THE NEW ZEALAND ALPS.*
WE give this book a cordial welcome, for two reasons. It is written by a born New Zealander. The daughter-Colony, in common with the others, has long been drawing her literary supplies from the Mother-country, and if competent witnesses are to be trusted, she does so most eagerly ; and for a long time to come, the main mental pabulum will continue to be drawn from the same source. The period of assimilation, as in the case of America, is likely to be a considerable one ; the era of production—literary production—is only just beginning. This attempt, therefore, on the part of a New Zealand native (an Englishman) to narrate his experiences in and on the Southern Alps, deserves at least warm encouragement. In literary style, Mr. Mannering would be the first to say that he falls below the practised hand of the Rev. W. S. Green, whose spirited account of the same region appeared nine years ago. The iteration of the word "comprehensive" is displeasing. Colonial slang is too frequently used. Here and there the narrative needlessly overlaps. But apart from these blemishes, the book has sterling merits. With so many pitfalls for an English printer, we have not noticed a single misprint of a Maori name ; the accompanying map is clear and intelligible, a valuable aid towards understanding the letterpress; while the eighteen photogravures are good specimens of their kind, and give an additional charm to the book.
Then the subject itself is a taking one. To the regular mountaineer who may have exhausted his happy hunting- grounds nearer home, the ice-fields of Southern New Zealand present a most tempting region in which to exercise what the author calls the "noble sport" of mountain-climbing. Even • With Ax, and Rope in the New Zealand Alps. By George Edward Mannering. London: Lougmans, Green, and Co. 1891.
to the ordinary tourist, who is content to see grand Alpine scenery at a respectable distance, the mountain-ranges and peaks, the lakes and the glaciers of Otago, now that the facilities for seeing them are ample, must give the keenest delight. The Victorian, the Tasmanian, the New South Welshman, and the Queenslender, and even Englishmen, are appreciating this wonderful district of river and valley, of ice-fall and glacier, of deep fiord and snow-capped pinnacle, by flocking to the country in large and increasing numbers.
Those who wish to " do " the locality with which Mr. Mannering specially deals will find him both an enthusiastic and a trust- worthy guide.
Though the title of the book is a general one, the object is the special one of showing how the writer and his party made four attempts to ascend Mount Cook, following the footsteps of Mr. Green and his Swiss guides, and how, in their fifth attempt, their efforts were crowned with practical if not with literal success. For neither Mr. Green nor Mr. Mannering has stood on the veritable top of cloud-piercer,—Aorangi. The former reached within about 60 ft. of the highest point in the peak ; the latter, within about 140 ft. of the same enviable spot, —thick weather threatening, and the absolute necessity of reaching a lower place for the night's shelter, being the deter- mining causes of speedy though reluctant action. But, as the author says, when a climber has set his foot on the highest rung of a ladder, he may fairly be said to be on the top of it. In passing, we cannot commend too highly the pluck and per- sistency of the first members of the New Zealand Alpine Club for having wiped away the discredit of allowing a foreigner alone to have achieved the distinction of scaling the loftiest peak in the Southern Alps. And this is the more creditable because Messrs. Mannering, Dixon, and Johnson had had no Emil Boss nor Ulrich Kranfmann for their professional guides and companions.
On their way to the final goal, the party, following the foot- steps of another outsider, Dr. Lenderfeldt, climbed the Hochstetter Dome,—
" The view from which," says Mr. Mannering, "is comprehen- sive and wonderful. The whole country lay like a map before us. Westwards Elie de Beaumont and the Western Ocean, at our feet the Whymper Glacier, from which flowed the Wataroa River, threading its way through forest and glacier-clad mountains to the sea, twenty miles away. Northwards and eastwards extended in glorious and shining array the magnificent chain of the Alps ; glacier upon glacier, peak upon peak, range upon range of splendid mountains. Eastwards a fine rocky peak without a name and Mount Darwin, and looking south-westwards down the Tasman Glacier, whence we had toiled our laborious way, the eye could follow the course of the great ice-stream for twelve or thirteen miles, flanked by the grand mountains which sent down their tributary ice- streams to join the mass in the valley below." (p. 61.) There the reader has a glimpse of a glacier which is admitted to be unique in the world.
The keen zest in his "noble sport," which only a cragsman can feel, comes out in such a passage as this :—
" There is something exhilarating in this setting foot on the clear ice after days of clambering over cruel rocks, something that seems to thrill one as the nails go 'crunch, crunch,' and give such grand foothold, a cheerful ring in the clink of the ice-axes, a peculiar charm in the tinkle of the little surface streams, a sense of peace and loveliness in all around, an inspiration of awe and grandeur in the glorious masses of mountains which rear their hoary heads for thousands of feet above, whilst over all there seems to hang an invisible and imperious overruling and omnipotent Power directing the marvellous workings of Nature. Here man may feel his littleness and unworthiness, and yet with Byron say,— ' I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me ; and to me High mountains are a feeling.'" (p. 23.)
Owing to the very extensive ice-fields, with slopes not too pre- cipitous, and surfaces fairly smooth, the mountaineer in New Zealand, if he have nerve enough, can often enjoy the luxury of what Mr. Mannering calls-
" The exhilaration of a good glissade ! How you seem to fly through the air and cleave the fast-speeding surface ! How the snow hisses and the axe grinds ! How the excitement thrills you as you look out for danger ahead, or rushing avalanches behind. There is nothing to touch it, switchback-railway, going down-hill on a bicycle, skating, all are far behind." (p. 74.)
Beside the ardour of the explorer, which comes out in every page of the book under notice, there is also a fine feeling for Nature, which sets us wondering why the author never gives us a line from Wordsworth. Amidst such magni- ficent scenery, there are passages in the great Nature- poet which, if quoted, would be as pertinent as they are
beautiful. But we must take our author as we find him, when he says :— "The awful and solemn silence of the mountains, broken only now and again by the crash and thunder of an ice-avalanche, or the screech of a solitary kea [mountain parrot], the complete desolation, the loneliness and remoteness from the haunts of men, all tend to inspire one with deep thoughts and feelings. One line in Hilda expresses more than pages of mine could do The silence of the mountain spoke unutterable things." (p. 25.)
We now take our leave of a most interesting book—the more interesting, as we have said, from the fact that it is one of the first instalments of a native New Zealand literature— by giving the explorer's words, in which he describes both the view, and his feelings at the proud moment when the hopes of many years were realised, and he and his brave companions stood on the Mont Blanc of the Antipodes :—
" The height of the mountain is 12,349 feet ; our aneroid read at our turning-point 12,300. The view is magnificently comprehensive. Looking northward we could see clear over the top of our giant neighbour, Mount Tasman (11,475 feet). On the western side, the ocean, but twenty miles distant, was covered by a mantle of low-lying clouds creeping into the bays and inlets of the coast, studded here and there with islanded hill-tops, and stretching away to what seemed a limitless horizon on the west. A streak of blue ocean showed through the cloud-mantle near Hoki- tika, seventy miles distant. North-eastwards the glorious array of the Southern Alps extended, presenting a panorama of such magni- ficence and comprehensiveness that it defies any attempt at description. It is one of those vast pictures which are in- delibly impressed upon the memory—one of those overpowering examples of Nature's sublimity which seem to move a man's very soul and call him to a sense of his own littleness. Close under us lay the scenes of all our joys and sorrows of the past five years : the Tasman Glacier, encircled by those splendid peaks and snow-fields whose forms we had learned to know and love so well • further afield lay the Liebig Range, and, showing over this, Mount Jukes and his attendant satellites of rocky peaks. Beyond this again, far, far away ix the blue and indefinite east, we could distinguish the hills of Banks Peninsula, close to our homes at Christchurch, whilst we could imagine that the blue haze distinguishable there was indeed the eastern ocean, 120 miles distant." (p. 102.)
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