FAR FROM THE BUSY HAUNTS OF MEN.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1618, 4 March 1903, Page 28

FAR FROM THE BUSY HAUNTS OF MEN.

(By “Dunboy.”)

No. I,

ON THE WANGANUI RIVER.

I have just returned from a glorious holiday trip, having had a three days’ excursion on the Wanganui river. Basking in brignu summer sunshine, revelling in the enjoyment of the most delightful scenery away from the care of business, far from the hum of city life, for three whole days I have wandered, “the world forgetting, by the world forgot/'’ The lower reaches, with their neat farms and cozy homesteads, with their grazing herds and interesting native settlements, have all been passed in review; the upper reaches, with all their added beauties, have greeted and gladdened my soul. During those three days amid scenes of surpassing loveliness, I have been gliding for miles over deep, still pools, or have been piloted with consummate skill over. seething, swirling rapids, until a feeling of compunction steals upon me—a. feeling that in this rare feast provided for my delectation there has been a wanton extravagance of good things, without the least touch of economy. There was quite enough in that bill of fare to have furnished feasts for an ordinary life-time-. “Ah !” you say.; “just tell us all about it, old fellow. Give us the whole thing in a nutshell. Bet us have a complete and graphic account of this much-lauded river scenery/’

That, my friend, I shall not even attempt in these lines, for the scenery of the Wanganui river is indescribable. The object of these letters- is simply to awaken public interest in the show places of th e colony, and to emphasise the importance and the possibilities of the tourist traffic. The ablest descriptive writer can give but a feeble idea- of the beauty and grandeur of our scenery, whilst the very best paintings and photographs are but shadows in miniature of those- rare gems of natural beauty with which this land is richly studded. Still, no one should be debarred from expressing an opinion on the places he visits, and that I may not be considered altogether a novice on the subject of New Zealand scenery, and that my opinions in these letters may carry some little weight, permit me to say that the Hot Bakes of the- North, and the Cold Bakes of the South; the West Coast Sounds and the Marlborough Sounds; Otira Gorge and the Duller Gorge have all in their turn helped to lure me away into- the wilderness. That new and fascinating resort, Bake Waikaremoana, and the almost unknown Tangarahau Gorge, on the Ohura Hoad; Ben Lomond, Mount Egmont and the Southern Alps—these and a thousand less known tmt not less interesting beauty spots have drawn me with an irresistible attraction within the enchanted zone of their inspiring influence. Years ago I travelled up the. Wanganui river as far as Pipiriki, and now I have seen the upper reaches, and though it. is impossible to compare things that are by no means comparable. I have no- hesitation in placing this river IN THE VERY FRONT RANK OE TOURIST RESORTS.

The fault that I have to find with descriptions which one usually gets of the Wanganui river is not that it is overpainted, but that it is painted in wrong colours, and even that the picture presented is altogether misleading. Those who want the grand and truly magnificent —the frowning bluff and snow-capped height—must seek the Southern Alps. On the Wanganui river nothing frowns, nothing fills you with awe. Everything smiles upon you. There are bluffs, and hold ones; there are heights of many a hundred feet, hut they are so richly festooned with vines and drooping fern fronds, so gorgeously clothed 1 with evergreens of every shade, that the grandeur of the scene is lost. The Wanganui river reminds one of a. succession of bright, over-painted pictures, too full of detail to be analysed at a glance. Those who have seen the Remarkables rising 7000 feet almost sheer from the margin of Lake Wakatipu, or have stood on the Crown Ranges and gazed into the hazy depths of Kawarra Gorge; those who have formed their idea of scenery from the clond-piercing Mitre Peak or the sombre steel-grey of the storm-fed Rolleston glacier will find the Manawatu river tame and domestic, but its tameness is attractive and its domesticity is, indeed, its rarest charm. I was told that the river passed through a narrow channel, the sides of which rose perpendicularly like walls for hundreds of feet. The picture was not altogether realised, but another picture—many another picture—was suhstitued in this marvellous kineon atograph of Nature. "THE STEAMER STARTS AT 7 O'CLOCK. SHARP,"

was the decisive announcement of Air Hatriek xvhen on the previous day I called at the ofriceyfor a ticket and information as to t-he- trip; at 7 o’clock, sharp, xve did start, ancl I looked upon this as the first good omen of the excursion. W 7 hen xx T e cast off from the xvharf, I counted fortyfive passengers standing about the deck The Wairere (“Rapid-Water’’) under the able management of Captain Stewart carried us inland. As xve steamed under the railway bridge, a heavily-laden train passed oxei us, the passengers of both train and steam-boat exchanging friendly greetings. I learned later on that our passenger list indicated travellers from many lands. England. Germany. America and Austi alia x\ e-re all represented The far North and South of our oxvn colony also contributed tlieir quota The only considerable Nexv Zealand town not represented xvas Wanganui. The Wanganui people, as a community, have not yet realised the importance of their natural resources nor of the golden stream xvhich is beginning to floxv into their midst. It is perhaps the inherent fault of a pioneer community that they are attracted by only the simple solids and fluids of com-

merce. To them art and literature, and the idyllic beauty of river, lake and foxiest are but a chimera. It must be butter if it is not milk, or it must be wool if not meat or minerals. If a. thing has no weight or solidity or market value, it is not appreciated. That which can be sold by the pound, or by the bushel, is. alone valued by most of our fellow-colouists. To such practical people let me state

THE MARKET VALUE OE A TOURIST. Most of our tourists come from afar; hence the money they spend on our shores may be prized as “foreign capital/’ The first evening I sat down to dinner at Pikiriki House there were 74 guests at the various tables. This was only one of a hundred, and by no means the best known of our tourist resorts. Every year thousands of tourists seek out the scenery of our colony. With judicious management, in the near future, we shall mimber them by tens of thousands. Eew over-sea tou-rists spend less than <£so in the colony; many of them spend over .£IOO. This does not count the- fare to and from New Zealand paid to a local shipping company. Butter may go up, or butter may go down; wool may slump and the frozen meat trade may have a chill: but only our own folly can stem the tide of prosperity that bears the tourist to our shores. One transcendant act of folly is now in full swing, and is doing much to mar the prospects of this golden harvest. I refer to the folly which says that once the tourist enters the pale of some unknown Maori hapu he is denied a glass of wine, whisky or beer. To the ordinary city man this means the withdrawal of an every-day necessary. I-tried in vain to explain the laws and customs of the colony to an English gentleman on the boat. He could not grasp the import of things. He had not heard of Mr Tzitt; he had only the vaguest knowledge- of Mr Seddon. “Why,” he said, “the other morning we left Taupo by a very early steamer to- cross the lake. The water was so rough that many were sea-sick. At Toka-anu we were hurried into a coach, and by niglit-time had travelled 40 miles -through driving showers of rain. I was in an open vehicle, and got wet to the skin. We were most kindly treated by the Messrs Peters Bros., at Waihora, but thirty-nine of us had arrived together, and there was insufficient accommodation. I had to lie on the floor. Under these circumstances- spirits of some kind are a necessity; at any rate, to those accustomed to them. Why are we to be denied their use? How can you expect us to send our friend along the same route to encounter such discomfort as this? One of our party liak got a severe- chill. He is really very ill, and still even at this well-appointed hostelry he has been told that no spirits are- obtainable. The thing is monstrous!” To return to my friend. THE WANGANUI MAN, I have often spoken to him about his river scenery, and each time he has assured me that one day—some day—God alone knows what day—he intended to go and see it. He asks with some indifference whether it’s all it’s cracked up to be, and he ventures an opinion (with a yawn) that the trip must be a trifle monotonous. Well, let him take along a sensational novel, a pack of cards, a sleeping draught—anything, in one word, that will form a counter-irritant to the ennui of the journey—but, for heaven’s sake, let him take tire trip and thereby remove the odium that would attach, to one xvho, ever standing at the gates of Elysium, would not raise to his fevered lips th© nepenthe of endless enchantment. Speaking of nepenthe, whisky and other refreshment reminds me of the fact that YOU CAN GET BREAKFAST ON BOARD THE BOATS.

thus obxflating the unpleasantness of rising an/ breakfasting at the hotel at an unconscio- ly early hour. Let me accentuate this bit of information by saying that meals on the loxver reaches are really all that could be desired, and also that for the first thirty miles of the journey there is no phenomenal scenery. About seven miles up the xvilioxv fringed river you reach Upokognaro. Here the river is crossed by a pontoon, ferry, the xvire rope of xvhich is loxvered into the xvater to alloxv us to pass. As xve draxv only 27 inches of xvater, this is an easy task. Here, also, there come abroad a party of natives, one of whom xvas a time-worn warrior of historic renoxvn —Alajor Topia Turoa. Slowly, falteringly, the ancient rangitira came along the plank that had been throxvn ashore. He xvas dressed in a xvell-cut suit of European clothing, and in liis hand he carried a stick, which xvas by no means a trophy of Alaori xvorkmanship. Having taken a loxv seat “axvay forrard,” he at once, appeared to lose what little interest he had for a moment evinced in things mundane. His shoulders bent painfully forward, his resting on his breast, his eyes gazing fixedly on space, as if xvatching the unfolding portals of Futurity from xvhich the lialfdreaded, half-xvelcome summons comes to the relief of frail humanity tottering on toxvards the end of the journey. There was dignity in his bearing, nobility in his handsome features. He is of a type noxv almost extinct among his countrymen. “Topia, a noted xvarrior,” said a bystander. “In the early days he bravely held his pah up the river against xvkites and friendly natives. Then, xvlieai all hope had fled, he hoisted the white flag, and entered into air alliance xvith his conquerors. In fulfilment of this compact he at a later period fought as a friendly chief, and saved the situation for us. Went Home and xvas presented to the Queen. The Queen presented him with a rifle/’ Thus the brief,, perhaps erratic, history of the old warrior. As evening xvas closing in xve'saw poor old Topia toiling, oh! so sloxvly, up to'’the pah at Pipiriki. At times lie sank' quite exhausted by the xvay side, then rose again and struggled feebly forward. Two Alaori damsels stopped to salute him according to native custom, and the courteous old gentleman removed his hat xvith great dignity xvkilst rubbing noses with the ladies. As the hills close in on the river you pass through some miles of sheep country, xvith here and there an inviting spot for picnic and camping parties. Soon, however, all vestige of European settlement ceases and

ONLY THIS MAORI HOLDS SWAY, lie is not the brightest, the most intelligent or the most industrious specimen of his race, is the up-river Maori. He lacks the spirit of industry, too. Like the Wanganui man, lie does not realise what a mine of xvealth those river beats place xvitkin his reach. The tourist is generally a man of means, xvhose habit it is to carry aivay from each country a few souvenirs of his visit. Alaori curios Avould sell in thousands, but the lethargic creatures have not the energy to produce them. A fexv tail feathers of the bird-of-passage at Is each, a fexv small kits at 4s 6d made from the bark of tlie lacexvood tree, and half-a-dozen kits at 15s into which had been sparingly inserted a ieAV kixvi .feathers, formed the stock-in-trade of the curio, dealers ox*er the eighty miles of river xvhich xve traA r ersed. The natives did not care to come doxvn to the foreshore, even xvhen xx r e had to moor alongside and land their goods; and on the return journey, when for half-an-hour the boat hands Aver© shipping their season's clip of xx r ool, those xvily aborigines stopped earefulty aAvay at the top of the cliff, evincing not the slightest interest in the white man’s thoughtless toil. Under spreading trees or shelter of any kind, they squatted, far away from the riverside ; or if the forest intervened they sought the top of a ladder, or some point of a- antage from Avhich to xvateh us with ease and becoming dignity. Once xve saxv a canoe up-stream propelled rapidly to an opposite shore by txvo brightly bedizened xvornen. We thought they were seeking safety from the onrush of the Wairere, but they had to await delivery of some flour, and xvere hastening to the friendly shelter of a willoxv tree, that the pakeha might not feast his eyes upon their beauty. Behind this screen they cautiously -xvatehed us xvhile the bags were being cast ashore, when once more xvell on our xvay xx r e saxv these Niads.of the Riverland steal coyly from their hid-ing-place. Each shouldered a bag of flour and plunged into- the xvelcome shelter of the forest. It has, perhaps, daxvned upon these ladies that it is no longer the fashion to be looked upon as a child of Nature. Of those xvho come to tire riverside. most are happy, interesting, bigeyed children, and this suggests my secone ay or cl of ad a- ice to the travel! er up-river-—take a supply of sweets for the Alaori children. I might also add—and cigarettes for the-Alaori xvornen; but abox r e all, do not forget a few plugs of highlyseasoned tobacco for the old tattooed Alaori gentleman xvh o with so much suavity bids you ancient xvelco-me to his pall. At the txvo pahs at xvhieh xve landed . these things xvculcl hax-e been most ac*ceptable. A stalxvart Alaori at one landing xvas taking delix r ery of liis goods. Bags of flour and sugar xvere being throxvn to him, and these after their aerial flight he caught xvith perfect ease. A little Alaori boy of about seven, summers bad come doxvn tc lend a hand, leaving thirty or forty -of his kinsmen squatted in front of the xvliares. The young Trojan tackled a bag of sugar, but it xvas too- much for him. Again and again he got it on his little back and struggled on to his knees, only to- roll over ignominiously in the sands. Still, he per?ex r ered. encouraged probably by the fact that full forty pakehas xvere cheering bis efforts. At last a mighty effort sent boy and bag rolling almost into the river. Then a sympathetic lady threw him an orange. Hoxv eagerly the little- codger seized the prize! His- face was agloxv. his eyes dilated in admiration, but, just then, came a mandate of Alaori nature xvhich says, “The food of hospitality shall not be dexmured too ea.grly.” It is a native custom that the guest, hoxv ever hungry, shall not partake at once of proffered food, and so the little athlete resolutely put behind him. xvell out of sight, the hand which held that orange. A few miles before xve reached Pipiriki the monotony of incidents was interrupted by AN EVENT OE PATHETIC INTEREST. We had entered the- Enchanted Land. The river was occasionally broken by rushing rapids, over xvhich xve were drawn by a donkey engine and steel rope. Groves of fern trees receding back on the gentle slopes as far as the eye could distinguish the foliage, forest trees, creepers and the endless variety of shrubs had daxvned upon our vision. Then xve swept around a curve of the river, and the picturesque settlement of Jerusalem came in viexv. A pretty little church, xxntli a tall, graceful spire, lent an old-world colouring to the picture. There xvas more cultivation on the surrounding slopes and a greater appearance of comfort than we had hitherto noted among these native settlements. We had reached a plaice xvhich for many a long year had been famous as tbe home of that heroic woman, Mother Mary Aubert. To educate;'and Christianise the children, of the forest, to teach them the arts of civilisation: and even to minister to them in the hour of sickness, had been the labour of love for which this high-born French lady had banished herself into the wilderness. Here, also, as years glided by, the motherly heart of the good, sister was moved xvith tenderest compassion for the helpless orphan, the waif and the strays of our large cities, and for these a home xvas provided id picturesque Jerusalem. They were provided with a home and a sound education

at the hands of the good sisters xvho had flocked in to help Aiother Mary, and in the fields and gardens and the dailies of the establishment they found healthy occupation. We ran alongside at Jerusalem, but I xvas surprised to note that neither goods nor passengers xvere landed. The object of our xflsit, koxvex'er, scon became apparent. The plauk xvas passed, ashore ancl a. man posted at either end; then txvo little xvlxite girls xvho had been axvaiting our arrix’al xvere helped aboard. Each little dot carried a hamper of xvild cherries, made up in sixpenny parcels. One of the fair vendors was a pretty xvhite-haired child of not more than five or six years of age, but both she and her companion xvere most active in climbing aboard tab vessel. The passengers needed no pressing. The little girls soon had their chubby hands filled with coins and xvere xvending their xvay up the river bank, quite oblivious of the pathetic interest they had axvakened. On tbe return journey only one little girl—a stranger to us—came aboard, and though the skipper xvas in a desperate hurry, he alloxved her ample time to dispose of her fruit. This concession to the struggling orphanage speaks eloquently of Mr Hatrick’s kindness. Those cherries xvere xvelcome in the heat of tbe summer sun, but tbe bright little glimpse of orphan life in this far-away beautiful home xvill live on for many a day among the treasured memories of the writer. Tbe lower reaches cf the river are tbe best for studying those interesting phenomena knoxvn ns THE DOUBLE REFLECTIONS, to xvhich the attention of newspaper readers has of late been drawn. I found that the loxver the banks the more faithful xvas this second reflection, for the simple reason that very high banks cast a. shadow which leave no room for its replica. It is only in still pools xvhere fhere. is no ripple on the surface that these spirits of the deep re\ r eal them selves. The cause is simply explained. The boat’s displacement of the still xvaters sends a succession of rolling xvax-elets hurrying toxvards th© shores. As these curve a xvay from you they act as mirrors, and reproduce the reflections that lie sliorexvard—a \-eritable shadow of sliadoxvland. As reflections a trick of inverting the picture, so these second reflections restore the scenerv to its natural position. The result is that one can see far axvax T doxvn in mysterious depths a most enchanting but ever-changing picture of the shores, and distant hills richly clothed in garb of shrub and tree and fern fraud, all bathed in a glorious light, which suggests that sun and moon and every heavenly constellation had conspired to illumine this fleeting glimpse cf Fairy Band. As the wavelet nears the shore the txvo shadows blend, the tree-tops of each reflection dissolving into tbe other. .A? the steamer surges heedlessly forward,, these beautiful images five scattered; lost in the wake, they melt a xvay like the da.ydreams of our Boyhood, c-r the ambitious aspirations of -later years.