to the Tasman, fording it and the Murchison in several places; fortunately none of these rivers were as high as the Hooker, so we had not much trouble in getting through them. The horses were left in the yard of the Shepherd's hut, beneath Rotten Tommy, and we started up the steep and slippery grass slopes of Griller Creek. I was stiff from riding, so found it hot and tiring work. After about a mile and a half we struck down to the creek bed and followed it as far as the last grass slope. Here the tents were pitched. It was a most picturesque bivouac. The mountain creek rushed along at our feet, and at its head the Nun's Veil stood out in the moonlight, pure snow from base to summit. Looking down stream, Rotten Tommy rose brown and rugged at our left, while beyond it we caught a glimpse of Mount Sealy.
Supper was a meal to remember; seated on a rucksac, with my back to a rock, I enjoyed every moment of it. The red flames lit up the brown faces and gleaming eyes and teeth of the guides as they plied me with one good thing after another, and the whole made a picture worthy of Rembrandt.
After supper we gathered round the fire, and the guides told me stories of the mountains until it was time to turn in. After several fruitless attempts at slumber I crept out of my tent and down to the creek for a drink. Everything was so lovely, bathed in the moonlight, that I stayed there for quite a long while; at last, infinitely refreshed, I crept back to my tent and fell asleep. Waking at 2 a.m. and being unable to sleep again, I roused the guides at 2.30 a.m., and by 4 a.m. we had breakfasted and were toiling up the last mile of creek bed. Once we reached the snow it was all straight-ahead work. We climbed steadily up slope after slope, only to find still another above us, till it became rather monotonous, and I longed for some rock-climbing by way of diversion. At last we came to a schrund, the top lip of which was all
