It was now 11 a.m., and after a short rest, upon my suggesting a move upwards, Fox said that he did not fancy the rocks above—which certainly did look bad—and counselled a retreat. Of course I was disappointed, and reluctant to give up the attempt so soon, yet there did seem to be no end to the difficulties above, and experience has since taught me that Fox was wise in his counsel, for it was indeed simple madness for two greenhorns to tackle such work.
I soon forgot my troubles in gazing on the scene which burst upon us as we gained the ridge. Below lay the major part of the Haast Glacier, descending in a similar manner to the Hochstetter ice-fall from the corniced arête of Mount Haidinger, a marvellous mass of sérac ice. A long rest here, and a resolve to revisit the locality during the next season with a stronger party, and we began the descent.
My first experience of glissading on the snow slopes below was decidedly amusing; but the art is easily acquired, and after the inevitable spill or two one soon gets into the way of putting one’s axe directly behind and not at the side, as is the first impulse. Many and many a good slide have I enjoyed during the last six years, and I know no more exhilarating sensation.
MOUNT TASMAN (11,475 FEET) AND THE HOCHSTETTER ICE-FALL
[Wheeler & Son, Photo.
In winter time, on the front ranges, we have sometimes made glissades of 2,000 to 3,000 feet without a stop, and on one occasion, in crossing the Mount Cook Range, Mr. Arthur Harper and I glissaded close on to 4,000 feet with only occasional stoppages for crevasses.
Reaching the bottom of the slopes we made an examination of the Haast Glacier at its junction with the Tasman, which disclosed a terribly crevassed stream, the ice appearing like the leaves of a half-opened book, the alternating crevasses occupying by far the greater space. There ensued an aggravating scramble over the moraine, followed by a weary trudge across the ice of the Hochstetter, and we reached our camp at the Ball Glacier by nightfall.