where ancient beaches have been worked, that fresh discoveries might yet be made, if it were but prospected.
We sail out of it southward, passing immediately on the other side of the bluff which forms its best protection, a crescent-shaped light sandy beach, behind which men searched for and never found either Hunt or his prospecting claim. The one, it is supposed, made his escape in “Black Sam’s” sailing craft to Riverton from Paringa, the river which empties itself into another crescent-shaped bay immediately contiguous. The other is reasonably supposed to have been as mythical as the pretended prospector was mischievous.
As the outflow of the water of two great valleys, of a large lake, and an extensive snow-shed, the Paringa is often a river of considerable size, but as we passed it, it took its course quietly along the cliffs to the southward, with trees depending to the water’s edge. Formerly it came out at or near the middle of the beach; now—rude, amorous river—it “hugs the bluff.” There was a particular beauty about the foliage of the latter as we passed it under the bright morning sunlight, variegated as it is by the mixture of bush, and this was but the beginning of one of the prettiest pieces of coast-sailing that is to be seen on west New Zealand. By “pretty” is meant the immediate coast-line—not the mountains, whose magnificence alone forbids the application of the adjective. Commencing with a detached rock set among bright yellow sands, there is a succession of beach and bluff, of capes and cavities, for a distance of several miles, the sandstone, which seems to be the prevalent formation, being riven and driven by ocean action into strange fantastic shapes. To the northward the top of Mount Cook seems to touch the arch of heaven; southward the low line of cliff terminates in a long white beach, and beyond it chalky white cliffs stretched towards Arnott Point. The practical associations of the locality are that, towards Arnott Point in 1874, there was a small rush, and it was also reported that one or two nuggets, one weighing 7 ozs., had been picked up. The more picturesque portions of the shore-line provoked from passengers the remarks “What a splendid place for a sea-side picnic,”—“What an opportunity for the photographer,” but our captain broke the spell by the simple suggestion “sand-flies,” and by telling us a story of the experience of Mr Tait, photographer, in Hokitika, in the vain pursuit of the photographic art in the presence of these pests, which fed upon his face and hands, and followed him into his dark room, and damaged his plates and damned his enterprise. In their provoking presence, catching the shadow is too much associated with snatching the substance to make the study of photographic art a source of pleasure.
The Abbey Rocks, though not at once distinguishable as being situated at a distance from the shore, are a prominent landmark by the difference of their colour from that of the back-ground, which is of a subdued white, while they are dark and of eccentric form. The steamer swept around the rocks and entered a well-protected harbour, anchoring there, at no great distance from the shore, in seven fathoms of water.
At this time there was much talk of the layers of lithographic stone which had been
