The Vanished Woodland
THE change over the past sixty years in two scenes – one in each Island – will illustrate the unhappy story of native New Zealand. Within the boundaries of Hawke’s Bay there once existed a fine fragment of woodland, typical of the so-called light bush of New Zealand. It contained no single forest tree but was lovely in its ngaio, kowhai, ribbon-wood, mahoe, whau, and rangiora. Within its depths twined and coiled thickets of supplejack. Conspicuously arose tail groups of tree-fern and nikau. From a thousand minute green blossomings each springtime its fragrance was renewed. Its uneven borders furnished shrubs that love fuller light – ramblers and bush-edge plants. This little woodland faced south and east, an island of bright green in sombre seas of bracken. Within its shade two streamlets bubbled over limestone falls and runs, and rested in clear pools. The airs that emanated from its green depths were moist; its damps were the exquisite breathing of the forest. In arid summer heats to lie within its noontide twilight was to realise, with the travellers in desert sands, the shadow of a great rock in a weary land. Sixty years have seen the decline and ruin of this oasis. Another generation will see its absolute disappearance, its entire transformation into turf.
In the beginning decay was slow. Here and there summer firings during gales drove black wedges into its leafy flanks. During winter, when grass was scarce, and during storms cattle penetrated its edges. For forty years, however, there was no very great external change for the worse. Its continuity indeed seemed assured. It was gazetted a reserve. If paper could protect it was safe. In the meantime the blackberry, its bushes at one time to be counted on the fingers, had overrun the district. A palliation for one evil was found in another – the wholesale introduction of goats. Then indeed all was lost. Re-afforestation by seeds ended, saplings were broken down, shrub-growth nibbled, boles barked bare. Simultaneously the bush floor hardened, its loose debris disappeared in rains that ran, not soaked. With scantier leafage dampness exhaled. The exuberance of tree-fern fronds lessened year by year. Grasses intruded, their invasion increasing the perils of fire. Cattle and sheep have followed in the track of goats. Slips have increased. Without one blow of the axe or the sowing of one grain of alien grass the reserve is doomed. […]
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