Mount Awful

On our second day our tramp turned into a climb as we clawed our way up Gillespies's Pass. Clumps of tussock grass scratched our shins and nearly vertical switch back trails induced vertigo. But each time we stopped to look back we were a little bit higher. The view - enormous.

At the top tussock gave way to snow and the ominous citadel of Mount Awful (actual name!) loomed over us. Thankfully it was anything but awful weather. The sun was so crisp and bright we had to shade our eyes. Crunching cautiously down snowy hillsides the view over the valley below was like walking into a fairy tale.

Braided rivers, steep glacier carved meadows, and high alpine grassland gradually gave way to gnarled beech forest. When we came out the other end we had met the Young River. Happy, but exhausted we pitched camp on the wide grassy valley. Camp food with a little wine we tucked away never tasted so good, even with the buzzing sand flies. And I even had a chance to cast flys for trout in the river - so clear you could see them. Huge, old grandfathers of fish! But too wise to me, a novice.

An awfully good day.