waders run to and fro or stand sentinel at the water’s edge. Everywhere it is fringed with bush and tall tree-ferns, except to seaward. There it is shut in by flax-swamp and grey sand-dunes, on the other side of which the long rollers thunder night and day. I don’t believe the Pacific knows how to ripple in gently over ribbed sea sand. There is always that dull roar sounding far inland—less at times, but always there.
The road led past the wharf with its goods shed, and beyond this is the entrance to the lagoon—a narrow opening through which the tides surge in and out. Like all West Coast harbours, the bar is the great drawback, and the small coasting steamer, the “Jane Douglas,” is the largest craft that can enter. Just outside the houses, on a fence, we found the town Crane. For some years he has attached himself to town life, and stalks about unconcernedly; and woe be to any one who would interfere with him! There are only a few pairs of these birds left, but they are closely protected, and it is hoped they may increase—anyway Okarito public opinion allows no shooting at them! They are very beautiful birds, with a graceful dorsal egret-plume, and pure white. We were met by our acquaintance, Mr. Thompson the harbour-master, who had quite a programme arranged for our benefit. We were to be taken on the lagoon and, if possible, shown the nesting-places of the cranes; to be shown the view from the headland beyond the town, and introduced
