The Alpine vegetation was now far behind us. Everywhere was a luxuriant growth of moss and fern and tree. In one place a titanic boulder blocked the river-bed, and the waters thundered through a narrow defile, over which a man might easily jump. At the lower end of the gorge the river ran for some distance between precipitous walls, and we had once more to take to the pathless forest on the mountain-side. Then we climbed down to the river again, and began the same scramble over the interminable boulders. This scrambling over and under rocks made us get into all sorts of strange attitudes. We felt, if there were much more of it, that we should soon qualify for the position of acrobats in a circus.
But the cold, hard, damp bed of the previous night, following upon a long and trying day’s exercise, had left us rather stiff for such contortions, and we simply longed for a hot bath and a rub down. We even talked about such a luxury, and scarcely were the words uttered than we found Mother Nature with the bath ready at hand.
All this morning we had noticed at intervals, as we marched beside the stream, a strange and somewhat offensive smell. We had attributed it to some plant in the forest, or to decaying vegetation. In jumping from one boulder to another I saw that the water below had patches of oil floating on it, and the offensive smell was very strong, so I stopped to make an investigation. On putting my hand into the water I found it was quite hot. Here was just what we wanted. I called out to Fyfe that I had found a hot spring. He was at first inclined to doubt my words; but when he remembered the strange smell that abounded in the valley he came back, and, in less time than it takes to tell the story, we found ourselves in the garb of Adam, and revelling in the luxury of a hot bath in the midst of a garden more glorious than the original Eden, but minus the temptations and distractions with which our original ancestor was beset. The water ran into a clear pool, and where it welled up in one place beside the glacier water of the river we could have, at the same moment, a warm bath on one side of our bodies and a cold bath on the other. This bath freshened us up wonderfully, and took all the stiffness away. Our only regret was that we had no means of taking a sample of the water away with us for analysis.
About midday we came to yet another gorge, where we halted for lunch. We got through without much bush-work, and arrived at a large stream that came in from the left. We took off our nether garments, put on our boots again without stockings, waded through, and in that guise walked for some distance along a comparatively level beach. When I looked round and saw Fyfe walking half naked behind me over the rocks I was seized with the ludicrous nature of his appearance and laughed heartily, only to have myself heartily laughed at in return. Our delight was now great, for we saw ahead of us a mile or so of comparatively easy walking, and fondly imagined that we had done with those troublesome gorges. But again our hopes were foredoomed to disappointment, for on rounding a promontory the river took a bend to the left and entered another gorge. It was the worst one of the lot. There was nothing for it but to take to the bush and climb the steep hillside to a plateau in the forest that seemed to run parallel with the river. We climbed up a long way, and got in amongst some tall trees where the forest was fairly open. The ferns here were exquisitely beautiful, and rare varieties abounded. Whole tree trunks were covered with the varied greens of the beautiful kidney fern, and at almost every step the graceful fronds of the umbrella fern rose above its neighbours and the lovely mosses that made a gloriously green and springy carpet for the uneven ground. It was a veritable fairyland, and one would not have been greatly surprised if the Queen of all the fairies had met us at any turn.
We kept well up the mountain-side, sometimes getting a bit of easy climbing, at other times making heavy work of it with our swags through scrub and luxuriant undergrowth; and all the time the rumbling of the waters, softened now by distance, could be heard down below on the right. But we could see nothing beyond a few yards. Suddenly the roaring of waters close in front fell upon our ears, and we found ourselves face to face with a high fall that came down in a succession of leaps through the forest. We followed it to the river and crossed where the precipice ended and the water ran over some gently sloping ground towards the river. Ahead was a level shingle flat. The valley was widening out and the hills were lower. Now, surely, our difficulties would be at an end. But after going a few hundred yards we saw the river again entering a deep and narrow gorge. We had been going pretty steadily for twelve hours. Fyfe’s leg was bad, and we were both a little tired, and in no mood to tackle the gorge, so we camped and made tea. Drift-wood was here in plenty. We lit a big fire under the overhanging trees, and dried our wet clothing. Meanwhile we took our bearings. The river, now swollen into a stately stream, forked on the shingle flats, and ran at a more leisurely pace. It seemed a good spot to cross in the event of our deciding to avoid the gorge by climbing a lower hill on the right bank.
We had taken with us at the start of this expedition two loaves of bread, a 4-lb. tin of meat and 4 lb. of marmalade, together with a small pot of bovril, and the tea and sugar tabloids, reckoning that, with our sleeping bags and some spare clothing, this would be as much as we could conveniently carry over so difficult a pass. We estimated also that this quantity of provisions would be just about enough to see us down to civilization on the West Coast. It was with a somewhat rueful countenance, therefore, that, after supper, we now looked at the two empty tins that had contained the jam and marmalade, and beheld only enough bread left for one frugal meal. Had Fyfe’s leg been sound we should not have minded, but it was now terribly inflamed and swollen to abnormal dimensions, so that we were not sure whether he would be able to stand another day’s rough walking.
Having dried our things, we scooped out, with our ice-axes, two hollows in the shingle on a bank overhung by trees, and, getting into our sleeping bags, lay down in them for the night. Should it come on to rain, it was decided to get up at any hour of the night and endeavour to cross the river before it became flooded. The sandflies were numerous and very troublesome, but they left us shortly after sundown. The shingle bank made a soft bed in comparison with the rougher rocks of the glacier moraines, to which we had been used on the eastern side of the divide, and under ordinary circumstances I doubt not that we should have slept long and soundly; but Fyfe’s leg grew worse and worse, and all night long he tossed, moaning, from side to side in a vain endeavour to get relief from the pain. I lay awake for hours, listening, and wondering whether we could cross the river in safety, and whether in the event of our doing so he would be able to continue the journey. Then I would commence to devise schemes for getting him down to the coast should he knock up altogether. I fully expected that I should have to leave him here and proceed alone down the valley in quest of aid. Once or twice during the night, when he was more than usually restless, I ventured an inquiry as to how he fared, and received a gloomy, monosyllabic answer that was the reverse of cheering. And then it was, in the silences of the night, as I lay a-thinking and a-planning, that the lines I have put at the head of this chapter came into my head, and I could not refrain from repeating them over and over again to myself—
“Good Luck is the gayest of all gay girls,
Long in one place she will not stay,
Back from your brow she brushes the curls,