OF MEN AND MOUNTAINS

New Zealand Journal of Agriculture, Volume 75, Issue 6, 15 December 1947, Page 620

OF MEN AND MOUNTAINS

THE mists lay thick over the Queenstown mountains. ' It seemed as if overnight the sky had reached down and claimed the great crags and silvery crests for its own, leaving even mighty Walter Peak .no larger than the merest foothill. Along at the moorings, where the shore shelved suddenly, to a depth of over 1000 ft., the little boats looked like flecks of cloud on the greenstone water. We had traversed the ancient Maori camping place by the lake edge the previous evening and walked a while in the direction of Table Bay, where Nicholas von Tunzelman, who had a Tsar of Russia for.godfather, and was the first runholder on the western side of Wakatipu, threshed his grain before sending it to the Frankton flourmill. The tranquil trees, mirrored in the shadowy water, and the ducks, swimming so effortlessly, had an ethereal quality, inclining . the beholder to reverie.' Suddenly', however, our pleasant 'musings were shattered by a hail from the homestead indicating that our departure was due if we were joining in- the expedition to the farthermost end of this huge station, whose 170,000-acre territory extends through three different counties, and whose boundaries are measured by lake margin, rivers, and mountain ranges. ’ ...

It is an 8-mile drive to Mt.. Nicholas over fertile grasslands where once the moa roamed. Several skeletons of these gigantic birds have been discovered here, also mounds of white stones from their crops. The area was also a favourite hunting ground of the Maoris, and one of their ovens is still to be seen in a perfect state of preservation back among the hills.

We stopped near the remains of the old Mt. Nicholas homestead just long enough to unload supplies and pick up a new passenger;a- typical back-country labourer as . weather-beaten as the lonely hill-places where he had spent so much of his life and with a primitive, earthy flavour to his speech. At one time he had lived for a whole year on Pigeon Island, the largest of the three islands we could see near the' head of the lake, and he had been dubbed "The. Hermit" in consequence. Thousands of wild -pigeons sought sanctuary on the island, hence its name; and all manner of birds, including waxeyes, redpolls, fantails, and finches, flourished there exceedingly owing to the ; absence of vermin. The .Hermit used to string pieces of fat on the trees and put out apples and other titbits for them to feast on, and some of the birds became so tame that they would fly down on to the table and eat from his hand at meal-times, and the ducks always came to meet his boat when he had been out on the lake. With the feathered folk for friends solitude held no terrors for this twentieth-century St.. Francis in the coarse dungarees and dilapidated . felt hat.

Turning south, we left the lake behind and headed up a hillroad which soon turned so sharply that the distinguished travellerwho thought that the car could not possibly negotiate such abad bend and besought the driver to let . him out before they crashed over the precipice could well be pardoned for hisapprehensions. However, the driver's skill was more than equal to the test, and the spot has been known as "Let Me Oot”Corner ever since Sir Harry Lauder's visit! Now we could look down on the valley where von Tunzelman had his briginal homestead among the trees. (This was thefamous Fernhill property, the smaller runs at Table Bay and' Beach Bay being later ventures.) Further on we witnessed themeeting of the waters, the Von and the Gilbert, one river being, called after the intrepid Russian, and the other bearing the name-of his fellow-explorer, William Gilbert Rees, and of Rees's: brother-in-law John Gilbert, who was drowned in 1862 while swimming in the Clutha. We , marvelled at the panorama of river terraces. As the lake level receded through the ages the creeks and rivers followed it down, carving their way through banks of solid rock to a depth of over 200 ft. in a succession of* terrace formations. Our route lay along the left bank of the Von, seemingly placid in the summer sunlight, but turning into a roaring torrent in the snow season, scouring out fresh channelsand engulfing everything in its' changing course. .

The mists had lifted by now, just as my companions hadforetold, and the brilliant blue of the sky appeared to be superimposed on the summits ahead. Pasture Hill, from whoseheights the early* settlers, pausing in their long journey by foot from Southland, could see both up and down the lake, had no less than 14 different colours on its gentle slopes bronze and brown of bracken, the whole gamut of greens in grass and ■ scrub growth, tawny yellows and golds of clayey cliffs, . cobalt-shadowed hollows, long purple scars caused by erosion, shingle slips of silver and slate-grey, and a red carpet, of piripiri unrolled at its foot. As we climbed higher andhigher up the narrow road winding over Gorge Hill the wayside grasses glittered with diamonds left by the departing, fog. and there was a lavender haze on the . distant ridges, and the patches of bush were a . bright navy blue. This unusual colouring showed up even more' distinctly when viewed through dark glasses. By now we were right in. the midst of the mountains, bumping over boulders, fording creeks, jolting across tussocky plains, and 'on one occasion surmounting a hillock of stones which a slip had brought down upon the track. It was not surprising to learn that this area is quite impassable in winter. At the bottom of a steep valley where a stream had gouged out a precipitous bed and the docks splashed vivid rust and carmine leaves upon the banks there \ was a rough bridge of" red birch rails, but the angle of approach was so sharp that we had to back the car before we could get over, and the bridge shook as if it would collapse at any moment. Some idea of the . hazards of our- route can be gauged from the fact that it had taken us fully 3 hours to travel 26 miles, and wewere all glad to reach the Von hut overlooking the immenseflats which serve as drafting paddocks. Horses, used to be trained here for the Southland races in the early days,' and oneof the large paddocks is still referred to as the Race Track. The hut itself, of corrugated iron with a sack-lined- ceiling to shut out the icy winds, had an earthen floor and an outsize fireplace backed by blackened boulders. Some wisps of dry grass and bracken set in a hollow among the ashes, ' a handful' of chips and half a dozen slabs of white birch stacked lengthwise’ above them, the spurt of a match to the fern, and in afew seconds the logs had caught alight and the flames were curling ’ about the ■ witch's cauldron suspended over the fire by a long chain; and plumes of fragrant smoke were rising up thechimney. Two wide shelves along the far wall .held an amazing array ,of utensils — and big iron pots, tin plates and pannikins, several enormous enamel teapots, , a collection of cutlery comprising everything from a soup ladle to a salt spoon, a girdle pan of gargantuan proportions (equally good for cooking scones or grilling chops), and the pioneer's standby, -a< colonial , oven. .. ..

Each of the six bunks at the other end, of the hut had its -own individual’, touches furnished by former occupants—a shelf for writing materials or a, bookcase contrived out of oddments •of wood, a box converted into a cupboard, a natty little candlestick cut from tin, a portion of the wall papered with pages of •an illustrated weekly in lieu •of the more conventional covering. (Most station hands, by the way, apparently prefer their literature, like their work, to deal with the "great outdoors," for all the books by the bunks were 'of the wild western type -with titles like "Hurricane Range" and "Riders of the Hoodoo ‘■Ranch.") The same ingenuity in making' the most of the materials to hand was shown in sundry other articles to be seen •about the hut. A rag wrapped round a stick did duty as a dish-mop, twists of fencing wire were used as hooks, holders for candles, a toasting fork, and the mainstay of a tobacco tin soap-saver, and the handle of the bucket we took down to the spring had a sheep-bone strung on a piece of wire for a handle.

It would have been pleasant to linger in the shade of the willows, where the water welled up among the rocks, but as we still had many miles of rough country to cross before we reached our destination, when we had tidied up the lunch things we were on. our way again, past the kennels dug out of the hillside (the interiors were .timbered and the sods replaced ; on top of the roof iron, giving them an igloo effect) and along a mountain road lined with huge lichened boulders, grim monuments of the ice age, during which they had rolled down these slopes. A pair of paradise ducks presented a striking study in black and white as they rose from the reeds a few hundred yards from where we stopped to inspect a new, •sheep dip, the latest in concrete construction, complete with ramp and draining pens so that 5000 sheep can be put through Tn one day. Now and again we could detect a sheep against a gravelled mountain face, but most of them chose to roam •the' heights - during the summer months. At Bullock Creek, which would have been considered a ■sizable river in a locality where the scenery was not on such a stupendous scale, the crossing had been carried away by a • previous flood, and while the men debated the possibility of getting the car across two of us forded the water on foot ■and climbed up to Bullock Hut, where the great birch forests •begin. In the heavy winter of 1939 an avalanche swept down behind the hut, shearing away a swath of trees as if they were twigs, and then fortunately veering away in another direction. The cabin was built entirely of birch, bark-covered trunks being ••used for the corner-posts and crossbeams, and smaller logs for the walls. Even the beds were made of boughs, and instead of ■mattresses they were piled with pale, golden straw, calling to mind the lovely lines of the Lutheran cradle hymn. On a post outside hung three branding irons bearing the diamond pattern 'belonging to Walter Peak station. (The cattle yards were just m the next gully.) By the time we clambered down over the tussocks the car was there to meet us, the new passage through the shingle furrows and brown creek waters , being marked with ■cairns. of stones and tall stakes. Further on there was another stream too deep to ford, but the men bridged the close-set [banks. with slabs of timber, so that the delay was only a slight ■one, and we were soon in sight of the southern end of the •■station, where a wire fence stretched down the mountain side •and across the valley and disappeared in the bush-clad range on . the other side. As we sat on the river bank in the sun •and watched the water flowing past the little islands of grass and -green weed the cares and problems of our everyday existence seemed very remote and unimportant. ...

Bullock Creek was negotiated without incident on our return trip, and as we went through the old valley of the Von the wild hawks wheeled overhead and the wind ruffled the grasses in small, ‘ swishing waves and : < '

grimmest ridges looked softer through

The clinging film of their gentle blue, Where high in the haze of the summits show The cool, faint streaks of belated snow.

And all, from the mountain, the great plain o’er, To the sickle-blade of the curving shore,

From earth below to the heaven’s height, Was pierced and filled with the living light.

Zig-zagging down Gorge Hill, we had a clear view of the three round ■ knobs which form the back of the hill of many colours, and our thoughts were of those gallant pioneers who had tramped over these passes before roads or cars were dreamed of. Some miles down the valley we drew up at a white gate and got out to explore the wonderful old garden made by two brothers by the name of White, British Army officers who had served in India before coming to New Zealand with their two sisters in 1860. The front drive was paved with stones set level with the ground after the fashion of English cobbles, and colonnades of stately elms formed Gothic arches overhead. Brambles and bidi-bidis overlay the circular paths, the flannel leaf thrust up stems of bright-yellow flowers among the stones, and sycamore seedlings grew like a miniature forest underfoot, but it was still possible to wander beneath the huge oaks and Wellingtonias, the hollies and horse chestnuts, and the conifers and larches. A cork tree was a distinct curiosity, likewise a tremendous passion fruit tree with fruit like little green apples that would later turn black when fully ripe, and gnarled quinces and apples and heavily-laden pears surrounded a central grove of walnuts and hazelnuts shading a round hollow which had once been an ornamental pond, the water having been brought down from a race in the hills. ' •

The flower beds had long since reverted to grass, and'box thickets and tangles of roses (the red, rich-scented variety) were the sole traces of former loveliness.. Only a heap of stones remained of the house, but the cookhouse with its- long, low roof, faded vermilion doors, and. wide stone chimneys at each end was still intact and used as a mustering shed. A big wooden table occupied the centre of the room, there was a capacious corner cupboard for stores, and a row of tin plates gleamed on the sheet-iron mantelshelf. Countless meals had been cooked in those blackened pots, countless tales told down the years as weary . men, coming in from a hard day's work among the mountains, drew closer to the fire's comforting warmth set in soft circles of light cast by the hanging hurricane lamps. . . ..

Rabbits scuttled away at our approach as we proceeded through the lower valley. The Von was a silver chain linked to the sapphire pendant of the lake. The late afternoon sun had turned the hills to gold, and the trees by the lake edge looked as if they were fashioned from jade. We were nearly at the end of our journeying now, and

ahead of us we could see the mountain after which this vast station is named * magnificent Walter Peak, amethystcrowned against a cloudless sky. 7 [Photographs by Florence Mackenzie.

Mary