FIRE. 147 
painting is as good as many photos, and (2) because he points out the 
slow advent of fire in the Kauri ‘‘ bush.’’ He is described as a reliable 
writer and as having had an intimate acjuaintance with the Kauri forest. 
In its virgin state the New Zealand bush, with the exception perhaps of 
the Kauri forest, was comparatively impervious to fire. In recent times since 
the advent ot cattle, however, the bush has been more opened out and is less 
impervious to fire. The advent of cattle is shown by the shrinking tops of the 
Rata and the Towai, and in the gradual extinction of the Tawa and more delicate 
forms of vegetation. This change which has taken place in the quality of the 
forest has been noticed by old settlers, who remark that when clearing and 
burning the forest for settlement it is easier now to get a good burn than in the 
old days. The Kauri bush, which is the most beautiful and valuable in New 
Zealand, is the most susceptible to fire. The ground around the old Kauri trees 
is covered with a dense layer of fallen leaves, bark, and humus (pukahu), forming 
a mound several feet in height. These mounds of vegetable detritus once ignited 
may burn for weeks together, smouldering underneath even when wet on the 
surface, and piping up with every dry breeze. 
Owing to the open character of the Kauri ‘‘ bush ’’ these smouldering 
fires will often continue until extinguished by the autumn rains. 
No description, however verbally accurate, will convey an idea of the scene 
of desolation presented by a Kauri bush after the fire has gone through it. The 
ground is covered with a deep bed of ashes strewn with fallen branches and with 
the wreck of the smaller trees. Here and there a giant Rata, its buttressed roots 
burnt through, has crashed down through everything, and lies with broken limbs 
and a smoky cavern in its hollowing trunk. The stately Totaras, whose fibrous 
bark conducted the flames to the tops, when for a moment they became like so 
many blazing torches, now stand grim and black. The waving tufts of the Toe- 
kiwi are represented by a coil of snake-like roots. The Fern-tree’s feathery fronds 
and the glossy curving spikes of the Neinei hang shrivelled and limp, while the 
netted ropes of the Mangemange are gone altogether—vanished in a puff of flame. 
All the ferns and mosses, the orchids and climbing-plants, all the light and graceful 
undergrowth indigenous to the Kauri bush, which made the place a fairy paradise, 
are charred and dead. The Kauris alone seem to have escaped the general fate. 
With the exception of the more gummy specimens, and those which were exposed 
to the hottest parts of the fire, they still stand proudly erect, the bark retaining 
its peculiar silvery sheen, and the head its noble crown of leaves. But this 
hopeful appearance is only deceptive. The slightest scorching about the root 
is sufficient to kill a Kauri tree, and though the leaves may remain green for 
months, as they frequently do, once it has felt the heat of the fire its life is a 
thing of the past. 
The first fire in a Kauri bush may go on for months, and unless a strong wiad 
is blowing, in exceptionally dry weather, its progress is generally slow, and often 
is scarcely perceptible. But when the second fire passes over it the destruction, 
only begun before, is quickly completed. By two or three years’ time the ground 
is covered with fallen leaves and twigs and fragments of gum, together with the 
wreck of the bark, split up and flaked off in thick broad sheets. The sapwood, 
pierced by the worm and rotted by the action of the weather, is in a condition 
of tinder. A rank growth of ferns, rushes, and coarse grasses, nourished by the 
ash, has quickly taken possession of the soil, and helps to carry the fire along. 
A fire kindled now spreads with frightful rapidity. A roaring torrent sweeps 
through the bush; every tree becomes a blazing torch, and the whole ground 
is covered with a sheet of billowy flame; in an incredibly short time all that is 
left are a few smoking trunks and fallen logs. But the fire has not yet quite done 
with the Kauri bush. By degrees the fern gives place to the Tea-tree, and, as 
this is burnt by successive fires, before many years are past scarcely a charred 
stump remains to mark the site of one of the grandest triumphs of nature in the 
vegetable kingdom, (Trans. N.Z. Inst., 1896.) 
A Reatty Bap Forest TO prorect. 
Compare this slow burning of the Kauri forest with that of some 
forests, which nevertheless have been protected successfully from fire for 
the last quarter of a century. In an Indian Teak forest the grass is 
