fourteen-mile walk in a leisurely manner, halting at the Blue Lake for afternoon tea, and resting there beneath the shade of the ribbonwoods until the sun had set, and so minimizing the discomfort of the usually long, hot walk up the narrow valley to the Ball hut. Next morning we all started out together: Mr. Chambers, Murphy, and I bound for a bivouac on the slopes of Mount Chudleigh, while Muriel went on with a party to Malte Brun hut, where we proposed to join her the following evening. Our ways lay together until we got well on to the hummocky ice of the Tasman Glacier; then we struck across for the grass slopes at the foot of Mount Chudleigh, while the others proceeded up the glacier towards the Malte Brun hut. As we neared the east bank of the glacier, we became involved in a maze of giant crevasses, whose long, sharp ridges, with sometimes a 20- or 30-foot drop on either side, were no easy matter to negotiate. We were all laden with pretty heavy swags; Murphy had, of course, the lion's share, but my modest possessions I found sufficiently heavy and annoying when it came to balancing on narrow, slippery ice ridges. However, we succeeded in gaining the grass slopes without accident. Then began a hot and weary toil up the slippery slopes until we gained a fine situation for a bivouac at 5,700 feet. It was a beautiful position on a small flat of thick snowgrass. Near by a mountain torrent rushed along between high walls of rock which hid the water from our view. While the men were fixing the bivouac I strolled off to explore this stream in search of a possible bathing-place. I was lucky in finding a large, fairly deep pool at the foot of a cliff. The icy water took my breath away as I plunged into it, and with a splutter I came to the surface and into the sunshine. Wonderfully invigorated, I returned to the camp and described the delights to be had at the price of a bracing shock. The men declined to be convinced that the game was worth the candle and
