and I got two sketches of the lake with its green, opaque-looking water, and the magnificent mass of Mount Cook rearing up out of its upper end, looking quite near, though still forty miles away. The lake receives several snow-rivers, among others the Tasman, from the seventeen-mile long glacier. On either side were bare mountains, and at sunset we watched the colours flame out on their crests and die away, and the sky turn pink, then slowly fade, and the ghostly snows gleam out from the dusk.
By five next morning we were cantering over the Mackenzie plains, determined to cross these shelterless stretches before the heat grew unbearable. They are bounded by level terraces of river formation, and stretch from ten to fourteen miles between encircling hills, and to the eye appear almost dead level. There was but one spot where trees sheltered the road, and there the shearers were mustering to breakfast; the tents stood in rows, and the cooks were busy frying chops—a cheerful scene. We had six miles more to go, and we rode fast, for though not eight o’clock the heat was overpowering on these treeless plains. As we splashed through the many branches of the Ahuriri, winding like blue ribbons edged with green, we and the horses revelled in the clear, cool water, and came in fresh and very ready for breakfast. Even at this hour the thermometer registered 84 degrees in the shade and 110 degrees in the sun.
