If all was as beautiful as the scene we could consider ourselves in some paradise, but it is dark and cold in the tent and I shiver in a frozen sleeping- bag.

The inside fur is a mass of ice, congealed from my breath.

One creeps into the bag, toggles up with half-frozen fingers, and hears the crackling of the ice.

Presently drops of thawing ice are falling on one's head.

Then comes a fit of shivers.