Australia, New Zealand and some islands of the South seas

by Frank G. Carpenter

THE YELLOWSTONE OF NEW ZEALAND

MARK TWAIN said Pittsburgh looked like “Hell with the lid off.” I have come to a part of New Zealand that looks like “Hell with the lid on,” save that there are a thousand and one holes in the cover, from which all sorts of poisonous gases, malodorous smells, boiling springs, and other infernal manifestations are pouring forth. I am in the Yellowstone Park of New Zealand, a land of volcanoes, geysers, earthquakes, and lakes of boiling mud, a land in which old Mother Earth seems afflicted with perpetual colic and is ever vomiting forth hot paint, or belching out steam full of alum.

This region is situated near the centre of the North Island, one hundred and seventy-one miles southeast of Auckland. It is about thirty miles wide and one hundred miles long, covering almost two million acres. The crust upon it is so thin that in walking or riding over it one seems to hear a thousand devils grumbling and raging below, and almost expects to crash through into Hades at any moment.

Here the face of the earth changes from week to week. Great cracks open, new boiling pools burst forth, and there are frequent earthquakes. One spot is known as Earthquake Flat, because it shivers and shakes regularly every ten minutes. On top of a mountain in the geyser field there is a great hole called the “Safety Valve of New Zealand,” out of which constantly roars a column of steam. Now and then a mountain breaks into eruption. Some of the volcanoes are active, and no one knows when one of those now dormant may spring into life, as Mount Tarawera did in 1886. In that year, on the 10th of June, several native villages were covered to a depth of sixty feet by a deluge of mud. Both houses and inhabitants were destroyed as were those of Pompeii and Herculaneum by the eruption of Vesuvius centuries ago. The bottom of a big lake was blown out and in its place came a roaring crater, which sent up a column of steam to a height of almost three miles. The earth broke open. There was one crack nine miles long. New lakes were formed, clouds of ashes and dust turned noon to night, and throughout the region there was a downpour of water, mud, and stones. The noise of the explosion was heard five hundred miles away.

The eruption destroyed the famous pink terraces of the New Zealand Yellowstone. The terraces were in the form of basins made by the sediment from the mineral waters of a geyser one hundred feet above the lake. They were filled with the clearest of boiling water, blue at the topmost terrace, and changing in colour to a lighter hue as it fell from basin to basin. The walls of the terraces seemed to be made of jewels, some pink, others white. The water played over them in tiny cascades, and when the sun shone the hillsides were alive with showers of diamonds, pearls, emeralds, and rubies. Since the great eruption, terraces have not formed again, as it was hoped they would, though small and imperfect basins of similar structure are occasionally seen to-day.

In my journey here from Auckland, the train climbed to an elevation of about one thousand feet above the sea. As we entered the volcanic region the earth seemed hollow, and it rumbled and grumbled as the cars went over it. I saw steam coming forth from the cracks here and there and wondered if the crust might not break and drop us into the bubbling, boiling, steaming mass that evidently lay below.

We passed the village of Koutu, which is almost hidden in columns of steam pouring forth from the ground, and skirted the shores of Lake Rotorua to the town of Rotorua itself. Rotorua is the most famous health resort of the South Seas. The country about it is clouded with vapour from pools of boiling water, each of which has medicinal properties. There are hotels and cottages and all the surroundings of similar resorts in the United States or Europe. The government has charge of the springs and fixes the rates for baths and accommodations, thus preserving the use of the place for the people at reasonable cost.

There are public gardens in which are the great bath houses and other buildings. On the grassy lawns tourists and health seekers may bowl and play tennis and croquet. There are long borders of beautiful flowers. The town is laid out in broad streets shaded by oaks, pines, and gums, through which the blue waters of Lake Rotorua may be seen sparkling in the sunlight. It is no wonder that tens of thousands of visitors come every year to this spot.

Many of the baths have curious names. One, owing to the beauty it gives the complexion, was years ago named after the famous French actress, Madame Rachel. Another is called the Priest Bath, another the Painkiller, a third the Coffee Pot, and a fourth the Blue Bath. The Lobster Bath is so hot that it turns one the colour of a boiled lobster. The names sound queer at first, and when I was told I could have a half hour at The Priest, I felt like protesting I was not a Catholic, but a cast-iron Presbyterian.