{"id":4755,"date":"2019-03-18T18:01:41","date_gmt":"2019-03-18T08:01:41","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/?p=4755"},"modified":"2022-02-04T12:56:18","modified_gmt":"2022-02-04T01:56:18","slug":"marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law","title":{"rendered":"Marie Byles; Zen, mountains and the law"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

A few years ago a young man offered me some photographic negatives\nand magic lantern slides for sale. When I looked at them, they were mostly of\nNew Zealand subjects which at that stage were of limited interest to me. The\nyoung man, however, was very keen to sell, so we struck a bargain and he went\nhis way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I took the photographs home I took the names of the\nplaces on the manila envelopes in which some of the negatives were filed and\nsearched them online, along with my estimated dates and with the fact in mind\nthat many of them depicted female mountain-climbers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It didn\u2019t take long to conclude that the photos were linked to a fascinating Australian woman named Marie Byles, who climbed mountains in New Zealand in 1929 and again in 1935. Most of the photos I had bought were evidently from her 1935 trip, in which she attempted to climb some previously \u201cunconquered peaks\u201d in the South Island\u2019s alpine country.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Among the resources I discovered was this page, promoting a biography of Marie Byles titled The Summit of her Ambition<\/em>, by Anne McLeod. I naturally bought a copy of the book, and discovered much about a dynamic and inspirational person.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

http:\/\/www.annemcleod.com.au\/about-marie-byles\/<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marie Byles became, in 1924, the first woman qualified to\npractise law in NSW. She was a pioneering environmental lawyer, a passionate\nadvocate for national parks, a feminist and a practising Buddhist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What follows is Marie\u2019s own article, from the journal The Sydney Bushwalker<\/em>, from 1935. I\u2019ve placed some of the photos from the collection I bought in sometimes appropriate positions in her narrative.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

Exploring Unclimbed Mountains on the West Coast of the South Island of New Zealand.<\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

MARIE\nB. BYLES.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
Harry Ayres, Marjorie Edgar Jones, Marie Byles and Frank Alack<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n

When\nmy climbing companion, Marjorie Edgar Jones, and myself arrived at the Fox\nGlacier Hostel we found that our guide, Frank Alack, had recently cut his arm\nso badly as to require several stitches. It had brought his previous party’s\nexploits to an untimely end. But, as they had had perfect weather and had\nbagged fifteen peaks in ten days, probably they were not at all sorry for a\ngood excuse to cease from their labours, for Frank’s enthusiasm is such that I\ncan well believe he would never otherwise have given them an excuse for wasting\nfine weather doing nothing in particular. That was the thing about Frank I\nadmired most. He was just as enthusiastic as an amateur, and with him as guide\nit required no effort – other than physical of course – to get up as many\nmountain peaks as possible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\nbad arm was fortunately nearly well by the time we arrived, and we had to wait\nonly one day for the doctor to come and take the stitches out. This gave us an\nopportunity to visit the \u201cGlow Worms’ Den\u201d. There was not much of the \u201cDen\u201d\nabout it, for the poor things are molested and raided by every tourist who\nwants to find out what makes them shine, so that it is a wonder they condescend\nto shine at all. However, there they were in spite of the tourists, the whole\nunderside of the bank hung with cold diamond lights from which fell long\niridescent streamers. Then, if you looked through the bush there you saw them\nagain, fairy lanterns in the darkness of the fern-shade.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The doctor came and went, and in the meantime Frank had hit on the brilliant idea of cutting out the thirty miles horseback ride to Mahitahi, and going by aeroplane instead. I had never been in an aeroplane before, and this, coupled with the fact that riding is not one of my strong points, made me jump at the suggestion, and not till sometime afterwards remembered that Marjorie had not been consulted. But Marjorie could not be found, though I looked everywhere conveniently forgetting that she might be in her bedroom. So Frank and I decided that after all it did not matter much, for she was small and we could easily have carried her to the ‘plane by force if need be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
De Havilland Fox Moth aircraft ZK-ADI (Marie calls the plane a “dragon fly” but the DH model of that name was not in use until after 1935, when this expedition took place.)<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Marjorie did not exactly object, for she is an exceptionally good natured person, but I have a vision of the ‘plane arriving earlier than was expected, and of Marjorie being hustled to it with one boot on and one boot off or something similar. As we hopped up in the orange dragon-fly aeroplane and crawled over the far below landscape, I began to realise why the air-service has come as such a god-send to the West Coast. In a flash of the eye we had crossed over turbulent, grey, swirling torrents which looked bad enough from above, and what they are to horse and rider I was to find out later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFor the first time I laughed at Cooks River\u201d, said Frank as he alighted, thinking of all the times he had ridden over its unbridged waters and striven to find a crossing where there were neither quicksands nor unexpected holes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In\ntwenty minutes the orange dragon-fly landed us at the mouth of the Mahitahi\nRiver. It is only a two-way landing ground, east and west, but as the wind that\nbrings the notorious West Coast rain, is a westerly, there is seldom a day when\nthe ‘plane cannot call there!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We were met here by Mr Condon Senior, with his horse and dray, rather a come-down after having just patronized the most modern and up-to-date means of locomotion. However, as the dray carried our heavy packs as well as ourselves, we bore its bonebreaking bumps with a stoical grin. We spent that night at the Condons’ farm boarding-house, where we made the most of a first class dinner, the last civilized meal before setting off into the wilds to batten on kea and dog-biscuits. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Horses\nwere practicable for the first five miles or so up the river above the Condons’\nfarm. And we rode partly over grassy meadowlands and partly through bush,\ncrossing the grey-blue rushing river with its grey shingles at frequent\nintervals, each crossing getting worse as the mountains closed in and finally\nwe tied the horses and proceeded on foot for the last half mile or so where\nthere was a cache of our stores..<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thanks\nto Frank’s excellent organization, Harry Ayres had been packing stores from\nthis point up to base camp for some days previously, and the arrangement was\nthat he should come back here and take us up the deer-trail which Mr. Condon,\nJunior, had recently blazed for us as far as base camp. But no Harry appeared.\nPacking up through the lonely bush and crossing that turbulent stream is not an\neasy job by any means, and we began to grow anxious lest something had happened\nto him. Anyhow there was nothing for it but to start off through the bush\nwithout him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\nwas an exquisitely beautiful bush, a dense subtropical jungle of all varieties\nof glossy green, above which the tall rimu or red pine dropped its weeping\nfronds, and the crimson rata flamed against the deep blue sky. Below them were\nglades arched over with tree ferns and delicate twining plants, while on the\nground was a carpet of ferns innumerable, mosses of that deep rich green that\nrejoices your heart, and the crimson rata flowers that had fallen from above.\nThe walk was like passing from one fairy glen to another more lovely than the\nlast. But I could never quite get used to the idea that New Zealand has neither\nticks nor leeches. I found myself unconsciously pulling my hat down to keep the\nticks from falling down my neck, or glancing apprehensively at my fingers\nexpecting to see the familiar trickle of blood from the slimy leech.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A\nshort way along Harry appeared suddenly from out of the trees and set our fears\nat rest. From thence he led us unerringly along the faint trail, but a trail\nwithout which it would have taken us three or four times longer to go through\nthat almost impenetrable jungle. It was a long enough tramp as it was, and our\npacks did not grow lighter as the ground got steeper and rougher. Only the\nprospect of mountain peaks to come made the hard packing seem worth while,\nbeautiful as was the bush through which we passed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo\nyou realize that my friends of the Sydney Bush Walkers do this sort of thing\nfor pleasure?\u201d I said to Frank.
\n\u201cGosh!\u201d He replied, \u201cSend them over here and we’ll give them as much packing as\nthey want\u201d.
\n\u201cBut we call it bushwalking, not packing\u201d, I demurred.
\n\u201cGosh\u201d! was his incredulous, but meaning reply. And even to the end I could not\npersuade him that I was almost the only member of the Sydney Bush Walkers who\ndid not rejoice in transporting a heavy pack through rough country.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\nwas necessary to cross the river once over and back, and the guides insisted on\ncarrying Marjorie and me, a proceeding which I felt was a little infra dig,\nsince I am accustomed to managing things like that for myself. But by the time\nI reached the middle of those glacier-cold waters, and found they were half way\nup my legs carried piggy-back, I was just as well pleased not to feel them\nswirling round my waist, as they would have done had I been on foot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

About\nhalf way through the day the unprecedented West Coast drought came to an end\nand made not the slightest attempt to return during the whole of the rest of my\nholiday in New Zealand – so much for those who say that if you will only\nprovide enough water-proof things, you are bound to keep the rain away. I had\nwater-proof garments from head to foot, and they had caused huge amusement when\nI tried them on at the Sydney Bush Walkers’ Club rooms. But the waterproof\nequipment did not have the slightest effect. The rain came down in torrents in\nthe usual West Coast style, an inch an hour more or less and generally rather\nmore than less. We were soon to reach the base camp about eight and a half\nhours after leaving the horses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This\nwas situated in an open piece of land near a stream with the bush on either\nside. It was about a mile above the junction of the Edison Tributary and\npossibly 2500 feet high. Cotton-wood trees with pretty white flowers grew\nnearby, and, as the leaves of these were said to taste like cucumber, I\ndutifully ate a daily ration of them in the hope that they would supply the\nvitamin content which I rather suspect is absent from camp food. Of the latter\nwe had about three weeks’ supply, and it included such things as pemmican and\nhiking biscuits, both of which were voted a great success. Of meat we had\npractically none, for we had brought a rifle and intended to shoot keas, very\ntame parrot-like birds which would come within a yard of you either to be\nphotographed or shot; they did not seem to mind which. When we succeeded in\nstewing them for twenty-four hours without burning them, they were said to\ntaste like chicken. Being a vegetarian the keas were not of great interest to\nme from this point of view, except on an unlucky occasion when I chose to\ncomment on the excellency of the soup, and it subsequently transpired that it\nwas on this particular occasion that kea-broth had been added to it!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In\naddition to their culinary attractions there were two other reasons for\nshooting keas; one is their reprehensible habit of settling on the backs of\nsheep and attacking their vital organs with their powerful beaks; the other is\ntheir equally reprehensible desire to run away with mountaineering equipment,\nand I have seen them try to make away with a heavy pair of mountaineering boots\nleft out in the sun to dry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But\nthat was at a later date; for the present there was no sign of the sun. The\nrain teemed down from a sky of unbroken grey, and we were devoutly thankful\nthat Mr. Condon had selected a palatial rock for our base camp. It was so high\nthat Marjorie and I could stand up in it in places, and its only disadvantage\nwas an underhanging ledge with a shocking propensity for knocking people on the\nhead at unexpected times.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harry\nhad stocked the cave with grass beautifully soft to sleep upon. The only\ntrouble was that Marjorie evinced a disturbing habit of kicking, and before\nlong I found myself ejected from the grass and lying among jam tins and primus\nstoves. Marjorie was very conscience-stricken in the morning – which of course\ndawned with the same teeming rain – and decided that next night she would sleep\nby herself under a rock near the stream, the bathroom I called it, but as the\nstream might easily have risen another six inches and turned it from a bathroom\ninto a bath the proposal did not meet with much favour. Indeed in order to wean\nher from the horrid idea Harry pointed out a much better rock about twenty\nyards away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
Base camp, Frank and Marjorie<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

I\nlooked a little longingly at the soft grass, for after all I had<\/em> enjoyed\nits benefits for a little part of the night if no longer, and then I followed\nMarjorie across to the new cave. I soon found out that it was good to be in my\nown camp again where I could mess about with the fire and endeavour to master\nthe art of camp-fire making out of sodden and reluctant West Coast wood. It was\na distinct blow to my pride to find Frank brushing aside my fire-making efforts\nas those of a mental defective – when all is said and done I have made camp\nfires in Australia for the last twenty years or so! But the West Coast wood is\na law unto itself. The principle of making it burn is to build the fire on the\ntop of a grate, as it were. Once the wood falls to the ground it gently but\nsurely goes out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For\nthree days it rained without ceasing. Harry had brought up a few magazines and\na mouth organ to while away the time, and Marjorie and Frank tapped a perennial\nsource of interest when they started an argument as to the meaning of a\ntraverse, a complete traverse and a grand traverse. These are mountaineering\nterms for various ways of climbing and crossing a mountains but as to which is\nwhich I leave to Frank and Marjorie. I had a feeling that Frank got the better\nof the argument, but Marjorie was a game little thing, and, in spite of her\ntiny size, never gave in over this or other matters. I once saw her engaged in\na rather unequal struggle with Frank as to whether a certain kea should or should\nnot be shot. Frank said it was grossly unfair and that she ought to tackle\nsomeone her own size and not a little fellow like him!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By\none means and another we whiled away the three days, and on the fourth, New\nYear’s Day, the weather made a good resolution for the coming year and eased\noff sufficiently to allow us to make our way to the head of the Mahitahi\nValley. No trail had been blazed beyond the base camp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAfter\nthat\u201d, said Mr. Condon lightly, \u201cyou can follow a deer trail\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\ndeer are one of New Zealand’s imported pests, and they are accused of eating\nout the lovely bush. We failed to see the least sign of their eating out of the\nbush, and not an overwhelming number of their trails either. And anyone who has\nfollowed, or tried to follow, a deer trail knows that they have a habit of\npetering out or dividing in two or something. But whatever happens to the\ntrail, the result is the same; you find yourself plunging through undergrowth\nand floundering ungracefully between boulders and scrub. However, one must be\nthankful for small mercies, and to the mountaineer the deer are decidedly one\nof them. They enabled us to cover the remaining couple of miles of bushland in\nabout as many hours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Above\nthe bush was about a mile and a half of open grassy slopes cut by steep\ngullies, and we soon arrived on the top of the Mueller Pass (4509 feet high)\nand looked down onto the Zora Glacier a thousand feet below, a great white\nserpent with a black medial moraine running down the middle of its back, formed\nby the junction of two neve fields. It was like Cortez standing on the peak of\nDarien and gazing down onto the unknown Pacific Ocean. A few deer stalkers had\nprobably penetrated as far as the Mueller Pass, but none had ever descended to\nthat glacier below and none had ever trodden the mist-enshrouded peaks that lay\naround it. The country had held its secrets unviolated since the days when the\nearth groaned and travailed in Cretacious times and left those rocks tilted and\ntwisted as they now are.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
Zora glacier and Zircon icefalls from Mueller Pass
<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

It\nwas not a very helpful tramp as far as mapping out our mountains was concerned,\nfor the mist lay heavy over everything down to five thousand feet, but it did\nenable us to locate a cave for the high camp. Frank was a great believer in\ncaves. He knew from bitter experience the joys of a tent in West Coast rain,\nand though I guaranteed my little tent to be waterproof, it having been well\ntested under the garden hose, he was having none of it if he could help it, and\nbefore the trip was over we were thoroughly of his opinion. Fortunately the\nschist of the district often weathers underneath to form caves – on the weather\nside, a most inconsiderate, but rather natural idiosyncracy – and we found a\ntolerably good overhanging rock which, with a little levelling and walling-in,\nwould be weatherproof and high enough to lie in, and in spots even to sit up\nin. It was situated at the foot of a glacier which came down from a snow col\nbetween the rocky peaks above. It was New Year’s Day, and it was afterwards up\nthis glacier that we first made our way into the untrodden snows of a new land.\nWe therefore called it the Matariki Glacier and Col, for Matariki is the\nbeginning of the new year for the Maoris, the sowing time after the rising of\nthe Pleides just before the sun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Having located our cave we made our way down again in mist and drizzle and spent another three days at base camp watching the rain, for the weather had already forgotten its New Year Resolution, would it ever stop raining? Remembering that we were on the West Coast did not help at all. Frank recalled one time when it rained for forty days and forty nights at Waiho without lifting once. Then there was the story of the West Coast lover who was overheard vowing eternal devotion to the lady of his heart: \u201cDarling\u201d, he declared fervently, \u201cDarling, I will love you as long as it rains on the West Coast!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then, on the seventh day after leaving Condon’s, a wonderful thing happened. I woke at 4 a.m. to see a perfectly cloudless sky above, and the first rose of dawn tinting the snow-clad heights which now for the first time stood forth unveiled in mist. I felt all quivery and excited. So the rain had not come to stay forever, and we really should feel our feet upon the snow and ice. Life seemed too good to be real. But we had to spend that lovely day in packing up to the high camp. It could not be helped, for to have arrived there in the rain with no means of drying – for it was high above the tree line – would have been unforgivable folly. It took the whole day to transport our food and gear, and make the cave secure from bad weather by building a substantial wall on the South West of its entrance. But\nthe morrow dawned half clear, and after satisfying ourselves that things were\ngetting no worse, we made a very late start at 7-30 a.m. going up by the\nMatariki Glacier.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After\nsix years in an almost mountainless land I was – once again among the snowy\nheights and with a new realization of their meaning. Still, silent and serene\nthey stood above the morning mists, but they revealed the stresses and strains\nof a living world that has lived through millions of years and is still living.\nIn their glass, the seasons of the earth’s course round the sun seemed lost in\nthe vaster seasons of geological time, where the winters are the glacial epochs\nthat have coated the world in ice, and the summers are the warm, dry eras that\nhave succeeded the great ice ages. \u201cAs for man, his days are as grass; the wind\npasseth over it and it is gone\u201d. And that is the secret of the serenity of the\nmountains. For what are all the petty cares of mortal life or mortal life\nitself when reflected in their mirror? In the next geological age man and his\ntroubles will be as it they had never been. Small wonder, then, the peace that\nbroods over the ancient hills, and the easing of the heart that is found in\nhigh places.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
Crystal Peak from the shoulder of Fettes, with the Mahitahi Valley at left.<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

It was a steep pull up the Matariki Glacier, and the ice was frequently sliced by huge shrunds. One in particular stretched from side to side of the glacier and we had to cut right down the lower lip and right up the one above it, which was certainly vertical if not overhanging. We reached the Matariki Col and found ourselves looking across the head of the Zora Glacier. The mists were rapidly covering the mountains and we had only glimpses of the surrounding peaks as we made our way towards the one at the head of the Zora. Fettes Peak we caught sight of to our right. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat peak has not been climbed, has it?\u201d I said to Frank.
\u201cNo, but he is going to be\u201d, said Frank meaningly. It was a prediction that won my heart, but it was unwise, as the morrow was to show. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

By\nthe time we reached our chosen peak the mists had swallowed up everything.\nStill, there was a wonderful thrill in climbing up that last bit of rock and\nshaking hands on the top of our first virgin peak. Below us we caught\ntantalizing glimpses of the head of the Makawhio Valley, the next valley north\nof the Mahitahi, rocky ramparts hemming in a wild gorge, but what lay in the\ndepths we could not see. So we gave up unravelling the geography of the mists,\nbuilt a cairn and put the peak in our rucksacks, so to speak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As we sat beside\nour brand new cairn on the top of our first peak there loomed through the mist\non our left a rocky aiguille which looked suspiciously higher than the summit\nwe were on. Frank declared it was not, and Frank would probably be the better\njudge, but Marjorie and I had our suspicions, and still have. Anyhow, higher or\nnot, we thought we might as well climb it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So off we set along\nthe snow ridge and dumped our rucksacks and ice-axes at the foot of the rocks.\nWe soon found that the arr\u00eate involved a knife-like edge of schist. Frank led up,\nand I followed, or rather I did not, and that was the trouble; I took a route\nof my own which looked easier, but led me right to the top, and I soon found\nmyself clinging prayerfully, and apparently not too elegantly, to a thin slab\nwith a sharp tilt on one side and nothingness on the other, with the\ndisconcerting sound of suppressed laughter from Harry and Marjory, who for some\nreason seemed to find my posture amusing. After a frantic struggle to get up\nthe steep tilt without handholds or foot-holds, I did eventually reach the\nupper end, but merely to hear Frank call out, \u201cIt’s not worth your while\ncoming, Marjorie, we can’t get any further this way!\u201d All my struggles in the\nmiddle of airy space, gone for nothing! But when I looked at the thin tilted edge\nof mica schist that led upwards, I had not the slightest desire to renew my\ndesperate contortions. It looked no thicker than cardboard on the top, and\nthere were no hand – or foot-holds below the top. I am confident that it would\nnot have stood Marjorie’s weight, let alone Frank’s. We descended, I taking\nvery good care to return by Frank’s route, and not my own. We had a look at\nanother possible way up, but it was far from straight forward, and as we had\nmade a late start – after seven in the morning the afternoon was far advanced,\nand we thought it wiser to return.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

However, we at\nleast intended to return by a different way, and make a traverse of the\nmountain, though which particular species of traverse, I leave to Frank and\nMarjorie. We started down a rocky gully, and with us also started down a\ncontinuous stream of rocks large and small. We moved one at a time, so as to\ngive the lower person opportunity of getting under cover before the next one\nstarted the barrage. Then we reached a \u201cgutter\u201d, too long for each to descend\nin turn, that is, too long for the length of rope between each person, and too\ndangerous for all to be in together. So once again we had to return having left\nthe route much safer by removing many of its superfluous rocks. But, as a matter\nof fact when we viewed our route from Mount Butzbach at a later date, we found\nit ended in a precipice capped by blind, or hanging, glaciers. So that even had\nwe survived the gutter, we should still eventually have had to return.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
Mt Query and\/or Doubtful, from the shoulder of Mt Butzbach<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Such was the ascent\nof our first virgin peak. We then thought it was unnamed, and for\nidentification it passed under various cognomens from New Year Peak to Sunrise\nMountain. But later, when we saw it from Mount Butzbach uncovered by mist, we\nconsidered that it was probably the Mounts Query and\/or doubtful of the map,\nbut of this more anon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Frank set the alarm\nfor 1-45 the following morning and we were off by lantern light before 3 a.m.\nIt was a starlit, dewy night, and we were soon wet above the knees in the long\ngrass lying between our camp, about 3500feet and the Mueller Pass, 4500 feet.\nFrom the Pass we descended down a slope, of mixed scree and grass, most\nunpleasant going. A steep slope of good scree is just fun, for you can put your\nfaith in the Lord, and run, but when it is mixed up with grass and plants, you\ncannot run and are always sitting down unintentionally on the most pointed of\nthe stones. For some reason the schist does not seem to make good scree; it\nappears to powder into soil without first turning into stones, with the result\nthat what ought to be a scree slope supports a partial vegetation between\nfair-sized loose rocks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We were glad to\nreach the Zora Glacier, about a thousand feet below. Our objective was Mount\nFettes on the other side, the mountain Frank and I had discussed the day\nbefore. We crossed the glacier, hearing on the way a splendid glacier-stream,\nor moulin, as it is called, racing below the ice exactly like a mill-stream\nthat gives it its name. Then we went up the little rock gully directly opposite\nthe Mueller Pass with what we had called Te Keo, or the pointed peak, on our\nright, and the peak intermediate between it and Fettes on our left. It was\nextremely easy going, just a rock scramble with a little snow in between, and\nwe neither roped nor cramponed until we reached the col at the top of the\nridge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
Fettes from the shoulder of Crystal Peak<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

The day had dawned with a lovely alpine glow on our first peaks, but it now belied its promise; a bitter wind sprung up and brought the mist low upon the mountains. As we went along the snow-slopes, we seemed to be looking down vertical steeps into a white abyss. \u201cFine view, that!\u201d said Frank ironically, waving his arm over the white nothingness. \u201cI ask you, have you ever seen anything finer?\u201d It was true that we had not seen anything finer, but it was a view that was: getting a little too familiar!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But, apart from the\ncold and the mist, the climb continued to be easy. The snow-slopes led upward\nat a gentle grade. And Frank tried to persuade us to take off our crampons. But\nMarjorie and I, being lightweights, have a fondness for spikes on frozen snow\nand resolutely stuck to our crampons. But crampons with the kind of strap\nMarjorie and I had, were a bother to take on and off, and Frank did not\nconsider it worthwhile our taking them off to climb over the rocks of the\nintermediate peak. Now crampons on rock, anyhow on my feet, always remind me of\na cat on tiles, or keas’ claws sliding down the iron roof of an alpine hut, and\nlacking the bravery of a cat or a kea, I generally end by getting stuck. Frank\nwaited patiently while I took an infinity of time trying to get round a corner\nwhere there simply wasn’t room for my feet and my crampons also. Of course\nMarjorie being a superb rock-climber does not mind what she wears, and would, I\nbelieve, cheerfully scale the most difficult rock-peak in high-heeled dancing\nshoes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once over the\nsnow-ridge beyond the intermediate peak we saw a thing that made my heart sink\ninto my crampons – foot-steps in the snow! That was the sequel to the proud\nboast of the day before. And who was it who had sullied the maiden purity of\nthe snow? Who had for stalled us at our chosen peak two days before at most? We\nfollowed the foot-steps up to the little rock arr\u00eate to the summit, and on the\ntop we found the expected cairn, and in it a card bearing the answer to our\nquestions – Messrs A.J. Scott, R.S. Russell, and G.C.N. Johnson on the 4th. of\nJanuary. It was now the sixth. It was rather like Scott arriving at the South\nPole to find Amundsen had got there first, only this time it was Scott who got\nin first. However, as Mr Johnson was an old boy of Fettes College, Edinburgh,\nwe could not very well grudge them the victory, more especially as he had\nreverently laid his college hatband on the summit as an offering from the\npatron god of his college to the patron god of his peak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Clouds swirled round the mountain and occasionally between them we would get a fleeting glimpse of Cooks River or Mount Cook. We tried to get a photo of the latter, but though I lay on my tummy for twenty minutes with my finger on the camera while Marjorie posed uncomfortably on a suitable rock, it was all in vain, the clouds never once lifted to give us a chance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was bitterly\ncold, except, curiously enough, on the very summit, and as we had left our\nrucksacks as well as our ice-axes at the foot of the rocks, we were by now\nfeeling hungry as well as chilly. To sit on the exposed snow-slopes below was\nimpossible, so eventually we descended a suitable schrund and ate Aulsebrook’s\nhiking biscuits and dates in the shelter of the ice wall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On our return we\nclimbed the summit of the intermediate peak, but alas there were scratches on\nthe rocks. I tried to believe they might be the work of ancient glacial action,\nbut in honesty I have to admit they were really very modern nail marks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
Landsborough Valley from Te Keo<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Then we climbed Te\nKeo, not a very high peak, probably only a little over 7000 feet, but it at any\nrate was virgin, and from the Mahitahi side the most conspicuous peak of the\nlot, so we built our cairn and put it in the rucksack along with the other\nvirgins. We sauntered down the easy glacier-rounded slopes of Te Keo, stopping\noften to admire the alpine flowers, daisies of almost countless varieties, the\nlargest being the size of small plates, the most striking growing with eight or\na dozen blooms on one stalk. Golden ranunculi with black eyes, white gentians\nin pin-cushion clusters, but loveliest of all were the little rock-gardens of\ndark-green, mossy plants, starred with golden gems and crystal flowers. What\nwould not the city-dweller give to transport such a rockery to his garden!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We had tea on the\nMuller side of the Zora, watching avalanches thundering down from the hanging\nglaciers opposite, such a booming thunder for such a tiny puff of white smoke!\nThe clouds hung heavily down to seven thousand feet, and of our mountains we\nsaw nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We reached the bivvy at 5 p.m., fourteen hours, having traversed the whole of Fettes Range and climbed about 6000 feet in all. Now we had to turn to on the far more Herculean task of removing the results of the blow-flies’ efforts to propagate their species inside our carefully tied-up rucksacks, sleeping-bags and tucker-bags! One admits that the propagation of the species is a necessary and natural function, but surely blow-flies might be a little more moderate in the number of their progeny. Theirs would certainly be a fruitful field for Dr Marie Stopes! Even after we turned-in to sleep we heard Frank indignantly turning blow-flies off the perches where they had gone peacefully to sleep for the night. And now you know why Marjorie named our camp, \u201cBlow-fly Bivvy\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
“Blow-fly Bivvy” at the head of the Mahitahi Valley<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

We slept the sleep of the just that night, and heard nothing until the alarm woke us to the sound of a howling tempest. When it grew light we saw the rain sheeting up the Talley at the rate of an express train and the fury of a host of demons. We were well underneath the rock, but the rain was beginning to blow in on us and find its way through the crevices in the wall we had built. We fastened the tent and fly in front by means of ice-axes, and Harry’s shirt which he had trustingly hung up to dry was commandeered to fill up the remaining gap. As for the crevices in the wall, grass, paper, and everything available was stuffed in, Frank in his enthusiasm utilizing his own safety razor to say nothing of Marjorie’s puttees and Harry’s socks! Then we lay down in our sleeping bags, packed like sardines in a tin with not an inch to spare between us, not even for Marjorie to kick! <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The storm increased in fury as the day wore on, and when I peeped out in the afternoon, there was nothing to see but a white world of driving water; even the rain curtains were swallowed up in the general sheet which swept up the valley with such fierceness one could hardly stand up against it. When I had tried out my little tent under the hose on the lawn, people looking on had said, \u201cBut you never get rain as heavy as that!\u201d Don’t you, just? The hose was like a gentle shower compared with the tempest that raged round our bivvy. \u201cWhat do you do if you find yourself in a tent in rain like this?\u201d I asked Frank. \u201cYou just pack up and go home\u201d, he replied laconically. It rained like that for two days, and on the third day I woke to hear the rain still streaming off our rock, and Frank calling out. \u201cSomeone’s left the tap running. Turn it off at once!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We lay down to doze again. It was while trying to doze during the day that I got dreadful nightmares – or daymares – as to what was happening in my office during my absence. Time and again I found myself struck off the roll of solicitors or forced to foot bills for anything up to a hundred pounds for disbursements on behalf of clients who would not pay. It turned out afterwards that everything had been managed exceptionally well during my absence, but no wireless to that effect relieved the uneasy hours when I tried to doze away the daylight. On the third day there were occasionally breaks between the rain clouds; Marjorie and Frank woke up sufficiently to continue the argument about traverses while Harry joined in a discussion on politics. I learned that Australia is a well-governed country; the first time I ever heard such a thing suggested and I was very surprised. One lives to learn! <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The fourth day was\neven better. On the strength of a few lucid intervals everyone indulged in a\nwash, and Frank considered that a shave would not be out of place. It was then\nthat the fate of the safety razor was realized. After lunch it had actually\ncleared and we decided to stretch our legs by going up the Matariki Glacier and\ntraversing the range from the Matariki Col to the Mueller Pass taking in the\npeak between. It was a pleasant climb for Marjorie and me, but not for the\nheavier guides who dared not put their weight on the frail handholds of the\nslate and phyllite which served to support Marjorie and MB. In the veins of the rock were perfectly formed quartz crystals\ngrowing like plants. We had found much quartz crystal in this district, but\nthere was an exceptionally large amount on this peak. So we called it Crystal\nPeak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
Crystal Peak with the head of the Zora in the background.<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Everybody felt more\ncheerful that evening; Marjorie \u201clost\u201d the ammunition so that the guides could\nshoot no more keas, but she eventually \u201cfound\u201d six cartridges which Frank said\nwas a very stingy supply. The shooting of keas except for food, was a second\nperennial source of controversy between Marjorie and Frank. I felt Marjorie’s\narguments were stronger, but when it came to frightening the birds away before\nthey could be shot, Frank generally won, especially as the keas seemed to aid\nand abet him by refusing to be frightened away. The keas, which were put into\nthe billycan, were stewed on an outside fire for which Harry gathered some\nsmall scrub.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The mists dropped\nlow that evening, and were still low when we left at 4 a.m. for Mount Strachan,\nthe chief Mecca of the expedition. As we topped the Mueller Pass we saw through\nthe mist the pale orange glacier of Mount Strachan, faint and ethereal against\nthe dim, hidden, sapphire sky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBet it’s going to be a perfect day\u201d, said Frank and no one contradicted him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By the time we\nreached the glacier the mists had disappeared and the deeply crevassed slope of\nwhite stretched as far as we could see above us, clean and clear. It would have\nbeen a difficult glacier to negotiate earlier in the year, but the heat of the\ndrought had broken down many of the seracs and schrunds. Even so, those that\nremained made it an interesting snow-and-ice-climb. We could not be sure from\nbelow which was the true summit, so we made for the snow-peak to the left,\ntopped it at 8.30 a.m. only to find a much higher rocky summit an the right.\nThe sky was flecked with cirrus clouds and a piercing wind was already blowing\non the exposed rook arr\u00eate. We therefore redonned our crampons and went up by\nthe steep but sheltered, frozen snow-slope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All the way up I\nhad been looking fearfully for signs of footsteps in the snow. But there were\nnone. The snows were uncontaminated by man, and the summit rocks (6359 ft.)\nwhich we reached at 9.15 a.m., were innocent of any cairn. And to match a\nfirst-class climb, a peerless view stretched out around us. Sheltered from the\nwind we lay in the sun and looked across the Zora Glacier to range upon range\nof black rock alternating with white ice, rising up tier above tier till they\nculminated in the crowned head of Mount Cook. Never before did we realize how\nthe Maori’s \u201cAorangi\u201d towers above everything, the queen and goddess of the\nsubject mountains round her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Clouds floated in\nthe valleys like unsubstantial ranges above which towered the sharp peaks of\nreality, or like billows of silent seas below which on the west we could dimly\ndiscern the white breakers of the real ocean breaking on the shoreline whence\nwe had come, ages past, it seemed. The soft murmuring of the mountain winds\ncommuning with the sea alone broke the stillness and seemed to make manifest\nthe spirit of beauty floating among the high places.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mount Dechan lay\nfurther along the range, but separated from us by a yawning gulf. It was this\ngulf that made us decide to tackle it from the Otoko valley further south.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/div>\n\n\n\n
\n
\"\"
Summit of Strachan<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"\"
Summit of Dechan<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"\"
Dechan from Strachan<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/figure>\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n

After lunch we started back down the glacier, a glacier that will remain in my memory as a foretaste of the white heat of hell. The mocking clouds lay below us instead of above, and nothing broke the fierce rays of the sun that streamed down onto a field of flawless white, to be reflected back with an added intensity onto our unhappy faces. Next time I go mountain-climbing I am determined to invent a kind of nose bag such as the ladies wear in Port Said. Marjorie often climbs in a woollen balaclava to protect her face, but that sounds a little hot to me; Zinc ointment is good, but one always seems to forget to put it on some vital spot, so altogether I fear it will have to be the nose bag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The wind, too,\nmocked us like the clouds. At eight thousand feet it was blowing the white,\npowdered snow from the peaks. But no breath of its cooling air broke the still\nglare of the glacier. The only respite was a few minutes while Marjorie was\nfeeling her way down into a schrund, and I stood in a cave of shadowed ice and\nleant my head against its refreshing cold. Below, Harry stood hatless in the\ndazzling heat. Why he did not get sunstruck is one of the marvels of nature we\nshall never understand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Altogether it was a\nglacier such as Geoffrey Windthrop Young described in that poem about the\nplunge into the glacier pool afterwards. Here there was no glacier pool, but we\ndid gradually descend into the shadow of those gentle clouds and reach the\nrelief of soft, green, grassy slopes where a peaty rill sang sweet, mellow\nsongs, luring us to drink its waters nearly dry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Arrived back at\ncamp we had a late lunch, packed up and proceeded down to base camp again. For\nwe had catalogued and cairned all the peaks we could at the head of the\nMahitahi river and the Zora glacier, but there still remained a first class peak\nabove our base camp. Our packs may be imagined, but would scarcely be envied\neven by bush walkers, for we were endeavouring to transport all our gear\ntogether with about a week’s food in one relay. Primus stoves, billies,\nsleeping bags, and all attachable things were draped over the outside long\nafter the inside capacity of the rucksacks had been thoroughly exhausted. Our\nguides must have shouldered ninety pounds each, and all of us thought longingly\nof Himalayan expeditions with their long streams of porters and the white man\nmarching free. Sad to relate my own pack was too heavy for me; I completely\noverdid it, arrived at camp at my last gasp, and was ill for a week afterwards.\nIt is so much easier \u201cto stick it out\u201d than admit failure and give in. One\nrealizes too late that though it is easier \u201cto stick it out\u201d, it is wiser to\ngive in. I record this as a warning to others, but I know no one will be\nwarned. I never am myself, so I cannot expect others to be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Next day I felt\nghastly, and perhaps it was as well that rain drove us back from our climb when\nwe had ascended only a couple of thousand feet or so up the dry gully behind\nour camp onto the grass slopes above the tree-line. The bell birds sang to us\nfrom the crimson rata trees as we ate breakfast the following morning, which\nshows we were decidedly late in getting up, I heard Frank calling out earlier,\nbut I thought, or pretended to think, for I was still feeling most unwell, that\nhe was calling keas, and Marjorie nothing loath agreed with me; we both\nsnuggled down again until the rising smoke made the previous explanation\nimpossible. It was 4.20 a.m. before we left, too late when you realize that\nthough our peak would not be as much as 7500 feet, yet as our camp was only\nabout 2500 feet, we had a 3000 foot climb before us, and unless we were at the\nsummit by 9 am it would be too late, for the inevitable clouds that grow to\nlife in the valleys as the day advances, would already have risen up and shut\nout the view.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This time we chose\nthe baby glacier, the source of the stream beside our camp, instead of the dry\ngully. It proved an excellent route until the rising sun, loosening the rocks,\nchanged it from a mountaineers\u2019 highway to a shoot for stones, which we watched\nin safety from the grass-slopes, dancing merrily over our footsteps of fifteen\nminutes previously.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the baby\nglacier we went up the shingle arr\u00eate and thence onto the glacier on the\nMakawhio side, the valley into which we had had such tantalizing but unsatisfying\nglimpses from our first peak. It was hemmed in by an impregnable bulwark of\nrocky ramparts varied only by the peaks we had climbed that day. And below the\ncrags we could see a blue river winding down a deep gorge and passing out of\nsight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The view from the summit not only solved the nature of the head of the Makawhio valley, but cleared up many other problems relating to the geography of the district. For after all it was only the second time we had obtained any view worth mentioning. We discovered that it must be Mount Butzbach we were on, and that the peaks of our first climb must be the Mount Query and Doubtful of the map, placed somewhat out of their true position in relation to the Zora Glacier. It also removed the last doubt that the source of the Mahitahi river is at the Mueller Pass and not as shown on the map.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/div>\n\n\n\n
\"\"
Strachan and Dechan from Butzbach.<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Once again serried\nridges of the Alps rose up one above the other to the crown of Cook, but this\ntime on the west we could see the whole horizon of the ocean above two small\npeaks that lay between us and it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We traversed the\npeak and, descending by the rock arr\u00eate, arrived back in camp with plenty of\ntime to wash clothes and remove biddy-biddies from them. Biddy-biddies are\nseed-balls with fish-hook claws, and they took the place of blow-flies in\ndemanding our attentions at the end of a long day. But, sad to relate, we\nshortly discovered that blow-flies down at base camp had also developed the\ntotally uncalled-for habit of laying larvae!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The climb had been\nas good as a tonic to me, but bush-walking for eleven and a half hours with a\npack, albeit a light one, undid all the good of the climb. We left camp at 6 am\nfor Condon\u2019s farm. Each time we rested I collapsed, and had eventually to\nsubmit to being dosed with brandy, vile stuff which made me wonder how ever any\none could become addicted to it. It was doubtless an exquisitely beautiful\nbushland through which we passed, but I felt I hated it, and longed to get out\nof it into the pure, clear air of the mountain tops.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At weary last we\nemerged from the forest, the valley widened out and we reached the cache where\nwe had parted from the horses coming out. Here we parked most of our stuff, and\ntramped on leisurely with wider views around and better able to enjoy the\nlovely scenery. They say a sick body makes the mind especially sensitive to\nbeauty. Anyhow I shall never forget the loveliness of that rushing, blue-grey\nriver where paradise ducks flopped over the boulders pretending to be lame so\nas to distract our attention from their babies nearby. Crystal-clear rills\nrippled out from the sylvan glades of the forest to join the blue-grey river,\nRata flamed against the blue sky, and scarlet lichen painted the grey shingles\nat the river side. Then the mountains flattened out, grassy flats edged the\nriver, a telephone line wandered out, and lastly a house, and we were back in\ncivilization after a fortnight of pemmican, biscuit and kea – not forgetting\nthe kea-soup!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now Frank, he was a guide of fame and far renown,
And Harry was a younger guide who hailed from Christchurch town,
And Margie was a mountaineer, though this she did deny,
And Marie really wasn’t, but she thought she’d like to try,
And they all wept together, as the rain it streamed down!
By Marie B. Byles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/td><\/tr><\/tbody><\/table><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\n
\"\"
Mouth of the Mahitahi River<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"\"
Mahitahi Valley<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"\"
Mahitahi Valley<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"\"
Mahitahi Valley<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/figure>\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n

We arrived back from the Mahitahi mountains to Condon’s farm boarding house to find a huge gathering of people there. The new-comers were engaged installing a hydro-electric plant to work a new sawmill which had recently obtained the right to fell the timber over an area between Condon’s and the sea. The hydro-electric installation would mean that Mrs Condon would have an electric range to lighten her labours, and what it would mean to the forest the motor ride from Hokitika to Weheka had shown us only too well. When the New Zealand forest is cut down, it does not regrow itself like the Australian bush, nor does it turn itself automatically into pleasant pasture lands. On the contrary unless the blackberry and gorse are sedulously kept in check it becomes a wilderness dominated by these pests, a desolation not of loneliness but of man’s destruction, \u201ca land of deserts and of pits, a land of darkness and the shadow of death, a land that no man passed through and where no man dwelt\u201d. I asked the young surveyor if it did not give him a guilty conscience to think that he was indirectly the instrument of making that hopeless desolation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\nfirst night we sat down ten to dinner, to say nothing of the Condon family who\nfed in the kitchen. How Mrs Condon managed to look after us all, I do not know,\nbut she never seemed flustered or bothered. Of course every one helped, but\nstill I cannot understand how one woman managed all that work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\nday after our arrival Harry went up with horses to bring our stuff down from\nthe cache. The rest of us washed clothes! Towards evening the clouds gathered\nonce again, and the rain descended. As I was still feeling pretty ghastly from\nthe effects of carrying too heavy a load, I was not altogether sorry for an\nextra day’s respite before setting forth up the Otoko Valley for fresh\nmountains to conquer. The only trouble was that the one day lengthened to six,\nnone too long for my recovery, but sufficiently aggravating none the less. Day\nafter day it teemed as only the West Coast can. One morning we had a flood. The\ncreek at the back changed its course so that the house was practically\nsurrounded by rushing water. To me it looked as if the farm would inevitably be\nswept away. But to my amazement the family were worrying only about the potato\nand gladioli beds. It seemed to me strange to worry about potatoes and gladioli\nwhen we and the house were about to go to destruction. But the Condons knew\nbetter. The West Coast river flats are so wide that they can carry off almost\nanything. They are used to floods; in fact floods are an almost daily\noccurrence for them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\nevening before, Frank had bet Marjorie that it was going to be fine; I am not\nsure which said which or whether Marjorie took on the bet in the first\ninstance, but I do know that when the flood swept round the house Frank said he\nhad won the bet, and Marjorie said he had lost it. Anyhow, the bet being two\npackets of chocolate Frank magnanimously proceeded to pay Marjorie in my<\/strong> chocolate which all worked out\nexcellently, because Marjorie would carry the chocolate instead of me, and I\nwould do the eating just as before!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the sixth day, Saturday, the rain showed signs of departing, and it was decided that in the afternoon Frank and Harry would go ahead with Mr Condon Junior and the horses, the idea being that they should make a base camp up the Otoko Valley, the next valley south from Mahitahi, that the following day Marjorie and I would hike over to Paringa about ten miles, be met by Mr. Condon and taken up on the same horses to join the guides.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mr\nCondon senior was going down with his dray to the \u201ctown\u201d that day, and he\noffered to take us with him. Neither Marjorie or I are too blas\u00e9 to reject the\nnovelty of any new experience, even dray-riding, so of course we accepted the\ninvitation with alacrity. Mrs Condon thoughtfully provided us with cushions\nwhich we used as praying mats when the bumping seemed a trifle likely to\ndisintegrate the human anatomy, and off we jolted, firstly through pasture\nlands and then through the virgin bush which in a few months would be no more.\nWe crossed the Mahitahi river near its mouth. It was running muddy and deep,\nbut the same blue-grey river rushing over grey shingle flats towards a grey\nsea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\njolted and bumped along the shore on the narrow cart track to the \u201ctown\u201d, two\nrows of brand new shacks erected by the timber company for its employees, a\nbrand new store which sold chocolate at city prices, and oranges at 4d each, a\nrather alarming price for a Sydney person who prefers them at forty for\nsixpence, but a price not unduly high for New Zealand. The mill folk had been\nlaying down a tramline and had taken up the roadway for this purpose, but when\nwe came along they obligingly laid it down again to let us pass!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Opposite\nthe mill-to-be was a weird kind of wharf in the process of erection, and beyond\nit again a weirder wharf still which has served the West Coast for miles north\nand south ever since the white man came there. It is constructed at the least\nunsheltered part of a very unsheltered, surf-swept beach. The beach is there\npartly protected by a rocky headline and is euphemistically called \u201cBruce’s\nBay\u201d, though it takes imagination to find the \u201cbay\u201d part of it. The wharf runs\nout from the high land onto a high rock on which stands a derrick. This rock is\nconnected by a rope with a rocky islet further out still. Obviously no steamer\ncan come alongside, so the cargo is discharged into a surf-boat which is rowed\nin and held in place ‘by means of this rope, while the derrick up above relieve\nit of its burden. When you remember that this is the only way other than\nhorseback of getting stores to this part of the West Coast, you marvel, not\nthat oranges are so expensive, but that chocolate is so cheap. You also marvel\nthat the steamship company calls its boats by such inauspicious names as the\n\u201cStorm\u201d and the \u201cGale\u201d. And you do not marvel that the \u201cCalm\u201d, I think it was,\nwas wrecked!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From\nthe wharf we looked down the long monotonous reach of grey shingle shore\nstretching as far as the eye could see. Behind the shore was the stretch of\ncoastal plain, flat as the ocean itself, and behind it again were the mountains\nshrouded in mist. Around us were wave-worn boulders of schist, looking smooth\nand greasy like polished logs of fine-grained wood, and I could never make up\nmy mind whether they were really slippery or only looked so. We tramped back by\nthe track along the shore to the mouth of the Mahitahi, and looked through\ngaunt grey flax bushes at the grey sea breaking on the grey sands. Grey sands\nare not as lovely as golden ones, but they have a fascination of their own.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Frank\nand Harry had departed with Mr. Condon junior by the time we arrived back, and\nwe packed our rucksacks ready to follow on the morrow. It dawned a perfect\nmorning, clear and cloudless with a crisp snap in the air, and a dew so cold it\nseemed like frost on the bare feet. Mr. Condon senior put us across the\nMahitahi river in the dray and thence we hiked along the main West Coast road,\na cart track which is practicable only for horses except in the winter when the\nsnows are frozen and the rivers shrunken, so that even cars may sometimes cross\nthem. For anyone who loves bushwalking there could be no more delightful tramp\nthan down the West Coast bridle track. Between Mahitahi and Paringa it passes\nthrough virgin forest land; ever and again clear rills come sparkling out from\nthe dark mysterious forest aisles, dance across the road and ripple in again\namong the tree-ferns and falling creepers. We dawdled along pleasantly,\nMarjorie removing her boots at every stream and I taking photos and\nendeavouring, quite unsuccessfully of course, to impress her with my recently\nacquired geological knowledge which enabled me to locate an igneous intrusion\nwhen the pebbles on the road changed abruptly from schist to granite.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\narrived at the Paringa River about 2 pm The flats here are fully a mile wide\nand stretch in alternating shingle-mud-grass and stream channel. We made a fire\nto keep the sandflies off and dry my stockings. And then, while the clouds\nheaped up in the sky again, we speculated whether Mr Condon or the rain would\narrive first. At 4 pm both arrived together. We got on the horses and crossed\nthe wide blue-grey waters, but the bottom of this river bed was smooth and easy\ncompared with the upper reaches of the Mahitahi, and the horses gave none of\nthose alarming plunges when you wonder whether they, you and the ruck-sacks are\nabout to go bobbing down the grey-blue waters never to be heard of again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\nParinga homestead had not been lavishly stocked against the possibility of a\nprolonged rainy siege, but there were sheep grazing in the fields and potatoes\ngrowing in the garden so, when the rain increased, we could regard the\npossibility of being marooned as simply another adventure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/div>\n\n\n\n
\"\"
The head of the Mahitahi Valley<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

We\nwere not marooned, but it teemed so continuously during the night that Mr.\nCondon reckoned if he did not put us back across the Paringa river at once, it\nwould be impossible to do so later, and as for the guides, well, even then he\nwas doubtful if he could get them down safely. The Otoko is a more difficult 2)<\/sup><\/a> valley than the Mahitahi, for it offers no\nexit on foot. You start up on the south bank of the Paringa, that is, the bank\nopposite to Mahitahi, to the aeroplane landing-ground and to civilization. You\ncross the Paringa, and continue up the Otoko, its tributary, still on the south\nbank. Thus in summer it is impossible to get out without horses to assist you\nacross the rivers, and by reason of the rivers rising you may not be able to\nget out at all. Had I realized these difficulties at the time, I do not think I\nshould have consented to the Otoko trip when there was only a week left, and\nthe certainty of missing the Sydney boat if the usual West Coast rain fell at\nthe critical time. We had now only about four spare days, so we sadly agreed to\nreturn, debating who was the most to be pitied:- Frank and Harry who had packed\nup all that stuff in vain, Mr Condon who had wasted two days away from his\nwork, Marjorie who prefers high-climbing and had given it up this year to go\nexploring with me, or myself who had waited six years for a holiday and had so\nfar had only four days on the snow, ice and rock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mr\nCondon put us back across the river whose waters swirled far above the\nstirrups, and went back to get the guides while we hiked tack to Mahitahi\nbetween sun and shower, often wondering, when the sun momentarily lit the\nmountain, whether it was cowardice or wisdom which had turned us back from the\nquest of unclimbed peaks. When Frank and Harry arrived back that evening they\nsaid that, so far from expectingus<\/strong>, they had not even\nexpected Mr Condon, and had quite resigned themselves to some days in a wet\ncamp, for the sunlight that had occasiona1ly lit our pathway had never showed\nitself in the mountain fastnesses, where the storm had raged with unabated fury\nall night and all day. They had had a difficult time getting out, and once when\nthe water was above his horses head Frank said he had all but made up his mind\nto jump into the river to save his life, but his foot caught in the stirrup and\nprevented him. They arrived lack wet and weary, but cheered by the thought of\nunlimited supplies of hot water in the Condon’s bathroom to make up for some of\nthe uncalled for cold baths which nature had meted out during the last\ntwenty-four hours. Frank turned on the hot tap in eager anticipation – and cold\nwater ran out! It was the last straw!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In\nthe meantime there was precisely a week left till the date of my departure from\nWeheka for Christchurch and Sydney, and I did want unspeakably to feel my feet\non the snow and ice once again; besides I wanted Marjorie to have at least one\ndecent high climb to take back with her. So I decided – with Marjorie’s full\nconcurrence, for Marjorie, as I have said, is the most unselfishly obliging of\npeople – to go back to Weheka at once, and from there to a civilized alpine hut\nwhence we could retreat on the due date even if bad weather came up. Of course\nwe wanted to return by aeroplane, but we found it was booked up for the\nTuesday, and, as we did not want to waste that day, a horse and trap to\nKarangarua river, and horses thence, were ordered. Once again the moon rose\nclear and cloudless in a cold, bright, frosty sky with every promise of a\nperfect morrow. And once again we woke to the sound of rain! It was not\nserious, but clouds continued to hang over the mountains all day, a consoling\nthought, for mountaineers, although they frequent haunts nearer heaven than\nordinary mortals are nevertheless no more angelic, and it would not have been\npleasant to think that other folk were climbing when we were not. The horse and\ntrap took us along the grey shingly shoreline where gaunt flax leaves flapped\nin the wind and the forest was bent low and compacted, and looked like hedges\nin old-fashioned English gardens. At intervals along the coast were shacks\ninhabited by gold-washers, mostly Maoris and half-castes. The streaks of black\nsand among the grey are prolific in gold and they wash it in races leading from\nthe numerous streams. Some had cultivated small gardens in the thick rich soil,\nbut for the most part, I was told, they are a happy-go-lucky people with the\nheretical view of household economy that money should be spent as soon as it is\nearned and without regard to the future.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\ncrossed many small rivers, the Mahawhio among them, the only West Coast river I\nsaw which flows between proper banks instead of over wide shingle flats, but\nthe one that remains in my memory is Steve’s Creek, whose sinister, black\nwaters swirled out from a dark, forested swamp. Then we emerged on the grey\nshingle flats of the Karangarua River, flats far wider than those of the\nParinga, but nothing compared with those of the Cook’s we had yet to meet. Here\nwe parted from Mr. Condon, I with a double feeling of regret, the first part\ndue to the loss of a cheerful person who had shared so many of our\nvicissitudes, the second to the fact that I would now have to travel on\nhorseback. Each time I mount a horse I seriously wonder whether bumping in a\ndray across shingle flats is not to be preferred!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This\nwas a pleasant enough road to ride, and I being the least experienced rider,\nwas relieved of all luggage which the others placed on their horses fore and\naft and also on their own backs. In due course we reached the Cook’s river, and\nnow I learned just why Frank had taken such pleasure in laughing at it from the\naeroplane. This river drains the largest glacial region on the western side of\nthe Alps, and is consequently full of treacherous quicksands in addition to the\nusual hidden holes lurking below the opaque waters. I followed the tail of the\nguide’s horse and all went well, but a stranger not knowing the river’s\nvagaries would feel very chary of venturing into those rushing, blue-grey\nwaters whose gods have received so many human sacrifices that the shingles are\npainted red with what looks like lichen, but which is probably the blood of\nthose victims. The Fox Glacier Hostel at Weheka lies at the head of the Cook’s\nRiver flats. Thus, after crossing the main stream of the river as well as many\nside ones, there follows a seemingly interminable stretch of glaring grey\nshingles, followed by an even longer stretch of flat meadow lands. As we were\nriding up the latter in the late afternoon, the clouds swept off the mountains\nfor a few minutes, and we caught a glimpse of the fairy peak of Aorangi, twelve\nthousand feet above, splendid, glorious and unearthly!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\nleft the Fox Glacier Hostel next day for Chancellor Ridge hut, which stands in\nlonely majesty on grassy alplands high above the broad sweep of the Fox\nGlacier, a pure white highway from the green of the plains to the regions of\neternal snow. About two miles up the glacier we came to the famous\nice-pinnacles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot\nmuch this year\u201d, said Frank disdainfully, \u201cnot more than sixty or seventy feet\nhigh. Most years they are ninety feet high!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They\nmay have been inferior to those in other years, but to me they formed temples\nof the ice-goddess, blue and silver spires gleaming against the dark sky; I\ncould have worshipped among them for ever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From\nthere we passed under Passchendaele, a scree-slope named after the fatal region\non the French Front. Before the Great Earthquake these slopes were\nscrub-covered. Since then the whole hillside has been falling away continuously.\nAnd in the night we could hear the thunder of the bombs falling onto the\nglacier moraine from the heights above. Passchendaele is a dangerous spot and\none does not linger long beneath it, but like many dangerous things it is\ntempting, for it brings down fresh-faced geological specimens of innumerable\nvarieties all ready broken for the collector. Coming back I collected a large\nnumber and trustingly gave them to Harry to transport for me. When we rested to\ntake off our crampons Satan led Harry’s mind to other matters, and the lovely\nfresh specimens – fully 10 lbs of them – were left behind, a matter in which I\nsuspect the reader’s sympathies will be with Harry rather than with me!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From\nPasschendaele we cut across the glacier again and up Purgatory Creek, so-called\nbecause Frank first made his way up it when the snow was deep and the sun was\nhot. This day it was merely a semi-dry gully and beside it grew lingering\nmountains lilies with their snow-white flowers and their cupped leaves already\ngathering the rain which had started to fall once more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When\nthe alarm woke us at some ghost-haunted hour the rain was heavier and we turned\nover to sleep again. However, half way through the morning it stopped, and\nthough a damp mist blanketed everything, Frank was not the one to waste a\n\u201cfine\u201d day. So out we went into the piercing wind and a world of white, and\nclimbed Chancellor Dome, a snowy summit 7000 foot high, while the mist\ngradually changed to drizzle. The only things we saw were gardens of golden mountain\nlilies, edelweiss and gentians, and a fleeting glimpse of a shadowy 3)<\/sup><\/a>, flooded\nriver flowing into a silver sea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All\nthat night, all next day and the next the storm increased in fury, and the\ndread thunder of Passchendaele’s bombs echoed up the valley. Each gust of wind\nshook the anchorage of the hut and it seemed impossible that it could not break\nloose and go hurtling over the precipice. The gale rose higher and higher,\nwater flooded in under the close-fastened doors, and we had to shout to make\nourselves heard. And yet there was a water-shortage! Any receptacle placed\nunder the pouring eves would have been blown away as soon as it had been placed\nthere, while to have gone down to the creek a few yards away would have meant\ngetting wet to the skin. Whenever there was a lull Frank and Marjorie continued\ntheir arguments about traverses and keas, along with a new one about booking up\nguides. Harry read dilapidated magazines, and I tried to make up limericks with\na suitably pathetic note, for example:-<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\ntell Me that Chancellor Ridge has a view,
\nAnd that sometimes the heavens above it are blue
\nPerhaps this is true,
\nBut all that I knew
\nWas a landscape of misty, white, watery hue!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then\nin the evening of the third day the mists thinned above the western horizon,\nblue sky broke through the clouds and a rainbow arch rose from the darkening\nhills. I went up the ridge at the back of the hut to see the rocky peaks at the\nhead of the Fox Glacier, peaks about which Marjorie and Frank had been arguing\nfor so long, but which I had never seen. But there were no rocky peaks. The\nstorms had coated the mountains in ice, and there they stood sharp and pointed\nyet white, ghostly peaks not of this world, and below them the white pinnacles\nof the glacier tossed like frozen waves. Away to the west the ocean of mist\nhung above the ocean of the sea, cumulous waves sweeping against dark hills\nbelow a serene forget-me-not sky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/div>\n\n\n\n
\n
\"\"
In the mountains<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"\"
The party in the mountains<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"\"
Butzbach looking over Mt Kinihi<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"\"
Summit of Query or Doubtful<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/figure>\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n

It was clear and cloudless when we left at 3.45 am, and a crescent moon hung above the hills casting a dim light on the snow and the silent white mountains which looked more ghostly than ever in the pale half-moon light. When we reached the head of the glacier the first rays of the sun stepped across the ranges, and far away the blue sea’s faint horizon gleamed with an alpine dawn, when blue and primrose shaded into rose and violet above the mystic bank of clouds, a ghostly horizon hung far up in the heavens to match the ghostly mountains. Then we reached the vast snow-fields from which rise the highest of the Alps, and down which runs a clear blue rill between the white hills. The snow-fields were threaded with labyrinthine mazes of crevasses between which we laboriously made our way. There were several steep pinches, but we did not rope. It is much pleasanter to climb without the rope to look after, and even with it I sometimes wonder whether it would be of much use on a steep ice-slope if anyone slipped. I have come to the conclusion that the only thing to do on such slopes is not to slip!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bic\nMac was about the only mountain fairly free from dangerously hanging ice, so we\ndecided on this. It is only a small peak, but the summit rocks proved about the\nmost difficult climbing I have ever done on account of the icy conditions. The\nfirst eighty feet of the rocks took us three hours! After Bic Mac, we climbed\nDu Fresne, only a snow-hump, but it provides a wonderful view of the precipices\nof Mount Cook and the ice-ridge of Mount Tasman, this day mountains of\nstainless white against a heaven of stainless blue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After\na twelve and a half hour’s climb we arrived back in a peaceful afternoon to see\nsmall black specks moving up the hillside, and some while later a party of\nseven men and one woman dumped their rucksacks down in our quiet abode which\nwas quiet no longer. They were probably all very nice people, but nature\nmislaid the gregarious instinct when I was born. Anyhow, as it rained next\nmorning, it did not matter that we were prevented from going to sleep till\nabout five hours before it was time to get up. As a matter of fact we did get\nup when the alarm rang, but, as it started to rain soon after, we made our way\ndown the glacier to Weheka instead of up the mountains, for it was my last day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And that is the end of the quest for unclimbed mountains in New Zealand. And such is the exhilaration of those high places that, in spite of the weather and the folly of carrying too heavy a pack, I arrived back superbly fit, with that delicious feeling when food is supremely interesting and irresistibly fascinating. After six years without a proper holiday it was a feeling I had forgotten existed!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A few years ago a young man offered me some photographic negatives and magic lantern slides for sale. When I looked at them, they were mostly of New Zealand subjects which at that stage were of limited interest to me. The young man, however, was very keen to sell, so we struck a bargain and […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":4892,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ocean_post_layout":"right-sidebar","ocean_both_sidebars_style":"","ocean_both_sidebars_content_width":0,"ocean_both_sidebars_sidebars_width":0,"ocean_sidebar":"ocs-gregs-blog","ocean_second_sidebar":"0","ocean_disable_margins":"enable","ocean_add_body_class":"","ocean_shortcode_before_top_bar":"","ocean_shortcode_after_top_bar":"","ocean_shortcode_before_header":"","ocean_shortcode_after_header":"","ocean_has_shortcode":"","ocean_shortcode_after_title":"","ocean_shortcode_before_footer_widgets":"","ocean_shortcode_after_footer_widgets":"","ocean_shortcode_before_footer_bottom":"","ocean_shortcode_after_footer_bottom":"","ocean_display_top_bar":"default","ocean_display_header":"on","ocean_header_style":"custom","ocean_center_header_left_menu":"0","ocean_custom_header_template":"13702","ocean_custom_logo":0,"ocean_custom_retina_logo":0,"ocean_custom_logo_max_width":0,"ocean_custom_logo_tablet_max_width":0,"ocean_custom_logo_mobile_max_width":0,"ocean_custom_logo_max_height":0,"ocean_custom_logo_tablet_max_height":0,"ocean_custom_logo_mobile_max_height":0,"ocean_header_custom_menu":"0","ocean_menu_typo_font_family":"0","ocean_menu_typo_font_subset":"","ocean_menu_typo_font_size":0,"ocean_menu_typo_font_size_tablet":0,"ocean_menu_typo_font_size_mobile":0,"ocean_menu_typo_font_size_unit":"px","ocean_menu_typo_font_weight":"","ocean_menu_typo_font_weight_tablet":"","ocean_menu_typo_font_weight_mobile":"","ocean_menu_typo_transform":"","ocean_menu_typo_transform_tablet":"","ocean_menu_typo_transform_mobile":"","ocean_menu_typo_line_height":0,"ocean_menu_typo_line_height_tablet":0,"ocean_menu_typo_line_height_mobile":0,"ocean_menu_typo_line_height_unit":"","ocean_menu_typo_spacing":0,"ocean_menu_typo_spacing_tablet":0,"ocean_menu_typo_spacing_mobile":0,"ocean_menu_typo_spacing_unit":"","ocean_menu_link_color":"","ocean_menu_link_color_hover":"","ocean_menu_link_color_active":"","ocean_menu_link_background":"","ocean_menu_link_hover_background":"","ocean_menu_link_active_background":"","ocean_menu_social_links_bg":"","ocean_menu_social_hover_links_bg":"","ocean_menu_social_links_color":"","ocean_menu_social_hover_links_color":"","ocean_disable_title":"on","ocean_disable_heading":"default","ocean_post_title":"","ocean_post_subheading":"","ocean_post_title_style":"","ocean_post_title_background_color":"","ocean_post_title_background":0,"ocean_post_title_bg_image_position":"","ocean_post_title_bg_image_attachment":"","ocean_post_title_bg_image_repeat":"","ocean_post_title_bg_image_size":"","ocean_post_title_height":0,"ocean_post_title_bg_overlay":0.5,"ocean_post_title_bg_overlay_color":"","ocean_disable_breadcrumbs":"default","ocean_breadcrumbs_color":"","ocean_breadcrumbs_separator_color":"","ocean_breadcrumbs_links_color":"","ocean_breadcrumbs_links_hover_color":"","ocean_display_footer_widgets":"default","ocean_display_footer_bottom":"default","ocean_custom_footer_template":"0","ocean_post_oembed":"","ocean_post_self_hosted_media":"","ocean_post_video_embed":"","ocean_link_format":"","ocean_link_format_target":"self","ocean_quote_format":"","ocean_quote_format_link":"post","ocean_gallery_link_images":"off","ocean_gallery_id":[],"footnotes":""},"categories":[498,1,502],"tags":[589,590,587,588,586],"yoast_head":"\nMarie Byles; Zen, mountains and the law - Photo Time Tunnel<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Marie Byles mountaineering expedition New Zealand 1935 photographs\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Marie Byles; Zen, mountains and the law - Photo Time Tunnel\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Marie Byles mountaineering expedition New Zealand 1935 photographs\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Photo Time Tunnel\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/phototimetunnel\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2019-03-18T08:01:41+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2022-02-04T01:56:18+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/Marie-Byles-NZ-1935-2.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"493\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"900\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Greg Ray\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Greg Ray\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"61 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Greg Ray\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#\/schema\/person\/bfd25496f62c954483e4fa9b695260c4\"},\"headline\":\"Marie Byles; Zen, mountains and the law\",\"datePublished\":\"2019-03-18T08:01:41+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2022-02-04T01:56:18+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law\"},\"wordCount\":12659,\"commentCount\":0,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/Marie-Byles-NZ-1935-2.jpg\",\"keywords\":[\"Frank Alack\",\"Mahitahi\",\"Marie Byles\",\"Mountain climbing\",\"New Zealand\"],\"articleSection\":[\"History\",\"Miscellaneous\",\"Vintage Photographs and Photography\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-AU\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"CommentAction\",\"name\":\"Comment\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law#respond\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law\",\"name\":\"Marie Byles; Zen, mountains and the law - Photo Time Tunnel\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/Marie-Byles-NZ-1935-2.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2019-03-18T08:01:41+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2022-02-04T01:56:18+00:00\",\"description\":\"Marie Byles mountaineering expedition New Zealand 1935 photographs\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-AU\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-AU\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/Marie-Byles-NZ-1935-2.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/Marie-Byles-NZ-1935-2.jpg\",\"width\":493,\"height\":900},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Marie Byles; Zen, mountains and the law\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/\",\"name\":\"Photo Time Tunnel\",\"description\":\"Greg and Sylvia Ray\u2019s historical photo archive and blog\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":\"required name=search_term_string\"}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-AU\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#organization\",\"name\":\"Photo Time Tunnel\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-AU\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/09\/photo-time-tunnel-logo-revised-660px-min.png\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/09\/photo-time-tunnel-logo-revised-660px-min.png\",\"width\":669,\"height\":249,\"caption\":\"Photo Time Tunnel\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/phototimetunnel\/\",\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/phototimetunnel\/?hl=en\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#\/schema\/person\/bfd25496f62c954483e4fa9b695260c4\",\"name\":\"Greg Ray\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-AU\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/9b92f424a3b8690680dbb9e465152b36?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/9b92f424a3b8690680dbb9e465152b36?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Greg Ray\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\"],\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/author\/greg\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Marie Byles; Zen, mountains and the law - Photo Time Tunnel","description":"Marie Byles mountaineering expedition New Zealand 1935 photographs","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Marie Byles; Zen, mountains and the law - Photo Time Tunnel","og_description":"Marie Byles mountaineering expedition New Zealand 1935 photographs","og_url":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law","og_site_name":"Photo Time Tunnel","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/phototimetunnel\/","article_published_time":"2019-03-18T08:01:41+00:00","article_modified_time":"2022-02-04T01:56:18+00:00","og_image":[{"width":493,"height":900,"url":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/Marie-Byles-NZ-1935-2.jpg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"Greg Ray","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Greg Ray","Est. reading time":"61 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law"},"author":{"name":"Greg Ray","@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#\/schema\/person\/bfd25496f62c954483e4fa9b695260c4"},"headline":"Marie Byles; Zen, mountains and the law","datePublished":"2019-03-18T08:01:41+00:00","dateModified":"2022-02-04T01:56:18+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law"},"wordCount":12659,"commentCount":0,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/Marie-Byles-NZ-1935-2.jpg","keywords":["Frank Alack","Mahitahi","Marie Byles","Mountain climbing","New Zealand"],"articleSection":["History","Miscellaneous","Vintage Photographs and Photography"],"inLanguage":"en-AU","potentialAction":[{"@type":"CommentAction","name":"Comment","target":["https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law#respond"]}]},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law","url":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law","name":"Marie Byles; Zen, mountains and the law - Photo Time Tunnel","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/Marie-Byles-NZ-1935-2.jpg","datePublished":"2019-03-18T08:01:41+00:00","dateModified":"2022-02-04T01:56:18+00:00","description":"Marie Byles mountaineering expedition New Zealand 1935 photographs","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-AU","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-AU","@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/Marie-Byles-NZ-1935-2.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/Marie-Byles-NZ-1935-2.jpg","width":493,"height":900},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/marie-byles-zen-mountains-and-the-law#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Marie Byles; Zen, mountains and the law"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#website","url":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/","name":"Photo Time Tunnel","description":"Greg and Sylvia Ray\u2019s historical photo archive and blog","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":"required name=search_term_string"}],"inLanguage":"en-AU"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#organization","name":"Photo Time Tunnel","url":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-AU","@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/09\/photo-time-tunnel-logo-revised-660px-min.png","contentUrl":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/09\/photo-time-tunnel-logo-revised-660px-min.png","width":669,"height":249,"caption":"Photo Time Tunnel"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/phototimetunnel\/","https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/phototimetunnel\/?hl=en"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#\/schema\/person\/bfd25496f62c954483e4fa9b695260c4","name":"Greg Ray","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-AU","@id":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/9b92f424a3b8690680dbb9e465152b36?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/9b92f424a3b8690680dbb9e465152b36?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"Greg Ray"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com"],"url":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/author\/greg"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4755"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4755"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4755\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":25738,"href":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4755\/revisions\/25738"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4892"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4755"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4755"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.phototimetunnel.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4755"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}