THE WINDY HEIGHTS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXV, Issue 20058, 22 September 1928, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE WINDY HEIGHTS.

ON THE ROOF OF WELLINGTON BY ELSIE K. MORTON. Far away in tho vast white silence of Antarctica, a little breczo came scurrying down from tho awcuome heights of IMb. Erobus. It ran races with tho clouds over a thousand miles of glistening snowfields, playing hide and seek round the South Pole, in and out tho icebergs, grew strong and robust, then skipped gaily over tho Circle, and came romping straight up over empty leagues of ocean to tho top of the Karori Hills, llero it stayed for a week, trying to blow tho roof off Wellington. Here, it found me, in tlio course of an early spring sojourn, 011 tho hilltop, and drove me, shuddering, into the depths of every warm mid-winter garment I could lay hands 011. Such a wind Auckland has never known. Gales, wo know, roaring visitants of the Equinox, that blow tho waters of the Waitemata into swift, sudden fury, gales that wrench bricks off chimneys and send rain driving in through window cracks, but never tho bone-searching, storm-driven father-of-alt-gales that a brief week or two ago hustled sweet young spring from the Wellington hilltops, and took possession of the Karori heights like a ramping bailiff come to turn the family out of house and home! On the Hilltop. All one morning 1 sat in my lookout 011 tho hilltop arid watched the battlo of storm and sunshine, saw tho grey rain sweeping in wide swathes, liko ghostly, flying witches, across tho barren hillsides, listened to the wind as it thundered and roared like the trampling surf 011 Tasman beaches, crashing 111 great, eddying waves of tumult. Then it changed its tune, took on a vicious, shrill note, came in sudden rush round tho sido of tho house snarled, whined, and yaowled like cats fighting. . . Oh, yes; they get all tho winds of heaven high up on the roof of Wellington! Out in tho garden the poo.' little daffodils and freesias lay bewildered, beaten flat on tho ground, seeming to say: " Whatever kind of a world is this I havo been born into'! I want to go back into the dark, quiet warmth underneath, please!" Some little trees we had planted were blown almost out of the ground, and the wind screamed and tugged at the break-wind fence of broom, as though trying to tear tho heart out of a mortal enemy. Everything was moving, tho world was filled with flying shadows, gleams of sunshine and drifting rain. Great white cloud-galleons went tearing across the broken seas of the sky, the telephone wires quivered and thrummed like shrill harps, the grass was a flowing river, and the stiff, golden arms of the gorse were flinging wildly like an army of green and gold warriors fighting niadlv. rushing up and down tho hillsides, and shouting defiance from the heights. Even the little lark that had braved the gale tho day before was snug in his nest this wild morning; his voice had come floating down, piercing sweet and confident, a tiny paean of praise from a stout heart that never doubted sun shine and warmth lay somewhere hiddeD beneath dark clouds and bitter blast. . . . Suddenly a magpie swooped down on a little hillock quite close, a smart fellow indeed in his glossy black and white. Tho wind caught him, blew all his feathers 011 end, almost knocked him off his feet; for a moment ho tried to riso against the galo, but it blew him back, and ho disappeared, distinctly ruffled, into the gorse again. And then there was a lull, and in a moment there was my brave lark, a little dark shape high up against a patch of blue, singing once more as if his tiny heart were breaking for joy! Oh, tho bravery, the joy of the little dear, winging it away up there over my head, dipping and soaring, all alone, defiant of the fury of the gale! In the Teeth of the Storm. If a frail little bird can brave the elements, surely 1 can follow! So out and over tlio lulls I wander, muffled up to the ears .and eyes, with wind and rain 'beating on me, tlio sodden grass squelchnig beneath my feet. It is good, very good, to bo out on the wind-swept Heights to feel the lash and sting of tlio rain beating 011 youi faco like little whips, to breast tho gale, and mount the hilltop! So little of the primitive there is left in life for us now, so many rough places made smooth, that wind and rain and tho struggle to the stormy heights bring fresh vigour to tho pulse, and strength comes where before there was only weakness. . . Out to the end of the track by the reservoir, and joy of one of the most magnificent views all this city of glorious and inspiring views! Far beyond tho frowning hills, and the last outposts of the city is tlio gleam of Cook Strait, a silver lance thrust between tho lowering clouds and the bold outline of Wellington Heads. Beneath Pencarrow the water is all stormy and broken; even at this distance I can sec tho white, wild horses romping in with streaming manes, flinging themselves 011 the dark rocks in smother of spray. Over the rising hills of tho foreground, lit by a flying gleam of sunshine, are Evans' Bay and Miramar, narrow jewelstrips of blue, piercing the greys and browns of tho landscape. And across the harbour are the hills, the stark, majestic heights that are the gloiy of Wellington. Range upon range, crest upon crest, they mount the sky, first the bush-crowned hillsides of Day's Bay, then tho Wainui heights, dimly golden 111 their spring mantle, then the rugged grandeur of the Orongorongo Ranges, broken by deep ravines and precipices that glow in savage, unearthly beauty beneath the setting sun. And, back of all, the snow-crested ridges and peaks of the Tararuas and Rimutakas. Hero is a breath-taking beauty, a strength and grandeur, that sets Wellington apart from all other cities of New Zealand. For this view alone it is worth while breasting the coldest, hardest gale that ever blew out of Antarctica! Beneath the Pines. Down the track a little further, and into the shelter of the pine plantation of the watershed reserve. On the Karon liills the pines stand in sombre, silent legions, not marching, as pines so often march, but encamped in one vast, dark army, rising in serried lines from valley to hilltop. . ..... Here, beneath tho pines, in a little mixed plantation of exotics and native forest, is deep tranquility and respite from the gale. The euealypls toss and creak in alarm, but the staunch old pines just bend their heads, shako U>o gold dust from their tassels, and rock with secret laughter. As though any passing upstart of a gale could disturb their immemorial calm! Who, liko the pine, has known the fury of the tempest, tho uttermost cold of the bleak north lands Who has learned better to stand straight and tall and unafraid, each stately tree pressing closo to his brother, so ia the little children of the forest may find shelter beneath their outstretched arms 80 rangiora just turns her si ver-backed leaves to the wind, and whispers to slender, black-stemmed kawakawa not to be afraid. Five-leafed panax and the little ngaios shiver and draw closer together, for they are young and tender, and they aro a little fearful of what is going on overhead; but tho pines rustle and murmur reassuringly. . , . A delicious, drowsy warmth is 111 tlio air, a pungent fragrance wafts down from the rain-drenched trees. Mv feet sink in a bed of pine-needles, brown and deep and soft. . . Let-the winds blow and the hilltops quiver—here shall I he a while in sweet content and meditation, at one with the little children of the forest, kneeling humbly at the feet of the Vtisc old pines. . «