SIX LAKES AND TIKITERE

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXV, Issue 20112, 24 November 1928, Page 1 (Supplement)

SIX LAKES AND TIKITERE

ROTORUA'S WONDERLAND.

BY ELSIE K. MORTON..

It was well worth while never having done the famous Lakes trip before, for the sako of doing it for tho first time, as wo did, in tho bright beauty of an October morning. First the placid bluo of' Lake Rotorua, and a smooth road winding round tho lake-side, with a view of Mokoia's wooded slopes and tho willows that still wavo over Hincmoa's midnight bath. Such a narrow littlo strip of water to divide the legendary lovers—a modern speed boat would cover it in a few moments and any of our Olympian lady swimmers would streak there and back before breakfast, yet what a world away was Tutanakei when dusky Hino moa, with fast-beating heart, heard from across the water the sweet, plaintivo calling of her 'over's flute. . .

Now for sound of tho fluto comes tho hoot and honk of modern Hinemoas and Tutanakeis forging down the road at forty miles an hour, hurrying to tho pictures iu Rotorua, to polar ice-creams, and tho latest iu jazz records. Thus have the dear dead days of romance given place to tho priceless, if less picturesque, benefits of modern civilisation! But not all was modern on the lakesido road that sunny Sunday morning. Presently wo came upon tho most beautiful hawthorn avenuo and hawthorn trees wo had ever seen, planted many, many years ago by missionaries of Te Ngac,< tho old-timo station by tho roadside, now a prosperous farm. Tho hawthorn was iu full bloom, so that wo passed through an aislo of white blossoming almost overpowering in its sweetness and beauty. And in the velvet-green fields beside tho tffcid were great hawthorn trees, not straggly hedge-bushes, b.ut stately trees with heavy trunks and canopy of bloom raining wliito petal-drifts on tho tall field grasses. An Uncanny Region. Presently a faint, familiar whiff of sulphur camo down to us on the morning breeze, a cloud of whito steam curled up mysteriously from a steep hillside besido* tho road. " Tikitere," said our guide, and so we ! camo to an uncanny region, to tho petrified rata-roots, older than all the Maori legends, ribbed and hard as living rock, lying there beside grey, oily pools and hot mineral stroams as they must have lain when Kupi first camo adventuring across the great soa. Iri the ground beneath, hot and porous, the guido showed us tho blackened remains of other trees, petrified remnants of an old-timo forest that once stood on tho sito of Tikitere. No doubt most of you have trodden the hot white pumice-paths between Hell's Gato and Satan's Glory, heard all. the stories of hair-raising happenings, of mudholes that burst bounds overnight and turned into boiling lakes, of lakes that blew up and turned into geysers, streams and pools tliaj. changed their levels in mysterious manner, paths that have caved m and porridgo-pots that have blown out. until you almost dread to take another step lest some awful abyss should open at your feet and swallow you up in the deepest, hottest inferno of all! But wo passed safely beneath the crumbling sulphur cliffs, and skirted the sinister black lakes and pools boiling at incredible temperatures, tne horrid oily pits of destruction, the alum and sulphur springs; wo gazed aghast at tho wicked black, bubbling pools of tho Garden of Eden —oh, grim satire!—felt the solid ground tremble beneath our feet, burned lumps of sulphur with piercing bluo flame, and snielled Sodom and Gomorrah at their worst.

Above tho hiss and roar and splutter of tho infernal regions beneath our feet ros« tho sweet song of tho lark, and on the green hills on tho other side of tho valley were browsing sheep and frisking lambs Through tho steam and heat we passed to a manuka thicket on the hillside above Tikitere, where tho narrow track was fringed with green moss and tiny pinktipped ferns, all dewy with steam, as though growing in a hothouse. Past a raupo swamp lay our track, and then we came to a steaming waterfall of greyish, heavily mineralised water, and at the top, a chain of petroleum lakes that stretched back for three miles into desolate scrub country. * A Forest Garden. Leaving Tikitere behind tho car sped up a side-road, and we "looked down upon Rotokawa, a little gem of a lake lying like a round jade mirror beneath steep, heavily-wooded cliffs. "Tho Home of tho Shag," said our guide-book and there they were, sitting 011 an overhanging pohutukawa bough, big black birds with slender necks, peering down into tho depths, poised for the arrow-swift plunge that would convert somo hapless little fish into a finny breakfast.

Down the old Whakatane coach road we passed, and to the first glimpse of Lake Rotoiti, fco blue and lovely in tho morning sunshine that it straightaway laid a spell of vvo ider and enchantment upon our hearts. Tho road mounted tho steep lake-side, mile upon milo we travelled the winding way of the forest road, with the sapphiro-bluo glint of the lako shining through the trees; wo wero in a bush garden, rewa-rewa with dark crimson spikes of bloom, panax with thick-cluster-ing black berries, delicate pink blossom of nativo fuchsia, and slender mako-mako with tho sunshine glinting through lace-edged leaves and tiny, rosepink bells. A golden kowhai flared above the blue waters of the lake, and white clusters of rangiora wafted tho sweetness of spring to us as we passed.

The beauties of the Roloiti road cannot possibly be told in one short article, tho mighty walls of grey rock rising sheer from the lake, placid Lays, whitesanded, willow-fringed shores, little native villages, groves of flowering cherry trees, fishing camps —in fill New Zealand you will find no road of more varied interest and colourful beauty, than this. Beyond Rotoili lie liotoehu, Rotonia. and tho historic forest track that once echoed to (ho thunder of marching feet and tho terriblo music of the battle chant, as old marauding Hongi and his warriors carried their great warcanoes across tho portage. Tho Road to Okataina. And last of all. the road to Okataina, last of tho Six Lakes, solitary, remote, lying at tho end of .i bush road where tho tall ferns meet overhead, and the sunbeams strike down through dim green a ikies in amber spears of light. Beyond (he rim of tho forest lay a winding way that led us through rugged bushcountry, majestic moutain sides towering a thousand feet a novo tne green valleys, lit, with (he sudden flare of crimson rata. At (ho foot of tho inoutains lies Oka taina, crystal clear, with wooded cliffs climbing twelve hundred feet into the blue sky So lovely, so unspoiled is Okataina, that ono could almost find it selfishly in one's heart to wish that this lovely lako had never been "discovered" at all. Soon it will bo a new and popular tourist resort, and holiday-makers will coino in crowds to seel; now pleasures. And when the ukuleles twang in the soft, starry darkness of night, when the ripplo of silver wavelets on tho lake-shore is lost in the shuffle of jazzing feet, tho shy little folk of tho forest will vanish into tho leafy depths, and tho dawu-soug of the tui will bo heard no more.