The next few days were wet, so we did nothing. Amongst the visitors at the Hermitage was a member of Scott's expedition, who had been sent up to gain some experience in glacier work and snow and ice conditions. Graham had instructions from the Government to put himself at the gentleman's disposal, so all hopes of climbing were off till this matter was disposed of. As anything was better than doing nothing, I joined in with the party, which consisted of Mr. T., his sister, and Mr. S., a Christchurch man. On Thursday, the 17th, we set out for the Ball hut. On the way Mr. T. decided he would like to explore the terminal face of the Tasman Glacier, so with his sister and Graham he set off for it. Mr. S. and I went on to the Ball hut and prepared dinner against their return.
Next morning was fine, so we started out to climb Mount Mabel and return to the Hermitage via the Ball Pass. The first hour is a wearisome business; we had to climb through scrub, waist and sometimes shoulders high. Even at that early hour of the morning the sun beat down upon us, and we sweltered and dripped with our exertions. Mr. T. and I defied all mountaineering rules and ate snow whenever we could get it; and I am bound to say suffered no ill-effects whatsoever. Eventually we reached the summit of Mount Mabel, 7,150 feet, and then descended to the Ball Pass. We had some glorious glissades, one 2,000 feet long, which swept in a gracious curve to avoid some rocks, and required no little skill to manipulate. We shot down to the Hooker Valley in twenty minutes, rather a contrast to the six hours it had taken us to toil up. It was terribly hot, so we rested by a stream at the foot of the snow slopes for an hour. Then we had a seven-mile tramp down the Hooker Valley to the Hermitage. Saturday's car brought up a load of tourists, so the guides were busy taking them minor excursions. The weather was so hot that I was not sorry to stay indoors and develop photographs.
