Leaving Timaru by an evening train, Fairlie Creek (the present terminus of the railway line) is reached, where the night is spent. Two days’ coaching then are required to cross over Burke’s Pass into the great Mackenzie plains, across this great ancient glacier bed, past Lakes Tekapo and Pukaki, over the rivers of the same names, and up the valley of the Tasman River to a comfortable hostelry called ‘The Hermitage,’ nestling right under the shadow of that wonderful pile of ice-clad mountain glory, Mount Sefton.
Lakes Tekapo and Pukaki may both be aptly compared in one way to the Lake of Geneva, in that they are of glacier origin, and purify the rivers which now flow from the present glaciers, parting with their waters again through channels cut in the ancient terminal moraines which dam their respective southern shores.
They are both beautiful, each in its own way— Tekapo sunny, peaceful, and calm; Pukaki awe-inspiring and grand—but they lack the charm of chalet and pine tree, of vine and meadow, which so adorn the shores of the Swiss lakes.
The immediate vicinity of the road is uninteresting, except from a geological point of view, for it winds about amongst old moraines, whose vegetation consists almost entirely of the brown tussock grass so general in the South Island.
Yet the geologist or student of glacier phenomena can read on the surface the history of the formation; roches moutonnées abound, and, in places, old moraines are spread over the bed rock for miles together, whilst erratic blocks are dotted about in various directions, evidencing how extensive has been the action of the ice in ages gone by.
Though the scenes contiguous to the road may fail to charm the eye, the distant panoramas of the glorious Southern Alps cannot fail to draw forth expressions of wonder from the most callous observer. As the Hermitage is approached, and the great peaks and glaciers draw closer and closer, the marvellous grandeur of the chain is gradually realised.
The sight of the reflection of Aorangi in Lake Tekapo, on a calm morning, is something to remember for a lifetime. The subject has long been a favourite one for brush and pen, but no one yet has done it justice.
A substantial bridge spans the exit of the Tekapo River, but only a ferry stage exists at the Pukaki River where it leaves the lake. A wire rope, 450 feet long, is thrown across the stream, to which the ferry stage floating on two punts is attached by runners. The coach and four is driven bodily on to the stage, and by the aid of a rudder the punts are slued so as to point across the stream diagonally. The force of the water rushing obliquely on to the sides of the punts drives the whole affair across in a space of about three or four minutes. This ingenious plan is commonly adopted in the New Zealand rivers.
During the months of winter it is possible to reach the Hermitage direct from Tekapo, and thus avoid striking south to go round Lake Pukaki, by crossing the Tasman River. During summer, however, as a rule, this river is impassable, for it rises so fast during warm and nor’-west weather from rain and melting snow that sometimes the whole bed of the river—two miles wide—is a network of rushing yellow torrents quite unfordable by man or beast.
Readers of the Rev. W. S. Green’s ‘High Alps of New Zealand’ will recollect that his conveyance found a last resting-place in the quicksands of the Tasman. Von Lendenfeld also, the year after Mr. Green, experienced an unhappy week’s delay on the eastern bank of the river. I have myself narrowly escaped drowning at the same point, and in years gone by the Tasman River has been accountable for more than one life.