GOLDEN BAY

Otago Witness, Issue 3714, 19 May 1925, Page 66

GOLDEN BAY

By

Kitty Keddell.

(For the Witness.) Go to Golden Bay in any season, but, if you seek excitement and feverish gaiety, stay away, for it offers neither. Its attractions are for those who love the quiet places; the green of fields, the blue of hills in a shimmering haze, clear streams flowing over rocky beds from bush-clad heights to a serene blue sea. Go in search of sunshine and peace, with bright days and starlit nights, and these vou shall surely find, with something of leauty and interest for every moment of the gentle days. One can go by boat, within sight oi land for almost the whole distance from Wellington to Collingwood; or, leaving the boat at Port Nelson,-can travel the 86 miles to Collingwood by motor. Many people on arriving at ‘‘the Port” imagine it is necessary to go to the town itself to secure a seat in the car. It is not. Stay at the hotel on the wharf for an houT or two; have a bath, if you wish, and breakfast, telephone for your seat in the motor, and then sit on the balcony of the hotel over-looking Tasman Bay, which, blue and glittering, is yet not as blue as the hills that edge it, outlined against a sky of blue of paler tint, for the world at this morning hour is a world of blues and silver. The car going to Collingwood passes the hotel, and from the moment one is seated one is interested. For the first few miles the road follows the curve of Tasman Bay, then passes through the pretty little villages of Stoke and Richmond with tree and hedge bordered roads, large fields, and creeper-covered cottages. Field upon field one sees, of rye, barley, oats, wheat, maize, lucerne, and sweet-scented clover. The road then begins to wind further inland, taking one through the famous Moutere district. There is the tiny settlement called Upper Moutere, and that called the Lower Moutere, but Montere is the name generally given to that rich fruit-grow’ing district of rolling downs and rounded hills. For mile upon mite, almost as far as the eye can see, are row upon row of fruit trees, which stretch over the rolling country, row upon row of trees, mile after mile of rounded rolling hills. It is hard to realise that not many years ago this land bore nothing but manuka scrub; some of heavy growth, some of light. Then it was found that after the manuka had been cut and burnt the land was fairly easily brought to a state suitable for cultivation, and also presented little difficulty in being kept clean. Now the xvhole of "the Moutere district is one vast orchard, with here and there the homestead of an orchardist, and an occasional packing shed. After leaving Lower Moutere one is in the Motueka district. The cars stop at the township, and one has time for morning tea or a shoTt walk along the main street. The land, which was so peculiarly and obviously “apple” land, has now disappeared, and in the Motueka and Riwaka districts fruit of all kinds is grown, especally the smaller fruits. Hops, too, are plentiful, and a very pretty picture a hop garden makes with its tall supports wreathed by the friendly and profitable vine. Then, too, dairying is carried on, and butter is one of the chief products of this green and fertile district. It is interesting to know, too, that the Kairuru marble comes from the Riwaka district. The marble is of great beauty, and excellent quality, as our Parliamentary Buildings can show, for they have been built entirely of it. From this district the car begins to ascend. Up and up it goes on its way over the Takaka hills. Soon Golden Bay itself will be seen. Up and up—now a bush-clad gully attracts us: now, fascinated, we look back and see below mile upon mile of fruit and farm lands stretching to green hills on one side and blue sea on the other. The hills wo are ascending have in themselves little beauty. They are rough and craggy, everywhere grey-white rocks jutting from shaggy grass. The only beauties here are the tints on the hills as cloud shadows pass, or on one’s right far below, a silvery blue sheen—which is Golden Bay—seen for a moment, then gone. At last the crest is reached, and below is the Takaka Valley sweeping to the shore of the bay. How the car rushes down the bush-clad hillside, which has none of the cragginess of the other 6ide of the saddle! Plow refreshing the shade of the beeches after the glaring sunlight! In and out and round about, such steep hills, such lofty trees draped with creepers, such soft. cool, green, pendent ferns, and such birds! Always there is a fresh beauty to charm us, a fresh interest to rouse our enthusiasm however blase we may he. The valley below is reached, and for some time we go through a sheep ’and dairy farming district, in the midst of which is the tinv township of Takaka. If Takaka township with its one small main street offers little attraction, the Takaka district itself has many. There are the Rawhiti Caves (which, by the way, are privately owned); the Pupu Springs, a nuge pool of sparkling water; the pretty harbour of Waitanu, nnd the truly beautiful bench Foharo, which deserves to be fnr better known than it is. Ono ,: fcan spend a week in Takaka and not find much time hang on one’s hands. As the Rawhiti Caves are privately owned, arrangements must he made with the owner if one wishes to visit them. Visits are usually made by parties of not less than eight, but it is seldom a difficult matter to get that number. It Is not an easy matter to reach the caves, for one has to climb a hillside which is certainly steep, but the caves, and, not less, the beautiful fern-draped entrance, repay ono fully. Many visitqrs who have

visited Waitomo Caves have declared that these are almost as fine; and that what Waitomo lacks is the fairy-like entrance which Rawhiti possesses. But Poharo beach! It would be impossible to exaggerate the beauty of this delightful spot. The beach is of fine golden sand, stretching from the foot of bush-clad limestone hiils, along the side of which the road has been cut in many places through the rock. To the right of the road are the steep hills, with ferns, palms, and handsome glossy karakas—beloved of the Maori —draping their sides; and to the left, the hill, still fern-draped and karaka-shaded, drops to the smooth golden sands, sloping gently to the clear, sparkling, still waters of Golden Bay. How aptly named! The whole bay spreads before one, deep, sweeping, curve edged with row upon row of hills blue and purple in the distance, while beyond is tiie open sea stretching to a far off sharply defined horizon of softest blue. A few miles along this delightful beach is larakohe, where, in a sheltered spot among the hills, on the roadside, are the Larakohe Cement Works, and the jetty alongside which the boats are laden Standing on this jetty one can gaze through many feet of water, and stiff see the golden sands of Golden Bay. Pupu Springs, only a few miles from Takaka, are certainly not beautiful, but they are decidedly interesting. Tney are situated in the midst of a par ticularly dull little portion of the district —land that is covered with manuka scrub, drab and almost depressing. Its only beauty is to be found when the manuka dons its mantle of pinkish-white, and is softened and glorified for a short season. One’s first- glimpse of this niuch-talked-of Pupu Springs is indeed disappointing, lney appear to be a not particularly interesting shott of water, amid somewhat swampy ground. Even when one stands at the very edge of the springs one wonders just why they are so much discussed, then, when the dozen or so steps leading to the little platform from which one gazes into the spring have been ascended, when one gazes down on the springs, one understands. . . and is speechless with surprise and bewilderment. The uool is deep, the water is marvellously pure, bubbling incessantly from below, with such lurce that, it is said, nothing will sink ui the middle of the pool. One gazes down, and sees, indeed, glowing, gigantic jewels; for such is the effect caused by the depth of water, by the clear atmosphere and light above," that the rocks at the bottom of the deep, soundless, mysterious, unchanging pool seem like huge, vivid jewels, blue of sapphire, yellow "of topaz, translucent, magnetic. ‘ One is puzzled, baffled—unable to explain the charm of the springs. One can feel, but not explain; understand, but not interpret. From the pool itself flows a stream, c-ear and calm, which reminds one. of Wordsworth's “nut-brown” stream, for its clearness is a warm, glowing clearness, not tho icy, colourless clearness we see, for example, in a mountain stream. It has been calculated that the springs omit, approximately, 457,000,000 gallons a day! And, day after day, year after year, the springs bubble and gleam, beautiful, mysterious, fascinating, baffling. From the pretty harbour of Waitapu one can go by boat to Collingwood, across the bay, or continue by motor from Takaka. The road passes through some of the manuka scrub land. This is not particularly interesting, but as one ascends one has delightful glimpses of the bay. Before reaching Collingwood, the Onakaka iron works are passed. Only a few miles further on is the little township, which, once a centre of bustle and activity, is now indeed a veritable “deserted village.” But, if not busy, it is beautiful. If not teeming with activity, it is teeming with attractions. There is something decidedly picturesque about Collingwood. It is at the mouth of the Aorere River, nestling at the foot of the hills, straggling along the sandy shellstrewn shores of Golden Bay. A post office, two hotels, a garage and stables, a few shops and a few houses—that is all! Oh, there is a churcli and its accompanying vicarage among the pines on the hillside, and,_ of course, a school; but these do not obtrude themselves at first glimpse on the township, which seems to breathe a something one feels immediately—a peace, a tranquillity. It is as if, after the feverish days of the gold rush, with its mingled emotions, its hopes and its fears, the town is glad to be at peace—glad to spend its days in memories of its stirring past, contentment with its uneventful present, faith in its apparently placid future. On one side of the town is the gentlyflowing Aorere River; on the other, hills; in front, the far-reaching almost rippleless waters of the bay. It is small wonder that Collingwood is appreciated by our artists, and were the place better known f think it might be a veritable Mecca to them, for its beauties of sunset and sunrise are unimaginable and, indeed, indescribable. One can make Collingwood the centre trom which innumerable excursions can be made. There are opportunities for delightful rambles. The Aorere River can be followed for some wav up its course. There are more caves here, too. There are the rock formations known as tho Devil’s boots. Thoy truly resemble boots, suitable not so much for our orthodox devil os for some huge giant such as we read of in old Norse legends. They are worn with wind and weather. Mysterious, huge sentinels, they stand guarding the road, dumb witnesses of the many changes which have taken place fn ages past nnd which hnvc made Nelson district very interesting to the geologist. But it is not onlv to the geologist that attractions are offering. For tnose of high and adventurous spirit there are wooded hills to climb, a trip on horseback to Farewell Spit, rough country to explore, fresh peaks to conquer. For all there is boating, fishing, bathing, with

walks, rides or drives, as inclination prompts. Collingwood is small, old-world, quiet, picturesque, almost untouched by the outer world, almost forgotten in spite of its charm. Yet this “hist, loneliest, loveliest” little hamlet has charms for all, There is beauty and peace for all. There is glory of sunset and sunrise over the tiny harbour; full moon sailing over a resting, sleeping sea; there is the curve of shell-strewn, sandy shore, and the peace of wooded hill and quiet valley.