The Rhine of Mooriland

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVI, Issue 11, 17 March 1906, Page 17

The Rhine of Mooriland

CANOEING ON THE UPPER WANGANUI

CERTAIN Monday night in late t' I summer found two of us I I (Photographer and Scribe) landWJ| ed from the train at Taumarunui, where the Main Trunk line strikes the Wanganui river, 175 miles from Auckland. Taumarunui, which is situated on the delta formed by the Wanganui and a tributary called the Ongarue, is one of the newest of the new townships that are springing up in the wake of the line-builders, and looks even younger than it is. We were up bright and early Tuesday, anxious to be afloat on the river, of which we had heard so much, but we were entirely ignorant of the fact that there is no such word as punctuality in the lexicon of the Maori. He would not know what you were driving at if you began talking to him about the value of time. Taihoa (Anglice “In a minute”) is the keynote to all that he does. It took us some time to adapt ourselves to the ways of “Taihoa,” and more than once I saw the Photographer get purple in the face with suppressed emotion when the strain became particularly exasperating. Eventually at noon the canoe was loaded up with provisions and our photographing impedimenta, and the two pakehas stepped gingerly into the waist and got a firm hold of the sides. Our boatmen jumped lightly aboard, one at each end. Almost the entire Maori population came to the liverbank to see us away, and with a good deal of “Haereru!” ami "Enoho!” (“Farewell” and “Good-bye”) we cast of!, and before we pakehas could decide that a canoe was not quite so easy to sit as a pulling-boat we were in toe middle of our first rapid, and all our ener<de.-' were devoted to looking straight ahead and preserving a careful equilibrium. Before we reached Pipiriki (84 miles down stream) we shot nearly 200 of them (191, I think, to be correct), and after -the first day out thought no more of meeting one than ordering dinner. Shooting rapids is one of the most exhilarating sensations imaginable. “The exulting sense” that the poet tells us •■thrills the wanderer of the trackless Way” is very mild indeed to the feelings one experiences in shooting like an arrow through the white waters of a swift rapid. They say there 1- such a thing as speed mania, and that when a motorist. for instance, opens the throttle and lets his ear out, an insane desir • comes over him for more speed! more speed! After doing the Wanganui one could readily believe that some nervously-con-stituted persons could get carried away bv the eestaey of speed. 'J here is sometiling very intoxicating about it. son float leisurely down a still reach. Nearing a bend the sound of rushing wateis strikes on the ear, and the river, swift, but placid, suddenly breaks into foam from bank to bank.’ The pakeha looks ahead, and sees nothing but swirling, turbulent water, and wonders what drowning is like. V\ ith a skilful flick of the paddle the steersman turns Hie prow of the frail craft to the right point, Hnd *wish! you are over the crown, and go shoot iug down the seef’iing river with a delightful sense of abandon and rush! A few moments, and you are floating once more in water apparently motion-

less. Some people have very weird ideas as to what a rapid is, and how it is shot. A lady who saw a photograph of the falls on the Oh tint river, which Hows into the Wanganui, shuddered as she murmured, “Only fancy coming over that in a canoe!” The Wanganui rapids aren’t quite waterfalls. Of course there must be a drop, but it is almost imperceptible to the eye. Between the crown and where the broken water begins there is a noticeable hollow, but the canoe doesn’t take a header, like the water chute at Earl’s Court. The rapids vary in length and fierceness. Some are a mere break of the water in mid-stream; others run wildly from* bank to bank. There is an exciting one at Paparoa, but the piece de resistance is fierce Ngaporo, five miles above Pipiriki. From crown to tail must be quite three hundred yards. In this distance the surging rapid races first towards one bank, then the other, and finishes up by rushing round a sharp bend—and all this requires very nice steering indeed. When we went over, Ngaporo was very wild, it was just after a slight fresh, and there was a considerable sea running, which called for dexterous paddling. Although you are Hying along at such a great pace the water is travelling at nearly the same speed as the canoe, and this makes steering very difficult, and therein lies the risk of rapid-shooting, if your craft slews round in a cross-current and goes sailing down broadside on, the chances are exceedingly good for a capsize. and then you would know all about the taniwhas ("kelpies”)! The first day we only covered ten miles, and camped at the \\ hakarae Rapid. where Captain Marshall, of the River Trust, had a gang’ of men charing snags and boulders. Round the fire that night Wi? listened to some good stories of the hard life of ihe Trust men, who spend half their days under canvas, shifting about from spot to spot to keep the steamer channel clear. The next place of particular interest was Paparoa, where the scenery is most striking. There is a splendid rapid b.-re. running on both sides of rocky islets, right in the centre of the river bid, which widens to about two chains. Rugged rocks are scattered about on either side, and on the right bank there is a pretty waterfall. Sunset on Wednesday found us at Tawhata, about 28 miles from Taumarunui, one of the few pas still remaining on the upper Wanganui, which could once send down a licet of war canoes that would strike terror into the hearts of the dwellers along the fertile lower roaches. By the way. 1 am not quite certain about the spelling of Tawhata, or any other name down this way with an ”h” in it. The Wanganui .Mauri is the Cocknev of his race in the matter of h’s- Wanganui it-elf should if it had its duo carry an “h” after the ‘Sv,” but the habit of the tril»e in substituting a peculiar click of the tongue for the letter, which gives so much trouble to a certain class of pakehas, probable accounts for its omission. After pitching our tpntu on a sheltered ledge halfway up the bank, our canoemen went to the pa at the top of the • lilF, and foregathered with their compatriots*

In front of our tent we had a glorious fire of drift wood. Sitting by it we had many pij>es and much kctvro. A camp fire is a most seductive spot, and some of the most pleasurab’e hours < ne has spent have been round the burning logs with the white smoke curling up aim ng the trees. When we thought about bed it was midnight. Th- mists had come up from the snoring river, filling all the valleys. W’e could not see the opposite bank, and when we got up th,- firelight threw hug? reflections of <«ur figures against the watery mist. At this village we did a deal in a large piece of uncut pounainu (green-tone). very much the size and shape of a blackamoor’s skull, which had been on the r.ver for many generations —had probably been brought from Te Wai Poumanu (the Middle Island) in one of the daring raids the Northerners used to make after this coveted stone. Next day wo pressed the village into our service, and poled back a mile or s.> to the Ohura River, which we had passed too late the previous evening to u-e the camera. Armed with long tokos (poes), an equal number (in each side, the crew have to pole every inch of the way. and as the river runs six or seven knots in places, this work requires some stamina. It is picturesque work—the lithe, dark figures of th- men plunging the long poles down in perfect time, pushing the canoe forward; the slowly progressing craft creeping up a rapid like a huge c< ntipede. In tin- old day’s, before the advent of the steamers, this was the < nly method of travelling, ami in some of the reaebr-s where the waler is too deep for the poles to reach the bottom, you can see the poling holes along the bank just above the water level, some of th in worn several inches deep where one pole alter anolli-r has found the same spot during the generations of comings ami goings. Just where the Ohura enters the Wanganui there is a line fall, but two cha-ns from the mouth there is a more sti king on?. The Ohura is only one of the many tributary streams witch swell the flood of the Wanganui in its long meandering course from the toot of the snow-clad mountains to the sea. Seim- lune wotn their beds half-way down the papa, and make striking falls where tiny flow foaming into the river—such, tor instance. as the Otuiti. dashing over butressed terraces, or the Otunui. which comes down like an open fan. ami spills its foamy waters into the dark river. Others tumble sheer down from the lop of the bank, and splash into (h<- river like molten as they- catch the sun. Some are so high above us that hug In-fore they reach the river their link Jiug waters are dhsipabd in shower- of spray, falling softly on the ferns and climbing plants. which always look cool ami fresh even in the ardent noontide Kim, when everything else shimmers in the heat, the water a glare of sparkles, and tin- bird* hide silent in the co.d recesses of the thick forest. Al Tawhata we transferred our Lares and Penates to a larger ranch?, and shippi *d a new crew from the Ongarue, which we met panting her troubled *ay up the rapids to m. et the tourist train. That night we pitched our tent at an abandoned camp uf the River T'ru»L men.

who. besides leaving us a ’♦ •;a; v in the shape of a ready-made ground—wh < h is a l»ig consideration when you change camp every n’ght—bequeathed u- : 1 o a troop of rats—and a W’angnnui rat is thing to be renumbered. Next dav we had some lovely’ reflections in I lie Tuc reaches which are to be found at this part of the river. Forty’ miles from Taumarunui at a sharp bt*nd is on of those natural formations which be«r a wonderful likeness to the handiwork of man. Just in the bight of the elbow the clifl* runs out exactly like the bow of a modern warship —some 20b feet long l«y 40 feet high. Not only is tin* profile ’<* semblance most marked, but Icoke I at 'Three-quarter face” th* similarity (‘ven more pronounced as the sid •> rise from waterline to deck with that *!ighv swo p which characterises a warship with a ram bow- Man o’-vvar l’« iit ia naturally’ one name for this spot, hut the Maoris know it as Tc Rerenga <> Ko Inaki—“lnaki’s leap.” The story goes that Inaki was hotly pursiKHl, and in desperation jumped from this somevviiat formidable height into the running river. What led ui> to this high diving feat the storytellers tell not, for the reason tor not want ing to meet his pursuers must have been pretty urgent. The Maori- have a proverb, “band and women, tJit source of all our troubles,” so the present traveller can take his choice. We are told, however, that he swam safety to the opposite bank and got away. He deserved his liberty! Near Kirikiriroa, a little below the scene of I Iraki’s escapade, the river lakes a remarkable bend. There is a tall birch tree standing alone at the top of a scarped cliff on the left bank. I h‘s was pointed out by our steersman, and after paddling for perhap- a mile Im pointed out the same tree right abeam of us again, only back view. Tie bad completely doubled on our own oil' -c, ami had one had an arm strong rm.ugh and a stone big enough he rould h ive dropped it over flu* birch tree into the river a mile bark! There are no birches higher up, but from jusl about her© right down nearly to Pipiriki they are a distinct feature oi tin hush. I i y generally grow in dump-, and 1 1n i dark foliage and form arc like •'the cedars of Lebanon.” Two miles from Te I’erenga o Ko Inaki. or forty-two mile- from ’Taumarunui. you come suddenly l< the famous lareipokiore on turning a h-ml. In fact, that is how you comp on all the picturesque bits. Really there is a luxuriant monotony about the Wanganui, but the many windings ami t wist ings change it into an ’infinite variety, and this is the (rue eharin of river - •cm iy. Tarcipokiore (“the rats’ path”) i- the Maelstrom of the Wanganui. \ landslip on the left hand side has confined the river till the space from bank to bank is only a matter of yard-. lii-t below the rmks and debris brought down by the slip the river runs wider, Kcooping out a sort of circular l».i< kvvater, and where the bank nirmw- in again there is a very sy iniiict ii. il eir-

cular water-worn bluff, for all the world like a Martello tower let into the corner. On the right hand side there is another semi-circular cliff, round which the water sweeps wickedly and forms a whirlpool. When the river is normal Tareipokiore is quite safe, but in flood time it is a veritable Maelstrom, and sometimes the depression in the centre of this treacherous whirlpool is big enough to swallow a four-roomed house. A short while before we went over the steamer had been “held up’’ for two days here. More than one venturesome canoeman has gone to the spiritland through the gaping mouth of Tareipokiore, and the bones of many a good totara canoe have been left there. Four miles down stream the lengthening shadows warned us ashore if we wotdd sleep in comfort. We ran the canoe up on a shingle bank at the tail of a rapid near Ohauora, and made our camp right on the river bed, as there was no convenient ground up the bank. It was a most picturesque spot. Except for the strip of sandy shingle where our tents were pitched, and alongside which the canoe was drawn up, the wooded banks rose high on either hand. The river ran straight ahead till it was lost in the forest at a sharp turn, and the smoke from our camp-fire floated away in white wreaths over the tents. The beams of the westering sun were caught by the topmost trees on the left-

bank, and down on the river everything was fast merging into one purple shadow except where our lire cast a fitful light on our culinary operations. That night we slept on heaps of fragrant fern, with the shingle as a foundation. The sun had not been long over the horizon on Saturday morning before we had bundled our gear aboaTd again and were once more paddling seaward. This day we had delightfid weather, and passed along some very beautiful reaches. Six or seven miles from the Tangarakau the river runs through a splendid canyon with some very peculiar markings on the papa cliffs, which are broken and rugged. The river narrows in considerably here, and in a time of flood must be a roaring torrent. High up the banks we could see the marks of the last flood thirty feet above the present level. That night we stopped at Parinui (“big cliff”), or Utapu, as it is sometimes called, the only village of any size we met after passing Tawhata. Parinui is perched on a cliff on the right bank, and facing it the left bank runs up skyward for several hundred feet, hence the name. As at Ohauora we camped on the beach. Heavy rain came on during the night, and our boatmen prophesied a shift. Sure

enough (so rapidly does the river rise) twenty-four hours later you could not have found enough shingle to throw at a dog, our camping-ground was awash, the river was a rushing mud-stained flood, and all the beauty had gone out of it! In the meantime we had clambered up the paths that wind up the steep cliff, and with our valuables were given possession of a fine pataka, or food house, raised on blocks about four feet from the ground to circumvent the kiore (rats) and other predatory beings. We did not see he rangi pai (fine weather sky) for three days. Kohukohu (mist) wreathed the wet hill sides, and we had frequent showers, and for three days we were kept willing prisoners. Parinui is one of the most primitive Maori villages I know of. How long it will remain so one ean t say, for the Wanganui will in time be one of the most frequented routes marked out for the tourist in New Zealand, but at present there is a charming simplicity about life in the little village that looks down upon the Wanganui in the shadow of the Big Cliff. Parinuiites big and little are delightful in their own brown way, and they could not do enough for us. One often thinks of them at dusk. At that hour the evening meal is being prepared in the big village kitehen, where the inmates of the score of whares which cluster round the marae (village square) congregate and squat or lie about in picturesque attitudes. In the centre a flickering fire burns underneath a big black gypsy kettle full of a savoury mess—probably pork and potatoes. Except for the figure of the woman watching the pot, and the one

or two people round about it, the place is in darkness till a fresh log sends the sparks flying and you half see the other dusky forms squatted about the floor. There is no chimney, and the roof and rafters blackened by the smoke of years shine in the firelight like polished ebony. Two little girls are practising the poi, one on each side of the fire. The “pit-pat” of the raupo balls they twirl, and the tune they hum for time, makes a sort of obligato to the conversation that is carried on round the fire with occasional guttural interpolations from voices that come out of the darkness. The colouring—the dash of red light falling on the bronze figures, and then shading away into inky gloom—is just like that in an “old master.” and the scene is symbolic of the poetic and mystic in the Maori nature. They have many charming traits, and we got very fond of them all before we left, from a jolly old dame with a dissipated billy-cock hat on the back of her short black locks, and a man’s waistcoat that fell in comfortable corrugations over her ample “waist,” right down to the very newest Parinuiite, a good-tempered little ball of golden-bronze, who used to stare over his mother’s shoulder out of his big brown eyes at the pakehas as he was carried about pick-a-back in

the quaint fashion peculiar to Maori mammas. Three miles below Parinui there is a lonely reach called, 1 think. Arawhata. Five miles down the Mangaiuii-a-te-ao River a fairly large stream, up which there are several fine rapids and some striking scenery, comes in on the left bank. At Autapu, some two .miles above Pipirili, just before the banks cease to be cliffs and undulate gently inland, there are several caves worn by streams which augment the big river, and here also is the “Drop Scene,” which has attained much celebrity. At the end of a short reach with very lofty banks, the river turns at almost right angles, so that your vista ends with a fern and tree clad eliff face, which has somewhat of a resemblance to the drop scene in a theatre. There are, however, spots higher up the river which appeal to one much more forcibly. The eaves at Autapu are very pretty. Due has a large waterfall, which comes from some invisible source dashing from the dark recess of the back, and the entrance is clothed with ferns and graceful rata vine, which grows from the roof in bunches like hanging baskets. One of these caves has a gruesome history. Just about here was the natural meeting place of the Upper and Lower tribes when they had accounts to sett.e. When -tlie down river people got the better of their visitors from the Place of Cliffs (which was generally always) they would drive them into one of these eaves and deal with them in a whole ale manner. Occasionally in the excitement of the chase some of the drivers got mixed up with the driven, and then their friends would lower a rope or withe down through a hole at the top, and the unintentionally imprisoned one would be hauled to the top. Drowning men will catch at a straw. How much more readily would an up-river warrior eluteh at a downriver rope when it dangled temptingly from an opening above which was the bright sun and possibly freedom? When this happened, and the perspiring braves at the top found they had hauled up the wrong fish, they simply let go with a run. The floor of the eave is strewn with rocks —cruel, sharp —and the drop must be forty feet! One cannot come through a week’s canoeing without losing some of the

frill that marks the get-up of the townsman. and when we arrived at Pipiriki with scrubbing-brush heard*, innocent of collars, more than a *iispieion of ventilation in our clothes not provided for in the tailor's specifications. and reflected that we had been living a la Maori for several days, we were quite prepared to admit that baths and currycombs were highly desirable; but we had no idea how far we had fallen from the ways of grace and Queen-street. We got into conversation with a Maori soon after we stepped ashore, and he l»egan explaining the wonders of Pipiriki House to us. And a most disreputable-looking old scoundrel he was. too. “You know.’’ he confided to us, “two price up te big whare. For te toff, you know, te touris’. with the big collar and culls, he pay tree bob; fellow like you and me only pay eighteen pence.” We didn’t know whether to kirk him into the river or faint, so we did neither, but went and used up two bars of soap, put on our thick est war paint, and paraded aggressively at the three shilling end when the ragged old villain hove in sight. That night we dined under electric light, in a large lofty room, the table glittering with silver and crystal, the menu half a yard long, and we went right through “from soup to walnuts” just for the fun of it. Parinui and Pipiriki what a transformation! Monday it was Parinui —primitiveness. pork and pot itoes: and here on Wednesday we had Pipiriki—polish and plenty, with a feast served up with a lot of •‘gear.” of half of which the little Parinuiites wouldn’t know the names, let alone the uses. In the evening, instead of washing up. to which camp life had piite inured us. we had cigars on the balcony over-look-ing the river, and watched the new moon sink behind the distant ranges, as the mists gathered in the low-lying ground down by the river. Across the water lay the Hat. with its two small hills, where the troops held the Hauhaus at bay. I wonder what the ghosts of the brown warriors who fell in those far away exciting war da vs think of the big house on the riv.er bank, (‘very window a blaze of electric light? Our canoe trip was at an end. and next day one of Messrs. Hat rick's fine steamers landed us back at Wanganui town and civilisation.