The Sounds Have it

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 851, 20 December 1929, Page 8 (Supplement)

The Sounds Have it

By

BETTY KNELL

■J| Slt a holiday then—already? The J months have crept up and slipped | past until they have dwindled dowt. Ij to weeks ... to days .. . and hem is summer, and our holiday upon u;i again. And where would it be but in the Sounds themselves, within easy cry and call of the busy places ? Charlotte,' Keneperu, Pelorus—magical names of magical places, with their little, creep ing inlets and their wide-awake, gold-edged bays; serene little bays that can nevertheless he flickee in ha.lf-an-hour into turbulent while horses anti miniature breakers ... of a great pleasantneat, to put it in un-Englishwise, for the yachting ant the bathing. Then small jellyfish abound, and the seagulls dive and scream, and the wind, blowing fills you with a strange excitement. . . . The Sounds, in the early morning. Still, clear waters, with the wee wraiths of mist hangin; above them, ar d the wet bush to the water’s edg«. And the first liquid notes of a tui. Islands that fceem to hang in the air, with the water a mirro* below; and islands raised up by the reflections like fat, funny mushrooms on thick, green stalks. And a sudden great, shining twist to the water the currents run; and the light on Diffenbach. Point a sickly, pale little ghost that has stayed up far, far too late. . . . And a great school of porpoises heaving up suddenly within the curve of the bay, travelling amazingly, their great, shining black bodies flipped like cushions desr of the water. And what shall we do with the day? Rain, is it?—the light, misty rain that drifts along from nowhere, and raises little, skirling catspaws off the capes and headlands. Then it might be a launch for us, and the deep-sea fishing, out past the whaling-station and through the Heads. Zaue Grey "with his rods and his chairs would be out of it; for her€: it is a strong cord and two hooks are needed, aad the oldest clothes you possess. And it’s a poor fisherman who cannot hook ft three-foot kingfish occasionally, or a fightieg kawhai; or a big, dirty barracouta that must le thrown back £.s soon as caught. Bait they mak2, but never a meal. And maybe, as your boat draws in under the hills, the excitement of seeiig a grey shape-below, long as three men, and tie futile shooting at it before it glides careless y away, into the* sea’s shadows. But this is outside the Heads, and even there they are seldom seen. On a fine day, what cannot you do in tie Sounds? There are the hills, with deserted golddiggings in this valley, and an ancient Maori burial-ground upon that hill. Walk carefully here, for the ground sounds strangely hollow r underneath your feet, and the Maoris dislike to s?e you near. . . . There is the shooting of the little bearded goat, Port Underwood way, or the chase with knives and dogs after the pigs. Or, if you are built more peaceably, the feel of the till el* m your hand, and your bare feet braced against the smooth wood, and the yacht slipping away down the wind, or tugging beneath your hand li-sft a greyhound on leash. ... And the real beauty of it is that you m;iy be civilised as the King of England or as pagan as bedamned. You may have tennis and the rowing regatta, hotel fare; dancing, and cans, anti company. But there is also the coolness of bush and sea . . . hotness of beaches . • • cc “j cooked by your own camp-fire, and the desen •« magic of water by moonlight. And the biris at the cherries in the bush, and presently the blie smoke from the beach-fire. World’s End a ' Waterfall Bay . . . Ship’s Cove am Endeavour Inlet. . . . Who is for the Sounds this Christmas.