Mount Norfolk (13016ft)
I could have continued traversing, hoping that the overhang would get less, or even break, but there was the danger of getting stuck on the ice in the dark, or of the weather turning in.
I could also surrender one of my three ropes to use as a safety line, which would be of use if the lip was tall. But if it was thin I was in danger of it breaking under my weight and being pulled down. I also hated the idea of getting near the top and not being able to attain it due to lack of rope.
Across the meadow is a shallow crystal-blue lake, about an acre in size, which forms an almost tear-like shape. I named it “Eagle Lake”, and near its banks is where I made my camp and set my things.
A small but fast-running stream feeds the lake from the east, and it is in these waters that I attempted to wash out the foul odour from my clothes, with somewhat moderate success. They still hold a slight alkaline smell which I will let nature take care of.
As we got deeper into the ice field, this solitude land became brilliantly white. It is a place I always imagine a cartographer might come to rest his head. By midday the crampons were out, and by two pm we were on ropes. In the late afternoon Mount Norfolk came into sight, and we were now at the base of one its sisters, Mount Menai (6,753ft) .
Starting out early the next morning, we made our way around the banks of the lake and northwards along Simpson’s path, which is a well-trod trail that skirts what is the first of Canada’s great national parks. It was established just over ten years ago, based on the concepts similar to those employed by the Americans in Yellowstone Park. The Park sets out to conserve two hundred and sixty square miles for public use and recreation, not just for this generation, but at least a thousand more. An act I commend and praise in my loudest voice!
September 2nd 1894. Mr. Wilcox, Mr. Bryant and their guide, Peyto, attempt the mountain from the west side. From observation it seems to offer the most direct route, via a small, tempting gully created by a waterfall which dried a millennium ago.
Within two days they reach a height of nine thousand feet and onto a graphite crag which forms a boundless citadel of razor-sharp ramparts. The heavens open, turning the already treacherous narrow paths on which they step into flowing rapids. Attempt after attempt is made to move onwards, but they are forced to make camp where they stand. Two days later and the rain shows no sign of giving up on its attack. It reinforces itself with ear-piercing winds. Exhausted, defeated, they sound the retreat and begin to descend.