IN TOUCH WITH NATURE.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LV, Issue 13917, 20 March 1909, Page 9

IN TOUCH WITH NATURE.

TEN DAYS ON THE WEST COAST.

(By James Drummond, F.L.S., F.Z.S.)

On the first day 1 spent on the Went Coast of tho South Island, when I went there for a holiday at the beginning oi last month, I got up early in the morning and Vent out to look into -the sky for dark clouds, grey mists, and approaching downpours of rain. There is a belief in New Zealand that the West Coast is the wettest district in the world. This belief is held more firmly by people who live on the Coast than by people in any other part of the Dominion. They glory in their district's distinction. They take more pride in it than Auckland takes in her beauty, Wellington in her harbour, Taranaki in her dairying, Canterbury in her prim© lamb, or . Otago in her Scottish ancestry. Before I left Chrjstchurch I was advised to take topboots, an oilskin, coat and a ' 'sou'wester" hat, to learn to swim, to develop amphibian characteristics, and to say "good-bye" to the Bun until I returned. I was surprised to find the sup shining conspicuously and brightly, and the sky a soft", clear cerulean blue of unfathomable depth, with cumulus clouds 'glistening like masses of frosted -wool in the distance. The weather was everything I had been led to expect it would not be. It was the same during all the ten days of my visit. Except on one occasion, late at night, there was not a drop of rain. The days, in fact, Were pompously grand, and from sunrise to sunset the landscapes were clothed with a golden magnificence.

I was tho guest of Mr. W. H. Gates. He lives about five miles south of HokitikET, on the banks of the Mahinapua Creek, which flows eight miles from Mahinapua Lake into the mouth of the Hokitika River, and across the:bar and out to sea. We left Hokitika at dusk, pulled up fhe creek in the dark, and landed on a little grassy stage, which is lapped by the waters of the creek as they run swiftly on to join the river. The stage is surrounded pij all sides except the water side by large shrubs. A path leads through ,an opening in th's shrubby plantation, over some swampy ground, v arid up to the poilals of the forest. From there it nas been fprmejl, for five chains or more, by the dark trunks" of hundreds of tree-ferns being placed across it, side, by side, and row upon row, with here and there? stretching over a'hollow, a lordly pine, which was once &. handsome tree, but whose dead body is now trampled beneath men's [busy feet* At the end of the five chains, where the rows of tree-ferns stop, there is a clearing, and in that dealing is Mr Game's house. As the path winds slightly,.* the opening is not seen from the house. In consequence of this the place is closed in by trees. It seems to be in the very heart of a great forest, remote from civilisation. On all sides, there are gigantic red and white pines, beeches, ratas and other trees, with trailing lianas hanging from . their branches, and thick stems.

In roaming, through the forest, old surveyors' tracks are seen. _ t The plants -aite trying to iri» back jrhas^eivilisa**oir has taken from them. The ferns are leading. They are drooping their heavy fronds over: the tracks, as if to hide them and blot out the evidence of the destruction that has taken place. In some places the plants have been fairly successful, and tiny trees, a few inches high, are struggling ta assert x serves under the ferns' protection, and to claim again the ground the forest has l#st. In a terrace close by, tunnels have been built into the earth, to en- j able goldTsdekers.to reach the gold inside. Near the month of ohe of these tunnels there are the scattered remains, of a great water-wheel. _ It had been used for sluicing, in connection with, mining operations, and was ma.de, 'at the cost of much labour, entirely of wood. A white had crashed down upon it, and, in a flash of time, had reduced this product of human ingenuity to a useless and shapeless, wreck. The' scene gave an impression that the pine had taken revenge for the destruction of, the plants/

. I saw many birds while I was in. the district, but most of them r^ere small species,/ notably tqnitits., wrens and fantails. I "did', 3,0^ see more than two tuis a,ndfone pigeon, and I neither saw nor heard a bell-bird or'a^.kaka. At Christmas .time tijie frees .were full of these birds, and t^ey could be seen at any time- of the, day. Apparently, they were undertaking a- migration at the time., .of my visit., I tramped through the forests for hours without seeing one of them. There is no' apparent reason for their absence. Food supplies were plentiful, and the conditions offered everything the heart^of a native bird could desire. I know of nothing that oould haye driven them away. Probably they are back again now, and the glades resound once more t with the clear notes of the tui and. the bellfcird. I can understand, in circumstances of the nature, how^many people have run away with the idea that some species of our avifauna are becoming extinct. If I had not been assured that . the birds I looked for in vain were plentiful a few months previously, I should have written "extinct" against their names as far»;aa the Hokitika district is concerned. This absence, of the forests', prima donnas made them dull. It is oppressive to walk for hour,s through forests and not hear a bird T note. It is like wandering through the streets of a City of the Dead. There were no cicadas to send out a rolling, buzzing chorus, as in the North Island. Only one songster carn.e ' out to enliven our walks. It was the little grey-warbler, which hopped down to the lower branches of the trees and shrubs, and repeatedly whistled his loud and- plaintive tune.

Owls were the first inhabitants of tho forest to greet us. We had hardly stepped out of the boat before we heard the loud and, ominous cries of the "more-porks." Their presence seemed to be quite in keeping with the sombre, moonlit forest, and the spectral trees. "Whoo-whoo," one of them cried, the first note longer and more emphatic than the second, and an answer came from another tree in the same monotonous tone, utterly devoid of variation. The cry is repeated at Intervals of about five seconds. At almost any time of the night, from dusk till the first streaks of dawn chase away the shadowy forest ghosts, the strange "whoo-whoo, whoo-whoo, whoowhoo" may be heard, now from one tree, now from another, never close,

but always loud, and always boding. There were many owls in the vicinity of Mr. Gates's house when I was there-. Wo heard them every night, and at nearly all hours of the night. Mr. Gate's told me, however, that they like the dark, rainy nights better than the moonlit ones. AVhen the rain is falling in blinding sheets and storms are raging amongst the trees they come out in greater numbers, and, apparently, give their cries more frequently.

Besides the two notes, "whoo-whoo," Mr. Gates says, they have a quiet call-note, which is like the mewing of a cat, but it is not heard very often. They do not always wait for night to come and hide their movements. Before darkness has ' settled down, and while it is still quite light, they come out from their hiding places in Hollow trees and chase the small birds. Occasionally they came close to Mr. Gates's house in- the night time. One of them has a favourite perching-place close to the window, where he likes to sit when he hears Mr. Gates playing tho cornet. On only one occasion did we see an owl in the day time. We, were tramping, ajorig a forest track, lined with tree ferns, and running . through a dark part of the forest, at v the foot of a wooded hill, when a "morepork" flew awkwardly but noiselessly across the path. He was gone in a flash, and took refuge in the thickest foliage he could find, and we saw no more of him. If anyone wishes to hear the "more-pork's" cry in its most ef-' fective setting he should go into the forest at the darkest hour, which, of course, is just the dawn. There is usually, at that time, not another sound of animal life. The owls have the glace. absolutely to themselves, and their' dreadful hooting is made louder by the absence of all other sounds.