NATURE AND MAN

Rotorua Morning Post, Volume 2, Issue 421, 4 January 1933, Page 7

NATURE AND MAN

Leo Fanning')

ROADS AND TRACKS PLEASANT MEMORIES OF NEW ZEALAND'S - BY WAYS CHARM OF COUNTRY SIDE '

(Eclited by

Wliere goes ihe rosid that climbs the wooded hill? I see a pilgi'im passing tliere — straight un, no ) jack ward g-aze; A far-off field is calling, but he pauses by a rill, Which babbles from a ferny maze. Where goes the road? The sun kas dipped below The hill where mirnic eclio fills the birds witli vague surinise; The pale twilight lias faded, and the stars, smvn row on row, Are mystic gardens, mocking lovers' eyes. Where goes the road I wonder wliether rest Was found in darlcness hy that lonely man whose westward feet Went slowly yonder past the rill and eeho's mossy nest When night's blaek seeptre bade the sun retreat. A good few years ago I wrote those verses (anonymously, then) to introduce an article headed: "Some Old Roads. — In and About Wellington — A glance at Other Days." In excuse. for that act of -versification I can plead that I searclied in my library for something to suit my memories of many pleasant typical roads of New Zealand, but I failed. I found much that applied aptly to roads of other eountries, but I needed somei thing Avliich would have the colour of 1 my native land. Therefore it was a case for self-help. Under the cover of "Anon" I managed to slip the lines past the critical eye of a keen editor. So, readers, you observe what persistence and guile can do. Rilis by the Way When I was fossieking for that in- | troduction I had in mind some roads of Banks Peninsula where I roame'd as a hoy, on holiday, from Christchurch. How vivid they are to me. still! The years roll away, and' I am a care-free lad again on a bright road under the hlue sky of high summer. The ripening heads of tall cocksfoot, reserved for seed, make a russet sea, l'ippling gently in the light breeze. A little way ahead, a elump of vivid green rises above the warm brown of the crop. I know what that means and I hasten on. Just around a bend of the winding road I find my little paradise. A cool creelc is murmuring among mossy rocks, fringed with ferns, in a bower of konini, with purple-black berries, ready for bird and boy. The rill has a clear pehbly course across the l'oad, and goes away singing on the other side into an enchanting dell. 1 Black-capped tomtits hear me plashing in the stream and come close to gaze at the stranger. I watch them fiitting about and peeping at me in friendly curiosity. A fantail darts darts out in somersaulting pursuit of an insect. A bell-bird chimes from a little grove in the gully. Main. Charm of New Zealand Since those far-away days I have travelled on many and tracks in various parts of the North and South Islands, and I have seen many similar little streams in similar settings. Pondering on those memories I am inclined to ask : "What is the most en•dearing charm of New Zealand?" It is not the isolated majesty of Mt. Cook, not the lonely splendour of Mt. Egmont (although "The Mountain" — as the nohle cone is proudly lcnown by the people of Taranaki — holds the heart of that province) ; not the classical Clinton Canyon of "The World's Wonder Walk"; not the monumental Mitre of Milford. Rather is it in the less spectacular scenes which come within the view of the average New Zealander. The Great and the Small My first g-limpse of "The Tower of Taranaki" far exceeded expectation, for the vision splendid came upon me suddenly at sunset, when a turn of the train brought the crystal crown into full view. I could well understand why in Maori mythology, Taranaki (the native name of Egmont) ranked as a god. And ye.t my heart was more warmed by the numerous little streams which meet the road as it circles the mountain. No doubt that feeling can be explained by my old memories of Banks Peninsula. Majestic Avenues in Peril Roads flanking the forest primeval, with great trees that have saluted the seasons of eenturies! What joy those green woods have given to thousands of travellers in the North and South Islands! Will those stands of natural heauty be carefully preserved? Will the careless selfish hand of vandaism he checked? A new peril has come for these way side woods. Many motoring parties have shown that they have no veneration for the forest. They drag out ferns and fiowers, and leave ugly litter hehind them. In summer, when low growth at the edge. of the forest may be dry, the reckless use of a lunch-time fire or cigarettes may cause much destruction. Evidently the long arm and hard hand of the law will have. to be called into action to force better behaviour ori persons whose minds and hearts are not open for moral suasion. Private Owners Can Help The State has many scenic reserves, some of which are near towns and villages, but there are still some private stands of forest, in rugged country, which should be saved. The public would be grateful, too, for the preservation of little clumps, which are delightful f eatures on many farms to-day. Particularly will the people be peased by the conservation of wayside loveliness, even if it is limited to the little belts of trees and shrubs and ferns by a rill. Many landowners have this admirable sense of duty to their own generation and posterity — and, of course, men who have that kind of soul enjoy the natural beauty, themselves. May their number increase ! How grateful the native birds \yill be, too, for that saving of the remnants of their ancestors' estate! They like those clumps, and they rejoice. in the long sunlit fringes of the forest by some scenic highways of the North and South Islands. War Against A Butcher If the kindness of man saves and makes more cover for the native birds, it must go further. It must wage mereiless war against their en- "3 emies, such a stray cats, stoats and i

weasels and — worst of all — the German owl. Friends of this butcherbird are in the field again with a cry that it does more good than harm because it kills more sparrows, thrushes and blackbirds than fantails, warblers, bell-birds and other native birds — but there is overwhelming proof that the alien owl is wiping out several kinds of native birds in some districts'. "Out the owl" must be the war cry of all active friends of native birs. But they must make sure that they do slay the native morepork in mistake for the outlaw. The German assassin (which is smaller than the morepork) is further destinguished by its white legs.