Rambles on the Golden Coast of New Zealand/Chapter 7

by Robert Caldwell Reid

THE MOHIKINUI, KARAMEA, AND NORTHWARD.

CHAPTER VII.

OME years later than the periods referred to in the preceding chapter, my wandering inclinations led me to take a short outing northwards from the Buller. Scanning the coast-line in the direction of Rocky Point, the spectator, from the heights of Mount Rochfort, will observe a series of picturesque headlands projecting far into the sea, and between them deep indentations. These mark the courses of the Mohikinui, Wanganui, Karamea, Matiri, Wangapeka, Takaka, and Aorere streams, which traverse country scarcely yet open to civilisation, save on the banks of the first three named, and of which is now offered brief description, premising that the traveller in such direction goes there rather in search of practical knowledge of the country than in anticipation of a pleasurable excursion. In good sooth he will find the way rough and rugged, and his pedestrian powers and physical endurance well tested. Getting to the Ngakawau and fortifying for the journey before him at M‘Nairn’s snug hostelry, he will cross the stream, which at low water is barely knee deep, but at full tide will float a craft of 150 tons burthen, and, landing on the northern bank, will see, when the tide is out, a long stretch of smooth and firm sandy beach, along which locomotion on a fine day will be found most pleasant; especially if he travels at early morning, in the roseate glint of the newly wakened daylight, the fresh ocean breeze giving vigour to his stride, and bird life in the bush which skirts the shore stirring into harmony.

A seven mile walk will bring him to the banks of the Mohikinui, and amidst piles of driftwood, tons upon tons, in thousands, he will perceive traces of human habitation. Penetrating the circumvallation of ocean-tossed waifs and strays, borne by flood along the southern rivers, and thence by the ocean currents bearing northward, until left by the receding tides high and dry on land, an exhaustible supply of firewood, the traveller will suddenly find himself amid strange surroundings—the melancholy wreck of what was once a bustling little township. A half score or so of weather-worn wooden buildings, about as many adult inhabitants, some children, a few stray cows and horses, a multitude of geese, goats, and fowls, the people unkempt and patchy in attire, little recking how the world jogs, hugging to their breasts the despondency of their own disappointments. On the stranger they will gaze curiously, wondering what has brought him thither, but in rough and ready fashion they will make him welcome, and, if inclined to listen, they will not be slow to tell of past prosperity, of present unrequited hopes, and withal a sturdy reliance on future good luck. They will tell how, in the mountains, of which glimpses may be seen up the wooded defile of the river, in places only accessible at peril of life and limb, quartz reefs abound, whence a few years ago fortunes were confidingly expected, but whereon, in such expectation, fortunes were spent unavailingly. They will tell with strong averment that payable quartz is there, but that difficult access bars all hope of profitable working; and they will tell also of creek workings, and haply show specimens of alluvial gold, heavy, water-worn flattened nuggets. “Mohikinui spuds” they fondly call them, which the miners dig out sometimes even with their sheath-knives from the rocky fissures and crevices, and from beneath the boulders of the mountain streams. Rough and Tumble Creek, and other far-off locales of similarly characteristic nomenclature. They will tell, too, many a sad story of loss of life by adventurous river men, who, voyaging up stream with supplies of food for their comrades, fossicking in the barren and rugged mountain solitudes, have been caught by sudden floods, their frail craft swamped, and they themselves lost in the swoop and swirl of the angry waters, wherein luckless mortal once engulfed is past all succour, and whence even the soddened and battered relics of mortality are rarely cast up again for “coroner’s ’quest” or Christian burial. Turning to more cheery theme, they will point to the river running broad and straight and strong oceanward over a deep bar that never shifts, a channel that scarcely slackens even in the hot and droughty summer months, for then the snow melts on the mountain sides, and a thousand beaks and burns and brawling linns pour in their ice cold tributes. Up that river there is coal in abundance close to the banks; there is a wide stretch, too, of agricultural and pastoral land, and in the hills gold. It is the ever present story, the country only wants opening up, and in patient expectation the handful of dwellers at the Mohikinui wait and watch, like the sun worshippers of old, for the first gleam of returning prosperity. After brief rest the traveller must prepare for the onward journey—a forced march which will brook no delay, unless he is willing to spend a night of discomfort in the bush. He will have his choice of two difficult onward routes, and will find it advisable to discard every vestige of impedimenta. The inland track entails the fording of the stream about three miles from the mouth, at a wide and rocky ford, the current strong, and waist deep in places, the water icy cold. This uncomfortable preliminary got through, the commencement of a mountain track is discerned, narrow, steep, and overhung with dank vegetation, and knee deep in mud. Some seventeen miles or more of this has to be traversed, without respite or variety, except where the route crosses and re-crosses the Glass-eye stream, which it does so often that the way-worn and disgusted traveller will wonder by what perversion of human ingenuity such a route was ever chosen or track constructed. His astonishment will not be diminished when he learns how many thousands of pounds were spent thereon, and debited to the cost of the Karamea Special Settlement, one of the pet projects of the Vogelian epoch. However, if he is wise he will not venture on that route, of which indeed traces in many spots are now rapidly becoming obliterated by mountain slips and fast growing vegetation, but will, in preference, choose the beach route, which, though perilous and difficult, has at least the charm of variety. Crossing the river by ferry boat a long stretch of beach is reached, but the firm white sand will be found to have given place to loose gravelly shingle, along which no great speed can be made by the pedestrian, and yet, as he will learn from the ferryman, it will be needful to put his best foot forward. If wise he will not travel this stage alone. Before him he will see, some few miles ahead, the rough contour of rocks stretching far out into the breakers, and round these as well as others which he will see further on, it will be needful to clamber while the tide is out, or if by chance tarrying too long by the way, the only alternative will be a compulsory halt perched on some rocky eminence or among the flax and bushes on a hill-side until the inflowing tide has ebbed again. It is a good eight or ten hours’ journey for the average pedestrian from the Mohikinui to the Wanganui River, and the variations of the stage are these:—heavy walking on shingly beaches, clambering and jumping along masses of rocks and boulders, climbing steep cliffs, in one place only accomplished by aid of a pendant wire rope, many devious turnings through thick bush and fell, to make a way round the head of the many gullies which break the face of the hill, steep ascents and descents, trying to the mind and muscles; time only for briefest respite, for any symptom of prolonged halt will be greeted by admonition from the guide, “Push on, sir, push on, or you will be stuck up.” Not by bushrangers, for in truth travellers along this route are few and far between, and carry nothing that would make good plunder, but by time and tide which wait for no man. When the last steep declivity is reached, and the traveller finds himself emerging from a track narrow and overgrown with ferns, flax, and leafy foliages, he will, on fording a narrow rivulet, see cause for expeditious movements. An immense heap of broken rocks forms one of the jaws, if the term may be used, of the mouth of the Wanganui River. When the tide is in, the breakers dash against these rocks even in calm weather with a force that sends the spray very many feet high, and any one then attempting to get round the point does so at the imminent peril of his life; the river also becomes swollen by the tidal inflow, and although a ferryman lives on the opposite bank, he wisely forbears from venturing to cross in his canoe until the tide has well run out again. The Otahu mountain, up whose almost vertical sides the traveller will have climbed in his journey from the Mohikinui to avoid the dangers of the rugged shore, shows a granite formation, alternating with limestone cliffs, some of which, known to navigators as the Otahu Bluffs, reach an altitude of 700 to 800 ft., of nearly perpendicular faces to the surf foaming at their base, and presenting most striking features on the coastal scenery when viewed from seaward. For the information of geologists the following extract is taken from Julius Haast’s report of topographical and geological exploration, referring to the line of country just described:—“A mile north of the Ngakawau stream granite makes its appearance overlaid by tertiary deposits. It is here syenitic, and more towards the north trappean, changing in some places into felsite porphyry. In other places the mica is replaced by chlorite, and large veins of the same mineral are visible, intersecting the rock. We meet also with many porphyritic granites containing large orthoklas crystals, and with others containing albite in greater proportion. Some of the trappean granites are full of rounded concretions of a blackish colour, and of a micaceous structure, exactly resembling the metamorphic schists which are observed near the hypogene rocks. These metamorphic rocks consist partly of micaceous schists and partly of granulites, and are intersected by occasional quartz veins. Their strike and dip are generally very irregular, their general strike is north and south, with a dip of sixty or eighty degrees towards the west. The cretaceous rocks which we meet with at the junction of the Inangahua and Buller extend to the coast, which they reach to the north of the Mohikinui stream. Here they consist of flaggy bluish and somewhat argillaceous limestone, intersected by large veins of calcspar, and in some places full of casts of fucoids. This rock extends, with only occasional intervals where granitoid rock crops out, to the mouth of the Wanganui, sometimes assuming the character of a chalk-marl, and sometimes that of a tabural whitish crystalline limestone, full of large oysters, pectens, terebratulas, and pieces of corals, in connection with the same fossils observed in the rocks between the Buller and Grey; but here also, as in the latter rocks, are no signs of belemnites or ammonites. The cretaceous cliffs at Otahu consist of bluish chalk marls from 8 to 12 ft. thick, of a white crystalline limestone, occasionally assuming a pale yellow colour, giving to the whole a ribbon-like appearance. In those sections where the limestone is found upon the granite we observe very interesting phenomena, indicating that during the deposition of the limestone great disturbances had taken place, either by earthquake or changes in the direction of great submarine currents. These sedimentary rocks frequently contain no fragments of hypogene rocks, and so continue for 20 or 30 ft., when they assume what at first blush would appear to be a granitoid appearance. In a calcareous base are disseminated quartz grains, crystals of feldspar, and scales of mica, in such abundance, that it is necessary to examine it closely in order to convince one’s self of its mechanical origin. In other places the granite is overlaid by a breccia, consisting of large angular pieces of granite and mica schists, embedded in a base of green semi-crystalline limestone, which is besides full of quartz grains and mica. The greater the interval between the sedimentary deposits and the granite, the smaller are the angular pieces, the limestone itself becoming more whitish. At a distance of 30 or 40 ft. from the granite, the angular pieces altogether cease, and mica scales are only occasionally found. The limestone itself begins to assume an earthy texture, and 80 ft. from the granite changes into a chalk-marl. In other places, above 20 or 30 ft. of quietly deposited matter, fresh revolutions appear to have taken place, and large beds of breccia, similar to those before described, again make their appearance. The cretaceous formation leaves the coast at the mouth of the Wanganui, and strikes in a north-easterly direction towards the Tasman mountains, the detritus of which gneiss granite and metamorphic schists is again brought to the sea by the larger streams.” As will be seen from this extract, to the geologist who has time at his disposal, and who makes preparations for a few days’ camp life on the Otahu range, the coast-line between the Mohikinui and Wanganui streams offers a splendid scope for the collection of specimens. Gold prospectors have also found

COACH ROAD—NEAR WAIMAKARIRI.

traces of gold in the Glass-eye and other small streams which here debouch on to the sands.

Crossing the Wanganui stream, the traveller instantly finds himself, as it were, in a new country, rocks and beetling crags and densely timbered acclivities have all disappeared, and he sees before him a long expanse of firm sandy beach, lapped by the sea waves on the left hand, and bounded on the right by a perpendicular bank of sand, topped by dense and apparently almost impenetrable scrub. Looking about for human habitation he will find no traces, but as he travels along the beach he will alight on one or more small parties of miners engaged in beach-combing, and by them directed will find that up this perpendicular wall here and there may be found faintly trodden paths, which, followed, lead into the scrub, and there, nestled in close shelter from the ocean gales, which at times rage with exceeding fury, will be found the snug little homesteads of some half dozen settlers and their families, who combine beach-combing with farming pursuits. The land hereabouts, after the bank is topped, extends back some two miles or so until it merges into swamp, and is on the whole of fair quality. With their yearly garden and field crops, a few score bushels of grain, their small flocks and herds, and an occasional washing up from the gold on the beach, the settlers hereabouts, though few in number, lead a quietly prosperous life, rarely seeing strangers, rarely leaving their homes, and in happy oblivion of much toil and turmoil which pervades the busier haunts of men. Their chief anxiety is centred on the beach, on the varying state of tide and currents, which either deposit new layers of black sand, or else for the time being swamp all traces. This auriferous black sand, which they literally comb up from the beach, and with primitive appliances extract the fine gold therefrom, is practically inexhaustible in supply, although it is only profitably worked at certain seasons. In appearance the gold they extract is more like the yellow pollen the bees collect from flowers than a metallic substance, and requires most careful manipulation before it passes into the hands of the gold-buyer.

Premising that the traveller has taken the precaution to ensure the company of a guide, he will have reached this point of his journey in safety and in broad daylight. To get there after nightfall would entail a bivouac on the sands, for the habitations hereabouts are so completely hidden that no wayfarer unacquainted with the locale can possibly hope to find them.

Having travelled comfortably along the fine sandy beach here described, the traveller reaches an undulating track of sandy ground, covered mainly with tea-tree scrub and flax, which encloses the tidal inlet of the Otumahana and Karamea Rivers, and, according to the state of the tide, he may either traverse the mud flats which stretch away to the banks of the Karamea River, or paddle down in a canoe. Getting near the mouth of the stream, he will be rewarded by the magnificent view of the mountain gorges through which the river and its tributaries flow, and the picturesque beauty of the foreground, wherein woodland and water effects blend in charming variety. It is in sooth a spot where the landscape painter would love to linger. A dreamy quiet rest on the hills and valleys, the broad expanse of lagoon is margined not “by fruits of gold and whispering myrtles, glassing softest skies, clear and cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows,” but with the luxuriant New Zealand bush, which, in every season of the year, has a beauty all its own. The foliage, reflected like a beautiful mirage in the clear depths of the lagoon, or broken in kaleidoscopic fragments by the tiny wavelets and ripples of the river, clothes alike the uprising terrace and the low-lying alluvial flats; the sombre lines of the evergreen Fagus (black and white birch) being relieved by the bright bloom of the Loranthus (mistletoe), and the more vivid green of ferns in multiform variety, the graceful outline of the nikau palm, and here and there, in season, the brilliant red of the rata bloom, and the more subdued tints of the New Zealand fuschia. To the practical eye there will be an absence of marketable timber, but penetrating the bush, with its close interweavement of supplejack, there will be found many a giant of the forest to whom the poet’s words will aptly apply—

“Majestic tree, whose wrinkled form hath stood
Age after age, the patriarch of the wood!
Thou who hast seen a thousand springs unfold
Their ravelled buds, and dip their flowers in gold,
Ten thousand times yon moon relight her horn,
And that bright star of even gild the morn.”

Crossing the river, the traveller will reach what is termed the island, and will see a small jetty, an iron store, a stockyard, and one or more small buildings. Landing here and following a road a little way inland, he will come to the accommodation house kept by Host Simpson, and will here find good and comfortable lodgment and a genial welcome. Here is also the district schoolhouse and snug residence for the teacher. If anxious to know where the rest of the settlers live, a comprehensive sweep of the arm may indicate that some live “over there across the lagoon at the Black Swamp,” some “up yonder,” meaning a mile or two, or more, in the bush, and the rest at the “Promised Land.” Half amused, half wondering query as to the origin or meaning of this latter designation may lead, if the traveller is inclined to listen, to a long tale of the history of the settlement, of the early struggles of the settlers, their disappointments, grievances, and hopes, as yet but half requited. Briefly put, the history of the settlement is this:—As far back as 1867 some of the early Nelson settlers, hearing that the land was good and the river afforded safe approach from seaward, made speculative purchase of sections in the Karamea district, getting the land at about ten shillings per acre, and looking upon their investments as something whereon by and by the “unearned increment” would total up to tangible profit without effort of their own. Years sped, and the profit on their investment seemed long in coming, in fact it is as yet in the dim uncertain distance. By and by our legislators, in their wisdom, bethought themselves of establishing special settlements, and the Karamea was selected as an eligible spot whereon to dump down—the phrase seems apt—a shipload of new chums. Whether the fact that their occupation of the country would add to the value of purchased lands long lying idle had aught to do in the choice of the locality, is a moot point which need not now be debated. Certain it is that the very isolation of the spot marred at the outset the chances of the settlement proving a success, and there might have been found other and more eligible localities for settlement nearer Westport—at the Mohikinui, for instance, where good land, timber, coal, and gold are found, with a good river harbour, and also easy access by road and rail. In November 1874, a number of new arrivals (married men and families) from England, mostly from the southern and eastern counties, also a few Shetland fishermen, were transhipped from Nelson to the Karamea, with their little household belongings, a supply of stores, and the promise of periodical replenishment. These settlers were located on some high terrace land on the south side of the river, where 4000 acres had been set apart under “The Nelson Special Settlement Act, 1872,” and here they built their huts, made clearings, and fenced their ground for cultivation. A road was made through this settlement, and also after a time the inland track from the Wanganui to the Mohikinui River. On this work the settlers were employed, and were paid good wages, the understanding being that working half time, the rest of their working days were to be spent on improving their small farm holdings. The idea was good, but the results were unsatisfactory. The inland road was badly laid off and badly constructed, and much money was wasted; the settlers found all their earnings absorbed in the cost of living; and worst of all, they found that the land they were trying to cultivate was absolutely worthless for growing either root or grain crops. Dissensions also arose between the settlers and those entrusted with the control of the settlement, and though official inquiries were held, and a mass of evidence gathered, the settlers to this day avow that the real cause of their grievances was never probed, and that the inquiry was but mere make-believe. This, however, was as nothing compared with the fact that they lost more than two years of their labour in attempting to bring into cultivation land well nigh worthless. In addition to these sections they had, however, been promised some other land on a heavily timbered flat close to the river, and some four miles up stream from the river mouth. To this “Promised Land,” as they had learned to call it, all the families first located on the terrace ultimately flitted, and there, with renewed hopes and undaunted energy, commenced afresh the work of building up homes in the wilderness of scarce trodden bush land. Other families who had settled on the north side of the river, some at the swamp, and some in the bush, finding their land passably good, remained there, and have now snug and improving homesteads. The experiment at the “Promised Land” also proved successful, and at the present day it will be scarce possible to find in all New Zealand a more productive district. The ground, rich in all the elements which make culture a success, produces root and garden crops wherein prize vegetables are the rule and not the exception. Promoters of horticultural shows may here find a multitude of vegetarian trophies. Wheat, oats, barley, and maize, though grown, as yet, but in small quantities, yield plenteously. The bush affords succulent herbage, and fodder for live stock; and the settlers, though poor in world’s goods, in money, and in house plenishings, have, in homely phrase, turned the corner of their troubles, and have proved that special settlements, much as they have been decried by those who know naught about them, can be made a success, albeit the first experiments were costly, and, for a time, unsatisfactory. The Karamea settlers, like those at Jackson’s Bay, have even now grievances which in justice and common humanity should not be ignored by those in authority. Isolated as these people are from all communication with the outer world, save the casual visit of a steamer, or by making a toilsome overland trip, dependent also on their own labour for the food they eat and the clothes they wear, they should not be forgotten in the annual vote of money by our Parliament. A few hundred pounds spent annually on road works, to open up back country and give facilities for gold prospecting, will be always money well spent, and will keep the Karameans in good heart.

Viewed from the road which runs along the river bank, this portion of the settlement presents a pretty picture. The clearings disclose the flat dotted with snug little cottages, each surrounded by its cultivated paddock and garden. Flowers, in their season, will be found in abundance, from choice specimens of roses or the gaudy dahlia, to the humble polyanthus and the daisy border. The hum of the busy bee falls soothingly on the ear, and the merry chirp of bird mingles with childhood’s happy laughter, all telling of thrift and peace, and life’s full vigour. Entering the settler’s houses, the visitor will find hearty greeting, the best seat in the house at his disposal, the best fare in the cupboard spread for his refreshment. He will find amusement, interest, and food for quiet reflection in conversation with people, who, coming from their village homes in the quiet far-off English counties, have formed a compact community, still clinging to their old home associations, and knowing little of the colony they inhabit beyond the stray news now and again brought them.

Possibly having got so far on the northward, the tourist, hearing that beyond the Karamea there is little trace of human life or occupation, may bethink himself wise to retrace his steps and hie back once more to the Buller, and in such decision he will act discreetly, unless endowed with an ardent desire to penetrate scarce trodden solitudes. Three miles north of the Karamea is a pretty little stream called the Oparara, with a lagoon on the northern bank; and here one or two settlers, or rather cattle keepers, reside, whose herds roam in the bush and find good feed. A glance at a map of the coast will here best serve to indicate the line of country, of which now is submitted a cursory description. Three miles north of the Oparara the mountains again approach the coast, but a sandy beach continues as far as the Haihai River. At this river is found a steep bluff, which it is impossible to round at the base, and it becomes necessary to climb a hill some 700 ft. high, through dense vegetation, and thence descend again on the other side. After this is passed there comes another bit of sandy beach, and then a succession of giant boulders, until the Heaphy and Whakapoai River is reached. Here high limestone cliffs ascend abruptly from the northern bank of the stream, and some more stiff climbing is entailed amidst most wild surroundings. Following the coast-line, the route leading over a succession of rocks and small sandy beaches, the Taura-te-Weka promontory is reached, a point beyond which few travellers have yet penetrated. For a description of the country past this point we are indebted again to Mr Yon Haast’s descriptive narrative, and which, though written twenty years ago, depicts difficulties of travel still existing. He says:—“Our route now continued over granite cliffs with almost vertical sides, the ledges of which were hardly wide enough for our footing. Over these we advanced slowly, and in some places we were compelled, by the steepness of the cliffs, to pass round them upon rocks lying in the surf, placed at unequal distance, and at unequal heights, to get over which we had to wait for a receding wave, and then jump as far as possible. During this process we were occasionally caught and wetted through, only saving ourselves by holding fast to the rocks while the water rushed to and fro, the effort requiring our entire strength. This part of the road from Taura-te-Weka to Kaurangi Point is called by the Maoris Taupiri-Kaka, and is much dreaded by them. . . . We resumed our journey the next morning, the nature of the coast being the same, but becoming wilder as we advanced. All along the edge of the sea stood rugged masses of rock, often formed into gigantic triumphal arches, as if nature had erected them to gratify its own power.” Mr Thomas Brunner, the first intrepid explorer of this country, in his journal, describes this cliff in the following graphic manner:—“The Taupiri-Kaka is a steep cliff, against which the waves break on the perpendicular face of the rock, so as completely to prevent it being passed below, while inshore the mountain rises both steep and high, and presents also an impassable barrier. About 80 ft. above the sea, at a part where the point juts from the mountain, was a place which seemed as if it might afford a passage, and to this we climbed by a difficult rocky path through kenake bushes, and over and amongst large fragments of granite, but on the other side the descent seemed appalling, and we certainly, for a time, deemed it impracticable. At length, finding the remains of a rotten rope made by the Natives, we agreed that what had been done once could be done again, and upon looking down we at length perceived a ledge and some holes in the face of the rock, which might afford foothold. We, therefore, took courage and descended, but we found the descent most hazardous in passing round an overhanging rock, where it was necessary to lean backwards in order to get from one ledge to the other.” Mr Brunner here confines the name Taupiri-Kaka to one rock, but the Natives apply it to the whole of the rugged and dreaded district between Taura-te-Weka and Kaurangi Point. Mr Von Haast continues— “In the afternoon we arrived at a small stream, which we ascended for half a mile, and then climbed the steep sides of the Kaurangi mountain, 1200 ft. high, on whose ridge we continued to travel a mile, when we again descended to the rocky beach. This, however, was the end of our hard walking. A quarter of a mile further brought us to a beautiful sandy beach, which we followed to Ihua Tueroa Point, consisting of cretaceous rocks, bearing a great resemblance to a ruined castle. From this point, looking towards the north, the coast is smooth, and we saw before us the heads of the West Wanganui Harbour, above which stood the rock points of Cape Farewell. Towards the east the low country was bounded by the Whakamarama range, which, with the Hardinger Peak, was visible, whilst to the south lay the rocky road around and over which we had travelled for the last few days.”

Between this point and the valley at the West Wanganui are the rivers Awaruatoa, Anaweka, Tuimahui-hui, Paturau, and Hapu, all fordable under ordinary circumstances. On the north bank of the latter river there is a limestone range some 1200 ft. high, densely clothed with forest, and which it is necessary to cross before reaching the picturesque West Wanganui Inlet. From thence comparatively easy travelling can be made to Collingwood, or if the traveller so desires, he may visit Cape Farewell and the Sandspit, conspicuous points in the coast scenery to travellers by steamer, either to or from Nelson.