I Have Little To Tell You Concerning The Rangitata Different From What I
Have Already Written About The Waimakiriri And The Harpur.
The first
great interest was, of course, finding the country which we took up; the
next was what I confess to the weakness of having enjoyed much more -
namely, a most magnificent view of that most magnificent mountain, Mount
Cook.
It is one of the grandest I have ever seen. I will give you a
short account of the day.
We started from a lonely valley, down which runs a stream called Forest
Creek. It is an ugly, barren-looking place enough - a deep valley
between two high ranges, which are not entirely clear of snow for more
than three or four months in the year. As its name imports, it has some
wood, though not much, for the Rangitata back country is very bare of
timber. We started, as I said, from the bottom of this valley on a
clear frosty morning - so frosty that the tea-leaves in our pannikins
were frozen, and our outer blanket crisped with frozen dew. We went up
a little gorge, as narrow as a street in Genoa, with huge black and
dripping precipices overhanging it, so as almost to shut out the light
of heaven. I never saw so curious a place in my life. It soon opened
out, and we followed up the little stream which flowed through it. This
was no easy work. The scrub was very dense, and the rocks huge.
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