Читать книгу With Axe and Rope in the New Zealand Alps онлайн

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Ah! think of it, you knapsack mountaineers, you feather-bed Swiss mountaineers, with your tracks, your hotels, your guides, your porters, and your huts. No; this New Zealand work is not like yours.

But then, you see, we are enjoying what you cannot get. Exploring and opening out virgin fields, learning to be our own guides—and porters—from that best of masters—hard experience.

We struck up the little valley which here exists between the lateral moraine on our right and the hill on our left, and toiled on amidst dense scrub so gnarled and matted that we could at times walk on it as on a spring bed, though now and then going through, of course. The scrub alternated with slopes of loose strips of moraine. By evening we reached a little blue lake which feeds the creek issuing from the valley’s mouth, and here we pitched our tent for the night.

The sub-Alpine vegetation here is interesting and varied. Wild Irishman (te matakuru of the natives or matagowrie of the shepherds), Spaniards, with leaves like carving-knives and points like needles, having stalks sometimes eight or ten feet high; stunted totara, many varieties of veronica, celmisias with large marguerite daisy-like flowers, the beautiful white ranunculus, and a hundred bushes and creepers all mixed up in the most glorious confusion amid rocks sometimes covered with slippery moss, over and amongst which it is anything but pleasant to force one’s way. The mountain sides are clothed almost up to the snow-line with beech, totara, ribbon-wood, veronica, and other trees, the rich foliage being beautifully varied; but not having sufficient time to cut bedding, we spent an uncomfortable night. The first evening is always the worst in camp. In the morning we continued our rough journey up the valley and our struggle with the ‘worrying’ swag.