through the broken ice of the Huddleston Glacier, so on the whole we were satisfied with the results of our exertions.
The next few days the weather was worse than ever, and I really began to wonder if I might not as well pack up my belongings and start for home. I think only the knowledge that this was the last time that I would be in New Zealand for many years prevented me from doing so. I had always wanted to climb Mount Sefton, and it must be now or never, so I stayed on, hoping, as usual, for better things in the future. The rain finished up with a heavy fall of snow, which came quite low down, leaving Sebastopol white below the level of the red lake. This put Mount Sefton out of the question for the next ten days, so I decided to join a party of girls who were going over to the West Coast, just to get some exercise.
We left the Hooker hut on the morning of the 30th in charge of Peter Graham; there were three other women besides myself. We spent several strenuous hours toiling up the Copland Ridge. On reaching the snow slope leading to the summit, we found that the usual small crevasse had opened out into a big schrund running straight across the face, and there was not a vestige of a bridge to be found. I had been at the end of the rope all the morning, but on reaching this impasse Graham called me up, and asked me if I would lead. My Mount Tasman experience now came in very useful, as the only course open to us was a repetition of our tactics then. I climbed on Graham's shoulders and grasped an ice-axe dug into the upper lip of the schrund and by its aid pulled myself into safety on the slope above. Then I cut a big step to stand in and another beside it, and pulled up the other women one by one, cutting a step for each as they arrived. They were all awfully good, and, if nervous, did not show it; I soon had them ranged out in a neat row beside me. Then Graham tied on the swag and we hauled that up. Lastly Graham was ignominiously dragged up, and a very heavy load he proved. He
