Though pale and delicate, the tints of the rock are not their least beauty.

Grey, yellow, brown, fawn, terra-cotta, even pale orange are to be noted.

No photograph can give the charm of the drapery that clothes these cliffs.

Photographs give no light or colour, and New Zealand scenery without light and colour is Hamlet with Hamlet left out.

How could a photograph even hint at the dark, glossy green of the glistening karaka leaves, the feathery, waving foliage of the lace bark, or the white and purple bloom of the koromiko?
How could black-and-white suggest the play of shade and shine when, between flying clouds, the glint of sunlight falls upon the sword-bayonet blades of the flax, and the golden, tossing plumes of the toe-toe, the New Zealand cousin of the Pampas grass?
Add to this, that more often than the passenger can count as he goes along the river, either some little rill comes dripping over the cliff, scattering the sparkling drops on moss and foliage, or the cliffs are cleft and, as from a rent in the earth, some tributary stream gushes out of a dark, leafy tunnel of branches.