CASUAL RAMBLINGS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXVIII, Issue 8533, 6 April 1891, Page 6

CASUAL RAMBLINGS.

[BY a tramp, ESQ.]

A JOURNEY OF FACT AND FANCY;

A TRAVELLER'S TALE.

[FROM THE AUCKLAND WEEKLY NEWS.]

HOW I CROSSED THE MOAWHANGO. The Moawhango is not much of a river to look at, but, oh, 'tis a beggar to go. It is not one of your " still waters run deep" class of streams, neither is it a shallow "babbling brook." It is a current, with a mind-your-own-business-and-I'll-mind-mine air. It runs hurriedly through "the pa," hidden deepdown in the channel it has burrowed for itself, disdainful of notice. Some streams flow gently and sweetly on, lipping and kissing their banks as they go, wooing attention. But the ftl-oawhango " ain't built that way." It bores along in a gruff get-out-of-the road style, and occasionally gets its back up so high nobody dare cross it. Morris Levy bridged that difficulty "more power to him." There are two places where the banks have been cut down and the river can bo forded. Boomy brought me safely over the lower one on the night of my arrival. The upper ford—about a quarter of a mile up—l crossed on the morning of my departure. But how did I cross it? I crossed it partlya very short partly—on the back of Kai-Ruma partly, with Kai-Ruma on my back, partly by being rolled down stream like a log, partly by groping among the pebbles on the bottom, and best partly, by being hauled across by Mr. Alf. Clayton and a native. I descended into that river with a light heart, and as gay as a bird ; I came out dank and dismal as a deck swab. How it all happened I can scarcely explain. I stopped to" let KaiRuma have a drink ; Mr. Clayton, and a native, who was with us, crossed in front of me; but, not noticing particularly the course they took, I missed the ford. " Keep | up," they cried; bub it was too late. Swish! the Moawhango had us, and we went under. When I recovered myself we were some distance down stream. The bridle-rein was still in my hand, and KaiRuma at the end of it. I struggled hard to keep my footing ; she, the jade, would not make an effort, but drifted with the stream ; I let her go ; and just as I was going myself, "Alf." rode in to the rescue, caught hold of my hand, and hung on to me till the native, who had stripped, came to his assistance, and I was landed safe on terra firma once more, minus sundry loose articles Ihadaboutme, includingalunchMrs. Batley kindly stuffed into my pocket at starting, plus a few bruises about the body and legs, and a cut over the sinister optic that presently developed into a lovely black eye. But what cub me most was to think that I, who had crossed almost without a wet foot, such rivers as the broad and deep Ran the sweeping Manawatu, on the West Coast; the insidious Waiapu and the dangerous Motu of the East, should be flopped into an insignificant creek like the Moawhango, and dragged out like a washing of soaking clouts. Kai-Ruma had crawled out on to a small flat point under a steep cliff, on the same side of the stream we started from. Clayton went after her with a long tetherrope, one end of which Mas held by the Maori, and fastening it round her neck drove her in, and the Maori hauled and towed her up to the landing-place. Clayton then sent his own horse over the same way, and climbing the cliff, came back to the ford, where the native met him and brought him over.

HUNG OUT TO DRY. I kept quite cool during these exciting operations, which took some little time, and allowed the surface water to drain off me. All. suggested we might go back to Moawhango and get some dry clothes, but I said I did not want any Moa whango; I had had enough of it, and if he did not mind, I should prefer to go on. I thanked the native, who was not going any further, and we mounted and rode briskly up and over the hill for about five miles to Waiu, one of Mr. Studholme's stations. We found nobody at home, and the doors all locked. I took off my clothes, wrung them our, and spread them on the shrubs in the front garden to dry. Taking advantage of the shelter afforded by the verandah from the cold wind now blowing, I sat down in the sun with nothing on but my black eye. I wetted it from time to time with a lotion of J.R.D. which the thoughtful Batley had filled my flask with. I occasionally wetted t'other eye also. Clayton wetted his eye, too. In half an hour our " things " were "rough dry," and without waiting for the mangling we put them on and made a fresh start.

PRICE OF BUTTER ON* MURIMUTU. The track —it was a short cut we were on—led for miles over rough, bleak upland, covered with the long wiry snowgrass, then down a valley, and into the plains. Fifteen miles from Moawhango we strike the main road to Tokaanu and Karioi. A finger-post indicating the direction of the several roads and showing the mileage, erected here, would be a great convenience. Make a note on't. At the junction is another station of the Studholrues'. We lunched here, and

made a good square meal. I was informed that butter herecost Is per lb! Think of it, ye butter-men of the Mountain, who have to find the grass and the cows, and make the butter for fivepence a pound. Think of it, that in sight of Mount Egmont, and only a day's ride from Hunterville, butter is eighteenpence a pound, and rancid at that dear enough and rancid enough to have been to London and back again. Mutton too is dearer—judging from the price they charge for a meal of it (2s Gd)—here on its " native heath," than in the butchers' shops of Auckland, Wellington, and Wangartui. Of poultry they have none; eggs are unknown. I carried one of my three hard boiled eggs as far as Karioi, and left it on thedressing-table as a curiosity ; but I doubt very much if they'd know what it was. Electors of Egmont and Waitotara, you must butter John Ballance for "more roads," and if you don't get them, cowhide McGuire and hoof Hutchinson. As for the Auckland representatives they- should be hanged off till we get a phalanx that will do its duty. "More roads" we want, " more roads" we must have. "We are the people." Hurray !

A GLIMPSE OF THE PLUTONIC COLOSSUS. But we must push on—the- threatened change in the weather had come, and it was now cold and showery.'v We plod along the plain, with no more hilly, and only "one more river," and that's the Wangaehu, between U3 and Karioi. From the Wangaehu crossing to Karioi is, I think, about four miles, but I won't vouch-for the correctness of my calculations of distances, my pedometer and Waterbury both stopped in the Moawhango. At the Wangaehu we tire inside the volcanic zone, the land of pumice. I looked for Ruapehu. The plutonic - colossus was shrouded in a drapery of clouds and mist from peak to butt, and during the whole time we were wheeling round his broad base I obtained bub one partial glimpse of it, and it struck me as being an extremely rugged and useless piece of furniture ; massive, it is true, but misshapen. Distance I think " lends enchantment to the view" of Ruapehu.

GLOOMING KARIOI. We arrived in the gloaming at Karioi, or, to be more truthfully descriptive, I might say in the glooming. Karioi, I thought the gloomiest place ever I had put my foot in. A pall of gloom seems to overhang the place. With one exception I did not see a smile on the face of man, or woman, or child. All seemed affected by the gloomy surroundings. There is a perfect gem of a waiter in-the accommodation house here, who, in another atmosphere, would be as bright and as brisk as a bee, but in Karioi a bee in the leg of his trousers would not disturb the sedateness of his deportment. The house is a good one of its class, beds clean, and meals substantial; tea, bed and breakfast, three half-crowns, which is not unreasonable, when the waiter is thrown in. lam surprised they don't charge more, there is nothing to prevent them. Karioi is another of the stations belonging to Mr. Studholme—he does, stud 'em pretty well over this country. The manager is a Mr. McDonald ; I know him well. He was a broker on the Thames, but I did not recognise him at first, from a shy habit he has of not looking one straight in the face. He is, I am glad to say, thriving here ; the accommodation house, store, and billiard-

room are, I believe, his perquisites. The gloominess of the place cannot affect bis countenancenot much.

OK RANG IPO. We were up betimes ; early rising is the rule of the road. Kai-Ruma had accomplished the 25-mile stage fiom Moawhango to Karioi very satisfactorily. To ease her for to-day's journSy of forty odd miles, Alf. Clay ton, with his characteristic good nature, relieved her of my swag, and we set out for Tokaano. With us was the popular guide, McDonald, of Ohinemutu, an active, prepossessing young fellow, always on good terms with himself and everybody else, an excellent companion—one who does not bore you to death with his chatter —I hate a chattering guide. McDonald had been escorting the Deputy-Governor of British Burmah to Pipiriki, on the Wanganui, and was now returning with his two horses to Ohinemutu. His Excellency of Burmah was travelling for pleasure —the occupation pursued by most of the people I have met in this district. Where they find the pleasure I am at a loss to discover, I never found much pleasure in hard work myself. The dangers, discomforts and toil they undergo, and call it pleasuro, is most extraordinary. I can only understand it on the supposition that to those born to a life of ease, whose existence is one round of pleasure, a spell of hard work is as healthy a change as a day of rest is to a bricklayer's labourer. Let us see what these chaps call pleasure. We may take it for granted the globe-trotter can ride—the aristocracy and gentry of England all can, they have been taught how, the " newly rich" may be spotted at once by their awkwardness in the saddle —but that ho has not been in the saddle fpr some time. He is put on a sturdy, hard-paced horse, one he cannot kill, his riding gear is as rough as the horse, and the road is the roughest of all. His first day's stage is -10 miles. Before he is half way, ho is bruised and blistered ; and at the end of it, he feels '' all shook to pieces," and seeks his " virtuous bug walk" early, to give his bones a chance to set. At daybreak next morning, when he is in deepest slumber, and " taking no thought of the morrow," the guide has him dragged out, breakfasted, and horsed, before he realizes the fact that there is another forty miles of misery in front of him. On that day the Taupo volcanic region possesses no interest for him. His interest is centred in a region limited by the seat of his saddle ; his observations on the geology of the country arc confined to the peculiarities of the formation of the road in front of him. Night finds him with his bruises a shade bluer, and his blisters bursted, and he feels stiff and sore all over. Morning comes, but he is not refreshed. Bo begs for a little more rest, but the guide fiend is inexorable. There are his dates ; his journeys, arrivals, and departures all ticked off for him 011 a card; the canoe waits on the Wanganui, but the steamer will not wait for him at Wellington. It rains; but the time-table was not founded on meteorological observations. Another forty miles must be accomplished to-day. The slave of time is huddled 011 his horse, and marched on, on, on, all day long, with his nose on the pommel of his saddle and the rain-water oozing through his boots. Kuapehu, Tongariro, Pihanga, Taranaki might all bo in Jamaica or Jericho for anything he knows or cares ; he would swap the lot for a feather pillow. He arrives at the end of the stage more dead than alive. On the fourth and last day he brightens up a bit, and passes the time in cursing all the Cooks, from the great Captain down to Cook and Sons; the climate, the guide, and the Government that owns the road. Then he is floated down the Wanganui ; thence railed 011 to Wellington, up to time, and returned to his native land, and when the talk is of New Zealand, its wondrous sights and scenes, its lovely lakes, its magnificent mountains, its rushing rivers, and its big gooseberries, he will bo in the front rank, lying on our behalf like an immigration agent. That's his pleasure.

Guide McDonaldno relative of friend " Gloomy " — us by a short cut on to the main road thirteen miles from Karioi. Wo followed up on the right-hand bank of the Wangaehu (we had recrossed it) for a considerable distance, swept round on the Rangipo tableland, over the watershed, and crossed a puny stream that could hardly run, which they said was the Waikato. You may not think it, my end, but it is the self-same stream that shoots its pent water through the narrow race at the Huka with the velocity of a thunderbolt, hurling it, a broad white stream of flashing lightning, with deafening clash into the deep foaming pool ; below; the same stream that flows still and deep with majestic sweep past Mercer—that's the Waikato. We cross the Onetapu desert, then rise on to a terrace and camp at a deserted Maori pa, on the edge of a bush, for lunch. THE KAIMANAWA.

Ruapehu, Tongariro and company, were obscured by thick sheets of mists, and we saw nothing of them. Away on the right the Kaimanawa mountains—their bushy tops capped with mist and storm clouds— loomed dark and solid ; a huge massive rampart. Alf. Clayton seeing me scanning and sniffing at these ranges, said,

" You seem interested in the Kaimanawa. Do you think gold is there?"

" I have only the old digger's instinct to guide me," I replied, " but you may depend upon it that serried battalia of hills has not stemmed the lava rush for nothing. I think gold is there, in more or less quantity, but it will take a mint of money to prove it. However, accident may some day disclose what money might fail to discover. Have you ever been on them ?"

"Oh yes, frequently. There are a few pieces of quartz I obtained there. You can have them."

" Thanks, not unkindly-looking stone. I will take it to Mr. Pond, the analyst, and if he is not too busy making butter-boxes, he will test it for us. Good fellow, Pond, but an awful bad punster. I won't risk one of his atrocities on you without a smelling bottle. You might faint."

Our halting place was reckoned half way between Karioi and Tokaano, but the worst half was before us. Kai-Ruma had done very well so far, and was good enough for the entire distance, but McDonald having very generously placed his spare horse at my disposal for the remainder of the journey, I availed myself of the favour, and transferred myself to " Tommy," and KaiRuma pikaued the swag. Clayton gave the call, " boot and saddle," and away we went, McDonald in the van, then Kai-Ruma; 1' followed next on Tommy, Alf. bringing up the rear. Indian file is the order of march in this part of the country. With the exception of half a dozen deep, rough gullies, the road is a fairly good horse track. The gullies passed, the country slopes away down to the level of the lake. Sevon or eight miles from Tokaano, close on the boundary line of the Auckland and Wellington provinces, Clayton turns up to his brother's camp by Rotoaira. We parted company with some regret, but hoped to have the pleasure of meeting him again soon. He promised to see Boomy at Moawhango on his way home. The road improved. McDonald put on steam and kept up a swinging trot all the way to Tokaano.