72 J. Cassidy—A Chat about the Kea


A CHAT ABOUT THE KEA


By James Cassidy


When George R. Marriner set out to visit the Kea country it was

to satisfy his deepest longing to see for himself one of the most interest¬

ing creatures in a land where the interesting abounds. Marriner went

alone as at the last moment his chosen companion failed him. Omitting

description of his journey, and its astonishing natural features, we stand

with him, by the aid of imagination, at the top of the mountain-pass,

gazing across a succession of endless snow-clad peaks. A dray track

winds easily down for a mile or so to the river bed. Here, in ancient

days “ the giant moas must have settled in search of food


Three mighty rivers unite their forces and charge down the gorge

to the plains with a terrific thunder. All the surrounding peaks con¬

tribute to their reinforcement. To quote Mr. Marriner, “ rush from the

terminal faces of the glaciers ; tumble from the snow-line ; ripple

and bubble through the cushion-like vegetation of the higher slopes.

Down amid the dense bush they tumble forming numerous cascades

and waterfalls.”


The Rakaia River cuts its way for 14 miles over shingle-bed, about

a mile wide, then it rushes for another eight through a narrow defile

amid some of the grandest gorge scenery of the Dominion. Ranges

capped with snow stand away to the left and, girdled with glaciers,

stride across the valley. The great shingle slips, which it is claimed are

unequalled for size and abundance in any other part of the world, are

met and kept in place to a certain extent by the living indomitable

tussock.


Scattered here and there over this vast wilderness are a few lonely

homesteads, with shearing-sheds and shepherds’ huts the only dwellings,

and often separated from each other by miles of mountain range and

stony river-bed. Terrific storms rage here, and blinding drifts of snow

make riding horse-back but a stumble, until it becomes altogether

impossible. The mighty frosts clutch everything, as in a grip of iron.

It is a land of awful distances where a false step may mean death,

sometimes slow and lingering. This band of Alpine country forms the

backbone of the South Island of New Zealand, stretching for about



