The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 62

Te Wairoa

Te Wairoa,

the ruined village on the hill just above Lake Tarawera, we see the ruins of the hotel where young Mr. Bainbridge met his death. Descending the steep slopes we embark in a native whale-boat, in which we cross the waters of the once beautiful but now muddy Lake Tarawera. Passing the site of the now buried village of Te Ariki, where some 100 Maories lie entombed, we land near the site of the beautiful terraces on Lake Rotomahana.

As we climb up the grey sides of dried mud or walk up the furrows formed by the rains, we gain soon the scene of desolation which has been produced by the pent up forces of volcanic energy which found vent on that sad night in June. Not a green thing relieves the eye—nothing but the dull gray mud, and as we rise to the margin of the once lovely Rotomahana, we see nothing save the vast volcanic chasm, resembling an immense cutting, perhaps two and a half miles long, with a varying breadth of from half a mile to one mile one hundred yards, and an average depth of perhaps 500 feet. The sides are sometimes gradual and easy, and elsewhere precipitous, while along the bottom are numberless mounds of ejected mud and stones, interspersed with craters, from several if which issues steam. To our left is the Tarawera Mountain; the mighty crater so lately blown out of its side is plainly visible with its scarred and blackened sides. But we must not dwell, as we have other wonders to behold, and on our way back to our hotel will view the extraordinary display of geyser action at