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Soon we discovered traces of fires and old camps, and we knew we were on the tracks of Green’s and Von Lendenfeld’s parties. An hour for dinner under a splendid waterfall, and more toiling onwards, till at last we were over the last boulder-face from the mountain on our left, with the Ball Glacier in full view. Fox, bending down, picked up a portion of an old veil, shortly after I found a goggle box, then came a tomahawk lying on a rock, then the historical tent poles of Mr. Green, and we knew we had reached ‘Green’s fifth camp.’

Off came the swags, and right glad we were to be done with them. If a man were only built on the same lines as a Mount Cook grasshopper he might ‘stand some show’ in those parts, for these insects are the most accomplished rock acrobats, jumping twenty or thirty times their own length at a spring, landing on their heads or anyhow with a bang, and squaring up for the next jump as coolly as cucumbers.

We found many relics of Green’s and of Von Lendenfeld’s parties, amongst them a surveyor’s chain, which, with Green’s tent poles, we have for the last five seasons used to pitch our tents.