ROADS OF THE WEST

Otago Witness, Issue 3336, 20 February 1918, Page 7

ROADS OF THE WEST

THROUGH HISTORIC LINDIS, SIGNS OF OLD-TIME ACTIVITY. Bx Will Lawson. The road from Benraore Station to Oinanma, on tho through route from Fairhe to Queenstown, is well made and metalled. But these qualities desert the through road at Omarama; they wheel away to the left, to Kurow. Between Kurow and Bcnmoro for many years there . has been a heavy traffic, in store 3 and such things, in one direction, and in wool and other products in tho opposite direction, for Bcnmoro was a station of nearly half a million acres. Like most of tho Central Otago stations, it has now been cut up, and the traffic on that road has increased, so that it needs to be a good road. In spite of tho loss of stamina referred to, tho road from Omarama to tho Lindis is not a bad road in summer; and even in winter, when tho weather is dry. Those who use it will explain that it lias no life in places; that is, it offers no spring or givo to the wheels. It is hard and lifeless. Still, the 50 horse-power service cars push on just the same, heedless of the extra load' which is put upon them at Omarama. The mail oar from Kurow to Benmore brings mails, passengers, and goods for ports of call, right through to tho Lindis. And while the passengers have lunch at tho hotel, these extra trifles—there arc no packages that are individually large—are assimilated into the contours of the car. That is where the art of the driver is exercised. Tho boot, at the rear of tho car, is soon filled, and strapped up tightly tc a smooth and orderly neatness. A couple of sacks, filled with lesser parcels, recline securelv, partly on the front mudguards, partly "against the car body. On tho side step, or running board, small boxes rest, well lashed on. And upon them agaui stand spare tyres, with their tops tied to tho car. The mail bags hang from a hook, bandy to tho driver's hand, and in a bag near him are the wrapped newspapers that are to be thrown off at a score of places on tho run. Tho mail bags are usually disposed of without the driver leaving his seat. The car is deftly driven close up to a post outside the farmer's gate, on which is a hook for the bag to hang on till called for. It is a singular thing that much of the loading of the car from Omarama was bread and butter. Some of this would travel 65 miles between its making and its consumption. When ono frequently has condensed milk on the journey, the deduction is that cows are rare animals in Central Otago. And the deduction is correct. While the stock that is turned loose on the runs can find feed and shelter in the winter, the domestio cow would havo to be housed and hand-fed, and, excepting here and there, the new settlers do not 'bother with her. Later on, when shelter trees have grown, and the growing of winter feed is extended, there will not be so much butter and milk carried on the service cars. With the departure from Omarama, the interest in these domestio affaire of the west wane, overwhelmed on the wider, deeper interests of tbe road. We have a long and a hard run ahead of us, the driver informs us, but ho also promises to show .us some wild deer in tho Lindis Valley. For tho present we follow the Ahuriri. Across the river it is still Benmore land that we see. Tho old station spread over many a mile of territory. Past a barking- boundary dog tho service oar races. These open gates, with a lonely dog as warden to head stock back to their own runs, are relics of semi-barbaric days. In soma places the generations of chained dogs have worn the earth down to the depth of about eighteen inches as tbe animals barked and ran in a circle at the limit allowed by their chain. There are still a few of them left in Central Otago, but they are gradually going. The hills along the Ahuriri aro high. On our left they slope easily. But across tho river there are bluffs and cliffs. At one of these bluffs there wore some wonderful rock pinnacles, resembling the stalagmites of Waitomo Caves. Pink and grey, they stand out, several hundred feet high, and make an arresting sight for tho eye, in a landscape of rolling hills and regular slopes. For miles wo follow Ahuriri, calling here, throwing off a paper there, pausing to unload a box or bag. The farm people who come to tho car look with quiet interest at the travellers through their' country, as they discuss matters of the road with the driver. He can tell them news of a district ono hundred miles from end to end—not all the news, for it would take too long; but ho satisfies their thirst for knowledge on specified matters ere he starts his engine up again and glides away. People who say they preferred the old coach as a means of seeing country, because they did not rush through at high speed, do not know the service cars on this road. There is no loitering, but there are frequent pauses, and the drivers will always halt at. the wish of a passenger and allow time to take photographs. The wholo atmosphere is one of aloofness from the world. There are no trains to catch, nothing to' worry about at all. Tho way at last turns to the left. There is a road going straight on. tho road to Ben Avon and Birchwood lands. But our wav turns off past green waving crops, with Dalrachney Station on the left. Wo aro running duo west, and the sun, beginning to sink from the high heavens, is hot in tho valley of tho Lindis. Wo have left the breeze behind, and it will be a long, steady pull up to Lindis Saddle, which divides the valley from tho Lindis Gorge,

and is 3000 ft above tho sea. _ The road is sometimes a road and sometimes a track, but wo make good time, with tho driver keeping an eye out for deer. Our untrained eyes soon weary of searching tho hills, but his do not. But wo found no deer in that valley, only a. puncture. It cams stealthily, without any shattering bang. "Is the front tyro on your side flat?" the driver asked. Reluctantly, we said it was. "I thought so, by the- way sho wouldn't steer. As" if it wasn't hot enough." So wo stopped, and found there was a broezo following us lazily up the valley, too lazy to pursue us. When we halted it fanned our hot faces, and made the driver's task less arduous than he expected. It took him exactly twenty minutes to jack up tho oar get the tyre off, out a new tube in, and pump it' up. Then he refdled the radiator, in which tho water was nearly boiling. Another long_ look round for deer, and away wc went again, on tho steady slog to Lindis Saddle over a road that had no kick in it. But the eunshino had, and

tho skies were blue and tho hills golden, and there wore alwaja deer —to be looked for. Here and thcro wo paused and delivered mail and freight at places where no houses or huts were visible. Men with pack horses were waiting patiently at tho roadside for us. "What went wrong?'' one of them asked. '•' Heard you long ago." They don't miss much, these back countrymen. He was sorry about tho puncture and about our not having eccn any deer. " Saw a herd early this morning, about two miles up. Keep your eyes skinned and you might see them." Tho last couple of _ miles to the crest of Lindis Saddle are stiff pulling on tho low gear. It is only an earth road hero. In wet weather the cars waltz and mazurka on tho slippery surface. But tho struggle to the top is more than justified by tho wonderful view we havo when we stop and look back. Such a panorama of smooth hills nnd twisting gullies: It looks as though at somo timo long past, tho wholo of the country was poured out of a A'ast cauldron and that it flowed in those _ shapes and shadows below us, and solidified ere the mass could settle down to a level again. The sun in the west helped to make our vow of Lindis Valley, from Lindis Saddle, ono to bo carried away in our hearts and minds and remembered throughout our lives. And it was all the more memorable by the fact that, as we turned away, the car dipped into the Lindis Gorge, as wild and uncharitable-looking a_ place as one could picture. Grand and picturesque, without a doubt, and filled with historic signs of human activities. But it took a little time, all the same, to refocus our eyes, after tho quiet beauty of tho valley below the saddle.

The Lindis. —Jn years gone by, what a meaning the words had. They meant gold and swarming industry. Miners everywhere, using Nature's force to their own ends, her stones to build their houses. They shifted her river from its bed and ransacked that bed for gold. To-day, amid the wild hills, the ruins of the old stone huts are seen, and the water-races along the hillsides, that brought the water for miles, and the heaps of stones and half-filled holes where eager miners dug for the yellow metal. There are a ferw farms in the lower part of Lindi 3 GorgeThere is green bush on the yellow hills in places, a few places, but it gives a softening effect._ And Nature has been giving an exhib'tion of her skill at sluicing. On the left hand side of the road she arranged a cloud-burst at the top of a bare crest. Judging bv appearances, it was a success. The hillside is pretty well torn away. and" the road buried. For quite a distance the debris of rocks and sand lie in the channels made by the pouring water. Beyond the Blue Slip, as Nature's masterpiece is called, the road winds prettily along the Lindis River r" leading on to the Morven Hills Station. Here the hands of the early settlers have blessed the land for all time. For they planted trees, English trees which can stand the rigours of Central Ota go winters. Poplars and willows ape here shadowing pleasant fords. It was when the" car had passed this beauty spot and the valley widens out in terraces we saw a dozen deer on a ridge close at hand, real wild deer. Yet they stood and watched the car as calmly as doers in a zoo. The hills towered above the low ridge on which they stood and*it was hard to distinguish them against the earthy colour that forms a background. But the driver saw them and stopped the car. Even so, they still did not move, hot till a passenger stepped out to try to get a photograph of them. Then a stag sounded a warning and the queer cough of a hind told that all are alert. And they, trot along the ridge and up, up, up towards the heights they love. For the first time, %ve forded the deep stream of the Lindis at a narrow gorge where there is a fine view to be had, looking back'. Thero is a bridge for short care, but ours was not short, so wo rocked into the stream, in a swirl of foam, and pulled out easily, on to a road which winds with the river between steep hills. Three times we forded the Lindis. And wo noticed in the stream what look like rock islands, in a. botanical gardens lake. On these islands healthy willows grow. They were made by the diggers, not with an eye to beauty, but as part of the cess of "wing-damming" the Lindis. First one side and then the other side of the river was dammed dry—both adjectivoly and verbally—and when the dry bed had been sifted over for gold,_ tho river was put back into it, where it sings and croons to the willows.to this day. Water races and prospect holes arc still very much in evidence, but where are the man who made them? And who used to make tho Lindis Hotel, a few miles further on, a lively spot in a lonely land? We stopped at the Lindis Hotel for the night. It is the half-way house. It is a quaint, old place, with a now bedroom section, and the traveller sleeps soundly, for there is no sound at all, save the songs of tho winds and the river.