From the Horseshoe Fall we mounted still higher up a very steep ascent on to a flat-topped scoria spur, which immediately to the right descended into a rugged ravine over a sheer precipice of 400 feet, while to the left of the ridge, which we followed up, rolled the Whangaehu, at a depth of about 300 feet in the gorge below, and beyond which the giant form of one of the principal spurs of the mountain, built up of scoria and layers of lava, rose to a height of about 1000 feet above us. We were now high up in the mountain, and the cold wind from the snow-crowned glacier above swept over us with a chilly blast, while the colossal walls of rock, towering above on every side, cast their weird shadows around, and blocked out every ray of sunlight. We climbed for about three miles further up the dreary scoria spurs, the monotonous appearance of which was only relieved by the fantastic outcrops of lava rock, which jutted up above the surface in every direction, as if still hot and quaking with subterranean heat. One of the most remarkable features about these fantastic outcrops of lava was that time and the devastating effects of the elements to which they must have been subjected for hundreds, nay, thousands, of years, appeared to have left no traces upon them, the hard, metallic-looking surface of the rock being as sharp in outline as if it had but just got cool from the terrific heat of the stupendous fires, which had left their impress in every direction over the face of the mountain. Not a sign of vegetation was to be seen anywhere. We could not even get a glimpse of the country around, as the windings of the enormous gorge had led us, as it were, into the very heart of the mountain, and had surrounded us with its high, rugged walls. As we climbed still further to the glacier-crowned heights above us, the appearance of this wild ravine became still more desolate; rugged, craggy boulders of black rock were scattered about the slopes in every direction, and we had to climb over huge masses of rock that barred our pathway. Thick icicles now covered the ground, hung in festoons from the rocks, and bedecked the high precipices in the form of a glittering fringe, while the snow was not only on the heights above, but in the deep ravines beneath us. In the distance we could hear the loud roaring of a cataract, and, as we pressed on, the sound of the falling water resounded louder and louder, and at an altitude of 6250 feet another waterfall, far larger and more beautiful than the one we had previously discovered, burst into view. We had hoped that this would prove the source of the river, as it was now late in the day, and it was clear that we would not have much more time for climbing if we wished to gain our camp before nightfall. We soon found, however, that the great gorge still wound into the mountain for 1000 feet above, and that the true source of the river was yet further ahead. We took our first rest at