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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 14, Issue 8 (November 1939)

Dark Cloud Inlet

page 31

Dark Cloud Inlet

Harbour waters always bring to the wayfarer a peculiar sense of well-being. More particularly is this to be noticed when the harbour is a retreat from storm, a haven sought and found. In any case, the fact remains that I was singing as our fifty-foot launch coasted down the last long Tasman roll and slid into the comparatively quiet waters of Dark Cloud Inlet.

The West Coast Sounds of the South Island of New Zealand have long been noted for their grandeur and their ruggedness. Rightly so. Milford is known all over the tourist world, and to readers of our periodicals Mitre Peak must be nearly as familiar as the Pyramids. Photographs of the Cascade Falls in Dusky Sound must number thousands, although her Acheron Passage should be better known, as should the lake almost on the very top of Anchor Island, which is emptied everlastingly by a little stream, and like the Widow's Cruse remains everlastingly full. But no one has written to stress the individuality of these Sounds. No photographs show their quieter, more intimate beauties.

Chalky or Dark Cloud Inlet is the southernmost but one of these fiords. Entering as we did, after a fairly turbulent trip en route from the Bluff to Dusky Sound, its calm, quiet beauty enforced itself on our minds. Low-wooded hills and islets formed the motif. In the distance, high rugged mountains stood out in contrast, with snow still in patches on their peaks, above the timber-line. Everywhere these little islands bordering the channels gave an atmosphere of friendliness to the scene.

The time was Christmas, and the ironwoods were all in full bloom. Every islet was crowned with their crimson flowers, while round its base it was circled by teteaweka bushes, great masses of white daisy-like flowers, purple-centred, hanging just above the writhing kelp. Set in the deep blue of the water, with the sun shining on all the colours, it was a picture never to be forgotten.

At a safe anchorage in a tiny cove called North Port we moored the launch, tying up to the branches of a giant ironwood. The others separated, taking dinghies and fishing-lines to try the water of the Sounds. Left to my own devices, I sat happily enough for a time drinking deep of all the sights and sounds of the Inlet.

Birds were everywhere. Redshanks circled over a rock in the centre of the cove. Penguins skipped over and through the water, like tiny porpoises playing follow-the-leader. Ashore bell-birds and tuis sang in their hundreds. Tiny fantails fluttered round the fringe of the bush like Brobdingnagian gnats, tumbling and hovering round the trees, landing a moment to preen themselves and display their fans. A weka walked cautiously down to the water's edge followed by another—and another; a half-dozen wekas, cocking their heads at me, and sidling about with all the aplomb of the domestic fowl.

It was too much for me. Seizing the branches that hung low over the stern, I swung myself ashore and set off on a voyage of exploration.
A glimpse of beautiful Dusky Sound, on the West Coast of the South Island.

A glimpse of beautiful Dusky Sound, on the West Coast of the South Island.

The bush was more open than any I had seen. Clinging vines and lawyers were conspicuously absent, or at least if they were present they were not in such quantities as to impede progress. Underfoot, the dead leaves of a thousand years made a carpet fit for a king.

I came at last to a little arm of the cove, bordered by high walls of rock which made further progress impossible, save through the quiet waters. I waded in knee-deep, then stopped to savour more fully a new experience. For swimming up to me, animated by no other motive than curiosity, were three moki, each from a foot to eighteen inches in length. I stood stock-still while they nosed up to my legs, swam around, and finally between them, wondering inaudibly but unmistakably what kind of creature this could be come uninvited to their playground.

That is the most vivid memory I carry of Dark Cloud Inlet. Thus fearless and free must Ao-tea-roa have greeted the early whalers. The white man has much to answer for in Maoriland, and not the least of his sins is the destruction of this confidence, so freely offered. I will always be glad of my visit to this corner of my country, beautiful and unspoilt.

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