Holidaying in the Far North

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLI, Issue 3, 15 July 1908, Page 50

Holidaying in the Far North

A NEU CHUMS FIRST EXPERIENCE OF COLONIAL UNCONVENTIONALITY.

(By

“Red Berry.”)

"W* OKI ANG A! How many pleas- ■ I ant memories surge in upon one’s mind at the thought. | B Everything wits so fresh and -M. new to us who are only recent arrivals in “God’s own country,’* as it is called. We passed out of the Manukuu Harbour on one of those delightful calm afternoons, when nature is in her kindest mood, and the sea appearing to forget for awhile its burden of countless dead, and the sorrows and shipwrecks it has caused in its fits of rage, plays “let’s pretend,” as it vies with the surrounding scenery, by reflecting the glory of mountains and rocks, vivified by the departing sun. even the pink tinted cloudlets taking part in Minnehaha’s playful little farce. Reaching Omapere in the early hours of the day, nature in her smiling morning face looking so fresh and clean, made one feel that it was truly good to be alive just to see the grand old hills waking at the gentle touch of the sun, rising so stately from their white sheets of mist, the sand hills being already up and burnished, in strong contrast to their furrowed and bush covered neighbours.

I have sometimes thought since coming here that the beauties of the English Lake District, the Bay of Naples, the Mountains of Donegal, and the wild grandeur of New Zealand scenery seem to be blended in one perfect whole — Hokianga.

Passing Opononi, 'which consists of a jetty, a hotel, a store, and a house or two, we arrived at Koutu, and were taken ashore in a Maori canoe —just the trunk of a tree hollowed out, with little seats laid across in which one had to practise the art of balance, even to one’s smile, which had, to be exactly’ in the middle of one’s face, or the result might have boon disastrous. We wasted no time in throwing ourselves heartily into the enjoyment of our holiday, and -from the moment of our arrival until now, while v.e are waiting for the bar to calm down sufficiently for the Claymore to convey us once more safely back to Auckland, wo have drunk deep of the pleasures' and delights-to be had in a country house in New Zealand, where hospitality reigns supreme. One fine day we went up the river in a motor launch to Mangamuka Gorge, a perfect Garden of Eden, with its beautiful tree ferns, where the despoiling hand of man has not yet attacked Nature's inimitable handiwork. There was some difficulty in finding a suitable landing place, but eventually after some demur, we were carried bolus bolus, like sacks of potatoes, and deposited high and dry on the bank. The gentlemen- then made a fire to boil the “billy” for tea. while we prepared lunch, consisting of wild turkey shot on the

premises. Lunch over, it was decided that we had better embark once more,- but the tide had ’receded considerably, leaving a great waste of slimy mud between us and our Ixi-rquo, and since flying machines are not the fashion in this remote corner of the world, it was easier said than done. Our skipper managed to get the launch afloat after a good deal of energy had been expended in persuading it, but the most difficult part was yet to come in getting the passengers on board, which couldn’t be managed with a fishing-rod, and since there was not a crane handy, we were each trundled, pick a back fashion, across the perilous and treacherous dividing line, between us and safety amid peals of laughter fiom the lookers-on, while they ■watched our gallant chevaliers floundering, knee-deep through some twenty yards of soft, slimy mud. Even after arriving at the boat there was great difficulty in hoisting us in, many unsuccessful attempts being made before we were bundled in, both rider and ridden

having had many narrow escapes from taking an unpremeditated mud bath. My only regret on this expedition was that 1 had not my camera with me.

One glorious moonlight evening three of us embarked in the Maori canoe and glided up the river, through the avenues of mangroves, the moon casting her spell over the earth, the mountains and trees all repeating themselves in the silvery water! There was no sound, save the splashing of the paddle, and now and then the cry of the wild duck, and the weird, plaintive wail of the morepork. We coo-eed, and the silent mountains sent the echoes back with a hollow, vault-like reverberation. Then, as if in tune with the eeriness of our surroundings, our pilot told us some of the weird Maori legends and folk lore of this part of the country. On we glided in the shimmering light, till we reached a Little green island, where we landed and played “tig” like school children. I think tb.is was partly to shake off the ghostly feeling that had taken possession of us, and partly to wait for the turning of the tide, when we once more boarded our tiny vessel, and glided back'through the silent, solemn mangroves, singing softly, keeping time to our captain’s paddle. Not the least interesting of our experiences was a patiki spearing expedition. We were suitably attired in sliort skirts, and with unstockinged feet set out with the torch and spear to the happy hunting ground at the. edge of the incoming tide ; and .as we. ran along the damp sand, the cool night air fanning, our faces, and the phosphorous sparkling under oui- feet, we felt like mermaids out on the spree, till we found ourselves sinking in the soft, black mud as we went further out to meet the tide. Then the excitement commenced; we looked on and caught sight every now and then of the white bodies of the flatfish gleaming in the torch-light, dazzled by the glare, while the deadly spear came down swiftly and surely, bringing up on its point the wriggling mass which was promptly deposited in the bag, and we stepped on noiselessly looking for more prey, till we bagged a goodly number of fine fish.

Another great source of enjoyment wore the horses, perfectly trained to go up hills, over bogs, through what seems at first sight almost impenetrable bush, and down gullies with the greatest case. Many were the rides we -had, scouring the country, sometimes passing through Maori settlements, where pigs and chickens appear to be friends of the family, and for whom they seem to keep open house, until the time comes for them to be killed, when the aforetime friends are devoured with relish; sometimes scrambling through the bush, when one’s position in the saddle seems very precarious and uncertain, and where we ate nikau heart, and cut rata boughs for swings; sometimes tearing along the hard, smooth gand on the beach at a

gallop, the blood tingling in our veins with the unwonted exercise. The New Zealand bush is indescribable. Its huge kauri and puriri giants make one feel very insignificant as they spread their great branches, and afford welcome shelter to the delicate maidenhair, kidney, and grope ferns from the broiling sun. There is a calm, solemn sense 'of peace here, where it would be impossible to feel lonely, aud there is so much to keep one continually interested. ' Then there came the day for hauling in wood. Although it was pouring with rain, the horse was harnessed to the wooden sledge, and off we-t farted, in this altogether novel conveyance, along the beach, to the bush, where we watched the trees being dexterously cut and piled on the sledge, and since we were well inackintoshed we rather enjoyed the rain than otherwise, riding back oil the load of wood.

Naw, 1 must pay my tribute to the

ever-courteous Maori, always happy and good-natured, and always ready with a kindly "Kia Ora” or “Tena Koe”. for the passer-by. Here is an old Maori woman with her child wrapped in a shawl on her l>ack coming along the beach with two ragged, but picturesque little urchins in the rear, and as she passes wishes me good morning, as 1 suppose, with a string of Maori words which I fail to understand, but I nod and smile, and she continues her journey. How the small boys make me laugh with their grotesque attitudes. Here is the husband, with his kind old furrowed face, and he, too, stops for a word or two; then I wish I could speak Maori, but I can’t, so on lie goes. Here is a merry group of Maori children, one bn horse-back, all laughing aud chatting happily together. How beautiful many of them are, with their bright mischievous black eyes, and gleaming white teeth. On they pass, casting shadows in the wet sand. What a picture "for an artist, of happy, careless, palpitating human life. So they keep passing as 1 sit on the sand and write, each equally interesting and good humoured. Our delightful holiday has come to an end, and even now we find ourselves looking forward to our next visit to Hokianga.