OUR HOMELAND.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVII, Issue 20508, 8 March 1930, Page 4 (Supplement)

OUR HOMELAND.

BT ELS IB K. UOETON.

LAND OF THE NOR'-WEST ARCH

INTO THE MACKENZIE COUNTRY.

" Where are we bound for now?" asked Pat, as Akaroa and tho Port Hills were left behind, and the spires and lofty buildings of Christchurch came into view. " We are on our way to Mount Cook," said the guide. "Hurrah! Now we shall see snow!" cried Pixie. " Yes, you will see snow all right, tons and tons of it!" "Real snow? The kind you make into snowballs and have a fight with?" inquired Pat, anxiously. " I don't mean tho stuff away up there on the mountain tops!" " Yes, if you're lucky you will seo some of the real stuff, although, of course, winter is the best time for the heavy falls," Once again the piano bended out across the fertile Canterbury Plains, gold and green, marked with dail. iines of pine trees, elms, poplars and other English trees, with here and there dark chocolate-coloured squares, like tho markings on a draught board, showing where the farm lands had lately been ploughed. In the west rose the wall of the Alps, a blue and silver barrier towering aloft in a line of shining peaks and lofty crests against the beauty of a perfect " nor'-west arch." Pixie and Pat had never heard of this phenomena of Canterbury skies, and listened with deep interest to the guide as he explained how certain atmospheric conditions frequently form in the sky, directly over the Alpine heights, a beautiful and peculiar golden-green glow, over which is drawn a long, high arch of clouds. Sometimes tho arch is blue and silver, sometimes golden green, even when tho rest of the sky is blue, and sometimes on a grey, cloudy day the nor'-west arch gives the appearance of a golden sunset that lasts throughout the day. Through the verdant leagues of the plains trailed the slender silver thread of several rivers, the Rakaia and the Rangitata, with the water winding its way in gloaming channels through vast grey beds of shingle. Tho guide pointed out to the children the longest wooden bridge in New Zealand, running a full mile over the bed of the Rakaia. Tho little township of Fairlie came into view 40 miles south of Christchurch; then the plains were left behind, and the voyagers were flying over Burke's Pass and into tho tussock wastes and,deso!ate reaches of the Mackenzie Country. Wild and gloomy was the outlook now, tho treeless, barren plains beneath, a dark circling wall of mountains ahead. Flocks of sheep could be seen moving about the wide expanse boneath, and here and thsre tho desolation was broken by groves of trees sheltering some isolated homestead. "How can anybody live in such a barren place ?" asked Pixie. "They must have a very hard time making any kind of a living." " Yes, you would think so, but do you know the Mackenzie Country is one of the most celebrated sheep-grazing districts in all New Zealand ? It has quite a romantic history, for all its barren appearance. Many years ago, when pioneer settlement had advanced no farther than the inner rim of the Canterbury Plains, a roving Highland shepherd named Jock McKenzie discovered this great plateau, lying between Burke's Pass and the foot of the Alps. Ho is said ,to have been the first white to set foot in this desolate country. Ho adopted rather unconventional methods of his discovery to practical use, for ho stole a mob of sheep from one of the stations on the Canterbury Plains and drove them into the Mackenzie Country. He was tracked down and sent to prison. He was a lonely, dour' man, and the creature he loved most on earth was his dog, which remained with him all the timo he was in prison, and pined away and died when he was at length released and sent away to Australia."