AMONG THE HILLS OF OTAGO

Otago Daily Times, Issue 21538, 9 January 1932, Page 17

AMONG THE HILLS OF OTAGO

By A Tramping Naturalist.

Written for the Otago Daily Times.

U. It is an easy four hours’ journey from the Blue Lake to the Beech Forest, in the Waikaia Valley, where live some of the finest native beech trees in Otago. Many of these magnificent trees were six or eight feet in diameter, and several were even more. We cross the Waikaia River, which is fairly high because of melting snow, and, after a short climb, arrive in the hut in which we are to spend the night. When we rest in our journey through the forest the little fantails come along and spread their pretty feathers. In our ignorance and vanity we may think that they are interested in us, but probably their real interest is in the insects that we disturb in our passage, and the wise little creatures know that, when they hear our lumbering footsteps, a plentiful food supply is to be had with i-emarkably little trouble. Spring is probably the best time to go wandering through the bush, because the trees are taking on their new foliage, and the varying shades of green, combined with sprays of starry clematis flowers, transform the forest from its usual sombre green. Even the “ lawyer ”

“ That vile twine of prickles fine Which, if you touch it, cuts and clings When ere you pass through bush and briar ” —is an object of more than ordinary beauty just now by reason of its handsome panicles of scented white flowers. As we sit on the mossy trunk of a giant beech tree, watching the Waikaia River plunge noisily over a rock to form a sparkling waterfall, we are in complete agreement with Jeffries: “Resting quietly under a tree with the scent of flowers and the odour of green buds and leaves, a ray of sunlight yonder lighting the lichon and moss on the tree trunk, a gentle air stirring the branches above, giving glimpses of fleeting clouds sailing in the ether, there comes into the mind a feeling of intense joy in the simple fact of living.’' THE SNOW POLE TRACK. We had seen the Snow Pole Track meandering over the map, and must be off to find it. It is early morning, but we have a long day ahead of us, and already a few little white native violets are awake, and looking shyly through the grass to greet the sun. After a long, steady climb up a well-graded track, we find the track we are looking for, coming along the ridges from the Umbrella Mountains, and wandering off in search of the Old Man Rock. We soon discover why the track gets its name. In all doubtful places, near bogs or at the junctions of ridges, stone cairns have been erected by the wayside, and in the centre of each was placed a long pole to guide travellers on their way when all other visible landmarks were under snow. In many places the poles have either fallen down or disappeared altogether, and where they are still considered necessary iron pipes some six' feet long have been used. The ridge we are following goes on for miles, up and down but always onward. In the wet, peaty soil the little native caltha—a dainty alpine relative of the British marsh marigold—simply covers the ground with a profusion of white starlike blossoms. This tiny plant is of great interest on account of its peculiar, heart-shaped leaves, which have the leaf bases bent back right over the top of the blade —a most curious arrangement. These plants cover areas of a yard or more in diameter, and are quite white with their numerous flowers. In the bogs and gullies the paradise ducks were busy with the housing problem, and each pair felt in duty bound to see us safely out of its territory before resuming iyork for the day. The Snow Pole Track was one of the chief highways through Central Otago in the early days. When we examine the map we find that the big curving valley on the left is called Nuggety Gully, and we fully realise that it did not get this name for nothing. The ridge we are now traversing culminates in the Old Man Range, which is between 4000 and 5000 feet high, but in spite of its height is probably the flattest ride in all this part of the country. Although it is bare and exposed, the peaty nature of the soil causes it to retain a good deal of moisture throughout the summer months, and thus this particular area is one of the richest native alpine gardens in Central Otago. Owing to the wind-swept nature of the ridge, the plants have evolved some very remarkable forms of growth, many being dwarfed to only a lew inches in height, while the leaves are all small and developed so as to give off the smallest possible amount of moisture to the searching winds. AN ALPINE GARDEN.

It is always interesting to see plants growing in the silence and beauty of their wild homes where they have grown for centuries. We collect the little mountain wildings and carry them for miles on our backs, and then by careful tending may succeed in getting them to grow in our gardens. Then one day we see them shyly rewarding us for all our trouble by producing the dainty flowers. Those who have not visited them at home often dismiss them with a careless shrug, but not so we who know something of the windy ridges and glacier-fed creeks which gave them birth. They bring back to us precious memories of holiday times spent far away. Among bare rocks where great gusts booming, Six thousand feet up, where in rough hollows lying The broody old tarns lie adrowsing and glooming.

In this wonderful alpine garden there are two interesting forms of “ Spaniard.” One, Aciphylla simplex, forms conspicuous dense yellowish brown patches from three to nine inches in diameter, and is easily identified because its leaves are simple, not divided into three leaflets, as is the case with the only other kind found in this locality. The mountain daisies are represented by many different forms. The commonest is Celmieia argentea which is just like a silvery green mossy carpet, almost hidden with multitudes of tiny daisy flowers. Another kind, C. prorepens, is one of the most conspicuous plants in the area, with wrinkled, bright green leaves quite unlike those of any other alpine plant. There are several other species, some with strap-like, other with lance-like leaves, but all with flowers showing a very close family resemblance. Several species of charming little buttercups find a tolerable living in the shelter of the rocks. The most attractive is Ranunculus novas-zealandese, which has neat trifoliate leaves and bright yellow flowers.

There are several kinds of veronica, both broad-leaved and whipcord kinds, and a very danty , creeping Ourisia (O. glandulosa) which bears crowds of flowers from creeping stems, flanked on both sides with long silky hairs. Another plant, conspicuous because of its shaggy, woolly covering, is a variety of Craspedia uniflora which has pompom-like flower heads on stiff erect stems.

STRANGE FORMS OF PLANT LIFE. Those exposed upland meadows have evolved a very distinct cushion-type of vegetation to cope with the strenuous climatic conditions. That this is so is proved by the fact that plants belonging to entirely different families, but growing side by side, hace adopted the same type of growth. This parallel evolution i s very well represented in the case of a veronica and a forget-me-not. Just imagine a forget-me-not arid a veronica both forming hard compact cushions from six to nine inches in diameter, and little more than an inch in height, with the ultimate branchlets so firmly pressed together that it is quite impossible to push the finger into the centre of the cushion. This mode of growth has proved to be of such great protective value that Veronica pulvinaris and Myosotig pulvinaris—a veronica and a forget-me-not—are so similar in external appearance, that it is extremely difficult to distinguish which is which when they are not in flower. The searching winds are unable to penetrate the cushion, and therefore flow harmlessly over it without any ill effects to the plant. I have never seen the veronica in flower, but the forget-me-not is a lovely vision when the flowers appear. The whole plant covers itself with white tubular flowers, each quite stalkless, and about a quarter of an inch in length. The stiff inert looking mass seems quite incapable of producing any flowers, and so when one actually secs its halo of snow-like blossoms which seem to mark the spot where some fairy princess has rested, we remember what W. EL Hudson has said in one of his books when writing of an apple tree in blossom: “It is like nothing on earth, unless we say that, indescribable in its loveliness, it is like

all other eights in Nature which wake in us a sense of the supernatural.” THE OLD MAN ROCK. These are only a few of the great number of plants in this wonderful alpine garden, and as we rest for a while in the shadow of the Old Man Rock, a landmark visible for miles, we try to think of the gallant company that has sheltered under it in the short but stirring history of this province. In this lonely place we rest, content for a while to watch the changing colour schemes of the setting sun on the surrounding mountains. On the left for countless miles there are ranges of enowclad peaks. On the right the mountains are parched and dry, while immediately below us is the brown valley of the Molyneux River. From this height the valley as a whole seems desolate, hut here and there are marks, the green of orchard and irrigated field, marks which show that slowly this quiet valley is being won for the use of man. By and by these marks will spread, and some day the whole valley will become a smiling, fertile land. While we have been examining the plant life and dreaming about the view the sun has been sinking, and warning ns that we must needs reach the lower levels before dark, and alter camping for the night, continue our journey to Clyde in the morning. When we have been away for a week, civilisation has an attraction which never fails to win ua, and so when we arrive at Clyde we hasten to take advantage of her greatest gift to the wanderers—a bathful of hot water.