"Aotea Roa"

Dominion, Volume 29, Issue 133, 29 February 1936, Page 23

"Aotea Roa"

GLIMPSES OF PLACES IN THE LAND OF THE LONG WHITE CLOUD.

Mount Egniont., I remember tlie first time 1 saw Mt. Egniont, our country’s Fujiyama. 1 had arrived in New Plymouth overnight, and it was just a place of twinkling lights without even a hint of moonlight, then.But n’t six o’clock someone caine tugging at the bedclothes. “Come and see our mountain,” she said .(for all Taranaki people are very, very prouci of their mountain), nnd I slipped on some clothes and hurried-out into tlie early sunlight. We waded through long grass that was soaked with dew. and climbed a small rise. “Now shut your eyes,” said my. small guide, catching my hand and leading me carefully as we neared the top. “Open!” she cried triumphantly, and open them I did. There’ she was, that fairest Queen of Taranaki, so beautiful and and seeming to loom so near that it was quite overwhelming, and I wanted to flop down in the wet grass and cry. Snow was halfway down her nearly-perfect cone, nnd a scarf of rose-tinted cloud was flung over her shoulder and circled round her dark, bush-dad feet. Later on I climbed her sides, through the lovely, but sadly-silent bush, up into the glittering whitness of the snow. But tlie Egmont I remember most clearly was that ejirly-morning glimpse of her perfect beauty.—Kiwi. Ixiwer Hutt. 1 wish vou could see our part of the world in early morning—all gold and fresh and alive with the rasping of grasshoppers. The river is> a trail of silver left by the moon, the hills, lazy giants capped in amethyst, and the sea. not yet touched by the sun, lies away down through the Ileftds like pale grey You know, the kind that reminds you of bonfire smoke. I like this limo of day best —everything so guy afid noisy and striking tlie chord of happiness. In the evening, 1 think, the old world takes its rest, and when the mists come down and the road to the bridge is stark and white in the dusk, you know it is time to be gone from the hills, when the cabbage trees clack, and home, for there is something in the cold loneliness of dusk that lacks the bright, “fresh paint" feeling of early day— Santoriu (to). Lower Hntt- . Waitomo, Rotorua.

Waitomo has a most lovely hostel overlooking the Waitomo stream, wheic we stayed while we visited the caves. When wo went into the caves we had t.> wear boots with hobnails, because sometimes it is very damp, and rough underfoot, even though there are special paths. The stalactites and stalagmites were of a

most peculiar ■ formation, and the guider switched on electric lights, which cast great shadows and shoue through the more transparent ones. I would like to tell you all our guide told us hbout the limestone formations and the historvof the caves, but I must tell you of Waitomo cave itself, which we visited in a boat. We had to keep very still and as the boat was pulled geutly into the cave, and then at last we came upon a domelike roof that was lit up with myriads of tiny stars —thousands and thousands ot them, everywhere. If we made a sound, they would go out immediately, to flicker on again later on. It was a wonderful sight. , , Later we visited Rotorua and Lake Taupo. I liked the Maoris better than their boiling mud pools and great geysers, for the latter rather frightened me. But I bathed in the ‘blue baths,” and they made me feel very happy, and 1 caught some trout at Lake Taupo when we went there. Oh, I could write on for ever ami ever, nearly, about that happy holiday. — Jacqueline, Ohau. Night-time. *■

It is night, and I can see a lew chinks of sky from where lam sitting. And now ... if I stand up I can see the “Southern Cross” and the “Iron Saucer pan.” Aren’t stars the loveliest things' They remind me of diamonds, somehow, vet still more they remind me of golden dust thrown into the 1 inverted bell of some great flower—the sky,,

The pale, yellow moon is shining, too. like some great lantern. The wind in the poplars is whistling eerily, and now and again, the hoot of an owl breaks the stillness. I can hear the river, too, roaring as it dashes over its shingly bed. The various trees and shrubs in out garden/ have taken grotesque shapes, and the toi-toi feathers I can see through the darkness are waving gently bv an angry, bubbling little stream. Yesterday I went, down to the orchard, and it is the loveliest place imaginable. Through the middle of it rims a wee, tihv stream, over which there is a wee. tiny bridge. On the far side are gooseberry and black-currant bushes. There is also a large strawberry bed, and a few red-currant bushes, too. But it is the side nearest the house that I like best of all. for here grow'many various trees, all ot which are now loaded witlj fruit. And beneath all is a purple carpet of wee wild violas. Pretty? I should say so., but What gives the finishing touch is about half a dozen huge willow trees, the boughs » £ which nearly touch the ground. I love it .till .. - . this tiny fragment of my owu country.— New Zealand Lass, Waipawa.