Other interesting birds frequently met with on our journey were the kaka (a tree parrot), the wood pigeon, the New Zealand thrush, and the orange-wattle crow. The Notornis Mantelli, of which there are only four specimens in existence, once inhabited this region, but is now, to all intents and purposes, extinct. No specimen has ever been taken alive. The last one found was killed by a guide’s dog in the vicinity of Lake Te Anau, and was sold to the Dunedin Museum for quite a large sum. A good specimen would now fetch as much as £500. As a matter of fact an agent, acting for Lord Rothschild, wanted to buy the last one found, and offered a sum considerably larger than was offered by the New Zealand authorities; but the guide, being a patriotic New Zealander, accepted a much smaller sum rather than let the specimen go out of the country. It is just possible that a very few more specimens of this handsome bird may be found in the unexplored wilds of Fiordland; but there cannot be very many more left. The gigantic moa, which once wandered over the upland plains of Lakeland, is, of a surety, extinct. If one specimen could be found, it would be a prize indeed. At present the birds of Fiordland have few if any natural enemies, and none of the commoner kinds are likely to become extinct for years to come, unless through the ravages of ferrets, stoats, weasels, and cats that have been introduced into the neighbouring country with a view to keeping down the rabbits on the sheep runs—a kind of acclimatization that is almost criminal.
But in following the birds I have wandered off the track, so, now, let us return to our mountain. Next morning the old familiar clink of the ice-axes on the rocks of the moraine sent a thrill of pleasure through us, while a sniff of the keen mountain air, and the prospect of a stiff climb, cheered us onward, as, leaving behind the depressing gloom of the dark, trackless forest, we resolutely strode forward to attack our peak.
We could not help remarking on the purity of the glacier, and the almost complete absence of moraine, owing, no doubt, to the hardness of the granite rock of which the mountains in this region are composed. In similar situations in the vicinity of Mount Cook there would be long slopes of scree on the mountain sides, and the snout of the glacier would be buried under a morainic accumulation. Here the clear ice flowed, unencumbered, to the terminal face. As we climbed the rocky buttresses above our camp we observed on this glacier—of which we were the discoverers—a fine mass of sérac ice from which blocks came crashing down on to the lower part of the glacier. A great deal of this broken ice had fallen at one time or another, and, while we were scrutinizing the glacier for a safer route, a splendid avalanche thundered down. The glacier was steep, and the ice hard, so that there would have been much arduous step-cutting by that route, even if we could have avoided the ice-fall. We therefore kept to the rocks, and made our way upwards, zigzagging, by ledges, through a series of precipices.
Homeward Bound.
On leaving the old lateral moraine, we crossed a stream that issued from an enormous cleft in the granite. We then commenced the ascent proper. The rock, except where it was absolutely precipitous, or actually overhung, was clothed with a slippery grass, alternating with Alpine plants and shrubs, and, though this vegetation seemed to give good hold, we, not being used to it, did not care to trust it too much, so that at first our motto was “Slow but sure.” One or two vertical bits of rock gave us some little trouble at the start, and the dogs soon had to give the ascent best. The irrepressible Tubbs had a narrow escape here, tumbling over backwards, but managing to pull himself up just in the nick of time on the verge of an awful precipice, thus escaping certain and ignominious death, as it were, by the skin of his teeth. Our guide, at this point, apparently, thought discretion the better part of valour, and returned to the camp. From an upper ledge we shouted instructions to him to have a soft bed and a good supper ready for us on our return, but not to be alarmed if we did not come back that day, for, if the peak were worth doing, and should prove difficult, we might spend the night out on the rocks.
After some time we reached the crest of a ridge overlooking the ice-fall, and saw, stretching away before us, a beautiful snow slope that led, in gentle undulations, to the steeper ice slope that barred the way to the final peak. We progressed rapidly over this plateau, the snow being just soft enough to permit of our getting a good grip with the nails in our boots. The peculiarity of the glacier was its purity. Not a stone of any kind was to be seen on its surface. Our route now lay plainly before us. By making a slight detour we could easily avoid the bergschrunds and crevasses that extended from the ice-fall almost to the head of the plateau. From that point there was the slope of frozen snow, up which we should have to cut steps to the final rocks. These rocks might afford us half an hour’s scramble, and then, heigh presto! Tutoko would be conquered. Already we counted our victory won. We were confident of topping the peak by 2 p.m. at the latest. Alas! we were never more mistaken in our lives.
We stopped in the middle of the plateau for a morsel of lunch, and divested ourselves of our superfluous clothing, which, under such circumstances is always a mistake, and for which we were heartily sorry afterwards. Close at hand on our right rose a splendid rock peak, with a steep snow couloir leading up to a shattered pinnacle—
“The fretwork of some earthquake—where the clouds