IX ON THE LAKE 255 
my route meant either a twelve-mile ride across two 
flooded rivers, with no means of taking my luggage, or 
else a row across in an open boat, which, judging from 
the present height of the waves, would not be an 
enviable trip ; so I determined to return to Queens- 
town. I ought to have taken the buggy waiting at 
Glenorchy where I had lunched. It all served me right 
for asking no questions. The whole way up the lake 
was one long panorama of magnificent mountain 
scenery, and Mount Eamslaw towered above them all 
in front of us with his hoary head of glistening snow. 
Several rivers empty their waters into the lake, and the 
long, shingly valley is enclosed by high mountain 
ranges with countless peaks of snow. 
Turning our backs again on them, the little steamer 
ploughed her way through the great waves, for a gale 
was still blowing, and only now and then through the 
dense masses of rolling cloud could we distinguish each 
near headland and peak, which gave height and majesty 
to the surroundings. The mists all cleared as we neared 
Queenstown again, and the jagged and serrated cones 
of the Remarkable Range stood out in black relief 
against the steely sky. They well deserve their name ; 
their inaccessible heights look like battered fortresses, 
and high up in their seamed and scarred ridges not 
even a blade of grass finds shelter. Nothing but the 
shivering shale and crumbling stones are here, no hue 
of life on buttress or ledge, and, as if in kindness to 
clothe the blackness of the cliffs, the snow nestles 
lovingly in corner and crevice along its steep sides. 
Next morning there was a clear, crisp feeling in the 
air, and the lake lay in front of us without a ripple on 
its surface. It was too bright a day to waste a 
moment, and, filling my pocket with biscuits, I slowly 
made my way up Ben Lomond. How lovely it all 
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