watched their master labor. And they were permitted to do so because they were the Captain's pets—and sea-gulls.
"They have followed me about the sound for years," explained the Captain, "and sometimes they are with me all day at the Heads."
As the launch glided away from the gloom of Mount Phillips and rounded a point, there leaped into view the granite mass so well described by its name—Mitre Peak. Rising 5560 feet above the sea, midway on Milford's southern shore, it is the most remarkable mountain spectacle of Fiordland; and no New Zealand mountain has a more striking contour, or is more widely known. The isolation of its loftier parts accentuates its distinctiveness as a whole, but it would be a very impressive landmark without this separation.
Mitre Peak is seen in its most beautiful form from the upper part of the sound. There it falls abruptly into the sound on one side, and on the opposite side it pitches sharply to the high wall that darkens Sinbad Gully, lying between itself and Mount Phillips. Mitre's barren pinnacle is the culmination of a long ridge, curving gracefully up from a high wooded flank. On it no man has ever trod.[1] Mitre Peak, apparently, was intended for man to admire, not to climb.
On the north side of the sound are the imposing Lion,
- ↑ A party of tourists claim to have made the ascent of Mitre Peak, but the truth of the claim is in doubt, there being no official record of the climb.
