THE MARAKOPA COAST.

King Country Chronicle, Volume V, Issue 345, 15 March 1911, Page 3

THE MARAKOPA COAST.

The Marakopa is perhaps the least known and least appreciated of New Zealand river?. The traveller ironi Kiritehero after riiiiii;* for a mile and a half under the shadow oi the giant clilTs meets the river mouth, a boiling torrent of turbulent water?, bubbling and eddying along its narrow course, as if anxious to lind its grave in the mighty Pacific, where the surges ever roll in ant! roll out in their rhythmic ebb and flow. Fo>- countless ages they have done so. The same silvery billows tossed their j heads in wonder when the bold Dutch . navigator, Abel Tasrnan, steered his J craft past the extensive Marakopa j Valley, then peopled, no doubt, by ! hundreds of natives. The same billows | bore the bold and adventurous Te Rau- I paraha safely over the bar. The same , billows saw the flax and stately cab- j bage trees uprooted, and a for till- j cation near its clay-coloured bead and ; shoulders on the heights overlooking j the bar. The same billows greet the j traveller to-day, be he tourist, land j seeker or toil seeker. Looking South ; he sees a magnificent stretch of sea- j scape scenery. A range of deep blue hills runs towards the setting sun. These, giant hills end abruptly in a tall cliff, at least a thousand feet high. This cliff affords a striking illustra- j tion of what the mighty rollers of .the j Pacific can accomplish in centuries of j effort. A grateful sweep of sandy | beach leads one along the river bank j to the township which consists of a , couple of stores, a boarrlinghouse, J billiard room, school, and public hall. | Its inhabitants, who live "far from j the madding crowd," are hospitable, j and in character appear to be unique | resembling somewhat their environ- j ment. This pretty little township is i built on an extensive river flat, green j as an emerald all the year. Round it ; curves the stately river, the highway i fnr steamers, launches, boats of all ; kinds. Above, tower forest-clad hills, ! rising 600 feet into the sky, the trees j like sentinels for ever keeping watch ; over the inhabitants of this Garden ol j Eden. It is both a seaside township and a bush township, so herein lies its j charm. We glance around and find primeval New Zealand. Never was seen such a variety of birds. Behind us soar gulls, godwits, albatrosses, etc. We walk a few chains into the bush, and above the roar of the surf we hear the gentle "coo" of the native pigeon as she dreams in her midday nap, or the plaintive note of the bell bird, the tui, the cuckoo. What ; a paradise for the student of nature is j hidden away at Marakopa. This place j must produce something of a greater j value than wool and dairy produce. , Never have we seen so favourable an j environment for the development of j the poetic genius. Never were people j in so close contact with nature. If . step 3 be taken to preserve its native | beauty, we shall find the jaded city < dweller, the English tourist, the enthusiastic student of nature and ardent i sportsman all meeting here. Mara- ; kopa is so healthy that every phase of j mind will find an unlimited sphere for j realisation of that which it most appreciates. Lovers of riding may take j a live-mile canter along its sandy i beaches, under the shadow of its giant j clitl's. With the blue sea to our left | we ride northwards. We scamper j past the "shells of ocean lying, j waiting to be picked up. The cliffs | are clothed in places with the New ; Zealand lily, a charming little white j flower fluttering its white sepals and j petals in the morning breeze. Above j the clatter of the horses' hoofs on the | hard grey sand, is the musical roll j of the breakers, while through our ! nostrils pours the fresh briny odours | of the ocean. We look ahead and j see a small stream flowing over the j sand. Cliffs have come to an end— j we are opposite the Tauhoa vallej, an old native settlement. Two or j three old whares are to be seen, standing out grim monuments of a vanish- : ing race. The valley is narrow, not more than 20 chains in width. Above us rise abruptly forest covered hills, to a height of 500 or 600 feet. This is truly a spot unseen as yet by touriats —a ride unequalled for novelty und charm. Marakopa is an old native settlement," It was here the pirate Maori chief, Te Rauparaha, built for his followers three strongholds, all on the tops of hlls overlooking the bar. Little is to be seen to-day of what once was a fortiiicaton, except the trenches 15 or IS feet deep from the highest side. In one place stands a remnant of the palisade, a few of the pointed sticks remain. Below the outer trench are still to be seen the old kumara pits. If we dig the ground around we shall probably find a relic to take away with peihaps a stone axe, or the remains of an old muse. An interesting collection of i old-time Maori relies is to be seen in ! the "village school," the schoolmaster ' having* made quite a collection of 1 valuable: ircJjcH, one of which includes j a' ride "said to have been carried by Te ! Rauparaha himself, The school is a rough wooden building, uniined, standing on the river bank. Here a scoxe oflaughing boys and girls romp and shout till the bell bids them assemble. The beach is their playground at low tide, their place for bathing at full '■ tide.' It is also their workshop: j junior pupils may be seen here model- ! ling woods, letters, figures, etc., I whTlf) seniors may sometimes be seen | constructing relief maps of the conj tinents in the clean grey sand. _ The schoolmaster appears to be an enthusiast in his profession, as he has provided with his own labours, a flower garden for each pupil. Ihe view from the school door is superb. It commands a view of the bar where the blue sea breaks in silvery billows., and where dolphins toss their black heads from the water. After our pleasure-seeker has had hi 3 fill of bathing, fishing, riding, climbing hills

in search of relics or wandering through the buuh in search of rare plan La ai,d birds. he nia;y Lake a trip up the river in a launch. A lew paces from the door of the bcardlnghouse ia the little wharf where our popular launch skipper av>sits lis with his

hand on the tiller. Wo bid good-bye j to the hospitable an ! kind-hearted landlady with whom we have been j staying. We are making the round j trip, and we still proceed on our jour- ; Hoy. \\ c look witn sorrowful eyes j at the forest hills clad in their cover- j ing of native bash. Rising from amongst ihe many and varied hues of green, iloat like liags of snowy whiteness, the lovely clematis. We feel sad to chink that soon the destructive white seltier. devoid of sentiment, will attack, with axe and (ire, thi3 crop of giant plants which nature has taken centuries to grow, and destroy with it the homes of the feathered songsters whose chorus of song_ at morning and evening has entertained us. More than two years ago the Tourist Department promised to send one of its members along to report on the natural beauties of Marakopa, but nothing has been done. Recently Mr Phillips-Turner, of the department, visited the upper Marakopa, hut not the navigable portion of it (some six or seven miles)—certainly an oversight. Our skipper is impatient, and we must proceed. Our baggage is aboard, and our horses are ecjoying the succulent grass of the valley, at the head of the navigable waters of the river. Our craft throbs her way through the transparent waters of the river. The playful mullet flap their tails as we glide along in protest to the little waves our craft is making on the surface of the otherwise placid waters. The valley narrows as we proceed. Some of the land has been transferred to pakeha ownership, and fine grass paddocks will shortly take the place of bush and swamp. The native grandeur is disappearing. Already the destructive settler is attacking the stately punga, the princely nikau palm. The sight of a knoll grown over by these giant ferns, waving their graceful fronds in the morning breeze, makes no appeal to the practical bush farmer whose ideas of the beautiful extend no further than the common place. Our launch flies onward. In the distance is a large bush clearing, some hundreds of acres having been felled. The one time green hills present a desolate appearance to-day. A few dead straggling trees are dotted over the landscape which is yellow in colour owing to the many slips nature has sent, as if in silent protest against invasion by the white man. The waterg of our river are here very deep. Trees grow to the water's edge. The valley is so narrow one could throw a stone from one side to the other. It looks as if a ridge had at one time arisen across the river bed, forming a huge lake of its upper waters, and that in time the erosive action of water had removed the obstruction. After rounding a few more bends of the we are in sight of the Kairimu sawmill, up to which the small vessels trading between Kavvhia and Waitara proceed for timber. This place receives is name from the Kairimu stream, >1 tributary of the Marakopa. A road branches South from here to the Pomerangi. and there is every prospect of a township springing up here. All the important public meeting are held at this place rather than at Marakopa where there is a fine large hall. So it is evident Kairimu will assert herself a a rival of Marakopa. The growth of each little township depends upon the people themselves, as well as the natural advantages possessed by each place. It is not the writei s wish to favour either place or to enter into a discussion as to the natural advantages of either. But a reference to the fact here as the birth of Marakopa's rival should not be out of place. Next time I take the round trip, may I say as the wise Solomon, "I returned I and saw that the race is not to the j swift, nor the battle to the stong. . . j but time and chance happened to them S all." The further East we travel the wider the valley becomes, until once ! more it has widened to a couple of j miles. The land is swampy, but is ! at least six feet above flood level, so ! drainage operations may be successi fully carried on. Some miles of drain's have already been dug and the owners contemplate erecting a dairy factory here at an early date. Arriving at the Cherry Trees —an old orchard, planted by the missionaries half a century ago —we are at the end of our launch trip. I Our guide awaits us with the horses. | We are to spend the night at Piri- ! piri, the half way house between i Marakopa and the railway line. ! Another ride along the river flat, i and we find the valley ends abruptly i in a narrow gorge, the sides of i which are grown over by the inevitI able and ever beautiful native bush. ! Formation changes: we are now in the limestone country. Immense j square blocks of limestone rock weighing millions of tons, stand out on the hill tops. What titanic force lifted them there? As we gaze upward at these huge buttresses of rock j : we realise our own frailty and insignificance. We are here on sufier- : ance only. What if those stupendous I forces which lifted those rocks there i were to be concentrated against boastful man? Of what avail his strength and all his low cunning? Here is a mighty mass of limestone I rock with perpendicular sides 50 j feet high. That the Maori was a i master of defence is proved from the fact that here 3 00 natives defied ; the attacks of their enemies. Again I emphasise the fact the district ! should produce something of more ; value than butter and wool. It awaits j the coming L of a Hall Caine, who would seize upon the entirely new I material in the production of a new product -a romance. We arrive at a ; ionely, dreary spot, where another i road running North and South crosses I our road running East. A tiny hare ■ stands beside a rushing stream. The ! building is a Government hut built for ' the accommodation of surveyors or ' lost road officials. It is called Te Anga. We dismount and boil the : billy for lunch. Before us 13 a stretch : of open fern land, behind us stand the sombre hills. In our car:; is the sad murmur of the stream. We hear no- ; body, see nobody. All iu lifeless save i the presence of a few sheep amongst i the fern. They give a snort and are off, evidently accustomed to seeing

only their shepherds. The road we travel, and which still runs East is known as the Mungapuhoe. We push on, glad to escape from the gloom of Te Anga with its one tiny hut and no in habitants. This is Te Anga of today. But to-morrow, lam told, one may see saleyards, bacon factory, and dairy factory, in fact at least four towns may be expected to appear in the valley of the Marakopa, again proving that "hope springs eternal in tiie human breast."' Our roaa winds up the spur and looking back we behold the Marakopa Valley with its cluster of native whares, skirted by a few English trees, poplars and willows, whicn bear unmistakably the presence c£ missionaries in some forgotten year. Midway between us and Piripiri arc the Marakopa Falls, where the river, now only half its size, tumbles with deafening roar over cliffs 1 <JO feet high. From our saddles we command a line view of the fall. The hush growing round it has lately been declared a reserve, it having been favourably reported on by the representative of the Tourist Department. W-'i ford the Marakopa rivetnear Piripiri, which, like Te A.nga, consists of one house, but unlike Te Anga has some inhabitants. How many, yon ask? Well, two, not counting ourselves. The house is a settler's home. It is pleasantly situated on a piece of open fern country. Opposite are the famous Piripiri caves, which one may explore a whole day without seeing all their beauties. They are too well known to need description here, likewise with the famous tunnel, where a river has actually cut out for itself a course through a hill. So much has been written concerning these wonders of New Zealand that the writer refrains from going into detail. As the traveller

proceeds towards the railway line he notices he is gradually ascending. From the summit of the range one gets on a clear day a fine view of Ruapehu and Ngaruahoe, their snowcapped peaks glistening in the sun. Out-crops of white limestone, especially on the summits of little knolls, relieve the monotony of the scene. Most of the land between Piripiri and Waitomo is in the hands of the pakeha settlers, so, instead of the sweet, plaintive notes of the native birds, the air is filled with the bleating of sheep and the song of the skylark. The traveller finds it an easy day's ride to the Waitomo boardinghouse, situated near the famous Waitomo Caves, to which hundreds of tourists are drawn each year to behold the enchanted palaces of Faryland. From Waitomo to Hangatiki is an hour's ride. We have arrived at the railway station, and the distant toot of the locomotive reminds us we have a train to catch. We have no time to discuss the wonders of the trip. We left Te Kuiti imagining the glory had departed from New Zealand. We return convinced that primeval New Zealand in all her native magnificence, exists in that little seaside cove where the roar of the Pacific, and rich notes of the bell bird blend in one long hymn of praise.