TO SEE THE SUN RISE.

Otago Witness, Issue 2813, 12 February 1908, Page 89

TO SEE THE SUN RISE.

Br H. J. A.

There comes a time in the life of the generality of readers when, having perused the glowing descriptions of the beauties of Nature with which our English literature abounds, they desire to ccc these things moie closely with the physical eye, and to extend their knowledge of tho;=e beauties, of whose charms they have hitherto been so apparently ignorant. They have read of the glory of the mountain height and the roseate hues of the sunset | scene depicted by Ruskin's powerful pen ; they have in mental vision seen the varying views of woodland glade described by Thoreau ; have watched with breathless appreciation, imaginatively,, the scarlet splendour of the rising sun in company with Robert Louis Stevenson ; have in memory Tevisited the quiet countryside of youth under the spell of the fascinating pages of Jeffries ; with the minute philosopher King6ley have wandered idly among fhe hidden beauties of his winter garden, the open moor ; amongst the breezy crags of Westmoreland, beloved of Wordsworth, have listened to the rushing torrential cry of the tumultuous stream chafing its way adown the granite glen ; have climbed amidst the rugged fastnesses of Caledonia' 6 mountains, have been gently motioned o'eT the peaceful bosom of the islandetudded emerald lakes with Scott ; and, laving read of these varied beauties, have conceived the ambition to view these things, these inanimate glories, that have bo moved the inspiied pens of genius. One of the chief joys of travel must surely be the visitation of scenes rendered familiar through the pages of literature, and it must be but a natural desire on the part of any sympathetic reader to view the scenes that have so excited his interest. While but a comparative few may have the pleasure of visiting famous scenes, these humdrum stay-at-home people who are the mainstay of the world are not altogether shut out from this form of enjoyment. To view the fleeting glory of the uprising sun, to note with sympathetic feeling the gradual fading of the evanescent beauty of the crimson glow of eventide, to gaze afar from the towering mountain peak, to investigate all the wonders of the minute life of meadow, wood, and brook, there is no charge. These, all these are free, and call quietly, yet compellingly, for appreciation. Those common everyday events, the sunrise and the sunset, have each their ov,-n attraction, and appeal for appreciation to people of eminently different temperaments. At sunset all is quiet, gentle, calm ; the wind, boisterous, maybe, throughout the day, has ceased from its rtrugglings, and the atmosphere qiiiescently reposes, while the subdued sound of the dying activity of the insect world floats unobtrusively with musical murmur ; and the sweet-smelling savours of the summer verdure and the lowly herbs under foot, together with the enticing odour from the new-mown clover, rise mingling as incense to heaven. Aiid the clouds, how can they be described? Pile upon pile, terrace upon terrace, cupola, dome, minaret, in prodigal profusion, as the dying breeze has left them, they lie in tumultary mass, while the sun, fast sinking to rest, darts his rays upon each crested pinnacle, transforming it to a glory beyond expression. Only a man of pacific temperament and calmly contemplative mood can find himself in harmony with the spirit of eventide. A man of tumult and energetic fervour may see the same clouds, the same harmonious mingling f)f colour, and yet bestow only a giudging admiration.

Temperaments vary, and to some the coming of the sun afwsh upon the scene, accompanied by all the virile vigour of dewy morn, makes a stranger appeal to their natures than does the departure ofthe sun, majestical as that undoubtedly is. In the morning all is fresh, bright, brisk ; the biting tang of the cool earth assails the nostrils, and the Ted blood leaps vigorously in the veins ; the call of day is a clarion call to deeds. All around is life — wild, free, life — and the primal instinct of life and action in man spurs into being. The sun, great mover of life, looks clean and beautiful ; he goes to his task brightly fresh ; he swings above the horizon rapidly as though eager to dispel the lingering shades of night. The call of day strikes a challenging note, and the man of enthusiasm ' finds there his inspiration. The sunrise is the inception of life, the sun©et is its cessation.

Optimistic people, I find, can usually appreciate a sunrise, wherefore I do not hesitate to subscribe myself an optimist. I can hardly conceive of a pessimist remaining a pessimist before the vigorous stirring of day-dawn. The spirit of the thing is so manifestly against it.

Upon Stevenson mmst, I think, be laid the immediate responsibility for one of our earlier excursions to see the sun rise. We — there are two immediately concerned in this narrative — vrere at the time camping. Our camp was (we f-av it modestly) a literary camp, but that is not "to say it was not a practical camp. Literature was kept in its place — oven in the place whereunto a recent -writer ."ssigned it when discussing its relationship to life when he says in effect that 'iterature is not an essential thing It is to life what a dog's tail is to a do? — a very useful appendage. But the dog ran live without the tail, and life would run along should literature be eliminated. Such was our attitude : in due time and circumstance we were literary ; on other occasions we were — otherwise." Two of us had pursued our excited -way through Stevenson's " Ebb-tide," had traced the grim story of Herrick's weakness to Ibe very clinnx. and incidentally had been seized with a feverish desire to witness tho glory of senccape and island beauty so graphically portrayed theiein. Especially in our several hearts was born the "wish to see the sun rise. Lacking a teopical iris, W« S*f necessity sought »

substitute. In our near neighbourhood a conical crest reared its breezy height, and from this vr-e decided vrould vre obtain a fitting view of the magnificent spectacle described by our author. Decided that "we should ccc the sun rise, there then came the question as to the means by which this should be a-ccomplis'hed. Consultation of our daily newspaper revealed the alarming fact that the sun habitually rose about 4.15 a.m. — a most unconscionable time. Two courses were open to ivs — either vrc should rise at 2.30 in order to allow of a sufficient margin in which to attain the stimmit, or. alternatively, should ascend this height on the previous night and there keep watch till that superb soul-stirring sight should greet our expectant eyes. Which pTan should we pursue? was the subject of our debate. One candidly confessed to an inherent aversion to early rising, and the other, -while admitting that he had on occasion risen as early as 4 a m., hesitated about tackling 2.30, and with but little persuasion gave way to the scruples of his companion, and it was mutually resolved that the more romantic nay of sleeping on the mountain peak should be purbiied. Behold us, then, on the last night of ouv stay looking expectantly forward to the enjoyment of ecstasies of ddmiration and poetic fervour the next morning. Our announced intention "was received -with scoffing comment by the other members of tbe camp ; but vre endured their proffered sympathy with smiling good-humour, and inwardly pitied them while we remained firmly fixed in our idea.

Blankets on shoulders, we bade ci smiling farewell and stepped forth into the night. It was dull and overcast ; the clouds had j massed at even and now overspread the entire vault of heaven, across which they hurried in flying squadrons, battalions, I brigades, before a risins 'wind from out the north-east. They flew low, and their grey amorphous mass gleamed spectral through the gloom. No stars vrere visible, and the moon had not yet risen. On either side tall hedges bent and swished before the singing -wind, crops rustled and whispered in the fields, the music of a murmuring runnel flowing cooly over gravelly shallows reached us in the pauses betwixt gusts, and the bay of a solitary house dog came to us inteimittently ; an occasional light gleamed from afar ; wjiyfarers were few and very far between. At first our conversation was maintained ■with livelyoH-igoui-, but it soon drooped and died. Presently the huge bulk of the peak rose black before us. and he posfesred of the larger share of local knowledge took the lead past a high hedg« over a projecting shoulder, of the hill. Viewed from a distance in the daylight, that hillside appeared as comparatively green sward, and yet, in the dark, its chief component part 'undoubtedly vras rocks and boulders of all sizes, from a pocket of pebbles to a massive rock as huge as a house, and interspersed between very occasional stretches of tvirf were miscellaneous patches' of gorse, bioom. rank thistles, and wiry grass. Estimation of the ability of the guide fell alarmingly, but faith, albeit small, was still reposed in him. Over to the right, he said, it was easier. Thitherward we bore, and it certainly seemed easier — to break your neck, for instance. We scrambled over rocks, down depressions, skirted boulders, found projecting points with delicat-e shin bones, forced our way through gorse patches which seemed acres in extent, and with torn hands, weary feet, but stubborn hearts, straggled desperately upward. Presently the way did grow easier — close cropped tuif superseded promiscuous boulders, and we thankfully stepped forth briskly. But it was a treacherous calm. Of a sudden the guide dived forward and fell in a sprawling heap. To anxious inquiries as to damage, no reply was vouchsafed, but presently he arose and spat forth earth and ejaculatory exclamations and blessed rabbit holes : which done, he took up his blankets and proceeded.

That was a terrible climb, but, consoling ourselves with an aphorism of Stevenson's, that added difficulty means added beamy, vt-e pressed hopefully forward. Surely that sunrise would be the most beautiful ever man looked upon ! Nearing the top we were required to surmount a loosely built barb-wire fence placed precariously on the top o-f a straggling stone wall. After this but minor difficulties confronted vs — a clump of flax being the most serious. Hitherto we had approached the crest on the lee side of the j hill, but for the last pinch, by reason of ' broken ground, we were foiced out on to the wind-swept slope. And it did blow. The wind zipped and raced by. buffeting and strikiue. bitinarly keen, but with victory in our grasp \re heeded it not. With i heads b^nt low, one last struggle and the crest was won. . What a moment of relief! Down among the tussocks we ! threw ourselves, and each told t'other how nice it was to rest. And then we reflected upon our position, and a most uncanny | feeling crept over us. On a mountain peak at dead of night, we two, alone! I Below, in the plain, a tiny point of i light moved along, and behind it there 1 followed in sinuous centipsdal length the lights of the late express. Away ahead I of it and immediately below our position gleamed the lights of the station buildings, and. spreading around, a few scattered points indicated midnight reveliy, or maybe the watcher by a sick bed. Turning seaward, away down the coast, the flashing rays of the lighthouse projected far, and out at sea the light of a coastal ' steamer danced on the tossing waters. j The keen wind soon rendered our position on the crest undesiiable, and we retired to the lee side and sought to sleep. But, alas, the side of a hill steeper than the roof of a house is not an eminently suitable place for sleeping with comfort. But, pei force, we made the best of it. Tussocks were in abundance, and, having vciapped ourselves in the blankets, we sought, by resting our feet on one clump, . nianceuYTiiitt another under the shoulder

blade, and firmly entwining the fingers of one hand in a third, to attain the maximum of rest possible. We were then prepared for sleep, but seemingly the Goddess Sleep rarely visited that forsaken outpost, and for long was ignorant of our presence. Eventually, i in the "wee &ma' 'oors'' of morning, we < fell into a precarious dose, only to be awakened by a penetrating drizzle sweeping in from the seaboard. The wind had , changed and now drove the damp sea t mist full upon us. And the massy, heavy j clouds hanging low, dimly discernible, rendered a spectacular sunrise an impossibility. After all our toil it was very unkind of fate. But, fortunately, we are by nature philosophers, and each* consoling the othei" with platitudes of wisdom, we rolled together our blankets, and, with the grey dawn creeping upon us, fled down the mountain skis for the dryness and unheroic comfort of civilisation. There is just that element of risk about a eunme which gives to it the spice of adventure.