EGMONT THE MOURNER

Taranaki Daily News, 7 February 1931, Page 1 (Supplement)

EGMONT THE MOURNER

IT GREW DARK . . . DARK

(By

“Panitahi.”)

The wind whipped the joy of the mountain into their faces. It came shouting across the sunlit tussock and moss with never a falter and gaily urged the three men to a higher view. The tang of the warm mountainside was ever in their nostrils, intoxicating, satisfyingly good. They munched chocolate and ice-cold orange; and the wind marched steadily on, from who-knows-where into the hazy eastern hills, a song on its lips and a carcss for tne rounded breast of tjie mountain, a wind with fierce joy in living and a sunny smile that sent the clouds scampering beyond the horizon like children free from school.

The oldest of the three young climbers was like that wind, a hugeness of a man with a leg like the rimu and the shoulders of an ox, a colossus of a man with a cherubic face the devil ,had fashioned, a twinkle in his eye and a risque wit ever bubbling. What matter that he was sports master at a college—he was a child of the mountainside, with a great bald head that blushed at the sun’s kiss.

The youngest of the party was barely out of his teens but he knew and loved every rock of the mountain. Ever since his toddling legs had been able to carry him the few miles from his home Angus had scrambled on the wild slopes. He responded to Egmont’s summer smile and winter dignity and even at night would measure the tracks with a swinging stride typical of his comradeship with the mountain, his only real friend. With mock seriousness he, told how Rangi, when he was preparing Ao-tea-roa for the Maori, was angry with the incomparable cone of Ruapehu and kicked off its head with a mighty' kick, leaving the jagged plateau that is now Ruapehu’s summit. The top of the mountain, so great was Rangi’s kick, landed on the coast and was called Taranaki. Rangi grinned when he saw a great lump rise on the side of the new mountain where he had kicked it. The bump became a new peak and was called Panitahi. Rangi stood on the towering summit of Taranaki. He chuckled his praise of himself for his great feat. With a whoop he leaped toward the bump, and where he lauded the earth was flattened. It is called Rangitoto Flat. ,

Angus pointed along the wide gorge to the flat between Fantham’s Peak and the main cone. “There you are,” he said. “Didn’t Rangi improve the look of the mountain?”

The climbers moved up'the springing moss slope on to the snow that looked cold and meant tropic heat if the wind did not blow. Young Angus swung his axe in time with his march and every blow left an embryo step his advancing boot completed. At 6000 feet they paused, resting elbow on knee. Thousands of feet below them the red roofs of the Dawson Falls hostel cheered them on. Away in South Taranaki the roads sped wondrously straight between the dark hedges toward the dim 'coast with its foamy beaches. Here and there cheeky homesteads heliographed the unwinking sun. The third climber, with the teacher’s passion for knowing the right thing (sic), was inclined to demur at the legend of Rangi’s kick. Had they heard the tale of Ruapehu’s jealousy when Taranaki stood alongside the three middle mountains? Taranaki’s beauty outshone them all and Ruapehu persuaded Rangi to banish the stately one. So Taranaki had to go. At night, weary with the long march, the mountain rested. Its huge weight caused the ground to sink, however, and Ngaire, the vast swamp, came into existence. When the sun rose Taranaki set out. again and soon came to a beautiful coast. Here it made its new hapu where the waves could lave its feet while it mourned its exile. And is not Taranaki sometimes translated as the Rivers of Tears? Above Fantham’s Peak the snow was harder and' it' was late afternoon when Angus led his little party to the highest point. A few minutes to wonder at the golden sheen the westering sun spread on land and sea and they turned 'their faces homeward, Angus showing them how to exercise the caution the snow warranted. “We take risks sometimes,” he said, “but when we, do we are prepared to pay the penally Egmont imposes on those who don’t accept its conditions.”

The snow was a glowing red in the last- rays of sunlight when the party swung across Rangitoto Flat toward the last lap down Panitahi’s steep sides. The snow was still soft here after the heat of the day and Angus took the chance of doffing the alpine rope. He was goin<r to risk a glissade down Fantham's, but the others could come more cautiously if they chose. They chose; and watched him sit down and slowly start his challenge to Egmont’s conditions.

The glissade at first was easy, exhilarating. The snow was not too hard and Angus found the haft of the axe sufficient brake. All the joy .of perfect glissading was his, the snow was whipping past, the low ridges were mo retina on each side, the bluffs below were rushing up the slope to greet him.

But the enow grew harder. The pointed haft of the axe was not biting into it now. He was going faster, and the road was hard and bumpy: he was slidino- on to snow that had been in shadow all day and was now. frozen even harder. It was too fast, nis fiesh was bruised sore. He -would have to turn over and Use the head of the axe for a brake. Faster, faster. The brake seemed to have no effect.. Faster! Faster! The snow was a dim blur of white screaming Nature’s defiance to man’s puny struggling. Faster! Yet fastei! Suddenly the handle of the axe smashed in his hands. As he hurtled unchecked a picture of the astounding break flashed on dimming consciousness. Faster, still faster. God, couldn’t he stop? In the depths the jagged bluffs slavered for him. Faster, though he still used the futile brake. Then over in a gentle somersault and away head first at dizzy speed. He no longer had the axe; it rattled after him down the slope. Faster! Faster! God, his hands were burning, burning through the leather gloves. He lav supine, arms up the slope, head lifted from the speeding snow. It grew dark . . dark . ... . .