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Gateway to Paradise….

By J. A. G.

With a sense of pleasant anticipation I joined the New Zealand Railways Service Car at Hokitika on an inspection trip to Bruce Bay via Hari Hari, Waiho and Weheka. Weheka is the terminal point of the official tourist route by scheduled means, but I was to continue my journey into the lesser known region of bush and of snow-fed rivers to the south.

One cannot pay too high a tribute to the courtesy and efficiency of the drivers of these mammoth service cars which are so skilfully manoeuvred round the amazing bends of this glorious highway to the glacial paradise. On this particular day of early summer before the influx of tourists had reached its height our car was less than half full and a small complement of baggage ensured our keeping somewhat ahead of schedule, and thus we could see all points of interest in a leisurely and comfortable manner.

My fellow travellers included a Welsh girl “doing” New Zealand alone, and a cheery Rhodesian middle-aged couple who were making their second New Zealand tour with a thoroughness which was admirable, as they had already been in the country several months.

Shortly after leaving Ross, the once important focal point of the goldmining boom of the early ‘sixties, we found ourselves winding in and out of seemingly endless avenues of native forest. Ferguson's Bush being the first portion of an almost unbroken vista of giant rimu, matai and kamai trees, mingled with every variety of fern and hanging moss. The crimson blossom of the rata was making its appearance and nearing The Forks, beyond Wataroa, two of these fine trees were aflame with bloom, in beautiful contrast to the shining waters of Lake Mapourika skirting the road. After rounding one of the numerous bluffs, the sudden appearance of Lake Ianthe was a scene of calm sylvan beauty, as we saw it at its peak of perfection with sunlight glinting through the magic fretwork of green foliage on a glassy mirrored surface. Cameras were soon clicking busily and I felt a twinge of regret since my own camera was in my bag in an inaccessible luggage carrier.

Our excellent time schedule resulted in two unexpected surprises. We found time to stop by the wayside, and all trooped a few yards into the bush to view a magnificent matai of about forty feet circumference—said to be the largest in the South. Even more entrancing was our inspection of “The Wanderer's Rest”—the rural retreat of Otto, an old-age pensioner. The approach to this spot is a typical narrow leaf-strewn bush track winding through untouched bush for about two hundred yards, ending suddenly at a clearing of about one-eighth of an acre, where a well-kept one-roomed shack overlooked a truly amazing garden. Old Otto seemed pleased to see us and with his white beard and old straw hat, fitted naturally into the unexpected setting. A little rock garden with running water was adjacent to the hut and the garden itself was full of interest. Almost every vegetable was represented; but also tobacco plants and besides beautiful pansies, other flowers less known in New Zealand — Japanese Iris and London Pride.

Mrs. “Rhodesia” spoke to him in German, and Otto, completely captivated, had a further surprise in store for us. Leaving the garden we followed him in another direction through the trees, and found ourselves in a spot which was surely the home of elves and wood nymphs. Otto's pride was a grotesque moss-covered red birch tree which had not one trunk, but six or seven weirdly shaped boles each rooted separately, much after the style of the famed Ban-Yan tree of India. A veritable fairy dell.

Approaching Waiho we had our first glimpse of the Franz Josef Glacier—and at the Hostel itself all disembarked except the Rhodesians and myself. The final seventeen miles to Weheka is perhaps the most glorious bush road in New Zealand—and the bends and twists in the road are said to be 360 in number—surely a record.

The Hostel at last, and its friendly hospitality was truly inviting, for the drive in the front seat of the car on so hot a day had been somewhat tiring. Soon, however, a little fatigue was forgotten—for if the gates to this fairyland were so entrancing, surely the beauty within the gates was something to look forward to in the ensuing days. And we were not disappointed.