found the rocks considerably more difficult to go down than to ascend, and began to appreciate the moral and material support of the rope. Just as we arrived at the last rocks joining a snow slope, the porter, who was nervous, slipped, lost his footing, and slid away down the slope. In less time than it takes to tell my axe was jambed in a crack with the rope round it, and the porter brought to a standstill before Graham had time to reach me. He exclaimed, "Where did you learn that?" "I didn't learn it; I knew it—by instinct, I suppose," I answered, quite as surprised as he was; I had not had time to think, I had simply done it unconsciously. Meanwhile the porter, dangling on the rope, looked reproachful that we should discuss such a detail while he was so uncomfortable. Apologetically we pulled him up, and I was put in the lead. We descended without further incident and began our long tramp back to the bivouac. The snowfield we had skimmed over so gaily in the morning let us through up to our knees at every step; we were very glad to see the last of it, and follow along the top of the range till it was time to descend the other side. We shot down in a series of glissades and reached the bivouac at 1.45 p.m. After a leisurely lunch we lay on the grass in the shade for an hour and then descended to the Hermitage in time for dinner.
Next day, December 20th, it was still fine, so Graham said the chance was too good to lose, and suggested a start for the Nun's Veil bivouac. I was still sleepy, in spite of twelve hours' rest, but not at all stiff from my Sealy climb, so announced myself willing to try anything. At 3 p.m. Graham, Murphy, and I rode off for Griller Creek. It was intensely hot in the sun, and we could not go very fast as our way lay mostly over rough river-beds. We forded the Hooker River just below the cage. The river was swollen with melting snow, and we had some difficulty in riding through. Once across, we struck over
