Scenic Wonders of Maoriland

New Zealand Graphic, 25 December 1909, Page 25

Scenic Wonders of Maoriland

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CHARLES C. READE.

NEW ZEALAND has been spoken of as the “Scenic Paradise of the World.’’ Nature has made it a land of startling contrasts. In an area less by some 16,000 square miles than that of the United Kingdom, it embraces a marvellous conglomeration of boiling springs and geysers, lakes and inland seas, girt with bush-clad hills, snow-capped peaks that pierce the clouds, and gigantic fjords solitary amid the “beauty born of murmuring sound.” The sublimity of the Swiss Alps and the grandeur of Norway’s fjordland are combined there with a rich, natural beauty peculiar to the country itself. Loveliness is wedded to majesty. Just as there is but one London in a hemisphere of cities, so there is but one New Zealand in a world of scenic lands. London, amongst many things, is remarkable for its sameness, be it Hammersmith or Poplar, Camden Town or Brixton; New Zealand is pre-eminent by its contrasts —contrasts that completely outstrip any comparisons that one may make in the British Isles. Almost side by side with this wonderland of silent hills and waterways, Nature, with quaint caprice, exhibits a phenomenon. The centre of the North Island is a large lake called Taupo, situated at an altitude of 1,250 feet above sea-level. Some 50 miles due north are several smaller basins, including Rotoiti and Rotorua joined by a short channel. Between these upland waters, contained within an ovalshaped area, is the principal thermal region of New Zealand (see special plate presented with this number). It is a vista of pumicestrewn plains and grey hills, rising billow upon billow above valleys of boiling springs and hot steaming mud holes. The crust of the earth is honeycombed like one vast sponge.

Nature has placed there the safety valves

for her mighty subterranean forces. Throughout this great volcanic region there is not one large active crater. South of Lake Taupo, sandwiched in between the desolation of Mount Tongariro and the rugged glory of Ruapehu, is Ngauruhoe, the splendours of whose eruptions is well depicted in these pages. Since the eruption of Tarawera in 1886, a mountain rising above a lake of the same name on the northern fringe of the thermal regions, New Zealand has suffered no serious disturbances. This is popularly supposed to be due to the constant activity of the springs and geysers, which are, in themselves, a spectacle of extraordinary and fascinating interest. The central point of the thermal district is Rotorua, which is several hours’ journey by rail from Auckland, the northern city of the Dominion. There is no volcanic region of the earth containing in quantity or variety such a wonderful collection of hot mineral springs as Rotorua. In a brief sketch it is impossible to describe the wonders around this tourist township, with its brightly - painted houses and gardens clustering down

to the shores of the lake from which the town takes its name. Two miles away the visitor will find one of the weirdest sights of the earth in Whakarewarewa—a basin of mud and limestone set between scrub-covered hills. The place is a vast zone of seething waters, sending up clouds of steam. One enters it as he would a valley of mystery. It is something charged with the portent of the unknown, a realm of black, blatant geysers, mud thrown into weird volcanic shapes, and hissing, bubbling waters veiled ever in rising steam. By day it inspires; one is enthralled to see Nature in a mood so passionate, if not diabolic. By night it threatens with the might of the infernal. It is the last of a once molten planet yielding to the force of evolution. Astonishment is succeeded by awe —awe gives way to fascination. Above everything, the geysers hold one spell-bound. Wairoa —a very fine example—is one of many that play intermittently. A muffled explosion precedes the eruption, and immediately a column of greyish black fluid leaps skyward, scattering like the spray of a fountain and throwing out a white

cloud of steam. In the larger geysers, the force of the explosion is almost beyond words. The convulsion is appalling. Such things belong to the wildest and most imperious moods of Nature. Their titanic force is immeasurable. A planet bursting in fire across the heavens could not be more inspiring than a big geyser torn by eruption. It has the greatness that belongs to terrestial bodies. It is inspired with the force behind creation. But New Zealand has many other sights, as

the pages of the Christmas Graphic show. The South Island is one of the most wonderful islands in the world. It presents a surprising variety of scenic attractions, from the sunny, sleepy beauty of the hills of Nelson and Marlborough in the North, to the gigantic splendour of the mountains of the South. One must not, of course, forget the Kaikouras —a magnificent group of mountains guarding Cook Straits. The Southern Alps, which rival Switzerland’s in their white, naked glory, run down the west coast of the island — a wild and magnificent chain of heights which might not be inaptly described as the backbone of the country. They are noted for their wonderful glaciers and peaks, and the beautiful atmospheric effects which are continually producing some new aspect, some altogether fresh charm that is quite unexpected. In the heart of the Alps is Mount Cook, piercing the clouds at a height of 13,200 feet above sea-level (see special Supplement). To watch these great craggy solitudes, rising from jagged spurs and black precipitous faces of rock to the eternal snows, is to realise something of the titanic upheavals that must have

taken place when the planet was in process of cooling. As the great snowy Alps pursue their course to the South, the country splits up into a vast and irregular jumble of mountain heights, and such is the astonishing and bewildering configuration rising and falling incessantly at steep, precipitous inclines, that the whole country seems to be literally standing on edge. The jagged array of heights presented to the Tasman Sea gives some promise of what is to be found in those matchless inlets from the deep called “The Sounds,” that wind in and out between thousands of feet of rock and mountain side. Where the sea has not swept in to complete the picture of the fjords of Southern New Zealand, the whole of the lower part of the west coast of the island is bejewelled with great inland seas or lakes, the beauty and fame of which are world-wide. Past all the glories of Wakatipu, W r anaka, or Te Anau, one must rush (for space forbids) to linger a moment by the loveliest of lakes. Manapouri, with its matchless cathedral peaks soaring far into the clouds above its peaceful isle-dotted waters, is one of the sights of the earth. In contrast to the wild, jagged aspects of the typical mountain chains, there is a sublimity in the silent grandeur of the Cathedral Peaks that holds one wondering and breathless. Manapouri is the most poetical spot in all this land of shining waters. It is the lake of the throbbing heart,” to give the translation of the Maori name, and if ever a scenic paradise was conceived by Nature for her children, this still, silvery solitude, girt with ineffable peaks, would be its crowning glory. Milford Sound is the most sublime of all the New Zealand fjords. Its course winds through stupendous cliffs for nearly ten miles. It is hard to say which is the greater of its attractions—the numerous waterfalls that come tumbling over the precipices, or the splendid glaciers that issue from the remote solitudes of the mountains. It is a vast, supreme realm where, from the passing mood of sunlight and cloud to the deep, silent glories of the sunset, there is reflected the serenity of Nature wedded to the immortal note of the infinite.