RUWENZORI AT LAST 63 



whether the snow-peak had been a reaUty or a 

 dream, as I remember doing once before in 

 Switzerland. I was walking over through the snow 

 from Martigny to the valley of Chamonix one day 

 in winter, and just as I began to go downhill 

 towards Argentierre, I saw first one black rock and 

 then another, and soon every pinnacle and aiguille 

 of Mont Blanc, rising from a heavy bank of clouds, 

 seemed towering over my head. For perhaps two 

 minutes they continued clear, and then they vanished 

 as swiftly as they came, leaving only a lasting memory 

 of my first view of Mont Blanc. 



My doubts were dispelled a few minutes later, 

 when we waded across the Mubuku, biggest of all 

 Ruwenzori rivers, waist-deep, and so cold that it 

 could only have come from a high mountain region. 



There must be very few places in the world where 

 one can walk in a couple of days from hot plains 

 grilling under the Equator to a land of Alpine 

 frosts and snows, where sun-helmets and mosquito- 

 nets give way to furs and blankets, and the camp 

 fire serves no longer to scare away the lions, but to 

 warm the shivering traveller. I have seen snow- 

 capped peaks in New Guinea within 100 miles 

 of the Line, but dense forests and the cannibalistic 

 propensities of the natives make their exploration 

 impossible without an armed escort. But it can be 

 done in Ruwenzori, and the first part of it, which is 

 as far as we shall get at present, seemed to me, 

 after the many weary miles left behind, one of the 



