VI
Burning Off

Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth!—James iii. 5.

With rush and crackle and ceaseless roar
  The demon fire is free.
And the noble clouds that to heaven soar
  Are the breath of his devilry.

Felling should be finished by the end of Spring, and the impenetrable chaos of leafy branches and trunks (Plate VIIb) is left alone till all is thoroughly dried by the hot summer sun. Then, for the owner or responsible manager, comes the really anxious time. For there is a vast difference between a good clean burn, clearing nearly everything but the stumps and a few big logs, and a fiasco, with the fire wandering about, burning leaves and twigs only, in which case it will be years before the ground conies into proper grass. How we watched the weather! Was this breeze going to develop into a big parching Wester, or would it die down entirely after we were lit up and leave us wretchedly in the soup, a misery to ourselves and a laughingstock to our neighbours? Dare we risk it?

In lighting bush (Plate VIIa), too, you have to be very careful. You must never in any case go more than a few yards in, and you must always be very sure to leave open a good line of retreat, clear away to safety, for if a sudden change of wind comes, it is not only the speed of the pursuing flame and its suffocating breath that you have to reckon with, but the fact that lighted leaves and twigs will be dropped far ahead of you. No one who has not had considerable experience should be allowed anywhere near the job.

I once spent a whole day on foot in the hot sun burning off bush patches, with an eye now and then on some big distant smokes. I had climbed slowly home in the gathering dusk, tired with my long day's scramble, and nearly kippered with the smoke, when there came a ring on the telephone. A doctor I knew well had been helping at one of those still gleaming distant fires, had been caught by a change of wind, and was certainly burnt to death. To me, tired out and somewhat upset by the news, and vividly picturing to myself the horror of such a fate, there came out of the darkness the uncanny, long-drawn howl of a dog. For the one and only time in my life my mind was no more than that of a primeval man, and for one moment this howl was for me the hair-raising cry of a page break

Plate VII
Starting a "Burn"

Plate VII
Felled Bush Drying

page 47disembodied spirit. You can read of, or imagine such a thing, but actually to feel it is at once a shocking and enlightening experience.

Calling to mind one of the last pieces of bush I had to do with, I remember, after two doubtful and anxious weeks of watching, a dry Wester seemed to be starting. "Now or never" was the decision, and my men raced off to start a line of fire from the windward side, a couple of miles away. The breeze held and increased, and climbing the ridge, I saw the first smoke rise and grow, and soon blot out all that side of the sky. This was a first-class fire; some four square miles of felled bush were cleared off in about three hours. I did not calculate the number of cubic miles of smoke sent into the air, but a ship coming down the coast reported, where it next put in, that there had been another volcanic eruption inland. And the sea was twenty-five miles from the run!

Our camp was down in a long green valley, nearly two miles from ridge to ridge, which was completely roofed with black smoke, the only light coming in from the mouth of what looked an enormous cave. The effect of this style of lighting on the landscape was extraordinary, and even quite ghastly in its dead greyness.

The spectacular part of a big bush, fire is limited to the five or six first acres, preferably on the slope and of the shape of a tilted-up saucer, with a stiff wind. Then you may get the real huge, crawling, leaping, roaring, red and purple horror of the thing, a sight that once seen you will never forget. But, after that, the smoke more and more hides all, and you only hear the great dull roar of it. But if you then ride a mile or two back and the wind is not too high, you may see that same smoke forming marvellous solid-looking masses clear cut against the deep blue New Zealand sky. Masses towering miles high, rounded masses of glistering white, and continuously bursting out from underneath, slow up-turning torrents of cream and brown, with now and then a great cave of smoky purple. That again is another unforgettable sight but rare and noble this time instead of devilish.

And when from well out in the green and silent country you see this sort of thing and know that everything is going right, you feel well paid for your months of trouble and anxiety, and at peace with all the world.

But you must not hug yourself too long, for there are sacks of grass seed to be packed out on the land (Plate IXa), and sown before the first rains, and there is no time to lose.