1874 - Bathgate, A. Colonial Experiences or Sketches of People and Places in the Province of Otago, New Zealand. - Chapter 17. Natural Objects, p 229-249

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CHAPTER XVII.

Natural Objects.

A STRANGER on his first arrival from Britain is usually disappointed at the un-foreign appearance of his surroundings as regards natural objects. The weeds he finds growing in the streets are identical with those he has left in his native town; the grass in the fields is English; and he may perchance recognise the song of the chaffinch or thrush from the neighbouring thicket. The general aspect of the distant forest presents nothing to attract the eye, as strange or new, and he may note with dissatisfaction that the only discernible difference from an English

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wood is, that the foliage is duller and more sombre. The sentiments excited by this state of affairs are varied; the pleasure of recognising old friends is mingled with disappointment at the want of new acquaintances.

Let the traveller wander, however, away from "the busy haunts of men," only a short distance towards the "bush," as the natural forest is designated, and he finds, combined with greater sylvan beauty, a contrast, indeed, to any British scene he can recall. On the outskirts of the bush he may perchance cross the clearing of some industrious settler, the rough log fence of which, as well as the white bleached stumps sticking up here and there through the green luxuriant grass, somehow carries him back to those tales read in his boyhood of American Indian life--while the rude hut built of the black stems of the tree fern, though not an orthodox log cabin, strengthens the association. Let him pass on and enter the bush; and before he has penetrated many

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yards he finds himself repeating the opening lines of Evangeline:--

Pressing on to the deeper recesses of the dense forest, through a deep undergrowth of shrubs and saplings, interlaced at times with the long trailing branches of the bush "lawyer" (rubus australis), whose inverted hooks take a most tenacious hold of the passer-by, and, if not carefully dealt with, are likely to prove dangerous to his attire; or the long, leafless, cane-like stems of the supple-jack (rhipogonum scandens), which prove an obstructive yet, as compared with the other, a harmless object. Pausing to rest awhile, the profound silence which prevails is almost oppressive. No life is visible; animals there are none; but where else could one look for birds? A short way back the peculiar bell-like notes of the moko-

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moko or bell-bird (anthornis melanura) were heard, and further on the harsh chatter of the parraquet (platycercus novae zealandiae) grated on the ear. Now the ear seeks as vainly as the eye for signs of life; even the murmuring "sough" of the breeze through the tree-tops has ceased, and the only sound to be distinguished is the half-stifled prattle of a brook at no great distance.

We shall go thither, and, seating ourselves in a grove of tree ferns, admire the scene. If animal life be wanting, vegetable life abounds in both luxuriance and beauty. And even the former is now represented, for from a branch a few feet distant the bright-eyed New Zealand robin (petroica albifrons) is curiously watching our movements. Larger than his European congener, whom he resembles only in his build and movements, he is dressed in a suit of rusty black, with a considerable display of sadly-soiled linen in place of the familiar red-breast. Over a larger pool in the stream too, a fantail (rhipidura flabellifera)

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is flitting about catching flies. 'Tis a pretty little bird, less than a wren, with a dark back and head, but lighter underneath; its chief feature, however, is the tail of long white feathers, which, though longer than itself, the little bird spreads out and flirts about like the fan of a Spanish coquette. A small flight of canaries (orthonyx ochrocephala) passes overhead, their attempts at music being but a poor burlesque of the performances of the caged songsters "of that ilk." But these slight evidences of animal life only help to impress the tenantless condition of the bush more fully upon one.

In one respect this lack of life is not to be regretted. When an Australian first visits the New Zealand bush, he gives thanks a thousand times for the absence of snakes, from whose fangs there would be little chance of escape amidst the dense vegetation. When St. Patrick bestowed his blessing upon the Emerald Isle, and expelled the reptilia, some of the potency of the spell must, I think, have permeated the

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earth till it reached our antipodean regions, for, save some harmless lizards, reptiles we have none.

The large trees of the forest are noble patriarchal giants, the red (dacrydium cupressinum, native name remu) and black (podocarpus ferruginea) pines and the totara (podocarpus totara) yielding excellent, and, especially the first and last, prettily grained timber. The wood of the white pine (podocarpus dacrydioides) is softer, but is also useful, and has the advantage of being free from knots. These pines, and also most of the trees and shrubs of the bush, are evergreens. The few exceptions, such as the kowai (sophora tetraptera) and tree fuschia (fuschia excorticata), are not numerous enough to make any difference in the appearance of the bush in winter. Many of the smaller trees and shrubs would be greatly prized by the owners of English shrubberies for ornamental plants. Several of the coprosmas and olearias are eminently suited for such purposes, but, in common with most New Zealand bush trees and plants,

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they are very difficult to grow away from the friendly shade and shelter of their accustomed forests.

The chief beauty of Otagan bush scenery lies in the ferns. Their growth is profuse and abundant almost everywhere, but the height of their luxuriance and beauty is to be found only in some dense gully in the heart of the bush. Here they attain perfection, from the monarch of the tribe, the lofty tree fern, 1 rising like some sculptured pillar with a capitol of wide-spreading fronds, to the tiny parasitical trichomanes (trichomanes venosum) or hymenophyllum (hymenophyllum tunbridgense), which forms the ornamentation of the shaft. They vary, too, in form and texture as they do in size, from the graceful feathery lightness of the todea hymenophylloides, or the translucent seaweed-like fronds of the hymenophyllum dilatatum, to the stiff leathery appearance of the

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lomaria patersoni. Ferns are everywhere, on the ground, on the trees, and on one another; and the face of yonder rocky cliff is wholly veiled by them. Where the ferns fail, velvet-like mosses of the softest green supply their places; every stump, and even the stones are hid in "greenery," and, were not flowers wanting, a ferny gully might be mistaken for fairyland.

But the flowers are not there, nor indeed are they to be found elsewhere. We miss the yellow primrose from the shady banks in spring, we fail to find a foxglove standing ruddy in the summer sun, and the autumn brings no poppies to deck our fields of corn, nor does the purple heather lend its hue to tinge our distant hills. No, alas! we have none of these, and naught to fill their places. The farmer, it is true, prefers to keep his fields free from poppies, the foxgloves and primroses are only to be seen cultivated in garden grounds, and a sprig of his native heath may be found carefully tended in the possession of some patriotic Scot.

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The indigenous wild flowers are for the most part insignificant and poor. This is more to be wondered at when we consider how well all imported English plants thrive. Numbers of British weeds and flowers have been accidentally transported hither, and have spread with amazing rapidity. I have seen a sward white as snow with daisies, and the national plant of Caledonia flourishes and maintains its ground in sturdy defiance of legislators and thistle ordinances. But it is not such plants alone that find a congenial soil and climate here; British trees and plants generally grow with a vigour and rapidity surpassing anything they attain in the country to which they belong. The most striking instance of this is to be seen in the case of the common white clover, which will often be met with growing freely far away from any artificial pasture.

By way of compensation for the scarcity of wild flowers, many of the trees and shrubs have abundant blossoms, some of them sweetly scented. For show and splendour nothing can

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surpass the brilliancy of the ruta or iron tree (metrosideros lucida)--not the true ruta, though often so called--whose mass of scarlet bloom is the boast of the forest. Unfortunately, though plentiful further south, no specimens of this handsome tree grow near Dunedin. In speaking of our native wild flowers, it would be an omission not to mention the clematis (clematis hexasepala), whose white star-shaped blossoms are shewn to advantage hung in large clusters from the topmost boughs of some dark green tree, not a leaf or flower being visible throughout the entire length of the long thin climbing stem till it attains an airy altitude. It was proposed that the New Zealand war medal should imitate the flower of this plant, and I believe the idea has been adopted.

Flowering plants are not the only things we lack; of native animals we have now none, though a clog must have existed in the days of the Moa, and there are rumours of a rat at a later period. This last has disappeared wholly, and surrendered the field to his cousin from

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Norway. Birds are much more numerous, but many are somewhat local in their distributions, and others again, such as the wood-pigeon (carpophaga novae zealandiae) and kaka (nestor meridionalis), a kind of parrot--both excellent eating, by the way--only come near the settled neighbourhoods at certain seasons. Notwithstanding the numbers of species of birds in New Zealand, one may travel long distances and see nothing but an occasional native lark (anthus novae zealandiae), running, as they are wont, along a traveller's path, or a solitary hawk sailing leisurely about in the distance.

Settlement is producing changes among our avifauna, as well as our flora, and while some species are seemingly dying out, others, such as the moko-moko and the wax-eye (zosterops lateralis), appear to be increasing. The wax-eye is rather interesting, from the fact that it is a self-imported colonist, it having made its appearance and spread over the country since the arrival of the white man. I have been told, but have never had the opportunity of verifying

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the statement, that on their first arrival these birds built a pendant nest, and then, discovering there were no snakes here, they changed their style of architecture, and adopted the ordinary cup-shaped form. One of our common birds is rather a notability on account of the strangeness of his plumage, as well as the richness of his notes. His name and aspect, but not his demeanour, are clerical, for the parson-bird (prosthemadera novae zealandiae) is a wonderfully lively merry rogue. He is also known as the tui, and gets his other name from having glossy black plumage, with two of the funniest little tufts of white feathers under his chin. A closer inspection, however, discovers that his apparently black feathers are shot with brilliant and lustrous hues of green and purple, which are, to say the least, decidedly unclerical.

The most celebrated natural curiosities New Zealand possesses are the remains of the extinct gigantic birds, all popularly known as the Moa, although some eight or nine different species are distinguishable, some of them differing

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widely from others. Considerable attention has from time to time been devoted to these remains, and discussion excited in reference to them. The moot point is the epoch in which these birds lived: some desire to fix the era of their existence at a very distant period; others argue that they must have lived comparatively recently. 2 There is no doubt but that the moa was hunted and used as food by man, and that a dog was also co-existent with them; but the question is, were these moa-hunters the ancestors of the Maories, or some more ancient race? The bones of these birds being found in ovens in different parts of the colony, mixed with fragments of egg-shell, charcoal, dog and other bones, shells of the fresh-water mussel, and rude stone implements, establishes these facts beyond dispute, and, although the absence of traditions among the Maories as to the moa, evidences antiquity, yet, on the other hand, the

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fact that bones and egg-shells have been found on the surface of the ground, is antagonistic to such a supposition.

I have myself seen, in close proximity to the ovens or middens on the Maniatoto plain, countless minute fragments of moa egg-shells lying on the surface of the ground, and, even admitting that there is very little rainfall in that part of Otago, I cannot believe that these fragments have withstood other atmospheric influences for even a tythe of the time which some hold has elapsed since the moa ceased to live. This seems to be further corroborated by the discovery in a cave of a portion of a moa's neck, with the dried flesh, skin, and feathers partially covering it. Some bones of a giant raptorial bird (harpagornis moorei) have also been exhumed. I do not know what size this bird is supposed to have been, but the hawk which preyed on the fourteen feet high moas, must prove a formidable rival to the roc of the Arabian Nights' Entertainments.

The absence of fish from our rivers has always

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been a matter of wonder and regret to the colonists, and many a sigh has been heaved over "a capital trout stream," over which it is hopeless to throw a fly. Nothing but gigantic eels were to be caught in the rivers, and they afforded but sorry sport to a genuine disciple of old Izaak Walton. The manner most frequently adopted for catching eels, called "bobbing," is primitive enough, and is by means of a line formed of narrow stripes of flax leaves, to the end of which is tied a bundle of earth worms. The eels bolt the "bob," and are readily pulled out of the water, the same bait serving again and again.

The evident suitability of our streams and rivers for trout has led to their being introduced, and the Acclimatization Society have already stocked several streams, the trout attaining a large size very rapidly. Several attempts to stock the rivers with salmon have also been made, and the last one is, so far, prosperous, some hundreds of young fish having been successfully hatched. If the rivers be

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destitute of fish, the seas are not, and, anomalous as it may appear, the best and most highly esteemed sea-fish is one which is never caught with net or line. It is only known from being in frosty weather thrown up by the ocean. It is a long ribbon-like fish, frequently exceeding four feet in length, while the breadth is less than four inches. Why it is that it should be cast up by the sea, and that only in frosty weather, is a question still to be solved, but from this circumstance it is known amongst the colonists as the frost-fish (lepidopus candatus).

Some slight reference has already been made to the New Zealand fish from a commercial point of view. One which is likely to prove of great value in this respect, being well adapted for preserving, is the habuka (oligoris gigas). It is tolerably abundant, and is the largest of our edible fishes, often weighing from forty to sixty pounds, while larger specimens have been caught nearly twice these weights. It is excellent eating, especially

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the head and shoulders, which form a noble dish.

On some parts of the coast, shells are found in considerable variety, but in the neighbourhood of Dunedin the beaches furnish little to interest the conchologist. The beautiful iridescent shell of the mutton-fish (haliotis iris), so greatly used for inlaying papier mache goods, is not uncommon in the south.

Rather a pleasant feature in Otago, in the eyes of many, is the absence of noxious insects. In a few places mosquitoes are found, and in others the sand-flies are troublesome, but with these exceptions the insects are innocuous. Wasps, earwigs, ants, and such like bugbears of young ladies at English pic-nic parties, are wanting, and although insect life is tolerably plentiful, it is not disagreeably obtrusive as in Australia. Butterflies are scarce, both as regards numbers and variety. The collector would probably recognise with pleasure among their ranks the painted lady (vanessa cardua), and another (pyrameis gonerilla) which at first

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sight he might mistake for the English red admiral (v. atalanta), as the only difference on the upper side is in the marginal markings on the lower wings. An entomologist would find a large and comparatively unexplored field of labour in Otago.

The climate of Otago is a singularly healthy one, and, notwithstanding that some parts of the country are rather humid, while others are too dry, both are equally salubrious. This is evidenced by the way in which all introduced plants and animals flourish and thrive. Whether they be cereals, or domestic animals brought by the settlers, forest trees, song-birds, or wild animals introduced by the acclimatization societies, or even weeds, or the domestic fly imported by accident, they all adapt themselves readily to this favoured land. The societies mentioned have been very active, and have successfully acclimatized numerous favourite songsters and insectivorous birds, as well as pheasants, partridges, deer of various kinds, hares, and other game, so that, what with in-

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troduced as well as native game, the sportsman of the future need not fear for lack of material for his favourite pastime. Rabbits have, where the soil is favourable for burrowing, increased to such an extent as to be a nuisance, and I have heard of a station-holder in Marlborough province who found it requisite to employ three men to keep the rabbits down, otherwise his sheep would have been starved. When the subsoil is a stiff clay, and they do not burrow deep, the cats and hawks keep them under.

Rabbits are not the only things that thrive too well: even some trees, it is said, grow too quickly to produce good timber. This has been proved to be the case with some of the English deciduous trees, especially farther to the north. One ash tree in Nelson, which in twenty years had grown to a size it would not have attained in England in half a century, was blown down, and its great limbs were found to be quite brittle, the rapid growth having caused it to lose its characteristic toughness. This is probably in some measure occasioned

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by the want of a sufficient check in winter. In Otago this want would not be so greatly felt, for our winters are more severe, but still we have nothing to compare with the severity of a British winter. The scarlet geraniums in the Dunedin gardens pass through the winter season unscathed, and the earliest spring flowers generally see the last of those of autumn.

One of the chief causes of complaint against the New Zealand, climate is that it is windy, and the impeachment cannot be altogether denied; but we are amply compensated by the delicious purity and clearness of the atmosphere. I have often heard it remarked that the moon is much brighter here than on the other side of the globe, and doubtless any apparent difference is owing to this cause. Another astronomical object which often attracts the attention of those from the northern hemisphere, is the constellation of the Southern Cross, but it does not do so pleasingly, for apparently their expectations have not unfrequently been raised by descriptions of "the glorious and brilliant con-

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stellation of the Southern Cross," whereas in reality it is more than rivalled by Ursa Major.

Malcontents occasionally grumble, too, about the sudden changes of temperature, and it cannot be denied but that they have some grounds for complaint. These changes, however, do not appear to have any prejudicial effects on the general health. The almost invariable coldness of the nights, even in the hottest weather, is remarkable; but this, no doubt, prevents that enervation which is caused by the heat in summer.