The Rapids.

Up to the time of our cruise no boat of pakeha construction had ever floated above this place; from here to the river head all was rough and wild. The river now ran very swiftly over its snaggy bed, in a narrowed channel, and our arms began to ache, for it was well into the afternoon, as we edged the canoe up foot by foot. The first rapid was but a small taheke. We were soon up to the formidable Mangapohue. It was a down-curve of water ending in a line of foam where fallen trees obstruct its swift run. The river here was jammed and dammed with snags, and our canoe, borne back, nearly capsized on a slippery log and sent a wash of cold spray over us. But big Hauraki in the stern with a quick heave of his pole righted the waka. and with a long push all together she was soon on the crest of the little fall of bottle-green water.

“Puritia!” (“Hold her!”) cries Piko in the bow, and as he releases his pole Hauraki holds her firmly with his until Piko gets another long heave on. We are up in a few moments, and in smooth water, and poles are laid inboard and paddles come out again.

The trees overhang us here; we can touch them with our upraised paddles. At our next big rapid the water is too deep to pole, so we keep close in to the southern bank, where the clear-green current swirls past the base of a perpendicular cliff, where enormous old rata trees stand, their branches thick with mosses and lichens and bearded with hanging epiphytes. We lay down our paddles and haul our canoe along by gripping the low branches and digging our fingers into the crevices of the rocky wall, and clutching the kiekie that grew tenaciously just above the water level. The river in mid-channel foamed with tremendous fuss and froth over its cheveaux-de-frise of fallen trees, but here under the bank it is fairly smooth, though running very swiftly.