The Nikau Grove.

The kauri is the rangatira, the ariki of the tree world. There is a forest fairy, and that is the nikau palm. Here in the warm forest-fenced valleys of the Hoki-anga and Waipoua and Mangakahia hills you may see the nikau in its unspoiled tropic-like glory. Never can the nature-worshipper realise to the full the loveliness of the forest heart until he wanders into one of these groves, where the slim symmetrical pillars support a green arching ceiling of rustling pinnate fronds. But to see a perfect clump of nikau you must go into the forest, past its sheltering selvedge of taraire trees, where the basking cicada clacks and shrills ceaselessly in the sunshine, and where the pigeon and the tui feast on the fruit, into the untouched kauri groves, deeper still into the hollow dells where little streams murmur over their mossy stones, there is the home of the nikau, where the winds never penetrate its protective wildwood screen.