A SPARTAN TREK.

Otago Witness, Issue 3764, 4 May 1926, Page 8

A SPARTAN TREK.

HOW WE SAW DOUBTFUL SOUND.

By

W. R. SINCLAIR.

Of meals that are memorable the one .to which the party of 10 sat down in the hut at Deep Cove at the close of the seven hours of wet walking through the bush from Lake Manapouri will be chiefest foi a long time. It was essentially an evening dress affair—blankets and pyjamas mostly. The comforting blaze from the hug* log lire illumined a weird and picturesque group gathered around the large table and threw shadows on the whitepainted walls 'of the clew and well-ap-pointed hut. Depending from lines and hooks before the tire the strangest medley of garments companioned together with brazen familiarity. Stainless cutlery glittered on the white American cloth covering of the big table, at the head of which our Lost dispensed tempting and stimulating viands with a running commentary of humour and philosophy that served ns a very excellent sauce, and that made it difficult to realise that he had been active since before daylight, breakfasting his departing guests, scrubbing and scouring in compliment to the incoming ladies, and incidentally doubling the walk about which we were inclined to be boastful. Delightful oyster Boup was succeeded by stewed sausages with gravy property thickened. Pineapple and apricots followed, the three courses being a veritable

“triumph of the tin.” As adjuncts there were bread baked in the hut camp oven, hot toast, butter and jam, raisins, a huge billy of tea with condensed milk, and boiled lollies from yet another tin. It was a merry and well-satisfied company that finally repaired to the comfortable bunks, and, under a generous supply of blankets, slept as soundly and resttully as if surrounded with all the comforts of a modern hotel. In the morning we found the whole population ready and anxious to welcome us. VVe were scarcely prepared for the numbers, nor for the intimacy of the attention, but there they were in myriads. When you stepped on the verandah they positively hurled themselves upon you, and greeted you at every vulnerable point. Never since a certain humid day at Sand-, fiy Hut at Milford Sound had we endured so many sanguinary encounters with the little demons. Though many of them fell by the way, the final retreat was inevitably on our side. Within the hut it was only guerilla warfare, at which we werp tolerably successful. Asked where the blood-sucking sandfly found his nourishment when a man hunt was not possible, our natural history expert informed us that the moisture of the leaves 'furnished the natural sustenance, but how the predntofy, man-eating instinct had been developed, and by what marvellous communication system the signal. “The tourist has arrived I” is broadcasted to millions in tho twinkling of an eye# he would not pause to conjecture, being far too busy, like most of the others, furbishing up the vituperative branoh of his vocabulary and girding on his armour—a futile anointing of the skin with preparations whose presence tho pests mostly ignored. Several little brown wekas gave a fowlyard touch to tho precincts of the hut.

We were told that those of the tribe that bestow their patronage upon a particular hut are very quick to resent the intrusion of others who would share their domesticity. and the intruders are given active encouragement to go about their business. Evidently the weka rises early. On the dav of our departure one of the party, washing on the verandah before the arrival of dawn (although not before the arrival of the sandfly brigade), emptied his basin into the semi-darkness. The contents evidently enveloped a fossicking weka, for there was a loud outcry, and in the half light he could dimly discern the protesting figure of the fowl shaking suds from its dripping sides as it fled for the bush. After breakfast of porridge and toast the sun broke through and chased away the rain clouds. Leslie brought his roomy launch almost to the door of the hut, which is picturesquely situated on the bank of the Lyvia River, close to where it discharges into Deep Cove at the head of the Sound. Hanging our still damp clothes to dry in the sun and wind, and swathing ourselves in our blankets, we broke through the sandfly barrage and boarded the lugger. A-sprawl on the deck in the genial sunshine, removed from the attentions of the multitudinous fly, wo entered into our kingdom, and found the completo answer to the query, “Why did we make this trip?” Cleaving the gently rippling waters to the chug-chug of the engine, we opened out vista after vista of the matchless fiord scener'y. Between majestic mountains, groen-clad to the water’s ‘edge, and dripping silvery fountains of spray from crown to base; so stee.< their sides that one marvelled how the trees ever found and contrived to maintain their lodgment. Here t)ie graceful fronds of the fern tree lent variety to the prevailing birch, and anon, high up on a precipitous fact* a splash

of brilliant red proclaimed the presence of the rata tree. The falls varied in altitude and volume from the fineness of a silver hair line, discernible from the bare rock above the bush line right down to the sound, to the torrential splendour of such as Helene and Alice Falls, which seem to gush suddenly from the bosom of the bush slopes and hurl their dazzling white cascades into the fathomless waters below. At times we sailed in the centre of the sound, avoiding a breaking of the waters that betrayed the tooth of a treacherous rock, and passing by one of the fairy islands so familiar on Manapouri. Again we almost brushed the verdant cliff side, so that we could have grasped the overhanging branches. Ahead the mighty ramparts appeared to close in and bar further progress, but ever our approach disclosed a turning which revealed scenes of fresh beauty. Those of us who had regarded Milford Sound fTs incomparable freely confessed that here was beauty and grandeur equally rare, in some respects even more impressive in that, the waterway being narrower, the height and sheerness of the mountains were accentuated, and they were more inspiring and enveloping. Our available time at Doubtful Sound was one day, and basing the attractions of the vast area of the sound upon the beauties of Hall’s Arm, to which our attention had to be confined, we regretted we had not set apart a week instead of a day for the adventure. Helene Falls, named after The late Miss Fels, is within easy walking distance of the hut, from which its magnificence is in full view, and within which the sound of its waters, filtered to a murmur, lulls the tired traveller to rest. The name of the Alice Fall commemorates the visit of the Governor-General and his party to Doubtful Sound. Not on foot—the vice-regal stamp has yet to be impressed on this track —but by steamer. During their brief visit it was suggested that Lady Alice Fergusson’s name should be given to one of the falls. Her Excellency made it quite plain that she did not want her name given to any impermanent fall that fizzled out when the drought came. Naturally we inquired about the constancy of the Alice Fall. As far as we could make out it will be always possible to get a drink at it! Of plants in flower we noticed on the journey the native holly, mountain daisy, native violet, gentian, and helichrysum. or “everlasting.” The average person would regard this vast unvisited bush country as a veritable sanctuary for birds, but the flap of the wing and the voice of the feathered songster are rarities. In three days the birds seen by us totalled less than two score, and they included the tomtit, wagtail, native lark, kea, blue duck, paradise duck, and cormorant. Having graciously enhanced the joy of our launch trip with his warmth and brightness, the sun allowed the clouds again to supplant him, and they took full advantage of their opportunities, refreshing the earth in an entirely superfluous manner “for the duration.’” While most of the party were snuggling down in their cosy bunks, to the music of the raindrops on the roof, the guide exercised his talents in the building of a heel to replace the one lost by one of the ladies (it was found on the return journey). The versatility of our guide was striking. Idly computing his qualifications, we found him to be a cook, a cobbler, a bridge builder and road maker, an engineer, a skipper, a hewer of wood and a carrier of water, an optimist, and a philosopher, as well as a guide. The gong sounded before daybreak next morning and by 7 o’clock we were stepping it out through the forest on our homeward way, to the unceasing accompaniment of a light rainfall. The track held more water and the streams were deeper than when we crossed a couple of days before, and in consequence we had a lot of fun. The scribe was the first to miss-cue on the edge of the soft track, and he rolled several yards down the bank before his progress was arrested. One of the group, who in his spare moments sits with majestic brows at the manager’s table in a bank, carried two haversacks, sometimes on his back and sometimes in front of him. When he was picking his steps over a bog one of the pieces of tree that should have taken his weight failed to function, and he lost his balance and pitched forward. He happened to be wearing his haversacks in front at the time, and it was only this that saved his face from contact with the bog. When next we confront him in his banking chamber to discuss our overdraft his majestic brows will avail him nothing—we shall visualise him prone on his haversacks in the bog, and we shall laugh. Almost as ludicrous, and probably more discomforting, was the experience of one of the ladies. Instead of falling forward she sat plump down in a watery bog. To the discerning these whimsical experiences cast no reflections on the track. No bush track can stand up to continuous rain, and in these far-away rainy parts travellers of any experience recognise that it is remarkable that a track of any kind can be maintained, especially by the efforts of only one man. Lake Manapouri being 800 ft above sea level, the climb on the return journey is that much higher, and it is less gradual. Despite the added wetness, the walk seemed less taxing. We disdained picking steps over the streams, and simply walked straight through. In one that took us nearly to the knee we paused for a commemorative photograph. There was less need for haste, and we made a pleasant stay by the big log fire in one of the surveyors’ tents and drank tea and gossiped. As far as we could gather, the company exploiting the nitrates-from-the-air scheme contemplates t taking advantage of the fact that Lake Manapouri is 800 ft above sea level, and drawing its power from tho lake by tapping its waters through a tunnel, and the party we met was engaged in surveying that tunnel route. It had been four months on the job. delayed frequently by rain, and was likely to be there for some time. Wet and happy, we reached the head of the lake about 12.30. The boat had not arrived, so we lighted a fire in the hut. Only two considerations had occasioned a worrying thought. The first and chief was the prospect of sitting on that launch in sopping garments for three hours. Leslie promptly , solved this difficulty by producing, apparently from

nowhere, an astonishing collection of old but serviceable clothes, and with these over a pyjama foundation, and dry socks and slippers, we were enabled to embark quite dry, the ladies going pick a-back to save their thin footwear. The casting of lots for the hut clothes resulted in some queer effects. The smallest man fell heir to blue dungaree many inches too long, and when he adjusted his garters as bowyangs he was a subject for the camera. A pair of boy’s shorts rewarded one of the ladies in the ballot, and she contrived to put them to some satisfying use. The menfolk, not without emphatic protest from the ladies, had taken a Nazarite vow at the outset, and at the close of three unrazored days their features would not have graced a drawing room. This was the second worrying thought, confined entirely to the wives. “ There’ll be tourists on the boat when it arrives, and we’re not going to be disgraced by you!” And sure enough, when the launch arrived the first things that met our eyes were fur coats. “There—we told you so,” came the chorus. So the men slunk aboard and essayed the impossible task of endeavouring to be unnoticed in the cockpit of a small launch. The effort, however, was superfluous, for the “fur coats” were three unconventional young colonials, well-to-do squatters’ daughters, we decided, and it was only a matter of moments before we were all sharing rugs, drinking huge mugs'of tea, and later singing choruses and swapping yarns. V Thus pleasantly closed a memorable trip. Would we tackle it again? The considered reply is “yes.” Naturally, we would hope for more favourable weather, but we would be prepared to take the risk. According to Leslie’s philosophy, achievement brings most satisfaction in life. If this be so, he has cause for considerable satisfaction in having placed a new. tourist track on the map, and maintained it under difficulties which may be imagined when it is mentioned that one storm left him a , legacy of about 200 fallen trees or branches to clear off his track. The sense of achievement in having crossed the track in good time under the worst possible conditions was certainly an important factor in the satisfaction the holiday brought to us. In fine weather it must be a magnificent. trip. The track then is fairly dry and firm. It has really no dangerous features, and the distance is short (12 miles) and the pass low (2200 ft. as compared with Mackinnon 5400 ft). Add to these advtmtatres the delightful lake trip associated with the excursion and the launch cruises m the magnificent sound, and there is no reason why a big tourist traffic should not be developed on the ManapouriDoubtful Sound route.