Kaipara; or, experiences of a settler in North New Zealand

by P. W. Barlow

A WILD PIG HUNT.

Next morning, after an ample, and, I may say, luxurious breakfast, pipes were lighted and a start made for the property to be inspected—distant about three quarters of a mile—to reach which another trip on the water had to be undertaken. A punt belonging to my host was got under weigh, and with two good men at the oars the journey was quickly accomplished, the latter part of our row being along a bank shaded by willow and other trees.

We landed on a limestone beach, and a sloping ascent covered with tall grass brought us to the house. It possessed six rooms, and a passage running the entire depth, terminating a each end with a door. The sitting-room and but one bedroom were lined and papered, and the rest of the house was only in a half finished state. A verandah ran round three sides of it, but part of the flooring was wanting: to make the house comfortable a considerable outlay was required. The outdoor portion of the property consisted of two orchards, containing together three hundred and sixty fruit trees. In one of them were a number of well-grown peach trees covered with blossom, together with some orange, lemon, and other sub-tropical trees. The second orchard—about two acres in extent—was filled with apple and plum trees three or four years old. A grass paddock of fifteen acres enclosed by a wire fence, a stockyard and pigsties, three or four acres of very pretty bush fenced in and bordered on one side by the water, and an acre or two of grass land about the house planted with ornamental trees and flowering shrubs of various kinds, completed the property, for which four hundred pounds was asked.

The view of the Kaipara from the verandah was lovely, and altogether I was extremely pleased with the place, though it was evident that the aid of a carpenter and painter would be required to make the house habitable. I determined, therefore, to think the matter over well and to ascertain the cost of completing the house before making any offer.

The inspection over, we returned in the punt, and after lunch strolled over part of my host's farm of between four and five hundred acres. On the next day a pig hunt in the bush was arranged, in which Mr. C——, a sporting bachelor residing in the neighbourhood, was invited to participate. My bearded friend did not accompany us. We started about eleven in the morning, my host carrying a gun, Mr. C—— an axe and a butcher's knife, and myself a tomahawk. Three pig dogs—a breed, I think, between the bull and the collie—followed at our heels, and after walking about three quarters of a mile we entered the bush.

How comes it, I wonder, that the magnificent New Zealand forests are stigmatised with the name of "bush." If we turn to the dictionary we find that bush means a thick shrub. The forests here, however, are composed principally of gigantic trees, not thick shrubs, and to give them such an unworthy name is only misleading. No scenery of the kind in any part of the world can excel in beauty the forests of New Zealand, and it is much to be deplored that they are not dignified with a more befitting title.

The ground where we stood was clothed with ferns and mosses in endless variety. Immense trees stood here and there, whose moss and fern-covered trunks rose to a height of sixty or seventy feet, and then broke into a crown of branches which met and interlaced overhead, forming a canopy through which the light of day but dimly penetrated.

Heavy Bush, Matakohe.

Nikau palms, tree ferns, and small native flowering trees grew between these giants, and from their branches hung clusters of lovely white clematis, bush lawyers, supplejacks, and other climbing plants. Although it was blowing freshly when we entered, not a breath of wind could now be felt, nor a sound heard, except the glorious deep note of the Tui—or parson bird—the harsh cry of the New Zealand parrot, and the gentle cooing of the pigeon. About us fluttered numbers of the bushman's little feathered friends—the fantails—spreading their large white fan-shaped tails as they darted hither and thither, and flew fearlessly within two feet of us. It seemed almost sacrilege to disturb the beautiful solemnity, but we had come to hunt wild pigs, and hunt them we must. My new sporting acquaintance was impatient, so away we went, the dogs heading us, and disappearing out of sight. We wandered on for some time in silence, listening for the dogs. At last one gave tongue, and we hastened in its direction; again the sound faintly rose, and shortly afterwards, further to our right, a distant noise of yelping, barking, and grunting reached our ears.