The Ground
We Selected Was Almost At The Foot Of A Noble Waterfall, Formed By A
Huge Cleft In A Mass Of Rugged Rock.
The water, dashing headlong down,
was hidden in the recess of rock below, but the spray, as it rose up
like vapour and again fell around us, plainly told the history of its
birth and education.
Even had we not seen the snowy peaks before us
from the mountain top, there was no mistaking, from its icy breath,
the nursery in which its infant form had been cradled. Just at our
feet was one of the frail and picturesque-looking pine bridges spanning
the torrent; while just below it another mountain river came tumbling
down, and, joining with its dashing friend, they both rolled on in
life together. As soon as our traps arrived, F. and I had a souse in
the quietest pool we could find, and anything so cold I never felt;
it was almost as if one was turned into stone, and stopping in it
more than a second was out of the question. After breakfast and a
SIESTA, we sallied out to try and explore the head of the cataract
above us. After rather a perilous ascent over loose moss and mould,
and clutching at roots of shrubs and trees, we were brought to a
stand by a huge mass of perpendicular rock, which effectually barred
us from the spot through which the water took its final leap. The
upper course of the torrent, however, amply repaid us for our labour,
for it ran through the most lovely dell I ever saw; and as it bounded
down from rock to rock, and roared and splashed along, it seemed to
know what there was before it, and to be rejoicing at the prospect
of its mighty jump.
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