EN ROUTE TO THE TERRACES.
Over the mountains--Rauporoa Forest--The
_hotete_--Tikitapu--Rotokakahi--Te Wairoa--The natives--Waituwhera
Gorge--The boat--A distinguished traveller--Sophia--Lake
Tarawera--Mount Tarawera--Te Ariki--Te Kaiwaka.
The terraces, which are the most marvellous of all the wonders of the
lakes, lie about twenty miles as the crow flies, in a south-easterly
direction from Ohinemutu. From the latter place to Te Wairoa the
distance is about thirteen miles; the other part of the journey being
by water across Lake Tarawera.
I found the route to be one of the most beautiful that I had ever
travelled in any part of the world. Leaving Ohinemutu mounted on a
good horse, my road lay along the southern shore of Lake Rotorua and
thence over the mountains, through which it wound by a gradual ascent,
formed by a zigzag cutting. A short distance above the mountain pass
on the right was a bold gorge, formed between two fern-clad mountains,
whose precipitous sides swept abruptly into the valley below, which was
covered with low, round-topped hills. Through this gorge a grand view
was obtained of the huge dome-shaped form of Hapurangi, farther in the
distance the flat-topped, forest-clad summit of Mount Horohoro stood
boldly out against the sky. Beyond this point the road passed through
a fern-clad country, with mountains in the background, and from the
midst of which the grand serrated peak of Mount Tarawera loomed like a
grim colossus above the surrounding heights. After passing over open,
undulating plains, the road entered the Rauporoa forest, one of the
grandest gardens of primeval vegetation in the North Island. Whilst the
trees here attained to an enormous size and the shrubs to a marvellous
luxuriance, many of the rarest and most beautiful ferns of the country
formed a dense undergrowth, which covered every foot of ground like a
variegated carpet. Countless orchids and lichens, and creeping plants,
struggled to the tops of the tallest trees which spread their giant
branches over the roadway in an arched canopy of vivid green, and
appeared to touch the sky as they mounted upwards to the very summits
of the steep mountains which rose on every side, beneath the thick
impenetrable growth which covered their rugged slopes without a single
break.
On my return from the terraces I rode through this grand forest alone
by night. The stars shone brightly, the moon lit up the giant trunks of
the trees in a soft, silvery sheen, and cast deep shadows that flitted
about like spectres in the gloom; the twisting vines hung in fantastic
coils overhead, and countless myriads of glowworms[29] sparkled and
glittered in a thousand brilliant coruscations on every side, on the
trees, among the rocks, and in the ferns, and in a way which reminded
me of the gorgeous fireflies I had often admired when in the jungles of
Ceylon.
It was while admiring the beauties of the Rauporoa forest that I came
across a specimen of what I may term one of nature's most paradoxical
works; it was the _hotete_--the grub of the large night-butterfly--the
_Sphæria Robertsi_, or "vegetating caterpillar."
To give an idea of this singular curiosity, one must imagine a grub or
caterpillar from two to three inches long, with a dark brown body, in
appearance not unlike a piece of dried leather, while the legs, the
feet, the eyes, and the mouth are perfect in every detail, as if the
insect had been carefully stuffed and preserved. But most curious of
all, from the tail end there shoots out the thin stem of a plant from
six to eight inches long, perfectly rounded and smooth in form, with a
rounded point, and of the same colour as the caterpillar. To explain
this, it is clear that the grub, when alive, eats the seed of some
unknown plant or tree, and which, germinating in its inside, when the
insect buries itself in the ground for the purpose of changing into a
chrysalis, gradually kills it, as it grows and feeds, as it were, upon
the vitality of its body.
The most remarkable feature, however, in the whole metamorphosis is not
that the grub eats the seed, nor that it germinates within its body,
but that the process should go on whilst the outward form of the grub
remains intact, as if it underwent during the time some peculiar mode
of preservation. The grub is found in this state underground, with the
plant growing above the surface. It should be remarked that the latter
has neither branches nor leaves, but partakes more of the character
of a creeping vine. Some of the natives are of opinion that it is the
seed of the _rata_ which the grub eats in this way, but the question
appears to be undecided.
When I suddenly emerged from the deep gloom of the forest, the azure
waters of Tikitapu, or the "Blue Lake," came suddenly before my view
with the most enchanting effect. Nearly circular in form, and fringed
below the level of the road with a dense growth of vegetation, the tall
mountains rose up above it on one side to a height of 800 feet, and
cast their dark shadows upon its tranquil bosom, which lay shining in
the sunlight, without a breath of wind to stir the smooth and deeply
blue expanse of water. It is only about half a mile long, but for calm,
picturesque beauty, it is one of the most attractive sights of this
wondrous region. The road skirts it on its eastern side to its farther
end, where a narrow saddle, falling from a range of bold hills, divides
it from Rotokakahi, or the "Green Lake."
It was sunset when I reached Rotokakahi, and the effect of the rich
golden light falling upon the green-tinted waters of the lake afforded
one of the grandest sights imaginable. It was one of those sunsets
when the heavens assume an ethereal blue, and when the fierce orb of
day is mellowed by amber mists and vapouring clouds with streaks of
crimson and carmine. It was, in fact, just such a sunset as Turner or
Horace Vernet would have loved to paint in brilliant and vivid tints.
The lake shone out before me in a long sheet of deep-green colour,
wild fern-clad mountains rose up along its course, miniature bays
swept in graceful curves round their base, and high peaks and jutting
headlands, fringed with spreading trees, cast their fantastic shadows
upon the limpid surface of the water, around which the bright pumice
rock contrasted pleasantly with the deep foliage of the vegetation as
it wound along the serpentine shores of the lake. At the farther end,
and right in the centre of the beautiful expanse of water, the small
flat-topped island of Motutawa rose from a dense growth of _pohutukawa_
trees, and as the fleeting rays of the sun flashed over it, and the
darkness came marching along, the gold and the blue and the crimson
and carmine of the sky seemed to mingle with the deep-green water and
variegated hues of the lake, and to produce a picture which would have
enchanted the eye of the beholder even on the plains of heaven. This
sunset on Rotokakahi was certainly one of the grandest effects of light
and shade I have ever beheld.
It was evening when I reached Te Wairoa, a native settlement situated
in a deep gorge, which appeared at some time to have formed a
connection between Rotokakahi and Lake Tarawera. It is hemmed in on all
sides by rugged ranges, and it now only serves as a gate as it were to
the wonders of the lakes beyond, and over which the great mountains
known as Moerangi and Tokimiha stand as sentries. The Wairoa River,
flowing out of Rotokakahi, winds through the old native settlement
of Kaiteriria, and flowing in the direction of Lake Tarawera, leaps
over a precipice of nearly a hundred feet in the form of a foaming
cascade, about which the greenest of ferns and mosses grow in wonderful
luxuriance. The settlement is small, and consists of clusters of native
huts surrounded by small gardens and deep thickets of sweet-briar.
[Illustration: NATIVE WOMAN, LAKE COUNTRY.]
The natives of this place appeared to be robust and healthy, and I
noticed among the men some very fine specimens of the noble savage. In
fact, from time immemorial the men of these parts have been noted for
their giant physique. At one time they were among the most warlike of
the great Arawa tribe, but in these degenerate days they have a marked
predilection for raw rum and strong tobacco. They formerly tilled the
soil, but now they are not by any means industrious, although they
fish in Tarawera sometimes, when all other food is scarce, and in the
proper season they reap a fair harvest by "interviewing" tourists,
whom they are fond of coaxing into their _runanga_ house, where they
will undertake to sing hymns or dance the _haka_,[30] according to the
inducements held out by the travelling _pakeha_.
At daylight I left Te Wairoa, to cross Lake Tarawera to the Terraces.
Up to this time I had been travelling only with a native guide, but a
party had been formed at one of the hotels to hire the boat which is
used to convey visitors across the lake, so I joined it. There were
four ladies and three of the sterner sex. We strolled through the
native settlement, where most of the _whares_ were hidden from view by
a dense growth of sweet-briar, which wafted its pleasant odour through
the balmy air, and then we followed down a steep pathway fringed with
spreading trees, which led through the Waituwhera gorge to a narrow
inlet of the lake, where we embarked.
I had hoped to find a big war-canoe ready manned by half-naked
warriors, waiting to convey us to the greatest wonder of the lakes,
but, in place of that, we got into a craft built like a whale-boat,
and manned by a stalwart crew of Maoris, some of whom affected striped
calico shirts and white trousers, while others were satisfied with
scant garments of a less attractive kind. With crew, or rather "all
told," we mustered sixteen souls.
There was at least one distinguished personage among the crowd, and
whom I at first took to be "chief fugleman" or captain, but I soon
found out that he had only come on board to get a lift across the lake.
This individual was a tall, well-built old man of some seventy summers,
with splendidly defined Maori features, which were elaborately tattooed
after the most improved native fashion, the thin blue lines and curves
running round his mouth, over his nose, and across his forehead to
the very roots of his hair, and I could see at a glance that he was a
grand type of a savage of the old school which is now unfortunately
fast passing away. His only covering was a scant shirt, and a tartan
shawl swathed tightly round his gaunt form. In one hand he carried a
big hunk of bread, at which he munched as we glided along, varying the
operation now and again by a drink of water from the lake, which he
scooped into his mouth with the palm of his hand; while in the other
he grasped, not a _mere_, as he might have done of old, but a copy of
the Maori newspaper, _Te Korimako_, and which he seemed to guard with
as much jealousy as a Londoner might do a copy of the _Times_ when
travelling on a penny steam boat on the Thames. If the old man had
guarded a _pakeha_ paper in the same way I would have taken no notice
of it, because I would have imagined that he had brought it along with
him to wrap up what he could not eat of his frugal repast. But the
_Te Korimako_ was in his own language, and I make no doubt that the
antiquated heathen knew of one or two tidbits in it that he would read
and discuss round the camp fire of his tribe. He sat alongside me in
the prow of the boat, and Sophia, the guide, sat crouched at my feet,
and when I asked her what his name was, she replied, "Rangihewa," at
which the old man smiled and said, "No, no! me Georgi Grey." At the
time of the war, Rangihewa was a noted chief, and a great fighting-man.
As I have already mentioned Sophia's name, which is echoed over the
hills of Tarawera with as much frequency as is that of Hinemoa at
Rotorua, but perhaps not with quite as much of romance, I think I
cannot do better than to give a sketch of her here. In appearance,
at first glance, Sophia was remarkable. She was about medium height,
comely of form, with well-modelled features, a nose slightly aquiline,
lips slightly tattooed, a pair of big dark eyes, and a thick cluster
of raven hair, which fell in a weird way over her well-formed head
and shoulders. She walked with a firm step, and with the gait of
a drum-major. When she came into the boat she was shoeless and
stockingless, and just below the knees fell a bright scarlet flannel
petticoat, and over this again a blue skirt tucked up about her waist,
a _korowhai_ or native shawl was swathed round her ample bust, her hat
of plated rush was lined with pink, and turning up on one side suited
her _à merveille_. In her mouth was a short black pipe, while round her
neck was a cord from which depended a greenstone _tiki_,[31] and which
like all other tikies I had ever seen, was modelled after the fashion
of a small, flattened-out, lop-sided baby. She was a half-caste of the
Ngapuhi tribe, was born at Russell, spoke English with much fluency
and grace, had been twice married, and had assisted in a small way to
replenish the earth by becoming the mother of fifteen children. For
the past twelve years Sophia has acted the part of guide, philosopher,
and friend to thousands of tourists who have visited these parts, and
in this way her history has become identified with the place where she
reigns almost with the power of a petty queen.
As our boat glided onward to the wild chants of the Maoris, all the
varied beauties of Tarawera unfolded themselves with magical effect
before the view. We passed out of an arm of the lake with a picturesque
headland on our port side, clothed in the greenest hues, and which was
formerly the site of an old _pa_ known as Ruakiria. From this point,
the broad waters of the lake opened out before us; the sun shone
brightly from the cloudless sky, and the golden rays gilding the calm
blue surface, and shooting through the overhanging trees that fringed
the lake, reflected their gnarled branches and plumed heads in a
thousand fantastic forms in the depths below.
The water of Tarawera was so limpid and transparent that we could see
far down below the surface and discern the big rocks and decaying
giants of the forest which lay scattered about its bed as if hurled
there by the throes of an earthquake, while every now and again we
could behold the gleam of the shoals of fish indigenous to the lake,
or the flash of the golden carp, introduced by Sir George Grey, and
which here attain to a wonderful size. The lake, which is seven miles
long by about five miles broad, was evidently at some period or another
the centre of a widely extended volcanic action, as evidenced by the
igneous rocks which line its shores, as well as by the rugged peaks
which add grandeur to its scenery.
On every side of the lake bold mountains, with conical peaks and
serrated ridges, rose up from the very edge of the water, covered to
the summits with a rich growth of giant-like vegetation, whose varied
tints of green were resplendent with the bright crimson blossom of the
_pohutukawa_ tree, which here attains to a colossal size. Picturesque
headlands jutted out into the water, deep bays, broad valleys, and
weird gorges came before the view at every turn, and the scenery was so
wild, so grand, and so varied that one hardly knew which part of it to
admire the most.
The eastern arm of the lake formed the outlet to the Tarawera
river--the Awa-o-te Atua, or "river of the gods;" beyond the grand
volcanic cone of Putauaki rose to a height of over 2000 feet, while
right in front of our course the majestic outline of Mount Tarawera
towered in the form of a colossal, truncated cone, with steep, sloping
sides, tinted with red oxide of iron and shining obsidian, which made
it look as if it were just cooling from the terrific heat of volcanic
fires. It appeared as if, at some period or another, this rock-bound
mountain had been much higher than now, but that nature, being
dissatisfied with her work, had snapped it in twain by one tremendous
blow, and caused the rugged fracture to assume the shape of a gigantic
spiked crown. The stupendous form of this giant mountain not only
adds grandeur to Tarawera, as it rises in sublime majesty a thousand
feet above the lake, but it is a beacon for miles around the lake
district, over which it presides like a mighty monarch, and when "King
Tarawera" frowns dark beneath his craggy diadem the natives "look out
for squalls." Since time immemorial Mount Tarawera has been renowned
in Maori song and legend, and, among other tales connected with it,
a monster _taniwha_, or fabulous green dragon, gifted with cannibal
proclivities, is said to haunt it, while in its dark caves the bones of
countless warrior chiefs of the Arawas lie guarded by the mystic _tapu_.
Steering our light craft, which seemed to quiver under the firm, steady
stroke of her dark crew, so as to bring Mount Tarawera on our "port
quarter," we entered Te Ariki, a wide inlet at the southern end of the
lake, and when we had rounded the rocky headland known as Moura, the
hills and valleys spread themselves out in a splendid amphitheatre of
enchanting scenery, the trees and creeping vines mirrored themselves in
the water, where they seemed to glide beneath us like a fairy forest as
we swept along, while a cloud of steam rising in the distance told us
that we were fast approaching the wonders of Rotomahana.
We hauled up in front of a native village where there were one or two
_whares_, and here old Rangihewa got out of the boat to wade ashore,
and, wrapping his shawl about his neck, pulled up his shirt to prevent
it from getting wet, but utterly regardless of consequences, and then
bidding us farewell by a wave of his hand, and a tremendous grin
which made his tattoo marks double up into a curious network over his
face, he entered the door of a hut with a majestic gait, and with the
_Te Korimako_ under his arm. Here we purchased a couple of _kits_
of _kouras_[32] from a native woman who waded into the water almost
alfresco, with an india-rubber-looking baby on her back, and then we
headed for the farther end of the bay, where a picturesque-looking
Maori settlement added a pleasant charm to the beauties of the
surrounding landscape. We landed at this point, and an attenuated, wiry
old chief, as thin as a match, and with a very scant wardrobe, put
off in a dilapidated canoe to bid us welcome, and to annex any stray
bawbees or figs of tobacco that might fall in his way. Here the party
was divided, the ladies embarking in the canoe to go up the Kaiwaka
stream, and to join us at Rotomahana, while we, the sterner sex,
walked a mile through the _manuka_ scrub, following the attractive red
petticoat of Sophia.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 29: The New Zealand glowworm, called by the natives
_Piritana_, is a small grub, inhabiting caves and damp places; it is
surrounded by a slimy coating, through which radiates a brilliant
phosphoric light.]
[Footnote 30: _Haka_, a lewd dance, in which both men and women take
part.]
[Footnote 31: The _tiki_ is worn by Maori women as a kind of sacred
charm.]
[Footnote 32: _Koura_, a small cray-fish, common in the lakes, and much
prized by the natives as an article of food.]