Unknown (17 page)

It
was
a
glorious morning and gave promise of another pleasant day as Frances, Martin and Kathy drove to the farm in the Mini. Mr and Mrs Elaman followed in their own car and they made good time reaching Coppers. Before they approached Frances slowed, allowing her parents to see the full beauty of the trees from this angle. Martin and Kathy were vastly impressed with the tree tunnel and Kathy was quietly polite to Gam when she greeted them. Frances smiled at Kathy, understanding the awed silence of her usually irrepressible sister. Seeing the family’s interest, Gam showed them the main downstairs rooms and then took them to an outdoors table all ready arranged for a meal. Frances wondered where Ian was and only relaxed when told he would be joining them later in the afternoon.

Conversation flowed easily in the lovely sunny spot dappled by a giant copper beech tree. Dinner was very relaxed and Frances helped Gam clear away, then Gam guided them through the garden on to a park-like area and from there into an orchard filled with a variety of fruit trees. Frances noticed some much younger Cox’s Orange apple trees and wondered if Ian had planted them. A line of old walnuts formed a sturdy windbreak and they strolled by it admiring the grouping of the nine large leaves and the fat green globes holding the nuts. Gam explained that they sold a lot of nuts in the past, but now Ian left a lot to the local Boy Scout pack. Dotted throughout were the giant copper beech trees and an occasional magnificent liquid amber, red oak, lime or ash. Gam told them how her grandfather had loved the English trees and had cuttings and seeds ordered. Owing to a mistake the only trees to arrive were the copper beeches, so he had planted them and only much later were the others added. Seeing the colours of the original trees, he and his wife had deliberately arranged the kaleidoscope of colour that now was so admired. Their son and his wife had added more, including the fine drive which swept up to the house. Gam pointed out lots of details that a casual observer would have missed. She seemed to know each tree, its botanical name, who had planted it and when. Gam herself had planted an impressive number and had built up a section of natives in another part. A group of kowhais was her special gift to the beauty around her, and it stirred Frances to know that generations ahead would admire these beautiful golden-flowering trees.

They wandered quietly back to the house and made ready for the trip to the river. Jenny, Rupe and the boys were to join them down there. From the farmhouse the track ran down to the river. Frances was very familiar with it now and she opened the gates for Gam to drive through. The stock looked as good as on Rupe’s side and her eye picked up the crop of white clover waiting in the sun.

With a final bump they pulled up by the riverbank. Gam parked the car under a nearby tree for shade. They all helped to carry the barbecue and picnic gear down to a spot Gam pointed out. Mr Elaman put some bottles into one of the streams of the river to keep cool; they would be appreciated later. From here the river stretched out over a stony bed. As though wriggling to get comfortable the river had bent and twisted itself into a myriad silver-blue channels, leaving odd patches of sand and shingle. The party settled behind a bank as it gave them shelter from the wind. It was one of the few areas free of boulders and a couple of old willows formed a handy backrest. They were just finishing adjusting the rugs when the cries of the boys announced the arrival of the Marsden family. The children raced off to get Thad’s canoe and they took it in turn to paddle in the large pool in front of them. While they were waiting they searched for unusual stones and soon they had a heap of ‘treasure’. Occasionally the roar of a jetboat sounded in the distance from the main bed of the river as someone headed for a pet fishing spot. From this viewpoint they looked like giant fish perpetually poised to skim over the water. Overhead a couple of large black-backed gulls wheeled, catching Mr Elaman’s attention. He commented on them and Jenny laughed at his expression when she told him there was a ledge up in the Gorge where they nested each season.

‘I’ll ask Ian to point it out to you when he takes you up there this afternoon.’ Conversation was desultory, everyone enjoying the clean fresh air and the scent of the broom on the bank behind them. Frances lay back on the rug, content to watch the clouds form patterns that chased each other across the sky. When she moved her head, her eye was caught by the movement of a small bird. It was a tiny fantail and its glinting bright eye peeped at Frances. She lay very still watching it in delight. It was quite small, its distinctive tail opening and shutting rapidly as its name suggested. Its aerobatics were skilfully executed, its tail acting at times like a rudder in the air. It seemed quite fearless, hopping cheekily to an even lower branch, and Frances was able to appreciate the soft copper bronze feathers on its breast and the tonings of dark brown wing feathers. As the tail fanned open and shut a flash of white glistened among the black feathers. It gave a quick ‘cheep, cheep’ and disappeared just as swiftly as it had come.

She looked around her appreciatively, noting yet again the loveliness of the spot. The giant chain of the mountains were snowcapped, seeming an impenetrable barrier to the land beyond. She could follow the line of the river right up to where it disappeared in a haze of green. A jetboat came downstream, dancing skittishly from the main river into one of the narrow side streams. The easy way the boat handled the fast running water surprised her. She knew it was Ian driving it, even from this distance, and she watched as he brought the boat right up to the bank.

He jumped out with the ease of one who has done it hundreds of times and Martin and Rupe helped him pull the boat higher. He greeted them all cheerfully and Frances was pleased to see he looked less tired than the last time she had seen him, after haymaking. His smile flashed at her spontaneously and she felt reassured by the lightning glance. It had been arranged that Gam, Jenny and Rupe and the boys would light a fire and put a billy on while the Elaman family went for a ride.. Thanks to the positioning of the boat on the bank it was surprisingly easy to step on board. To Frances’ surprise the boat was extremely comfortable, the seats reminding her of car upholstery with their thick padding, The dashboard had several instrument gauges and a keychain swung gently with the movement as they positioned themselves. Rupe pushed the boat back from the bank as Ian turned the key and the motor roared into life. Ian backed the boat and the swirl of water spraying behind them made Frances forget any other transport. Ian took care negotiating the stream as there was barely enough water to clear the boat. The water was astonishingly close, almost as if they were sitting in it, then the prow lifted as the water pressure altered. The boat responded to Ian’s touch as they reached the main stream in a shower of diamond sparkles freed from the confining restrictions, and they skimmed along the surface.

Frances stood at the rail, her eyes reflecting the exhilaration she felt. The speed and grace of the boat in its right element had to be experienced. From the main current the water was a fabulous aqua blue turning to jade, then splashing silver. Feeling the wind whip through her hair, she half shuttered her eyes so she could see the colours of the river. Now she had time to look about her to appreciate the changing contours of the countryside. The width of the river had startled her. From the far bank of the farm she had not realised quite how vast the river was. She seemed surrounded by paddocks of gravel, split neatly by the shining streams. Occasionally Ian would swing the boat towards one of the smaller streams and Frances would hold her breath as he gunned the motor to clear the rise. It was incredible how little water the jetboat needed, and the smoothness of the ride was surprising. Ian mainly followed the edge of the main stream, thus giving the smoothest surface to the passengers. They turned a corner and could see banks of cliffs heading towards the gorge. Ian pulled over a few minutes later so they could see the Highbank Power Station located like some ancient fortress on one bank, pylons legging it across the river carrying the power to the main grid. A little farther up, a second set of steel arms upheld the power from the mighty Benmore power scheme in the south.

A touch of Ian’s foot and away they shot, arrow-swift, skirting an island made by the river, swinging the boat back on itself in an elegant manoeuvre that startled them. Ian’s grin as he angled the boat sharply to head upstream again showed how much he enjoyed showing off the abilities of the boat. Mr Elaman pointed out a yellow line etched sharply against the grey cliffs, rising steeply now, and Ian agreed that it was a seam of lime. Frances noticed the colour of the water ran a darker green as the streams met and combined into a deep surging mass. They were approaching the Gorge now and Frances noticed several fishermen all hoping to catch a salmon. Ian told Mrs Elaman that the spot was greatly favoured by the fishermen and that sometimes there were so many the locals referred to their appearance as ‘a picket fence’. Ian cut the motor so he would not disturb them and Frances had time to see the spars of the old bridge above them. It formed a tracery of geometric design against the backdrop of the river, the green of the bush screening the cliffs and a towering backdrop, the pile of Mount Hutt, its top covered in cloud.

‘The bridge was built in 1883,’ Ian explained. ‘For its day it was quite a remarkable piece of Engineering. They bought most of it out here on traction engines and bullock wagons. Before the bridge was built a ferryman
^%
used to take people and stock across. I’ll point it out as we go through.’

The cliffs were high above them and there was little similarity in this solid torrent to the lazy river of the plains that Frances knew. She was barely aware of the speeding boat, the new sensations of speed and water and wave having heightened all awareness of the vast beauty around.

A tiny waterfall spurted jets of water, making silver sprays in the sunlight as it fell down the bank towards the river. The bush gradually fell away as Ian pointed out a bare ledge.

‘The seagulls’ rookery.’ He angled the boat and cut the motor to a barely throbbing idle so they could appreciate the scene. Stark shingle cliffs towered above them to the sky. The wind moaned around them, chasing small spirals of shingle to the river. They had been carved into strange shapes, and Frances shivered with the realisation of the years it must have taken. They could hear the steady rattle as stones continually fell, cascading occasionally as a bigger section hit the river below.

She was glad that Ian revved the boat and they swung away, heading further upstream. Soon a group of lovely old trees on the terraced farmlands on the opposite side caught her eye and reminded her briefly of Coppers. A homestead was enclosed in its shelter. Ian turned the boat as they followed the curve of the river and they gasped in amazement. They seemed to be isolated in the middle of a primeval world, surrounded by mountains. The sun shone down, and it seemed much warmer up here than in the plains below.

‘It looks as if we’re in the middle of a giant’s mixing bowl,’ put in Kathy.

‘This was part of a glacier, aeons ago,’ said Ian. ‘If you look at the rock patterns on the cliffs you can see the different lake levels quite clearly. As the glacier receded the water forced a way through the rocks, forming today’s Gorge. The plains are still being built up by the river’s flow today.’

‘Gee! Oh! Wow!’ was Kathy’s awed comment, and it seemed to express quite a lot.

Ian glanced at his watch and said they should turn back. Frances was surprised how long they had been, time had passed so quickly. Heading downstream the boat slapped the water rhythmically, and they enjoyed Ian’s handling of the boat, making it seem ridiculously easy as they angled round comers. Showers of silver sparkled briefly as they met a series of rapids, Frances clutching on to the handrail as they swooped and dived. They shot under the bridge then slowed past the fishermen still standing in a hopeful vigil. The sunlight flashed on them again as the river opened out green-blue on the piles of grey stones.

Looking up, Frances noticed two large attractive modern buildings placed near a side road above the river. Her mother had noticed too and Ian told her it was the Mount Hutt Lodge, placed ideally for skiers, trampers and fishermen. Set in the valley, it must have a glorious outlook across the river to Mount Hutt, thought Frances.

Soon they were speeding past the power station, Ian pointing out the pipe that brought water from the irrigation scheme on the other side. The river began its lazy meandering again and once again the jetboat leapt to the challenge it offered. No wonder Ian loved this sport, thought Frances. It was so raw and elemental, and she glanced up at him, seeing the expression on his face, now as hooded and silent as the mountains behind them. Clouds covered the sun momentarily and Frances was staggered at the change in the scene, the colours having been bleached suddenly into a world of grey stones, grey sky and grey river. She was glad of the warmth of the lifejacket and sat down against the comfortable seat. Ian waved to a fisherman who proudly held a large shimmering fish he had just pulled from the river.

Then the clouds moved on and the sun shone through, transforming the scene into its bright glinting colours. A trail of smoke drifted skywards and with a pang Frances realised she was on familiar territory again. The boys ran to meet them as they pulled up and Rupe helped to pull the boat higher so they could step out more easily. The touch of Ian’s hand as she stepped off the boat sent the colour flying from her face. She thanked him, breathlessly glad she could, then turned to help her parents.

‘That was the thrill of a lifetime!’ said Mrs Elaman. ‘That was terrific, Ian.’

‘Gee, I’m hungry!’ said Kathy, reducing the rarefied atmosphere in one healthy remark.

The boys had built a fire among the stones and Jenny had produced a billy and set it to boil. There was no shortage of fuel, the river had left a line of debris and sticks right on the edge of the bank. The boys showed Kathy how to build the stone fireplace, delighted to be able to show off their superior knowledge. The billy tea was delicious and despite the large lunch they had eaten earlier, the food disappeared quickly. The river had whipped up all their appetites. Then Ian took Kathy and the boys for a run in the boat while they cleaned up. Rupe showed them a spot in the bank where some Maori ovens had been exposed by the recent floods. The early Maoris had hunted the giant moa which had roamed this area then rafted the huge bodies downstream to their more sheltered campsites. Frances walked closer and could make out the outline still but little else from this angle. She gathered more driftwood for the barbecue that Rupe and her father were already setting up. Soon they had quite a decent fire going and a ready pile of logs and sticks. Gam pulled out a large cast-iron griddle which must have been used in the early days for cooking out at the farm. It sat neatly on a tripod over the glowing embers and the fire was built up on the other side.