We were early on the road again next morning. Crossing the Pukaki River on a ferry-boat, worked by the current, we drove over the tussocky downs of Rhoboro’ Station, and entered what appeared to be the bed of an old river, that had no doubt, at some distant date, cut its way through this ancient lateral moraine, when the glacier of the Tasman Valley was three or four times its present size.
The road followed an old bullock-dray track, through which morainic boulders reared their hard heads, and not altogether in vain. Once, on this very road, a thoughtful traveller, sorely bruised and battered after some miles of jolting, stopped the coach and got down to examine the wheels. The driver, a little puzzled, asked what was the matter, and received the laconic reply: “Oh, nothing. I merely wished to see if your wheels were square.” For the first mile or two we thought this story a joke; after a few more miles, we began to think there might be some truth in it; and, finally, we too found ourselves dubiously examining the wheels. It is all very well when you are nicely wedged in between a couple of really stout passengers; but, when you have an angular tourist on your right and an iron railing bounding your hip-joint on the left, the world seems a very grey world indeed, and even scenery ceases to excite. On this particular day, however, our driver added to the excitement of the ride in very material degree. He had that morning received what is known in these parts as “the sack.” In other words, he had lost his job, and he had not taken the announcement with quite the grace of a Spanish grandee. He confided to us with many adjectives—some more forcible than polite—that he was “out for a picnic,” and he did not care if he killed a tourist or two. His main object in life now appeared to be to get to his destination—in pieces, if necessary—about an hour before the proper time, and at one stage it seemed as if he might really kill a passenger, or, at least, a horse, in the accomplishment of this quite unnecessary feat. The crackings of his long whip were accompanied by a variety of oaths, and other comments, of a staccato but emphatic nature. The height of his enjoyment appeared to be reached on a steep incline leading towards the lake. Down this we rattled, over stones and around sharp curves, at a pace that would have done credit to Yuba Bill; and we said never a word, but held our breath and the iron railing of the trap, till, with a sigh of relief, we reached the bottom safely and breathed freely again. To do him justice, he did know how to handle his team, and, finally, our admiration for the fellow as a driver began to overshadow our contempt for him as a man and a humanitarian.
During the next day’s drive there was no hostelry at which we could obtain food and drink, so soon after twelve o’clock we halted and had an al fresco luncheon at a place known as “The Dog’s Grave.” There was a little patch of scrub on the flat, where fuel was obtainable, and a clear stream running past supplied good water. Near at hand was the dog’s grave, with a little tombstone, the whole enclosed with a stout wooden railing. The dog belonged to the survey camp established there some months previously, and his master, grieving over his untimely demise, gave him a decent funeral and a tombstone with an inscription on it!
The latter part of the journey was over a very rough road; but the splendid views ahead were some compensation for the jolting we received. Our jehu, true to his promise, landed us at the Hermitage an hour ahead of contract time. This inn, prettily situated at the foot of an old lateral moraine of the Mueller Glacier, has since seen many vicissitudes, till, finally, it passed into the hands of the Government. It is now about to be pulled down, and another building is being erected on a better site—none too soon either, because the bursting of the glacier water through the old moraine has flooded the rooms, and caused damage such as to make the situation quite unsafe.
Next day the fine weather with which we had been favoured broke. High up in the heavens the storm-clouds were being driven before the south-west wind, while a lower current from the north-west was wreathing the rain-clouds around the highest peaks of Aorangi and Mount Sefton. It was a battle between the two winds, but at last the north-wester triumphed. A momentary glimpse was obtained of the highest peaks of Mount Cook, and then the torn mists wound themselves about it and hid it from view for the rest of the day. The north-west wind struck us with great force, and, as we peered over the edge of the hill down on to the rock-covered surface of the Mueller Glacier, we could scarce bear up against it. The temperature quickly fell to 52 degrees, then the rain came on.
By next morning the storm had abated, and the sun shone out. I engaged a young shepherd, named Annan, with a pack-horse, and, after arranging tents, ice-axes, and provisions, we started to fix a camp some fourteen miles up the Tasman Valley. There was an anxious moment with the pack-horse in crossing the Hooker River, now swollen with the recent rains, and, as the animal struggled with loose boulders and floating blocks of ice in mid-stream, we were quite prepared to see the expedition come to a premature and ignominious end. Annan, however, riding his own horse, managed to pilot the pack-horse in safety to the farther shore, while I got into a small wooden cage, that dangled high above the roaring torrent, and laboriously pulled myself over to the other side. The pack-horse was taken as far as the terminal moraine of the Tasman Glacier. Beyond this it was impossible to proceed with the horses, and the packs had now to be transferred to our own backs. They looked, indeed, a goodly pile.
The Hermitage.
Twenty-five lb. of biscuits, 12 lb. of tinned meats, 2 loaves weighing 14 lb., 4 lb. of oatmeal, 8 lb. of butter, 4 lb. of jam, 1 shoulder of mutton, 2 lb. of onions, 2 lb. of tea, 1 lb. of cocoa, 1 lb. of coffee, 4 lb. of sugar, 1 lb. of salt, 4 tins of sardines, and a few pots of Liebig constituted the bulk of our provisions. In addition to this, there were the 2 tents, 3 sleeping bags, 1 opossum rug, 1 large sheet of oiled calico, 2 ice-axes, 1 alpenstock, 100 feet of Alpine rope, billies, spirit lamp, lantern, aneroid, thermometers, and several other smaller articles, which all went to make up weight. Before us was the long moraine of the Great Tasman Glacier, and over this, for a distance of seven or eight miles, all these articles had to be carried on our backs. It was no joke. We knew that the undertaking was rather a difficult one, but had no idea how difficult it would be. Annan selected from among the articles a swag weighing about 50 lb. I made up one that would be probably 10 lb. lighter, and, covering up the remainder with the oilcloth sheet, at three o’clock we started off, hoping to reach Green’s Fifth Camp that evening. Profiting by the experience of the Rev. Mr. Green and Dr. von Lendenfeld, we made no attempt to get on to the clear ice in the middle of the glacier, but kept to the rocks on the side of the lateral moraine that runs for miles parallel with the great southern arête of Mount Cook. There was fair walking for some little distance till we passed the group of tarns of a peculiar greenish colour at the end of the moraine. Then the rocks got rougher, and were piled in wilder confusion as we proceeded.
Of this same route Mr. Green says: “The lateral moraine, standing up like some great battlement shattered in the war of the Titans, was composed of huge cubes of sandstone and jagged slabs of slate, some over 20 feet a side, and ready at any moment to topple over and crush our limbs.” We found scrambling over these rocks very hard work on such a hot afternoon, but made good progress, and soon found ourselves at the Blue Lake, where Mr. Green weathered out a very severe storm on his first trip up the Tasman. Just before reaching the lake there was a bad bit of travelling through thick scrub, which Annan had not looked forward to with any great degree of pleasure; but on reaching the spot we found that a large slip had come down from the moraine, exposing the clear ice of the glacier, and completely covering the scrub for a distance of about 100 yards with morainic accumulation. The ice was quite near, from which it would appear that there was more live moraine than Dr. von Lendenfeld imagined. The slip gave us fairly good walking, but we had some difficulty in getting through the last bit of scrub at the Blue Lake. Beyond this we had to cross the débris of a great talus fan that came down from the mountain-side, and then we came to a piece of level ground, between the moraine and the mountain-side, which afforded the only real bit of easy walking in the whole journey. This flat—about a quarter of a mile long—was covered with large tussocks, spear grass, veronicas, and a wealth of celmesias. Ahead the moraine continued its course, in the words of Mr. Green, “looking like some great railway embankment in the symmetry of its outline.” Here we made our first acquaintance with that strange, curious, impudent, and interesting bird the kea. A number flew down from the lower slopes of the great mountain ridge and regarded us with a wondering curiosity. I took the precaution to bag a brace as a welcome addition to our larder, but with some considerable measure of regret, for though in the surrounding districts the keas kill the sheep in the most cruel manner, they are nevertheless fascinating and handsome birds. Our tent was pitched that evening in a lonely spot between the moraine and the great shoulder of Mount Cook, here clothed with an interesting variety of sub-Alpine vegetation. For this purpose we used the tent poles and the survey chain left here by some of the early Alpine explorers. We spent a cold night, and next day, while I returned to the Hermitage for my wife, Annan swagged up the rest of the provisions.