Swirling clouds and mist-
wreaths had obscured our view of the sound when we were entering, but
glimpses of snow-slopes had given us hope that an overland journey
could be begun from that point. A few patches of very rough, tussocky
land, dotted with little tarns, lay between the glaciers along the foot
of the mountains, which were heavily scarred with scree-slopes.
Several magnificent peaks and crags gazed out across their snowy
domains to the sparkling waters of the sound.
Our cove lay a little inside the southern headland of King Haakon Bay.
A narrow break in the cliffs, which were about a hundred feet high at
this point, formed the entrance to the cove. The cliffs continued
inside the cove on each side and merged into a hill which descended at
a steep slope to the boulder beach. The slope, which carried tussock-
grass, was not continuous. It eased at two points into little peaty
swamp terraces dotted with frozen pools and drained by two small
streams. Our cave was a recess in the cliff on the left-hand end of
the beach. The rocky face of the cliff was undercut at this point, and
the shingle thrown up by the waves formed a steep slope, which we
reduced to about one in six by scraping the stones away from the
inside. Later we strewed the rough floor with the dead, nearly dry
underleaves of the tussock-grass, so as to form a slightly soft bed for
our sleeping-bags.
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