UNDER CANVAS

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 19, 13 April 1927, Page 12

UNDER CANVAS

A GUIDE CAMP

SPECIAL PRIZE Camp! Ah, the thrilling memories that word recalls —memories of sunny days, of starry nights and the great, free, open life we all would lead. Even now let us arise and with our little white tents in our haversack tramp on toward those glorious Waitakeres. It is dusk. The long clay road is far behind us and we have broken into a still valley. The bush-clad hills towering above and before us are enveloped in a purple haze. A veil of silence seems to have fallen upon us, broken only by the low splashing of a waterfall among the ferns. Our little white tent, into which four can comfortably squeeze, is pitched beneath the sheltering trees and securely tied to the pegs with clove hitches. The most comfortable bed you could ever sleep on is found in the bush. First gather armfuls of "munga-munga” and spread it out in the tent, then place the ground-sheet and blankets over it. The plant is extremely springy and makes a wonderfully soft bed. But how hungry we grow! The best fireplace to build in a stationary camp is one dug out. The earth is carefully removed in clods and if possible a sheet of iron is placed over one end of the fireplace, then a small fire is made with punk and dry twigs. Ah, how lovely it is to see the flame flare up and the potatoes, with the green twig to keep the water from being smoked, bubbling about in the billy! And then there are the little fat sausages sizzling about in the pan. It does make one feel hungry to see a big enamel plate heaped with mashed potatoes, fried tomatoes and two little brown sausages nestling in the middle, beside a big rrjug of hot camp-tea. Before the camp fire, all the rubbish must be burned and every trace cf food packed away from field mice and their kind. The glow of the camp fire lights up the faces of our little group, but beyond is a wall of darkness. The smoke curls gently up and fades away in the still air. Myriads of stars twinkle far beyond in the - clear sky and seem to keep watch on our isolated little party. How many are the rollicking camp-fire songs we sing, and -how merry we all are as we pick up each catchy tune! But as the glow of the last ember dies and the first beam of the moon comes over the hill we slowly rise and seek the little white tent nestling so snugly beneath the trees. And when the wind rises and rustles the leaves and the white clouds scurry over the pine-tops we are fast asleep beneath the lonely watch of the moon. Dawn! The sky is rose-tinted and golden rays climb over the horizon. Time for us to rise and greet the morrow. The birds are already chirping their gay songs and all the insects seem to be waking. We shall have a dip under the sparkling waters of the waterfall and feel the glow of the icy water dripping over us. Our menu for breakfast is scrambled eggs and bacon, bread, butter, jam and tea. The long sunny day we fill with swimming, tracking and exploring; also in collecting for our Nature Diaries native leaves and berries, and notes on native birds. Games of dis-patch-running, Red Indian games of tracking through dense bush and streams, dead ti-tree, and over every obstacle to be found, we rejoice in, until at last we have to pack our haversacks and strike camp. But we hope, and know, that after we have gone you will find the fireplace filled in with clods, the trench round our tent neatly covered, no papers lying about, no remnants of food, and lastly, none of Nature’s trees broken or damaged. For, after all, the best and real camper is the one who leaves for other people no sign of his camp behind to mar the beauty of the place which he himself has loved. “Eyes of the Morning” (Ruby Blair, aged 15). CAMP LIFE IN AUSTRALIA The most delightful holiday I ever spent was in Australia, when a party of us camped for six weeks in the bush. From a little bushland township we hired a cart to take our lugage and ourselves to the camping ground. The road we took was shaded here and there by giant trees, the sunshine was golden and the great dome of the sky a cloudless blue, rose overhead. It was a long journey in the bumpy cart, but the air was fresh and invigorating, and there was a sense of spaciousness which gave us a strange feeling of well-being. We arrived at last, very tired, but happy as larks, and set to work to pitch our tents, taking care to dig a small ditch around them to drain off surplus water and rain; then at eleven we retired and slept soundly all night. We rose to a beautiful day, a fresh new young sun and the aromatic scent of eucalyptus trees around us. All bird-life was pouring out its wonderful melody to greet the sunrise. The glory of such a day could not be resisted, and we made a rush for a gleaming sheet of water in the distance. It was a delightful pool. All around eucalyptus bushes dipped their branches in the water; the tea-tree scrub was just bursting into flower, and a great white gum shaded it with its branches. The bottom was smooth black sand and there was the very faintest current, just enough to keep the water clean and fresh. We could have lingered, but the thought of our well-filled day sent us flying out. We prepared a breakfast of sausages and bacon, cooked gipsy fashion, and ate ravenously, then each set about their appointed tasks. The wood and water were replenished, tents aired and dishes washed. When the sun was overhead we took some lunch and set out for an expedition into the bush. The shadows of the gum trees lay across the track as we returned, tired, but happy, and we all made off to the swimming pool again. If the bathe in the morning had been pleasant, this leisurely one in the evening was incomparably delightful, and we came out with a feeling that all our weariness had gone. After tea, we sat outside for a while looking out into the soft, scented darkness, listening to the hum of insects, the mournful cry of a mopoke, and the wailing of the curlews that rose from a little swamp nearby. Then as the silver moon rose over the creek, we danced to the strains of the gramophone, and we vowed that if the rest of our holiday were as delightful as our first day, we would never, in future, spend our vacation in any other way. —Blue Moon (Peggy Wilson), aged 15. After declining steadily for many years, the Red Indian population of the United States is now on the increase.