The country looks very broken. Met a party returning from Turanga, at the place where we halted for breakfast. Our guid objected to use the potatoes growing there, as they belonged to a pikopo, or Roman Catholic party. This, I told him, was wrong; as these potatoes were equally good as any others. Paid the guide, E Waka, 1 shirt,3/6. Descended a very steep, dangerous hill, about 500 feet, a part of which was very slippery. At the worst place I took the hand of E Pona, Hauranga's lad, a fine, stout, young native. It is so burning hot that we are, at half past 11 a.m., obliged to encamp on a riverside, to cool ourselves, and rest for an hour or two, till the heat of the sun diminishes. Te Hauranga is using an improved method for keeping in the shade, by dipping his cotton umbrella in the stream to soak. E Waka tells me that bird-snaring in this part of the country is done with a snare canoe, in which water gorgled out of a calabash, to resemble the sound of a stream. When the pigeon comes to drink, he is seized in the water. There is ingenuity, even in bird-snaring by savages! Passed a few huts on the Wangaroa, or Takangao-Maui, the property of Te Waka Parahuka, Chief of Turanga. White, bleak, clayey hills, interspersed with small flats, and some bush. Got to encampment at a quarter to 9, after a heavy walk over a miserable, poor country, in every respect; except that there is fine fresh water. We have travelled about 20 miles since morning. Started at half past 4 a.m. A fine, dry morning, with a Southerly breeze. No dew. Ascended the mountain. Rested