A PIONEER SURVEYOR

Greymouth Evening Star, 1 July 1933, Page 4

A PIONEER SURVEYOR

FATE OF GEORGE WHITCOMBE. Approximately seventy years ago—in the autumn of 1863 —the pioneer community of New Zealand was -hocked to hear of the death by drowning in one of the wild rivers of South Westland of George Whitcombe, a well-known officei’ of the Survey Department (writes Erl Gordon in the Auckland “Star”). The tragedy caused no little stir, for Whitcombe had proved iiis worth as a pioneer explorer; and, although his burial place was an obscure one at 'Greymouth, his memory was perpetuated in the name of the pass through the Southern Alps he had discovered, just before his death, and in that of the turbulent. Whitcombe River. The story of how Whitcombe met his death is in some ways a typical one, revealing the hardships and dangers encountered by early travellers in the back country. It stands out, however, as an example of unusual pluck and fortitude. The surveyor was employed-by the Canterbury Provincial Government, and in April, 1563, was instructed to find a pass over’ the Southern Alps somewhere in the vicinity of the headwaters of the Rakaia River. ye set out with a man named Jacob Louper, a Swiss who had been useful in previous expeditions into the mountains, and two other men. When he left Christchurch his plan of campaign was not precisely formulated, but by the time he had reached the Rakaia he had decided that the attempt, to be successful, must be iri the nature of a lightning dash. Accordingly he dismissed the two men, telling them to go back to Christchurch for more provisions, theu travel to the headwaters of the Teremakau River, further up the divide, and await him there on his return journey from the coast. Whitcombe and Louper, following the riverbed of the Rakaia, set out to find the pass in requisition. It was rough work, fording and re-ford-ing the rocky torrent; and by the time they had covered half of the calculated distance to the divide their slender stock of provisions was not only running low, but was almost uneatable as a result of countless soakings in rain and cold water. However, the only thing to do was to push on; and the weary men were eventually rewarded by entering the cleft in the mountains now known as Whitcombe Pass, and seeing Westlaud sloping away before them. But they could not tarry to admire the view. Already they were beginning to feel the pangs of hunger; the weather, wet and miserable, showed no signs of clearing; and it was a good week’s journey to a warm fire. They left the pass—4ooo feet above sea level—and began to descend into Westland by the mountain torrent which later developed into what is. now known as the Whitcombe River. To their disgust, however, conditions rapidly became worse as they descended. Cold rain poured down on them continuously. The river was almost impassable, and at one stagethey had to ascend sheer cliffs to avoid-a large waterfall. So wet were their blankets that they could not sleep in them at night, and their food, consisting mainly' of biscuits, was quite uneatable how. By the 1 time they reached the Hokitika River and were near the level their exhaustion was extreme. But in due course they were on the flat, and lit a warming fire from dry wood on the beach at the mouth of the Hokitika. Then they set out for the Arahura River, where they had heard, was a Maori settlement, and where, they hoped, was food. But when they reached the river the settlement was abandoned. Now both Whitcombe and Louper felt that the last vestiges of their energy had been reached. Whitcombe was particularly exhausted. It was seventeen days since their last square meal and in those seventeen days they had suffered continual exposure to wet and cold, and had traversed many miles of well-nigh impassable hill country.. They had hoped to obtain wood hens in the bush, but had not seen one during the whole journey. Whitcombe was so exhausted that he would not listen to the couh-

sei of Louper, who said they should try and snare some birds before proceeding. He insisted that they push on immediately to the Teremakau. The two broken-down men crossed the Arahura and plodded on more weary miles. When they reached the Teremakau it was in high flood; and again Louper counselled remaining on the bank and searching for food. But Whitcombe was nearly crazed with bis exhaustion. Two old Maori canoes were on the bank of the river; and he said they would essay the crossing in these. The canoes were lashed together, and the two men pushed off; and, as soon as they were in the main current of the flood, were overturned. Whitcombe tried to swim, but was rapidly carried out to the breakers at the bar and lost. Louper, with better fortune, managed to cling on to the canoes, and was carried out to sea, and landed halfdead on the beach some miles down the coast. When he struggled back to the river he found Whitcombe’s body. In days to come this humble grave should not be so humble as New Zealanders begin to appreciate in full measure those pioneers who “roughed it” in the true sense of the term, that later generations might live in ease.