, »re to be seen the graves of dead men. They have fences square and neat, with perhaps what resembles a small house inside, and always ou the top of a hill.

You start early from Moawhango if you wane to reach Tokaauu, because that is sixty miles away. You may have a packhorse, especially if you want to ease your own animal aud desire to put yourself into a rage with everything in general. I will say nothicg now about Dackhorses, except that they are useful animals. I will keep the rest for another time; but it will be bad—very bad when it does come—for packhorses. They are beaata. Once I started very early from Moawhahgo, we commenced starting at about 230 a.m. That was because my mate had left the blind down. The moon got up thenfand came in at the window, making believe daylight. He got up aud wanted mc to get up too; but I would not. I felt convinced that if tbe sun had risen, he was before his time, and—l did not say this—l also felt convinced that if he was up to tbe timetable time, I was not going to catch him. Then my mate found the sun was the moon. I rolled over and went to sleep at once. He returned to bed, I believe, but I am not sure, for he did not refer to the incident again. I did—often. To reach Tokaanu you cross the Moawhango and follow the road that you came by for about half a mile. Then you keep straight on. Had you been returning to Hunterville, you would have kept straight on to your left over a small creek. There are two roads. One is really only a track, and takes the longer time travelling, and is called the short cut. It is a pretty ride. The first part is a longlah climb along the side of tbe hills up a gully, with theMoa-whango-ite away below you. Then you reach some hush, and after a steep climb through that, come out on to tbe open country. A few mile* further on Waiu is reached. Waiu is a long deserted fighting pah, tbe I»st of its kind almost, with the stockade still standing old and lonely on the wild and green hills. A bit of bubh is near, but there is not much of it. Beyond Waiu the peaks of Ruapehu on a fine day loom up snowy and white. Big they look, and high, because tbere is nothing in sight to compare with them. Away along the top of the ridges and winding spurs the track runs until it sidles down and down a deep gully. It is narrow in parts and tbe fall below you is almost sheer, and for some distance quite 150 feet. Then you reach Waloru, or you can turn off to your right and make a short cue on to tbe terraces. That elves you a good view of the Kaimanawa Mountains, and you see many deep gullies and ravines. Bat the track is broken and hard to find unless you know it or the lay of the land.

The other road from Moawhango to Waioru wind* up a Rally with high grasscovered hills, covered with clover and sneep on either aide. It Iβ up hill almost all the way to Turangariri. This ia tea miles from Moawhango and about a mile and a half from the Hautapu river. It is a Maori Kaioga—or was. After you leave Taurangariri you pass through some bosh and preeentlycome out above the Hautapu. It is a splendid stream, too email for a river and far too large for a creek, it could In places just drown you, you and your horse perhaps, nicely and easily. You cross at a good ford, and you are ou the Raketapaumii block just at the spot where the railway will pass loaie aay. But it is different country to that behind. No clover, only wiwi and tussock, but as thick as you want, and there is many and many a hundred acre' of splendid land. Even now it carries many sheep. The road threads along a valley, then up a long grade and down again into another long valley that has the top of Ruapehu everlastingly staring into it. That is of course when the clouds do not hide it. Tou go through the valley and at length reach Waioru, which also is a Maori Kainga, or was. Sometimes when you get thus far you see right before you with hills in the foreground to your right and ]be bush and Karioi in the distance, co the left nothing, absolutely nothing, but distance. You do not see clouds or mist, you just see nothing as plainly as'l can see Toy bad writing. And when you have safely sworn that and written your name to it and paid for it, you look up and find you bare lied, because there is nothing there but a great monster with spurs and peaks and everlasting snow, and that mountains of mist have passed away from between you and it. Jt has a crater and a boiling lake and a legend or two and a name which is B.uapehu. From where you stand at Waioru, it seems above you and high and big and beyond the powers of wind and clouds. The track is difficult for a little way, because the road stops, or did, when I was there, and does not start again for the next thirteen miles. .Co-operative works are making those thirteen miles, and then a coach road will be open from Hunterville to Tokaanu ; indeed, I hear now that it Is open.. That will delight tourists, or it ought to, for it is a beautiful journey;. I am writiog ftbout It now and describing it, but you won't know a bit what it is like. You cancannot describe levely views. You cannot describe a great mountain, because words are little and insignificant, and won't form themselves to tell the everchanging tale of the clouds and peaks of Ruapehu with the auogieams dancing on them, or the moonlight glanciDg athwart them You must see that, ana then you will remember it, but jou will not make anyone else see it—aot unless they go too. Just beyond Waioru you come to the Waitangi river, which runs in a deep tfully Were the sides only a little steeper it misht be called a gorge, but it is only a jfcljj You elide down aud climb out of that, and have about five miles—perhaps six—over nndulating taasock land. That brings you down to the Mansaehu river a milky, muddy, grey-coloured stream. Behind you to your left lies Karioi, on the edge of a great bush: before yoS and away northwards and winding round the mountains, is tbe Baujnpo deaert: to your right; are some high terraces or plateaus, covered in tussock and rannlne*northwards at about a «««• tanc* of aix to eight miles from Buapehu { on the left tfce moantam towers np, and ffyond you can ace tfgarnhoe and the r«st

mists and clouds are kind. Ruapehu looks lofty froEi this spot, and very lonely. How it has stood there for ages and ages watching one earth grow older and seeing time sweep by. It is old bow and the fires are chilled, and men play on its sides and climb it and cut theh&jiames and eat tinned meat on its the heart is not yet dead, and the old monarch in bis dying years now and anon starts suddenly to life and shake* ami scatters steam to the clouds. It can gnze from its lofty height oat through tbe rifts in the gray haze of the early morning and see the sweet stillness of the world beneath it. Perchance if iiioantaina have minds or if mountain minds can wander back through time, the days of fire and desolation may often come to it. When the burning torrents of lava chased headlong over craz and cliff, and flames fought flames and hurled forth rock and stone and strewed the land for wiles with charred destruction. Those were glorious days —days of life. When, for very joy, the earth would leap and tremble and shake. Now the. shakes are only throbs of a dying huart. For the world is older, and colder eets, and is dying, and will soon in the rush of centuries never be. So the mountain watches lonely, and the snow spreads white shrouds over it aud men measure it and survey it and put it iuto ponographs, and fear it—just a little. The Maoris fear Ruapehu, nay all Toncrariro. There is a difference ia that. Tonjrariro is the range of which Ruapehu and Ngaruhoe are peak*, or mountains. But it is all awesome to the Maori, and when he -itaye by a creek hard by to slake hi* thirst he always drinks down stream, that is with his back to the mountains.

Tongariro is a sacred range aud there are legends, of which presently. Tbe southern and highest peak of Ruapehu is called Para-te-Taitauga. Below it on the southern side ot the mountain is n small deep crater, with a lake glimmering in the distance. There is water altio in the big crater at the top, hot and sometimes steamiujr. That tells that the old hero is yet alive. Half a mile across a sandy stretch strewn with scoria and iu mp? of pumice brings us to the foot of the terrace. Ou top you find a long distance of undulating tussock country, almost flat and quite unbroken. It is here that the other track I mentioned comes otic. There was only a Maori and home track when I passed, but, as I have sold, by now the road is formed. The K*imanawa Ranges to the east lose themselves in the distance, tumbling one above the other many, many miles. To the left Raapehu flits the landscape until, as you push northwards, Ngaruhoe lakes immediate possession and Tongariro. Ngarulxv; is a picture-book volcano in shape. You also see Ngaruhoe in grocers* shops made of sugar — or said to be. That is what it looka like from the distance. When you reach it, which requires a lot of hard climbing, and one or two pairs of boots and several meals, vc>u find scoria instead of sugar, and lava and loose stones and an apparently endless grade, infinitely steeper than that of the roof of your house. Ngaruhoe has a crater and smoke and steam and a habit of going off and shaking, and it has legends. All this makes it "acred to the Maori and wonderful to the E iropeau. Both feelings or sentiments arc similar except that oue is spoilt by knowledge and the other is not. There was no fire before Ngatoroirougi, the chief of the Arawa canoe, arrived there. He had settled his people iv the Bay of Pleuty and journeyed iulaud with his wi'/e-t and concubines, and had at length reached Tongariro. He climbed It and found himself in a difficulty. It arose out of his being a head priest of his people. This necessitated hi* performing certain rite* on the top of the hill and offering Bsoiflce to his gode. There was no difficulty In that, only having no fire he saw otis'acles to the proper completion of the ceremony. Besides he was a bit chilly. Now he and his two sisters,- who were priestesses of very high rank, had brought sacred flre with them, and it had been left on Whakaarl, which ia a volcanic leland near Tauranga, called by the Fakehas Whit a Island. So Ngatoroirangi called to his sister to bring flre, and she heard although it was only a matter of a hundred or ao miles, which is explained by his being a sort of god himself. The sister then found herself in trouble; no vulgar common person was permitted to gaze upon the sacred flre. Yet she had to obey her brother. Being a goddess she did not allow a trifle of this description to hinder her. Taking some of the fire, she dived into the earth and passed along underground and emerged on the top cf the peak where her brother was. The tripproved, In subsequent years,expensive to tbe colony, for the flre shecarried ignited the whole of the interior of the island. However, it did not matter, because Ngatoroiraugl was able to complete his sacrifices. Then in order to show bis thankfulness, and as a great mark of his appreciation of the lady he popped one of his slave wives, who was called Ngaruhoe, down the great hole which the sacred flre had eaten out. Thun. like many another good soul, her death came fame. The fire has burnt ever since, and nothing will ever quench It, for it i 9 sacred. This occurred just twenty-fourgenerationsago, which shows that geologists and penny-a-liners who say that anything in those part* is old are talking nonsense, Ngairuhoe appears, until you are. close to her, quite disconnected from the rest of the range. It really is not. The track along the terrace extends some six or ten miles, and then drops down again on to the edge of the Rangipo desert. The ground is somewhat swampy ia wet weauherand you have to pick your way along, taking care not to lose the track. A mile or so of this brings you oat on to a big sandy flat. But beyond this the travelling is somewhat more complicated, for the water has worn deep channels, some quite narrow, some a foot wide, all of which must be jumped. You then come to a creek called Tutangatakino. It is a strange little stream, for it pops out of the ground just where you cross it. There are many of thete underground rivers about Ruapehu. They are intensely cold, and no doubt are entirely enow fed. I once heard an Irish navvy express a profound conviction that Ruapehu had been dropped on top of a big lake. Whence it came he had some doubts, but he felt quite certain that it was sitting on the top of a great sheet of water, and that these underground streams were being, as it were, squeezed out from under it. The next creek is called the Maungatoetoe, and here, when I last passed, the main road to Tokaanu ended or began according to the direction you were travelling. The road wends eastwards a little, and rising from the creek to the left or westward is a bridletrack, which is the old main track that has served Maoris and riders for many a day. Indeed, I prefer the track to the road for riding. The latter winds along at a very good erade, no doubt, bnt in a horribly lengthy and monotonous way. Half a mile down one side of a gaily brings you to a bridge, and half-a-nile up brings you to the other side, whereas the track further np the creek just pops dewn and up. There may be ease and comfort, but there is a great expenditure of time and distance travelling on j the high road. I The track stretches along an undulating tussock plain, broken here and there by steep sided and deep gullies. The soil is pumice and very poor. Here and there a few sheep—wild sheep one might almost call them—dart into sight and out again. They are like goats, and strong, active and woolly. I think a chop would keep you employed pretty well all day. The track at length runs down to the OhihePQago, a beautiful little swifc snow-fed icy-cold river. It ii without any exception the coldest stream I have ever seen. A man I know, thoroughly strong, a good swimmer, and used to river bathing, tried once to stay in for one whole minute up to his neck. He succeeded, but only just, aud it knocked him up. Above the Ohinepongo is a scattered wbare and small patuka. There is also very good horse feed, so that it is tbe favourite camp if you are making a two days' journey from Moawhango to Tokaanu. That is the most sensible thing to do, for it is twenty-four miles to Tokaauu and thirty-six from Moawhango, a good division enabling you to reach Tokaauu about luncheon time on the second diy. There is also a splendid view of Brtiapehu. which, although some miles in a direct line from you. looks great, and grim, and grand. The whare makes a good kitchen, and with a rug, a fair bedroom. The patuka I know from experience to be a perfect palace of comfort for one night. ... - The camp is on the edge of some heavy bush that stretches northward for a few mile*. The track strikes the bush and then turns eastward and drops down into Waihohono stream. Asteeptah hill faces jou.andon the o.her foot you strike the mam road. You have not lost anything by leaving it, for except where it crosses the Waibohono there is nothing very beautiful to see. The bridge over the Waihobono Is a few feet below the spot where the Ohinepongo and Waihohono meet. . The banks are tteep and precipitous. Great boulders are strewn in the river bed. There is too a considerable fall in the level. Consequently both streams are rushIng down In their wildest maddest fashion, and where they meet there Is the grande*c

and frothiest and prettiest confusion imaginable. The water is wonderfully blue, and the foam looks whiter than ordinary foam, and the water stronger, fiercer and swifter than ordinary water. And yet it is alt small—quite tiny when yon think of wa: erf all* and cataracts. But it is pretty for all that. The romd winds down and op aud up and down four streams, none of them worth referring to. When you have crossed the last one the road commence? to conduct ic«elt—aod you, in a decently direct and well-behaved manner. Uu the rictht you pass a clump of bush called Moturoa, and beyond that again, but away from the track is another and larger clump at tue edze of which is a small kain«a sailed Te Henga.

N>aruhoe is now well on your left, and beyond.'and still on your left, i< the Tongariro Range. Roto kira, & lovely little lake, lies deep at the foot of Tongariro, or rather Te Mari, and nestles under Pihanga, an old extinct volcano. In front of you, on a fine day, from the. higher spots on the road, yon can see Lake Taupo glimmering beyond like a silv«r aheet, in the embrace of hills and dirts farther, by far, than your eye can pierce. As you near the lake, you fiud on yoar rijjht a bist river in a broad deep cut bed, it is the Waikato or Tongariro river Chat flows into Taupo, and then out again and away to the northern shores of Aotea. N

The road runs within the shadow of Pihanga and thea out into a bi« manuka tiar. After a few miles you reach a small crest, and Taupo is quite near you, and Tok&auu is only the ocher aide of yonder trange and solitary hill. The road, however, winds away, for there are swamp* and creeks and other'things that horses or men cannot pass lightly over. At length you arc right under the small hill that stands as a sort of eenttuel over the entrance to Tokaanu. Presently a turn in the road brings Toktianu in si£tn. It is entirely a Maori settlement. There are what appear to be the remains of an old palisade long since t urued iuto paddock feucing, with pint.s quaintly cut and all picturesquely irregular. Uα your lett alongside of the road the Tokaanu flows with hot water holes and small steam geysers all down it* banks. The land on your right glorias not in hot springs, but stretches a tint unbroken mass of manuka and swamp away to the lake. That is about a half a mile from Tokaauu.

On the iefcon the oppotiie sldo of the river the manuku grows thickly. Here and there one sees a Maori wharo, and in every direction small volumes of ateaoi rise white aud strange in the midst of the scrub. At one point, some two hundred yards from the hotel, the road runs between two sets ot boiling and steaming water boles. It feels soft and spongy under your horse's feet, and ofcen when the ateam is blowing; across, aud the bubbling and sputtiug are louder than usual, ie is diiacult to make the horses pass.

Once negotiated, in two miantes one is up to a big clump of willows and poplars, in the midst of which is a two storied cottage with two or three outbuildings. Ib is the hotel, and a comfortable and quiet little one I have always found it, although sadly deficient iv armchairs—a luxury to au old stager, but an iudispensable necessity to the riding touiitt and *' new chum." But it is pleasant, very pleasant, on the sofa—when you are lucky enough to get it—with something standing beside you, cool and refreshing— and long. You have journeyed far and have arrived at Taupo and ou the morrow you will see the wonders of Tokaann. Meanwhile "Pairawa atu" and I think I will take another.