The weather was grand. It was sunny and the wind had gone off to harass people elsewhere. We left the hut and crossed back over the glacier detouring briefly to climb a very small peak at the edge of the plateau. I was the pack transport as we skied off the plateau taking Chris and my pack. Chris was on the nasty little fell skis which were doing their best to make his life a misery as we descended.
Once finally back at the car we skidded our way off the precarious ice, through the precarious tunnel, across a fiord on a ferry to a camp spot in low lying hills above the sea. Emily was very keen that we should stay in a cabin but Chris and I agreed that there wouldn’t be enough groveling involved. To try and cheer her up I built her a cabin out of a kit-set I found near our tent. Unfortunately she was non-plussed and decided not to sleep in it. Granted, it was a little drafty.
Above left: Chris and Emily celebrated reaching the top of a very small summit as we crossed back over the glacier. Yes, very small.
Above left: The view from our campsite out across the fiords was pretty awesome. Above right: The two choices of accommodation for the night were the tent-of-maximal-sqaushiness or the structure-of-maximal-draftiness. Despite the aesthetic qualities of the structure-of-maximal-draftiness and the fact that it had been custom built for her she decided to opt for another night of squashing with the boys.
Below: Cris is pack transport after Chris had a crash on the nasty fell skis. I was using Chris’ much nicer touring skis.
Below: A fly-by on skis.
Above: Choices of accommodation for the night.
