LAKE WAKATIPU.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CXV, Issue 16493, 7 March 1914, Page 16

LAKE WAKATIPU.

STORM—AND PARADISE.

(By Maud Peacock, Auckland.) No. TIL Yesterday a mighty wind awoke la j the mountains, and descended sud-; denly, as these lake-storms will, on: the placid waters. The tormented, lake writhed under the scourge of the; wind. Long lines of sinister white, i like teeth suddenly bared, flashed oai ! of the dark-blue breast of the lake,! until the whole level expanse wal roughened into snow-capped wave*. I The waters darkened to livid green*' and as the wind increased in force,* rose as it were in the very face ol heaven, tho ridged waves racing in H welter of flying foam, rising and falling in mountainous crests and long*' smooth hollows, while the wind tor* and tossed away tho foam-caps itt sheets of spray. Overhead the sun shone brilliantly out of a rack .of flying silver-white cloud that raced across a deep-blue sky. ; To-day the lake, like a sheet of lapis lazuli, reflects a vault as blu* above it. Cliff and crag, bush ana tree find their images, Narcissus-like, in the placid mirror, shattered only by the passage of our ship, which part* the gleaming levels into two long curling ripples, edged with fire vhera the sunlight strikes them. AVe ara on our way to Paradise. At tha tiny jetty which marks the navigable limits of Wakatipu we disembark. | This is Glenorchy, and from here wa are to drive twelve miles to Paradise—; aptly named, it is said. . There ara three or four coaches with teams of four horses awaiting their loads, anc| in one of these we commence ou? journey. For the first few miles wa bowl along briskly enough on a good, level road, the horses going well and cheerfully. The long range of tha snowclad Humboldts is on our left, with tho green glimmer of a glacier on its flank. After clattering through! one or two shallow creeks we come to the wide, stony bed of the Rees River. “Purgatory!” says the driver briefly, as the horses strain and struggle and slip, and the wheels bump and drag over the _ smooth, water-worn boulders and myriad pebbles and scattered driftwood of the river channel. The Rees itself, more or less shrunken now, is a swift, swirling stream, rushing down through mountain gorges and crossing this stony, sandy region ere pouring into the lake. It divides into many channels here, some shallow and brawling, some deep and treacherous. The horses, encouraged by .the persuasive voice of the driver, plunge in resolutely at the ford. Deeper, deeper they wade in. Now the water is swirling about their knees, now up to their chests, almost over the wheels of the coach. Tha horses appear to swim. The driver leans forward, urging them gently. There is a final struggle and a scramble. “Quicksands! 1 ’ murmurs the driver, and the gallant beasts are on dry land again, or spinning through the shallower creeks, with web flanks heaving. ... The driver "points with his whip ahead of him. “ Heaven’s Gate h<J save, and we all look up involuntarily, while he adds further: ' Peters Tomb.” And there, at the entrance to a noble birch forest, lies a mossed ob*l long stone, resembling a flat tomb-; stone. The next moment We are bpwU ing along a magnificent avenue of birca trees, in the green gloom of interlay ing boughs. Little or no undergrowth is to be seen; a few banks of feathery ferns here and there, but no creepers*; no tangled vines or shrubs. Tub straight, handsome holes, some ful and slender, some of giant girth,, stand clear in lovely forest vistas and. glades where one almost expects to see. shy, dappled deer at gaze or in start-; led flight. -Through the light-green' feathery foliage the stealing sunbeams filter to weave a pattern of light and shade, and dance on the filmy thread of ! silvery water that dashes down an im- j monse height of mossy rock. Out ofij the sunlight-chequered twilight of tn® forest we dash into daylight again, and there before us lies the fairest scene that ever artist dreamed. Mount Alfred, clothed from base to summit m rolling masses of forest birch, rises darkly in front of us, and at his feetl lies a fairy lake, a mirror of reflections,) on which a tiny boat rides at anchor.) This is Diamond Lake, where clouds or’ tiny sea swallows dart hither and; thither, and on the rising ground above' it stands “Arcadia,” the handsome; twin-towered accommodation-house, j Away beyond are tho crowding peaks, j flashing with the ineffable whiteness of the everlasting snow, range behind; range, peak beyond peak, the triple crown of the Three Sisters, majesti® Earnslaw, and the glorious cones of Cosmos, with lioary heads bright _ in’ suulight and belted with silver-bright mists, and, winding his way down the mountain valleys, swift and restless,; sweeps the flooded Dart, ohant-ing his deep-throated song of freedom. There; all is stormy triumph and grandeur,! but here at our feet, where we alight,; is sylvan peace and beauty, whers bobbing white scuts of innumerable “bunnies” flicker eveijwhere as their owners race and flee in sudden panio before us. t ! We stroll down to the tiny boat, and are rowed across the glossy lake to where the screen of forest trees meets the water’s edgo. Here we land, and in a moment find ourselves in the green hush and gloaming of the forest aisles. Far over head, unseen, we hear the tui sounding his clear fluting note, and the soft sibilant sigh of the summer wind in the tree-tops, and, louder than all, the deep, musical roar of falling water. We have not far to seek to find the waterfall. In a sheer drop of 40ft or 50ft the cascade flings itself over an abrupt _ ledge of rock in a sheet of milky-white foam, looking like a filmy veil of delicate lace glimmering through the green gloom. From Paradise one crosses the Dart River, when it is not. impassible, to explore the magnificent valley of the Routeburn, with its unrivalled scenery of falls and forest, lake and mountain and river, or in the opposite direction one may follow up the course of the impetuous Rees River, through its deep gorges past the Lennox Falls to its snowy source in the mountains. Beautiful beyond words is this region of Paradise, remote, isolated, yet never lonely for those who find kinship in the wonders of Nature and companionship in tho grent mountains and rolling rivers. These sylvan solitudes are never silent. There is always the voice of singing waters, where stream and cataract flow down to find at once > annihilation and supreme fulfilment in the breasts of the great lakes. There is always change on tho face of tin mountains, tho glistening cones, the purple gloom of tho gorges, the dark belts of'forest trees that climb their flanks steeply; the lifting or gathering of the milk-white mists, that, drive down the valleys; lightning playing from peak to peak, or sunset 6taming tho snows. Not one hour but has its marvels, not one day without its mani- ■ fostations of the Power Supreme that directs the course of the mighty waters and roots the mountains in steadfastness. (To be continued on Wednesday.)