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“From a Smoker Window”

(Second Radio Address from Station 2Ya Wellington, by Geo. G. Stewart, Publicity Manager, New Zealand Railways.)

Here we are again, cosily seated in the friendly smoker of a New Zealand train. This time, we are to confine our radio travels to the North Island, and to-night you can all come for nothing; though a real first-class train trip like this, lasting four weeks, would cost you, in the simple language of the Reserve Bank, a “tenner.” Of course, the more you know about the North Island, the less does it seem possible to do justice to it, in something less than 20 minutes. We must adopt the methods of the midget map-maker, who sticks to barest details, and indicates the world, on a globe the size of a “bottler” marble. An accommodating imagination has to work overtime—that's all! Just as the human eye—that can view in one glance the whole host of the heavenly bodies—would go into an egg-cup—and the voice of the world can be heard from a box barely big enough to hold your lunch—so the human imagination may be trusted to fill up the gaps in this breathless ride, behind a galloping “puff-puff,” through our five-hundred-mile-long Island, and over its forty-four thousand square miles of territory.

In this diligent search for the true romance, let us work northward from Wellington. Not that the Capital City is specially romantic; for the spirit of Wellington, at times, resembles the title of a book I once read, called “Very Hard Cash”; but still, it is a handy port, and the train starts from here, near enough to the southernmost point of the Island. Without thinking too hard, I can give you, straight off, three reasons why you should visit Wellington—the first, to see the harbour by day and the city's splendour of terraced lights by night; the second, to watch Parliament in session; and the third, to breathe some of the plentiful fresh air that wanders so freely through this, the healthiest city in the world. Yet, somehow, none of the visitors I ever meet, come to Wellington for their health!

There are two railway outlets from the city. Going on the Main Trunk by the Manawatu, you quickly gain a charming view of some of the Province's favourite watering places—Titahi Bay, Plimmerton, Paekakariki and Waikanae—and then you pass the partly-Maori settlement of Otaki, where many singers of sweet songs live and grow kumaras; and then through rich flats, where you can see, besides the usual mixed farming, some of the later developments in the flax-growing and milling industry; and so past Levin to the great farming centre of Palmerston North, noted for its fine civic pride, its shows, and its several noble parks.

On the run to this inland city, you gain charming vistas of rugged or sandy seascapes, and glowing views of the frequently snow-capped Tararuas. Eastward from Palmerston North, which is still the largest inland town of New Zealand, the train negotiates the rocky gap of the Manawatu Gorge on the run to Woodville, where it junctions with that other train from Wellington which has skirted Port Nicholson, traversed the lovely Hutt Valley, climbed the Rimutakas, run down the amazing and picturesque 3-mile centre-rail declivity from Summit to Cross Creek, where the steep and tortuous grade averages about one foot in fourteen, and through the open, smiling sheep-lands of the Wairarapa. From Woodville northeastward to Hastings and Napier, the land, for the first half of the journey is typically New Zealand cow-country—much of it brought from the bush condition in fairly recent times; and then you run through the park-like lands of Hawke's Bay, where flats and gently-rolling, well-watered low hills, provide ideal grazing grounds and playing areas for the sheep and footballers that make Hawke's Bay famous. Reference to these frequent holders of the Ranfurly Shield calls to mind the story of the English Mistress of (was it?) the Hastings High School, who was disturbed by the greater interest the girls took in Rugby than in English. After lecturing them for some time on the great importance of English and the real insignificance of football, she asked one girl which name she thought was really the more famous, Browning or Brownlee. The reply was: “Please, Miss … where did Browning play?”

Napier and Hastings attract a lot of attention since the re-building of their main shopping centres in the most modern and earthquake-proof fashion. The South Pacific beats page 30 ceaselessly on the long line of Napier's pebbly shore, surprised to be checked by the grand promenade of Norfolk pines. And here the sunshine often puts up records.

Running back to Palmerston North you take the line for Taranaki; a district that has always a green charm of its own; and here, after passing prosperous towns such as Wanganui and Hawera, where civic enterprise has achieved notable results, you meet the first great scenic feature—Mt. Egmont—that huge symmetrical volcanic cone, rising over 8,000 feet in stately height, through glorious sub-tropical native forest, to well above the snow-line. Mt. Egmont is reached from Hawera, Stratford or New Plymouth, another garden city; and each has its favoured mountain-house, perched well up the slopes, but still in the region of comfortable forest, for the convenience of holiday-makers, mountaineers and snow-sports parties.

And now for a run through virgin country. The new railway line from Stratford to Okahukura has much of the charm of pioneer railway days. New settlements, homesteads, fencing, stores, and even horses, are found spattered along the route. Taumarunui has gained further importance since the new line was put through. It is here that junction is made for Taranaki with the Main Trunk expresses running north and south. Here, also, is the Wanganui River, navigable southward all the way to Wanganui and presenting, on portions of its course, some of the most magnificent river scenery in the world.

Had we come up the main trunk, where it separates from the Wellington-Taranaki line at Marton, and travelled by the Daylight Limited, which runs at the principal holiday times, we would have viewed some remarkable portions of scenic New Zealand. Passing up the fertile Rangitikei Valley from Marton Junction, through dairy-farming and sheep country, we see some of the skilful railway engineering, the viaducts and tunnels, by which the many ridges and steep river gulches of this much eroded country have been surmounted.

Then, on through Ohakune to National Park station. Here a good view is obtained of the central group of mountains—Tongariro, Ngauruhoe and Ruapehu. A few miles off by motor road is the Chateau, that notable Government hostel which has a great week-ending reputation amongst those who visit this magnificent scenic reserve. Soon after passing National Park, you come to the Raurimu Spiral, down which your train shoulders its way in breath-taking twists and loops. At one point you see a tunnel straight below you. In a few moments you are through it, and, looking up, you see the line above you that your train was running on when you first looked down. Did you ever blow smoke rings? Well, this is the place where the smoke in the smoker loops the loop!

Beyond Te Kuiti, and a few miles westward, lie the Waitomo Caves, famous throughout the world for their Glow-worm Grotto, a place of real Magic and Romance. High above, the glow-worms make new firmaments of glittering stars, while your boat glides along in Stygian darkness, in the mystery and eerie silence of the underground river.

Northward again, in the watersheds of the Waipa and Waikato rivers, is the richest farming country in the interior of the North Island. It is a country such as this that the dream of farms with a cow to the acre becomes reality. Soon we reach the adjoining towns of Frankton and the river-beautified Hamilton, that share and reflect the prosperity of this rich dairying land. On by the Main Trunk, past the coal-mines of Huntly, and then, separating from the Waikato River at low-lying Mercer, a fairly flat run is made to New Zealand's Northern Gateway—Auckland, the Queen City. And here are three reasonably reasonable reasons why you should visit Auckland: The first, to see “our Zoo,” the second, to view the Empire's “last, loneliest, loveliest” from the top of Rangitoto; and, the third, to shop in Queen Street.

Had we branched off at Frankton Junction, we would have been on our way to Rotorua, or Te Aroha, or Tauranga, or Thames. Thames puts us in touch with the golden bays of the Coromandel Peninsula. It is the place where apricots come in early, and the schnapper come in all the year round.

On the way to Tauranga we pass the gold mines of Waihi, and at Tauranga are the orchards of golden lemons and the glorious gardens of a district particularly well-favoured by Nature in the matter of soil and sunshine. Here, too, is the base for the great deep-sea fishing, for swordfish and mako, off Mayor Island. Beyond Tauranga, Whakatane and Opotiki, three shining gems on the verge of the well-named Bay of Plenty, lies the great road drive over the high Motu, looking out on the monster mountains of the Urewera Country, and through to the rich farming district of Gisborne.

The railway route from Auckland to Rotorua is full of interest, and anyone travelling on the Rotorua Limited is assured of a great ride, in one of the crack trains of the Dominion. Rotorua speaks for itself through the sense of smell; for there is a touch of sulphur fume in most parts where the steam rises; and, perversely enough, those are the parts you naturally want to visit. A glorious public garden, with almost unlimited facilities for the principal page 31 outdoor sports; magnificent bath buildings and baths of thermal waters for use both day and night; a bright, clean appearance about the shops, homes and hostels—these all make towards the charm of Rotorua. Here all kinds of trips may be taken, by motor or launch, to springs of sparkling waters, to waterfalls, to hot lakes, to boiling mud, to geysers, to native villages, to Maori pas.

And fifty miles southward lies Wairakei, thermally more active and wonderful, as some suppose, than Rotorua. Here the sparkling, blue-tinged Waikato, soon after its escape from Taupo, takes its mighty plunge over the Huka rock-barrier to make the Huka Falls, one of New Zealand's most glorious sights; and near here are the Aratiatia Rapids, which one may watch for hours, with neverlessening delight; and the Karapiti Blowhole, that strange safety-valve for the excess underground steam, designed apparently by Nature, with what success you may imagine, to prevent inflation in the North Island. Another inland trip from Rotorua is to the lake fastness of Waikaremoana, where a Government hostel awaits visitors to this picturesque region of mountain and forest.

From Auckland northward, the railway takes you into a land of romance where the atmosphere seems lighter, the people gayer, the natural colours brighter, and all life goes with an easier swing, than in any other part of New Zealand.

You run past Helensville, a place noted for the curative properties of its hot springs, right through to Whangarei, one of the most thriving places in North Auckland; or across to Tangowahine, within a few miles of Dargaville, which again is only a few miles by rail from Kaihu, the jumping-off place for the Trounson National Park, with its wonderful kauri reserves. Dargaville is on the edge of the rich and expansive river flats of the wide-spreading Wairoa river.

North of Whangarei the line runs to Opua, just a short launch trip from Russell, headquarters of the Bay of Islands—close to Waitangi, of the great Maori-Pakeha treaty, a place which is now, thanks to the generosity of our Governor-General, a national reserve for all time. Russell, besides being blessed with a natural setting of sea-encircled loveliness, has rich historical associations. Around here is the rendezvous of those powerful launches used in the deep-sea fishing for which this Dominion has a world-wide fame. Beyond Kaikohe and Okaihau, you have to go by road to the irrepressible Kaitaia. There you turn westward to the spacious wonders of the 90-mile beach; or eastward, towards the perfect charm of Whangaroa harbour.

In the words of the old song, “You can't have everything, can you?” and as I have missed many North Island places worth special mention, I must use the method of O. Henry's reporter, who described a big train trip to Washington in these words: “The scenery along the entire route is diversified. You find a portion of it on one hand by looking out of the window, and upon turning the gaze upon the other side, the eye is surprised and delighted at discovering some more of it.”

I believe there are trout in every river in the North Island, except one. The exception is always the one that I try to fish in. There are red deer in most of the eastern mountains and fallow deer more towards the west, but none have ever fallen captive to my bow and spear. There is gold still at the Thames and Waihi, and you may prospect for it anywhere else, but not with much likely success; though a trip across Lake Taupo to Waihaha, home of the great Pati, and up along the shining waters of the Mungatu, all among the wild puru, the bulls, poaka the pigs, and hoihau the horses, of that dangerous region, stays in the memory as one of the most delightful prospecting trips imaginable. Although eight men, working more or less hard for several days, found barely enough gold to make a collar stud, they discovered the real wealth of health and happiness which New Zealand is intended to provide for all her sons and daughters. And here, too, you may, to your heart's content,

“Take the kowhai's gold,
Flung for gift on Taupo's face
Sign that spring is here.”

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