THE PASS 279 



We reached the station at the entrance of this pass in 

 the evening. A heavy gale from the south-west was 

 blowing, and the rain was beating loudly against the 

 windows of the station-house. We were told that it was 

 impossible to proceed, and that we must remain in our 

 present quarters until a frost should set in. We were 

 not sorry to be compelled to take a night's rest, but 

 the prospect of having to stop a week or two until the 

 weather changed was not pleasant. The south wind 

 seemed to have completely beaten us, and we went to 

 bed somewhat disheartened. When we woke the next 

 morning we heard the wind still howling. We were 

 making an effort to be resigned to our fate, and as a 

 preliminary step we turned out to inspect our sledges, 

 and see if our baggage had escaped a complete soaking. 

 We were, however, soon driven in again. Although the 

 wind was still blowing hard, it had shifted a point or two, 

 and cut like a knife. The rain was all gone, the snow 

 was drifting in white clouds down the pass, and a 

 thermometer placed outside the window sank to 3° 

 above zero. As the mercury fell our spirits rose ; with 

 the thermometer 29° below freezing point the worst roads 

 must be safe, so we ordered our horses, breakfasted, and 

 were soon in the Kamin Pass. 



When Captain Wiggins came through this pass in 

 the previous December it was on a brilliantly sunshiny 

 day. The blue ice was then piled in fantastic confusion 

 on each side. The snow had not then fallen and buried 

 the signs of the skirmishes which had taken place between 

 the river and winter, before the latter finally conquered. 

 The thermometer was below zero, and the sunshine 

 glistened on the frozen waterfalls that hung down the 

 cliffs like young glaciers, and clouds of dense white 

 steam were rising from the open water in the centre 



