Week-End "Heaven"

A Two-days' Jaunt Out of Lautoka

By “Tui Yasawa I Lau”

“11TOULD you like to go for a trip to TT ‘Mountain Heaven,’ sahib?” asked our Indian sidar.

The very name, as he pronounced it, appealed to us immensely, and we decided on the spot to make the trip, thinking that possibly this would be as near as any one of us would ever get to heaven, in Fiji.

We discovered that the trip actually was to a native village at the foot of Mount Evan, a high range situated on the northern side of Viti Levu. Attired in clothes suitable for the bush, and with haversacks and gunnies containing neces sities —food and changes of clothes— three companions (Messrs. Dunn, Clay ton and Goulding) and I left “home” at 2 p.m. one Saturday and went by car to a small Indian settlement at Matavua, where four horses awaited us.

As one of us had not ridden a horse for some time, we suggested that he try a preliminary canter around a bure; which he did. Although he re-appeared on the other side of the house sitting just behind the horse’s ears, he said he felt confident enough to carry on.

So we headed in single file towards the mist-enveloped hills and dales, many miles inland from Lautoka. Hearty bursts of song, an occasional stop to transfer a gunny of eats from one rider to another, or to gaze at small mobs of wild cattle roaming about in perfect freedom, or to look back and admire the beauty of the numerous small islands which dot the surface of the ocean off the coast of Lautoka, helped to while away the first li hours of our journey.

We met some natives on the track, laden with baskets of bananas, breadfruit and tobacco, and found that they were the inhabitants of the village to which we were headed. Bidding them "Sa yadra” we were asked where we were going; and, on being told, they were full of apologies, and informed us that owing to the death of a chief in another vil lage, the whole of the townspeople were going to pay their last respects, and would not return to their own village for three or four days. However, they urged upon us that we were quite welcome in their village, and told us to make use of the biggest bure there.

Another hour’s riding found us within sight of a gorgeous waterfall, and a dis tinct change in the atmosphere was noticeable. One could not help but note how healthy all plant-life appeared.

As we went on, we somehow missed the main track. But we kept on the same way, and at last saw the village of Nagaga, in the distance. It seemed far away, and, with the mist gradually creeping lower, and evening approaching, it looked as if we might spend the night in the open.

Urging on our tired horses, we even tually reached the village just on dark; and tethered our horses among the luxuriant growth of grass.

We fossicked around in the darkness of the bure, and luckily found a lantern.

Then, in a few more minutes, we had a regular "Boy Scouts” camp fire going, and the kettle on. Later, a heavy down pour of rain set in. Would we be able to get back on the morrow—for the track up. in places, is almost impassable in wet weather?

But the rain went with the darkness.

Soon after dawn, we were outside and admiring the native plantations. Bread

fruit, tobacco, yams, tapioca, bananas and mummy apples grew in profusion.

We decided to go up as far as the waterfall, and proceeded on foot up the creek, climbing over and around rocks of all shapes and sizes. We bathed in one of the many pools—cold but invigorating.

The fall is a sheer drop of at least 90 feet of pure, icy-cold water. A con venient rock enables us to sit within six feet of it and enjoy a shower of spray that makes the body tingle.

But time waits for no man. Back at our village, we quickly assemble a meal, before making an early start for Lau toka. Seeking something a bit more sub stantial than, bread with our meat, we decided for some boiled tapioca, and went out to one of the ‘‘tei teis”—the owner, on our way up, having told us that we were welcome to whatever there was. Pulling up just sufficient for our requirements, the two “locals” set to work and prepared them for the pot.

After an enjoyable meal, we straight ened things up and left the bure just as we found it, together with a little pre sent of kava for the owner, to show our appreciation of the courtesies extended to us.

A couple of miles down the trail we came across a herd of wild horses, with a magnificent stallion, head erect and mane and tail flowing in the breeze, standing on guard. As we approached, he snorted, and away they all went, at top speed, further away into the wide open spaces and freedom.

Governor-General J. Guyon, a former popular Governor of New Caledonia, died recently in France. He arrived in the Colony in 1923, on a special mission. He returned as Governor and High Commis sioner of the French Pacific Colonies in 1925. He found New Caledonia almost roadless, and raised a loan in France to push through the west coast Route Colo niale No. 1, and tracks to the east coast.

Flight-Sergeant Keith Phillips, who was born in Suva, has returned to Australia after three years’ service with the RAAF Sunderland Squadron in England. He has a brother and sister in Suva—Staff Sergeant C. Phillips and Mrs. H. J.

Sabben.