James Inglis, Our New Zealand Cousins (1887)
“ This is humorously named by Kate the Rotomahana Hotel, and is the place where lunch is usually devoured. Up a steep, muddy hill now, and at the top we emerge on the mud flat, where many boiling mudholes repeat the phenomena we have already seen, only substituting liquid boiling mud instead of water. We look down, and see a seething mass of molten mud in incessant motion. It rises up in great circling domes and plastic cupolas, which seethe, and expand, and swell, and then break with a lazy, hissing, escape of steam ”
