ZANE'S NATURE BOOK

Evening Post, Volume CXII, Issue 117, 13 November 1926, Page 21

ZANE'S NATURE BOOK

*'S£Y FISHING WAS THE MEREST^ ; - OP INCIDENTALS."

"•^JTales of the Angler's Eldorado, New jT Zealand." By Zane Grey. With £ photographs, and with drawings by ■-•• Prank E. Phares. London: Hodder

"> and Stoughton, Ltd. (fj Wellington, our port of debarkai.ti^, was a red-roofed city on hills, .^surrounding a splendid bay. It had 'foil me a distinctly foreign look, difif .'tent from any city I had ever seen Jbef.bre; a clean, cold, tidy look, severe jhird. substantial." This sentence ijitropduces us~to ourselves and to Mr, Zane pGrey. With that observation he passed *iciithward on his finny crusade.

from the export fishing inter--iesjr- of it, this book stands out prcpeminently as a book of Nature love, of Urorship of land and water, bird and fjlree. Though some of the descriptions 'juffi incorrect in detail —blight-birds |(vgiite-eyes), described as about the ii»o of canaries, for instance—the genferal New Zealand atmosphere is wonconveyed, and the inexactmt!Jsses are only such as might be exfected from a visitor who has had litnied .time for observation and note-tak-ungj' and whose assimilative powers are rather than minimised by a tevr minor slips.

;What other, writer has paid such a ijglorioua tribute to New Zealand larks EsTZane Grey pays when he wanders sick on the grassy hills of the island f-Orupukupuku (Bay of Islands) from this fishing, camp on the beach? Eveu [the solitary horse on this isle he causes fito live in the pages of this fishing rojinance. As darkness gathers, he turns jeampward; and "the glory died out of (the west, the intensity of colour away jtfrom islands and bays. Kain still fell, jmistily, cool, sweet to the face. When >I reached the foot of the slope larks !,were still singing somewhere. All experience must be measured as much by ,what"one brings to it as by what it gives*. Grassy windy hilltops, above ,the sea or the valley, always have enthralled me.k They must surely have lad "strange relation to the lives of of my ancestors. This experience ■en £ hilltop of Orupukupuku, in the • Bay of Islands, seemed fraught with jnnusnal appreciation of nature and tielearnesa of the meaning 'of life.

.. My fishing was the merest of inei!ji dentals. It must be a means to an

! end, or one aspect of an end. Bow many times, on some adventure in ;a wild country, or some fishing jaunt to } new waters, have I been rewarded by |a singular revivifying joy; similar to tthis I found oii the wet grassy top of rOrupnkusukii, the rich amber light filling my eyes, and the songs of the larks [in my ears.*' Every nature-loving angjler feels the same thing in his bones. l lt requires a Zane Grey to express it.

THE LABKS SANG NO MOEE,

Of .'course, he found a lark's nest, and, "almost equally of course, the f farmers" found that tho pasture had ito be;;burncd in order to revivify it— after^whieh the larks sang no more! was a business. Who (thought of the little larks in their itiests? Only tho frantic mother lai-k; jand some such dreamer and Nature lovjer as myself. If Orupukupuku had jbelongcd to me, there would not have [fceen .any burning of the waving grass fm the silver hills."

Bead also what this great lover of jthe beautiful-has1 to say of the albaiitross—rbut the . temptations to quote 'must 3boi resisted. Mention, must be niade,::,nowever, of the sooty shearwater .that dame to Zane Grey's Ashing launch ijwhere'l "tho boatman fed him bits of fish, and then Williams readied down, '.picked him up, and set him on the 'combing. I was amazed and dclight|ed. ..New Zealand birds are indeed »ame.r. This one looked insulted at hay--sng Ms.'feathers ruffled, but he did not jtehowany fright." And that incident as a reminder that, far away from the IJBay of Islands, in the "Fairy Spring" •t Eotorua, rainbow trout were scon ithat, though, not captive, and though 'free to come or go down-stream, "would eat out of your hand." What >« country! And how many of us New IZealanders know it?

BaJSv again- to the Bay of Islands: /Th^small fish are in flying shoals on thejbluo waters. But they are not nofticed because of the. flying shoals of jtheir pursuers, the kahawai and tvej ,'ralE.*.Thc water boils as the kahawai 'SttJok the minnows from below, and §io*; scabirds attack them from above, on -«an see this wonderful sight on jSVc-llington harbour, and you can see ,theSc',, ; ,-in, addition to the seabirds of Vh^cJlng flight, those plummet-like gaupets wlip drop like a stone 50 feet into pc-surge to grab a fish. But you. may tots-see in Wellington Harbour tho giaiit. Broadbill and ■ Marlin that swirl »p frpm' depth to attack ti,■-■ stacking Kahawai. .-' "Acres of kali;;,,si were darkening the surface, and myriad littlei*white .gulls wore hovering and fluttering - over them. The fish raised a ifhite cauldron on the water and v sound- exactly like a brook rushing over stones. The birds were screaming! Evttjy:iiow and then the kahawai leaped one fish to eaeapo some enemy underneath, and made a prolonged roar in #io water."' And Zane Grey's game wasr to hook the enemy underneath by the* lure of kahawai or trevalli bait. But that part of the story is told else.Whcrfc, *

THAT PANG AT THE HEART.

"WJiat awful things can liappcn to the fisherman! In the river his trout can jfouJKthe.-o.nly snag in the pool; on a launch, at sea the Marlin can make the' bne foul the propeller. "Catastrophe! I realised it with terrible intensity, but for! an instant- could not believe the evijlencc of my eyes. What a-pane , tore my breast!" Every .angler who has- seen his tackle snap knows that blow at the heart. To tho non-angler it means .just .nothing. -Nor may the non-angler, watching Zauo Grey'play ft rainbow trout in the Tongarho, rea-" liscvtho deadly-earnestness of the statement that "one sweep the fish made Jiut« my heart in my throat." In the endi the. heart, not the fish, survived. ••A.t length I slid him out upon the Ban}!, and that moment my vaunted championship, of the Oregon steclhead Suffered an eclipse. The great Oregon Xainbow, transported to the snow .waters .of the Tongariro, -was superior in every way to his. Oregon cousin, the silver-pink stcclhcoj that had access to the- sea. / 1 never looked down upon (Bucli a magnificent game fish." '£lio personal element is seldom missing^in the writings of a fisherman and Naturo lover. The human factor must ;!>e there as relief. The author's companions are well impressed into this sor(vice. There is the seventeen stouc Sloßa, with his compelling Maori smile, ttha; boatmen come and go across the pages. Captain Mitchell —less successful on this trip as a sea fisherman than the .author, but a more frequent takct of trout—is snapshotted as he fishes 4he'.Tongariro: "He was standing with that pose of incomparable expectancy and-patience. No use for mo to try to ■imitate him. The tilt of his olcl black pipe demonstrated his utte^ contenttteift." '

Many other pictures are projected. At •Waitomo, in the. glow-worm cave, each* glow-wovm let down a trap, as it ■werfi, with which he (jaught ha prey. His'light operated- an a magnet to attract the fluttering moth ov gnat that had^wanderpd into tho cave where the tivex- entered. "I watched until I saw

two tiny insects caught on this delusive fringe." And he has a splendid photograph illustrating this wonderful device of Nature and incidentally showing a captive moth. It may be added here that the book is generously supplied with splendidly reproduced photographs of fish, fishing, tackle, and beautiful natural scenes. The Maoris figure in high tones; Maori ladir/ of culture impressed, so did Dr. Buck, so also the Chief Mita, and the sweet singing of the Maori girls "impressed me deeply. Classical music, except some of the great and familiar masterpieces, has never appealed to me. The Maori love-songs were wild and sad and wonderfully melodious. . . I left there with my mind haunted by those rhythmic chords, and for me to remember a melody is extraordinary.". 4The author seems to have been moved —figuratively—by the occasional muffled roars coming from active Ngauruhoe; at any-'rate, he writes of the volcano's voice in his mysterious haunting way. This slxo'ild read well in America. May one Jcrei out now for the Ngauruhoe fox-trot, manufactured in New York? "Tales of the Angler's Eldorado" proves the case for the Eldorado up to the hilt. Besides being a fishing book it is an eloquent picture of wild New Zealand. Its purpose seems to be certain of fulfilment, in that sporting possibilities in this country are now forced on the attention of a world that will find them not overpainted.