AS FAR AS the eye could see, there were Christmas trees.
On the crest of Wenceslaus Hill, where the log-built
chalet stood, was a large map of the whole range, hill and
valley, rock and forest, telling a story which fascinated most
people who climbed so far. The map was seven feet wide and
three feet deep, supported by two posts made of weather-
darkened pine, each post driven deep into the ground. Over
the map was a shallow roof, erected partly to save the
climbers from the fierce rays of the sun, partly to protect
the colours of the map from bleaching, and partly to prevent
reflection from the protective glass surface.
This morning the sun s rays shone low from a gap in the
eastern mountains turning the glass to a vivid sheet of
flame. This fiery glow touched everything nearby: the
windows of the chalet, the outside showers, the benches of
rough hewn logs, the railing of knotty pine which protected
the edge of the clearing. Beyond the clearing was a sheer
drop of over two hundred feet, falling to sharp granite rocks
below.
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