IN THE ICE-FALL OF THE ONSLOW GLACIER
[Wheeler & Son, Photo.
The day following our return from Aorangi we left the Hermitage at 9 a.m., and by 1 p.m. had begun our exciting journey of 140 miles to the sea.
The Tasman River takes its rise from the Tasman and Murchison Glaciers, and is soon joined by the Hooker, which drains the Hooker and Mueller Glaciers. Its course from Mount Cook to its delta at the head of Lake Pukaki is thirty miles in length, and the fall is considerable, the terminal face of the Tasman Glacier being 2,456 feet above sea-level, whilst the altitude of Lake Pukaki is 1,717 feet. The first mile or two of the journey was marked by several strong rapids, and we could not avoid shipping much water; and, added to this, we soon found that some old cracks in the canoes had opened out through exposure to the sun, although they had been carefully covered over with sacking during our absence in the mountains. This gave us some cause for anxiety, and the discomfort of paddling in boats which were half full of water soon made itself painfully apparent. Indeed, there is nothing more calculated to put a man out of temper with all the world and his surroundings, to goad him to strong language, and to give him an uncomfortable and miserable time generally, than to have to sit for hours in a boat that floats like an unmanageable log, to say nothing of the increase of danger to which he is consequently exposed in some parts of a river such as the Tasman, running, as it does, something approaching ten knots in many places.
I don’t think Dixon and myself are likely to forget the tortures of the four hours which we passed through on reaching the lake. Here the cracks in my boat, which was decidedly the worse of the two, had to be jammed up with handkerchiefs, &c., before we dared to venture on a journey of eight or nine miles to the ferry at the other end of the lake, where is situated the exit of the Pukaki River.
As we scraped over the sandy shallows and pushed off into deep-green water, my heart sank within me at the idea of having to cross the lake in its present rough state (for a strong nor’-wester was blowing) in our frail canoes, which were not built in watertight compartments, and were quite unsuited for the work. Every ten minutes or so I would have to stop paddling and bale for dear life with the lid of the ‘billy,’ and the craft would immediately swing round broadside on to the seas, which seemed to do their best to upset her.
At first we kept edging away for the southern shore, and about half-way down the lake succeeded in getting within reasonable swimming distance, which, to a certain extent, we retained for a short time.