little glacier—cut off from the rocks opposite by an appalling couloir of bare ice, in which no living being could cut or hew a pathway—led upwards in wind-moulded bends and sweeps, and though steep enough to require the use of the axe, afforded no serious obstacle to our progress.
At 12.5 p.m., after a short halt, we started once more and found that ten hours of hard work had begun to make itself felt, and our pace was reduced to most sober and decorous limits. Half way up, a great Schrund barred our advance. Its overhanging lip, twenty feet above our heads, looked as if it would force us to descend a long distance, even if it did not stop us altogether. The idea of descending is always extremely distasteful to weary men, so we turned to our left to see whether anything could be done at the point where the little glacier curls over towards the huge ice couloir. Happily, a few feet before reaching the ice cliff, the upper lip drooped till it was not more than twelve feet above the lower. Collie was packed away into the inner recesses of the Schrund, where he anchored himself in soft snow and made ready for all emergencies. Hastings and Slingsby then considerately made themselves into the base of a pyramid, and I was skilfully hoisted on to their shoulders. From this point of vantage it was possible to cut inferior nicks in the overhanging ice below the lip, and, after many efforts, a good
