463

ancient limits, for the residual excess of cold to effect this could easily be accounted for by the necessary alterations in the physical geography of the country which would accompany such re-elevation.

The immense lapse of time and number of secular returns of these conditions is well shown by the remains of the high level valleys, where the wide channels were glaciers' of earlier date, but are now represented as fringing shelves along the sides of more profound valleys, just like the terraces skirting the valley of a river, which is changing its course from side to side, or gradually deepening channel. From the altitude we had attained, I could see that there was no hope of finding a saddle at the head of this valley, which appears to be surrounded by precipitous mountains 5000 feet in height, with detached snowy peaks several thousand feet higher.

As the weather was very threatening, we made our way back to the camp of the previous night, and regained the schooner next day during a violent storm, with rain from the south-west.

On the 24th August, giving up all hopes of the arrival of the Maoris—of whom we heard nothing since we were in Chalky Inlet—I left the head of Milford Sound and dropped down to Anita Bay, where we anchored at dark; and next morning, at 4 a.m., taking advantage of the land breeze, sailed to the northwards to the Awarua River, which is laid down on the chart 18 miles further up the coast. After making 6 miles, the wind died away, when we were off Yates’ Point, which is the first promontory to the north of Milford Sound.

As the yacht lay becalmed, with too heavy a swell running to allow of our towing, and, as it was necessary that the Awarua should be carefully examined before we attempted to enter it with the craft, I went on in advance with three hands in the whaleboat.

Keeping close in shore, I had a good view of the coast, and satisfied myself that it would be quite possible to get along it from Milford Sound northwards. The appearance of the country is considerably altered from that to the south of Milford Sound, as the high snowy mountains trend to the E.N.E. from Pembroke Peak, and retire behind lower wooded hills, which, however, are too steep to be of any value, unless the bush could be replaced by pasturage.

The coast line forms a succession of bold headlands, which generally have a group of sharp rocks or a long reef extending from them to the seaward. Between these headlands are shallow bays, with steep sandy or shingly beaches, on which the surf breaks with tremendous violence. Three of these bays are of large size—each having a large valley extending from it into the interior in a southerly direction and it is as flowing into the most northerly of these that the Awaruas of the Admiralty Surveyor is laid down on the chart. The proper Awarua of the Maoris, according to all the information that I am able to collect, is, however, a large river that falls into Jackson’s Bay to the north of that river, which I named the Jackson last summer, but which I have since learnt is known to the Maoris as the Terrewhatta.

After pulling 10 miles, and when opposite to the south end of the second bay, or Martin’s Bay of the chart, we observed a smoke on the shore; and, on standing in for it, found it to be a party of Maoris, who made signs for us to land; but as the sea was breaking nearly a quarter of a mile from the shore, I dared not take the boat even within hail. Guided by the Admiralty chart, which hitherto I had found faithfully correct, I was making to the next Bay to the north in search of the Dwarud River, when Henry, who had been along this coast sealing, though he knew nothing of that river, thought that I was going too far, and that the mouth of the only large river he had ever heard of on the coast, into which there was a chance of taking a yacht, was at the northern extremity of Martin’s Bay, as he recognized the long and dangerous reefs that lay before us. On making towards the north end of the sandy beach, which extends for three miles, we found a strong current against us, which quite confirmed this opinion. Still, however, when close in shore, we could see no appearance of an entrance, the surf seeming to break with increased violence where the sandy beach meets the rocks. Proceeding cautiously and keeping a few boats’ lengths from the rocks, we, however, found that this appearance was deceptive and that there was really a pretty wide channel lying between the rocks and the point of the sandspit, and pulling up against a current of two or three knots, a few hundred yards brought us into comparatively still water, when we found that we were in a large river about a quarter of a mile in width, the first reach of which extends for nearly two miles, parallel with the sea shore, and separated from it only by a narrow sandspit.

After landing on a gravelly point where there was an old Maori hut and a camping place where tents had been pitched very recently, I lost no time in examining and making a rough plan of the entrance of the river, and having sounded carefully, set up guide marks by which to bring in the schooner at once with next morning’s tide, should she arrive in the offing during the night. The channel is quite deep enough for much larger vessels, as there is ten feet of water in the shallowest part of the bar, but it is very narrow, and there are five or six awkward sunken rocks on that side on to which the current would naturally tend to sweep a vessel. However, I