BIRDS IN COLLINGWOOD DISTRICT.

Colonist, Volume LVII, Issue 13728, 17 March 1915, Page 3

BIRDS IN COLLINGWOOD DISTRICT.

Mr. J. Drummond, F.L.S., writes in the "Lyttelton Times":— The road from Collingwood into the interior of Nelson runs south-west through country covered with tea-tree, in which grey-warblers and white-eyes might build their nests in hundreds, safe from the prying eyes of intruders. These birds are not seen by the visitor who drives along the road, but it is the kind of cosy place they would choose for their homes. After a few miles have been left behind, the country opens up j tall tree stems, utterly bare of the rich foliage they once possessed, and scarred and blackened by tire, represent the glories of a former plant life; well-fed shorthorn cattle roam the grassy fields and paddocks; and cottages dot the landscape. Hills rise east and. west and mountains on the south. From those high lands, some hundreds of thousands of years ago, a glacier ran northwards towards the present coast line in Cook Strait, and on its ancient bed .Rockville has been established. The village is divided by the Aorere, which starts from a dark and rocky gorge away up amongst the hills, and rushes impetuously and turbulently over stones and boulders, sometimes murmuring lullabies, sometimes singing joyful songs of praise in the sunshine, and sometimes, when the heavy rains have fallen, thundering in an uproar. South of Rockville there is one of New Zealand's Kaitunas. Eels were a favourite dish with the Maoris b&. fore Europeans came, and it is not surprising to find many districts bearing a name commemorating the place where eels were eaten. South of Kaituna again is Bonnie Doon a quiet, reposeful stream, over which a man could almost step. In past times it ran beneath the romantic shades of a mighty primeval forest, but now the banks and braes o' Bonnie Doon bloom fresh and fair with meadow grasses, dandelions and other prosaic plants, and sparrows and chaffinches and their allies are the only birds that chant and wanton on the * banks to break the lioarts of melancholy lovers, sac weary, in' o' care. The land rises noticeably towards Bainham, a pretty country village, lying snugly amongst the hills, with school, church, post office and creamery. After Bainham the hills close in on the road, burnt tree-stems become more plentiful and signs of civilisation less noticeable. Sixteen Mile is a, sawmill station on the banks of the Aorere. After it is passed the road runs parallel with the river until it reaches Elliott's, where it imperceptibly merges into a mere track, and so ends its career. Elliott's consists of a neat little unoccupied cottage, with verandah and wooden chimney, a small orchard, fenced paddocks, and a shed. The permanent inhabitants are sheep, cattle, hares and birds. The place is wild and beautiful beyond the powers of either pen or brush to depict. It is at the head of the Aorere Valley, close to the junction of the Brown and Aorere Rivers. Below, the Aorere haa carved out a wide bed on which it has piled heaps of rounded water-worn stones, grey and white in colour, which glisten in the sun. Forest trees, seek- [ ing fresh fields for their enterprise, [ have come down from the hill-sides and taken possession of parts of the riverbed, braving the floods that periodically pour over the banks. Mountains rise up steeply a quarter of a mile | away to the south. To the isouth-west j there is Kakapo Valley, r;oted for the j number of kakapos it once sheltered. | All vehicular traffic stops at Elliott's,! and early in the morning, after the > day of our arrhal, the four members ; of our party—Mr. R. E. Clouston, of Rockville, Mr. F. Sparrow, of Takaka, and I, and a little half-bred cockerspaniel named Bounce—placed our pack on the horse and set our faces towards the mist-covered mountains which loomed to the south, and which separated ue from the Gouland Downs, the home of the great kiwi, whose haunts we were travelling to visit. A few yellow-hammers accompanied us for several yards in the open, and as we entered the portals of the forest two tom-tits, looking very cheerful and debonnair, hopped on to branches over our heads and chirped a welcome. In the forest, close to a bush creek that intersected our track, pigeons flew amongst the foliage, a tui, brilliant in its metallic hues, darted across an > open space, a weka came silently outj from the undergrowth and as silently • disappeared without haste, noise or; flurry, a bell-bird gave one of his silvery notes, a pied fantail came down in haste to interview the intruders, and a grey-warbler went up the scale of his notes and, following the custom of the species, abruptly cut the last note short when it was only half finished. The track, four feet wide, runs steadily upwards, and gradually winls round Perry's gHill until it is 3000 ft. above sea level, with the summit of the mountain another thousand feet above. On the right the side of the hill rises straight up, on the left there are in some places sheer drops from the edge of the track hundreds of feet down to the bottom* which cannot be seen through the- undergrowth. In some places the track is embowered by,

overhanging plants; in other pHices it seems to run through a, tunnel formed by the plants that nave grown overhead since the route was generally used for communication with the West Coast, many years ago. Sometimes, when the trees thin out, there are views of wooded mountains and, valleys, blue and purple in the distance, where dense communities of plants, birds, insects, crustaceans, and lower forms nave struggled and jostled in the daily life for centuries, absorbed in their own trials and tribulations, their own wars and commotions, and completely ignorant of man and his ways. From a botanical point of view, the most attractive, eight was a community of toii trees. These plants are seen more frequently in the North Island than in the South, where they seem to favour only the western side, their range extending from Collingwcod to Dusky Sound. They are related to the common cabbage tree, but are more tropical in appearance, more graceful and more beautiful. They have many broad, drooping leaves, which spread out all around and form a massive head &t the top of a trunk perhaps twenty feet high. The bark \ is brown and rough, and the old dead S leaves hang limp and cling to the 'stem. In some places the toiis form i avenues along the side of the track; sometimes they grow on clay faces scorched by tho sun ; in all situations they relieve the prevailing dark green of the beech trees and add a novel attraction. j From an ornithological point of view ; the most notable item on the journey along the mountain track was the friendly feeling, shown by a bell-bird. When we stopped for a "smoke-oh" and a rest we heard its notes above us, and soou it came down from branch to branch until it was only a few feet over our heads. Then it flew with a quick flutter of its wings and a rapid flight across the track, m order ito bring our party . into better view. •■ Its coat was bright yellowish green, its i eyes were blood red, and the steel black markings on its forehead and cheeks showed that it was a male. While we were watching it, it opened its mouth wide and uttered several notes, and for some minutes the sweetly chiming sounds came forth. These notes are very similar to those of the tui, but the tui's are louder and more liquid in tone. The bellbird's, perhaps, are sweeter. Sitting on the branch of a handsome tree, amidst the green foliage, in the most beautiful surroundings the imagination could paint, the little bird seemed to sing for the gratification of giving pleasure to the strangers in tht. forest, and for sheer joy. Its notes came smoothly and naturally, and without any obvious effort. Birds often use their notes to communicate with one another, but singing is a pleasure. Their songs are of no practical use to them; singing is not more useful to them than it is to human beings, and the bell-bird we listened to enjoyed the music it created. Having finished its unpremeditated song, it uttered a soft note, so low that we could hardly hear it, and flew away into the dense forest again, and we saw it no more. Some days later, on the same track, we heard a bell-bird's warning, a harsh, vigilant, alarming note, which unmistakably tells of danger, and which never fails to warn all other law-abiding birds that the marauding long-billed cuckoo is near.