Rambles on the Golden Coast of New Zealand/Chapter 3
THE WEST COAST SOUNDS.
CHAPTER III.
ANY excellent descriptions of this part of the West Coast have been written by tourists, who of late years have made excursions round the South Island of New Zealand. Most of the writers have contented themselves with the publication of the account of their visit to the Sounds in passing form in one or other of the leading journals of the Colony. Others again, eminent in literature and distinguished in travel, who have made an acquaintance with most parts of the two Islands, have been unable, however much inclined, to do justice to these isolated spots, where communication is less frequent than to the more populated localities. Noted amongst the latter is the late Mr Anthony Trollope, who, in his writings of New Zealand, was enabled to speak of the West Coast Sounds only from hearsay. Not having had an opportunity of visiting the West Coast, he has published as an appendix to his work on this Colony, a short account of the voyage of Sir George Bowen, then Governor of the Colony, to the south-western Sounds by H.M.S. “Clio,” in February 1871. Mr Trollope, however, appears to have heard much of these parts whilst travelling through the Otago Province, and referring to the Sounds he makes note that “this part of New Zealand is so little known, and is at the same time so remarkable for that wild landscape beauty which during the last fifty years Englishmen have gone over the world to find, that it may be well to let some English tourists know where they may discover new fields for picturesque travelling and Alpine climbing.” Mr Trollope managed to get as far as Lake Wakatipu in Otago, but was unable, it being near mid-winter, to reach with convenience the sounds or the lakes either to the north-east or south-west of Northern Otago. The information he received that there were a series of sounds which resembled closely the Norway Fiords, that “they are very numerous, and are at present desolate, without inhabitants, and almost unknown,” is a brief but truthful description, which holds good to the present day, and, to all appearances, will do so for many years to come. And he is equally correct in addressing himself to English readers when he says:—“Though these lakes and fiords are difficult to reach, and though New Zealand is very far from London, that very difficulty will to many enhance the charm, and from year to year the distance, as compared by time, will become less and less.” What the English novelist thus safely ventured to predict is fast quickening into fact.
THE FIRST WEST COAST EXPEDITION.
Let me now ask the reader to step on board the steamer “Geelong,” and accompany the first West Coast Expedition, which left Dunedin in 1867, the narrative of which, here necessarily abridged, is given by the writer referred to in our introductory chapter, when acting in the capacity of special correspondent to the Otago Daily Times, during the editorship of Mr, now Sir, Julius Vogel.
DUNEDIN TO PRESERVATION INLET.
The steamer “Geelong,” commanded by Captain Thomas Hart, and under contract with the Provincial Government of Otago, sailed for the West Coast of that Province on the 5th of December 1867. She was advertised to proceed to Martin’s Bay, and to call at the various inlets en route. Freely translated, this meant that she was to call at as many of the inlets which intersect the coast between Preservation Inlet and Milford Sound as it was possible for her to visit, with a due regard to the quantity of coal she could carry, and to the other circumstances which are not yet quite within human control. The voyage was not intended to be a trading one, although it was not destitute of the elements of business. It was only an exploring expedition—an expedition for the exploration of probably the most interesting and romantic portion of the whole Colony of New Zealand—and by no means the least considerable, though previously the least considered, part of the Otago Provincial Estate. It cannot receive special record as the first voyage of exploration to the West Coast; but there must be a mistake somewhere, if it does not prove to be not only not the last expedition of the kind, but the precursor of many more. Those who were passengers were chiefly official:—His Honour the Superintendent, Mr James Macandrew (subsequently Minister of Public Works for the Colony), the Secretary for Land and Works, Mr Duncan, a member of the Survey Department, Mr Wright, and the Harbourmaster, Captain Thomson, with one of his apprentice pilots, Mr Liddle. As cabin passengers there were other six gentlemen, of various tastes, and from different parts of the Province; and passages and provisions were given by the Provincial Government to eight or ten good practical miners, who, however, as it happened, had not much opportunity of proving their skill.
Familiar as the eastern coast may be, it was not destitute of objects of interest to those who were out in search of the picturesque, or of subjects for reflection for those who had a preference for the practical. As the sun rose, and took his breakfast by “eating up the wind,” as our chief officer characterised the gradual reduction in the strength of the breeze, the magnificent valley of the Clutha was visible, with the Nuggets as the marked feature in the fore-ground, and in the dim distance the Tapanui Range. These were the elements of the picturesque. A practical question, which was not then suggested, but which might well be put, is—How long will it be before an equally eligible harbour, the Hollyford, in Martin’s Bay, be adequately appreciated, if at this time of day, after twenty years of settlement, Port Molyneux—the port of one of the finest natural avenues of the country—can present, as its coast line landmarks, little more than the Government flagstaff, and—let it be added—the Alexandria Hotel, for it was really an object of prominence more than the population would seem to justify? There was one hopeful sign of industrial progress. Near Coal Point, there was a stout smoke making its way actively to the clouds—a smoke which we judged to be from Mr Mansford’s flax-mill. We were not near enough to hear the hoarse whistle of Captain Murray’s steamer, but enough was seen before the end of the voyage to remind us of it, and to inspire a few with the hope—to be realised, of course, at no specific date, but, it may at least be said, before the end of the nineteenth century—that that whistle will not be the only one to be heard in connection with communication from coast to coast. Another smoke observable among the bush was that of the saw-mill at Catlin’s River—a river which, six years ago, was as little known as is now the Hollyford, if not considerably less. By way of parenthesis, I may say that I use the name Hollyford, as applying to the river which flows out of Lake M‘Kerrow, not from any preference, but because it is the name by which it is distinguished on the survey maps of the Province; but why Hollyford, and not Kaduku, which Dr Hector states to be the Maori name, it is difticult to conjecture. In deference to its European discoverer—Mr Alabaster, I think—the stream flowing into the M‘Kerrow Lake might retain the name given to it, doubtfully appropriate as it is, but it is only a part of a whole—a contributor, among other contributors, to the Lake waters, of which the Kaduku is the outflow; and the Native name, it is said, is not only appropriately descriptive, but, unless the vulgar ear is at fault, not especially objectionable in the matter of sound. Of the neighbourhood of Catlin’s River, one of the features is a peninsula of eccentric outline, and which is so much like an island—more so, of course, than a peninsula usually is—that it has received on the chart, as it apparently deserves, the name of False Islet. Another feature, historical more than topographical, is a real island to the southward. A prominent character in local history, we are told, made this isolated spot his occasional home. He was not a passive recluse, but apparently a very active misanthrope, for his name was Bloody Jack, and, for qualities which the expletive implies, his was a name which lived long in the memories of his race, and of the early European visitors to the coast. It is an island which is also recorded as a favourite landing-place with the Natives when they were more nomadic than they are now, and a locality to which they escaped when the Northern Natives came to do more than cæsar—to see, to conquer, and to eat. A feature of the coast line south of Catlin’s is White Point—more a line than a point of stratified rock, white enough certainly, but whether its whiteness is due to the natural colour of the same, or to a top-dressing of lichens, it was impossible, at our distance, to ascertain. From the next point southward—Long Point—the coast trends more to the west. There were only two other bits of this coast of which the note-takers among the party had a chance of making memoranda—Chasland’s Mistake and Brother’s Point. Chasland’s Mistake has this little legend attached to it—that Mr Chasland (still living at Stewart’s Island) was a coasting pilot, or acting as such, on board the survey vessel “Acheron;” that, one day, he said that there were seals to be found at this particular part of the coast; that the crew landed and found no seals; and, verily, they called that place Chasland’s Mistake.
The surroundings of the Strait are not unknown, but it was not often that many of .jpg)
We continued steaming towards Windsor Point, keeping a course W. by N., and to say we did so, is to say all that we did, so far as the passengers are concerned, for we were rather distant from the shore to be much interested in its features; and the only objects near us were some huge patches of detached kelp, which rose and fell on the surface water as if instinct with life, and provided with that convenient vertebral construction which the real live sea serpent is supposed to possess. Past Tewaewae Bay, we were sufficiently near the shore to be more interested, because there was something more to be seen in the thickly wooded slopes, in the deep ravines, and in the snow-capped peaks to the westward of the Waiau. Still we were scarcely near enough to be able to realise very thoroughly the character of the lower land, and that at a greater distance, and of greater height, was only at intervals visible, the clouds, as usual during the day, betaking themselves to the mountain tops, which are consequently most readily seen to perfection in the light of the moon, or by the rays of the morning sun. It was under the first of these conditions that I happened, three years ago, to make acquaintance with some of the grand sights in mountain scenery on the West Coast; and it must certainly be said, that if to be with “ladye fair,” or in abbey ancient, by moonlight alone, be pleasure meet for a child poetic, the feeling with which he would be inspired by Pembroke Peak, or the great Mount Cook, would not lose by comparison. But it was with the practical, more than the picturesque, that we had to do on this occasion, and, as we coasted along, a stretch of flat land or the indications of a valley were of more interest, as pointing to future settlement, than crags or peaks, or “rocks that rise in giddy grandeur.” Abreast of the Solander, the steamer made more towards the shore. Although, if anything, colder in its aspect, it intimately resembles, in all essential particulars, the portions of the West Coast in the neighbourhood of Hokitika and the Grey; the ranges at one point, where they flank Big River, approaching the seaboard a little more closely than they do in those parts. Only here and there, on the spurs of the hills, or at intervals on the terraces, are patches of grass, and these apparently not accessible. The rest is the sort of country which will remain undeveloped until population becomes more abundant by immigration, or until a race of woodmen are born and bred in the country, as have been the backwoodsmen of Newfoundland, the Canadas, and the United States; and, distant as the day may be, it can scarcely fail to come when such a class will be needed to fill the ship-building yards of this country, or the ships of others, with supplies of the raw material from the extensive forests of the West Coast.
By the time we reached Green Islets, the breeze had freshened from the S.E.; except upon the hill-tops inland, not a cloud was to be seen; and we looked both upon sea and land, in this usually inhospitable region, in, perhaps, their brightest aspect. It is said in the sailing directions, that there is invariably a heavy surf along this part of the coast, and its character can be well imagined, from the complete scarping which the sea has given to some terraces towards Windsor Point. If anywhere, it may be said that here, “upon the rocky strand, breaks the huge wave which at the Pole began.” The verdure, notwithstanding, keeps its ground close to the water’s edge, a green stripe skirting the darker scrub, which covers the ridgy and broken ground beyond.
This Windsor Point may be considered the most south-westerly point of the Middle Island, and when we rounded it, we estimated ourselves to be on the West Coast, and that the interest of the expedition had commenced. Puseygur Point, which marks the entrance of the southern arm of Preservation Inlet, being but three miles distant, was soon passed, and from the time of passing it until the completion of the trip northwards, there was a perceptible increase of interest in the objects to be seen, and in the work to be done; and I venture to say that every one connected with the expedition found that, brief as was the time it occupied, it involved considerably more work than play.
PRESERVATION INLET.
In resuming the discursive narrative of what was done and seen by the West Coast expedition, let me premise that the mere configuration of the country, and its geological structure, are the subjects to which, probably, the least reference will be made. These are matters in relation to which any visitor to the West Coast, ambitious of excelling in descriptive, will find himself to be anticipated both in point of time and skill. The “New Zealand Pilot” is an unpretending digest of sailing directions; but its merits exceed its pretensions. It is a comprehensive description of the coast-line, tersely written; and it is not destitute of elements of the graphic. The Provincial archives also contain—it may rather be said, conceal—Dr Hector’s exhaustive account of his observations of the geology of such parts of the coast as he had visited. I say conceal, because that is really almost all that is achieved by printing, in such unpopular form as that of a Provincial Gazette, information which should be as accessible to everybody as one of Johnston’s maps or Murray’s guides.
All that I can venture to do is to put into something like shape a heap of disjecta membra—the fragmentary entries of a note-book as to each day’s proceedings—most of them personal, a few of them touching on the picturesque, and as many as possible aiming at the practical.
About six o’clock on Saturday evening, December 6th, we got as far as Puseygur Point, the southern limit of Preservation Inlet. Almost before we passed it, for it is a low sloping promontory, we had a view of the southern arm of the Inlet, known as Otago’s Retreat, not from any reference to the political state of the Province, but because, at the time of the survey, a schooner of that name attached to the service found it a convenient shelter in an hour of peculiar need. Through this vista we had the first glimpse of the scenery with which in a few days we became—I dare not say wearied, for that would be irreverent, but I may say, figuratively—and as far as the figure can go—overwhelmed. The sun was reaching the horizon, and its evening light enhanced the comparative liveliness of the foreground, for, even here, the vegetation partakes of the characteristic richness of the northern parts of the West Coast, and the cliffs present a picture with which nothing on the East Coast can compare. The ornamental shrubbery—including veronicas, olearias, and others, the mere names of which, however elegantly strung together, would convey little information—are especially beautiful, and are a distinguishing feature of the scenery of all this coast-line. Behind the long stretch of deep green foliage rose big brown hills, darkened by the shade of others intervening between them and the setting sun; and behind them again were the snow-clad summits of such hills as Solitary and Forgotten Peaks, standing close on 4000 feet high. I find that, at this point, I have left three blank pages in my note-book—no doubt with the laudable ambition of filling in a sketch of the phantasmagoria—for there is no other name for it—of a sunset over this same scene; but procrastination, and the succession of positive wonders in the way of scenery which we afterwards witnessed, have bedevilled that intention; and were it otherwise, cui bono? There is suggested just one little moral. Let no man say that the imagination of the artist, the extravagances of the scene-painter, or the ingenuity of the pyrotechnist, with his bluest and reddest lights included, is likely to produce what, in some one or other of Nature’s phases, does not find a parallel. There is a belief prevalent that the scene-painter is usually very careful to avoid a breach of the Second Commandment by painting his scenes as unlike as possible to anything “that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the waters under the earth;” but so extraordinary are the pictures which Nature herself here presents, that one cannot resist the conviction that, if he were desirous of doing what Nature cannot do, it “would give him some trouble to do it.”
Within a gunshot of Puseygur Point is Coal Island, which presents to the sea a front of a mile and a half, and is about 2½ miles long. Its highest point is 850 ft., but at the seaward end its height is less, and it presents a considerable area of table land, the soil upon which, we were told, is of the very best. Of course, at present it is—as is all the West Coast—covered with heavy and valuable timber. In its proper place, I shall refer to the different descriptions of timber which are here and elsewhere prevalent, and to their probable uses; for, we subsequently met with one who is a good authority on these subjects—I mean Mr Beverly, of Dunedin; and his presence on board the steamer, at a later stage of the voyage, constituted, in itself, a considerable accession to our sources of information. The sandstone formation of the island is very visible, despite the rich clothing of shrubbery on the cliffs, and it is an observable feature that the strata are more horizontal than at Puseygur Point, or in the country to the eastward, which, on the suspicion of coal existing there, well deserves prospecting. A noble harbour opens between Coal Island and Gulche’s Head, and this is Preservation Inlet—a mile and a half in width, and more than twenty miles in length, with the usual characteristics of the inlets of the coast, the soundings being shallowest at the entrance, and towards the head deepening, and deepening still, until the surveyors are content with putting down the depth at fifty, or a hundred, or hundreds of fathoms, and “no bottom.” Without any theoretical disquisition as to the formation of these inlets, it may merely be said as a guide to subsequent references, that the accepted opinion is that they are no ordinary excavations of the sea, but the valleys of a country once much more elevated than it even now is, and which, in consequence of their depression at some period, and of Nature’s abhorrence of a vacuum, became filled with the waters of the ocean. Steaming close by the northern shore of Coal Island, we could see some relics, in the shape of woodwork, of the visit of the cutter “Pilot’s” party of coal prospectors, and on the first beach inside of Gulche’s Head, on the north side of the Inlet, we could distinguish a beacon which we accepted as an index of the presence of the coal-miners from Dunedin; but we could see nothing of the party. Fronting us was Cavern Head—one of the .jpg)
We fondly anticipated that some human form divine, rather than mountain or marine divinity, would present itself upon the beach, but the whistle of the steamer produced nothing but empty echoes until a look-out in the rigging distinguished the “Lapwing” cutter, moored by ropes to the shore, in a quiet cove, in the shelter of Steep-to Island; and even then humanity, in the persons of the mate and a man on board the cutter, partook of the pacific disposition of the elements on that particular evening. It was only when a boat went alongside that they emanated from their refuge from the sandflies, and looked upon the face of six anxious inquirers, who desired to know something about coal, Coates, Hutcheson, and Cuttle Cove—our anchorage for the night. The corner in which the cutter lay is safe enough, and a usual resort with Maori boats, as it once was with the boats of whalers, but it is comparatively exposed, and scarcely capable of accommodating more than one craft. Ashore there is a little patch of what was once a clearing, but what is now a cheerful shrubbery—the spot whereon the whalers had erected their try-pots, and revelled in rum and blubber. We received the information that Mr Coates and party were at Daggs Sound, prospecting, and that the coal-workers had bored through seams of various thickness. Returning to the steamer we steamed across to Cuttle Cove, the second anchorage on the northern side, and another resort of the whaler in “ancient times.” In this crescent bay, distinguishable by a small circular island on the margin of the anchorage, the steamer dropped anchor in seven fathoms of water; but she might have gone closer in, for the whalers were in the habit of lying so near that you might adopt that nautical means of mensuration—“toss a biscuit on shore.” It was the first impulse to proceed at once up the Inlet, and to camp out for the night; but superior judgment, and a rapidly-vanishing twilight, had their influence; and “eager for the fray” as everybody was, the alternative of being on foot and in his place in the boat at two o’clock in the morning was accepted.
What remained of daylight was largely employed in fishing, and blue-cod, trumpeter, and crayfish came up from the depths, and in over the side, with an ease and rapidity which almost signified that they rather liked it. Some who went ashore found, back among the woods, where was once the beach, or ground cleared by the whalers, tons of iron-hoops and débris of a whaling station; and at very short distance from the shore were seen specimens of the timber of the country which might well make one wish that there were enterprise and trade to encourage hither, as the successor of the whaler and his harpoon, the woodman and his axe.
There was incidentally gleaned much that was of practical value with regard to the coal, timber, and cultivable character of cleared ground in this neighbourhood. Next day was Sunday, and it was considered that the early hours of the day might be worse spent in slumber on board, or idleness on the beach, than in seeing the marvels of Creation in Preservation Inlet; and, as His Honour did not refuse the use of one of the boats, a party started at two o’clock in the morning to the head waters of the Inlet.
The Inlet is studded with islands. Some of these, with the facilities for fishing by which they are surrounded, afford ample space for comfortable homes to even more dainty people than the hard-working and hybrid race who, in the Northern and Western Islands of Scotland, are content, or compelled, to dwell on a patch of peatmoss, and to obtain a precarious livelihood from the resources of a rougher sea. Others are mere miniature islets, or mammoth flower-pots, such as lend a quaint charm to the scenery of the Thousand Islands of the St Lawrence. The smaller of them are almost level with the sea—the very peaks of hills protruding above the water-level; and though apparently liable to the surge of the ocean, concealed in a covering of vegetation—usually shrubbery of every variety, but often a group of the birch trees, distinguishable by their candelabra branches, or the iron-wood, at this season as easily recognised by its attractive scarlet flower. They were just tipped with the first streak of daylight, as we passed up towards the shaded and frowning cliffs of the upper waters of the Sound. To reach these we had to row towards the south side of the Inlet, where the cliffs descend almost precipitously from the high terrace-land beyond. On the north side, the hills are not actually precipitous, but their slope is of inconsiderable value, so far as affording a footing for man, or the implements of agriculture, even if the bush were not there. After two hours’ pulling between cliffs on the one side, and on the other side the densely wooded shores of a peculiar peninsula by which the Inlet is divided, we reached a spot marked on the chart as Sandy Point. The name is not exactly descriptive of the beach, for it consists of yellowish granite gravel, of almost uniform size and angular form—not by any means a bad substitute, if it were within reach of a City Inspector, for the best screened road metal that he could procure. It was half-tide when we landed, and the beach—welcome to us by its very exception to the prevalence of the perpendicular in every object around—was so well defined by the vegetation, and the water of the Inlet, and so sweetly kept by the ripples of the tide, as to look more like a well-kept drive in a nobleman’s domain than the débris of a stream, which, with 400 or 500 acres of bush behind, it evidently is. Leaving one or two of the party at this spot to “boil the billy,” we pulled still farther up the Inlet till we entered the waters of Long Sound—darkened by the influx of the stream at its extremity, and the shade of the surrounding hills, 2000 and 3000 ft. high. To the practical man, the aspect of this locality is not an enticing one—the hills high and precipitous, so bare of soil upon their sides as to defy the growth of vegetation, and with grass growing only towards the summits. Nature, with a due regard to decency, endeavouring to cover its own nakedness, wherever a rag will hang. The whole formation is apparently granitic.
Returning, we pulled in towards a bare granite cliff, and tried it with the hammer. There was one grand mass of it free from vegetation and in form somewhat resembling a man’s head and shoulders—it might be Atlas himself holding up the world. Where his feet were, was as much a mystery as it has ever been. They were deep down among the dark waters, for the chart showed here fifty fathoms, and no bottom at that. We had not time to immortalise ourselves by inscribing our names upon his breast-plate, but we took the liberty of chipping off corners of his epaulettes or shoulder blades, and that was just as much as could be done. Had time permitted, and had we been possessed of the proper implements, both the time and the implements might have been well employed, here and in other places; for it is no great stretch of the imagination to believe that if a few blocks of this granite, or of other descriptions which abound upon the West Coast, were landed on Melbourne or Dunedin wharf, a lively interest would be excited as to their utilisation for building or for monumental purposes. It was only a few days ago that headstones and memorial monuments of Aberdeen granite were received in Dunedin. Here there is as much granite as will build all the houses, pave all the streets, contain the records of all the good qualities of all the good people in all the cities of New Zealand; and it is an important item, in the considerations of profit and loss, that in all situations it can be had free of land carriage. It is a beautifully mixed granite, and, if the quarryman could but find a market, he could almost, without lift or purchase, slide it from its natural bed to the vessel’s hold. It is not impossible that a calculation as to the cost of working it, compared with the land carriage and shipment of the Oamaru stone, would prove to be in its favour as the cheaper material of the two. As we were situated we could only look at it and speculate, and from the resemblance of this mass of it to the granite of Bon Accord, we took the liberty of christening it “Lord Aberdeen.” Alongside of it was not altogether the situation for reverie, for, as we lay on the oars, big drops of water fell from the overhang of the cliff, striking one’s skull, if he was foolhardy enough to leave it bare, with the hard crack of a piece of the granite itself. At one part, a stream trickled down the face of the stone, giving it an almost artificial polish; and both up and down this same branch of the Inlet, there were a few picturesque waterfalls, like diamonds in the emerald sides of the hills.
The beach of Sandy Point, to which we returned to sit for half an hour around our “billy,” pendent from a birch-tree branch, is, though pretty, rather a monotonous one, being destitute of shells. Under water, however, we could see cockles, clams, and mussels, though only of the common sort. Small dark wood-hens gazed at us from the beach till we closely approached them, and then tripped into their leafy boudoirs, undisturbed. This was not so, however, with a more attractive little bird—a “crow” or a “jack.” It excited the curiosity of the member of the party who had, if anything, a fancy for natural history, without reference to any particular department, and there was a lively pursuit, in which, I judge, the bird had the best of it, as it was not forthcoming, and because the natural historian, as he re-appeared, did so with the extremities of his shirt-collar at an acute angle of his ears, and his hat “void and without form.”
Some of the party had, in the interval of our absence, landed at the coal-workings, near Gulche’s Head, and simultaneously with them landed Mr Coates, Mr Hutcheson, and Mr Beverly, after an eleven days’ hazardous journey of exploration northward. In the afternoon these gentlemen came on board the steamer, and we got an accession to our yet trivial collection in the form of a Kakapo (or ground parrot, a rather large bird of brilliant green plumage), and a Toke-weka—a bird larger than the common Kiwi, resembling an Emu, and accepted as probably a lineal descendant of some branch of the family of Moa. They had with them a dog, which bore upon his pate traces of an encounter with a “wig-seal”—a father among seals, five of which the party had killed. This was not his first encounter with seals, as he had been previously the associate of Maori sealers, and he was received by his owner with all the attention due to a conquering hero.
CHALKY INLET AND DUSKY SOUND.
I have said that at Preservation Inlet we met Mr Beverly, of Dunedin, and in him we met an enthusiastic, and, what is more to the purpose, an intelligent student of Nature. It will not be difficult to estimate his enthusiasm, when it is told that, for three weeks, he had been buffeted about the Straits in the roughest of weather; that, for a fortnight afterwards, usually under a drenching rain, he had been walking, climbing, and creeping among the dripping foliage of this West Coast; and in that time had accumulated a valuable collection of plants, shrubs, and trees, and it was in the hope of increasing his store and his lore that he agreed to join us on the journey to Martin’s Bay.
Let us sit down on the deck with Mr Beverly for a few minutes; examine his collections; and listen to his comments.—In his opinion, there is no country of so short an age which has been so thoroughly searched by botanists, yet he had got many new descriptions of plants, and, before leaving us, he expected to obtain more. Dr Hector and Mr Buchanan had brought from the West Coast a number of specimens of plants; but no one had yet attempted to bring round live plants, and the season at which Dr Hector visited the coast was not favourable for procuring seeds. It was Mr Beverly’s impression that he had exhausted nearly all the known plants to be found between Preservation Inlet and Breaksea Sound; and I believe he got several more at Milford Sound. But, at nearly every camping-place, something new presented itself; and, even as a botanist, it would take years to prospect the country. In exchange for what was thus obtained from Nature’s garden on the West side, Mr Beverly brought with him gum-tree and other seeds; and so did Mr M‘Indoe, who was also a passenger by the “Geelong.” Dr Hector had done the same on the occasion of his visit, and no doubt the produce of these seeds are now flourishing, although the soil, in some parts, is not the choice of gums, as it consists of a mossy deposit upon the granite rock.
The tree which is most abundant among the forests of this part of the West Coast is the birch. It is the predominant feature of the forest inland, as well as along the beach; and, in a few words, it may be described as a tree both useful and ornamental. Next in number and in value is the iron-wood, or rata, of two kinds, one of which is found on the East Coast. It is heavy, durable, and for ships’ knees or similar purposes there is nothing equal to it. The bastard birch, or karmai, is a tree seldom found in .jpg)
I have previously alluded, in these notes, to the beautiful shrubbery, by which the sea-cliffs of this part of the West Coast are adorned. What we had chiefly admired from the decks of the steamer was a small ornamental shrub, Olearia operima, somewhat resembling a crysanthemum. At this season the seeds are ripe, and the opportunity was a good one for those who were so disposed to make a collection. The Senecio rotundifolia is another ornament of the coast, and is somewhat of the same description, with a daisy-like flower, but its peculiar leaf is its readiest source of recognition. On the return passage of the steamer, and while waiting at the Bluff, we saw, in Mr Longuet’s well-tended garden, some of the shrubs; and they have only to be seen to be appreciated. Its thick leather-like leaves are usually the size of the palm of a man’s hand and often six inches in diameter. The Veronica elliptica is another shrub common to the coast, its peculiarity being its small leaves arranged in four rows along the twigs. These are the shrubs which chiefly give to the coast its lively appearance, and none of them—at least none of the first two—are found on the East Coast, and they are only known to be obtained at Stewart’s Island and the Bluff. As a rule, they do not extend far in from the shore, and are seldom found at a greater height than 200 or 300 ft. from the level of the sea. One other—a pimelia—grows by the water side—a large shrub with a fibrous bark so excessively tough that it can be stripped off in lengths of six or eight feet.
Ferns are not an especial feature on this part of the West Coast. So far as Mr Beverly’s experience and the experience of others has gone, the neighbourhood of Dunedin is, perhaps, as fine a field for ferns as there is to be found in the country. About Dunedin there are thirty or forty descriptions of ferns which are absent here, yet there are seven or eight species which are strange, and not only strange, but, even to the uninitiated eye, attractive. These are chiefly film ferns—hymenophyllum and trichomenas. They monopolise the ground in some places, occupying acres of space; and no trappings of human designs could excel them in appearance, when they form part of the drapery of the moss-grown trunk, or the pall of the monarchs of the forest, when they have fallen from their high estate. To a painter like Noël Paton, these would be, professionally, worth all the fungi that a humid climate could produce, or that imagination could invent. Another beauty is the Lindsaea, the fruit of which grows in a groove in the margin between two folds; but that which is most abundant in some of the Sounds, and most noticeable by its gigantic size, is Lomaria Procera. Its fronds are comparatively enormous, and in many parts they form a perfect carpet to the sides of the Sounds.
A list of what we found in Mr Beverly’s wallet will be useful in showing, at least, some of the resources of the West Coast.
Trees.—Metrosideros, florida and lucida. Iron-wood or rata. Very large timber trees, with dark green leaves, and a profusion of scarlet flowers. Its wood very hard and heavy. For firewood superior to manuka, and well adapted for ship-building. The lucida is obtained at the Bluff and on Stewart’s Island, but the florida, which prevails on the West Coast, is not obtained there.
Weinmannia racemosa.—The Karmai of the Natives, or bastard birch of the Colonists. A large handsome tree, with opposite-toothed leaves.
Fagus solandri, Menziesii, and fusca.—The birch of the Colonists:—the fusca being the least common of the three.
Shrubs.—Hedycaria dentata, obtained from Preservation Inlet to Breaksea Sound: common. A small straggling tree, with large glossy leaves, well adapted for shrubbery.
Ascarina lucida.—A similar small tree, with beautiful serrated foliage; also found from Preservation Inlet to Breaksea; but not so common as the Hedycaria.
Gaultheria rupestri.—A beautiful shrub, producing an abundance of clusters of white flowers and berries similar to the snowberry; grows on the rocks at the sea side; common.
Archeria Traversii.—Another handsome shrub, intermediate in appearance between a young totara and manuka, producing clusters of small red bell flowers.
Cyathodes Oxycedrus.—A handsome coniferous-looking shrub, bearing white berries; very ornamental. It is found in the woods generally at Preservation and Chalky Inlets; but it was less common at Dusky Bay and Breaksea Sounds.
Plagyanthus Lyelli.—A rare form of the ribbon-wood. Grows by the side of small streams at Dusky and Breaksea. It is a straggling small tree, with very large egg-shaped toothed leaves, and white flowers nearly two inches in diameter.
Olearia operima.—A maritime small tree with large daisy-like flowers, about two inches in diameter, and the leaves arranged in rosettes or star-shaped fascicles at the tips of the branches. A very ornamental shrub for gardens.
Senecio rotundifolia.—Another maritime small tree, with very large circular leathery leaves.
Veronica.—A new species, undescribed by Hooker, and supposed to be new. Has lance-shaped leaves, bright green above, and milk-white underneath; and clusters of fine white flowers, with pink centre. Grows by the margins of streams, and found only in Dusky and Breaksea. Veronica ligustrifolia and parviflora.
A shrub, name unknown. Handsome, and with leaves cottony on both sides. Only one plant was found. Supposed to be a senecio or olearia.
Pinelia longifolia.—A handsome erect-growing shrub, with excessively tough bark, leaves like a veronica, and clusters of white flowers on the tips of the branches. Got at Dusky and Breaksea Sounds, near the sea.
Dracophyllum urvillearum.—A species of the black oak of the Colonists, with broad grassy leaves and black bark.
Dacrydium laxifolium.—A handsome coniferous shrub, like a dwarf white pine. These last two are found generally in the woods.
Cordyline indivisa.—A climbing species of cabbage tree, which bears large bunches of flowers, eaten by the Natives. It is a climber, trailing along by trees, which it ascends.
Gaultheria oppositifolia.—A handsome shrub, allied to the snowberry. Got at Milford Sound.
Flowers.—Ourisia macrocarpa and sessilifolia. Robust herbs, with rough leaves, and bunches of large white flowers, and roots which spread like the daisy, and propagate in the same way.
Silmesias.—Two, name unknown. Aster-like herbs, with long cottony leaves, and very large daisy-like flowers. Alpine.
Anthericum Rossi.—A herbaceous plant, with fascicled roots, thick lily-like leaves, and a tall stem, bearing a large cluster of yellow flowers. Got at Milford Sound.
It was scarcely daylight on Monday, December 8th, when the “Geelong” lifted anchor, and steamed out of the snug shelter of Cuttle Cove. The dim light of morning was just discernible over the tops of the eastern hills, and as their western slopes were still in the darkness of night, they looked like a country cut out of cardboard, or a section of stage scenery half lit up. As we passed out of the Inlet close by its northern shore, we had a nearer view of the situation of the coal-seams, and a better opportunity of estimating its value as a shipping place. Should coal be wrought, a short shoot or tramway would readily bring it to the ship’s side, and except in S.S.W. gales, a vessel would be sheltered from the swell. As soon as we passed the headland, Balleny Reef presented its uninviting array of rocks awash, and although a channel exists between it and the shore, known by the suggestive name of Break-adrift Channel, we, on this occasion, passed outside of the reef, and, making a sharp turn to starboard, went between it and Table Rock—what I may, at least this time, be allowed to call a solitary sentinel, with just the crown of his hat above water. By this time the white cliffs of Chalky Island were shining brightly under the rays of the early morning sun. It was originally the intention to have explored the two branches of Chalky Inlet—Edwardson and Cunaris Sounds, and to have examined those localities on the shores of Chalky Island and the mainland where traces of wreck had been found by the coal prospectors, and their friend the botanist, in the course of their adventurous boating excursion to the North; but fearing from the appearances, that we were to have more than a breeze from the N.W., it was thought better to leave this Inlet, and its relics of wreck, for examination on our return trip, and to get beyond West Cape, before its characteristic weather had attained full force.
The relics of wreck found on the beach were a cannon, a ship’s figure-head, and a small hatch. The cannon had been found on the shore near Cape Providence, and in our excited imaginations we propounded endless theories as to how it came there, but a distressingly unromantic solution was found to the problem. It is, no doubt, the gun which was conveyed there, about two years ago, for the purpose of making signals, when the steamer “Star of the South” had to be beached after striking a rock, as she was running back to the shelter of the Sound. To the figure-head and the hatch, which lie on Chalky Island, much more interest attaches. What may have been the exact fate of the vessel to which they have belonged it would be hard to tell, but it is just possible that, caught in a gale upon the coast, she had been seeking the shelter of the Inlet at a time when its other name—Dark Cloud Inlet—would more appropriately describe it, and struck upon the reef lying off, in her instance, the ironically-named Cape Providence. A vessel striking there, stem on, might leave little more than her head-gear to drift ashore. I hazarded the opinion that the Balleny Reef was more probably the scene of the wreck, if there was any, but, in that case, the drift would have gone elsewhere with the current, which sets to the southward along the shore. The figure-head was, of course, weather and water-worn; but some of the gilding and paint still remained. It was the figure of a sailor, in white trousers and blue jacket, with gilt buttons—the figure itself being 6 ft. long, and the scroll to which it was attached 2½ ft. in length. The face and arms had been rubbed off; and it is not improbable that there had been also the representation of a hat, for such a thing was picked up by Dr Hector during his visit to the coast. We were not sufficiently “posted” as to dates; but it is suggested that such may have been the figure-head of the American ship “Jack Frost.” I am liable to correction; but I believe that that vessel left the Bluff one Sunday evening, in the latter half of 1861; that, on the following day, there was a heavy gale; and that she was never heard of more. The hatch is a small one—about two feet square, and mounted with brass; and, from that particular, it is judged to be the hatch of some ship’s lazarette. We had hoped to bring them with us to Dunedin, where there might be more chance of their being recognised; but an opportunity did not afterwards present itself for this being done.
Of the two islands which divide the entrance of the Inlet, the larger, Chalky, is composed of a white sandy clay, not unlike Arbroath pavement, and, from the appearance of detached blocks scattered along the beach, it is not impossible that it might be applied to such a purpose. It is stratified, lying in horizontal layers, nearly as straight and as numerous as the leaves of a goodly volume. The other is of red granite, and there is reason to suppose that here, or on parts of the opposite shore, granite may be obtained not inferior to the famous granite of Peterhead. The peculiar feature of these Inlets holds good here, as well as in their upper reaches—there is deep water close to the shore, and, if there were inducements to quarry the rock, it might be shipped with the greatest ease. It was on the smaller island that Mr Beverly and his companions had their camping place for five days, under “adverse circumstances,” a cave 6O ft. long, 20 ft. high with free ventilation, being open at both ends, and with pretty, but rather cold, red granite walls. The vegetation on both islands is similar to that on the mainland, but, as usual on most of the islands, it is comparatively scanty. The forest is chiefly of birch.
From Chalky Inlet to Dusky Sound, the coast runs in a comparatively straight line. West Cape protruding slightly midway. The cliffs are about two hundred feet high, bordering terrace-land, from a mile and a half to two miles in breadth, broken by small rivers and ravines; and it again borders a stretch of undulating country, rising gradually towards the hills behind. The rock is granite or gneiss, and it is covered with an elastic mossy soil, not very favourable to the pedestrian, under such conditions as those on which it was traversed by Mr Beverly, even with a liberal use of seal’s or woodhen’s oil as a substitute for Warren’s blacking. The forest is mostly of red and black birch, dispersed in nearly equal proportions; and, as usual, where birch asserts its supremacy in the bush, it grows to a considerable height, and free from branches to the very top. Here the average height of the trees is from 70 to 80 ft.; the diameter of the trunk about 2 ft.; but many of them are 4 or 6 ft. through. At the northern extremity of this stretch of country, there are numerous patches of heathery or grassy-looking land, but only patches—handy habitations for a few coveys of grouse. As a whole, it is the last piece of country on the coast, until we reach Martin’s Bay, which is of sufficient extent and character to give the hope that it will be some day populated.
Unfortunately for our realisation of entire novelty, but very fortunately for safe navigation, we had been anticipated as visitors to Dusky Sound. Vancouver and Cook had both been there before us; and by both, I daresay, it is elaborately described. I can just remember having seen in an old edition of “Cook’s Voyages,“ an engraving of Dusky Sound, and a very accurate representation it is; but had Cook entered the Sound under such circumstances as we did, he would certainly not have named it Dusky. The circumstances were, no doubt, unusually favourable. Just permit one little extract from the notes taken at the time:—“Over the more distant hills an indescribable filmy haze hung, from the blue tinge of which the islands in the foreground (their names are Indian and No-man’s) stood out in bold relief. Except to the North, where a white gauzy cloud served to show more sharply the outline of the mountain-tops, there was not a speck upon the firmament, nor was there more movement of the air than to give liveliness to the picture by the ceaseless, shifting, silvery, sparkling of the waters of the Sound.” You will observe that the note-taker was just beginning to “gush.” BrieHfly, the fact was that it was a very fine morning. And the scenery is magnificent. It is one of the most splendid harbours on the coast, if, in that matter, there is at all room for comparison; and it had more interest for us, because it had not been made familiar by a visit from Dr Hector, or by recent expeditions of whose visit any accurate account had been given.
The northern shore of the Sound is defined by a long and comparatively level arm of Resolution Island, terminating in Five Finger Point. Resolution Island proper presents a series of purely pyramidal hills, 3000 and 4000 ft. high. These, as we enter the Sound, are partially concealed from view by Anchor Island, which forms but one, and the largest, among a perfect labyrinth of islands and rocks, some of them favourite resorts of seals, and of their enemies, “in their season.” On this island the coal prospectors obtained some white felspar, which was found deposited in sheets or layers 2 or 3 ft. thick. The ranges on the south side of the Sound are more rugged. At its head or in the interior, there is a long line of them, snow clad.
While the majority of us were musing, or giving open expression to our admiration of the scene, the Secretary for Lands and Works was fidgetting, like Noah’s dove, for land whereon to set his foot. A belief had been engendered there was level country behind the ranges southward of the Sound, and the Secretary determined to satisfy himself on the subject. Passing Pickersgill Harbour—a favourite anchorage of Cook—we steamed into Cascade Cove—a sort of elongation of what the higher part of the harbour of Port Chalmers would be in its primitive state. Here the Secretary, the Surveyor, and Mr M‘Indoe were landed on a small timbered tongue of land, formed by a land-slip, and they addressed themselves to the task of ascending a hill nearly 4000 ft. high. For 3000 ft. of its height it is covered with bush; and, if to memory dear, they were at least for five hours lost to view, and it was nine hours before they returned.
DUSKY AND BREAKSEA SOUNDS.
Cascade Cove, in Dusky Sound, I have compared to Koputai Bay, or what is now known as Port Chalmers, before the settlers had substituted, for its tall totaras and red pines, the present leading features of the landscape—churches and hotels. But it is Koputai Bay on an extended scale, for it is a mile and a half in length, a third of a mile in breadth, and its depth is such that it was only when the “Geelong” got close up to a sandy beach, at the head of its waters, that anchorage was found. An item in the resemblance is the existence of a level, or at least low, piece of ground at the head of the Cove, large enough to admit of a few settlers carving for themselves, from among the bush, very snugly sheltered homesteads. Through it flows a small stream, and, while the Secretary for Land and Works, and his two companions, were climbing the hill, and finding their work a great deal less of a joke than the funny men of the community seem to think, a party of us landed and followed its course for a few miles. The digging party also landed, and went prospecting. There are several branches of the stream all of them flowing over a granite shingle bed, closely overhung with fuchsias and ferns. Not more than half a mile up we were attracted by the sound of falling waters, and turning abruptly eastward came to one of the most picturesque cascades that, probably, any one of us had seen, either on the West Coast or elsewhere. It is not the water-fall from which the Cove derives its name, and which falls down the thickly-timbered hill-side near the entrance, but another, and, pictorially, a better. The stream had scooped out for itself a basin of considerable size in the hard granite rock. Fed by the constant spray, rich mosses grew upon its concave sides, and ferns were pendent to the water’s edge. Only where the sun was able to penetrate the deep shade of the bush, and give light and warmth to the damp ground, there grew a pretty white flower, which, though minute, was almost brilliant compared with its surroundings. We missed Mr Beverly to give it a name, but, no doubt, he has it in his collection if it deserves a place. Across the cascade a fallen log had laid itself with such precision and appropriateness of situation for its uses as a bridge, that one was almost tempted to believe that it was an exhibition of the engineering skill of the supernatural inhabitants of the spot, and to linger near in the hope of seeing some of them tripping across it on one of their amiable or evil errands. But they were apparently from home, or averse to the visits of the strangers. Bold in the knowledge that, except a pencil, we had no lethal weapon with which to knock him oft his perch, an obviously infernal kaka so upbraided us for our intrusion, that we reluctantly came away, unrewarded by seeing anything more marvellous than the natural marvels of the place; but these were enough. What we saw in the bush around, and in the further walk along the stream, would, no doubt, charm the poetic bush-ranger; but poetry was not a recognised element in connection with the expedition. The prospectors thought they had hit upon a place where the “reef” protruded; but they were mistaken, and they were disappointed in the few washings they attempted. At the assembly, for the purpose of returning to the steamer, several came with contributions to the providore—one with kakas, shot in the bush; another with crayfish, which had been found perambulating the beach, innocent of the presence of an enemy; and a third brought off a live wood-hen.
The interest of the party was, however, less directed towards their own exploits than to the more elevated proceedings of the three who were climbing the hill. From the precipitous character of the spurs which they had attempted to ascend, and from the apparent density of the bush, it was feared—more than once insinuated—that they would be compelled to return. The fear was, however, soon dispelled. It was agreed that, as they ascended, they should “make a smoke;” and that signal was given when they were half-way up the hill-side. An hour afterwards another smoke was visible still higher, and then a third; and as it was close to the highest level of the forest, the figures of the three mountaineers were looked for eagerly by the aid of the glass. Another half-hour, and a smoke and the party themselves were distinguished, about 500 ft. from the summit, or where the forest ceased; and in a few minutes more the mountain-top was ablaze, and we on board the “Geelong” did what they on the hill were, no doubt, also doing—we breathed freely. The ascent occupied five hours, and involved a considerable use of the hands as well as of the feet. The descent did not occupy half of that time, but it was revealed, by the appearance of the habiliments of the party, that it had been accompanied by more than merely the exercise of the pedal and digital extremities. It was confessed by the Secretary for Land and Works that though, physically, he presented no peculiar adaptation for the performance of acrobatic feats, he did on this occasion accomplish some evolutions of a rotatory character which were quite unexpected on his part, and not a little astounding to himself, as well as to the two privileged spectators.
The ascent of this particular hill, I have already explained, had been undertaken for the purpose of setting at rest a suspicion as to the existence of some available land, in continuation of the comparatively level country which skirts the coast between Chalky Inlet and Dusky Sound. The day was favourable for an uninterrupted view, and a large extent of territory was visible in all directions from the point where the party stood; but it was found to form more a subject for graphic description, or a panoramic painting, than for entry on the Survey maps as country capable of settlement. There was a steep descent on the landward side of the hill, and a narrow but deep ravine intervening between it and the nearest range. The next range was, in fact, almost within gunshot, and beyond it there was a continuation of similar ranges, with steep sides, strangely serrated summits, and scarcely a vestige of vegetation. Utterly impracticable as the country is, it is not, however, without interest. Its general appearance, and especially the indications of the slips, so far as they could be seen, led to the belief that a great part of the district, both to the southward and eastward, is of gold-bearing slates. The hill which the party ascended was found to be of granite, but of granite different from what had been seen in the other Sounds, being both micaceous and felspathic. Occasional fragments of gneiss were picked up, and on the summit it was got in situ; the gneiss also containing a considerable proportion of mica and felspar. Two lakes were seen—one at the extremity of the ravine, which extended southward from Dusky Sound for a distance of fourteen or fifteen miles, and another within a mile or two of the head of the Sound. Such parts of the country as were timbered did not appear to be heavily wooded, and even the seaward front of the mountain, up which the party had climbed, was found to be much more than its aspect, as seen from the deck of the steamer, would lead one to suppose. At one place the trees were so far apart and regularly disposed as to resemble an artificially-formed avenue, and there were numerous tracks similar to those of sheep, and which were, probably, the tracks of the kiwi or kakapo. A slight addition was made by the party to the botanical collections, some obtained from the very summit of the hill. These included specimens of the Ranunculus, believed to be Ranunculus traversii, and of Celmisia verbascifolia, Senesio bifistulosus, Ourisia sessilifolia, Ourisia macrocarpa, and one or two other plants which it was impossible to recognise by Hooker’s Handbook, or even with Mr Beverly’s assistance. They are probably new. The view from the hill-top seaward, as may well be imagined, was something to leave a long-lasting impress on the mind, numerous islands being as much a characteristic of Dusky Sound as of Preservation Inlet, with this difference, that they are of larger size, greater elevation, and more variety of contour.
It is not at all unreasonable to suppose that the time will come (and it will come the sooner by the character of the country being more popularly known), when the cities of the Southern Colonies will send excursionists by the hundred, or by the thousand, to see such sights as those presented by Dusky or Milford Sound. There cannot be many places in the world where the sublime can be so readily attained as in this Sound, or that of Milford, accessible as they are by steamers, from end to end, and among what may be said to be a maze of mountains.
It was by the channel to the southward of Long Island that the “Geelong” steamed up towards the head-waters of the Sound. On the map, this passage appears almost too narrow to be navigable, and in reality it is not more than two cables’ length wide, but its depth varies from forty to seventy fathoms. The range on its southward side is, throughout its entire length, almost perpendicular. It forms a fitting prelude to the panorama which presents itself as you approach the head of the Sound, and which we saw not by the morning light, as we had expected, but under the rays of the setting sun. We were not, however, losers by the change. The sun had scarcely sunk sufficiently low in the horizon to cast upon the snow-peaks that peculiar purple tint which is frequently the effect of the light of evening on the West Coast. They were still in their virgin whiteness, gleaming in the sunlight, with the moon behind them, so subdued and pale as to seem almost timid to appear upon the scene. There was still, also, nothing of the dusky character which the name of the Sound implies. The sky was cloudless, and the variegated tints of the forest were even more brilliant than under the mid-day sun. It was only when we had reached the strange looking strait which communicates with Breaksea Sound, that the set sun poured out its purple light upon the hills, and threw our immediate surroundings in the shade. I have not, as a rule, referred to the “New Zealand Pilot,” nor relied upon its valuable information, but a conception of this peculiar arm of the sea can be better communicated by the description there given than by any word-painting, three coats thick. It is said—“The arm connecting Dusky and Breaksea Sounds runs in a N. by W. direction, eight miles, with an average width of half a mile, and is formed by the eastern shores of Resolution Island and the mainland. High precipitous, and wooded mountains rise on either side to heights varying from 3000 to 4000 ft. Soundings were only obtained in the middle of the channel at depths of 200 fathoms, and so perpendicular are the shores that 80 fathoms were found within a few feet of them.” I only know that the picture produced by these facts, and by “demesnes .jpg)
Midway, in the sail through this Strait, we opened up Wet Jacket Sound. It is a smaller sound than the others; but, like them, it presents nothing but the picturesque—snow-clad hills descending right into the sea.
It was resolved by His Honour, after leaving Breaksea Sound, to proceed direct to Martin’s Bay, calling only at Milford Sound on the way, and leaving any of the other Sounds which it might be desirable to visit until the steamer was on her way back. As we steamed out of Breaksea Sound, the moon was just beginning to outshine the last light of the sun, and we enjoyed a bright moonlight night along the coast; but its features, except when seen in detail, are not attractive. They are sufficiently grand, but lose by comparison with what we had seen, by what some of us knew to be waiting us further north. Running closely inshore as we did, we could see nothing of the back or snowy ranges, and the view, if it was not dismal, had a dark and frowning aspect. In most parts, the mountain sides go down into the depths of the ocean, as in the Sounds. It is only to the southward of George Sound that we get the first glimpse of a beach of any kind. There is here an apparent change in the rock, and up to Bligh Sound the ranges have more of the indications of schist, or of a gold-bearing country. South of Bligh Sound, the remnant of a terrace protrudes into the sea, skirted by a beach of white sand, and a similar beach was seen in Catseye Bay, and it was the intention to have visited them on our return; but in that we were disappointed. From this point northward, the grandeur of the scenery accumulates. The snowy ranges come close to the coast, and a view is obtained of the three easily-recognised commanding peaks which form some of the magnificent surroundings of Milford Sound—Pembroke, Mitre, and Lawrenny Peaks. On each of these there were visible fields of snow, thousands of acres in extent, and of a depth probably measurable by fathoms. As we saw them they were cloudless. Only from one or two of the Sounds, banks of white clouds, at a low level, came floating out seaward, and were dissipated as the sun gained strength. Southward the hills were like so many green pyramids in a bright blue plain; northward the land was overhung by a thick haze, which, as it happened, prevailed also on the following morning, and had the effect of misleading us as to the locality of our destination.
A landing was effected in the whale-boats at a place called Transit Beach, and we afterwards entered Milford Sound.
MILFORD SOUND.
Transit Beach, where we effected our first landing after leaving Dusky Sound, is a short stretch of shingle beach, a mile or two to the southward of Milford Sound, and quite exposed to the ocean swell. Along this part of the coast, between the Sounds, there are several small bays, or inward curves of the shore-line, which, when seen from a short distance out at sea, are somewhat deceptive. Apparently they are openings to Sounds of inferior size, but, when seen more closely, their beaches become visible, and they are discovered to be Sounds which have, at one time, been converted into dry valleys by the deposit of moraines. Transit Beach is the beach of one of the smallest of these valleys, being only about a mile in length, and the stretch of forest between it and the mountain-foot is of inconsiderable extent. The diggers of the party expressed a wish to land here, and one of the boats was placed at their disposal. They appeared to land easily in a snug corner at the northern end of the beach, and proceeded to prospect the same, and a bank of the small stream which there flows into the sea. In one of the whale-boats, some others of us attempted to land towards the southern end of the beach, and we succeeded in doing so with considerable ease, but the experiment is not one which it is advisable at all times to undertake, even under such circumstances as those with which we were favoured. Around the steamer, a mile or more offshore, the sea was of an oily smoothness; the swell was all but imperceptible; and there appeared to be just enough of ripple on the beach to wave a mermaid’s hair. But we found, when we got into the shallower water with the boat, that there were big blind waves rolling in, and on some foul ground there was a considerable surf. We got a good “smooth,” however, and landed with only one little incident. Our friend the botanist, as the boat touched the ground, got tipped over the side, taking his wallet with him, and a large amount of our sympathy, although it was not, at the moment, exhibited. With his face towards us, he pirouetted, turtle fashion, for a few seconds, but picking himself up, demurely walked ashore, smiling at his own grief; and I positively found him, not five minutes afterwards, with his enthusiasm nothing damped, and glowing with appreciation of a Dracophyllum urvillearum, or a Dacrydium laxifolium, as if sea-water was altogether of secondary importance. The beach is a steep one, indicating a considerable weight of surf, and is composed chiefly of shingle with occasional patches of sand. It is backed by a terrace, 20 or 30 ft. high, similar to those terraces which, on more northern parts of the West Coast, have been found to cover ground richly auriferous. We washed a few shovelfuls, but there was not a speck of the true black sand. The weightiest was sand of a peculiarly light colour, apparently decomposed granite, and possibly containing garnets. Among his gleanings, Mr Wright got specimens of hornblendic and felspathic schists, of gneiss, and of what was at first accepted as crystallised felspar, but which, since experiments have been made in Dunedin, has proved to be limestone or marble. It is the same as some pieces of stone which were recently brought round from the West Coast by the “William Miskin”—obtained, I think, in Anita Bay, not far from this beach, and is stated to be a pure marble, with crystals of considerable size; but one or two specimens were got, in which the grain was very fine. In pulling off from the shore there was just sufficient of commotion, and of cold water about our ears, to communicate a sensation of excitement, without alarm; and with a proper division of labour, in which the Secretary for Land and Works was deputed to attend to the bailing of the boat, we got safely alongside the “Geelong.” Leaving the diggers on shore to continue their prospecting, the steamer steamed to Milford Sound.
It must be with extreme diffidence that any one would address himself to the duty of describing such a sight as that which is presented by the magnificent scenery of Milford Sound. There is a double difficulty to deal with. It is not easy to convince people, and especially those who may have “looked down Vesuvius,” or, for that part, looked down upon the whole world, and “found nothing in it,” that in even indicating its outline there is not a straining of language to achieve an empty effect. And there must be conviction on the part of any one who has seen it, and who has seen other sights with which he can compare it, that to attempt to convey any idea of its sublimity by a mere arrangement of words, is to attempt that in which he can never command success. There is the further danger that in aiming at an expression of his estimate of the sublime, he will degenerate into the ridiculous; for that is marvellously easily done. As we approached the entrance to the Sound, and were just on the eve of realising, according to our own individual conceptions, the sublimity of the scene, one of the party pathetically said—and it was a sufficiently appropriate expression to indicate its comparative greatness:—“If you have tears, prepare to shed them now!” But was there a universal acknowledgment of his appeal? Not a bit of it. The steward rang his bell for lunch, and, for the convenience of the company, brought upon deck his mutton cutlets and pork chops; and there were some among us, who, as aids to digestion, preferred the perusal of the contents of a yellow-covered novel to the “sermons in stones, and books in the running brooks,” which were presented in extravagant abundance along the sides of Milford Sound. It must not be deduced that this was an index of the spirit of the party, practical as was the purpose of their presence on the West Coast. There was no lack of an adequate appreciation of the solemnity of our surroundings; and I only refer to this, in passing, as an incident illustrating the proverbial thinness of the line between the sublime and the ridiculous, and as an excuse for your correspondent not incurring the danger of getting on the wrong side of the line, by attempting a description of the scene. For the second time, I must take refuge for the facts in the text of the “New Zealand Pilot,” and supplement its statements by a record of our cursory observations; and I do so in the belief that it is humbug to say that Milford Sound is, even to New Zealanders, in any degree familiar as a household word:—
Milford Sound, the northernmost of the series of inlets on this coast, though comparatively inconsiderable in extent, yet, in remarkable features and magnificent scenery, far surpasses them all. The mountains by which it is surrounded are the highest on the coast, with the exception of Mount Cook, 120 miles north. Pembroke Peak, about 3 miles inland, perpetually snow-capped, rises over its northern side to an elevation of 6700 ft.; and Lawrenny Peak, a very remarkable saddle-backed mountain, attains nearly the same elevation on the other side. But perhaps the most striking features are the remarkable-shaped Mitre, rising abruptly to a height of 5560 ft. immediately over the south side of the Sound, and a dome-shaped mountain on the opposite shore, nearly bare of vegetation, which, from its peculiar colour, resembles a huge mountain of metal. These Alpine features, and its narrow entrance, apparently still more contracted by the stupendous cliffs, perpendicular as a wall from the water’s edge to a height of several thousand feet, invest Milford Sound with a solemnity and grandeur which description can barely realise.
This is a compact summary of the prime elements of the scenery which gives Milford Sound its peculiar character, and they must be admitted to be not every day encountered even in such coast sailing as New Zealand presents. As presented to us they appeared under an almost cloudless sky, and with an atmosphere so clear that we could see to the summit of every peak, and, while realising the majestic dimensions of the mountains, could distinguish clearly their more minute details. It is sufficient to indicate the impressiveness of their dimensions to repeat that the mountains rise abruptly from the waters of the Sound to a height of a mile or a mile and a half; that the sailing passage between them is not more, in some places, than a quarter of a mile in breadth; and that in the waters below no bottom has been found at 200 fathoms deep. The details upon which the eye prefers to dwell, rather than realise these almost repelling features of the scene, are the snow-fields at the summits, the innumerable cascades which they produce, and the scattered vegetation on the mountain sides. The cascades are, perhaps, the features which communicate to the picture what it may possess of cheerfulness or charm. At every few yards they stream down the rocky mountain face, and, as we saw them, were traceable from the very patch of snow from which they emanated, a mile or more above our heads, until they reached the waters of the Sound, or were borne away in infinitesimal spray, visible only by the rainbows which they formed. Some were like mere skeins of thread, only at intervals traceable; others, like extended icicles, with their downward motion scarcely seen, and partaking of the silent, stolid aspect of the granite face over which they ran. But many danced a merry dance from “nook to crannie,” and from crag to peak; were, at one point, dashed into spray; amalgamated again at a lower level; and at last threw themselves over the rocky cliff, to become only the sport of the wind, or to disappear into space. The larger ones meandered, with a milky whiteness, in a well-defined channel, among herbage and shrubbery, and with the regularity of the feed of a mill-wheel gently dropped into a mass of moss, or into a quiet blue cove. What transformations they must all undergo, when the clouds add their contents to the meltings of the snow, it is not difficult to .jpg)
One of the eccentric beauties of the scene is the irregularity with which vegetation is disposed, or displayed, on the steep sides of the hills. Occasionally the cliffs are too abrupt for flora or for shrubbery to find a footing. On others they are deterred by the cold companionship of the snow-fed streams, or are ruthlessly swept away by the sudden avalanche. Elsewhere the level is too high, or the surroundings are not congenial, for the growth of any vegetation but that of the most meagre kind. But wherever a footing is to be had, there vegetation asserts itself, and, in every shade of Nature’s green, clothes the white or the grey rocks of the cliffs, or surrounds the errant patches of snow which have slipped from the parent fields above, and deposited themselves in solitude, or in groups upon the mountain side, until they are again separated and slid off to a lower level, to wither away into the waters of the streams.
Throughout the length of the Sound there are only the most trifling portions of beach, usually formed by slips from the hills; and, from their appearance, it is just possible that, by the weight of half-a-dozen men, they might be removed from their pendant position, and be precipitated to the bottom, fathoms below. Several of the cliffs indicate that masses of rock, equal to hundreds of thousands of tons, have at some time become detached, and have subsided into the sea; yet, at these very places, the soundings show one hundred and eighty fathoms, and no bottom.
At the upper extremity of the Sound there are two small circular harbours, called Fresh Water Basins, from the fact that, unless it is at high tide, the water in them is usually fresh; and in the first of these the “Geelong” anchored. She entered this strikingly picturesque place of anchorage at half-flood, the bar having then four-and-a-half fathoms of water upon it, and she dropped anchor in seven fathoms. It is a tiny harbour, just about capable of holding three such vessels as the “Geelong;” but its surroundings are stupendous.
One of the objects nearest to our anchorage, and one of the most attractive in the Sound, except its own grand physical features, is a waterfall of considerable proportions, and 540 ft. high. It is a waterfall which would, no doubt, look immense in any but its situation, for there nothing short of a Niagara would accord, in dimensions, with all that is within view; in fact, the only grumble we heard on the voyage was that, because there was no Niagara, Milford Sound was incomplete. While the practical section of the party betook themselves to one destination, a few of us first took a look at the waterfall. Landing at a spot where a magnificent birch-tree stands upon the beach and scrambling through a patch of shrubbery, we reached the grass plot in front of the fall, and which is known as Cemetery Point—not, apparently, because any one is buried there, but because the rank grass is so strangely marked by its various colouring, as to assume all the appearance of covering a series of graves. The stream leaps from a terrace covered with the dark-leaved birch, and there was a considerable fall of water when we were there, but the jagged rocks upon which it fell drove it into spray, and by the concussion, this was driven horizontally from the foot of the fall, until it reached almost half-way across the Sound. So powerful and constant is the passage of air so formed, that no vegetation stands before it, but grass and the smaller plants; it was quite enough for a man to do to maintain the perpendicular. The stream which it forms rushes into the Sound, over a rough rocky bottom of a peculiar azure tint; and, judging by the boulders on either side, it must occasionally assume dimensions with which those who desiderated a Niagara might well be satisfied.
