“RAKIURA”

Ladies' Mirror, Volume 3, Issue 12, 1 June 1925, Page 67

“RAKIURA”

<&y A. H. MESSENGER

“Photographs by (government Publicity “Department

ISLE OF GLOWING SKIES

QjET like a gem on the margin of the great Southern Pacific whose confines extend to the gleaming ice barriers of Rossland, lies Stewart Island, its forest-clad shores a delight and welcome to the seafarer, who, sailing the wide spaces of the world’s greatest ocean, finds leisure to anchor awhile in the peaceful waters of Paterson’s Inlet, or Port Pegasus, two of the fine harbours for which the island is famous. Twenty-two miles away to the northward looms the high land of the Bluff, the extreme southern end of the South Island, to reach which one must voyage across Foveaux Strait. On a summer’s day the strait is peaceful enough, save for the slow heave of the westerly seas, forerunners of the steady trade winds that in the old days filled the sails of the homeward bound woolships and drove them reeling off the wide leagues of ocean towards the frowning barrier of Cape Horn. Stretching almost across the strait from the Bluff is a chain of rocky islets, each rising from a fringe of foam where the seas fret and toss against the outer reefs. The summits of these islets are scrub-cov-ered, and here many feathered wanderers of the south Pacific make their nests. Two hours from the Bluff by steamer listening to the stories and legends of “Rakiura” as told by the stalwart Maori at the wheel and enjoying to the full the brilliant sunshine and glowing colour of a summer’s day, one senses the romantic glamour which invests these islands with a special charm and interest. These very waters have been immortalized in Frank Bullen’s Cruise cf the Cachalot. Tacking and thrashing through the swirling tide-rips of the straits came the old American whale ships in chase of the leviathans of the deep, and many a grim

tragedy has occurred in connection with these fisheries between Dog Island and the sea-battered walls of Solander Rock, rising sheer from ocean depths to close upon two thousand feet in the air, far to the westward of Stewart Island. Midway across the straits a little fishing ketch comes bowling along before the freshening breeze, a feather of spray under her fore-foot. Two men aboard wave their caps at the steamer whose crew and passengers line the rail to watch her forging past. Blue penguins and sooty plumaged mutton-birds swim leisurely out of the steamer’s track, and here and there a lordly albatross swings in graceful curves against the azure blue of the sky. JJALF-MOON Bay, with its golden beaches and clustering cottages behind the landing place provides a first glimpse of the beauties of “Rakiura.” A fleet of small fishing schooners and launches at anchor lend animation to the picture set against the warm golden-yellow of

rimu forest and the soft blue shadows of the hills. At sunrise may be realised the truth and beauty of the poetic name bestowed upon this scenic gem of New Zealand by the old-time Maori. “Rakiura” literally means “Isle of the Glowing Skies.” From the warm flush of the kaka’s breast to deeper red and gold, the skies unfold to the splendour of the coming day. The forest tracks ring with the sweet joyous notes of bell-bird and tui, and away to the north-west the great sombre cone of Mt. Anglem

glows as though its ancient crater fires were once more kindled. Who can adequately describe the beauties of Paterson’s Inlet? Its peaceful waters forest-fringed from shore to shore, its lovely curving bays each a little paradise in itself. Delightful little rounded islands dot the surface of the water, each one a perfect Robinson Crusoe retreat clad from shore to summit in clustering bushes and trees. Everywhere is heard the joyous music of bird voices, thousands of tiny bells sound from the forest-depths, and wading through a galaxy of ferns beside the tracks the visitor finds his footsteps dogged by inquisitive wekas that venture boldly forth devoid of any fear of mankind. The gentle wild pigeon feeds complacently on the luscious berries of the miro, while being filmed and photographed, and dainty black-headed tits perch and peer within hand-reach of the operator. by shore and inlet the T forest paths of the island form one of its greatest attractions. Here lies a wide-curving bay with tumbling breakers sweeping beneath the shade of overhanging trees. Further on, a mirrored inlet with a dozen white-breasted gulls bathing and wading in the shallows. Passing from the outer day the pathway winds -flecked amid silvery ferns

with the tall straight trunks of the forest trees standing back like pillars supporting the leafy dome overhead. Launch trips to a hundred harbours of delight may be undertaken for a merely nominal fee. Ulva Cove, Sydney Cove, Golden Bay, and countless other places lie within easy reach of the main settlement. In the early morning and evening may be witnessed the wonderful flight of the mutton birds to and from their favourite feeding grounds. So numerous are these birds that they stretch like a dark belt across the water a mile or more in length. The visitor to Oban finds comfortable accommodation in one or other of the several up-to-date boarding-houses established there. The island residents, who are mainly

engaged in fishing, are kind and hospitable to a degree not usually met with on the mainland. Their home life is simple and their friendliness is a very pleasant feature of a sojourn far removed from the rush and traffic of our modern cities. To sit in a warm lamp-lit room listening to the quiet speech of one who knows and loves his island as something apart from the strife and stress of ordinary existence is to experience an enriching of the mind and senses. By the fireside, her silvered hair a crown laid gently by the passing of the years, the woman whose sons are now stalwart toilers of the sea, tells of early days upon “Rakiura,” of vanished Maori leaders and of legends that still cling to beach and headland of this romantic island.