the broken ice and our overhanging buttress, we decided the easiest way was simply to lower one another over it to the length of the rope, and then drop the remaining few feet. This was soon done, and we went merrily over the Great Plateau and up the slopes of Glacier Dome, arriving at the bivouac at 4.30 p.m., just twelve hours after we had left it.
Next day we made an early start from the bivouac, which will always be associated in my mind with so many pleasant memories of happy days, and is in itself one of the loveliest view-points in the Tasman Valley.
This was the longest sojourn I had so far made in a high bivouac. Four days amongst the eternal glitter of snow and ice makes one thoroughly appreciate a return to the valley.
The soft greens, browns, and yellows of the well-known track from the Ball hut took on a special beauty and restfulness in contrast to the white world amongst which we had been living. We reached the Hermitage the same day, and not all the luxuries of life as there enjoyed could compensate me for the knowledge that I had had my last climb for the season, and that I must now pack up my belongings, turn my back upon the mountains, and go my way, the better, happier, and stronger for my days and nights spent among them, but a prey to that longing which all the excitement, gaiety, and turmoil of city life cannot deaden, for just one glimpse of snow-clad heights, and the peace of the vast silent places, that draws the mountain lover back year after year with a force undreamed of by those who have never felt the lure and magic of the hills.
