It is little short of amazing that anyone should have selected Omarama as a settlement. It lies on the edge of the plain, with hungry, brown red hills rising round, and the far-off Ben Ohau range shutting out the view of the high Alps, which here and there show a snow peak, peeping over as it were. The plain is burnt bare, and is a uniform dull brown, riddled with rabbit-holes, and the only green is the patch of poplars and willows by the river. Looking closer, one sees that there is a thin covering of green on the bare hills, but the sun was fast taking all the life out of it. The road south wound away among these hills, sun-baked and dreary—one could have imagined the scene in Central Spain: the same hard blue sky, bare brown hills, and sunburnt road. The shelter of the inn was exceeding grateful, and so was a breakfast of fresh trout; and after that I reposed most of the day, till the afternoon brought a slight coolness and the blue river drew us irresistibly. But even when bathing, one was obliged to wear a hat.
We had made up our minds to push on that night. The plains were too unutterably hot and wearying, and ahead was coolness and blowing breezes on the hill tops. And so by seven o’clock we were riding over the last eight miles of plain, a hot wind blowing; and the horses left a long cloud of dust as we cantered across. In front was a bare range, rising abruptly from the level, which cut off the wind as we got nearer, and we fairly sweltered.
