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THE OUT OF DOOR
LIBRARY.

ON THE GALLERY— NEAR THE ROTH HORN SUMMIT

THE OUT OF DOOR
LIBRARY «* «* ■* «*

MOUNTAIN
CLIMBING

EDWARD L WILSON MARK BRICKELL KERR

EDWIN LORD WEEKS WILLIAM WILLIAMS •

A. F.JACCACI H. F. B. LYNCH

SIR W. MARTIN CONWAY

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

1897

.HI

TYPOGRAPHY BY C. J. PETERS & SON.

PRINTED BY BRAUNWORTH, MUNN & BARBER.

CONTENTS

PAGE

Mount Washington in Winter 3

By EDWARD L. WILSON

Some Episodes of Mountaineering hy a Casual
Amateur 65

By EDWIN LORD WEEKS*

III

Ascent of Mount Aetna 129

By A. F. JACCACI.

The Ascent of Mount Ararat 161

By H. F. B. LYNCH.

■55

By WILLIAM WILLIAMS.

Climbing Mount St. Ettas 225

LLIAMS.

263761

Contents

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers 275

By MARK BRICKELL KERR.

VII

One Thousand Miles Through the Alps . . . 313

By SIR W. MARTIN CONWAY.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

On the Gallery — Near the Rothhom Summit

Frontispiece

{Mount Washington in Winter —

Mount Washington in March

The Last Half Mile — The Summit in View

A Snow-storm Below ....

Overlooking the Clouds ....

Near the Tree Line .....

" Medford" to the Rescue

Tuckemian's Ravine from Mount Washington

The " Presidential Range " and " Gulf of Mexico "

Mount Washington ....
Frost Feathers — Tip - Top House .
Sunset — A Sun-Dog on the Snow-Clouds
Measuring the Wind ....
Valley of Amtnotioosuc ....
Mount Washington Signal Station
Frost Feathers under the Railway Trestle

Some Episodes of Mountaineering —

The Peak of the Zinal-Rothhorn from the Hornli

Peter Taugwalder, No. 2

Zinal-Rothhorn — Sunset

A Ladder of Ice — Zinal-Rothhorn .

The Ascent of the Dom — The Start at 3 a.m.

The Ober-Gabelhorn ....

Peter Taugwalder, No. 1

A Long Step — On the Gran Paradiso .

Josef Marie Perren {Guide at Zermatt)

Raphael Biner on the Last Ice Cornice of the Rothhom

Getting down the Ledge above the Saddle— Rothhom

Raphael Biner, Guide — Zermatt ....

A Rest on the Way Down .....

Page 3

from

9
■3
17
21

37
41
47
5i

55
59

65
68

105

List of I lustrations

An Ascent of Mount /Etna —

In the Lava of 1886 Page 129

Women of Nicolosi 131

On the Road to Nicolosi 133

A View of Mount ALtna from the Greek Theatre at Taor-

mina 135

The Church of Trasecca, with Lava-Stone Decoration . .137

Mount ALtna 139

Atna from the Harbor of Catania 143

View from Monte Gemellari, showing some of the Mouths of

the Eruption of 1886 . 145

The Little Path threading the Vineyards on the Slopes of

Atna 147

An Old Crater 148

On the Brink of 'the Great Crater of Attn a . . . .150
The Serra del Solfizio, from the Valle del Bove . . .153
Peasants by the Way 1 5 5

The Ascent of Mount Ararat —

Mount Ararat from Erwa?i, Thirty-five Miles Distant . .161

The Party en route 165

The Dome of Ararat as seen above Sardar-Bulakh, at a

Height of about 9,000 feet 169

The Summit viewed from a Height of 13,000 feet . . .174

The Great Chasm of Arguri 177

Colossal Blocks of Conglomerate hurled out of the Chasm of

Arguri 181

Lesser Ararat as it appeared just before reaching Sardar-
Bulakh 191

Mount Ararat as seen from the Village of Aralykh {the town
in the foreground). Taken at a height of 1,756 feet above
sea-level and about seventeen miles from the mountain . 197
Panorama of Mount Ararat, as viewed from Aralykh . 202-203
Kurd Porters 211

Climbing Mount St. Elias —

Landing through the Surf at Icy Bay 225

The Alaskan Coast from Mount Fairweather to Mount St.

Elias 227

Cutting Stefs up an Ice Slope 231

L ist of Illustrations

Mount St. Elias from the Northwest Corner of the Chaix
Hills, showing the Crater, the etitire tipper rim of which

was ascended Page 234-235

Mount Crillon from the Pacific Ocean ..... 239

Leaving Yakut at for Icy Bay in Canoes ..... 243

Camp at Icy Bay before the Start for Mount St. Elias . . 247
Wading an Arm of the Yahtse River on the return from the

Mountain . . . . . . . . .251

Mount La Perouse and the Great Pacific Glacier, from the

Ocean „ 252-253

A Rainy Day on the March to the Mountain . . . 265

Mount St. Elias, from Yakut at 271

[Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers —

The First Climb . 275

Sketch Map, Mount St. Elias and Vicinity .... 281

Head of the Dalton River — Water flowing from an Icy

Cavern .......... 285

Lucia Glacier .......... 289

View of Mount Cook and the Seward Glacier . . . . 294

Hubbard Glacier . . . . . . . . .301

A Thousand Miles through the zAlps —

Morning — From a Summit ....... 313

Halt at the Top of a Slope — Gurkhas and Swiss Guide . 319

Cloud Effect on Glacier 323

A Storm on Mount Viso — Forced to cling to the Rock or be

blown Away 327

Maritime Alps at Dawn . 329

The Slopes on either Side are Steep 331

Along the Snow Arete . 334

A Snow Cornice 337

Getting down a Rock Crevice . 340

In Wind and Snow . 342

Getting down a Glacier . . . . „ . . • 345
Interior of a Hut in the Tyrol (Kurninger Hut) . . .347

Street of a Mountain Village 351

Hannove^s Hut at Ankogel 355

MOUNT WASHINGTON
IN WINTER

By Edward L. Wilson

Mount Washington in March.

INE months of the weather on
§| Mount Washington are held
in the clutch of winter. Near-
*§ ly every day during that pe-
riod, on its summit, or within
sight of it, the snow flies. Its height is
6,286 feet above the sea-level. As Mount
Hermon stands related to the Anti-Leb-
anon range, so stands Mount Washington
related to our Appalachian Mountains ; it
is the Jebelesh-Sheikh, — "the old chief,"

Mount Washington in Winter

— for it is nearly always hoary-headed,
and its broad shoulders reach far above
and beyond those of its neighbors.

The tens of thousands of people who
visit its summit, after the tree-line is
passed, see only a confusion of rocks on
the steep inclines — naked, hard, sharp,
time-worn, and weather-beaten rocks —
on every side. If Nature ever tried to
vary the scene by the power of her crea-
tive forces, the wind and storm have long
ago mercilessly swept away every bush and
blade, and torn loose every vestige of cling-
ing moss and curling lichen. Only the
barren stone and the detritus of centuries
lie there, all as desolate as death. From
the distance and from the mountain air
the pleasure-giving comes. Only a few of
those who have thus seen "the crown of
New England " know anything of its win-
ter glories ; while fewer still have climbed
over the snow to its summit. The day is
coming, though, when the popular win-
ter resorts will include Mount Washington,
and the hotel on its summit will be well
patronized by delighted climbers. For over
a dozen years a winter visit was made less
hazardous by the establishment of a United
States Signal Service station there ; for it
was some moral help to the adventurous

Mount Washington in Winter

visitor to know that, should rough weather
overtake him while making his explora-
tions, he could find a place of refuge and
a soldier's welcome until it was safe to
make the descent. It would be madness
to make the winter visit at the present
time, however ; for the government sta-
tion has been abandoned, and there is
no place of refuge there. When a better
state of things prevails again, or when food
and fuel are taken along, then it will be
possible for others to share the pleasures
and beauties I will try to describe — pro-
vided only, however, that a good supply
of health, strength, and courage, sound
lungs, a manageable heart, an experienced
guide, and a cheerful method of taking
disappointment, are also guaranteed. The
weather and the condition of the highway
vary ; therefore cold and storm may change
every plan, and close in upon every pros-
pect of pleasure on the summit, after all
the labor and fatigue of the climb are
accomplished. Under such hard circum-
stances the philosophical mountaineer will
form a plucky resolve to try for better for-
tune the next time winter comes along.

The best time to make the ascent is
during the first week of March. Then the
sun begins to play more warmly upon the

Mount Washington in Winter

snowy slopes, and the coolness of the nights
forms a splendid crust upon which to climb.
Moreover, less new snow is apt to fall after
February turns its back. Of course the
bare rocks afford better going than either
crust or snow ; but then, if the rocks were
bare, it would not be Mount Washington
in winter.

More than twenty-five years ago I met
a friend who was just learning to focus
a camera. I did not know much about
photography or mountain-climbing then ;
but ever since we have studied their pos-
sibilities together, and they have drawn
us into many a strange adventure. This
weathering of so many years has strength-
ened a friendship which cannot be broken.
I could not write what I have planned
without associating the name of this friend
— Benjamin W. Kilburn — with it. To-
gether we have ascended and descended
Mount Washington five times in winter.
The glories and incidents of those bright
spots in our lives I want to place on record,
and illustrate some of them with the work
of the third individual of our compact, —
the camera.

The start was made from Littleton
about seven p.m., March 2, 1870. The

Mount Washington in Winter

^&x#2-

s s i

7!fe Za«f Half Mile — The Summit in View.

night was clear and cold, and the wind had
fallen to a minimum. Through the long
avenues of snow-clad evergreens we sped,
getting out of the sleigh and trudging
after it when we came to the higher hills,
in order to make it easier for our willing
horse and to warm our feet. How the
frozen snow screeched as the sharp steel
ran over it and cut it asunder ! I think I
never saw so many stars. They were un-
dimmed by any intervening vapors, and
they sparkled with unusual brightness.

Mount Washington in Winter

Their light, caught by the freezing vapor
which arose from the body of our little
horse, formed a nimbus about her head ;
her nostrils seemed to send forth streams
of phosphorescence as she sped along. It
vvas so still too ! The creaking and crack-
ing of the ice, disturbed by the swelling
of the Ammonoosuc from the melted snow
which had been sent down from the heights
during the day, and the ever-constant roar
of the distant cascades, broke the quiet of
the night ; but everything else was still.
The lights were all out, even in the camps
of the wood-choppers by the way, and we
seemed to have all the world. to ourselves.
It grew colder and colder as the three hours
rolled by, and we found ourselves alternat-
ing with the lunch-kettle and a tramp after
the sleigh to keep up circulation. It was
a new experience to me, and sometimes
I wished it was not quite so oppressively
lonely. Just after we crossed the river we
were startled by a crashing noise among
the broken tree limbs which protruded
from the snow. We had surprised a noble
deer that was coming down into the val-
ley to find water. As he disappeared into
the forest he gave that shrill, defiant snort
with which we were so familiar; and we
felt that, having no rifle with us, we had

Mount Washington in Winter

A Snow-storm below

Mount Washington in Winter

missed one of the great opportunities of
our lives.

To lessen the fatigue of the ascent, we
planned to halt at the White Mountain
House over night. It was ten o'clock
when we reached there. We were not
sure that even a watchman would be in
the hotel at that season of the year, but
we took the chances. After considerable
pounding at the door, an upper window
was opened, and a head appeared. It was
evidently a dazed head, for in answer to
our application for admission it said, " I
guess I can't let you in, for the fires are
all out and I am alone." Upon being
assured that we both knew how to build
a fire, and that we were not dangerous
characters, the gigantic wood-chopper who
had the place in charge came down to the
door in his bare feet and admitted us; al-
though, he averred, " it looked like a fool-
ish kind of bizniss to try to go up that
maountin.,, We thawed away his theo-
ries, however, and sealed a contract with
him to " kerry " us to the base of Mount
Washington next morning on his wood-
sled, and to take good care of our horse
until we returned. Then we " turned in."

Bright and early the logger's sled and
two strong horses awaited us at the door

Mount Washington in Winter

next morning ; and long before the sun
rose, our faces were turned toward our
far-away objective point. In less than an
hour we came to deep snow, and the horses
began to fret and flounder. At times the
drifts were so deep that all hands were
obliged to help shovel a way for the horses
to pass through. Every mountain was shut
in when the journey began, but when the
sun came up the clouds grew uneasy and
rolled about. At intervals they opened and
revealed the snowy tops of the mountains,
with the glorious blue over them. Then
they closed in again, swathed the great
domes, and drove the light back. The
quick changes, with their strange contrasts,
were exceedingly striking, and occupied
our entire attention. With what system-
atic intermittence creation and destruction
seemed to work ! The clouds often hung
like a tunic upon the mountains, with just
their heads appearing; and then they would
rise diagonally, like the knife of a guillo-
tine, only to fall quickly, and cause the vio-
lent struggling and writhing to be repeated.
At intervals the sun obtained the mastery,
charging once more with his brigades and
divisions ; at the point of the bayonet he
swept down the swaggering haze, and not
even the smoke of battle remained. At

Mount Washington in Winter

rare moments it was beautifully clear, when
a magnificent panorama was spread be-
fore us. In such sharp detail did Mount
Washington then stand out, that, even
with our experience, we fairly shuddered
at the thought of climbing up its bleak
and broken incline. The sun, acting like
the developer upon the photographic plate,
brought out

the delica- g^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^Sk
cies of light
and shade
with aston-
ishing pow-
er.

As we ap-
proached the
base of the
mountain we
found that a
fresh, deep
snow had
fallen during
the n ig h t,
through
which it was
impossible for the horses to pass. We sent
them back to their stable, took to the snow-
shoes, and pushed on. It was then snowing
hard, but there was nothing discouraging

Overlooking the Clouds.

Mount Washington in Winter

about that. We knew there was a loggers'
cabin in the woods near the old railroad
depot, where we could rest and recupe-
rate. We reached it just as "John," the
caterer in the camp, had poured the water
on the coffee for dinner. We were invited
to partake of the humble meal of corn-
bread, potatoes, coffee, boiled pickled pork,
and black molasses. But I was too hungry
to depend on such fare, and secretly sneaked
out to the woodshed where we landed our
luggage, and made a requisition on the
lunch-kettle we had brought from Little-
ton. (It is only fair to the warm-hearted
loggers to say that when I returned from
the summit a few days after, I was so
changed, in some way, that I heartily
enjoyed their food.)

A consultation was now held as to the
propriety of making the ascent. " Mike,"
one of the sturdy woodsmen, said the
weather was threatening, " but we might
git up before the storm caught us." The
crust was all we could desire, as no snow
had fallen upon the mountain during the
night.

It was determined to push on and fol-
low the railroad track, only diverting from
it when we discovered a better crust, or the
deep drifts made it dangerous. It was a

Mount Washington in Winter

mercy to us that the sky was overcast, for
our eyes were thus spared much pain.
Mike accompanied us, " to help carry the
traps," I was informed ; but in reality, as
I afterward discovered, to help to carry
me, in case I should " faint by the way-
side." At first I was not allowed to bear
any of the luggage. Even my overcoat
was carried for me when the work grew
warm. But as I displayed my power to
endure, first my coat, then the lunch-kettle,
and then portions of the apparatus, were
gradually piled upon me, until I bore a full
share of the load. The "wet" photo-
graphic process was all we knew about
then, and our developing-tent and appara-
tus aggregated some seventy-five pounds in
weight. Modern " dry "-process workers
would abandon their pleasant hobby if
forced to carry such a load as that. Noth-
ing occurred to mar the pleasure of the
climb until long after the tree-line was
passed, and we came out into the " open
country." The snow grew softer, even
though the sun was not shining. When
we could, we took to the rocks in prefer-
ence. Sometimes they were slippery with
ice, when it seemed wiser to walk around
them and hold on to them. As to one
walking along a muddy path, or over a

Mount Washington in Winter

pavement covered with slush, the opposite
side ever seems the most enticing, and he,
constantly changing his course from side to
side, lengthens his journey with but little
gain ; so, when ascending a mountain in
winter weather, one is always tempted to
diverge from rocks to snow, and vice versa.
Hands and knees were sometimes applied
to the rocks. Occasionally a broad plat-
form of clear gray granite afforded a place
of rest and an opportunity to look down
upon the white world from which we had
risen. But when we turned toward the
summit of the " chief," only gray clouds
met the view. Not long before we reached
the Half-way House an advance guard
of great snowflakes came down upon us.
They flew about as frantically as hornets.
The wind became as fitful as a madcap,
and drove us to the leeward of some of the
higher rocks to escape the shaking it threat-
ened. Now the snow seemed ground to
powder, and was spurted into our faces with
cutting force.

Then we entered a falling cloud, just as
we veered to the right for the last long
climb, when a cold northeast sleet-storm
assailed us on the left. I never heard such
a grinding din as wild Nature then made.
We could not see a yard ahead, and the

Mount Washing/on in Winter

, o^^

Near the Tree-line.

noise was so deafening we could hardly
hear each other speak.

"Keep the railway in sight, gentlemen,
or we are in danger of losing our way,"
said the cautious Mike.

We were now perspiring " like August
horses," — on the side turned from the
sleet. On the side toward the storm our
beards were gradually lengthening to our

Mount Washington in Winter

hips. Suddenly the wind grew more vio-
lent and erratic, and it became darker
than twilight. We could not stand alone.
Joined arm in arm, one following the
other sidewise, we made our way with
great difficulty up the now steepest part of
the climb. We had looked for " Jacob's
Ladder " as a landmark to guide us; but
the driving sleet hid it from us, and we
passed it by unwittingly. We bore to the
left to try to find it and get our direction;
but failing, we turned to the right again,
and tried to make a bee-line across the
great curve of the railway to the summit.
We floundered about there, confused and
bewildered by the* storm, and were some-
times compelled to stop, bend forward, and
turn our backs until the gusts had spent
their strength. We were never cold, and
made up our minds to gather all the en-
joyment we could from this new experi-
ence. Many a battle with the elements
had been fought by us all in the days and
nights gone by, so it was now rather ex-
hilarating than otherwise. The real dan-
ger of the situation, while it did not make
us afraid, caused us to cling closely while
we made one more effort to gain ground
against the storm.

"Mike, do you know where we are?"

Mount Washington in Winter

" Yis, sur ; to an ell," he said.

What a noise was going on then ! A
thousand whirling stone-crushers, with
hoppers filled with the granite of Mount
Washington, could not make a greater
racket. What a giddy shambling followed
Mike's last honest effort to bring us to a
place of refuge! Suddenly we came into
collision with an immovable body. The
shock separated us. I saw a black, square
something nearly facing me. Involun-
tarily I put my arms out, and made a
desperate effort to embrace it. When I
recovered I found it had embraced me.
I had fallen into the open doorway of
the old depot building, wherein was lo-
cated the first signal station of Uncle
Sam's weather bureau. My companions
followed with less demonstration. In five
minutes we stood over the government
cook-stove, thawing out the icicles from
our whiskers. The quarters of the ob-
servers then consisted of one room, with
double floor and padded sides in the south-
west corner of the building. Two stoves
were used to keep the apartment warm,
and very often they failed. Sometimes the
wind drew all the heat up the chimneys
as a cork is drawn from a bottle. We were
made welcome by the observers, who were

Mount Washington in Winter

expecting us. I thought I had never seen
so comfortable a place ; but, in fact, I never
passed so terrible a night. The great frame
building rocked to and fro like a ship at
the mercy of the sea, and the growling of
the storm was more frightful than anything
I had ever experienced on the water. The
sleeping-places — deep, well-fastened bunks
— were arranged at the south end of the
room, one over the other, and were stuffed
nearly full with blankets. Yet one could
scarcely keep wedged in or warm ; to sleep
was impossible.

The ascents which followed varied but
little in general method, except that the
start was always made in the morning long
before daylight ; and good weather blessing
us, as a rule, we were favored with such
natural phenomena as come only in the
mountains, and to those who love them
enough to arise early in the day to greet
them.

Our fifth and last ascent was made March
2, 1886. Modern inventions assisted. The
" dry "-processes of photography were em-
ployed ; and the journey to the base of
Mount Washington was made, mostly be-
fore daylight, by the inglorious means sup-
plied by a caboose on a lumber train. A

Mount Washington in Winter

deep snow had fallen upon the mountain
the night before, so the ascent had to be
started on snow-shoes. We followed the
sled-road of the loggers for nearly a mile
before reaching the railway. The trees
were magnificently loaded. Falls and pit-
falls were frequent as soon as we reached
the mountain, because the new snow fell
upon that which a rain-storm had soaked
the day

previous. ^~.,~ ______ ,„ __ --^^^■■ai

Before
we left
the trees
we heard
a blast
from an
Alpine
horn;
and then
we saw
the great St.
Bernard dog,
" Medford,"
come bound-
d o w n

'Medford " to the Rescue.

through the snow, barking a welcome.
He was our old friend, and very quickly
secured the friendship of John's black
Newfoundland by having a frantic tussle

Mount Washington in U'inter

with him in the snow. Medford was
followed by two of the members of the
Signal Service. We had telegraphed our
start from the base, and they came down
to meet us. The snow-shoes were left
at the tree-line, where we took to the
rock and crust. But both were so de-
spairingly wet and slippery that we left
them and tried the cog-rail. It was too
dangerously icy ; so our last resort was
the cross-ties, upon which there remained
a few inches of new snow. Thus we as-
cended the rest of the way, helped by our
alpenstocks each step in advance, strain-
ing and clinging and bowed down to the
work. It required a desperate effort to hold
our own against the wind betimes, and a
continuously cool head was needed to grasp
the situation. When crossing "Jacob's Lad-
der" we were compelled to resort to "all-
fours," and more than once to lie flat and
warmly embrace the ice-clad sleepers until
the gusts had spent their strength. Taken
altogether, this was the most difficult iscent
we made. Aching muscles testified for
a week afterward that snow-clad railroad
cross-ties do not supply the choicest kind
of going to the mountain climber.

It was fortunate for us that we did not
plan to make our excursion three days

Mount 11 ashington in Winter

earlier, for on Feb. 27 one of the most vi-
olent storms ever known on the moun-
tain took place. The " boys" thought
their last day had come. When we tapped
at the observatory door the sun shone so
brightly, and the air was so clear, that it
was hard to realize that it was ever any
other way there. We had often realized
differently, however. I must now turn to
the account of some of our experiences in
the neighborhood.

So restless are the elements on Mount
Washington that one must move alertly in
order to keep pace with the strange mu-
tations which they bring about. A sight
once lost is lost forever, for history is never
repeated exactly there. The usual excur-
sions made by summer tourists are possible
in the winter-time. The " Presidential
Range" — Mount Clay, Mount Adams,
Mount Monroe, and Mount Madison, lying
shoulder to shoulder, apparently within
rifle-shot distance — affords a fine climb,
with better going than is possible in sum-
mer, provided there is plenty of snow.
Between it and Mount Washington lies a
ravine over a thousand feet in depth, which
bears the misnomer of the " Gulf of Mex-
ico. " Its sides are precipitous and rocky,

Mount Washington in Winter

and the many springs which ooze from
them supply the material for magnificent
ice formations of varied colors. The tints
are imparted by the mineral substances
through which the streams find their way.
It is " a spot of danger/' and requires good
courage and a faultless head to explore
it ; but the trained climber will like the
excitement. When, now sideways, now
grappling on "all-fours," and occasionally
lengthwise, descending, you have gained
the top of some great jutting rock, then
lie down. Holding fast lest the wind catch
you off guard, peer over into the abyss, and
bear witness to the details of its wild envi-
rons. You will then believe any supersti-
tious tale that is told you about the groups
of demons which are seen dancing down
there on moonlight nights, madly screech-
ing in strange consonance with the roar
of the hundred cascades at the bottom of
the great pit. From a rock similar to
the one I have spoken of, I saw a magnifi-
cent display of the winter forces one day.
The exhibition began with a crash! crash!
crash! underneath me. The time for
the release of the stalactites hanging to the
rock had come, and they started down the
icy slope below. As the descending masses
broke into fragments of color and rolled in

Mount Washington in Winter

iii.nijiwiwnilii.mn

Tuckerman's Ravine, from Mount Washington.

Mount Washington in Winter

the wildest confusion down, glittering in
the sun, the scene baffled description. A
channel was cut through the ice and snow
deep into the side of the ravine ; the mov-
ing mass then started on every side a can-
nonade of rocks which was simply terrible.
Enough ice was wasted to make a million-
naire — sufficient granite was torn to frag-
ments to build a block of New York flats
' — all rattled down into the gulf at once
with maniacal fury, as if their mission
were to burst the sides of the great gulf
asunder. Some of the masses of ice strik-
ing rock or crust, rebounded like bil-
liard-balls, and, whizzing in the sunlight,
glistened like massive diamonds and ame-
thysts and emeralds afire. The horrible
grinding of the rocks amid the dust of the
snow was even more exciting. Sometimes
the rock masses overtook one another in
the air, and by the awful collision reduced
each other to small fragments. The line
of fire was wide enough to sweep a bri-
gade of infantry from the face of the
earth. How still it was when the last
projectile had spent its force against the
rocks far down in the depths of the gulf !
Such exhibitions are liable to occur on
a March day, when the sun shines ; and
they make the descent into the ravine dan-

Mount M'ashington in Winter

gerous, unless the shadows are resorted to
for protection.

The wildest place of all the surroundings
of Mount Washington is the well-known
Tuckerman's Ravine. It affords grand op-
portunities in winter for witnessing some
of the most curious meteorological phe-
nomena. In five minutes after the sum-
mit of the mountain is left you are out of
sight of all the buildings thereon. The
confusion of rocks is the same in every
direction, and you are in chaos. The brisk
cannonading I have described is of frequent
occurrence here; but even more mysterious
is the manoeuvring of the clouds. Wit-
nessed from a good stand point far down
in the ravine, on a favorable day, nothing
could be more grand. Boiling and seeth-
ing, they rise and ride and drive without
apparent purpose. I have seen the great
masses separate, and one section continue
on its hasty journey, until, as though real-
izing its loss, suddenly it would stop, then
go back, make fast to the lost section, and
continue on its course around or up the
mountain. Sometimes the wind tears the
great gray masses asunder, and carries them
in various directions as easily as a spider
hauls a fly across her web. When they
have reached the places willed by the in-

Mount Washington in Whiter

visible power, the detached masses are sent
whirling about the neighboring mountains,
as though in search of some lost member
of their force. In the summer-time they
are not so placid as in winter, for the rat-
tling thunder accompanies such contentions
almost any time after the mercury reaches
" sixty above."

On a cold day, when the clouds have all
been sent on distant missions, and no haze
obscures the view, the side of Mount Wash-
ington toward Tuckerman's Ravine resem-
bles a steep cathedral roof, with thousands
of buttresses as white as the finest Carrara
marble, and as glittering as the alabaster
of the Nile. After a new snow on such
a day, and with the right sort of wind, the
most wildly exciting of all exhibitions takes
place. The snow begins, with an ecstatic
gyration, to rise from the crest of the ravine
in the form of a slender column. It gathers
body as it rises, and, like the clay in the
hands of the potter, seems to swell as
though it was a cylinder, and the snow
was rising inside it, increasing its diameter.
How it spins — then struggles — then with
awful speed approaches the verge of the
ravine, and leaps out into space. Only a
little imagination is needed now to picture
the monster reaching out its arms franti-

Mount Washington in Winter

cally, and shrieking. It hangs aloft for a
moment, trembling and vibrating ; then
the wind receives it in its broad lap, and
with relentless hand sows it broadcast over
the terrible ravine. One after the other
the snow monsters quickly follow — down
to their doom. Thus snow-squalls are
born, and thus the depth of snow to a
thousand feet is packed down in the bot-
tom of Tuckerman's Ravine to shape the
great "snow-arch" which so many visit
every summer.

Every day new experiences, always mar-
vellous, may be had when the storms per-
mit a visit to these deep places. It is
never safe to go down into them alone,
unless calm and clear weather are assured.
You may feel that your experience has
enabled you to place all confidence in your
own eye, in judging of snow and slide, and
in unravelling the time-worn and time-
scarred passages ; you may feel satisfacto-
rily conscious of the power of your strong
arms to hack and hew your way through
difficulties ; memories of former tastes of
the glorious luxury of being entirely alone,
where all nature is beautiful, may tempt
you ; but at high elevations in winter you
should draw the line. Self-reliance is a
good element, but it is always best to pool

Mount Washington in Winter

your supply with another of equal met-
tle. You take your life in your hands
when you attempt "snow-work" alone. A
misstep may break a leg or hold you fast.
Yet, battling with the elements on Mount
Washington is the most exhilarating exer-
cise one can take — with wise precautions,,
A journey down to the " Lake of the
Clouds" gives the wind a fair chance at
the ambitious climber, and is a fine expe-
rience. The broad expanses on every side
cause one to shudder at the thought of
being driven down one of them with no
power of resistance. In the coloring of
the air, so peculiar to this westerly side of
the mountain, and in the grandeur of the
great sleeping masses which lie down
toward the Crawford Notch, and upon
which the colors fall, no matter when vou
look upon them, you are sure to find re-
vealed grand features that lift up your soul
to a new majesty.

A much more picturesque series of ex-
cursions is afforded by the " Glen " car-
riage-road. At night and day, a visit at
any lookout on this road well repays for
all the labor entailed and for some meas-
ure of risk. On a clear day, when the
sunbeams glide over the peaks and up the
valleys, unrestrained except by the broad

Mount Washington in Winter

The "Presidential Range " and " Gulf of Mexico" from Mount Washingtc

shadows of the mountains, the distant
views, all the way down " to the earth/'
are very fine. Toward evening, or close
on to a storm-coming, the gauzy haze be-
gins to soften the outlines and dilute the
coloring of the mountains. Then the
mist, rising and thickening, joins forces
with the wind, and the creation of the
most peculiar of all the results of the cold
begins. I allude to what the observers

Mount Washington in Winter

term "frost-feathers." I have often stooped
to " talk " to tiny ones in the Alps, but I
believe they are not known elsewhere as
large as those found on Mount Washing-
ton. The absolute transformation brought
about by them is bewilderingly lovely.
One hour after the wind has driven every
vestige of snow from the summit, and the
buildings are as clear of snow as when
newly constructed, they may all become
covered with frost-feathers so profusely
that every rigid outline is gone, and every
object appears like a confused mass of
eiderdown. More than three-fourths of
the time the summit is cloud-enveloped,
on account of the warm air which arises
"from the world" and condenses overhead.
When a certain degree of humidity is
reached, the mist freezes the instant it
touches anything. We will suppose that
the wind drives it against a telegraph-pole.
A frozen layer is deposited upon this, and
is instantly followed by another and an-
other, until, if the wind does not change,
a " feather " branches out horizontally
from the telegraph-pole until the strange
creation points out into the air, one, two,
three — rive feet or more. Over this and
under it and alongside of it, other forma-
tions go on, shaped like the wings of sculp-

Mount 11 'ashington in II 'infer

tured angels, or like the tails and wings of
doves in the old-time tomb-marbles, every
bit as pure and white and soft as alabaster.
Their growth is very rapid. If a flat sur-
face is chosen by the eccentric sculptor,
then the feathers radiate irregularly from
a central point, and are moulded into fas-
cinating patterns as delicate as fern leaves
and the feathers of birds, and always at an
angle over each other. They are not like
ice or snow or frost. They bend like
tendon, and they are as tough as muscle.
When melted, the most pure water possi-
ble is the result. Where fractured, their
glistening, granular substance looks like
marble or alabaster. Everything becomes
covered and coated by them. When you
tread upon them they are found to be
elastic, and a peculiar nervousness takes
possession of you. A latticed window cov-
ered with them is more charming than
an Arabic Mashrebeyeh screen, with its
delicately pierced patterns and its intri-
cately chiselled bars. The feathered side
of a tall rock appears like an obelisk high
in air; every inch is hieroglyphed by deep-
cut characters, which, though beyond the
ken of your philology, are full of meaning,
and make plain a lesson of the beautiful.
As soon as the wind changes, these lovely

Mount Washington in Winter

creations droop, drop, and disintegrate,
while others form in their places, always
on the windward side of the objects which
they choose to glorify. Never does 'the
summit of Mount Washington and the
objects about it appear in such imposing
glory as when lustred by frost-feathers. If
you will walk back of the signal station
on a moonlight night, before the moon is
very high, when the frost formations are
favorable, and look down the railway, the
draped telegraph-poles will resemble a pro-
cession of tall spectres — or, if you choose,
monks or one-armed dervishes, half in
shadow and half in the glittering light,
marching to the shrill fifing of the wind,
or gliding along with the rich contra-basso
which comes up from the wide mouth of
the ravine. What a bejewelled world it
all makes !

If there was no other diversion on Mount
Washington, watching the intermittent ex-
tinction and generation of the clouds affords
sufficient interest to occupy much of the
time. There are " best days " for this,
however, as well as for the other sights.
The summit of the mountain must be
clear, and the sun should shine brightly.
Then, if a snow-storm forms, say a mile
below, one of the most enchanting of all

A f 071 tit Washington in II 'inter

natural convulsions delights the observer.
The unsubstantial formations rival in gran-
deur the solid mountains themselves. Dis-
turbed by the warm air below them, and
chilled by the cold blasts above, the great
seas of vapor begin to roll and tumble and
pitch, until a regular tempest forms, and
sways them all. The billows form great
swells and depressions. They break an-
grily against the rocky mountain, and their
snowy spray flies high in the air. Rising
and falling, twisting and tangling, they tell
of the falling flakes and grinding snow-dust
with which the earth is being visited. The
more the commotion, the more active is
the fall going on below. How they toss
and tumble, and how magnificent are the
changes of light and shade !

I witnessed the finest show I ever saw
of this nature one afternoon, about half
an hour before sunset. The great orb
seemed to sink into a sea of saffron ; yet
it shone with almost painful brilliancy.
Suddenly upon the cloud surface in front
of my standpoint, a mile below my feet,
a great mass of shining light appeared.
It was as brilliant as the sun, and of about
the same color. It was a "sun-dog," —
the image of the sun reflected on the white
bosom of the snow-storm. It remained in

Mount Washington in It 'inter

sight for some time, and was caught by
the camera. The snow-storm continued,
and the sun departed amid an attendance
of clouds equal in glory to any summer
sunset I ever saw. The coloring upon
the upper surface of that raging snow-
storm was beyond the gift of the painter
to counterfeit. As soon as its life went
away the stars began to appear, for night
comes quickly. I heard a great screech
down in the valley, and saw a tiny glow
coming toward me, like a "will-o'-the-
wisp." It was the headlight of a loco-
motive on the Grand Trunk Railway at
Gorham. Then the nearly full moon grew
stronger; and a vast triangular shadow ot
the mountain was projected upon the cloud
surface, black and solid and threatening,
where but a few moments ago I saw the
boiling color. Soon the snow-like sphere
cleared the mountain-top, and all space on
every side was illuminated down as far as
the clouds. But they continued to boil
and drive and snow.

From a point opposite I have watched
the clouds at break of day, and have tramped
my circuit in order to keep warm while
the process of sun-rising and cloud-disper-
sion went on. Few have ever beheld such
transcendent glory at sunrise as Mr. Kil-

Mount ll'ashiiigton in Winter

burn and I did one March morning from
Mount Washington. At first the cloud
masses seemed to reach from us, ninety
miles, to the Atlantic, over Portland way.
A crimson glow, blended into orange and
gray, then arose like a screen — a back-
ground for the enchanting scene which
approached. The clouds grew uneasy at
this, but joining forces, resisted, and for a
time hindered, the progress of the drama.
Then yielding, they separated here and
there, and we could, with the field-glass
we had, catch glimpses of light through
the rifts. The earth was in full sunshine.
We saw the streets of the villages. Men,
pygmy- sized,
were shovel-
ling snow, and
tiny horses and
sleighs passed
in sight.
Then the -
clouds shut
in, and the
mountain
was in twi-
light once
more. A
great cloud-
parting took Frost Feathers. Tip -Top House.

Mount Washington in Winter

place, and the mass below us broke into
a thousand fragments. These gambolled
and rolled wildly from side to side, and car-
ried with them fragments of gaudy spectra
which resembled broad segments of rain-
bows. Every moment there was a change
of form and color. Again through the
rifts we saw the world. Now the many
tints became more scattered as the clouds
rose with the light, and interfered with
its course. Only the snow-storm equalled
the billowy confusion — nothing ever
equalled the coloring. At last a gleam
of light shone in the observatory window,
and caused our sleepy hosts to turn under
their blankets. The sun has risen on
Mount Washington.

Another phenomenon I witnessed once
only. It began between ten and eleven
a.m., and lasted almost an hour. At first a
great, broad, gray ring, quite luminous, ap-
peared around the sun. It was a "clear"
day, but the firmament was scarcely blue.
A secondary ring, as large and as broad and
nearly as luminous, formed, with the sun
at its eastern edge and half within the
ring. At three other points of this ring,
and with the sun dividing it into four equal
segments, were "sun-dogs," very bright,
with a prismatic corona around them.

Mount Washington in Winter

One of the ordinary diversions " on the
hill " is to stand on " Observatory Rock,"
west of the signal station and just a little
below, to see the great pyramidal shadow
of the mountain cast by the rising sun on
the snow just before the rosy glow comes
shooting over the frost-feathered ridgepole
of the Signal Service station. It is as black
as the shadow of the real pyramid cast by
the sun or moon upon the yellow sand of
the desert of Gizeh. When the atmos-
phere is sufficiently clear, as it frequently
is, the mountains nearly a hundred miles
away appear sharp and near. The whole
White Mountain range is unobscured.

"Oh, the mountains! the mountains! "
exclaimed my enthusiastic companion,
when we witnessed the last sunset together
there. " I never saw them look as they
have looked to-day." This was an oft-re-
peated saying, but it was always true ; for
in fact the mountains never appear two
days the same. Either sun or storm, or
cloud or the seasons, or all combined, work
up a composite for each day, always full
of character, but never twice alike. There-
fore the mountain-lover, unlike the fisher-
man, is "always in luck." He always finds
" peace, beauty, and grandeur " harmoni-
ously blended ; and he is ever " brimful

Mount Washington in Winter

of content. " Whether breasting a storm
or standing victorious upon some hardly-
gained height, he is always sure to be re-
paid well for all his endurance by the glo-
ries which surround him. Truly has that
stanch climber in the Alps, Professor Tyn-
dall, said : " For the healthy and pure in
heart these higher snow-fields are conse-
crated ground."

Almost every one is familiar with the du-
ties and the functions of the observers of
the Signal Service. But on Mount Wash-
ington their duties are peculiar. Seven
observations must be made daily. The re-
cording-sheet of the anemometer must be
changed at noon. Three of the seven ob-
servations must be forwarded in telegraphic
cipher to the Boston station. Routine
office- work — letters received and sent —
must have attention between-times, and
several blank forms must be filled with
statistics. The battery and the wire of
the telegraph plant must receive careful at-
tention, and the matter of repairs is no in-
considerable one. The station on Mount
Washington is the bleakest, and, with one
exception, the coldest, in the service.
Three to four men, including a cook, are
usually there, with one cat and one dog.

Mount Washington in Winter

Sunset. A Sun-doe' on the Sutnv-clouds

Mount Washington in Winter

Life would be very hard to bear there, were
it not for the click ! click ! click ! of the
telegraph instrument, which is the active
connecting link with the world — the
mainstay and hope of these recluses. And
then flirtations with the world's operators
is a necessity. A regular consternation oc-
curs in camp when a storm breaks the
wires and connection is lost. In such
cases the observers risk their lives in storm
and cold in search for the break, rather
than be without the assurance of safety
which the click seems to impart. The
men live on as good food as can be. The
larder is supplied in September, and the
" refrigerator" (the top story of the obser-
vatory) is stocked at the same time. Meat
and poultry are placed there already frozen,
and they do not thaw "during the season/'
The water-supply comes from the frost-
feathers. Care is taken that two or three
barrels of these are stored in the back shed
always, and a boiler full of them in half-
melted condition is ever upon the cook-
stove. A water famine has been known
to occur, when from the oversight of the
cook the supply of frost-feathers has been
allowed to go down, or " poor weather for
frost-feathers " comes along. A drink of
this all-healing feather water can always

Mount Washington in Winter

be found on the stove, icy cold, if the cook
attends to his duty.

A hurricane at sea is hardly less fright-
ful than a big blow on Mount Washing-
ton. I was literally blown out of bed one
night. I was about to accuse my bed-
fellow of kicking me out, when instantly
he came following me. The grind out-
side was frightful. We knew the airy
structure was cabled and anchored to the
rocks by ship's chains; but they seemed to
expand so that it shook like an aspen leaf,
and creaked like an old sailing-vessel. The
wind tussled with the double windows, and
capered over the roof like a thousand ogres.
There was no sleep for any one when there
was " such a knockin' at de do' ! '

Morning was always a relief after such
a storm, even if it brought no cessation and
but little light. Sometimes the feathers so
obscure the windows that the lamps must
be lighted in daytime. At other times
the wind tears so through the building
that the lights cannot burn. With all the
fires going the mercury has been known
to fall 23 degrees below zero inside the
observatory. On Dec. 16, 1876, the tem-
perature outside fell to 40 degrees below.
The mean temperature for the day was
22.5 degrees below. The wind was at

Mount Washington in Winter

80 miles at 7 a.m., 120 miles at 12.22
p.m., 160 miles at 4.57 p.m., 100 miles at
9 p.m., and 180 miles at midnight. The
force of the wind was terrible ; and at
times masses of ice were blown loose, mak-
ing it extremely dangerous to stand under
the lee of the building. The window on
that side was fastened with planks in case
of accident.

One of the greatest storms ever known
occurred in February, 1886. The mer-
cury dropped to 51 degrees below zero,
and the wind rattled around at the rate
of 184 miles an hour. It tore down one
of the buildings, and fired its parts against
the observatory, threatening to break in
all its doors and windows and the roof.
Bat the stanch little building had a tough,
thick coating of frost-feathers then, which
proved to be a real protection to it, and
so escaped. It was no pleasant task, how-
ever, to sit there and hear the twisting and
crunching of the timbers of the neigh-
boring building as they fell a prey to the
angry elements. The anemometer on the
roof was carried away from its bearings
that night. A few days afterward a simi-
lar storm came up, but not quite so violent
a one. Mr. Kilburn and I made the as-
cent the day before. A strong rope was

Mount Washington in Winter

tied around the waist of Sergeant Line
when he climbed to the roof to make his
afternoon observations, with all but one
of us anchored at the other end of the
rope. The camera caught him in the
act. The wind-cups of the anemometer
were spinning around so they could not
be seen with the naked eye ; and yet in
the photograph they plainly show as a
blurred circle, or resembling more a tube
bent into circular form.

But for these excitements " the boys "
would suffer from ennui. They insist that
their life " on the hill " is not the most
happy one in winter. It has frequently
been broken into by sorrow and sadness
too. One observer died there, Feb. 26,
1872; and his companion was alone with
his dead body for two days before the
storm would allow any one to come up to
him. A coarse coffin was made, and a rude
sled; and then a solemn procession moved
slowly down the mountain-side, over the
snow, that the mortal remains of a brave
boy might be deposited under the earth.

It was a matter of "turn" with the
observers who should go to the base peri-
odically with and for the mail. These
journeys were often attended with much
peril, and necessarily were frequently pro-

Mount Washington in Winter

longed so as to cause much anxiety. The
relation of one such incident will suffice to
show what it meant sometimes to be a
member of the Signal Service stationed on
Mount Washington.

Never was there a kinder heart engaged
in the service than that of Sergeant Wm.
Line, now ( i 89 1 ) stationed at Northrield,
Vt. (where he died in 1895). He served
on Mount Washington for quite five years
(from 1872 to 1877), an^ I met him

there several
times. As
near as I can
remember
them, I will
in his own
words relate
the story of
what he
considers his
most peril-
ous ascent.
1 1 occurred
on Nov. 23,
1 875. The day was unpromising. Against
his judgment he left Fabyan's at about nine
a.m., with the mail accumulated, for the
summit. The team engaged to take him
to the base could only pass a little beyond

Measuring the Wind

Mount Washington in 11' inter

Twin Rivers, so from there he took to the
snow-shoes. Arriving at the base, he found
every building deserted. At eleven a.m.,
without a word of cheer from any one,
and alone, he began the ascent. The old
Waumbek Station-house was passed, and
the foot of "Jacob's Ladder" was gained
in safety after two hours of pretty hard
work. The snow was then three or four
feet deep, and the gusts of wind began to
increase in power and in frequency. A
few steps only could be made in the lulls
between the gusts. When the hard blows
came he was forced to lie down until they
had gone over him. An hour was con-
sumed in climbing the next half-mile.
When the Car House (used for storing
tools and railway appliances) came into
view, Sergeant Line tried to reach it. A
gust carried him to the railroad track.
He caught the T rail in his hands, when
his body was blown up against the cross-
ties, and held there for some time. The
next lull allowed a little progress ; and the
Gulf Station-house could be seen, but it
could not be reached. Said Sergeant
Line : —

" I found I was being swept rapidly to-
ward the Great Gulf, so I floundered my-
self over against a rock, and succeeded in

Mount Washington in Winter

coming to a halt. After resting a while,
assisted by my pike-pole, I tried to reach
the house ; but it was impossible. I could
not breathe facing such a wind; so I lay
down, and, feet first, backed up the snow-
drift which had piled up near the building.
Such procedure was slow, but sure ; thus
the house was reached. I could not see
it; but I knew when I had reached it, for
I fell about six feet down the inside incline
of the drift, and brought up at the house.
The wind had driven the snow clear away
from the building, all around it, for some
distance. I was unharmed, and quite con-
tent to be out of the power of the wind.
At three-thirty p.m. I started on the jour-
ney again, having recuperated my strength
in the house. Hardly had I opened the
storm-door when it was banged shut again
with such force as to break it in two. The
wind subsided somewhat in an hour, when
I made another start. After many efforts
I gained the top of the bank of snow, only
to be whirled back, and lodged under one
of the supports of the building. I con-
cluded it was useless to try to reach the
summit before night; so I returned to the
house, and gathering what wood I could,
I proceeded to make a fire. When pre-
pared to strike a light, to my horror I

Mount Washington in Winter

found my match-box was gone. It had
rolled out of my pocket during one of my
tussles with the wind. A frantic search
revealed in my vest pocket a single match,
which had been given me in the morning
with a cigar. It was damp ; but knowing
that my life depended upon it, I carefully
dried it between thumb and finger, and
with anxious heart tried to ignite it. Gen-
tle frictions gradually restored it — it ig-
nited— I was saved. At seven p.m. I had
a good fire. I found an old teapot con-
taining some tea that was steeped four
months before. It tasted like turnips.
But with it, and some cakes Mrs. Line
had put in my knapsack in Littleton, I
made a fine supper. I was tired by my
day's work, and soon after I fell asleep.
It was seven a.m. before I awoke. In a
few minutes after I was on my way again.
I was making good progress, and was near
the summit, when I met my companion,
Mr. King, coming down the mountain to
search for me. I am sure he was glad to
be relieved of a great anxiety, such as we
had all shared in the past when searching
for the bewildered and the lost. Hardly
had we reached the platform in front of
the hotel on the summit when we heard
voices. Immediately three men appeared

Mount Washington in IV inter

Valley of A mmonoosuc.

coming up out of the fog. They were
Mr. B. W. Kilburn of Littleton, and
Messrs. Band and Gallagher. The last
two had been requested by Mr. Kilburn
to join him in his search for me. He
had been awakened near midnight by the
telegraph operator with the intelligence
that I was lost on the mountain. Imme-
diately and alone he started in his sleigh
for Fabyan's, travelling all the rest of the

Mount Washington in Winter

night in the storm and cold. From Fab-
yan's he walked to the base. He lost his
way once in the meadows before reaching
Fabyan's, as it was then so dark, and so
rough was the storm. He searched the
mountain for me, and saw where I had
rested on the way. Had he been an hour
earlier he would have passed me while I
slept. No one appreciates better than I
do what heroism it required to undertake
such a search. While we breakfasted to-
gether, and related our experiences, an
inquiry came from headquarters at Wash-
ington as to my whereabouts. In a few
minutes after a message from Littleton
came, announcing that six men had left
there to help Mr. Kilburn. Then a third
message reported that the railroad com-
pany had detailed fifty men, with pick
and shovel, to search for the man who
was lost. But my brave friend headed off
all these generous enterprises by quickly
returning to the base with the intelligence
that the lost was found." *

Many times the observers risked their
own lives to rescue the perishing. A tele-
gram was always sent from Littleton when

* The Government signal station on Mount Washington
having been abandoned, a winter ascent should not be attempted
without a careful guide.

Mount Washington in Winter

any one started " up the hill ; " and if a
fairly prompt arrival was not made, a
searching party was at once sent out from
the observatory. Help from Littleton was
also called for. Brave hearts always re-
sponded promptly in such cases.

One descent, which I shall describe, was
eventful, and typical of all the similar jour-
neys I had made. With long, swinging
strides we started down the slope, crushing
at every step enough beauty and glory to
excite the wonder and admiration of the
world. The sky was blue, and the wea-
ther-makers promised us a " clear day/'
The dawn had developed into glorious
morning, and the sun was pouring its
libations of gold and purple over the
mountains and down into the frozen val-
leys. Again we saw the loftier heights
tinged with rosy hue, while the limitless
shadows which fell upon the snowy slopes
caught and repeated the soft azure of the
sky. The crust was hard, the rocks were
glaced, and long fields of ice stretched be-
tween them, which made the descent a
dangerous one. We passed from snow-
crust to ice, and from ice to rock alter-
nately. The thin ice upon the rocks, over
which the melted snow had trickled the

Mount Washington in Winter

day before, was the most troublesome, and
required great caution. Once with my
alpenstock I made a mighty advance-
lunge at such a rock, in order to obtain
a stop for breath when I had leaped upon
it. Alas ! the ice was not so thick as I had
anticipated. The steel point glanced, and
my staff went from my hand, leaping
through the air, and ringing like a bell
as it went. I soon forgot my loss in
watching its strange antics. For a mo-
ment it glided over the broad ice-slope
below, half erect ; then it fell and bound-
ed up and down like a rod of iron, until,
striking another rock end first, it came up
all standing again, then again flew through
the air as before. It turned and rolled
over, and shifted end for end, slid side-
ways, bounded and leaped, gaining speed
as it went, far away from my recovery.
The last bound I saw it make was into a
ravine. Fortunately we had bound dupli-
cate staffs upon our shoulders, so that no
inconvenience followed the escapade.

Seeing a wide field of ice below us, and
which we must cross, we halted upon a
broad-topped rock to take breath and to
tighten our luggage before we attacked
it. We had passed the frost-feather line
now, and the rocks protruded more na-

Mount Washington in Winter

kedly through the snow. As we looked
back, there was a noble amphitheatre with
clean-swept stage. The crags and spurs
supplied the accessories ; the backgrounds
and screens were of light and shade most
mysteriously composed. In all positions
the actors stood, some in simple garb,
others with costumes laced delicately and
embroidered fantastically by icy needles in
hands more deft and skilful
than ours. It was a gor-
geous scene. How
many storm dra-
mas had been en- ^
acted there !
But there
was a diffi-
culty be-
hind us,
and
we
must
turn and
face it. It

was an ugly spot, and neutralized the plea-
sure of examining the surroundings some-
what. We made up our minds to glissade
the slope, and glissade we did. Before we
began, my careful companion gave me
this piece of advice: "Keep your mind

Mount Washington Signal Station.

Mount Washington in Winter

wholly upon your feet and upon your staff.
Press down upon the first with all your
might and main, and have the other every
instant of the time in good position to
press it down, hard, in case you fall. If
you slip, turn quickly upon your face,
sprawl all you can, to make yourself as
wide as you can; push the point of your
staff with both hands hard into the ice
under you ; this will probably stop you.
Under no circumstances allow yourself to
slide on your back." I did not slip until
I came within a few feet of the foot of
the slope.

Instead of obeying the rules, I allowed
my mind to rest upon embracing a narrow
rock ahead as soon as I came to it. I came
to it, face down, sooner than I calculated.
The heavens scintillated while I dreamed,
and when I came to my wits again I was
lying on my face astride the narrow rock
for which I had aimed. My plan had suc-
ceeded, but the ways and means employed
differed somewhat from the details of my
drawings. Glissading is an upright and
manly diversion — at least it should be up-
right— but success does not always crown
the first attempts at it. The start should
be made with the alpenstock held firmly
in both hands, and trailed after you at one

Mount Washington in Winter

side. Do not allow the head to change
places with the feet ; resist all intimacy
on the part of the ice. Have no collision
with it. The stars belong to the heavens,
and should only be seen with the eyes cast
upward. Do not sit down to work, nor
" take a header " willingly. Press the steel
point of your staff vigorously into the ice,
if you falter, and secure a soft place for
recuperation before you fall.

Perhaps if I had not been thus brought
to a stand-still we should never have ob-
tained the sublime views we had over the
bristling trees across the country and down
into " the lower regions," as the observers
say. Turning our eyes to the summit we
saw veils of thin clouds winding around
the mountain in folds which excited our
aesthetic fervor. Then they thickened into
long furrowed lines, dark and threatening,
and these began to roll and toss about.
" The whispering grove betrays the gath-
ering elemental strife," the book of
"Weather Proverbs" used by the Signal
Service says. The truth of this was veri-
fied to us now, because, as if in sympathy
with the disturbance gathering about the
summit, the groves a half-mile below us
began " whispering " ominously. We knew
what it meant. The sky was yet clear,

Mount Washington in Winter

but the wind began to blow furiously from
the west-southwest. It had been snowing
from there down to the base for two or
three days, and we no sooner left the ice-
slopes than we had to meet the deep drifts.
The great trestles of the railway were
snowed full, and we dared not try descend-
ing on them. For descending they are
always dangerous. We had to flounder
through the deep snow the best we could.
We could not make our way to the little
tool-house where our snow-shoes had been
left. Up to the waist, then, we plunged.
Our progress was very slow. It grew sud-
denly much colder, though it was below
zero when we started. The wind increased
rapidly, and came in thundering gusts.
From the rising snow-columns we could
see the gusts coming. Before they reached
us we locked arm in arm, turned our backs,
bent forward, and allowed them to sail over
us. Gradually our mustaches froze over
our mouths, and our eyes were sealed so
we could not see. Frequent halts were
made to thaw in some daylight, and secure
breath. Sometimes a treacherous drift led
us to an icy bottom, when we slipped, and
became almost buried in the snow.

The contest for position in this world
was reins-trying, but we thoroughly en-

Mount Washington in Winter

joyed it ; and more tears and frozen eyes
were caused by our laughter than by the
snapping irascible wind and cold. Once
in a while, when I squeezed the arm of
my companion, with whom there was no
fear necessary, he would reach his spare
mittened hand to his mouth, thaw out his
voice, and say, "Do not be afraid, I am
right here by your side."

Frost FeatJiers under the Railway Trestle.

It is always safer to go around a moun-
tain drift than to go over it. Only long
experience enables one to understand when
it is safe to attack drifted snow. It is at
times very treacherous. It may slip while
you are pushing your way over it, and, ava-

Mount Washington in Winter

lanche-like, rush down some steep incline
with you ; or, it may have become sepa-
rated from the rocks which it covers, by
the melted snow running underneath on
warm days, when it is liable to crush in
with you and overwhelm you. It is a good
plan to test it with the alpenstock before
risking life upon it. With my experienced
friend I never felt that there was any dan-
ger of going into a pit unless he went too.
His strong arm has rescued me from dan-
ger many a time, and as frequently has
he carried me over the rough places on his
shoulders. There is a great contrast in
our make-up. He, broad and strong and
muscular as an ox — I, tall and slender,
light-weight and wiry. Both had attained
a quick and springy step, and a mutual
trust had sprung up between us which
made it out of the question for one to
oppose himself to the other in time of
peril.

At last we reached the woods, and
hugged as closely to the railroad as we
could ; for now and then the wind had
cleared a sort of " path." But the fre-
quent pitfalls twisted our legs and bruised
our feet, so that as soon as possible we
turned to the right, and made our way
down into the sled-road, then in use by the

A fount Washington in Winter

wood-choppers. One time I took a run
down a slope which seemed to have a crust
upon it, but presently I broke through
and fell forward. As I yielded to cir-
cumstances, I intuitively put out my hands.
They went into the snow up to my shoul-
ders, and there I had to remain, face down,
"all-fours " fastened in a drift more than a
dozen feet deep, until Mr. Kilburn came
to my release. Soon after we heard the
ringing of the woodsmen's axes ; and in
twenty minutes more we were at the base,
safe and sound. It was like a spring day
there. The little river, cajoled by the
benign warmth of the sun, had burst its
bonds, and piled the "anchor-ice" several
feet high on either side. Countless rivu-
lets of melting snow were pouring into it.
The commotion was almost equal to that
at the mouth of an Alpine glacier. It was
like the closing of some magnificent scenic
opera. The soft, sweet music caused by
the explosion of the bubbles bewitched the
air. Each swollen, sparkling stream came
along charged with individual ring and
resonance — each one came cheerily to
contribute its melody to the orchestral tu-
mult farther on.

SOME EPISODES
OF MOUNTAINEERING,

BY A

CASUAL AMATEUR

By Edwin Lord Weeks

The Peak of the Zinal-Rothhom from the Homli*

" Think of the people who are ' presenting their compliments,'
and ' requesting the honor,' and ' much regretting,' of those that
are pinioned at dinner-tables, or stuck up in ball-rooms, or cruelly
planted in pews — ay think of these, and so remembering how
many poor devils are living in a state of utter respectability, you
will glory the more in your own delightful escape." — Eothen.

^^^P^EFORE venturing to touch
upon a theme which has

already been treated by able
pens, and to add a few per-
sonal impressions, it may be
as well to call attention to the fact that
much of what has been written hitherto
is addressed to those technically familiar
with the subject, rather than to the general
public. It is only fair to admit that pop-
ular opinion is divided as to the attractions

* The illustrations of this article are all drawn by the Author,

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

of one of the grandest of open-air sports,
which in sustained interest and variety of
incident is second to no other. There are
hopeless but well-meaning sceptics, who
will ask one: Why take the trouble to
climb a peak in order to see a view which
can only be enjoyed for a few minutes, if
at all, by reason of cold or fatigue ? and it is
not easy to convince them, since seemingly
unnecessary physical exertion does not en-
ter into their ideas of pleasure, that the
contemplation of nature, however impres-
sive it may be, is not the sole object and
end of the climber ; and that the interest,
the charm of the thing, as in art, lies not
so much in the subject as in the way it is
done, in the hundred incidents of the route,
and, above all, in the joy of life and the
new vigor born of exertion in the bracing
air of high altitudes, which are the reward
of a successful season.

September, 1893.

The statements of Baedeker, as to the,
relative difficulty of certain peaks, may, up-
on the whole, be accepted by amateurs with
confidence. In the editions of " Baedeker's
Switzerland/' a few years ago, there was a
list of the principal summits about Zer-

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

matt ; and among them a group consisting
of the " Ober-Gabelhorn," " Zinal-Roth-
horn," " Weisshorn," " Dent Blanche,"
and "Dent d'Herens " was prefaced by
the lines, " very difficult " (for thorough
experts only with first-class guides), and
not " altogether free from danger." In
the most recent edition this last clause does
not appear, from which circumstance it
might be inferred that with the progress
made by the Zermatt guides in the science
of climbing, and with their ever-increasing
experience and topographical knowledge
of these peaks, the actual danger has been
sensibly diminished.

But the amateur who has already had
some experience, and is confident (but not
too confident) of his own powers, and is
moreover in good condition, need not al-
low himself to be daunted by Baedeker's
classification. Among the minor peaks,
(minor, not in regard to size or interest,
but in difficulty only) the Rimpfischhorn
and the Gran Paradiso are ranked as dif-
ficult. Both of these peaks exceed the
Jungfrau in height ; and although care and
attention are necessary at certain points,
there is not the slightest difficulty about
either of them. A noted Alpinist records
that he has ascended the Gran Paradiso

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

Peter Taiigwalder, No. 2.

alone and without guides. There is one
point, however, where most men would feel
safer with a rope, and at least one guide. A
practised expert whom I met on the way
down affirmed that it was hardly worth
doing, while another, equally experienced,
had made the ascent twice. As for the
Rimpfischhorn, it shows, on a small scale,

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

examples of the various difficulties common
to all rock peaks, and with but one guide,
" strict attention to business " is necessary.
Although one of the noted- Zermatt guides
who accompanied the writer on a rather
more trying expedition, declared it to be
simply "une jolie promenade," others con-
sider it one of the very best peaks for pre-
liminary practice, before undertaking more
hazardous ascents. Of those classified as
" very difficult," I can speak from person-
al experience of only two, others having
proved to be impossible at the particular
moment when they were attempted ; and
although sufficiently arduous, these two do
not offer any insurmountable difficulty, so
long as one is not subject to vertigo, that
nightmare of all beginners, and has suffi-
cient imitative faculty to follow the move-
ments of the guide in front. It is a very
important point at the outset to save one's
strength ; for even should he have a super-
fluity of endurance, he had better store it
up for emergencies. Any one who takes
notice of the gait of the guides when start-
ing at night by lantern light, will observe
that they walk with a long, swinging,
rhythmic step which seems quite mechan-
ical, as they slowly lift one foot or swing
it over a rock, with scarcely any expendi-

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

ture of force, particularly in mounting the
tedious moraines where the bowlders are
often white with frost. All the energy
thus economized comes into play when
one reaches the rocks, where a man wants
a clear head as well, and to know just
where to rest his weight to take advantage
of every projection, point, and crevice.

For amateurs whose object is not so
much to make a record as to obtain the
greatest amount of sport with a moderate
expenditure, the high glacier passes afford
nearly as much interest as many of the
well-known peaks where the tariff for
guides is much higher ; some of these
passes cross ridges or " saddles " from
twelve to fourteen thousand feet above
the sea, and have the additional attrac-
tion that every step of the way is new,
as one descends into another valley at
night, where the French or Italian inn
replaces the Club hut which he left at
daybreak. And there are some which are
really more dangerous than the majority
of peaks ; as, for instance, the " Altes
Weissthor," from Zermatt to Macugnaga.
I have never crossed this pass, but once
had a good view of it when descending
the New Weissthor, a short distance away.
While we were breakfasting on the brink

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

Z inal-Rothhorn — Sunset.

of the cliffs an ava-
lanche fell directly on the
route, which is seldom free
from falling stones; and yet the
tariff is only forty or forty-five
francs for a guide, while eighty is de-
manded for the Jungfrau ! And there is
also the Col du Lion on the Matterhorn,
which offers similar inducements. Then

Sonic Episodes of Mountaineering

there is at Randa the Domjoch or the
Mischabeljoch, neither of which is much
inferior in height to the great peaks on
either side, and both lead down to Saas-
Fee by descents of uncommon steepness.

It has been a fashion, particularly of late
years, for experienced Alpinists to make
difficult or little-known ascents unattended
by guides ; and while experience and self-
confidence may be better acquired in this
way, they are often dearly bought. Acci-
dents have happened to the most famous
experts while prospecting alone; and it will
be found that by far the greater number of
Alpine catastrophes have been due to care-
lessness, and to the rashness of novices in
venturing too far without guides. Unless
one is extremely quick and clever, he is
very likely, when he finds himself in a
perplexing situation, to under-estimate the
difficulty of certain passages, where danger
is not apparent, but which a guide would
never attempt ; such, for instance, are the
steep and sunburned grass slopes high on a
mountain-side, which often terminate in
cliffs or vertical ledges above a glacier. As
the tufts of dry grass usually point down-
ward, they afford little hold to the nails in-
one's boots, and are often as slippery as
glass. There are also certain places which

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

look appalling to a beginner, but which
turn out to be perfectly easy when once
the guide in front has got safely over
them. Most treacherous of all to the
solitary climber are the steep glissades *
down couloirs of snow or ice ; and a little
accident which happened to a friend of
the writer, although he fortunately escaped
serious damage, had the effect of making
him forever after over-cautious in regard
to this extremely rapid but uncertain mode
of progression. While waiting at Pra-
Raye, at the head of the desolate Valpel-
line valley, for settled weather in order to
cross the "col" to Zermatt, he left his
guides at the chalet, and ventured on a
little private exploring expedition up the
unfrequented Glacier de Bella Cia, near
the Chateau des Dames. He had taken
an alpenstock belonging to his porter, one
of the slender tourist sort, branded with
names ; and as he turned back to descend,
he concluded to pick his way down a long
slope covered with loose rocks and debris,
which seemed a more direct route than the
break-neck ledges by which he had scram-
bled up. The slope descended steeply,

* The sitting glissade is perhaps the most exhilarating way
of getting down a long snow-slope, such as the one on the
Dorn, and does not call for the same degree of acrobatic skill as
the standing glissade.

Some Episodes cf Mountaineering

without a break apparently; but as he got
down, the valley beneath him seemed to
retire by some unaccountable effect of aerial
perspective, which made him suspect the
existence of a precipice invisible from
above. Proceeding cautiously downward,
he found himself on the verge of a long
and vertical ledge, and keeping on along
the brink he finally reached a steep cou-
loir or narrow chasm filled with packed
snow, which offered a short cut down be-
tween jagged walls of rock. As the incli-
nation at which the couloir descended did
not seem dangerously steep, he attempted
a standing glissade, using his stick as a brake
in the usual manner. It became steeper
as he slid down ; and in trying to check
his velocity the stick snapped in two, and
he shot down the incline feet foremost
with the speed of a rocket. Luckily the
chasm made a turn at right angles, and
he was landed on a heap of stones, with
no further damage than the loss of con-
siderable epidermis, and the annihilation
of his trousers.

To-day, when every great peak has been
thoroughly explored, when famous climb-
ers have achieved the most difficult sum-
mits alone, or at least without professional
guides, but few remain the mere ascent of

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

A Ladder of Ice — Zinal-Rothhorn.

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

which confers any brevet of distinction in
this field of athletics. As in all professions
and in all sports which boast semi-profes-
sional experts, the standard has been raised.
In order to take a high rank, or to " make
a record," the aspirant for the honors of
the Alpine Club must traverse such peaks
as the Matterhorn, and descend on the op-
posite side, or cross the Dom du Mischa-
bel,* the highest peak on Swiss soil, which
presents little difficulty until one descends
the steep rock face above Saas. There are
still a few summits left which are admitted
to be somewhat " tough," and one of the
most successful enthusiasts in the matter of
rock peaks has recently given his verdict
in favor of Chamouny as a happy hunt-
ing-ground ; for he found sufficient inter-
est in some of the slender Aiguilles which
surround Mont Blanc to stimulate his
somewhat jaded appetite. It would, how-
ever, be quite incorrect to make an arbi-
trary statement that any particular ascent
is easy or difficult. With bad weather any
minor peak may become hazardous at once,
or when a fierce gale of wind whistles and

* According to Baedeker's figures the three highest summits
of the Alps are Mont Blanc, 15,366 feet, Monte Rosa, 15,217,
and the Dom du Mischabel, 14,941. The first belongs to France,
the second is on the boundary between Italy and Switzerland,
while the third alone belongs entirely to the latter country.

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

howls among the rocks as through the
rigging of a ship, and they are crusted
with verglas or frozen sleet ; it is only
just, therefore, to say that the expeditions
referred to here were nearly all made un-
der favorable circumstances.

ii.

While detained at the Eggishorn hotel
by bad weather, in 1886, I picked up a
copy of the Times, or some other London
daily, and found an editorial relating to a
recent accident on the Dom du Mischabel,
and it also contained a letter or statement
in regard to the claim put forth by an
Englishman who had just made the ascent,
as he believed, for the first time; this pre-
sumption was contradicted by others, who
claimed to have made prior ascents. I have
since seen guides who thought that it had
been done as early as 1865. In those re-
mote days the Dom was invested with
imaginary terrors, and a certain prestige,
like that of the Matterhorn before Mr.
Whymper made the first ascent, although
of course in a lesser degree ; at that time
there was no cabin, and climbers were
obliged to pass the first part of the night
under the cliffs above Randa.

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

Now that the Dom has a Club hut, and
the route is well known, it presents no dif-
ficulty, although rather long and tedious,
rising, as it does, more than ten thousand
feet sheer above Randa. The day which
we chose for the trip was the first on
which it would have been feasible, after
a long period of bad weather with much
snow, and we overtook several other par-
ties on the road. The great rampart of
tawny cliffs above the valley, which forms
the pedestal of the Dom, rises to such a
height that one can see nothing of the
glaciers and peaks above them. In the
centre, and at the bottom of this amphi-
theatre of cliffs, there is a cavern, prob-
ably an extension or widening of a deep
cleft which was cut through by the torrent
issuing from its mouth, arid which trickles
across the broad delta, or sloping plain of
gravel and debris, at the base. When
we had crossed the torrent at a point
far below, and were ascending the steep
pastures beyond, toward the cliffs, it was
our good fortune to behold the most
magnificent of avalanches. The stream
where it poured out from the cleft began
to rumble hoarsely, raising its voice to a
sullen roar, while the water changed to
snow and ice, ever increasing in volume

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

The Ascent of the Dom — the start at 3 a.m.

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

until the whole broad slope was deeply
covered with a fast-moving white carpet,
over which great blocks of snow and ice
chased each other, leaping into the air,
and breaking as they fell into showers of
fragments and frozen spray. Seen from
below, it must have resembled the coming
of a tidal wave. The ascent of the cliffs
was facilitated by two or three long lad-
ders placed against their most vertical por-
tions ; but we had the blazing afternoon
sun of August on our backs, and were
sufficiently hot and thirsty by the time
we reached the top, and could look across
the icy desolation of the Festi Glacier to
the vast bulk of the Mischabel group ris-
ing beyond it. Some English Alpinists
h?.d already installed themselves at the
new Club hut, and were luxuriating in
iced wine punch, which had been pre-
pared in a flexible canvas bucket ; and they
held it out to us, as we arrived, hot and
breathless. Certainly nothing ever looked
more tempting than its crimson depths,
with the lemons and blocks of ice swim-
ming about ; and even the strictest Mussul-
man might well have been pardoned if for
once he forgot his creed, and looked upon
the wine when it was red.

The cabin had a sloping platform for
81

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

sleeping purposes, extending along the
wall for its entire length on the side op-
posite the door, which was well covered
with clean straw and plentifully provided
with blue blankets, each marked with the
C. A. of the Club Alpine. There was a
large stove at one end of the narrow space
left, with a table and a few wooden benches
near it ; and at the other end a primitive
stairway led to the loft, which was sacred
to the guides. When the numerous and
cosmopolitan company had tucked them-
selves away in the straw at the early hour
of 8 p.m., the cabin presented a droll ap-
pearance, with its long row of heads, vari-
ously nightcapped, each emerging from its
blue blanket. Although at such an eleva-
tion the nights are usually cold, on this
particular night a blanket was quite un-
necessary, and the fleas, which are never
absent from the clean straw of Switzer-
land, were uncommonly active ; there was
also a man who snored, and two or three
who told stories. As there was little pros-
pect of sleep, I wandered out in search of
a cool spring which bubbled up at a little
distance from the door, and which could
only be found after much groping and stum-
bling among the rocks. There was no
moon ; and while the ground underfoot was

Some Episodes of Aforoitabieeritig

almost un-
distinguish-
able, the vivid
starlight made all
the encircling peaks
clearly visible. Just
across the deep gulf of
Randa, which had the
blackness of a pall,
arose the colossal bulk
of the Weisshorn ; and
the white chaos of se-
racs and glaciers lead-
ing up to it seemed to diffuse an almost

The Ober-Gabeihorn.

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

phosphorescent glimmer, while from be-
hind the black pyramid of the Matter-
horn the Milky Way rose straight toward
the zenith, like a flaming sword. The
dead silence would have been oppressive,
had it not been broken now and then by
the muffled roar of a torrent somewhere
down below, which came at intervals on
some stray current of air, like the hollow
rumble of a distant train. In the dry
night wind at this elevation, there is a
subtle quality which makes one feel so
keenly alive, that only a modicum of sleep
is necessary ; and one is loath to exchange
its freshness for the close, stove-heated air
of a cabane. And if one remembers for
a moment the Turkish proverb which,
as everyone knows, runs thus, "A man is
better lying down than standing, sleeping
than lying down, dead than sleeping," it
is only with the impatience of the scoffer
at a philosophy with which he cannot
feel in touch. At one o'clock, after we
had all dozed a little, there was a sound
of heavy boots coming carefully down
the stair ; and presently the guides were
all at work heating bouillon, or making
coffee over the stove. The first to start
was a German with two guides, and we
followed shortly after ; by the time we

So/ne Episodes of Mountaineering

had picked our way by the light of the
lantern over the bowlders of the moraine,
and along the crevasses of the glacier, we
sighted his lantern, which shone like a
star, high up in a couloir of snow leading
to the arete. Here we overtook the Ger-
man, and after a consultation our guides
thought it advisable that we should all be
roped together. We had not proceeded
far along the wedge-like snow arete, which
leads, if I remember rightly, in an almost
unbroken line to the summit, when we
came to the only break in its continuity,
a huge and jutting promontory of rocks,
which seemed to cut the arete quite in
two, and to bar our farther progress. The
German team in front, like ants when in-
terrupted in their travels by any obstacle,
kept straight on, and scaled the cliff, but,
when they reached the summit, seemed
unable to get down on the other side.
My guides, seeing their predicament, un-
harnessed themselves ; and we started round
the ledge on the side, where it rises above
the Festi glacier. One by one we worked
along the wall until we came to the cor-
ner. The first guide had already turned
it ; and, having need of both hands, I was
beginning to find my piollet somewhat
embarrassing, when we were nearly toma-

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

hawked by the piollet of one of the men
over our heads, which he had dropped in
his struggle to get down. As we ducked
instinctively, another piollet whizzed past
like an arrow, and buried itself in the ice
of the glacier far below. It must have
taken them nearly an hour to recover their
lost property ; and, after regaining the
snow arete, we continued serenely on until
we neared the apex of the Dom, where we
were the first to arrive, between seven and
eight a.m. As we neared the summit,
ledges of rock arose through the crusted
snow on the Zermatt side ; and the ridge,
ever steeper as we toiled breathlessly up-
ward, rose before us like the razor edge
which all good Mussulmans must traverse
if they would reach Paradise. But from
the top of the Dom it was the majestic
triple peak of the "Gran Paradiso" which
we saw rising over the shoulder of the
Matterhorn, but far away on the Italian
side. It is said that from this height the
Mediterranean is often visible ; but al-
though the sky overhead was of the deep-
est and most cloudless blue, the nearer
snows dazzling, and the long white chain
of the Oberland toned by a golden haze,
the plains of Italy beyond the lakes faded
away into a vaporous horizon on the south.

Some Episodes of Mountaineering;

As we turned to go down, we met the
others coming up along the ridge; but our
guides, for some good reason — probably
the steepness of the crusted snow slope —
preferred to take a different route, and, turn-
ing to the right, we sat down in the snow,
and slid or glis-
saded down what
would make the
finest and dizzi-
est of toboggan
slides, to the val-
ley at the foot of
the Taschhorn.

Although the
Dom is undoubt-
edly one of the
finest of the great
snow peaks, the
ascent of it does
not present the
varied interest of
many rock summits far inferior in height ;
and the only amusing bit of rock-work
which I remember, is the passage of the
ledge or cliff near the beginning of the arete.

Peter Taugzvalder, No.

* The numbers i (above) and 2 (p. 68) are given, not in
order to discriminate in favor of one or the other, but are a means
of identifying them, as they are namesakes. Peter Taugwalder,
No. 1, is one of the survivors of the famous Matterhorn disaster
in 1865, when he accompanied his father as porter.

Some Episodes oj Mountaineering

III.

The Val d'Aosta, as one leaves Courma-
yeur and Mont Blanc behind, opens below
like the portal of a new world, and is a
charming interlude between the arctic
world which we have just left and that
which we are to encounter on the other
side of its high mountain wall. The
green vineyards of Italy border the dusty
highway, and each jutting promontory of
rock is crowned with a castle or watch-
tower. Near Villeneuve, on the south, is
the narrow entrance of the gorge which
leads upward into the Val Savaranche,
which is one point of departure for the
Gran Paradiso region. When entering
this valley for the first time, I had come
up from Turin and Cuorgne, by the " Col
de la Croix de Nivollet," and by way of
Ceresole Reale, entering the Val Sava-
ranche at Villeneuve. I reached the little
hamlet of Pont, a scattered group of
weather-beaten chalets at the head of the
ravine, late in the afternoon. An old garde-
c/iasse, wearing the badge of the King of
Italy on his hat, met me on the road, and
proffered his services as guide, as he had a
key of the Cabane on the Paradiso. We

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

put up at a cantine, the nearest approach
to a hotel in the village, which was kept
by a most obliging woman, surrounded
by five or six tow-headed children, who
sprawled over each other in front of the
great open fireplace. For other furniture
the room had a pine table with a bench
on each side, a spinning-wheel, and two
or three closets in the wall, where our
hostess kept her crockery and supplies of
chocolate, sardines, and other luxuries for
improvident pedestrians. Her cuisine,
naturally limited in this bleak region, in-
cluded soup, eggs, an-d chickens, of which
a goodly number strutted in front of the
door, or foraged on the kitchen floor, so
that without leaving her fireplace she could
pounce on the chosen victim at the proper
moment. But this time we were doomed
to disappointment ; the weather changed
for the worse, and, after passing a night
in the loft overhead, where, although the
beds were sufficiently immaculate, there
was hardly room to stand upright, we were
obliged reluctantly to abandon the trip ; a
cold storm had set in during the night,
and the heights around us were hidden by
the driving rain. My second attempt, al-
though it did not begin as auspiciously,
ended in the most satisfactory manner.

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

The old garde-chasse, when I reached his
house lower down in the valley, was away
hunting steinbock* with the King ; and I
could find no one to take his place in the
village of Pont, when I arrived there for
the second time. There was still an hour
for a little prospecting before dark ; and
hoping to get a view of trie hitherto elu-
sive Gran Paradiso, I kept on to the end
of the valley, and turned up the bridle-
path which leads to the cabane. But the
great summit is not visible, either from
this valley or from Cogne, being environed
by a circle of lesser satellites which are yet
high enough to cut off the view entirely ;
and it is only from the heights around
Zermatt that one can get a satisfactory
impression of the highest peak in Italy.

The cabane, having been designed as a
royal shooting-box, is superior in its equip-
ments to any Club hut with which I am
familiar, and is approached by a well-kept
bridle-path, which winds upward in long
zigzags. When turning to come down, I
saw far below, at the foot of the cliffs, a
party of three, who were on their way up,
carrying a coil of rope and various other

* The adjacent hills, as well as those around Cogne, are still
the haunt of the steinbock, or ibex, which are reserved for the
exclusive sport of royalty, although the chamois are free to all at
the proper season.

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

A Long Step — on the Gran Paradiso

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

impedimenta. They proved to be two
young Italian engineers, accompanied by
a guide whom they had engaged for the
season ; and with the amiability character-
istic of Italian Alpinists, they invited me
to make one of their party, only stipulat-
ing that I should bring up provisions and
a few extra metres of rope. They were
to sleep at the cabane, and start at five in
the morning. It was then about six p.m.;
and I was not long in getting down to the
cantine, swallowing a hastily cooked din-
ner, and securing a supply of provisions.
Our hostess found the rope, which was
crammed into a sack with the rations ; and
her husband, carrying a lantern, officiated
as porter. The Italians were already asleep
when we reached our quarters, which were
truly palatial for a "hut" at this elevation;
the room which they occupied opened into
a large dining-room furnished with a long
table and chairs, and beyond this we found
a kitchen, a room for guides, and an-
other sleeping-room provided with several
bunks and mattresses. A single figure was
stretched out in one of the bunks, and the
room was heated by a drum connected
with a stove in the adjoining kitchen. I
was rather too hasty, however, in congrat-
ulating myself on such unwonted luxury;

Some Episodes of Afountaineering

for the temperature of the room, uncom-
fortably hot when I turned in, became
chill and frosty when the fire had gone
out, and it was not until my room-mate
shook himself out of bed at the call of
his guides, that I discovered that there
were blankets, and that he had appropri-
ated all of them, my share as well as his
own. Taking advantage of the unusually
complete cooking facilities, and the gen-
erous supply of crockery provided by roy-
alty for hungry Alpinists, we dallied late
over a rather elaborate breakfast; and it
was broad daylight when we struck into
the path, and began to clamber over the
frost-covered bowlders which lead up to
the snow-fields. In speaking of a path
here and elsewhere, I refer always to the
distinct foot-path, which, in the case of
mountains frequently ascended, leads from
the starting-point, Club hut or inn, up the
moraines to the glacier. Beyond this point
there may exist, during a long season of
fine weather, traces in the snow left by the
last party, which, of course, are obliterated
by the first storm. The only other land-
marks or indications of human life above
the rudimentary path up the moraine
and the occasional tracks in the snow
are the deposits of broken bottles and

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

empty tin cans at points where the guides
are in the habit of stopping. In cases
where the ascent is not often made, these
indications are not to be depended on.
As there was only one guide and no porter
in this party of four, the provisions and
other baggage were divided, and each man
carried his share of the weight ; mine, in
addition to my own personal belongings,
was a bulky wooden wine-flask, of a make
only found in this part of Italy, and large
enough to supply the entire party. The
weight was of little consequence; but its
size and bulk were rather in the way when
we got to the rocks, and more than once
I was nearly carromed off a cliff by its ro-
tundity. While we travelled along the
snow-ridge, and the first ice-slope where
steps were cut, our guide did not think it
worth while to put on the rope; although
we struggled along one after another, and
a decidedly rapid toboggan slide led down
to the edge of a cliff overhanging a glacier
which we could not see. An icy wind
blew down the slope, and the slowness of
our progress upward did not tend to in-
crease our somewhat sluggish circulation.
The first striking feature of the route was
a long Bergschrund, or horizontal chasm in
the ice, fringed with pendent icicles, and

Some 1-lpisodes of Moutitaineering

of varying width, which must first be
crossed before we could mount the steep,
snow-covered dome on the other side,
which led to the ridge of rocks at the
summit ; this was the most toilsome part
of the ascent, as the beginning of the slope
directly at the edge of the crevasse had the
bulging outward curve of a Persian dome.
The ice was covered to the depth of a foot
or more with loose snow, which had to be
scraped away before the steps could be cut.
As it happened, none of us were properly
equipped for the occasion; the guide had
the only piollet, the rest of us having alpen-
stocks, and my one pair of woollen gloves
did duty for three, each taking his turn. In
consequence of our improvidence, one of
the party had the hand in which he held
his staff so shrivelled by the cold wind that
for months afterward it had a shrunken
look, although not actually frost-bitten,
while the fairest of the two Italians suffered
from sunburn to such a degree that his face
was puffed out with water-blisters; he had
rubbed it with butter before starting, but
far from impeding the action of the sun-
glare, it seemed rather to increase its effect,
so that he became a sorry spectacle on the
following day. As for the guide and my-
self, our weather-beaten hides were too

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

well tanned to suffer much from a little
additional exposure. Subsequent experi-
ence has taught me that one can never
consider himself exempt from sunburn ;
and in going over tracts of newly-fallen
snow, and when the sun shines through
thin vapor, what is called a "white mist,"
very few escape entirely.

Having reached at last the top of the
snow-dome, we found ourselves near the
rocky ridge backbone which crops out
through the snow at the summit of the
Gran Paradiso ; it had a strikingly artifi-
cial appearance, and might be likened to
an old Roman wall, while the three tall
aiguilles, one of which is the true summit,
heighten the resemblance still more by
looking as if built of superimposed blocks
of stone. When we had clambered up to
the top of the wall, which was at least five
or six feet broad, we walked easily along,
sometimes climbing over a large block of
stone covered with snow, until the thor-
oughfare came to an end at the foot of the
first summit. Here we saw that it would
be necessary to pass round the outer wall,
which descended quite vertically for some
distance, until it reached the snow-slopes
and seracs which led down to the glacier.
Our guide went first, showing us that there

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

was in reality no difficulty about this mau-
vais pas, which at first sight did not look
invitingly easy. We all held him by the
rope, while he worked along the face of
the wall, clinging to the projections, or
searching with his fingers for the crevices,
and then with a long step across space (I
cannot remember now how far down the
slope began, but the impression that there
was both space and depth was vivid enough
at that moment) he reached a sure foot-
hold in the rocks of the second " chim-
ney," and then we all followed one after
the other. My turn came last, and being
slightly embarrassed by the wine-flask, it
was necessary for me to hug the wall
closely ; then with a brief scramble up
the rocks we reached the summit.

Nowhere among the Alps is there a
panorama of more impressive desolation
than this. In almost every similar pros-
pect, even the more extensive view from
the Dom, the eye may travel downward
without hinderance, from the Switzerland
of the Alpinists to the deep grooves haunted
by summer tourists — the green valley with
the railway track along the bottom, the
great hotels — and one may imagine, if he
cannot see, the long procession of pleasure-
seekers, each carrying, ant-like, a burden

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

of some sort. But here the connecting
links are missing ; there is no populous
valley just below, no summits seem to
overtop us but the distant snows of Mont
Blanc and the "Grand Combin," and
nothing meets the eye but the world of
ice and rocks, and solitude, which shuts

out the nether
world.

Here on the
summit one of
the Italians had
an ill turn,
which might
have been
mountain sick-
ness, or it may
have been
caused by indi-
gestion, and it
was evident
that our guide
felt some anxiety about getting him down
along the wall; but after he had slept for
half an hour in a sunny nook the feeling
passed off, and we reached the cabane
without further difficulty.

On the following morning we started for
Cogne by the Col de Lauzon,* a charming

* Col de Lauzon, 9,500 feet.
98

Josef Marie P err en (Guide at Zermatt).

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

route, from the forest of fir and larch above
Pont to the high green pasture slopes, and
over a rocky saddle, where we had a capa-
cious lunch. While we lay smoking on a
flat rock in the sunshine, and sheltered from
the wind on the " Col," a single chamois
wandered across a patch of snow far below
us: we all shouted at once; and he disap-
peared with a few leaps, followed by eight
others. Down among the green slopes be-
low we came to a hunting-lodge belonging
to the King, and late in the afternoon we
reached the little town of Cogne. The
villagers were all sitting and gossiping on
their doorsteps when we passed through,
as it was Sunday afternoon, and the blond-
haired peasant-girls were in holiday-attire ;
all wore high white ruffs, like those in por-
traits of the Medici period, long-waisted
bodices, and short skirts of some dark blue
material, relieved by narrow strips of col-
ored silk.

There were two hotels in the village,
and one of my companions said that they
were going to the " Grivola." He did
not like to recommend it, as it was kept
by his cousins, and he even admitted that
it was considered dearer than the other;
but we went to the " Grivola " notwith-
standing. The sign-board swung in the

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

wind at the end of a long iron bracket,
and the whitewashed stone walls were
pierced by small grated windows, a preva-
lent fashion in Cogne, which gives to the
place something of the character of a Span-
ish village. Within, there was a long din-
ing-room with quaint old furniture, and
quainter engravings on the white walls.
In the travellers' book a noted climber
had recorded his ascent of the Gran Para-
diso without a guide ; it may have been
easy enough for him, but the casual ama-
teur would feel more tranquil with some
one at the other end of a rope.

Here our friends were made welcome,
and we all had a huge supper. Roast
chamois was one of the principal dishes,
and the wine of the Val d'Aosta was poured
out by a girl with a Medici ruff. After
coffee in the morning my bill was a trifle
over five francs, all included ; but possibly
the other hotel may have been a shade less
expensive.

IV,

The Zinal-Rothhorn or " Morning " is,
to use an Anglo-Indian phrase, a " puckah "
mountain, which means that it is the real
thing, and not a sham ; it holds a very re-
spectable rank among the local aristocracy

IOO

Some Episodes of Mountaineer big

of rock peaks, the crowned heads which
rise above the high white ridges surround-
ing Zermatt. Although we found no un-
usual difficulty on the Rothhorn, there was
too much snow near the summit, and the
ascent was long and fatiguing ; but a quiet
gray-haired lady who dined at the table
d'hote at 'Zermatt had made the trip three
years before, and did not seem to consider
it by any means an unusual performance.
Her companion, who was my neighbor at
dinner, told of a man who, without much
previous experience, had chosen it for his
first essay in climbing. When he had
reached the peak, with its shelving slabs
of rock, and ladder of ice, he lost his head
entirely, and the guides were obliged lit-
erally to carry him down, one of them
placing his feet in the right spots, and the
other holding him by the shoulders ; this
is a fine illustration of the strength, cool-
ness, and pluck of these men.

Before attacking the Rothhorn we had
sustained a defeat, or, rather, we had made
an ignominious and perhaps unnecessary
retreat the day before. We had first un-
dertaken the " Ober-Gabelhorn," which,
although not quite as high or as expensive,
is at times even more difficult. After pass-
ing the night at the "Toft" inn, two hours

[OI

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

above Zermatt, we were obliged to give up
the trip, as the weather had changed. We
made a second expedition to the Trift on
the following day, and at two in the morn-
ing we set out for the Gabelhorn again.
Pietro shook his head doubtfully when he
saw the quantity of snow on the rocks, and
seemed reluctant about starting. During
the halt for breakfast, at sunrise, on the
rocks below the Gabelhorn glacier, we
were joined by an English climber with
a " record " and a vigorous pair of long
legs. He had just come up from Zer-
matt without stopping at the Trift; and
although his guides, who were both young
and ambitious, seemed very doubtful about
the success of the undertaking, he decided
to keep on as far as possible ; and we all
began the ascent of the glacier at the same
time. As we got higher up, the soft snow
covering the ice-slopes became deeper, and
Pietro became more despondent. Both of
my guides finally halted, and declared that,
although they were willing to keep on, they
considered it a useless waste of strength,
and were quite sure that it would be im-
possible to reach the summit in time to
return before nightfall. Yielding to the
advice of the older and more experienced
guide, we turned back, not without regret,

1 02

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

and concluded to devote the remainder of
the day to prowling about on the lower
summits, and to attack the Zinal-Rothhorn
on the following night, as it appeared to
be in better condition, and less buried in
snow. We had not proceeded far in our
descent, looking back from time to time
at our friends, who were still struggling
upward through the deep drifts, when Pi-
etro was seized with the qualms of indi-
gestion, which accounted, in a measure,
for his reluctance to go on. It is quite
impossible for any man, however strong,
to climb rocks when suffering from even
the least touch of dyspepsia ; one might
as well engage in a prize-fight with a bro-
ken wrist.

It was not until five o'clock in the after-
noon that our friend returned to the inn,
just as we were thinking of sending up
after him, and narrated over his tea, and
in a voice as husky as my own at the mo-
ment, how they had at last reached the
" Gabel " after unusual exertion, and in
spite of the overhanging cornices of snow,
they had clambered up to the summit.
The guide, who was still suffering from
indigestion, was replaced by Peter Taug-
walder (No. 2), and by two a.m. we
were toiling up the steep and seemingly

103

So) fie Episodes of Mountaineering

endless moraines below the Rothhorn
glacier.

Now, while we are still half awake, and
not wholly reconciled to being up and
astir, it seems a fitting moment to make
the admission that one of the least attrac-
tive features connected with the assault of
any respectable peak, is the unearthly small
hour at which one is routed out of bed,
and compelled, for the sake of prudence,
to swallow a substantial meal. When the
previous night is passed on the straw of a
"Club hut," one may sometimes look for-
ward to early rising without regret ; but
when, as at the Trift, one is luxuriously
ensconced between sheets, under a thick
eiderdown, and the guides rap at the door
at one a.m., it is not difficult to imagine
the feelings of the condemned, when the
entrance of the jailer before daylight ad-
mits of only one construction. Then one
is inclined to turn over, with a vague sense
of injury at the thought of the black cliffs
sheathed in ice. But once out in the keen,
clear air, well fortified by something hot
inside, there comes to the climber a new
sense of positive exhilaration at the pros-
pect of the work before him; and the mere
fact of being alive is in itself a source of
rejoicing. Overhead the sky is cloudless

104

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

Raphael Biner on the Last Ice Cornice of the Kothhom

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

and star-lit, with a waning moon, not
powerful enough to illuminate the depths
of shadow thrown across the valley by the
heights behind ; and for a long distance
the path is (indistinguishable save in the
little circle of light cast by the lantern of
the guide in front, so that one is obliged
to mind his steps while picking his way
from one bowlder to another. In front
rises the ragged outline of the Gabelhorn,
and the dark masses of rock which conceal
the Rothhorn, all in the diffused and spec-
tral light which comes just before dawn.

Once out of the gloom and shadow, the
lantern is extinguished; behind us, and be-
yond the vague darkness which still lurks
in the ravine of the Trift, arise the spot-
less snows of the Monte Rosa chain, cutting
sharply against the first pink flush of the
sky. Then follows the matchless pageant
of early dawn, and the sunrise, which has
an impressive solemnity in these high lati-
tudes unequalled elsewhere. More than
once I have seen the guides halt in their
steps and turn back to enjoy it, accustomed
as they are to the spectacle; and it is al-
ways a pleasure to see in their rough-hewn,
weather-beaten faces the gleam of recog-
nition which shows that they too are keenly
alive to its beauty.

106

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

Long before this, the last regret at our
enforced early rising has vanished ; all
other regrets and cares which may have
followed us to Zermatt have been left be-
hind and forgotten for the moment ; most
of them lurk among our belongings left at
the hotel in Zermatt, and not one has
followed us beyond the little room at the
Trift. For the moment the one absorbing
aim in life is to see the end of this inter-
minable moraine. One could not but think
of Dante's obscure wood, —

" E quanto a dir qual era e cosa dura ; "

and beyond the last of the moraine we
mount the ice of the Rothhorn glacier.
There is but little of it ; and we come
almost at once to the towering barrier of
rocky precipice at the left, which is the
first formidable outwork of the Rothhorn
itself. Although we could not have been
favored with a milder day for this prome-
nade, the way up the vertical wall, which
lay along the groove worn by a cataract,
was covered with a thin coating of ice,
where the spray had frozen during the
night. The staircase cut by another cas-
cade a little farther on was equally slip-
pery ; but after Biner had prospected a
little, he found a way which would con-

107

Some Episodes, of Mountaineering

duct us to the more gentle slopes above.
One of the chief beauties of this particu-
lar Rothhorn * is, that it does not give one
much leisure for retrospection, but offers
in rapid succession almost every variety of
climbing necessary to keep one's interest
from flagging. When we had gained the
summit of the rocks, high above the gla-
cier, we were confronted with a long and
exceedingly steep slope of mingled snow
and ice, where step-cutting was necessary
in places, and one or two halts to gain
breath, before we could reach the summit
of the long, winding ridge which leads to
the peak. Sharp points of rock pierce the
snow in some places ; but in front of us
stretches away, in long perspective, the
sharp arete which we must traverse, never
straight or even, but sinuous, winding,
alternately rising and falling, or hanging
over in curving cornices, which we must
avoid by long detours, so that it seems
at times like being on the ridgepole of
some vast white cathedral. The snow has
begun to melt a little, and it is not difficult
to keep one's footing; but in places where
the wind, by constant friction, has left only

* Near Zermatt alone there are three Rothhorns. The
Unter-Rothhorn, 10,190 feet ; Ober-Rothhorn, 11,214 feet> guides,
jo francs; Zinal-Rothhorn, 13,855 feet, guides, 80 francs,

108

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

a knife-like edge, the concentrated atten-
tion which is necessary becomes at last
fatiguing, so that it is with a sense of re-
lief that we descend steeply the end of
the arete, and cautiously mount a slender
bridge of snow like a white flying buttress,
supported from below by a spur or thin
curtain of rock which runs out from the
base of the peak.

We are now at the foot of the mighty
pyramid of splintered rock, powdered in
places with fresh snow, which rises in
front to a discouraging height ; and we
can realize in a measure that there is
work before us. Moving carefully across
the slope, through loose snow and over
rocks, we reach the steep and narrow cou-
loir rilled with ice by which we mount to
the "saddle." Here the guides deposit
their sacks and all superfluous articles, and
we fortify ourselves with a third breakfast.
In doing this sort of work, one feels the
need of a substantial banquet at least once
every two hours. The place is a veritable
saddle ; for on the other side the slope is
quite as steep, so that it is almost like sit-
ting astride of a wall. Even the piollets
are left behind, with the exception of Bi-
ner's, who takes the lead, and does the
cutting. In places like this only a prac-

109

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

tised expert can carry his axe without
being embarrassed by it, when both hands
are needed, and where the best-trained
acrobat would be manifestly inferior to a
Barbary ape. The thin wedge of rock on
which we have been sitting stops at the
foot of a wall ; there is no difficulty in
getting up, as the notches occur in the
right places, and one gains a little extra
confidence for what is before him. Now
comes something quite different, — a broad
table-like surface of smooth rock, sloping
downward with such a degree of convex-
ity as to hide the base of the mountain
below ; and beyond its curving edge noth-
ing is visible nearer than the glaciers of the
Zinal Valley. Too steep to walk across,
and with little or no apparent irregular-
ity of surface, it resembles the cmooth,
rounded slope of a mansard roof. But a
closer inspection discloses two or three
transverse fissures ; and one by one, with
great caution, we manage to wriggle
across, eel-like, depending on our fingers,
elbows, and the friction of our clothes,
but not at all on our feet. It is in reality
much easier than it looks, as one feels
instinctively where to bestow his weight.
Upon the other side, some sharp jutting
points of rock afford a safe anchorage,

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

W%k

-„i

w^"S„

Htj£t

■

^Mjt

^HCcv

!^mj

* l

E9BBT

W7 v

Getting Dmvn the Ledge aboz>e the Saddle — Rothhorn

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

where we may take breath for a moment,
and looking upward contemplate the next
bit of work. Although widely different
in character, it is not a whit more invit-
ing. A long and glassy ice-slope of ex-
ceeding steepness leads straight to the top
of the ridge near the first peak ; a narrow
ledge or ridge of rock begins high up, and,
protruding through the ice, reaches about
half-way down the slope ; to gain this point
is the object of the next effort. While
Peter and I enjoy the well-earned luxury
of indolence, Biner goes on and hacks
away with his piollet, cutting a series of
deep gashes in the hard ice ; half-way to
the lower end of the ledge he reaches the
end of his coil of rope, and shouts for us
to come up. Leaving Peter to await his
turn at the bottom, I mount this Jacob's
ladder of ice as far as the rope will per-
mit, there to wait until Biner has gained
the rocks. To describe this slope as near-
ly vertical would be to exaggerate ; but it
certainly has the inclination of the average
straight " mansard," and to walk would
necessitate too much effort in keeping
one's balance. Fortunately the steps are
so deep that it is possible to rest an elbow
in one, and a knee in another ; the blows
of the piollet above send down a shower

»3

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

of ice chips which fill up the steps as they
are cut, and it becomes necessary to scoop
them out with one's fingers. Meanwhile
there is leisure to look around and enjoy
the landscape. There is a remarkably fine
view of the Dent Blanche, which seems to
have borrowed very nearly the outline of
the Matterhorn when seen from the Staffel
Alp ; * but most of the scenery is down in
the depths beyond and below the placid
countenance of Peter, which stands out at
the bottom of the ice-slope, against the deep
gulf of the Zinal Valley, for the smooth
convexity of the slope effectually conceals
everything between. Biner reaches the
rocks, and we mount rapidly until we
can lay hold of the first sharp ridge ; at
this point two or three slender cords j"

* See addendum at the end of this article on The Matterhorn
from the Staffel Alp.

t This extract from the Alpine Post, a bright little Swiss
journal (Sept. 6, 1893), will show that such improvements do
not always meet with the unqualified approval of the public :
" One has been accustomed to look on the Dent Blanche as un-
likely ever to be degraded by being bound in ropes and chains.
But, alas ! a party ascending it not long ago found to their
intense disgust that a rope had been fixed from the end of the
traverse below the first 'Gendarme' to the arete. In this coun-
try it is illegal to remove anything such as ropes off a mountain,
otherwise no doubt the cord would have been cut away then and
there. . . . Climbers will remember the piece of ground covered
by this rcpe. Our correspondent, when ascending the Dent
Blanche, found this part of the mountain in the worst possible
condition ; and he does not hesitate to say that for an experienced
party (and 'duffers' should not attack first-class peaks) there
was no danger whatever, though great care was requisite in
cutting the steps."

114

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

protrude from the ice. Some one has
evidently taken the trouble to fasten them
before the ice had formed ; but they are
hardly strong enough to bear one's weight,
and the rocks offer a more secure hold.
It is not advisable, however, to attempt
walking yet. As the rocks are stratified
vertically, they offer no
transverse breaks in which
to insert one's fingers; but
the roughness of their sur-
face is sufficient to allow
of a firm hold. A short
walk along the
crest of the
ridge leads us
to the first of
the two crags which
form the summit, and
the next step is a gym-
nastic performance in
which some caution
is advisable. This first
peak runs up into a
narrow wedge of rock
crowned by thin,
pointed slabs like a
stone fence, or like
gravestones, slanting
outward, and over- Raphael Bimri GHide- z*rmmn.

Some Episodes of Mountaineering'

hanging the perpendicular wall on the
Zermatt side which seemed so grand and
impressive when we looked up at it from
the snow arete below. Around and under
these leaning slabs it is necessary to pass,
one by one, placing our feet carefully in a
little fissure like the gutter along a house-
top, hugging the gravestones which hang
over us, and leaning backward until we
overhang the abyss, some three thousand
feet below. It is easy, however, to shift
our hold from one slab to another, and
where the fissure ceases there are little pro-
jecting points which afford secure footing.
And then it is much more agreeable to
hang over, back down, than in the reverse
sense.

The guide in front, having reached the
end of this gallery, suddenly disappears
through a gap in the wall, which is like
an embrasure between two battlements of
a fortress, barely wide enough for us to
squeeze through, one by one ; the passage
descends steeply like a stairway encum-
bered with snow, and we come out on
the Zinal side again. The last peak is
just in front of us, but to reach it the way
lies across a slender ice-bridge running
upward to the peak at a decided angle.
The accumulated snow hangs over the

116

Some Episodes of Mountaitieeritig

cornice in beautiful curves and rounded
masses, fringed in places with long icicles,
where it caps the wall on the Zermatt
side. While Biner goes ahead, and hacks
out a passage with his piollet, there is
barely time to scrawl a sketch of the situ-
ation in front ; * and then with a brief
scramble up the rocks beyond the cor-
nice, we are on the summit. There is
just room for two of us to sit on the same
rock, and the third crouches below while
we finish the provisions carried in our
pockets; for the guides' sacks have been
left on the "saddle," and the bulk of the
supplies far below. Getting down is an
easy matter at first, cautiously descending
the cornice, along the gallery, which
might be less agreeable on a cold day

* For those sketches illustrating climbing episodes, the writer
does not claim topographical accuracy ; since most of them were
materialized from hasty notes, and aim merely to render his own
impressions at the moment. The one showing the last snow
cornice on the Rothhorn was, however, made from a more care-
ful scrawl ; and the main lines were closely followed, as there
was an opportunity to do this while the leader was cutting steps.
There are many places where a small camera may be used, and
there are others where it would be extremely injudicious to allow
one's attention to wander from the work in hand ; and they are
precisely the places where an amateur would want to make a
snap-shot. It is no more than fair to consider the guides at such
moments; and unless one is a member of the C A., and presu-
mably a la hauteur de la situation (whatever it may be), or is as
clever an acrobat as the man at the Folies Bergere, who changes
his clothes on a tight rope and breaks moving glass bulbs with a
Winchester at the same time, he had better be content with do-
ing one thing well, and to remember that there is no net under
him.

117

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

with a high wind; and we do not forget
to exercise a certain amount of calm de-
liberation when we get to the steep ice-
slope. Then comes the sloping rock; and
here one cannot but envy the unerring
judgment of that "expert" who figures so
often in the pages of " Baedeker,'' and
whose presumed superiority is particularly
aggravating in the passages marked, " for
experts only, with the best guides." It is
not so easy to find the projections or fis-
sures as it was in getting up ; and about
half-way down, when Peter's head had
disappeared below the verge, the last crev-
ice seemed to have disappeared also, in
the smooth surface of the rock. Hearing
the hoarse voice of the guide behind, I
look up, and see that he has taken a turn
of the rope around a rock, and has braced
himself against it; so letting go, I slide
down to the bottom, and then down the
ledge to the saddle. ... It was sunset
when we reached the glacier, and dark-
ness overtook us before we got to the
bottom of the moraines and the Trift
valley. A light far below, which we at
first mistook for the window of the inn,
proved to be the lantern of the hotel-
keeper, who had come out to meet us.
We had been out over seventeen hours in

118

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

all, and the unexpected depth of the snow
must in any case have added several hours
to the usual time. It was our intention
to keep on to Zermatt that night ; but
having feasted royally, and quenched our
thirst, no one seemed disposed to carry
out the valiant intentions of an hour ago.
Moreover, we may have remembered at
that moment the sad fate of the German
climber, who, having scaled one of the
giants, was proceeding homeward at night
down an actual path, by lantern-light,
when he stumbled and fell into a gulley
a few feet below, with most unpleasant
results ; and we concluded then not to
face the dangers of the path down the
Trift valley before daylight.

Between the guides of Zermatt, Evo-
lena, and other centres of Alpinism in the
Valais, it would be somewhat invidious to
make any distinction ; but those whose
portraits are here given have accompanied
the writer on many excursions, and al-
though each one of them has had more
favorable opportunities of showing his
prowess, they are all men whose strength,
endurance, and general capacity are equal

119

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

to any emergency. It would be hardly
doing fair justice to the reader, as well as
to the subject, to show only the bright
side of it, and not to make the admission
that it has a seamy side as well. With the
yearly increase of travel, many charming
excursions which were easy to make a few
years ago, are becoming more difficult, —
the hap-hazard wandering with a knap-
sack from one valley to another, when one
was always sure of finding a bed some-
where. In the Tyrol, for instance, where
comfortable hotels are rarer, the pedestrian
had better take along a shelter-tent and
proceed on an independent basis. It was
the writer's experience this 'last season to
enter the valley of Sulden (near Meran)
over a high pass where both he and the
guide were well drenched by a sudden
storm of rain and sleet; and upon arrival
in the village they were unable to find
sleeping accommodations, or even a place
to change their clothing, the few cabarets
which did duty as hotels being crammed
with German and Austrian tourists. When
one has only a brief space of time, a fort-
night or three weeks, to spend among the
giants, he may as well make up his mind
to take what comes in his way, and not to
set his heart upon any particular one, least

1 20

So»/c Episodes of Mountaineering

A Rest on the Way Doivn

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

of all on the uncertain and capricious Dent
Blanche, and to have some other alternative,
some other seductive programme in view,
by way of compensation, should he chance
upon a season of bad weather. When one
is fairly penned up and snow-bound in some
high and desolate valley, there is nothing
for him to do but watch the dance of the
merry snow-rlakes through the window-
panes, in the privacy of his own quarters,
where the pattern of the wall-paper, should
there be any, is often exasperating to his
vexed spirit, and afflicts him as an addi-
tional grievance if he is at all susceptible
to harmony of color; or he may hang over
the stove in the common room, wrapped
in an ulster, and try to find oblivion in the
pages of the "London, Chatham, & Dover
Railway Guide," or hunt for the missing
pages of the "pension novel." It is then
that he will think of Pallanza, where the
summer still lingers, of long pulls on the
lake, and breakfast in the vine-roofed por-
tico of some little albergo on the shore —
of Venice, and the swimmers at the Lido
— and if he does not care to retrace his
steps back to the starting-point, he will
find a porter to carry his bag over one or
two of the minor passes, where fresh snow
has covered the green pasture slopes and has

123

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

drifted neck-deep on the cols; and thence
down to the Valley of Gressonny or the
Val Sesia, and so on to the chestnut-woods
and the sunshine.

An ascent of the Matterhorn, made some
time after the foregoing article was printed,
has elicited from the author the following
addendum : —

The outline of the Matterhorn from
the Staffel Alp, or indeed from almost any
point of view, is a striking instance of op-
tical illusion. The north arete, by which
it is usually ascended from the Zermatt
side, appears to mount almost vertically
to the great bulging shoulder near the
summit, and to study its ragged edge and
giddy windings from below has a rather
disheartening effect on the timid amateur.

It is only when seen in profile, or when
one is actually on it, that its terrors are
sensibly diminished ; and instead of work-
ing his way up the angle of a tower, the
climber has to surmount a series of rocky
pinnacles, which might be likened to the
ruins of a score of Gothic cathedrals.
Were the ropes and chains removed from
the cone, it would again become the most
dangerous and uncertain of peaks ; for al-

124

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

though other ascents may present more
difficult problems in climbing, there are
few summits which afford so slight a foot-
hold, so little to take hold of, and where
one is more at the mercy of the elements
and the unforeseen. And there are few
which consist entirely of peak, without the
tedious prelude of moraine and glacier, and
endless slopes of neve, where the real work
begins at the very outset, when one leaves
the cabane. But oh, the grandeur of it
all ! This working one's way by lantern-
light along the face of a wall which seems
to tower upward to the stars, where the
sloping glacier below might lie at any
depth — ten, fifty, or a thousand feet.
There is a good bit of glacier work
which comes in, if I remember rightly,
on the way down. The angle of the de-
scent is here so violent that it is not unlike
getting down a half-frozen drift lying on
a steep roof, although the base of the cliff
on the left affords secure handhold. A
feature which adds much to the apparent
height and majesty of the Matterhorn is
the almost vertical downward trend or
plunge of all the lines which radiate from
the apex, whether couloirs, ravines, cre-
vasses, or the slope of the snow-fields, the
very stratification and fractures of the rock,

125

Some Episodes of Mountaineering

and indeed all the vast complexity of de-
tails which go to make up its architecture.
This mountain, of all others, seems to
be regarded with more respect by the Gaul
than by his Anglo-Saxon neighbors across
the Channel. He has at the same time
more vague and uncertain notions of its
history. On the first page of one of the
leading Parisian dailies, there was a surpris-
ing announcement last season, to the effect
that " the terrible Mount Cervin " had
actually been ascended for the first time
in many years, — and by an American. It
had, however, been conquered at some re-
mote date by two Frenchmen. The edi-
tor must have received a shower of ironical
comments from the brotherhood of climb-
ers, telling him of the caravans of tourists
which now swarm up its sides every fine
day in the season ; for the very next morn-
ing there was an elaborate attempt to re-
move the false impression which was due
to a printer's error. It should have read,
"ascended for the first time this season."
But the correction was hardly adequate to
explain away the general impression left
by the paragraph.

126 -

AN ASCENT
OF MOUNT J1TNA

By A. F. Jaccaci

Illustrated by the author.

In the Lava of 1886.

RAVELLING away from
Paris in the late autumn
days, there passes gradu-
ally out of my vision the
gray landscape of France,
rilled with melancholy
signs of the decline and
decay of nature. As the train leaves the
Alps behind, and descends toward Turin,
the charm of the south begins to make
itself felt. With each succeeding hour it
grows in witchery, — a brightness, a warm

129

An A scent of Mount Attna

radiance that rejuvenates mind and body,
and sets one's whole being on the alert to
enjoy every feature of the new scenes.

The trip from Paris to Sicily in this
season, from fields strewn with sere leaves,
powdered with hoar-frost, and lined by des-
olate trees stretching their naked branches
in dumb entreaty, to the breathing, expan-
sive nature of Italy, acts on the senses as
a powerful stimulant. One drinks pleas-
ure with each look cast at sky and sea of
such deep, iridescent color ; at landscapes
garbed in abundant vegetation, and spotted
with villages set in the shadows of ancient
castles ; at chains of hills looking in the
distance like trembling veils of light. The
fatigue and tedium of a sixty hours' trip
are easily forgotten in the succession of
fresh sensations.

Taormina, midway between Messina
and Catania, is my first resting-place; and
after a night's sleep in a bed 'tis good to
wake breathing the sweet-scented moun-
tain air that vibrates with echoing guttu-
ral cries of street-venders and tinkling of
church-bells. Bright sunlight floods my
room, and through the open window little
houses, all white amid the foliage, look
like an alighting of doves in a garden.
Beyond are rows of mountains; some near,

130

An A scent of Mount Aitna

all rugged ; the
farthest, sugges-
tions more than
realities.

From a ter-
race I look
down a pre-
cipitous in-
cline four hundred
feet deep on the scattered
huts of a fishing village.
An immense stretch of
coast juts out its prom-
ontories and curves its
bays from that village v

to the far distant hori- women of mcoiosi.

zon ; and between the
blue and the green of sea and land, the
sandy shore seems a golden ribbon, grow-
ing narrow till it is lost in haze.

Fitly crowning the tableau is the goal
of my trip, iEtna, rising gently from the
sea until its head towers above all else. I
had first seen, from a car window as the
train crawled along the southern coast of
Calabria, this giant guardian of the flock
of hills which constitute the island of
Sicily ; and from near as from far it brings
to one's mind the striking epithets be-
stowed on it by Pindar, " Father of the

131

An A scent of Mount Attna

Clouds/' " Pillar of Heaven. " Ever cov-
ered with clouds, so that its immutable
mass of rock, and the airy, fanciful shapes,
uniting in endless combinations their dual
natures, appear as a composite whole, iEtna
is indeed of earth and heaven. The shin-
ing sun glorifies it, the moving shadows
of its crown of cloud-banks give to it an
always changing aspect, and through the
clear atmosphere appears distinctly its fur-
rowed garment of craters and valleys, lava
torrents, and forests.

In this marvellous panorama, facing
which the ancient Greeks, with their pas-
sionate feeling for beauty, had placed the
theatre of Taormina, one does not realize
the colossal bulk of the volcano. The
range of vision is such that the compo-
nent parts, simple details in a grandiose
ensemble, lose their individual value. Yet
from eastern to western spur ^Etna covers
forty miles, and more than forty towns and
villages are strung in rosaries of bright beads
over its flanks and feet.

From the highest rows of seats in the
Greek theatre, with the ruined stage as
foreground, there unfolds that panorama
like the most sublime of backgrounds.
From down the stage, framed in superbly
by broken columns and fragments of brick

132

An A scent of Mount sEtna

G>« ///<? J? tw^ to Nicolosi

An A scent of Mount yJitna

walls, Etna's solitary cone, set against the
southern sky, is a symphony of snow and
azure, of mother-of-pearl whites and trans-
parent blues — an ineffably soft and vapor-
ous vision.

On the way to Catania, shortly after
leaving Taormina, the train passes through
several tunnels cut in ranges of lava. The
first savage marks of the volcano are these
torrents of solid matter that from the cen-
tral mass twenty miles away have run into
the sea, forming continuous ridges. A few
miles beyond them one enters fully into
/Etna's kingdom. There against an uni-
formly purplish background, — the purple
of lava, — springs forth the brilliant leaf-
age of orange, lemon, and fig trees, and of
vines, chastened by the silvery sheen of the
classical olive. White splashes in this bub-
bling color, where all the gamuts of greens
and purples mix and melt, are the walls of
tiny houses quaintly built, and to the hur-
ried passer-by mysteriously suggestive of
the character of their unseen inmates.

It is a sight of singular beauty, this
earth, which is but lava ground to dust,
so enveloped in the tenderness of growing
vegetation. The patience and industry of
generations of men have changed the once
grim wastes into things of loveliness. Yet

134

An A scent of Mount JEtna

^4 £r/<?w <?/" Mount AZtna from tJie Greek Theatre at Tt

aormina.

now and again the nether monster reveals
his power. Like marks of the lion's paw
are seen lonely cairns of the frothing,
seething matter stopped in mid rush, and
turned to stone. How strange and un-
canny a substance is this lava belched forth
in lightnings and thunder from a moun-
tain in labor, — a sooty mineral calcinated
to the core ; all good substance in it de-
stroyed, leaving but a skeleton embryo
scorched and shapeless, that gives an aw-
ful impression of the agonies of its birth
and death !

135

An A scent of A fount Attna

The train in skirting but the western
side of the volcano rambles incessantly
through tunnels and by embankments of
lava. From the fact that the other sides
bear no less testimony to frequent devasta-
tions, one gathers an idea of the extent of
those eruptions, whose unbroken record is
carried down from prehistoric times to our
day.

The average of eruptions in this cen-
tury alone is one every four or live years.
Fortunately iEtna has had long periods of
rest following its active moods. Noticing
that these periods alternate with those of
Vesuvius, scientists have inferred that there
is a subterranean connection between the
two, and that they belong to a group of
which the Lipari Islands are a minor part,
and the little island of Pantelleria the last
outlying summit.

All poets of antiquity were familiar with
iEtna. Curiously enough, Homer does not
allude to its volcanic character except in
his episode of the blinded Cyclops, Poly-
phemus, hurling rocks after Ulysses, which
is but a transparent myth of the molten
lava rolling down the mountain with such
impetus as to leap from the high cliffs far
out into the sea, forming those islets still
known to the Sicilians as the seven "Scoglie

136

An A scent of Ahmnt s£tna

dei Ciclopi." The war of the Titans against
Jupiter, the forge of Vulcan, allude, no
doubt, to eruptive phenomena utterly in-
explicable, that by their very suddenness
and magnitude seemed not less than super-
natural to the pantheistic imagination of
the Greeks.

{A
fa*

irfV&Z

The Church of Trasecca, zvith Lava-stone Decoration.

iEtna, placed in Magna Grecia, the
oldest historical ground of Europe, and at
the doors of Athens and Rome, has been
visited and described by many eminent
personages of classic antiquity, — Pindar,
who narrates the eruption of B.C. 476 ;

An A scent of Mount ALtna

Aristotle that of b.c. 340 ; Pythagoras,
Sappho, Thucydides ; Empedocles, who
found a voluntary death in its crater ;
Cicero, Catullus, Virgil, Ovid, Diodorus,
Strabo, Suetonius, etc.; and through them
even the memory of a violent outbreak
in prehistoric times, that made the Sica-
nians abandon the district, has come down
to us.

To look from a speeding train, the em-
bodiment of the tendencies and achieve-
ments of our epoch, at that landscape,
teeming with the souvenirs of generations
whose ashes are mingled with the ashes
of the volcano, stirs the mind to a train
of philosophic thought. How can we
help feeling the pathos of that history of
the life-and-death struggles of twenty-five
hundred years come home to each of us,
when we are so forcibly reminded of the
fragility of human effort and life before
that nature, ever living, ever young, ever
cruelly indifferent to the passing human
herd?

From its huge neighbor Catania bor-
rows the chief objects of its adornment.
Blocks of volcanic material are used for
the pavement of streets, the construction of
houses, and often also in the exterior deco-
ration of important buildings. The idea

138

1 . ' , '

An A scent of Mount ASttta

of relieving the white stone facades with
ornamental details wrought in dark lava,
when judiciously carried out, is well
adapted to the curious style of architec-
ture known as Sicilian, a composite of three
distinct styles, — the Byzantine, Arab, anc^
Norman.

Despite its originality, its cleanliness, the
city to me has a stinted, formal look, un-
picturesque in the extreme; but it may be
that the far from good name Catania bears
in Italy, a name synonymous with unfair
dealing, prejudices me. It is a fact that
reckless speculation, characterized by a
deluge of worthless promissory notes, has
within a few years plunged the once flour-
ishing Catania into a most miserable con-
dition. Not having visited it since the
days of its boom, I was struck by one pleas-
ant evidence of the usefulness of worldly
misfortune, which had transformed the
boom-period dummies attired in ultra-
gaudy finery into sensible folk, oblivious
to the etiquette of Italian city manners
and who wore their old clothes, and had
worn them so long that shiny seams and
scrupulous patches bespoke a poverty sin-
cere as it was self-respecting.

I had to journey toward Nicolosi, my
starting-point for the ascent of iEtna, be-

i4i

An A scent of Mount Attna

hind one of those thin, unfortunate brutes,
a Catanian horse ; not, however, without
making an express bargain that under no
condition should the whip be used. " Ma,
signor ! " the driver had exclaimed in amaze-
ment ; " he won't go ! " Well, he did go,
but very gently, for the drive is a hard
twelve miles of steady up-hill grade.

The road winds and clambers pleasantly
between vine-hung walls and peeping villas.
The little retaining stone walls incasing
each field on the rapid slopes are almost
buried in verdure ; umbrella pines look
down from their loftiness, and once in a
while some dead crater protrudes its burnt
head above the sea of living things.

It is vine harvest. Files of burdened
donkeys pass us, prodded on by the peas-
ants following with swift and swinging
strides. These contadini stare at us intently,
yet with faces immobile, and so brown and
furrowed, so sharp of contour, that they
might have been cut from the dark soil
beneath. Miserable beyond belief, sub-
missive in suffering, they have the dull
gaze of ruminants, the soul asleep, the
mind alert only for food and shelter ; and
their types, bearing the stamp of their great
ancestors, the Greeks, somewhat mixed
with traits of former alien oppressors, —

142

n Ascent of Mount /Etna

eh 3v^ f -Jit ^<-^l

/Etna from the Harbor of Catania.

Arabs, Normans, Spaniards, — are the liv-
ing witnesses in our day of the glory and
vicissitudes of their race through the ages.

Night falls as I reach Nicolosi and its
primitive inn, deserted now, as it is past
the season for climbing the mountain.

The chief of the Guides of iEtna, a cor-
poration established by the Catania branch
of the Alpine Club, comes to make the
necessary arrangements for my trip. At
six the next morning the guide arrives,
straps the provisions on his back, and we
are off.

143

An A scent of Mount ALtna

The road, threading vineyards, is flanked
a few hundred feet to our left by a ser-
rated fin, standing a defiant barricade be-
fore two big reddish cones, the Monte
Rossi, upheaved in 1669 by an eruption
which almost destroyed Catania. Scarce-
ly a mile from the village we came to the
limit of the lava of 1886, which, pouring
in a vast flood down the slopes, seemed
about to sweep away the Altarelli, an open
chapel dedicated to the three patron saints
of Nicolosi. The priests, with a piety no
doubt strengthened by terror, displayed the
veil of Santa Agata, a holy relic which in
Catania has performed miracles innumer-
able ; and the destructive lava, respecting
the sanctuary, divided in two branches,
leaving it untouched.

It would have been a personal insult to
my guide, who proudly related this story,
to notice that the Altarelli is built on an
eminence, and that there is present evi-
dence that when the fiery stream reached
this point, it must have been in its last
spasms, for a few feet beyond it stopped
altogether. Besides, it would have been
a useless task ; as every good Nicolosian
considers a natural explanation of the
miraculous event an invention of the dev-
ils, enemies of his patron saints.

144

An A scent of Mount /Etna

\ 'iew from Monte Gemellari, showing some of tlie Mouths of the
Eruption of J 88b.

Any way, I was soon too busy to think
of miracles. A mule-path skirts the lava-
bed of 1886, but the quickest route lies
straight across it. We took this short
cut; and it gave me a full taste of volcano
climbing, to the understanding of which
a few words of explanation are necessary.

Liquid lava has two distinct forms : the
first, when, issuing in a bubbling mass, it
flows like compact gruel ; the second,

145

An A scent of Motint sEtna

when in the subterranean depths water
coming in temporary contact with burn-
ing liquids, the two elements issue pell-
mell. The imprisoned steam, tearing and
bellowing within the molten lava, whose
temperature often exceeds 2,ooo° Fahren-
heit, bursts forth, hurling to the heavens
fiery, chaotic masses. Continuous explo-
sions upheave the masses again and again
into air, pounding and grinding them
against one another. Thus they leap and
fall, battering and battered, in Titanic,
vertiginous dance, scattering, as from a
monstrous engine of destruction, a storm-
rain of rocks, sand, and ashes. Now, im-
agine this inferno caught in its maddest,
wildest activity, and held fast, the knife-
edge excrescences bristling all over it like
savage teeth gnawing the air, the awful
piling up on its heaving sides of the very
vitals of the volcano, and you will have an
idea of this lava which for seventeen days
of the spring of 1886 furrowed and deso-
lated a thousand acres of fair country into
semblance of hell.*

We descend into valleys and pits, silent

* The new crater of the Monte Gemellari, situated four and
a half miles above Nicolosi, at an altitude of four thousand six
hundred and fifty feet, was formed May 19, 1886, after a violent
earthquake. Lava flowed until June 3, reaching within half a
mile of Nicolosi.

146

An Ascent of Mount /Stmt

and dusky as the portals to the world of
the dead, whose monochrome dark pur-
plish tone makes their aspect more sinister.
The forbidding stones rise in ragged walls
piled into fantastic shapes, and rivers of
rigid lava writhe serpent-like about this
Laocoon of iEtna.

It is a severe test of endurance to force

our way for a long hour and a half across

these diabolical wastes, every

instant looking down to

find the next foothold, and

jumping from stone to

stone, tottering, falling,

The Little Path Threading the Vineyards on the Slopes of SEtna.
147

An A scent of Mount sKtmi

fry? " * ^V>**vBbJ

■c; *;» *'->>',4.'.''--r>*>""

• s^

^J« Old Crater.

our shoes cut
by the sharp
edges, until we
reach a territory
redeemed from
some more ancient lava-
bed, as this desert will also be redeemed in
a century or two.

Amid the vineyards, along a little path
hemmed in by stone walls, contadini meet
and pass us. Here asperities have been
somewhat smoothed down by constant
travel, the rougher, larger stones removed,
the gaping holes rilled. Time and nature
have spread a surface soil, where flourish
wild plants starred with fragile blossoms.

We pass near craters, of which a con-
tinuous array will precede us to the high-
est cone ; yet we see but a very small part
of the mountain, whose craters extend on
every side within a radius of twenty miles.

148

An Ascent of Mount JEtna

Thinking of what terrible conflagrations,
loss of life and property, these are proof of,
the power within appears extraordinarily
formidable.

Now the stately mountain seems to rise
in its might above and over our heads,
though its crest is hidden in cloud. The
vegetation about lacks the orange and
lemon trees; we have passed their altitude.
Sturdy vines continue the fight longer, but
we leave them also behind. Big oaks and
chestnuts, copper beeches, birches, and the
tall Laricio pines, keep us company till we
arrive, four hours from Nicolosi, at the
way-house in the woods, — Casa del Bosco,
4,215 feet above the sea-level. We are
higher than the summit of Vesuvius ; the
air has grown perceptibly sharper, and is
now quite cold.

After lunch and a rest, having taken in
a supply of water for the remainder of the
journey, we resume climbing through a
narrow and crooked valley, along a zigzag
path barely discernible in the chaotic con-
fusion. The higher we reach, the more
pleasant it is to turn and look back on
the constantly growing panorama of bleak
volcanic stretches dotted with woods and
gaping cavities ; farther below, floating in
the green, are villages, — Catania, then the

149

An A scent of Mount AZtna

On the Brink of the Great Crater of Attna.

turquoise sea, and far out the hilly coast
terminated by Cape Augusta, behind which
Syracusa hides. Here and there isolated
clusters of birches and pines, set in an un-
dergrowth of gigantic ferns, mark all that
remains of the dense forests which, as late
as the last century, entirely covered ^Etna's
flanks. These trees no longer soften the
stern impression of our surroundings. In
a rarified atmosphere that dwarfs and stunts
them, they lose all beauty, and simply vege-
tate between life and death. Becoming
rare, they disappear entirely as we enter the
"Regione Deserta" the region of cold and

150

An Ascent of Mount sKtna

death, where the nakedness of rock is ab-
solutely unrelieved. A bright sun imparts
neither cheer nor warmth, but, striking the
velvety darkness of the lava, gives it a steely,
glittering aspect, as though the mountain
were clad in chain-armor.

The wind rises and falls ; blustering
gusts in the couloirs and on the plateaus
are succeeded by delightful lulls. Mists,
thin as veils, and threatening storm-clouds,
drift slowly and softly, rolling, lifting, and
revealing vistas of bleak mounds piled high.
This quiet, delicate life, playing in goblin-
like fashion about these rigid and desolate
scenes, is inexpressibly lovely. Such sights
and sensations charm the long hours of
an ascent, arduous and intensely fatiguing,
though devoid of the worse dangers and
consequent excitement of Alpine climb-
ing.

The trail becomes steeper and steeper as
we catch a first glimpse of the deservedly
called " Serra del Solfizio" a saw-shaped
ridge, whose feet are sunk in enormous
hollows filled with eternal snow. This
is our first sign of the neighborhood of
the magnificent Valle del Bove, reached
after crossing a tableland, — the Piano del
Lago. We skirt the edge of the cliffs,
three thousand feet deep, which form a

IS!

An A scent of Mount .Etna

border on all its sides, except for an open
gap toward the east.

Geologically, this basin, three miles in
width, is the most interesting part of iEtna,
as competent authorities unite in consid-
ering it the original crater. On its brink
stands the Tower of the Philosopher, pre-
sumably the ruin of an observatory built
for the Emperor Hadrian on the occasion
of his visit to the volcano.

I am too thoroughly exhausted to do
justice to any more sights ; and it is with
the yearning of the flesh that at last I see
at the base of the central cone two white
buildings, — the Observatory and a refuge,
both unoccupied at present. We have the
key to the latter, the Casa Inglesi; so called
because it was built by English officers
during the English occupation of Sicily in
Napoleonic times. Though rebuilt and
enlarged by the Alpine Club of Catania, it
remains a primitive affair, its walls lined
with bunks, one above another, as in a
ship's steerage ; yet it affords welcome shel-
ter against a cold so intense that our beards
and coats are united in a covering of ice.

Too tired to talk, we sup hastily, and
fall asleep in utter weariness, our bodies
sunk in yielding straw, our feet to the
fire, which warms, soothes, relaxes the

152

An Ascent of Mount /Etna

strained muscles, and sets the blood to
buzzing the most effective of lullabys.

Awakening at midnight, I leave the
guide to gather up himself and our traps
while I go outside. The door closes be-
hind me, and I stand alone in the night.

The Serra del Solfizio, from the Valle del Bove.

Lo ! what a strange stillness there is in
this outer world. The wind, blowing fit-
fully, is charged with unearthly smells and
faint echoes of subterranean seethings and
rumblings. From invisible holes snaky
vapors rise and quiver in spiral contortions.

153

An A scent of Mount /Etna

Monstrous shapes of lava, like Titanic dead
upon a battlefield, lie on the plateau; their
icy profiles, brought out by the oblique rays
of a waning moon, shine weirdly among
inky shadows, until these threatening rocks
seem the gathering of a silent demoniac
host to overwhelm and ingulf us. But
the guide opens the refuge door, and at
the light of his lantern the phantasma-
goria vanishes.

I take my axe ; and we start to pick our
way, among treacherous crevices, yawning
and bottomless, toward the crater that lifts
above us its twelve hundred feet of im-
maculate whiteness.

In August an ascent of the last cone,
whose perfectly smooth sides slide down
at a gradient of thirty-five degrees, is com-
paratively easy because of the absence of
snow ; but thus late in the autumn the
thick snow, hardened into ice, and nightly
covered with fresh coats, compels the fre-
quent cutting of steps. That means hard
work and dangerous. It takes two hours
to reach the brink of the crater, a single
abyss two or three miles in circumfer-
ence, from whose depths emerge countless
wreaths of thin, damp smoke. The im-
pression of that silent gulf, with its vitality
expressed only by the sulphurous, nauseat-

154

An A scent of Mount AZtna

Peasants by the Way.

ing vapors incessantly rising, curling, and
disappearing, is supremely grand. Beside
/Etna, one remembers Vesuvius's sputter-
ings as the efforts of an infant.

It was three o'clock when I stood, eleven
thousand feet above the sea-level, on a
small pyramid of ashes which keeps guard
over the crater and the whole of iEtna.
The north wind having cleared the at-
mosphere, brushing away clouds and haze,
all circumstances were favorable to my
watching the sun rise.

The moon has now disappeared, leaving
no trace of her passage. Sky, sea, and land
are of the same color, an immensity of in-
distinct blue, clearer somewhat overhead,
darker around and below. The only sen-
sation of being at a great height is the
piercing cold that keeps us moving about,

i55

An A scent of Mount /Etna

stamping our feet on the ice, that resounds
sonorously, as if it were but a thin cover-
ing over cavernous depths. A change of
color, so gradual that it is more felt than
seen, begins. A subdued radiance, opal,
dissolving into a suggestion of pink, tinges
the east. The details of the crater become
more distinct as night recedes to the low-
lands. Impalpable grayish light creeps
up, invading the heavens, and Aurora's
rosy refulgence increases every moment —
a veiled splendor, a symphony en sourdine
of exquisitely delicate tints, restful and
lovely. A like scene must have suggested
the poet's descriptions of the Elysian Fields.

Banks of billowy clouds wall up that
part of the horizon where the sun is to
appear. Their fleecy bosoms rise and
swell, yield and part, before the oncom-
ing dawn.

Above them the glory of light continues
to grow. I keep my eyes anxiously strained
on the most luminous spot, whence of a
sudden a dart of light crosses space, fleet-
ing over the sea. That dart increases into
a golden streak, clearly cut, for a percep-
tible moment, on the purplish water. It
changes to a flood of light while the disk
of the sun emerges slowly from under the
horizon. The shadows palpitate, dissolve

156

An Ascent of Mount AUtna

about the crest of iEtna, transfiguring her
into an island of gold and rose. Passionate-
ly now the day advances, flinging wide her
magic skirts. The lower valleys awake, the
colors of their vegetation glow and dance.
The trees lift up their heads ; it seems as
if in that profound stillness one could hear
the murmur of the reanimation of things.
The sun touches every corner of his vast
kingdom ; day — full day — is with us.

Beautiful with the beauty of dreams is
the spectacle.

To the north the archipelago of the
Lipari Islands, with their smoky light-
house of Stromboli, floats on the irides-
cent sea. To the south, on the border of
the vast horizon, hover two ghosts, Malta
and Pantelleria ; while the purple shadows
of the Calabrian Mountains on the main-
land bridge the Straits of Messina, hiding
Charybdis and Scylla. Cameo-cut against
the sea, Sicily lies at our feet, displaying
her fifty towns, her countless villages, the
silver ribbons of her rivers, the thousand
varied details of her uneven soil ; and
across her whole length, as a tangible
sign of his dominion, Lord /Etna stretches
his enormous triangular shadow.

THE ASCENT

OF MOUNT ARARAT

By H. F. B. Lynch

Mount Ararat from Erwan, Thirty-Jive Miles Distant.

PREFATORY NOTE.

,HE ascent of Ararat, com-
pleted on Sept. 19, 1893,
formed an incident in a jour-
ney, extending for a period
of seven months, which I
undertook in 1893— 1894 f°r
%j§* the purpose of acquiring a bet-

ter knowledge of the country
comprised in a general manner by the lim-
its of the Armenian plateau. I was ac-
companied during the earlier part of this
journey by my cousin, Major H. B. Lynch,
of the Dorsetshire Regiment ; he was un-
fortunately obliged to leave me and rejoin
his regiment almost immediately after the
accomplishment of the ascent. In offer-

161

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

ing some account of our experiences upon
the mountain, it is perhaps only fair to
myself to observe that the narrative, what-
ever other shortcomings of a more essential
nature it may possess, has undoubtedly suf-
fered as a presentation and description of
great natural objects, which it is no small
part of the duty of a writer on such a
subject to endeavor adequately to portray,
owing to the necessary limits which the
space at my disposal has imposed upon its
length. Although it is impossible to make
up for this deficiency in the course of a
brief note, yet I would ask the reader,
before actually starting from Aralykh, to
equip himself with the following elemen-
tary facts and considerations in connection
with the country which surrounds Ararat,
and with the mountain itself.

Ararat rises from the table-land of Ar-
menia, between the Black and Caspian
Seas, in the country comprised within a
triangle between the Lakes of Sevanga,
Urumia, and Van. At the eastern extrem-
ity of the long and narrow range which is
known in the country under the general
name of Aghri Dagh, and which it is con-
venient to call the Ararat system, — a range
which, starting from the neighborhood of
the forty-second degree of longitude, bi-

162

TJte Ascent of Mount Ararat

sects the plateau from west to east, — there
has been reared by volcanic agency a vast
mountain fabric surrounded by plain land
on all sides but the western, and on that
side joined to this Ararat system by a pass
of about seven thousand feet. The Ararat
system and the fabric of Ararat compose
the southerly wall of the vast plain of the
Araxes, a plain which, in the neighborhood
of the mountain, has an elevation of about
two thousand seven hundred feet. This
valley of the Araxes is in many respects
remarkable. In the first place, it sinks
far below the level of the great table-land
of Armenia, to which it belongs, a plateau
the higher regions of which are situated
at an elevation of about seven thousand
feet. Secondly, it is a valley of vast ex-
tent, offering immense prospects over a
treeless volcanic country, and bounded at
great intervals of space by mountains of
the most imposing dimensions and appear-
ance. Lastly, it constitutes an open high-
way from the countries about and beyond
the Caspian to the shores of the Euxine
and Mediterranean Seas. The northern
border of this valley, like the southern,
is composed of a single mountain and a
mountain system. The line which is be-
gun on the west by the colossal mountain

163

'I' tie Ascent of Mount Ararat

mass of Alagoz is continued toward the
east by the chains on the south of Lake
Sevanga. This correspondence in the dis-
position of the mountains on either bor-
der is varied by a striking diversity in the
forms, — the Ararat system, which faces
Alagoz, is distinguished by jagged peaks,
dark valleys, and abrupt sides ; the Sevanga
ranges, on the other hand, which you over-
look from the slopes of Ararat, present an
outline which is fretted by the shapes of
cones and craters, and are flanked by con-
vex buttresses of sand. Both Alagoz and
Ararat have been raised by volcanic agency;
but while the giant on the north has all the
clumsiness of a Cyclops, his brother on the
south would seem to personify the union of
symmetry with size and grace with strength.
I must refrain from pursuing this train of
thought farther, content if the hints which
it may have opened reveal the great scale
upon which nature has worked. A few
measurements may lend reality to this some-
what misty conception, and serve to fix our
ideas. The pile of Alagoz, rising on the
left bank of the Araxes, attains an elevation
of i 3,436 feet : the length of the mass may
be placed at about thirty-five miles; its
breadth is about twenty-five. The distance
across the valley from the middle slopes of

164

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

. ....

The Party en rotde.

The A scent of Mount A rarat

Ararat to the summit of Alagoz is no less
than fifty-four miles; and from the same
point to the first spurs of the Sevanga
ranges, about twenty miles. Such are the
immediate neighbors of Ararat, and such is
the extent of open country spread like a
kingdom at his feet.

The fabric of Ararat, composed of two
mountains supported by a common base,
gathers on the right bank of the river, im-
mediately from the floor of the plain. The
plain has at this point an elevation of about
two thousand seven hundred feet. The
pass which joins this fabric to the Ararat
system, to the range which it continues, is
situated at the back of the fabric, behind
the long northwestern slope : the fabric it-
self stands out boldly and alone in advance
of the satellite chain. The axis, or direc-
tion of the length, of the whole fabric is
from northwest to southeast ; and it is the
whole length of the mountain which you
see from the valley of the Araxes. It may
be helpful to analyze in the briefest man-
ner the outline which there faces you.
Far away on your right, in the western
distance, a continuous slope rises from a
low cape or rocky promontory, which
emerges from the even surface of the
plain like a coast seen from the sea. The

167

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

length of this slope has been given by
Parrot at no less than twenty miles; and
its gradient, even where it rises more per-
ceptibly toward the great dome, is only
about eighteen degrees. This northwest-
ern slope reaches the region of perpetual
snow at a height of about thirteen thou-
sand five hundred feet, and culminates in
the summit of Great Ararat, which imme-
diately faces you, and which has an eleva-
tion of 17,916 feet. Although it yields
in height to the peaks of the Caucasus in
the north, and to Demavend (19,400 feet)
in the east, nearly five hundred miles away,
yet, as Bryce in his admirable book has
observed, there can be but few other places
in the world where a mountain so lofty
rises from a plain so low. The summit
of Great Ararat has rhe form of a dome,
and is covered with perpetual snow. This
dome crowns an oval figure, the length of
which is from northwest to southeast ; and
it is therefore the long side of this dome
which you see from the valley of the
A raxes. On the southeast, as you follow
the outline farther, the slope falls at a
more rapid gradient of from thirty to
thirty-five degrees, and ends in the saddle
between the two mountains at a height
of nearly nine thousand feet. From that

168

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

The Dome of A rarat as seen above Sardar-Bulakh
at a height of about g,ooo feet

The A scent of Mount A rarat

point it is the shape of the Little Ararat
which continues the outline toward the
east ; it rises in the shape of a graceful
pyramid to the height of 12,840 feet, and
its summit is distant from that of Great
Ararat a space of nearly seven miles. The
southeastern slope of the Lesser Ararat cor-
responds to the northwestern slope of the
greater mountain, and descends to the floor
of the river valley in a long and regular
train. The unity of the whole fabric, the
intimate correspondence of the parts be-
tween themselves ; in a word, the archi-
tectural qualities of this natural work, at
once impress the eye, and continue to pro-
vide an inexhaustible fund of study, how-
ever long may be the period of your stay.

Although the mountain is due to vol-
canic agency, yet the fires have not been
seen during the historical period. A glance
at the photographs will show that the sur-
face presents all the characteristics of a very
ancient volcano. On the northeastern side,
in full view of the Araxes valley, the very
heart of Ararat has been exposed by the
great earthquake of 1840 following for-
mer landslips ; a broad cleft extends from
base to summit, and is known as the chasm
of Arguri.

The fame of having been the first to
171

The A scent of Mount A rami

scale Ararat belongs to the Russian trav-
eller Parrot, who made the ascent in 1 829.
Since that time the number of successful
ascents has been, so far as I have been able
to determine, fourteen, including our own.
Of this total of fifteen the credit of eight
belongs to Russia, while five fall to Eng-
land, one to Germany, and one to the
United States of America. h F b 1

The sun had already risen as I let myself
down through the open casement of the
window and dropped into the garden among
the dry brushwood encumbering its sandy
floor. Not a soul was stirring, and not a
sound disturbed the composure of an East-
ern morning, the great world fulfilling its
task in silence, and all nature sedate and
serene. A narrow strip of plantation runs
at the back of Aralykh, on the south, sus-
tained by ducts from the Kara Su or Black-
water, a stream which leads a portion of the
waters of the Araxes into the cotton-fields
and marshes which border the right bank.
Within this fringe of slim poplars, and
just on its southern verge, there is a little
mound and an open summer-house, — -as
pleasant a place as it is possible to imagine,
but which, perhaps, only differs from other

172

The A scent of Mount A rarat

summer-houses in the remarkable situation
which it occupies, and in the wonderful
view which it commands. It is placed on
the extreme foot of Ararat, exactly on the
line where all inclination ceases and the
floor of the plain begins. It immediately
faces the summit of the larger mountain,
bearing about southwest. Before you the
long outline of the Ararat fabric fills the
southern horizon ; the gentle undulations
of the northwestern slope, as it gathers from
its lengthy train ; the bold bastions of the
snow-fields rising to the rounded dome ;
and, farther east, beyond the saddle, where
the two mountains commingle, the needle
form of the Lesser Ararat, free at this sea-
son from snow. Yet, although Aralykh
lies at the flank of Ararat, confronting the
side which mounts most directly from the
plain to the roof of snow, the distance
from a perpendicular line drawn through
the summit is over sixteen miles. Through-
out that space the fabric is always rising to-
ward the snowbank fourteen thousand feet
above our heads, with a symmetry, and, so
to speak, with a rhythm of structure, which
holds the eye in spell. First, there is a belt
of loose sand, about two miles in depth,
beginning on the margin of marsh and ir-
rigation, and seen from this garden, which

173

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

The Summit, Viewed from a Height of 13,000 Feet.

directly aligns it, like the sea-bed from a
grove on the shore. On the ground of
yellow thus presented rests a light tissue
of green, consisting of the sparse bushes of
the ever-fresh camelthorn, a plant which
strikes down into beds of moisture deep-
seated beneath the surface of the soil.
Although it is possible, crossing this sand-
zone, to detect the growing slope, yet this
feature is scarcely perceptible from Ara-
lykh, whence its smooth, unbroken surface
and cool relief of green suggest the appear-
ance of an embroidered carpet spread at the
threshhold of an Eastern temple for the
services of prayer. Beyond this band or

174

The A scent of Mount A rarat

belt of sandy ground, composed, no doubt,
of a pulverized detritus which the piety of
Parrot was quick to recognize as a leaving
of the Flood, the broad and massive base of
Ararat sensibly gathers and inclines, seared
by the sinuous furrows of dry watercourses,
and stretching, uninterrupted by any step or
obstacle, hill or terrace or bank, to the veil
of thin mist which hangs at this hour
along the higher seams. Not a patch of
verdure, not a streak of brighter color,
breaks the long monotony of ochre in the
burnt grass and the bleached stones. All
the subtle sensations with which the living
earth surrounds us — wide as are the tracts
of barren desert within the limits of the
plain itself — seem to stop arrested at the
fringe of this plantation, as on a magician's
line. When the vapors obscuring the mid-
dle slopes of the mountain dissolve and dis-
appear, you see the shadowed jaws of the
great chasm, — the whole side of the moun-
tain burst asunder, from the cornice of the
snow-roof to the base, the base itself de-
pressed and hollow throughout its width
of about ten miles. No cloud has yet
climbed to the snows of the summit shin-
ing in the brilliant blue.

It was the morning of the 17th of
September, a period of the year when the

175

Tlu A scent of Mount A rarat

heat has moderated ; when the early air,
even in the plain of the Araxes, has ac-
quired a suggestion of crispness, and the
sun still overpowers the first symptoms of
winter chills.* The tedious arrangements
of Eastern travel occupied the forenoon ;
and it had been arranged that we should
dine with our host, the lieutenant, before
making the final start. Six little hacks,
impressed in the district, and sadly want-
ing in flesh, were loaded with our effects ;
our party was mounted on Cossack horses,
which, by the extreme courtesy of the
Russian authorities, had been placed at our
disposal for a week. We took leave of our
new friend under a strong sentiment of
gratitude and esteem ; but a new and pleas-
urable surprise was awaiting us as we passed
down the neat square. All the Cossacks
at that time quartered in Aralykh — the
greater number were absent on the slopes
of the mountain, serving the usual patrols
— had been drawn up in marching order,
awaiting the arrival of their colonel, who
had contrived to keep the secret by express-
ing his willingness to accompany us a few
versts of the way. My cousin and I were

* At Aralykh the thermometer ranged between 6o°and 700 F.
between the hours of six a.m. and nine a.m. on the several morn-
ings. At mid-day it rose to about 8o°.

176

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

The Great Chasm of A rgnri.

riding with the colonel, and the purpose of
these elaborate arrangements was explained
to us with a sly smile: the troop, with their
colonel, were to escort us on our first day's
journey, and to bivouac at Sardar-Bulakh.
The order was given to march in half-col7
umn. It was perhaps the first time that an
English officer had ridden at the head of
these famous troops. We crossed the last
runnel on the southern edge of the planta-
tion, and entered the silent waste.

For a while we slowly rode through the
camelthorn, the deep sand sinking beneath
our horses' feet. It was nearly one o'clock,
and the expanse around us streamed in the

177

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

full glare of noon. A spell seemed to rest
upon the landscape of the mountain, seal-
ing all the springs of life. Only among
the evergreen shrubs about us a scattered
group of camels cropped the spinous foli-
age, little lizards darted, a flock of sand-
grouse took wing. Our course lay slant-
wise across the base of Ararat, toward the
hill of Takjaltu, a table-topped mass over-
grown with yellow herbage, which rises in
advance of the saddle between the moun-
tains, and lies just below you as you over-
look the landscape from the valley of
Sardar-Bulakh. Gullies of chalk, and
ground strewn with stones, succeed the
even surface of the belt of sand, and in
turn give way to the covering of burnt
grass which clothes the deep slope of the
great sweeping base, and encircles the fab-
ric with a continuous stretch of ochre ex-
tending up the higher seams. Mile after
mile we rode at easy paces over the parched
turf and the cracking soil. When we had
accomplished a space of about ten miles,
and attained a height of nearly six thou-
sand feet, the land broke about us into
miniature ravines, deep gullies strewn with
stones and bowlders, searing the slope about
the line of limit where the base may be
said to determine and the higher seams

178

The A scent of Mount A rarat

begin. Winding down the sides of these
rocky hollows, one might turn in the sad-
dle at a bend of the track, and observe the
long line of horsemen defiling into the
ravine. I noticed that by far the greater
number among them — if, indeed, one
might not say all — were men in the
opening years of manhood ; lithe, well-
knit figures, and fair complexions set round
with fair hair. At a nearer view the fea-
ture which most impressed me wras the
smallness of their eyes. They wear the
long-skirted coat of Circassia, a thin and
worn kharki ; the faded pink on the cloth
of their shoulder-straps relieves the dull
drab. Their little caps of Circassian pat-
tern fit closely round their heads. Their
horses are clumsy, long-backed creatures,
wanting in all the characteristics of qual-
ity ; and as each man maintains his own
animal, few among them are shod. Yet
I am assured that the breed is workman-
like and enduring, and I have known it
to yield most satisfactory progeny when
crossed with English racing-blood. As
we rounded the heap of grass-grown soil,
which is known as Takjaltu, we were
joined by a second detachment of Cos-
sacks coming from Arguri. Together we
climbed up the troughs of the ridges which

179

The A scent of Mount A rarat

sweep fanwise down the mountain side,
and emerged on the floor of the upland
valley which leads between the Greater and
the Lesser Ararat, and crosses the back of
the Ararat fabric in a direction from south-
west to northeast. We were here at an
elevation of 7,500 feet above the sea, or
nearly five thousand feet above the plain.
Both the stony troughs and ridges up which
we had just marched, as well as the com-
paratively level ground upon which we
now stood, were covered with a scorched
but abundant vegetation, which had served
the Kurds during earlier summer as pasture
for their flocks, and still sheltered nume-
rous coveys of plump partridges, in which
this part of the mountain abounds.

At the mouth of this valley, on the
gently sloping platform which its even
surface presents, we marked out the spaces
of our bivouac, the pickets for the horses,
and the fires. Our men were acquainted
with every cranny ; we had halted near the
site of their summer encampment, from
which they had only recently descended
to their winter quarters in the plain. As
we dismounted we were met by a graceful
figure clad in a Circassian coat of brown
material let in across the breast with pink
silk, — a young man of most engaging ap-

180

The Ascent of Mount Arafat

Colossal Blocks of Conglomerate Hurled out of the Chasm of Arguri.

pearance and manners, presented to us as
the chief of the Kurds of Ararat who own
allegiance to the Tsar. In the high refine-
ment of his features, in the bronzed com-
plexion and soft brown eyes, the Kurd
made a striking contrast to the Cossacks, —
a contrast by no means to the advantage of
the Cis-Caucasian race. The young chief
is also worthy to be remembered in respect
of the remarkable name which he bears.
His Kurdish title of Shamden Agha has
been developed and embroidered into the
sonorous appellation of Hassan Bey Sham-
shadinoff, under which he is officially
known.

181

The A scent of Mount A rarat

From the edge of the platform upon
which we were standing the ground falls
away with some abruptness down to the
base below, and lends to the valley its
characteristic appearance of an elevated
stage and natural viewing-place, overtow-
ered by the summit regions of the dome
and the pyramid, and commanding all the
landscape of the plain. On the south-
west, as it rises toward the pass between
the two mountains, — a pass of 8,800 feet,
leading into Turkish and into Persian ter-
ritory, to Bayazed or Maku, — the extent
of even ground which composes this plat-
form cannot much exceed a quarter of a
mile. It is choked by the rocky cause-
ways which, sweeping down the side of
Great Ararat, tumble headlong to the bot-
tom of the fork, and, taking the inclina-
tion of the ever-widening valley, descend
on the northwestern skirt of the platform
in long oblique curves of branching troughs
and ridges falling fanwise over the base.
The width of the platform at the mouth
of the valley may be about three-quarters
of a mile. It is here that the Kurds of
the surrounding region gather, as the shades
of night approach, to water their flocks at
the lonely pool which is known as the Sar-
dar's well. On the summit of the Lesser Ar-

182

The A scent of Mount A rarat

arat there is a little lake formed of melted
snows; the water permeates the mountain,
and feeds the Sardar's pool. Close by, at
the foot of the lesser mountain, is the
famous covert of birch, low bushes, the
only stretch of wood upon the fabric,
which is entirely devoid of trees. The
wood was soon crackling upon our fires,
and the water hissing in the pots; but the
wretched pack-horses upon which our tents
had been loaded were lagging several hours
behind. We ourselves had reached camp
at six o'clock ; it was after nine before our
baggage arrived. As we stretched upon the
slope, the keen air of the summit region
swept the valley, and chilled us to the skin ;
the temperature sank to below freezing,
and we had nothing but the things in
which we stood.* Our friends, the Cos-
sack officers, were lavish of assistance ;
they wrapped us in the hairy coats of the
Caucasus, placed vodki and partridges be-
fore us, and ranged us around their hospit-
able circle beside the leaping flames.

But the mind was absent from the pic-
turesque bivouac, and the eye which ranged
the deepening shadows was still dazzled by
the evening lights. Mind and sense alike

* The temperature at 6.30 p.m. was 500 F., but it sank rapidly
in the cold wind.

183

The A scent of Mount A rarat

were saturated with the beauty and the
brilliance of the landscape, which, as you
rise toward the edge of the platform after
rounding the mass of Takjaltu, opens to an
ever-increasing perspective with ever-grow-
ing, clearness of essential features and mys-
tery gathering upon all lesser forms. The
sun revolving south of the zenith lights
the mountains on the north of the plain,
and fills all the valley from the slopes of
Ararat with the full flood of its rays, —
tier after tier of crinkled hummock ranges
aligning the opposite margin of the valley
at a distance of over twenty miles ; their
summits fretted with shapes of cones and
craters, their faces buttressed in sand, bare
and devoid of all vegetation, — yet richly
clothed in lights and hues of fairyland,
ochres flushed with delicate madder, ame-
thyst shaded opaline, while the sparse plan-
tations about the river and the labyrinth of
the plain insensibly transfigure as you rise
above them into an impalpable web of
gray. In the lap of the landscape lies the
river, a thin, looping thread, — flashes of
white among the shadows, in the lights a
bright mineral green. Here and there on
its banks you descry a naked mound, —
conjuring a vision of forgotten civilizations
and the buried hives of man. It is a vast

184

The A scent of Mount A rarat

prospect over the world ; yet vaster far is
the expanse you feel about you, beyond
the limits of sight. It is nothing but a
segment of that expanse, a brief vista from
north to east between two mountain-sides.
On the north the slopes of Great Ararat*
hide the presence of Alagoz, while behind
the needle form of Little Ararat all the
barren chains and lonely valleys of Persia
are outspread. The evening grows, and .
the sun's returning arc bends behind the
dome of snow. The light falls between
the two mountains, and connects the Little
Ararat in a common harmony with the
richening tints of the plain. There it
stands on the farther margin of the plat-
form, the clean, sharp outline of a pyramid,
clothed in hues of a tender yellow seamed
with violet veins. At its feet, where its
train sweeps the floor of the river valley
in long and regular folds, — far away in
the east, toward the mists of the Caspian,
— the sandy ground breaks into a troubled
surface like angry waves set solid under a
spell, and from range to range stretch
a chain of low white hummocks like
islands across a sea. Just there in the dis-
tance, beneath the Little Ararat, you see
a patch of shining white, so vivid that it
presents the appearance of a glacier set in

185

1 he Ascent of Mount Ararat

the burnt waste. It is probably caused by
some chemical efflorescence resting on the
dry bed of a lake. All the landscape reveals
the frenzy of volcanic forces fixed forever
in an imperishable mould; the imagination
plays with the forms of distant castles and
fortresses of sand. Alone the slopes about
you wear the solid colors, and hold you to
the real world, — the massive slopes of
Great Ararat raised high above the world.
The wreath of cloud which veils the sum-
mit till the last breath of warm air dies,
has floated away in the calm heaven be-
fore the western lights have paled. Behind
the lofty piles of rocky causeways, con-
cealing the higher seams, rises the imme-
diate roof of Ararat, foreshortened in the
sky, the short side or gable of the dome,
a faultless cone of snow.

When we drew aside the curtain of our
tent next morning, full daylight was stream-
ing over the open upland valley, and the
vigorous air had already lost its edge.*
The sun had risen high above the Sevanga
ranges, and swept the plain below us of
the lingering vapors which at morning
cling, like shining wool, to the floor of
the river-valley, or float in rosy feathers
against the dawn. The long-backed Cos-

* Temperature, 10.15 A-M-> 72° F.
186

The A scent of Mount A rarat

sack horses had been groomed and watered
and picketed in line ; the men were sitting
smoking in little groups, or were strolling
about the camp in pairs. A few Kurds,
who had come down with milk and pro-
visions, stood listlessly looking on, the beak-
nose projecting from the bony cheeks, the
brown chest opening from the many-col-
ored tatters draped about the shoulders and
waist. The space of level ground between
the two mountains cannot much exceed
three-quarters of a mile. On the east the
graceful seams of Little Ararat rise im-
mediately from the slope upon our right,
gathering just beyond the cover of low
birchwood, and converging in the form
of a pyramid toward a summit which has
been broken across the point. The plat-
form of this valley is a base for Little
Ararat, the rib on the flank of the greater
mountain from which the smaller proceeds.
So sharp are the lines of the Little Ararat,
so clean the upward slope, that the summit,
when seen from this pass or saddle, seems
to rise as high in the heaven above as the
dome of Great Ararat itself. The burnt
grass struggles toward the little birch cov-
er, but scarcely touches the higher seams.
The mountain-side is broken into a loose
rubble; deep gullies sear it in perpendic-

187

The A scent of Mount A rarat

ular furrows, which contribute to the im-
pression of height. The prevailing color
of the stones is a bleached yellow, verging
upon a delicate pink ; but these paler strata
are divided by veins of bluish andesite,
pointing upward like spear-heads from
the base.

Very different on the side of Great Ara-
rat are the shapes which meet the eye.
We are facing the southeastern slope of
the mountain, the slope which follows the
direction of its axis, the short side or ga-
ble of the dome. In the descending train
of the giant volcano this valley is but an
incidental or lesser feature ; yet it marks,
and in a sense determines, an important
alteration in the disposition of the surface
forms. It is here that the streams of
molten matter descending the mountain-
side have been arrested, and deflected from
their original direction to fall over the mas-
sive base. The dam or obstacle which has
produced this deviation is the sharp harmo-
nious figure of the Lesser Ararat, emerging
from the sea of piled-up bowlders, and
cleaving the chaos of troughs and ridges
like the Hfty prow of a ship. The course
of these streams of lava is signalized by
these caaseways of agglomerate rocks;
you may follow from a point of vantage

188

The A scent of Mount A rarat

upon the mountain the numerous branches
into which they have divided, to several
parent or larger streams. On this side of
Ararat they have been turned in an oblique
direction, from the southeast toward the
northeast ; and they skirt the western mar-
gin of the little valley, curving outward to
the river and the plain. It is just beneath
the first of these walls of loose bowlders that
our two little tents are pitched ; beyond it
you see another and yet another still higher,
and above them the dome of snow.

The distance from this valley to the
summit of Great Ararat, if we measure
upon the survey of the Russian Govern-
ment along a horizontal line, is rather
over five miles. The confused sea of
bowlders, of which I have just described
the nature, extends, according to my own
measurements, to a height of about twelve
thousand feet. Above that zone, so ardu-
ous to traverse, lies the summit region of
the mountain, robed in perpetual snow.
From whatever point you regard that sum-
mit on this southeastern side, the appear-
ance of its height falls short of reality in
a most substantial degree. Not only does
the curve of the upward slope lend itself
to a most deceitful foreshortening when
you follow it from below, but indeed the

189

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

highest point or crown of the dome is in-
visible from this the gable side.

If you strike a direct course from the
encampment toward the roof of snow, and
crossing the grain of successive walls and
depressions, emerge upon some higher
ridge, the numerous ramifications of the
lava system may be followed to their source,
and are seen to issue from larger causeways,
which rise in bold relief from the snows
of the summit region, and open fanwise
down the higher slopes. In shape these
causeways may be said to resemble the
sharp side of a wedge : the massive base
from which the bank rises narrows to a
pointed spine. As the eye pursues the
circle of the summit where it vanishes to-
ward the north, these ribs of rock which
radiate down the mountain diminish in
volume and relief. Their sharp edges
commence to cut the snowy canopy about
three thousand feet below the dome. It
is rather on the southeastern side of Ararat,
the side which faces the Little Ararat and
follows the direction of the axis of the fab-
ric,— the line upon which the forces have
acted by which the whole fabric has been
reared, — that a formation so characteristic
of the surface of the summit region attains
its highest development in a phenomenon

190

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

Lesser Ararat as it appeared just before reaching Sardar- Bulakh.

which at once arrests the eye. At a height
of about fourteen thousand feet a causeway
of truly gigantic proportions breaks abrupt-
ly from the snow. The head of the ridge
is bold and lofty, and towers high above
the snow-slope, with steep and rocky sides.
The ridge itself is in form a wedge or tri-
angle cut deep down into the side of the
mountain, and marked along the spine by
a canal-shaped depression which accentu-
ates the descending curve. The zone of
troughs and ridges which you are now
crossing has its origin in this parent ridge;

191

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

you see it sweeping outward, away from
Little Ararat, and dividing into branches,
and systems of branches, as it reaches the
lower slopes. Whether its want of con-
nection with the roof of Ararat, or the
inherent characteristics of its uppermost
end, are sufficient evidence to justify the
supposition of Abich, that this ridge at its
head marks a separate eruptive centre on
the flank of Ararat, I am not competent
adequately to discuss. I can only observe,
that another explanation does not appear
difficult to find : it may be possible that
the ridge where it narrows to the summit
has been fractured and swept away. This
peak, or sharp end of the causeway, to
whatever causes its origin may be ascribed,
is a distinguishing feature on the slope of
Ararat, seen far and wide like a tooth or
hump or shoulder on this the southeastern
side. Although the most direct way to
the summit region leads immediately across
the zone of bowlders from the camp by
the Sardar's pool, yet it is not that which
most travellers have followed, or which the
natives of the district recommend. This
line of approach, which I followed for
some distance a few days after our ascent,
is open to the objection that it is no doubt
more difficult to scale the slope of snow

192

The A scent of Mount A rarat

upon this side. The tract of uncovered
rocks which breaks the snow-fields, offer-
ing ladders to the roof of the dome, is
situated farther to the southeast of the
mountain, above the neck of the valley
of the pool. Whether it would not be
more easy to reach these ladders by skirt-
ing slantwise from the higher slopes is a
question which is not in itself unreason-
able, and which only actual experience
will decide. It was in this manner, I
believe, that the English traveller, Bryce,
— now the well-known writer upon the
American Commonwealth, and a statesman
of great authority and weight, — made an
ascent which, as a feat, is, I think, the
most remarkable of any of the recorded
climbs. Starting from the pool at one
o'clock in the morning, he reached the
summit alone at about two in the after-
noon, accomplishing, within a space of
about six hours, the last five thousand feet,
and returning to the point from which he
started before sunrise on the following day.
We ourselves wei*e advised to follow up the
valley, keeping the causeways upon our
right; and only then, when we should have
reached a point about southeast of the sum-
mit, to strike across the belt of rock.
At twenty minutes before two on the
193

The A scent of Mount A rarat

1 8 th of September, our little party left
camp in marching order, all in the pride
of health and spirits, and eager for the at-
tack. Thin wreaths of cloud wrapped the
snows of the summit, the jealous spell which
baffles the bold lover, even when he already
grasps his prize. We had taken leave of
the Cossack officers and their band of light-
hearted men. Our friends were returning
to Arguri and Aralykh ; the one body to
hunt the Kurds of the frontier, the other
to languish in dull inactivity until their
turn shall come round again. Four Cos-
sacks were deputed to remain and guard
our camp ; we ourselves had decided to
dispense with any escort, and to trust to
our Kurdish allies. Of these, ten sturdy
fellows accompanied us as porters, to carry
our effects, their rifles slung over their
many-colored tatters beside the burden
allotted to each. With my cousin and
myself were the young Swiss, Rudolph
Taugwalder, a worthy example of his race
and profession, — the large limbs, the rosy
cheeks, the open mien without guile, —
and young Ernest Wesson, fresh from the
Polytechnic in London, whom I had
brought to develop my photographs, and
who rendered me valuable assistance in
my photographic work. My Armenian

194

The A scent of Mount A rarat

dragoman followed as best he was able,
until the camp at the snow was reached ;
his plump little figure was not well adapted
to toil over the giant rocks. Of our num-
ber was also an Armenian from Arguri,
who had tendered his services as guide ;
he was able to indicate a place for our
night's encampment, but he did not ven-
ture upon the slope of snow.

A little stream trickles down the valley,
but sinks exhausted at this season before
reaching the Sardar's well. In the early
summer it is of the volume of a torrent,
which winds past the encampment like a
serpent of silver, uttering a dull, rumbling
sound.* It is fed by the water from the
snow-fields, and there is said to be a spring
which contributes to support it at a height
of nearly eleven thousand feet."j~ After
half an hour's walk over the stony sur-
face of the platform and the ragged herb-
age burnt yellow by the sun, we entered
the narrows of the mountain saddle, and
followed the dry bed of this rivulet at
the foot of rocky spurs. The tufts of
sappy grass, which were sparsely studded
on the margin of the watercourse, gave

* Madame B. Chantre, in " Tour du Monde " for 1892, p. 184.
t Markoff : " Ascension du Grand Ararat," in Bulletin de la
Soc. Roy ale Beige de Geograpkie, Brussels, 1888, p. 579.

195

Tlie A scent of Mount A rarat

place, as we advanced, to a continuous
carpet of soft and verdant turf; here and
there the eye rested on the deep green of
the juniper, or the graceful fretwork of a
wild-rose tree quivered in the draught.
The warm rays flashed in the thin atmos-
phere, and tempered the searching breeze.
The spurs on our right descend from the
shoulder, and from the causeway of which
it forms the head, and are seen to diverge
into two systems as they enter the narrow
pass. The one group pushes forward to the
Little Ararat, arfd is lost in confused detail •
the other, and perhaps the larger, system
bends boldly along the side of the valley,
sweeping outwards toward the base. At
three o'clock we reached a large pool of
clouded water collected on a table surface
of burnt grass ; close by is an extensive bed
of nettles and a circle of loose stones. This
spot is no doubt the site of a Kurdish en-
campment, and appeared to have been only
recently abandoned by the shepherds and
their flocks. The farther we progressed,
the more the prospect opened over the
slopes of Ararat ; we were approaching
the level of the lofty ridges which skirt
the valley side. Passing, as we now were,
between the two Ararats, we remarked
that the greater seemed no higher than

196

The A scent of Mount A rarat

the lesser, so completely is the eye de-
ceived. In the hollows of the gully, there
were little pools of water, but the stream
itself was dry.

By half-past three we had left the gentle
watercourse, and were winding inwards up
the slope of Great Ararat, to cross the black
and barren region, the girdle of sharp crags
and slippery bowlders drawn deep about
the upper seams of the mountain like a suc-
cession of chevaux-de-frise . We thought it
must have been on some other side of
Ararat that the animals descended from
the Ark. For a space of more than three
hours we labored on over a chaos of rocks,
through a labyrinth of ridges and troughs,
picking a path, and as often retracing it,
or scrambling up the polished sides of the
larger blocks which arrest the most crafty
approach. The Kurds, although sorely
taxed by their burdens, were at an advan-
tage compared to ourselves; they could slip
like cats from ledge to ledge in their laced
slippers of hide. In one place we passed a
gigantic heap of bowlders towering several
hundred feet above our heads. The rock
is throughout of the same character and
color, — an andesitic lava of a dark slaty
hue. A little later we threaded up a ra-
vine or gully, and after keeping for a while

199

The A scent of Mount A rarat

to the bottom of the depression, climbed
slowly along the back of the ridge. I no-
ticed that the grain or direction of the
formation lay toward east-southeast. From
the head of this ravine we turned into a
second, by a natural gap or pass ; loose
rocks were piled along the sides of the hol-
low, which bristled with fantastic shapes.
Here a seated group of camels seemed to
munch in silence on the line of fading
sky, or the knotty forms of lifeless willows
stretched a menace of uplifted arms. In
the sheltered laps of this higher region,
as we approached our journey's end, the
snow still lay in ragged patches, increasing
in volume and depth. . . . The surface
cleared, the view opened ; we emerged
from the troubled sea of stone. Beyond a
lake of snow and a stretch of rubble, rose
the ghostly sheet of the summit region
holding the last glimmer of day.

It was seven o'clock, and we had no
sooner halted than the biting frost numbed
our limbs.* The ground about us was not
uneven, but an endless crop of pebbles
filled the plainer spaces between little capes
of embedded rock. At length, upon the
margin of the snow-lake, we found a tiny

* Temperature at 8 p.m. iS° F., and next morning at 5.45

A.M., 28° F.

200

The Ascent o/ Mount Ararat

tongue of turf-grown soil, just sufficient em-
placement to hold the flying tent which we
had brought for the purpose of this lofty
bivouac near the line of continuous snow.
We were five to share the modest area
which the sloping canvas enclosed, yet the
temperature in the tent sank below freez-
ing before the night was done. Down the
slope beside us, the snow-water trickled be-
neath a thin covering of ice. The sheep-
skin coats which we had brought from
Aralykh protected us from chill, but the
hardy Kurds slept in their seamy tatters
upon the naked rocks around. One among
them sought protection as the cold became
intenser, and we wrapped him in a warm
cape. It was the first time I had passed the
night at so great an elevation, — 12,194
feet above the sea ; and it is possible that
the unwonted rarity of the atmosphere con-
tributed to keep us awake. But whether
it arose from the conditions which sur-
rounded us, or from a nervous state of
physical excitement inspired by our enter-
prise, not one among us, excepting the
dragoman, succeeded in courting sleep.
That plump little person had struggled on
bravely to this, his farthest goal ; and his
heavy breathing fell upon the silence of
the calm, transparent night.

201

The A scent of Mount A rarat

■

Panorama of Mount Ararat,

The site of our camp below the snow-
line marks a new stage or structural divis-
ion in the fabric of Ararat. Of these
divisions, which differ from one another
not only in the characteristics presented
by each among them, but also in the gra-
dient of slope, it is natural to distinguish
three. We are dealing in particular with
that section of the mountain which lies
between Aralykh and the summit, and
with the features of the southeastern side.
First there is the massive base of the moun-
tain, about ten miles in depth, extending
from the floor of the river-valley to a

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

as Viewed from Aralykh.

height of about six thousand feet. At
that point the higher seams commence to
gather, and the belt of rock begins. The
arduous tracts which we had just traversed,
where large, loose blocks of hard black
lava are piled up like a beach, compose
the upper portion of this middle region,
and may be said to touch the lower mar-
gin of the continuous fields of snow. But
the line of contact between the extremi-
ties of the one and the other stage is by
no means so clear and so definite a feature
as our metaphor might lead us to expect,
and partakes of the nature of a transitional

203

The Ascent of Man tit Ararat

system, a neutral zone on the mountain-
side, where the rocky layers of the middle
slopes have, not yet shelved away, nor the
immediate seams of the summit region
settled to their long climb. In this sense
the stone-fields about our encampment,
with their patches of last year's snow, are
invested with the attributes of a natural
threshold at the foot of the great dome.
The stage which is highest in the struc-
ture of Ararat, the stage which holds the
dome, has its origin in this threshold or
neutral district at an altitude which varies
between twelve thousand and thirteen
thousand feet.

Very different in character and in ap-
pearance from the region we are leaving
behind is the slope which faces our en-
campment robed in perpetual snow. We
have pursued the ramifications of the lava
system to the side of their parent stems ;
and in place of blind troughs and prospect-
less ledges, a noble singleness of feature
breaks upon the extricated view. We
command the whole summit structure of
Ararat on the short or gable side, and the
shape which rises from the open ground
about us is that of a massive cone. The
regular seams which mount to the summit
stretch continuous to the crown of snow,

204

The A scent of Mount A rarat

and are inclined at an angle which di-
verges very little from an average of 300.
The gradients from which these higher
seams gather, the slopes about our camp,
cannot exceed half that inclination, or an
angle of 1 50. Such is the outline, so har-
monious and simple, which a first glance
reveals. A more intimate study of the
summit region as it expands to a closer
view, discloses characteristics which are
not exactly similar to those with which
we have already become familiar in the
neighborhood of Sardar-Bulakh. It was
there the northeastern hemisphere of the
mountain — if the term may be applied
to the oval figure which the summit region
presents — displayed to the prospect upon
the segment between east and southeast.
Our present position lies more to the south-
ward, between the two hemispheres ; we
are placed near the axis of the figure, and
the roof, as seen from our encampment,
bears nearly due northwest. The gigantic
causeway which was there descending on
our left hand from the distant snows, now
rises on our right like a rocky headland
confronting a gleaming sea of ice. But
when the eye pursues the summit circle
vanishing towards the west, we miss the
sister forms of lesser causeways radiating

205

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

down the mountain-side. It is true that
the greater proximity of our standpoint to
the foot of these highest slopes curtails the
segment of the circle which we are able
to command. This circumstance is not
in itself sufficient to explain the change in
the physiognomy of the summit region as
we see it on this side. In place of those
bold black ribs or ridges spread fan wise
down the incline, furrowing the snows
with their sharp edges, and lined along
the troughs of their contiguous bases with
broad streaks of sheltered neve, it seems as
if the fabric had fallen asunder, the surface
slipped away, all the flank of the mountain
depressed and hollow from our camp to
the roof of the dome. The canopy of
snow which encircles the summit, a broad
inviolate bank unbroken by any rift or rock
projection for a depth of some two thou-
sand feet, breaks sharply off on the verge
of this depression, and leaves the shallow
cavity bare. From the base of the giant
causeway just above us to the gently purs-
ing outline of the roof, you follow the edge
of the great snow-field bordering a rough
and crumbling region which offers scanty
foothold to the snow, where the hollow
slope bristles with pointed bowlders, and
the bold crags pierce the ruin around them

206

The A scent of Mount A rarat

in upstanding comos or saw-shaped ridges
holding slantwise to the mountain-side.
On the west side of this broad and uncov-
ered depression, near the western extrem-
ity of the cone, a long strip of snow descends
from the summit, caught by some trough
or sheltering fissure in the rough face of
the cliff. Beyond it, just upon the sky-
line, the bare rocks reappear, and climb
the slope like a natural ladder to a point
where the roof of the dome is lowest, and
appears to offer the readiest access to the
still invisible crown.

In the attenuated atmosphere surround-
ing the summit, every foot that is gained
tells ; an approach which promises to ease
the gradient at the time when it presses
most seems to offer advantages which some
future traveller, recognizing the application
of this description, may be encouraged to
essay. We ourselves were influenced in the
choice of a principle upon which to base
our attack by the confident counsels of the
Armenian, which the local knowledge of
the Kurds confirmed. We were advised to
keep to the eastern margin of the depres-
sion by the edge of the great snow-field.
You see the brown rocks still baffling the
snowdrifts near the point where the deceit-
ful slope appears to end, where on the verge

207

Tlie A scent of Mount A rarat

of the roof it just dips a little, then stands
up like a low white wall on the luminous
ground of blue.

The troubled sea of bowlders flowing to-
ward the Little Ararat, from which we had
just emerged, still hemmed us in from any
prospect over the tracts which lay below.
The flush of dawn broke between the two
mountains from a narrow vista of sky. The
even surface of the snow slope loomed white
and cold above our heads, while the night
still lingered on the dark stone about us,
shadowing the little laps of ice. Before six
o'clock we were afoot and ready ; it wanted
a few minutes to the hour as we set out
from our camp. To the Swiss was in-
trusted the post of leader ; behind him
followed, in varying order, my cousin and
Wesson and myself. Slowly we passed from
the shore of the snow lake to the gathering
of the higher seams, harboring our strength
for the steeper gradients, as we made across
the beach of bowlders, stepping firmly from
block to block. The broad white sheet of
the summit circle descends to the snow-
lakes of the lower region in a tongue or
gulf of deep neve. You may follow, on the
margin of the great depression, the west-
ern edge of this gleaming surface unbroken
down the side of the cone. On the east the

208

Tlte Ascent of Mount Ararat

black wall of the giant causeway aligns
the shining slope, invading the field of per-
petual winter to a height of over 14,000
feet. The width of the snow-field between
these limits varies as it descends. On a level
with the shoulder or head of the causeway
it appeared to span an interval of nearly
two hundred yards. The depth of the bed
must be considerable ; and, while the sur-
face holds the tread in places, it as often
gives, and lets you through. No rock pro-
jection or gap or fissure breaks the slope
of the white fairway ; but the winds have
raised the crust about the centre into a rib-
bon of tiny waves. Our plan was to cross
the stony region about us, slanting a little
east, and then when we should have reached
the edge of the snow-field, to mount by the
rocks on its immediate margin, adhering
as closely as might be possible to the side
of the snow. It was in the execution of
this plan, so simple in its conception, that
the trained instinct of the Swiss availed.
Of those who have attempted the ascent of
Ararat, — and their number is not large, —
so many have failed to reach the summit,
that, upon a mountain which makes few,
if any, demands upon the resources of the
climber's craft, their discomfiture must be
attributed to other reasons, — to the pecu-

209

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

liar nature of the ground traversed no less
than to the inordinate duration of the effort,
to the wearisome recurrence of the same
kind of obstacles, and to the rarity of the air.
Now the disposition of the rocks upon the
surface of the depression is by no means the
same as that which we have studied in con-
nection with the seams which lie below.
The path no longer struggles across a trou-
bled sea of ridges, or strays within the blind
recesses of a succession of gigantic waves
of stone. On the other hand, the gradients
are, as a rule, steeper ; and the clearings are
covered with a loose rubble, which slips
from under the feet. The bowlders are
piled one upon another in heaps, as they
happened to fall ; and the sequence of forms
is throughout arbitrary, and subject to no
fixed law. In one place it is a tower of
this loose masonry which blocks all farther
approach, in another a solid barrier of sharp
crags laced together which it is necessary
to circumvent. When the limbs have been
stiffened and the patience exhausted by the
long and devious escalade, the tax upon
the lungs is at its highest, and the strain
upon the heart most severe. Many of the
difficulties which travellers have encoun-
tered upon this stage of the climb may be
avoided, or met at a greater advantage, by

210

The A scent of Mount A rarut

adhering to the edge of the snow. But
the fulfilment of this purpose is by no means
so easy as the case might at first sight ap-
pear. You are always winding inwards to
avoid the heaps of bowlders, or emerging
on the backs of gigantic blocks of lava to-
wards the margin of the shining slope. In
the choice of the most direct path, where
many offered, the Swiss was never at fault ;
he made up the cone without a moment's
hesitation, like a hound threading a close
cover, and seldom if ever foiled.

At twenty minutes to seven, when the
summit of Lesser Ararat was about on a
level with the eye, we paused for awhile,
and turned towards the prospect now open-
ing to a wider range. The day was clear,
and promised warmth ; above us the snowy
dome of Ararat shone in a cloudless sky.
The landscape on either side of the beau-
tiful pyramid lay outspread at our feet ;
from northeast the hidden shores of Lake
Sevanga, to where the invisible seas of Van
and Urumia diffuse a soft veil of opaline
vapor over the long succession of lonely
ranges in the southeast and south. The
wild borderland of Persia and Turkey
here for the first time expands to view.
The scene, however much it may belie
the conception at a first and hasty glance,

213

The A scent of Mount A rarat

bears the familiar imprint of the charac-
teristics peculiar to the great table-land.
The mountains reveal their essential nature,
and disclose the familiar forms, the surface
of the plateau broken into long furrows
which tend to hummock shapes. So lofty
is the stage, so aloof this mighty fabric
from all surrounding forms, the world lies
dim and featureless about it like the setting
of a dream. In the foreground are the
valleys on the south of Little Ararat cir-
cling round to the Araxes floor, and on
the northeast, beside the thread of the
looping river, a little lake, dropped like
a turquoise on the sand where the moun-
tain sweeps the plain.

In the space of another hour we have
reached an elevation about equal to that
of the head of the causeway on the oppo-
site side of the snow, a point which I
think I am justified in fixing at over four-
teen thousand feet. We are now no longer
threading on the shore of an inlet ; alone
the vague horizon of the summit circle is
the limit of the broad white sea. But on
our left hand the snowless region of rock
and rubble still accompanies our course,
and a group of red crags stands high above
us where the upward slope appears to end.

Yet another two hours of continuous
214

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

climbing, and at about half-past nine the
loose bowlders about us open, and we are
approaching the foot of these crags. The
end seems near ; but the slope is deceitful,
and when once we have reached the head
of the formation the long white way re-
sumes. But the blue vault about us streams
with sunlight ; the snow is melting in the
crannies, a genial spirit lightens our toil.

And now without any sign or warning
the mysterious spell which holds the moun-
tain begins to throw a web about us, craft-
ily, from below. The spirits of the air
come sailing through the azure with shin-
ing gossamer wings, while the heavier va-
pors gather around us from dense banks
serried upon the slope beneath us a thou-
sand feet lower down.

The rocks still climb the increasing gra-
dient, but the snow is closing in. At
eleven we halt to copy an inscription
which has been neatly written in Russian
characters on the face of a bowlder-stone.
It records that on the third day of the
eighth month of 1893 tne expedition led
by the Russian traveller Postukhoff passed
the night in this place. At the foot of
the stone lie several objects ; a bottle rilled
with fluid, an empty biscuit-tin, and a tin
containing specimens of rock.

215

The A scent of Mount A rarat

At half-past eleven I take the angle of
the snow-slope, at this point 350. About
this time the Swiss thinks it prudent to
link us all together with his rope. The
surface of the rocks is still uncovered, but
their bases are embedded in deep snow.

It is now, after six hours arduous climb-
ing, that the strain of the effort tells. The
lungs are working at the extreme of their
capacity, and the pressure upon the heart
is severe. At noon I call a halt, and re-
lease young Wesson from his place in the
file of four. His pluck is still strong, but
his look and gait alarm me, and I persuade
him to desist. We leave him to rest in a
sheltered place, and there await our return.
From this time on we all three suffer, even
the Swiss himself. My cousin is affected
with mountain sickness ; as for me, I find
it almost impossible to breathe and climb
at the same time. We make a few steps
upwards, and then pause breathless, and
gasp again and again. The white slope
vanishing above us must end in the crown
of the dome ; and the bowlders, strewn
more sparsely before us, promise a fairer
way. But the farther we go the goal
seems little closer, and the shallow snow
resting on a crumbling rubble makes us
lose one step in every three. A strong

216

The Asce:it of Mount Ararat

smell of sulphur permeates the atmosphere;
it proceeds from the sliding surface upon
which we are treading, a detritus of pale
sulphurous stones.

At 1.25 p.m. we see a plate of white
metal affixed to a cranny in the rocks.
It bears an inscription in Russian charac-
ter, which dates from 1888. I neglect to
copy out the unfamiliar letters; but there
can be little doubt that they record the
successful ascent of Dr. MarkofF, an ascent
in which that able linguist and accom-
plished traveller suffered hardships which
cost him dear.

A few minutes later, at half-past one,
the slope at last eases, the ground flattens,
the struggling rocks sink beneath the sur-
face of a continuous field of snow. At
last we stand upon the summit of Ararat;
but the sun no longer pierces the white
vapor. A fierce gale drives across the for-
bidden region, and whips the eye straining
to distinguish the limits of snow and cloud.
Vague forms hurry past on the wings of
the whirlwind ; in place of the landscape
of the land of promise, we search dense
banks of fog.

Disappointed, perhaps, but relieved of
the gradient, and elated with the success
of our climb, we run in the teeth of the

217

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

wind across the platform, our feet scarcely
sinking in the storm-swept crust of the
surface, the gently undulating roof of the
dome. . . . Along the edge of a spacious
snow-field which dips towards the centre,
and is longest from northwest to southeast,
on the vaulted rim of the saucer, which the
surface resembles, four separate elevations
may conveniently be distinguished as the
highest points in the irregular oval figure
which the whole platform appears to pre-
sent. The highest among these rounded
elevations bears northwest from the spot
where we first touch the summit or emerge
upon the roof. That spot itself marks an-
other of these inequalities ; the remaining
two are situated respectively in this man-
ner,— the one about midway between the
two already mentioned, but nearer to the
first, and on the north side; the other about
south of the northwestern elevation, and
this seems the lowest of all. The differ-
ence in height between this northwestern
elevation and that upon the southeast is
about two hundred feet; and the length of
the figure between these points — we paced
only a certain portion of the distance — is
about five hundred yards. The width of
the platform, so far as we could gauge it,
may be some three hundred yards. A sin-

218

The A scent of Mount A rarat

gle object testifies to the efforts of our fore-
runners, and to the insatiable enterprise of
man, — a stout stake embedded upon the
northwestern elevation in a little pyramid
of stones. It is here that we take our
observations and make our longest halt.*
Before us lies a valley or deep depression,
and on the farther side rises the north-
western summit, a symmetrical cone of
snow. This summit connects with the
bold snow buttresses beyond it, terraced
upon the northwestern slope. The dis-
tance down and up from where we stand
to that summit may be about four hun-
dred yards ; but neither the Swiss nor
ourselves consider it higher, and we are
prevented from still further exploring the
summit region by the increasing violence
of the gale and by the gathering gloom of
cloud. The sides and floor of the valley or
saddle between the two summits are com-
pletely covered with snow; and we see no
trace of the lateral fissure which Abich —
no doubt under different circumstances —
was able to observe.

* The temperature of the air a few feet below the summit,
out of the gale, was 20° F. The height of the northwestern ele-
vation of the southeastern summit of Ararat is given by my
Whymper mountain aneroid as 17,493 ^eet* The reading is, no
doubt, too high by several hundred feet. The Carey aneroid
gives a still higher figure, and the Boylean-Mariotte mercurial
barometer entirely refused to work.

219

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

We remain forty minutes upon the sum-
mit; but the dense veil never lifts from the
platform, nor does the blast cease to pierce
us through. No sooner does an opening in
the driving vapors reveal a vista of the
world below than fresh levies fly to the
unguarded interval, and the wild onset re-
sumes. Yet what if the spell had lost its
power, and the mountain and the world
lain bare ? had the tissue of the air beamed
clear as crystal, and the forms of earth and
sea, embroidered beneath us, shone like the
tracery of a shield ?

We should have gained a balloon view
over nature; should we catch her voice so
well ? the ancient voice heard at cool of
day in the garden, or the voice that spoke
in accents of thunder to a world con-
demned to die. " It repented the Lord
that he had made man, and it grieved him
at his heart. The earth was filled with
violence. God looked upon the earth, and
behold it was corrupt. In the second
month, the seventeenth day of the month,
the same day were all the fountains of the
great deep broken up, and the windows
of heaven were opened. And the rain
was upon the earth forty days and forty
nights.,,

We are standing on the spot where the

220

The Ascent of Mount Ararat

Ark of Gopher rested, where first the patri-
arch alighted on the face of an earth re-
newed. Before him lie the valleys of six
hundred years of sorrow ; the airiest pin-
nacle supports him, a boundless hope fills
his eyes ; the pulse of life beats strong
and fresh around him ; the busy swarms
thrill with sweet freedom, elect of all liv-
ing things. In the settling exhalations
stands the bow of many colors, eternal
token of God's covenant with man.

The peaks which rise on the distant
borderland where silence has first faltered
into speech are wrapped about with the
wreaths of fancy, — a palpable world of
cloud. Do we fix our foot upon these
solid landmarks to wish the vague away,
to see the hard summits stark and naked,
and all the floating realm of mystery flown?
The truth is firm, and it is well to touch
and feel it, and know where the legend
begins; but the legend itself is truth trans-
figured as the snow distils into cloud. The
reality of life speaks in every syllable of
that solemn, stately tale, — divine hope
bursting the bounds of matter to com-
promise with despair. And the ancient
mountain summons the spirits about him,
and veils a futile frown as the rising sun
illumines the valleys of Asia and the life of

221

The A scent of Mount A rarat

man lies bare. The spectres walk in naked
daylight, — Violence and Corruption and
Decay. The traveller finds in majestic
nature consolation for these sordid scenes,
while a spirit seems to whisper in his ears,
"Turn from him! turn from him, that he
may rest till he shall accomplish, as an
hireling, his day."

222

CLIMBING MOUNT ST. ELIAS

By William Williams

Landing through the Stir/ at Icy Bay.

N 1886 the New York Times
organized an expedition un-
der Lieutenant Schwatka,
the main object of which
was to explore the glaciers to
the southward of Mount St.
Elias, and ascend the mountain as far as
possible. This was the first attempt ever
made to penetrate that part of Alaska. The
party succeeded in getting within two or
three miles of the foot of the mountain,
which lies at a distance of about thirty-five
miles from the sea ; but owing to the un-

225

Climbing Mount St. Elias

favorable state of the weather, combined
with other causes, all attempts to ascend
Mount St. Elias proper were abandoned.
Mr. Seton-Karr, however, climbed one of
a chain of hills situated in the vicinity of
the main range. Only nine or ten days
were spent away from the beach.

In the spring of 1888, Mr. Harold W.
Topham, of London, came over to this
country with his brother, with a view to
getting up an expedition similar in its pur-
pose to that sent out by the Times. I was
fortunate in receiving an invitation to join
them. Later, a third Englishman, Mr.
George Broke, was added to the party; and
by the end of June we were all at Sitka,
ready to avail ourselves of the first oppor-
tunity to proceed north.

The Schwatka party were spared much
time and trouble in getting up the coast,
as the U. S. S. Pinta had received orders
to carry them as far as they wished to go.
Not being so fortunate in this respect, we
were obliged to proceed partly by sailing
vessel, partly by canoes. The only avail-
able vessel was the Alpha, a very indiffer-
ent schooner of twenty-seven tons, which
had just returned from a sealing cruise.
After some delay in getting her ready, we
set sail from Sitka on the 3d of July, the

226

Climbing Mount St. Rlias

%::> y^Pn

STATUTE MILES

10 20 30 *0 60 60 70 80 90 100

The Alaskan Coast from Mount Fairiveather to Mount St. Elias.

party then consisting of ourselves and six
packers, two of whom were white men,
and the remaining four Indians. Though
the latter are generally capable of carrying
heavier loads than white men, yet we did
not think it advisable to rely on them al-
together, lest they should leave us suddenly
in the lurch.

We were seven days in reaching Yakutat,
an Indian settlement situated two hundred
and fifty miles beyond Sitka. (See map
above.) The voyage was anything but en-
joyable. The winds were generally light,
and from an unfavorable quarter, while

227

Climbing Mount St. Elias

the vessel was filthy. The cooking was
all done in the so-called cabin; and in or-
der that no time might be lost in starting
the fire, coal-oil was used freely. There
being no ventilation, it can be said with-
out exaggeration that the air in the quar-
ters below was foul during the whole trip ;
which, as we suffered more or less from
seasickness, constituted a very poor prepa-
ration for the work that lay before us.

On the fourth day after leaving Sitka
we caught occasional glimpses through the
clouds of the Fairweather range of moun-
tains, consisting principally of Mount Fair-
weather, Mount Crillon, and Mount La
Perouse. These peaks rise almost directly
out of the sea, two of them to a height of
nearly sixteen thousand feet. I obtained a
fine view of them on the return trip, and
have no hesitation in saying that they pre-
sent one of the grandest of mountain pano-
ramas. Owing partly to their proximity,
they appear much finer than from Glacier
Bay, from which point many Alaskan tour-
ists see them yearly. Several glaciers de-
scend from their slopes, some of which, as
that at Icy Point, terminate abruptly in the
ocean, their faces, which are washed by
the sea, being about two miles long. On
Mount Crillon we noticed in particular

228

Climbing Mount St. Elias

two icefalls that impressed us as being un-
usually fine.

Yakutat Bay is the first indentation of
any importance above Cross Sound, and
hence is easily recognized in clear weather.
The coast to the eastward is very low, and
generally lined with pine-trees. Yakutat
itself is situated on a small island about
five miles up the bay. It has a fairly good
harbor, the entrance to which is by means
of a channel not over twenty yards wide.
It is exclusively an Indian settlement, and
consists of just five houses, each covering
an area of perhaps thirty square feet. They
are quite picturesque, a distinctive feature
being the oval door, which is none too
large, and situated a foot or more above
the outside platform, so that in order to
enter, one must reduce one's height at both
ends. The houses are all of a size, and
contain a large central space which serves
both as parlor and kitchen. Opening out
on it are several smaller rooms, which are
allotted to the different families. The
chief, Billy, is quite friendly, and will
allow one, if without shelter, to spend
several days in his house. If he expects
anything in return, he will say so before-
hand.

The inhabitants evinced a sort of stupid
229

Climbing Mount St. Elias

interest at our coming. One, " Dick the
Dude," of Juneau, whom we had tempo-
rarily hired at Sitka, but soon afterward
discharged, as being too true to his nick-
name, had, in order to annoy us, sent up
word of our arrival by some Indians who
were coming north in canoes to visit their
friends, stating that we were very anxious
to obtain packers, and were ready to pay
high wages. As a result, the Yakutats
stood out for three dollars a day for some
time. Fortunately we were not altogether
dependent on them ; and the realization of
this fact, more than anything else, brought
them to terms. We eventually hired two
of them at two dollars a day, and further
increased our party by the addition of two
more white men, who were to receive
three dollars a day. We then numbered
fourteen.

The next stage in our journey was from
Yakutat to Icy Bay, situated about fifty-
five miles to the northwest. No one,
however, should be misled by the word
" Bay ; " for, as we subsequently learned,
the curvature of the beach is almost im-
perceptible, and hence offers no protection
against the ocean swell which is constantly
sweeping in. We were obliged to proceed
thither in canoes, on account of the surf

230

Climbing Mount St. Elias

through which we had to land. The
canoes used along the Alaskan coast are
"dug-outs;" they are made of all sizes.
As but few trees are of sufficient thickness
to give the large ones the requisite beam,
the sides are stretched, and made to retain
their new position by means of water heated
by stones.

The Indians acted in a very aggravating
manner about starting. Not caring to pad-
dle their canoes fifty-five miles, it was their
intention
to wait
for a fair
off-shore
bre e z e.
Our main
object, on
the other
hand, was
to reach
Icy Bay
while the
surf was
low, re-
gardless of whether a fair
wind was blowing or not.
Why we should be in any
hurry was quite incompre-
hensible to men to whom time <% y

Cutting Steps up an
Ice Slope.

Climbing Mount St. Etias

is no object. We finally succeeded in
making them do as we pleased by threat-
ening to proceed in the Alpha.

We left Yakutat on the morning of
July i 3 in two large canoes and one small
one, all three being very heavily laden with
men and provisions. The trip to Icy Bay
was accomplished in ten hours, thanks to
an off-shore breeze which sprang up early
in the morning and stayed by us most of
the day. Part of the time, and for a dis-
tance of over fifteen miles, we were sailing
along the foot of the Malespina Glacier, so
covered with earth, stones, and brush as to
make it absolutely impossible to discern the
ice with the eye, though the temperature of
both wind and water gave clear evidence
of its presence.

Sailing in a large canoe is a most delight-
ful experience. The craft seems to glide
over the surface of the water without cut-
ting it. This is owing to its very light
draught. Its great width, on the other
hand, gives it considerable stability up to
a certain point. If the Indians were taught
the use of the folding centre-board, they
could probably make their canoes go fairly
well to windward. The best they can do
now is to avail themselves of a beam-wind.

We found comparatively little surf any-
232

Climbing Mount St. Elias

where on the coast, and by awaiting their
opportunity the Indians succeeded, amidst
the most intense excitement on their part,
in bringing the canoes in on the crest of a
wave, and landing us without much wet-
ting. Fifteen hours after our arrival the
surf, however, was so high that it would
have been impossible for us to reach the
beach in safety. We landed very near the
place where the Schwatka party were put
ashore by the Pinta's boats. The beach
at this point is broad and steep, and com-
posed of dark sand, which, together with
the dark green trees in the background,
gave the landscape a sombre and impres-
sive appearance.

It may now be well to say a word about
our general plans. We had brought along
fourteen hundred pounds of provisions,
consisting mainly of bacon, hams, smoked
salmon, flour, beans, dried apples, tea, and
coffee, enough to enable fourteen men to
remain away from Yakutat forty days if
necessary. Of these forty days it was our
intention to devote at the outside twenty-
eight to climbing. Food had been brought
for the remaining twelve, in case we should
be detained at Icy Bay on our return
through the unfavorable condition of the
surf, as we could not count on obtaining

233

Climbing Mount St. Eliot

Mount St. Elias from the Northwest Corner of the Chaix Hills,

any food at that place except seal meat or
blubber, which we tried, and found want-
ing. Hence it was never intended to re-
move more than about two-thirds of our
provisions from the beach.

On the morning of the 16th we broke
camp, leaving an Indian behind to take
care of the canoes which remained. We
regretted having to place ourselves to such
an extent in the power of an Indian whom

234

Climbing Mount St. Elia

showing the Crater, the entire upper rim of which was ascended.

we had known for a few days only, but
there seemed to be no alternative. Had
he played us false, and made off with the
canoes, we would upon our return to the
beach have been in a very serious predica-

* A point just above the asterisk, where the foot of the
mountain meets the glacier, was the site of our five days' camp.
Directly over this in the illustration is the crater ; and the ex-
treme right-hand limit of the upper rim of this — a point about
half an inch to the right of a vertical line drawn from the camp
— was the highest spot reached.

235

Climbing Mount St. Elias

merit. One of the large ones was sent back
to Yakutat with seven other Indians, who
had accompanied us only as far as Icy Bay.
Our native packers carried from seventy to
ninety pounds, our white men from sixty to
eighty, while my English friends and I had
loads varying in weight from twenty-five
to forty pounds. We followed the beach
in a westerly direction for about five miles.
During part of the time we were obliged
to walk over ground which was thickly
covered with wild strawberries. We found
them growing in the sand, of very good
size, but somewhat lacking in flavor. The
bears are very fond of them, and their tracks
may be seen wherever the berries grow.

The route for the first day was substan-
tially that taken by the previous party.
We soon left the beach, and turning sharply
to the right, followed up one of the many
arms of the Yahtse River, this being the
name by which the Jones River is known
to the Indians. The Indian name inter-
preted means " Muddy Harbor River,"
and it is a very appropriate one. There
was no reason why the previous party
should have rechristened it, and it is to
be hoped that the government will not
allow this good old Indian name to be
displaced by the name Jones River,

236

Climbing Mount St. Elias

A great deal of wading had to be done
through and across the various branches
of the Yahtse, the water of which issued
from the glacier less than eight miles be-
yond, so that its temperature must have
been in the neighborhood of 400. It
would be difficult to describe adequately
the discomfort caused by entering this
cold water, as we were compelled to do
on the first day with all our clothes on
over twenty times, to depths varying from
two to four feet.

The second day out we left the Yahtse,
and ascended the Agassiz Glacier, which
lay on our right. This glacier is entirely
unlike any we had ever seen. Along its
edge and to a height of five hundred feet
or more it is so densely wooded with large
trees and brush that it is hard for one to
realize that a few feet beneath the soil
there is solid ice. On emerging from the
forest we found ourselves facing an im-
mense moraine, which extended for miles
away to the northward and eastward. The
Alaskan moraines are different from those
commonly seen in Switzerland, which gen-
erally consist of stones and bowlders piled
up in a continuous line at the edge or on
the surface of a glacier. About St. Elias
one finds debris covering the ice to a greater

237

Climbing Mount St. Elias

or lesser depth, and extending quite a dis-
tance away from the borders. In the cen-
tre of the glacier white ice is generally
seen. Travelling over the debris is very
rough work, and particularly so for men
with heavy packs. The stones are loosely
distributed, and even with the greatest care
in selecting a footing one frequently loses
his balance and gets a bad tumble.

Once on the glacier, we were obliged
to elect which one of the two routes lead-
ing to St. Elias we would take; for before
us, at a distance of perhaps eighteen miles,
the Chaix Hills, a sandstone range some
twelve miles long and thirty-five hundred
feet high, lay in such a position that a
straight line drawn from us to the moun-
tain would have intersected them at right
angles, dividing them into two equal parts.
Two years ago the Schwatka party went to
the left ; and as they expressed the opin-
ion that St. Elias was inaccessible by the
face they saw, we decided that it would be
better for us to try the other way first.

Most of our Indians had never been on
ice before, yet they carried their loads of
eighty or ninety pounds over rough and slip-
pery places with comparative ease. More
than once we took great pains to cut steps
across an ice-slope, to prevent any one from

238

Climbing Mount St. Elias

from the Pacific Ocean.

slipping ; but they generally disdained us-
ing them, crossing either just above or just
below where we had prepared the way.
They refused to wear the shoes with nails
we had provided for them, preferring their
moccasins. Several reached camp one night
with bleeding feet, but they nevertheless
persisted in using their own footgear. We
subsequently discovered that one of their
objects in so doing was to avoid wearing
out good shoes in our service.

239

Climbing Mount St. Elias

The average Indian is a competent be-
ing, though it takes some time to dis-
cover his good points. He is quick at
grasping ideas, and is especially good at
imitating what others have done. But' it
requires great patience in dealing with
him, the more so since he deals with the
white man at arm's length. He is exceed-
ingly distrustful ; nor does he cease to be so
until he has become thoroughly convinced
of the honest intentions of the stranger.

In the early part of the third day our
general course was toward the eastern end
of the Chaix Hills; but by noon, our prog-
ress being slower than we had anticipated,
we decided to make for the nearest point
on the same, to avoid, if possible, spending
the night on the glacier. We were for-
tunate in finding a suitable place for leav-
ing the ice. This cannot be done at every
point, owing to the steepness of the gla-
cier at its edge. Between the hills and
the glacier ran a swift stream, after fording
which we found ourselves on a beautiful
camping-ground. The change from the
moraine was very refreshing. To a height
of several hundred feet these hills are
densely wooded with dark green brush ;
above grows a kind of coarse grass of a
lighter hue; still higher appear the steep

240

Climbing Mount St. Elias

and bare slopes of sandstone. Pine-trees
are found on a few isolated spots. We
subsequently learned that the northern
face is covered with snow, as might be
expected. It is very odd that such rich
vegetation should be found in the midst
of so much ice.

Eight of the packers were now sent
back to Icy Bay to bring up another sup-
ply of food, and two of the Sitka Indians
remained to aid us in moving camp while
exploring the ground that lay before us.
They stayed very reluctantly, and did not
seem to appreciate the distinction we had
intended to confer on them by selecting
them as the two best.

Our immediate object was to reach the
eastern end of the Chaix Hills, by follow-
ing up the stream, if possible, as walking
along its edge was vastly preferable to cross-
ing the rough glacier. About four miles
above the last camp we discovered a beau-
tiful lake, bordered on one side by the
green hill-slopes, on the other by the steep
cliffs of the glacier. It was only one of a
great number of similar lakes which are to
be found all along this sandstone range.
A flock of ducks rose as we came in sight.
Owing to the steepness of the ice around a
second lake, we were eventually obliged to

241

Climbing Mount St. Elias

take to the glacier again ; and by means of
it we succeeded, in the course of two days,
in turning the hills at the desired point.
We were then on a glacier proceeding
directly from the southeastern face of the
mountain. We ascended it for a short
distance, and, from a point about two thou-
sand feet high, obtained a perfect view of
the imposing mass of St. Elias, then less
than eight miles distant. Though by no
means the highest mountain in the world
by actual measurement, yet it probably ap-
pears as large as, if not larger than, any
other ; for it is plainly visible from the sea
throughout its entire height of about eigh-
teen thousand feet. The Swiss mountains,
which are all under sixteen thousand feet,
are generally seen from elevations varying
from four to eight thousand feet, while in
the Himalayas the plane of observation is
considerably higher. It is certainly true,
that with the possible exception of other
peaks in the interior, as yet unknown,
Mount St. Elias presents the greatest snow
climb in the world, on account of the low
point to which the line of perpetual snow
descends in these northerly regions. Beside
St. Elias such mountains as Cook and Van-
couver sank into insignificance. The face
we were looking at was composed mainly

242

i Hi *

111 e

Climbing Mount St. Elias

of great masses of broken snow and ice.
On either side were rocky aretes leading
up to the final pyramid. The lower part
of the mountain seemed much less acces-
sible than the upper part. After a careful
survey of the whole, we came to the con-
clusion that any attempt to make the as-
cent from that quarter could only result in
failure.

In order not to endanger our chances of
possible success on the southwestern face
through any lack of time, we decided to
start for that point at once. This involved
retracing our steps to the first place we had
reached on the Chaix Hills. A short dis-
tance beyond we met the eight packers on
their return from Icy Bay ; and the party,
which then again numbered fourteen, di-
rected their steps to the northwestern cor-
ner of the Chaix Hills. Lake Castani,
discovered and named by the previous party,
happened to be filled with water and float-
ing icebergs as we passed it. On our return,
a fortnight later, we found it to be quite
empty, the icebergs being stranded. Be-
yond Castani we were obliged to pass some
thick brush before reaching the Guyot
Glacier. A walk of three hours over
white ice then brought us to the north-
western corner of the Chaix Hills.

245

Climbing Mount St. Elia

Just before leaving the glacier, one of
our men discovered a large flock of geese on
a lake. The whole party was summoned ;
and, dropping our packs, we armed our-
selves with clubs, with a view to having
some fresh food for the next meal. The
geese were too young to fly ; and this was
fortunate for us, as we had been obliged to
leave all our guns behind, on account of
their weight. The geese retired to a shel-
tered nook beneath a great ice-arch with
considerable overhang, which they were
only induced to leave on hearing the re-
port of a revolver. As they swam out, a
dozen or more were either clubbed or
grabbed. We roasted them before an open
lire, and found them excellent eating,
though doubtless the surrounding circum-
stances added somewhat to their savor. A
fortnight later the geese in the neighbor-
hood were all able to fly, and hence our
unsportsmanlike methods ceased to be of
any avail.

Our new location on the Chaix Hills
was amidst the grandest of mountain sce-
nery. The most conspicuous object was,
of course, Mount St. Elias, which rose
abruptly from the glacier some twelve
miles beyond. Two massive shoulders of
snow led up to the summit, in shape re-

246

Climbing Mount St. Elias

sembling a pyramid, three of the edges of
which were visible. Somewhat in advance
of the final peak was what appeared as an
immense crater or amphitheatre, which, if
severed from the rest, would in itself be a
mountain of no mean dimensions. St. Elias
terminates on either side in a long ridge
of as fine precipitous rock as is often seen.
These ridges appear as a continuation of
the shoulders, than which they are, how-
ever, so much lower that there is little
difficulty in determining where the moun-
tain proper begins and where it ends.
Turning to the left, the eye, after travel-

Camp at Icy Bay before the start for Moind St. Elias.
247

Climbing Mount St. Elias

ling over immense tracts of glacier, en-
counters a range of snow-clad mountains
with but few protruding rocks. They
were particularly beautiful when tinged
by the reddish light of the setting sun.
In the immediate neighborhood of our
camp, violets, forget-me-nots, and blue-
bells were growing in profusion. A pool
of tolerably warm water, fed from subter-
ranean sources, gave us an opportunity of
enjoying a delightful swim. It seemed
very odd to be bathing when surrounded
on all sides by glaciers, and with Mount
St. Elias in our immediate vicinity.

Thinking we saw a possible route up the
mountain by way of the crater, we decided
to move forward immediately. Having
crossed the Tyndall Glacier in three hours
and a half to Schwatka's last camp on a
range of foot-hills, we sent back to Icy
Bay all but four of our packers. With
them we gradually pushed on up the gla-
cier, and camped the third night after
leaving the Chaix Hills near the mouth
of the second of the three glaciers which
join the Tyndall on the left and at right
angles. At this point one of the party
had the misfortune to meet with an acci-
dent which rendered it inadvisable for him
to attempt any further climbing. Leav-

248

Climbing Mount St. EtiaS

ing him and the two Indians at the camp
last mentioned, the remaining three of us,
with two white packers, pushed right on
to the base of the mountain and crater, and
pitched our tent on the only green spot
on the southwestern face of St. Elias.

This spot, covering' perhaps two acres,
was about three thousand feet above the
level of the sea, on what may be said to
represent the line of perpetual snow on
Mount St. Elias. We had some little trou-
ble in reaching it, owing to the treacherous
condition of the glacier up which we were
obliged to proceed. The latter is very
much crevassed for a distance of two miles
or more from the mountain. In the very
early part of the season it is probably cov-
ered with so much snow that one would
hardly become aware of the presence of
the ice beneath ; but by the end of July
much of the snow has disappeared ; and
the remaining snow-bridges over the cre-
vasses, being then very thin, are liable to
break when subjected to any great pressure.
Hence we had to feel our way along very
carefully, and at times retrace our steps for
a considerable distance in order to try get-
ting ahead at another point. As we were
tied together with a stout rope, which was
kept taut when in dangerous places, the

249

Climbing Mount St. /'-'iias

only result following the breaking through
of a snow-bridge was the temporary dis-
appearance, partial or total, of one of the
party beneath the snow. With the aid
of the rope he was able to regain the sur-
face with little or no trouble. Without
the rope, though, a person would in many
cases fall to a great depth, where he would
be jammed in the ice or freeze to death
before any assistance could be rendered.
Of course it is of the utmost importance
that crevasses which are hidden by snow
should be crossed at right angles ; for if
several are on a snow-bridge at once, and
it breaks through, the rope ceases to be of
any avail, and all may come to grief. Such
accidents, however, need not occur when
proper care is exercised in examining the
surface of the snow.

Our party was the first to set foot on
Mount St. Elias ; for the previous expe-
dition, having proceeded up the Tyndall
Glacier to within a certain distance of the
mountain, decided to branch off to the
left on account of the roughness of the ice
ahead. * Mr. Karr then ascended, to a
height of about seven thousand feet, one of
a chain of hills which faces the main range,
but constitutes in no sense any part of it.

* Karr's " Shores and Alps of Alaska," p. 102. Schwatka's
letter to the New York Times, Oct. 7, 1886.

250

Climbing ^fcrnnt St. Elias

Heretofore the fuel question had never
given us any trouble, as we had always
succeeded in rinding wood or brush where-
ever we had stopped ; but now our fires
were comparatively small, being fed only
bv bits of shrubbery and dry moss. We
were, however, always able to boil enough
water for coffee; and no further cooking
was required, as we had, in anticipation of
finding no fuel on the mountain, brought
with us boiled hams and hard tack for use
while there.

The view from our camping-ground
was one of rare beauty. A small portion
of the summit of Mount St. Elias was visi-
ble, peeping up over the crater. Its great

)L,1

Wading an arm of the \ahtse River on the return Jrom the ^Mountain,

251

Climbing Mount St. Elias

Mount La Perouse and the

height, however, could not be fully ap-
preciated from so near its base. A most
remarkable and unique sight were two
straight and narrow glaciers, which ap-
peared to have fallen over the edge of the
mountain at a point where it was very
steep. They were parallel, and were sep-
arated by a strip of fine bare rock. They
resembled two frozen cascades, and must
have been over two thousand feet high.
For the first time we caught a glimpse
of the valley through which the upper
part of the Tyndall Glacier descends. The

252

Climbing Mount St. Elias

Great Pacific Glacier, from the Ocean.

rocky peaks and precipices in the back-
ground were very grand, reminding us
somewhat of the scenery from Montan-
vert looking up the Mer de Glace.

No less than fourteen different kinds of
wild-flowers were found near our camp,
and a few excellent strawberries were
picked. Ptarmigan, which during the
last few days had been seen in large num-
bers, had now grown scarce, though with
the aid of a gun we could have secured
enough for several meals. Four marmots
were captured by smoking them out of

253

Climbing Mount St. Elias

their hole in the cleft of a rock. Situated
as we were, they made an excellent stew,
to prepare which we destroyed one of our
wooden boxes. Two bears were seen cross-
ing the glacier. They did not trouble us,
and we had no means of troubling them.

From our camp on the mountain the
crater was reached by two different aretes
and on two different occasions. The as-
cent alone of the first arete occupied the
better part of eight hours, and was not
free from difficulty. The height reached
was about eight thousand feet. A low,
broad cairn was built at the top. Being
of the opinion that the route we had
chosen was too long for the beginning of
the ascent of such a mountain as St. Elias,
we decided to ascertain whether the crater
could not be gained more easily in some
other way. The night previous to the
second successful attempt to reach it was
spent in the sopen air, two hours beyond
the regular camp, at a somewhat chilly
spot. We were surrounded on almost
every side by snow and ice, so we could
hardly expect very much warmth after
the sun had gone down. The glacier to
the left of us was very peculiar. It seemed
to have its origin in a rocky precipice, and
consisted mainly of yawning crevasses. It

254

Climbing Mount St. E/icis

was evidently the remnant of a once fine
glacier coming down from above.

A start was made at 4.30 a.m. The
Tophams and I were tied to a rope, our
two packers remaining at the base of the
mountain. After two hours and a half
of steady climbing we had gained the
crater by a rock arete running parallel to
the one we had already ascended. Our
experience with the rocks of Mount St.
Elias was not of an agreeable character.
They were practically all composed of shale
of the most rotten kind, thus affording
no hold for either our hands or our feet.
Large pieces broke off and went tumbling
down below at every step we took, filling
the air with dust ; and at times we were
obliged to use great care in order to avoid
going along with them. Had the rock
been firm, the climbing would have been
very fine, as the arete was quite rugged.
The sharp character of the shale was most
injurious to our shoes, however stout they
were ; and the integrity of our footgear
was, of course, a question of the utmost
importance to us.

Once on the brink of the crater, we
obtained a perfect view of this wonderful
cavity in the mountain-side. It is one of
the main features of the southwestern face

255

Climbing Mount St. Elias

of St. Elias. It begins on the right in a
splendid jagged arete leading up to a peak
which, from another point, appears as a
spur of the mountain. At the foot of this
peak begins the upper rim of the crater,
which descends gradually to the left in the
shape of a spiral curve. In its entire length
it is frosted with a layer of snow over fifty
feet thick, the effect of which is very
striking. The walls of the crater are com-
posed of steep, bare rock, the surface of
which is furrowed and stratified in a most
wonderful manner. The interior is filled
with snow ; its outlet being to the east-
ward, where it feeds a large glacier. There
is some reason for believing that this am-
phitheatre is of volcanic origin. Several
specimens of rocks which were brought
down seem to support this theory, while
later in the day a cone was passed resem-
bling in shape and general appearance those
seen in the crater of Kilauea, on the island
of Hawaii.

Having paused a few moments for the
view, we turned to the left, and began fol-
lowing the edge of the crater in a westerly
direction. We soon passed the point we
had reached two days before, and then
walked steadily for two hours over snow-
fields and steep debris. Later we had about

256

Climbing Mount St. Elias

fifteen minutes of good climbing among
solid sandstone and conglomerate rocks,
which we enjoyed immensely, as it was in
marked contrast with what we had been
treated to on the shale arete.

After a hasty lunch at ten we continued
the ascent. The following hour was oc-
cupied in cutting our way up an ice-slope.
This is always slow and tedious work, and
particularly so when the ice is covered with
a layer of snow. At an early hour of the
day such slopes can sometimes be ascended
by digging one's feet into the snow, and
without the aid of any steps in the ice ; but
after the surface has been exposed to the
rays of the sun, there is always danger of the
whole mass of snow detaching itself from
the ice, and forming a miniature avalanche;
in which case the whole party would be
pretty sure to follow the avalanche down
the slope. It is far safer, and generally
absolutely necessary, when brought face to
face with such an obstacle, to cut one's way
up it step by step. The rate of progress
under such circumstances is often not over
a hundred and fifty feet an hour, whereas a
good snow-field can be climbed at more
than ten times this speed. The steps are
cut by means of an ice-axe, the shape of
which is familiar to Swiss tourists. The

Cli7nbitig Mount St. F./ias

first man has most of the heavy work to
do. Those behind him have to see that
the rope is kept taut, and to dig their axes
well into the ice at each step, in order to
have a good hold, should any one slip. The
descent of such a slope is generally accom-
plished in the same way that one would
descend a ladder. When thus facing the
ice, there is less danger of losing one's bal-
ance. Then, too, it is easier to secure a
foothold in a slippery step with the toe
than with the heel.

Having climbed the ice-slope, we found
ourselves at the point where the crater ap-
pears from below to take a sudden turn to
the right. We then walked along the un-
dulating line of its upper edge. No sooner
had we reached the top of one eminence
than we were obliged to descend again,
only to prepare for climbing another. The
snow was very soft, and we constantly
went in to our knees and sometimes to
our waist. At 1.45 p.m. we were at the
point where the rocky peak already re-
ferred to may properly be said to begin.
According to observations made with ane-
roid barometers and a boiling-point ther-
mometer, the height reached was 11,460
feet, nearly 9,000 of which were above
the line of perpetual snow. Several sights

258

Climbing Mount St. Elias

were taken with the prismatic compass, in
order to locate our position on the moun-
tain. It was unfortunately too late in the
day, and the snow was getting too soft, for
us to ascend the small peak. We estimated
it to he about 1,500 feet above us, and
under favorable conditions could probably
have climbed it in less than two hours.

There are several reasons, which it would
be tedious for the reader to have laid be-
fore him at length, why no further attempt
was made to reach the actual summit of
Mount St. Elias. The only practicable
route leading to the final peak from beyond
the crater appeared to be over a huge
mound some 1,500 feet high, the slopes
of which were mostly covered with ice.
To cut steps up it would in itself be no
small task, and would have to be performed
at the beginning, and not in the middle, of
the day's climb: hence it would be neces-
sary to establish a temporary camp at a
considerable height on the mountain; and
to do this would require the services of
packers experienced in climbing, such as
the present expedition did not have at its
command. Even then success would not
be certain, unless another year should rind
these same slopes covered with firm snow
instead of ice. That this would be the

259

Climbing Mount St. Elias

case is not at all improbable, in view of the
unusual amount of sunny weather which
prevailed in Alaska during the whole of the
summer of 1 888, the tendency of which is
to turn snow into ice. Beyond the mound
the ascent by the southern arete appeared
to offer fewer difficulties, though the very
summit of the mountain wore a snowcap
with a great deal of overhang. The south-
western face of St. Elias, it is safe to say,
will never be climbed. It presents a mass
of broken snow, beautiful yet forbidding.
We estimated the summit to be about
7,000 feet above us, making its total height
1 8,500 feet. It seemed to us that the Coast
Survey, giving it 19,500 feet, was too lib-
eral in its figures.*

The day was cloudless. The whole
scene was one that baffles description. It
surpassed in grandeur, though not in pic-
turesqueness, the very best that the Alps can
offer. Roughly speaking, the eye encoun-
tered for miles nothing but snow and ice.
I had never before thoroughly realized the
vastness of the Alaskan glaciers, though
during the past fortnight we had spent
many a weary hour in crossing immense

* Note. — In 1891, two years after the writing of the above,
the height of Mount St. Elias was determined to be 18,100 feet,
which measurement is now adopted by the Government. — Ed.

260

Climbing Mount St. EliaS

moraines. One of the glaciers we looked
down upon wras not less than sixty miles
long, while another attained a breadth of
twenty-five or thirty miles.

From below I had gained the impression
that ice covered with debris predominated
over white ice. I now saw that this was
not the case, and that the ratio of debris to
clear ice was probably not greater than that
of one to ten. When standing at a consid-
erable height, one appreciates for the first
time the beautiful curves through which
the glaciers alter their courses. We noticed
this in particular in looking down upon the
Agassiz Glacier. It appeared at one point
to describe three or four arcs of concentric
circles with radii varying from eight to ten
miles, each arc being indicated by a light
coating of stones, the whole resembling an
immense race-course. Through the mid-
dle of the Tyndall Glacier, and for a dis-
tance of several miles, two light streaks of
moraine ran parallel to each other, present-
ing from above the appearance of a huge
serpent crawling the length of the glacier.

The groups of snow-clad peaks visible to
the naked eye were countless ; and to the
northward, in which direction the view
was barred, their number is doubtless quite
as great. Only a few of them, however,

261

Climbing Mount St. Elias

impressed us as being either very high, or
very striking in shape. Some of them rose
out of the snow in such a manner as to lead
one to believe that they had been recently
buried, and were waiting to be dug out.
When I sa^ that but few appeared very
high or striking, I should except Fair-
weather and Crillon, which towered above
the clouds, though a hundred and forty
miles distant. The ocean was covered with
fog, as it frequently is in these latitudes. In
fact, it would often be raining for a whole
day at the beach, while about St. Elias the
sky would be cloudless.

At three o'clock we thought it best to
begin our downward journey, as we did not
care to be caught out over night without
blankets. A small American flag, presented
to the expedition by a lady of Sitka, was
placed in a tin can and left at " Flag Rock,"
a point about ten thousand feet high. The
descent was accomplished without accident,
and we reached our sleeping-place at 8.30
p.m. While descending the final arete,
and when not occupied in dodging falling
stones, we noticed some very fine effects of
the setting sun on the snow mountains and
on a few thin floating clouds. The hues
did not equal the Alpine glow of Swit-
zerland, but the light blue of the sky was

262

Climbing1 Mount St. Elias

very beautiful. The sunlight falling on the
green spots in the valleys below made them
stand out in marked contrast with the sur-
rounding snow and ice.

After a hasty meal we wrapped ourselves
up in our blankets, and spent another night
in the open air. We had all enjoyed the
day thoroughly. I shall certainly remem-
ber it as one of the pleasantest I have ever
spent in the mountains.

The twentieth day had now elapsed since
our arrival at Icy Bay ; and it was time for
us to be thinking of getting back to the
beach, not knowing how long we might
be detained there by the surf. Leaving a
few things behind, we began the return
journey in earnest the day after the climb,
and reached -the shore in the course of five
days. The Indians were overjoyed at the
idea of being homeward bound. They
seemed thoroughly tired of the mountains.
We found the Yahtse River very much
higher than when we had come up, and
hence the wading was more disagreeable.
At one place we were submerged for some
time anywhere from the chest to the neck,
according to the size of the man. We were
so light when under water, that the quick-
sands below did not trouble us. On the
other hand, our loads rendered us top-

263

Climbing Mount St. Elins

heavy ; and one of our men, as a natural
result, lost his balance, and went over,
wetting his pack. Our smallest Indian
had to be relieved of his load altogether.
Curiously enough, the Indians seemed to
prefer wading to walking over dry ground.
The first day out they took us through deep
and cold water no less than ten times in
the course of half an hour, part of which
could have been avoided, as we subse-
quently found, by making a short detour
through the woods. On the present oc-
casion one of them, having crossed the
stream, deposited his pack, and returned
to the deepest part, where he literally took
a bath with all his clothes on, and seemed
to rejoice in our unsuccessful efforts at
finding a shallow place for crossing. The
water, coming directly from the glacier,
was so cold that we white men were only
too glad to get out of it; but its tempera-
ture seemed to have no disagreeable effect
on the Indians.

The shore-camp was reached Aug. 7,
early in the afternoon. There was but
little surf; and fearing that the conditions
might change by next morning, we de-
cided to start for Yakutat that night. The
Indians were very glad to leave, and as a
consequence we found getting away from

264

Climbing Mount St. EliaS

A Rainy Day on the March to the Mountain.

Climbing Mount St. Eiiai

Icy Bay to be a very much easier task than
starting out from Yakutat some four weeks
earlier had been. The large canoe carried
twelve men, all the baggage, and the pro-
visions which were left over. The small
one could only hold four men. At six
o'clock we were fairly under way, and
an equal amount of paddling and sailing
brought us to Yakutat next morning at
ten o'clock.

Four days elapsed, and the Alpha, which
we were relying on to take us down the
coast, had not yet put in an appearance.
As I was anxious to be in New York by
October, I availed myself of an unexpected
opportunity to reach Sitka on the Active, a
small schooner which was already crowded
with miners. My friends, not being so
hard pressed for time, decided to await the
arrival of the larger vessel. The Active
was favored with a fair breeze till within
thirty miles of Sitka, at which point we
took to the oars, and rowed her into port
at the rate of about two miles an hour.
The trip was performed in three days and
a half, and, thanks to the fine weather, was
far from disagreeable, notwithstanding the
very primitive character of the accommo-
dations,

267

Climbing Mount St. Elias

The others were, as I subsequently
learned, much less fortunate than myself
in getting away from Yakutat. After
waiting another week for the Alpha, one
of them decided to start for Sitka in a
canoe with some Indians. The trip was
successfully made in seven days ; but it was
a dangerous one to attempt, since the coast
consists largely of rocks and glaciers, and
hence offers but little protection against
southerly gales, even for a canoe. On
reaching Sitka it was learned that the Leo,
a schooner with auxiliary steam-power, was
just about to leave for Victoria. She was
immediately chartered to go to Yakutat,
and bring the remainder of the party away.
Their joy on sighting her was intense, but
not of long duration ; for no sooner had she
steamed off with all on board, than a south-
easterly gale was encountered, which lasted
five days. During this time the Leo sprung
a bad leak, which necessitated a return to
Yakutat, where she was beached and re-
paired by her crew. Sitka was eventually
reached on the 17th of September.

It is hoped that before long this part of
our country will be visited again, and an-
other attempt made to climb Mount St.
Elias. The next expedition will have a
great advantage over the present one; for,

268

Climbing Mount St. Elias

the weather permitting, it can count on
being at an elevation of eleven thousand
four hundred feet above the sea-level with-
in six days after leaving Icy Bay, whereas
this year's party were eighteen days in
reaching this height, owing to the absence
of all definite information concerning the
mountain proper.

Whether the latter will ever be climbed
by following up our route it is impossible
to say. It is not at all unlikely that the
true way to the summit is to be found on
the northern side, where fewer rocks and
better snow would probably be encountered.
How to reach the northern side of the
mountain is a problem yet to be solved.
But whether successful in reaching the top
or not, no party composed of men who
enjoy walking and climbing amidst the
finest of alpine scenery will ever regret
having spent a summer in making the
attempt to ascend Mount St. Elias.

Since the writing of the foregoing arti-
cle two further attempts have been made
to ascend Mount St. Elias; one in 1890,
and the other in 1891. They were made
under the joint auspices of the United States
Geological Survey Department and the

369

Climbing Mount St. Elias

National Geographical Society; and both
expeditions were in charge of Mr. I. C.
Russell, now a professor of Ann Arbor
University. These attempts were made on
the northern side of the mountain. On
the first a height of about 10,000 feet
was reached, and on the second a height
of 14,500 feet. Descriptions of them by
Mr. Russell will be found in the Century
Magazine for April, 1 891, and June, 1892,
and an account of the first one by Mr. M.
B. Kerr on page 275 of this volume. One
of the results of the first expedition was
the announcement (which was indeed start-
ling to the members of the expedition
which I had joined), that the height of
the mountain was only 15,200 feet. In
1 89 1 this error was, however, corrected,
and the height fixed at 18,100 feet, plus
or minus a probable error of one hundred
feet. This latest measurement substan-
tially confirms the rough estimate of the
height assigned to the mountain by my
party in 1888.

Since 1891 no further attempt has been
made to climb Mount St. Elias. This is
not surprising when it is remembered that
the undertaking is very costly, both as re-
gards time and money, while the result
must always be uncertain. If the same

270

Climbing Mount St. Elias

climbing facilities existed in the neigh-
borhood of this mountain as exist at the
very foot, so to speak, of each prominent
peak of the Alps, — i.e., if hotels, provis-
ions, and guides were found within two or
three days' march of the summit of Mount
St. Elias, — the latter would doubtless be
ascended from the northern side with no
greater difficulty than attends the ascent
of first-class snow-peaks in Switzerland.
In other words, the mountaineering diffi-
culties presented by this great Alaskan peak
are, standing alone, probably not of an ex-
traordinary character ; but these difficul-
ties in combination with those arising out

Mount St. Elias, from Yaktdat.
271

Climbing Mount St. Elias

of the location of the mountain, far away
from any civilized settlement, and in the
midst of rough glaciers of immense extent,
across which all provisions and equipment
must be carried or dragged by human
agency before an opportunity to do any
real climbing presents itself, render the
matter of the ascent quite a serious prob-
lem, the solution of which should not be
entered upon lightly.

272

MOUNT ST. ELIAS
AND ITS GLACIERS

By Mark Brickell Kerr

The First Climb.

1NCE 1 74 1, when Bering,
in the course of his great
voyage, discovered St. Elias,
and named this grand
mountain -peak after the
patron saint of the day,
many voyagers and explorers have turned
their thoughts and energy to accurately
determine its correct height and true po-
sition. Captain Cook, about 1778; La
Perouse, about 1787; and, later, Malas-
pina, whose unrequited services and death
in a Spanish prison rival the experiences
of Columbus in the ingratitude of human-
ity; Vancouver, in 1794; and many Russian

275

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

navigators, — Ismaleff, Berchareff, and Teb-
enkoff, — all saw St. Elias, and most of
them took sextant observations for its alti-
tude and position.

The elevation generally adopted until
1874 was that placed upon the British
Admiralty charts; viz., 14,970 feet. In
that year a party of the United States
Coast and Geodetic Survey made a recon-
noissance of Mount St. Elias and vicinity,
and obtained results for altitude and posi-
tion by means of open triangles with long
sides. This placed the height at 19,500
feet, and was adopted by geographers as
the best evidence extant for altitude. Since
then three expeditions have been sent to
climb the mountain, one in 1886, under
Lieutenant Schwatka, called the New Tork
Times Expedition, and another, in 1888,
under Harold Topham, of the Royal Geo-
graphical Society and English Alpine Club.
Both these attempts failed, as the ascent
was tried from the south, or ocean, side,
where the crystalline slopes are almost per-
pendicular. The latter party, by aneroid,
reached an elevation of 11,000 feet. A
sketch of this expedition, by Mr. William
Williams, one of the party, is to be found
on page 225 of the present volume.

The third party was sent out in June,
276

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

1890, by the National Geographic Soci-
ety, in command of I. C. Russell, geologist.
To this party the writer was attached, in
charge of the geographic work of the ex-
pedition. It is the narrative of the journey
of this party which I have to detail. The
work of this expedition places St. Elias
at 15,350 feet,* agreeing fairly well with
former determinations by Malaspina and
other navigators of the last century. Mount
Cook is 12,370, and Mount Vancouver
9,884 feet.

Taking advantage of the experience of
former expeditions, our party made the at-
tempt from the head of Yakutat Bay, and
on the eastern face of the mountain.

For many years public interest has cen-
tred around the most remote of our pos-
sessions, and many are the tales related of
the wonders of Alaskan scenery. Exam-
ining all the data extant to-day, very little
is found outside the beaten tracks, — that
is, those portions where the tourist steamers
yearly go. If you look in an ordinary gaz-
etteer, you will find that Alaska covers
about five hundred and eighty thousand
square miles, is rich in minerals and fur-

* Careful recalculation of the results of 1890 gave 16,700 feet,
and other points higher proportionally.

277

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

bearing animals, has large fishing interests,
immense snowy peaks, and huge glaciers.
The charts show its coast-line in a general
way, but the interior is almost a blank.
This lack of definite knowledge was the rea-
son our party was organized, particularly to
explore the vicinity of St. Elias, determine
its altitude, and ascend it if practicable.

We outfitted at Seattle, Wash., and hired
seven stalwart woodsmen, who seemed par-
ticularly well adapted for our work, and
rendered us independent of Indian packers,
who have been found so unreliable in
former expeditions. Our provisions were
carefully selected, and placed in tins of con-
venient size for protection against rain and
flood (ten days' rations for one man in each
tin), and we were extremely thankful after-
ward that we used such precautions.

I will pass lightly over the events of our
journey to Sitka, through the inland nar-
rows which have been so ably described
by others. We were fortunate in securing
passage on the Queen with Captain Carroll,
whose pleasant and cordial treatment did
much to make the journey enjoyable; and
his knowledge of the country assisted us
greatly. We passed Wrangel, the Nar-
rows, Douglas Island, Juneau, and arrived
at Glacier Bay on June 23. At first sight

278

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

the Muir Glacier was disappointing, my
imagination having pictured a more mag-
nificent field of ice ; but on climbing a
little hill, I soon beheld the extensive neve,
the rocky islets and long moraines extend-
ing twelve or fifteen miles northward, the
regular and beautiful curves only limited
by the surrounding peaks, whose summits
rose above the intervening fleecy clouds.
At noon the mist cleared, and our sail out
of Glacier Bay will long be remembered
as one of the most delightful in my experi-
ence. Some bergs of ice floating majes-
tically, with their different forms, and hues
varying from deep azure to pale blue,
mingled with others where the morainal
material had changed the color to a dark
brown. Very skilful manoeuvring was re-
quired to take the vessel through these
masses of floating ice, and many were the
comments on the splendid seamanship of
our skipper. Here, in the crisp morning
air, we had a fine view of the Fairweather
group, uplifting their snowy crests, a bar-
rier to the scene eastward. The immense
fields of ice and snow made us shudder,
even from our great distance, as we thought
of crossing them ; and we turned with pleas-
ure to the comfortable surroundings of our
good ship.

279

Mount St. Ettas and its Glaciers

We arrived at Sitka early on the morn-
ing of June 24, and after arranging every
detail with Governor Knapp and the naval
authorities, transferred our stores to the
United States steamer Pinta ; and Captain
Farenhalt, U. S. Navy, made everything
ready to start for Yakutat Bay early the
next morning.

We entered Yakutat Bay June 26, an-
choring off the Indian village ; but during
our stay there it rained continuously, and
we did not even catch a glimpse of St.
Elias, much to our regret.

On the morning of June 28 we started
up the bay, Lieutenant Karl Jungen, U.S.
Navy, and myself leading in the whale-
boat, followed by our flotilla of canoes.
We secured the Moravian missionary at
Mulgrave, Mr. Hendrickson, for guide ;
and he also afterward read my barometer
at the Mission, giving a reference-point
for all barometric observations.

In the afternoon the Pinta's boats, after
giving us three cheers, left to rejoin the
ship ; and we turned to in the rain to make
ourselves as comfortable as possible, realiz-
ing that our work had begun in sober ear-
nest. At this juncture my assistant, Mr.
Edward Hosmer of Washington, who had
been quite sick for a few days, was taken

280

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

so ill that he was obliged to return to Mul-
grave village, and thence to Sitka. Our
party then consisted of Israel C. Russell, ge-
ologist ; Mark B. Kerr, topographer ; J. H.
Christie, foreman ; and Lester Doney, Wil-
liam Partridge, Jack Crumback, William
L. Lindsly, Tom White, and Tom Stamy,
woodsmen.

On the 29th, with two men and a load
of stores, I started ahead, and the next day
succeeded in landing on the north shore of
Yakutat Bay, great care being used to avoid
the masses of ice which, breaking off from
the Hubbard and Dalton Glaciers above us,
crunched and grounded here on the beach,

281

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

threatening to destroy our frail canoe. The
bay narrows here to about three miles, and
opens farther inland into another one known
as Disenchantment Bay. Looking up the
bay, one sees a verdure-clad shore, above
which rises a vertical wall of ice fully three
hundred feet, the end of the Hubbard Gla-
cier, over which tower the great snowy
peaks, Vancouver, Hubbard, Shepard, and
Bozman. Here I had a lesson in surf-
landing; but it took me some time to learn
a trick so readily accomplished by even the
smallest native boys. They usually wait
for a fair chance between the high waves,
and then rush in, and the canoe is quickly
hauled up out of reach of the surf. Many
were the duckings we had before this could
be done in safety.

I had my first experience in the snow
on July 3, and was greatly surprised to
find it lying so low down on the slope.
The snow-line here is about one thousand
five hundred feet above the sea, and is as
clearly marked as in the Sierras of Cali-
fornia. Moss, shrubs, and berries grew in
great profusion along the bay shore, and
over the moraine a regular trail was formed
as the large brown bears crossed and re-
crossed in search of food or berries. The
glacial stream divided into a thousand

282

Mount St. Ettas and its Glaciers

branches, and formed an ideal delta, de-
positing silt and glacial debris. Our course
took us over a mountain spur, and across
an interior basin about one thousand five
hundred feet in height, filled with nume-
rous lakes, and swarming with mosquitoes.
Indeed, there were such myriads of the
latter that imagination suggested that each
flake of snow had concealed within it a
germ, and thus the mosquito had gene-
rated. Here it is said that sometimes huge
brown bears, driven to fury and desperation
by these tormenting little beasts, finally
tear their flesh, and die in agony. This
was the first high ridge we crossed with
our packs, and very glad were we to view
the other side.

Our course took us to the head of Dal-
ton River, where a curious phenomenon
was observed. The water was flowing out
of an icy cavern, above which was a stra-
tum of ice, rock, and dirt, on the surface
of which bushes and trees were growing.
This formation was gradually caving in,
and borne by the stream to the sea. The
same phenomenon was seen at Styx River,
farther on, across the Lucia Glacier.

Crevasses were wide and deep, cutting
the ice in fantastic shapes. We advanced
slowly during the next three weeks, abso-

283

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

lutely feeling our way over the rough mo-
raines ; two miles a day was heavy travel-
ling, and it took several trips to bring up
all our camp outfit and tins of provisions.
The rocks tore our shoe-leather and cut
our feet, and human endurance was exerted
to the utmost to force our way over this
rough and icy glacier.

Happily sufficient vegetation was found
on the lower slopes to afford fuel. We
crossed several swift and icy-cold streams,
and numerous curious holes or kettles in
the glacier, where great care was necessary,
as a single misstep meant a fall of many
hundred feet.

On July 25 I went ahead with one man,
to prospect the Kettle Canon and the Hay-
den Glacier. We took an oil-stove and a
small outfit, and even then we had to carry
about forty or fifty pounds each. At the
head of this canon, Hayden Glacier has a
width of two miles. Across the glacier,
a point of the ridge came down covered
with spruce-trees. Flowers, grasses, and
ferns were growing luxuriantly around
me ; and as I rested in the soft moss, and
looked over a cathedral mass of rock from
a lupine bed of beautiful colors, I seemed
to breathe the atmosphere of the Tropics,
rather than of the Arctic.

284

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

Head of the Dalton River — water flowing from an icy cavern.

The Hayden — the third glacier of great
importance on our route — begins with a
surface of hard ice about two or three
miles in width, and gradually ends in a
huge moraine of dirt, rocks, and ice, belch-
ing its contents into Yakutat Bay. As you
proceed up the glacier, the slopes on both
sides become perpendicular. Huge massive
slate and sandstone ridges rise up on both
sides, clear-cut and defined, with niches
like an open fan. After a few miles, the

285

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

upper level is reached ; and then the jour-
ney is made through soft snow, sinking in
over boot-tops at every step, and progress is
slow and difficult.

Toward evening of the 25th we had
reached an elevation of twenty-five hun-
dred feet, and here found a slope with a
few loose rocks deposited at an angle of
about thirty degrees. We riprapped the
bottom of the slope to prevent slipping
down the hill, and here made camp. All
around was a snowy expanse broken into
curious shapes, with nothing living except a
raven, which suddenly and hoarsely croaked
above our heads. I felt like offering the
bird an apology for being there.

The next day we tried two points of the
ridge, but could not cross over on account
of the crevasses. However, we found a
more desirable point of rock upon which to
pitch camp. The day after, in a fog, we
went up toward the last promising pass,
and at the top of the divide were met by
a berg schriinder, which stretched across the
slope about six to ten feet wide, and about
five hundred feet in depth. The walls of
these crevasses were laminated ; and each
year's snow was easily discerned by its dif-
ference in color, radiating like the rings of
a tree.

286

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

As I looked into the depths of the
crevasse, I grew bewildered in endeavor-
ing to discover its age, and pictured to
myself the time when almost the whole
world was an ice-field, grinding and twist-
ing out forms so familiar to us at places
where now one could scarcely believe the
ice had ever formed. Here, on the ex-
treme summit of one of these sandstone
ridges, I discovered a hill of fossil mussel-
shells, and also ferns and flowers, embedded
in the rock, evidences of a great ocean
once rolling over these rock masses. The
fog still continued ; and as I lay in my
rocky perch, protected from the pelting
rain by only a canvas sheet, I was suddenly
startled by a dreadful report, as an avalanche
of ice and rock, detached by the rain,
came thundering down the mountain slope.
These immense ice-fields, split up by huge
crevasses, assume all sorts of shapes. Com-
bining the shadows and effects of the sur-
rounding patches of massive rock left here
and there, imagination runs riot. I could
see a picture where white-robed choristers
and surpliced priests passed in endless file,
while the huge black masses of shaly rock
of the higher peaks stood out like the
spires of a mighty cathedral, the lower
slopes, the pipes of an immense organ, to

287

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

which picture the thunder of the avalanche
supplied the deep diapason.

On the 28th, after a hard struggle, we
succeeded in reaching the summit of the
pass, and were rewarded by a few hours
of clear weather. St. Elias, Augusta, and
Cook burst upon us in all their glory,
rivalling anything I had ever before seen.
Here were deep crevasses, high domes,
hummocks, and bergs of ice, and above
towered the huge peaks, sharp and steep.
But soon the fog arose, and we were
forced to return. We spent a most mis-
erable and wet night. In the very early
morning, as the rain gradually loosened
the rocky and icy debris, and the pieces
went whizzing by, threatening to ingulf
us, we were forced to move out. It was a
rough trip; but we reached Kettle Canon,
wet to the skin, and found the main camp
moved ahead to Blossom Island, where we
spent the next few days in examining the
ice formations and extending triangulation.

This was an oasis in a desert of surround-
ing ice, — the last point where we found
wood, and a most beautiful spot, completely
environed by a glacial stream. The flora
here was abundant and varied. Lupines
of all colors, bluebells, and ferns of every
description flourished in rank profusion ;

288

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

while clusters of wild currants and salmon-
berries grew in immense quantities, the
latter, especially, to an enormous size, in
this damp but equable temperature. In-
deed, the thermometer scarcely varied
during the day more than five degrees
from an average of fifty degrees, but the
rain was heavy and continuous. During
the night the thermometer fell, sometimes
reaching freezing-point. In the winter the
temperature falls to just below freezing-
point ; and this rain, converted into snow,
piles up in immense quantities.

A few bumble-bees and house-flies were
noted ; and the mosquito still held its own,
rendering a trip through the thickets and
underbrush almost an impossibility. There
were quite a number of ptarmigan and
whistling marmots ; and, although signs
of bear were numerous, we saw none.
From this, our last point of vegetation,
we decided to start a reconnoissance trip
to explore the route toward St. Elias and
Cook, now in full view from our camp at
the summit of Blossom Island.

On Aug. 2 we started up the glacier,
which we named "Marvine," and camped,
during a storm of rain, on a ledge of rock
at an elevation of twenty-five hundred feet
above the sea. We passed a very disagree-

291

ftlount St. Elias and its Glaciers

able night. The rain continued loosening
the rocks and debris above us ; and soon
these came whizzing by, too close for
comfort. When one large rock struck
my alpenstock, which was used for a tent-
pole, and diverted its course just enough to
miss cracking open my skull, I thought we
had best move camp ; so down in the snow
we moved, through the rain, and spent the
rest of the night huddled over an oil-stove,
and enjoyed a good cup of coffee, brewed
at the early hour of three a.m.

The next day we found a very comfort-
able camping-place in hard snow, which
we covered with dirt and rocks from the
moraine. The grade ahead seemed easy ;
but a storm again beginning, we took shel-
ter in an ice grotto, where the drippings
from the roof gave us delicious drinking-
water, and rendered our hard-tack and
cold bacon more palatable. The crevasses
here are clean-cut, deep, and without much
ornamentation; and the ice, of a dark blue,
gives a rather subdued effect.

The next morning the sun shone out
strong and warm ; and the rays dancing
over the surface of the crystallized snow
glittered like clusters of diamonds, and
soon put new life and vigor into our half-
frozen limbs. We moved over Pinnacle

292

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

Pass at an elevation of 4,200 feet. From
here we could see the black ridges and
lower points of the Rogers Range ; while a
large glacier extended in front, and turned
northward out of our sight. We named
it the " Seward." It was the largest we
had seen, and cut up and crevassed in curves
like ribbons of watered silk. The day was
clear ; and the huge glacier was seen to
slope seaward in gentle, undulating curves,
— a peaceful, icy river, broken only by
its fall into the Malaspina Glacier. It
looked so much like the sea that one of
our men exclaimed, "Look at the ocean ! "
But between us and the sea extended the
mighty Malaspina Glacier, which covers
the whole side of Yakutat Bay. We made
our camp for the night under a sandstone
ledge, where the water was flowing over
the old ice. It may seem strange to hear
of our hunting for water in this land of
ice ; but the cascades, formed away up on
the slopes, plunge down huge crevasses, and
disappear under the snowy bed. Some-
times we were forced to use our small
supply of oil to melt the snow for the
water needed in our cooking. Our camp
was on the east side of the Seward Glacier,
which extended far northward to the base
of the main range. St. Elias — silent,

293

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

massive, dark, rugged, and sharp — lay
right in front, while Augusta stood like
an immense haystack, a gable, on the
right ; the snow banners floating quietly
by, covering and uncovering these beauti-
ful and grand mountains fully ten thousand
feet above us. We held our breath in
silent awe, and wondered at our audacity
in attempting to scale the dizzy heights.

The Seward Glacier is a natural divide
between the ridge through which we had
forced our way and the main range. So
one part of the problem was solved, and

294

Mount St. Etias and its Glaciers

we discovered that there was no main
range parallel to the coast ; while angu-
lation determined another point, and that
was that the elevation had been very much
over-estimated, and St. Elias was much
lower than 19,500 feet. The ranges are
all broken by immense faults, and it was
owing to such structure that Pinnacle Pass
was found so easy of passage.

We moved slowly along, loud reports re-
sounding on all sides ; and avalanches rushed
down as the sun gradually melted the snow.
Keeping well out into the middle of the
glacier, we felt safe. Soon, however, we
were forced by the rough ice and cre-
vasses to the side of the glacier, and, climb-
ing a ridge, our farther progress seemed
barred ; so we camped on a ledge about
one hundred feet above the ice, with just
room enough to pitch our jxj tent, into
which we four men crawled, — a sardine
pack truly. The glacier groaned, the ice
crunched, and huge pieces fell in here
and there with a loud noise, as the pres-
sure from above was felt. There was
more perceptible movement here than in
any other glacier. We estimated it at
about fifteen feet a day. The Seward
Glacier is limited by a range on the north,
the highest point of which we named Lo-

295

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

gan,* in honor of the late Director of the
Geological Survey of Canada.

The blocks of ice here were like huge
Christmas cakes, and often during the night
we could actually feel the glacier move.
And when the rain came pelting down,
and the wind blew furiously, and pieces
of ice toppled over with a noise like a
pistol-shot, we wondered when we would
again be out of danger.

Two of our men had gone back for pro-
visions, and on the 1 7th we became a little
anxious about them. The sunset on this
night was superb. The shadows began to
lengthen, and the huge peaks reflected their
long summits on the snowy surface like
enormous arms. To the west stretched
the main breadth of the glacier, fully ten
miles across, with many branches cut up by
concave crevasses, which, though twisted
and irregular, were connected by small
bridges of snow, sometimes scarcely a foot
in width ; all followed a regular curve
of cleavage caused by the contraction of
the ice, the strain, and subsequent move-
ment.

The peaks of the Yakutat Bay spurs,
and the point of Cook, presented their

* The United States Coast and Geodetic Survey Expedition
of 1892 accurately measured Mount Logan, and found it 19,500
feet, the highest peak of the St. Elias range.

296

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

sharpest angles toward us, and the sand-
stone cliffs standing above the snow could
easily be mistaken for volcanic dikes. We
could readily understand how St. Elias,
Cook, and other peaks of the range pre-
senting to the sea their upturned angular
strata, and consequently sharpest, steepest
slopes, have been mistaken for volcanoes.
It was bewildering to watch these snow-
fields, which in the setting sun were not
luminous, but a fine, clear, white expanse,
gradually assuming a darker hue as the sun
gradually dropped behind St. Elias.

We smiled to think of the great care
taken by Alpine guides, forbidding even a
whisper upon the Mer de Glace, or a jour-
ney without a guide upon the glacier. If
such a mountaineer were suddenly trans-
ported to the great Seward Glacier, and felt
the glacier tremble, and listened to the con-
stantly falling avalanches from the crags of
Elias and Cook, I imagine he would throw
away his alpenstock, and flee in dismay.

On the 1 8th of August, our men having
returned with oil and provisions, we moved
directly toward Mount St. Elias. I blacked
my face, and wore netting and heavy gog-
gles, as the glare from the ice was terrific.
We crossed the Dome Pass, leading over
into the Agassiz Glacier ; and, looking

297

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

ahead, the route seemed blocked by cre-
vasses and ice-falls. This was the glacier
discovered by Schwatka and Seton Karr ;
but they were not aware of its extent. It
was slow work clambering through the
crevasses, heading some and cutting our
way through others ; but with care we
reached the first ice-fall about noon. Here
we were forced to cut steps in the ice, but
after reaching the summit were turned back
by a huge crevasse. Finally we cut our
way down into it until it was narrow
enough to straddle ; and we then gradually
cut our way up on the opposite side, the
first man being lowered by a rope. Great
care was used ; for if a slip occurred, a
man might lose his life, or be frightfully
maimed, these crevasses often being over
five hundred feet in depth.

Afterward we were forced to the centre
of the glacier, and had fairly good travel-
ling until we reached the second ice-fall.
Here we found an opening through which
a stream was flowing over the old and hard
ice, but with a gentle current, not enough
to impede us. We waded along this, knee-
deep, until every bone in our bodies seemed
frozen; and we were obliged to camp on
the snow, where our oil-stove helped us a
little toward comfort. It was cold, wet,

298.

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

and uncomfortable; but at midnight I took
an observation, for latitude, on Polaris. The
stars were very brilliant, shedding a gentle,
reflected light on the snowy surface. This
was the first time I had succeeded in taking
an observation, as the midnight sun had
been too brilliant before, and the stars con-
sequently dim.

The next morning, looking ahead, the
old snowy surface seemed passable ; but as
soon as the grade increased we were forced
to give it up, the new snow not being
hard enough to bear our weight, and too
deep to struggle through. Our eyes were
troubling us badly, despite our goggles,
about this time ; and we made a temporary
camp on a bare spot of rocks under the
cliff. With one man I again went ahead
to prospect a route, and had almost given
it up; but taking advantage of a lead
around a huge detached piece of ice, we
gained new hope, and went up to the first
crevasse. We crossed by a very narrow
and dangerous ice-bridge, with the aid of
a rope, and found a branch of the lower
crevasse heading against the main one, and
forming an acute angle in the shape of
an irregular K, the intersection being very
narrow, and a perpendicular wall of snow
overhanging at the upper angle. We cut

299

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

our way right through this snow-wall, and
after a little tough climbing reached the
top of the exposed cliff. Letting down
about one hundred feet of rope, we made
it fast to some large bowlders, and soon
descended to camp, where a hot cup of
coffee rewarded us for our exertion.

The next day we climbed up the cliff,
and hauled up our outfit. Here, after
many set-backs and tumbles, we succeeded
in reaching another small glacial stream,
and judged ourselves about eight miles
from the summit of Elias, at an elevation
of five thousand feet.

On Aug. 22 we started in earnest our
climb toward the summit. The slope was
gradual, but everything was a line of pure
white ; neither light nor shadow was ap-
parent. One of our party called out that
he couldn't see, but was afterward com-
forted when he found that we were all
in an equally bad case, being obliged to
thrust our alpenstocks in front of us to see
whether or no we were going up a slope
or down a hollow.

We found some immense crevasses here,
from five hundred to one thousand feet in
depth. Huge pendent icicles with pris-
matic hues and crystals of ice of every
color reflected their tips on the glassy

300

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

slopes. Here, looking back, we had a
beautiful view over the old snow on the
lower slopes, with a yellowish tinge like

Hubbard Glacier.

rich cream, while the new snow around
us was dry, mealy, and white as the purest
flour. Snow halos and banners hovered
round Cook and other peaks, and in their
changing color and shadow rivalled, if not
surpassed, anything of the kind I had ever
before witnessed. The scene changed al-
most in a moment ; and the storm-clouds
went skurrying by, spreading a black man-
tle over the white surface. The snow
began falling, for we had reached an eleva-

301

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

tion by aneroid of nine thousand feet.
Above us, about five thousand feet, was
the peak, which sloped at an angle of
thirty degrees to a low saddle, the crest of
the main range. We judged the divide
to be two thousand five hundred feet above
us. This was the point we desired to
reach, and camp in for the night. All our
hard work was over. The ice-falls, the
deep crevasses, and rough glaciers lay be-
hind ; and nothing but the slope of the
main peak, with its hard and regular crust
of snow, lay ahead. We breathed a sigh
of relief as we realized that our work was
nearly over. However, the snow-storm
increased ; so we descended to our camp
at the glacial lake, caching all our instru-
ments at the highest point.

The storm continued to increase, and in
the morning the snow had drifted nearly
over our tent. Our little glacial lake had
frozen, and was completely covered by the
drift. The storm still raged ; but at noon,
a lull occurring, we decided to pull out,
and return to a lower camp for more pro-
visions. We took turns in breaking our
way through the snow, barely able in the
mist to see our hands before our faces, and
absolutely wading through the heavy drifts.
We advanced very slowly for fear of a

302

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

covered crevasse, and six in the evening
found us under the cliff; but it was still too
foggy to discover the snow-steps. We dug
a hole about ten feet square and about six
feet deep in the snow, and pitching our
tent, crawled in. The next morning it
partly cleared, and we found ourselves just
about two hundred and fifty feet from the
ice-steps. Here, letting myself down with
a rope, I recut the steps in the snow; and
after a hard struggle through the drifts we
reached our former camp at the foot of
the cliff, and were soon as comfortable as
the circumstances permitted.

After due deliberation I determined to
return, with Mr. Russell, to the upper
camp, and again attempt Elias ; while the
other men, Lindsly and Stamy, were sent
to our cache at Camp 4 for more provis-
ions and oil. The boys left us quite early,
as they had about twenty miles to make ;
and we, taking our time, clambered up the
cliff, and arrived at our old " dugout " in
the snow about noon. We stopped here
to take a rest, but discovered that the oil
was dangerously low ; and as the burning
of grease with improvised wicks was a
slow and unsatisfactory arrangement, I de-
termined to leave Russell to pursue alone
the two miles to the upper lake, and pushed

303

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

back to reach our men at the lower camp.
I felt in line condition, and travelled at
a dog-trot down-hill over the hard snow
surface, and overtook the boys in camp
below, going over the distance in six hours.
Here I found a can of oil, and shared their
bed and supper. We tried to get a little
sleep, but were awakened by a sudden rain-
storm, which started about three o'clock
in the morning. We were forced to get
up, cold and wet ; but, making a fire out
of the wooden box protecting the oil-can,
ate our ham and beans with great gusto.
Leaving the boys to pursue their journey
to Camp 4, I started back to reach Rus-
sell. It got colder and colder as I ad-
vanced. The wind and rain blew in my
face, and soon soaked through my rubber
clothing. I became like a wet rag. At
the first ice-fall it was sleeting, and I had
some difficulty in climbing the steep and
icy slopes with my heavy pack. I reached
our old camp under the cliff at five p.m.
Resting a moment, I climbed up the rocky
wall, and reached the upper slope. Here
it was snowing fiercely in great flakes. I
trudged ahead, but soon every vestige of
our old trail was covered, and I wallowed
in the deep snow. It was then about six
p.m.; and fearing that I might be buried

304

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

here in the depth of snow, I made the
best of my way back to the lower camp.
I reached the cliff about eight o'clock, the
storm being terrific in force. I tugged at
the rope, but found it caught at the bot-
tom, so I kept on my pack, and clambered
down. At best, the cliff was a nasty place ;
and loaded as I was, and tired out, I slipped
while half-way down, and turned to grasp
the rope. I could not hold on, so fell
headlong the rest of the distance. A flash-
ing thought of the hard ice and deep cre-
vasse at the bottom was obscured in my
surprise at landing in soft snow. I soon
got up, shook myself, and finding no bones
broken, made the best of my way to the
old camp. The weight of the new snow
had caused an avalanche, burying the end
of the rope, and filling the crevasse at the
bottom. This had happened since my
last trip, — a lucky accident, and to it I
owe my life. At my camp was a rubber
blanket ; so, bracing it with an alpenstock,
I made an improvised tent, the ends being
fastened with large snowballs ; the snow
rapidly filled in round my tent, and I was
soon comfortably sleeping. I woke up
hungry during the night, and finding a lit-
tle oatmeal, made a hasty-pudding, which
appeased my appetite a little.

305

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

Early the next morning (the 27th) the
temperature rose, and it began to rain.
Then my troubles began. Everything
was absolutely soaking. I did not mind
it much during the day, but as the night
grew colder I soon became benumbed. I
kept up the circulation as much as possible,
but was so stiff in the morning that I could
scarcely move. Luckily it cleared ; and
the sun coming out, I stretched out my
hands toward its genial rays, and could
readily imagine how men could bow down
in silent adoration of such glorious warmth.
New strength and energy were imparted
into my frozen limbs. I found my feet
and hands a little frost-bitten, but plunged
them at intervals in the snow. I had time
to dry out somewhat before attempting
to reach Russell, two miles above, where
I knew food and warmth awaited me.
Thirty hours on raw oatmeal I soon found
was not travelling diet through soft snow
about four feet deep ; so after going half
a mile I was forced to give it up, and re-
turn again to my camp. As I lay there
in my snowy camp, I began to wonder
if I should be found in future ages, pre-
served in glacier ice like a mammoth or
cave-bear, as an illustration to geologists
that man inhabited these regions of eter-

306

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

nal ice, and lived happily on nothing,
breathing the free air of prehistoric times.

Soon it became quite cold ; and, dream-
ing of more delightful scenes, I heard a
shout, and in a little while four of the
men came in with supplies. I took a piece
of chocolate and corned beef, and felt bet-
ter. They had been delayed by the storm,
and were anxious about our safety. We
made a cup of beef-tea over an improvised
lamp, which braced me considerably. We
started the next day (the 29th), quite early,
to reach Russell, as we imagined he might
be a little lonely. We forced our way
through the snow, and about half-way met
him slowly coming toward us, bringing a
light load. Sending two men to his camp
for the tent and oil-stove, we again moved
back to our camp at the cliff.

The snow in these two storms had fallen
and drifted to the depth of about nine feet,
and was so soft that one sunk almost to
the waist in attempting to push through
it, and we had no proper snow-shoes. The
winter had actually set in, and we realized
we were too late to reach our instruments
and again attempt the peak. It was se-
verely disappointing, after days of travel
over rough moraines and icy glaciers, cross-
ing by narrow bridges, hauling ourselves

307

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

up steep cliffs and precipices, swimming
streams, and living for weeks with an oil-
stove for fuel, sleeping four abreast in a
7x7 tent on the snow; in fact, six weeks
of utter discomfort for body and soul, and
then to be beaten by so little ! If the storm
had only held off for twenty-four hours
more, the scalp of Elias would have been
in our belt, and we could have finished
the trip with great rejoicing. However,
our attempt was bold, and our success in
finding and naming new peaks and gla-
ciers, and studying their movements, and,
indeed, making a general topographical
reconnoissance of this unknown region,
recompensed us in part for the failure in
reaching the summit of Elias. So turning
our backs on the mountain, we returned
to our base camp at Blossom Island during
another storm, and tried to forget our dis-
appointment in eating bear-meat and wild
huckleberries.

The rest of the season I was engaged in
extending the topographical work ; and
in one of these trips I went down to the
Indian village and met the Corwin, with
my friend Captain C. L. Hooper in com-
mand. Learning of our trips up the bay,
he set sail, and, landing at the entrance to

308

Mount St. Elias and its Glaciers

Disenchantment Bay, brought off the re-
mainder of the party. The Corwin thus
had the honor of being the first vessel to
steam up Yakutat Bay. We stayed only a
few hours at the village at Port Mulgrave,
and after a delightful voyage reached Port
Townsend on Oct. 2, our party disbanded,
and the men all returned to their various
homes.

309

A THOUSAND MILES
THROUGH THE ALPS

By Sir IV. Martin Conway

Morning- — from a summit.

iHEN I began climbing moun-
tains, almost a quarter of a
century ago, mountaineering
— at all events in the Alps —
xXi was a very different matter
from what it is to-day. The age of Alpine
conquest was even then approaching its
close; but present conditions did not pre-
vail, and the sentiment of climbers was still
that of pioneers.

The old-fashioned climber, the mountain
hero of my boyhood, was a traveller, and
desired to be an explorer. When he went
to the Alps, he went to wander about and to

313

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

rough it. Many peaks were still unclimbed,
and by most people conceived to be un-
climbable. He probably thought he could
reduce the number, and it was his chief
ambition to do so. The desire to discover
new routes, which still lingers among Al-
pine travellers, is a belated survival from
the days when all the Alps were un-
climbed. The rush of tourists that came
with improved means of communication,
and was accompanied by a development
of railways, roads, and inns throughout
the frequented and more accessible parts
of Switzerland, could not be without effect
upon mountaineering. The change showed
itself chiefly in this respect, that the ha-
bitual climber, the man for whom Alpine
climbing takes the place of another's fish-
ing or shooting, ceased to be a traveller,
and acquired the habit of settling down
for the whole time of his holiday in a
comfortably furnished centre, whence he
makes a series of ascents of the high
mountains within its reach.

Previously mountaineering was one of
the best forms of training for a traveller, and
indeed supplied for busy persons, whose an-
nual holiday must be short, experience of
all the charms, excitements, and delights
which reward the explorer of distant and

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

unknown regions of the earth. The object
of the journey now to be described was to
discover whether the time had not come
when a return might be made, on a novel
footing, to the habits of Alpine pioneers.
Of course the mystery is gone from the
Alps, — none but climbers know how
completely. Every mountain and point of
view of even third-rate importance has been
ascended, most by many routes. Almost
every gap between two peaks has been trav-
ersed as a pass. The publications of some
dozen mountaineering societies have re-
corded these countless expeditions in rows
of volumes of appalling length. Of late
years vigorous attempts have been made to
coordinate this mass of material in the
form of Climbers' Guides, dealing with
particular districts, wherein every peak and
pass is dealt with in strict geographical suc-
cession, and every different route, and all
the variations of each route, are set forth,
with references to the volumes in which
they have been described at length by their
discoverers. Nearly half the Alps has been
treated in this manner; but the work has
taken ten years, and of course the whole
requires periodical revision.

It occurred to me that it was now pos-
sible, taking the whole range of the Alps,

315

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

to devise a route, or rather a combination
of climbs, the descent from each ending
at the starting-point for the next, such
that one might begin at one extremity of
the snowy range and walk up and down
through its midst to the other extremity
over a continuous series of peaks and passes.
The Alps, of course, though spoken of as
a range, are not a single line of peaks, but
a series of locally parallel ridges covering a
region. There is no continuous Alpine
ridge at all that stretches from one end
of the region to the other. It would be
possible to devise an almost infinite variety
of combinations of peaks and passes that
would fulfil the conditions of my plan.
Some of these would take years to carry
out, for they would lead over peaks that
can only be ascended under exceptionally
good conditions of weather. The route
selected had to be capable of execution
within three months of average weather —
a mixture of good and bad, with the bad
predominating. It was also essential that
it should lead continuously through snowy
regions, and that it should traverse as many
of the more interesting and well-known
groups as possible.

By beginning with the smaller ranges
at the southern extremity of the Alpine

316

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

mg^

region we were able
to start early in the
summer season with
the maximum of
time before us. The
Colle di Tenda, over
which goes the road
from Turin to Ven-
timiglia, is regarded
as the southern limit
of the Alps, and the
boundary between
them and the Apennines. Thither, there-
fore, we transferred ourselves on June I.
The first division of the journey was thence
to Mont Blanc, which, of course, had to be
traversed ; this line of route lay partly in
France, but chiefly in Italy, the Dauphiny
mountains being of necessity omitted as
lying apart in an isolated group. At Mont
Blanc we had to decide between two main
possible ways. We might go along the
southern Pennine, Lepontine, and other
ranges, or by the northern Oberland ridge
and its eastward continuations. . I chose
the northern route as being the shorter
and, to me, more novel. Arriving thus
at the eastern extremity of Switzerland,
the general line to be followed across the
Tyrol was obvious, the final goal being the

317

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

Ankogel, the last snowy peak in the direc-
tion of Vienna, about a hundred and eighty
miles from that city.

The party assembled at the Colle di
Tenda for this expedition was rather a
large one as Alpine parties go. I was for-
tunate to secure as companion my friend
Mr. E. A. Fitzgerald, an experienced
climber, who has since won distinction as
an explorer in the snow-mountains of New
Zealand. He brought with him two
well-known guides, J. B. Aymonod and
Louis Carrel, both of Valtournanche, a
village near the south foot of the Matter-
horn. Carrel is famous as one of the
guides who accompanied Mr. Whymper
to the Andes. For the first part of the
journey I engaged my old Himalayan com-
panion, the guide Mattias Zurbriggen, of
Macugraga ; and I was further accompanied
by two of the Gurkhas (natives of Nepal)
who were with me in the Himalayas, to
wit, Lance Naick Amar Sing Thapa and
Lance Naick Karbir Bura Thoki, both of
the first battalion of the Fifth Gurkha Ri-
fles. The Gurkhas are admirable scram-
blers and good weight-carriers, but they
were not experienced in the craft of climb-
ing snow-mountains. They had begun to
learn the use of the axe and rope in India;

318

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

Halt at the Top of a slope — Gurkhas and Swiss Guide.

but it was felt that if they could spend a
further period of three months, working
under first-rate guides, their mountaineer-
ing education would be advanced, and they
would be better able on their return to
India to assist in Himalayan exploration,
up till now so neglected. It was in view
of giving them experience of snow and

319

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

glacier work that our route was devised to
keep as far as possible to snow, and to
avoid rather than seek rock-scrambling, in
which they were already proficient.

Fortunate people who live on islands, or
without bellicose neighbors, have no idea
of the excitements of frontier travel in
central Europe. As long as you merely
want to cross from one country into an-
other, there is only the custom-house nui-
sance to be fought through ; but try to
settle down near a frontier and enjoy your-
self in a normal fashion, walking to pretty
points of view, and staring about as you
please, all sorts of annoyances and impedi-
ments start in your way ; while if you wish
to travel along the frontier, these become
indefinitely multiplied. It is useless to
dodge gendarmes and folks of that kidney
on the Franco-Italian frontier. They are
too numerous, active, and suspicious. We
knew this, and made what we supposed
were sufficient arrangements beforehand.
Ministers and august personages were ap-
proached by one or another on our behalf,
friendly promises were given, and the way
seemed smooth before us ; but we started
along it too soon, not bearing in mind that
governmental machineries, though they
may ultimately grind exceeding small, do

320

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

so with phenomenal slowness. When,
therefore, we actually came upon frontier
ground, we were not expected, and the
ways were often closed against us. It was
not till just as we were leaving Italy for
the unsuspicious and more travelled regions
of Savoy and Switzerland that the spread-
ing wave of orders and recommendations
in our favor, washing outward from the
official centre, broke against the mountain-
wall, and produced a sudden profusion of
kindnesses and attentions which, if they
had come a fortnight sooner, would have
made our journey more pleasant.

As it was, however, we were treated in
the Maritime and Cottian Alps as probable
spies. The peaks and passes we wanted to
climb were closed against us; and we had
continually to change our plans in order
to avoid fortresses and the like futilities,
sight of which in the far distance without
permission is a crime. Nor were these
political difficulties the only ones we had
to contend against in the first part of our
journey. Eager to be early on the ground,
we arrived too early. None of the inns
were open in the upper valleys, and the
high pastures and huts were all deserted;
so that we had to descend low for food,
and often to sleep in the open air. More-

321

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

over, to make matters worse, the season
was backward. The mass of winter snow
had waited till May to fall, and in June
the mountains were draped with a vesture
proper to the month of March. Ascents
were thereby rendered dangerous from ava-
lanches, or even impossible, which should
have been little more than grass walks.
It was, therefore, in every sense a misfor-
tune that our start was not delayed at least
a fortnight.

With every disadvantage, however, we
saw enough of the Maritime Alps to gain
a fair idea of their scenery, which is superb,
and differs in character from that of other
Alpine regions. Their greatest charm is
derived from their situation between the
Mediterranean on the one side, and the
Lombard plain on the other, broad, level
expanses toward which mountain buttresses
gracefully descend. Ill-luck in weather de-
prived us of the choicest views; yet there
is a beauty in cloud-enframed glimpses per-
haps no less great than the clearest prospect
can afford. The mountains do not rise to
any great height; and though their summits
and gullies hold snow all the year round,
it is not in quantity sufficient to form gla-
ciers. But the valleys are so deep that for
a climber the altitudes to be ascended are

322

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

Cloud Effect on Glacier.

A Thousand Miles through (he Alps

as great as in the case of the high peaks of
the central Alps. The scrambling is good ;
for the range is chiefly built of limestone,
which presents difficult problems of a gym-
nastic character. The valleys possess a sin-
gular charm ; for they are richly wooded,
and the streams that enliven them are of
clear water dancing down in crystal floods.
Moreover, the color of the atmosphere is
richer than in Switzerland and the Tyrol,
so that hollows are filled with bluer shad-
ows, distances are softer, and floating clouds
receive an added tenderness.

Rather more than three weeks were
spent in travelling from the sea to Mont
Blanc. The principal peaks climbed on
the way were Monte Viso and the Aiguille
de la Grande-Sassiere, the one in storm,
the other on a perfect day. It is a mis-
take to imagine that mountain scenery is
only beautiful in fine weather. It is often
more impressive in fog or storm than at
any other time. Clouds, which shut out
the distance, force the eye to linger on the
foreground of ice and rock, which possess
beauties of their own. It is not for mere
summit panoramas that lovers of scenery
are led to climb. Every stage of ascent
and descent gives its own reward. Monte
Viso, when we climbed it, was not the

32s

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

naked rock-peak known to summer travel-
lers. It was buried deep in hard, frozen
snow, which the violent gale swept into
the air, and whirled about in twisted
wreaths. Clouds, too, were dragged across
it, and, as it were, combed through the
teeth of its serrated rock-ridge. Few
wilder or more impressive scenes have I
witnessed than that we beheld from near
the top of the peak when the gale was at
its height. The air seemed to be writhing
about us. We were all covered with fro-
zen filaments; icicles hung from our hair.
We had to cling to the rocks or be blown
away. Such moments of excitement may
at the time be physically disagreeable ; but
they are morally stimulating in a high de-
gree, and linger in the memory far more
agreeably than do afternoons of slothful
dalliance and luxurious repose.

As we travelled forward from day to
day the peaks we were to climb first ap-
peared in the remote distance, then coming
nearer, separated themselves from their fel-
lows, till at last each in its turn blocked
the way, and had to be climbed over.
Mont Blanc was long a-coming. We saw
it first from the Sassiere, as a culminating
dome above a lower wall of neighbors.
Next we saw it while descending the

326

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

A Storm on Mount Viso —forced to cling to the rock or be blown away

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

Maritime Alps at Dawn.

Ruitor Glacier. That morning the clouds
were low, and for hours we saw nothing
that was not near at hand. The Ruitor
snow-field is large and gently inclined.
We had to steer our way down it by com-
pass and map. Its white rippled surface
spread around us, melting at the edges of
vision into a sparkling mist which the sun-
light illuminated, but was long in driving
away. At last there came a movement in
the fog, a strange twinkling and flickering
as of ghosts passing by. Uncertain forms

329

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

appeared and vanished. Low, striking
light-bands striped the white floor. Sud-
denly, to our bewildered delight, there
stood, behind a faint veil which swiftly
melted away, the whole Mont Blanc range,
clear from end to end, superb in form, and
glittering in sunshine. Entranced, we
halted to gaze as the fairy vision hardened
into reality.

A couple of days later we were on the
mountain itself, approaching its snowy re-
gion by way of the Miage Glacier, which
lies in a deep and splendid valley. We
spent the night in a hut on the great peak's
flank, but started on again by one o'clock
in the morning, so as to traverse the steep
snow-slopes to the ridge while frost held
them firm. The progress from night to
day in this remote snowy fastness went for-
ward as we ascended, and the sun had
risen when we stood on the frontier ridge
which was to be followed to the top. Al-
ready Europe was at our feet. The ranges
by which we had come stretched south-
ward into blue vagueness; on the other
side were the green hills of Savoy, the
hollow of Geneva's lake, and I know not
what far-stretching plains and undulations
of France. Looking along the ridge, the
Aiguille de Bionassay, a splendid pyramid

330

- .

"5 g

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

of snow, passing graceful, and edged with
delicately sharpened ice-ridges, divided the
two views from one another. We turned
our backs on the pyramid and climbed
ahead, following a crest of snow, some-
times sharp as an axe-edge, often curled
over like a breaking wave on one side
or the other. As snow aretes go, this
one is not remarkable for narrowness; but
the slopes on either hand are steep, and
have the usual appearance of precipitance.
Hence it was that in August, 1890, Count
Umberto di Villanova, with his famous
guides Antonio Castagneri and J. J. Ma-
quignaz, were blown to destruction by a
violent gale. Their bodies were never
found, but their footsteps were traced to
this point. On which side of the ridge
they fell we have no means of knowing.

By noon we stood on the culminating
point of the Alps, the first visitors of the
year. Since my former visit a hut had
been set up in this desolate spot, — a dis-
figurement, but a useful shelter, — beneath
which we took refuge from a chilly wind.
Clouds decorated without obliterating the
glorious panorama, beyond question the
finest in the Alps, and surpassed only, if at
all in Europe, by that from Caucasian El-
bruz. Flocks of cloudlets grazed the green

333

A Thousand Mis through the A l/s

hills at our
feet, and lines
of small soft
billows, as it
were break-
ing on a wide
and shallow
shore, undu-
lated in the
remote dis-
tance. The
sky, f o r a
quarter of its
height, had
parted with its blue to the valley deeps,
and was striped around with fine horizontal
lines, each edging a new grade of tone, like
the lines in a solar spectrum. We ran down
to Chamonix by the historic route. The
sun blazed upon us, and the heat was in-
tolerable; but toward evening a copper-
colored tower of cloud arose in the west,
and cast a solemn shadow on the glacier.

334

Along the Snoiv Arete,

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

It was night when we reached the valley,
and we entered Chamonix in the dark.

If we had now taken the southern route,
we should have had a fine series of glacier
passes to cross from Chamonix to Zermatt ;
but all of them were well known to me,
and I preferred a new region. So we went
through the limestone Savoy hills, over
small peaks and passes, easy enough to trav-
erse, but delightful for the variety of sce-
nery and its swift changes of character.
It was not till we had crossed the Rhone
valley and climbed the Diablerets that large
glaciers came much in our way. Each day
we climbed a peak, and descended to some
cowherd's hut to sleep. They were all
dirty, so that we often chose rather to lie
on the grass in the open air than to shelter
within them. Valseret was the worst. We
reached it as the cows came jangling home
to be milked. The peasants gathered round
a fire near the door to eat their evening meal
of hard bread and maigre cheese, which
they toasted on the embers. Swarms of flies
came with them. The men crammed their
mouths full of food, and then shouted at
the cows, who were butting one another
all around. The wind whisked ashes into
their eyes, but nothing disturbed their stolid
equanimity. The meal ended, each hid his

335

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

loaf and cheese in a hole in the wall. The
cows meanwhile looked in and snorted,
eager to be milked. No one spoke, and
only the flies were gay. The surroundings
of the hut were incredibly foul, and we had
to go some distance to find a clean spot to
sleep on.

The finest scenery in this part of our
journey, at the west end of the famous
Bernese Oberland, was that of the glacier
of the great Dead Plain. We did not see
it until we were on its edge, and the white
expanse spread before us. It fills a kind
of elliptical hollow, some two miles long
by a mile wide. Once on its smooth, large
surface, the external world is shut out by a
ring of low mountain wall. Not a trace
of human activity can be seen in any di-
rection. The largeness, simplicity, and
seclusion of this strange snow-field made
it unique. We traversed its longest diam-
eter. The snow, fortunately, remained hard
throughout the hour of our passage, thanks
to a cool breeze and a veiled sun. The sur-
face was beautifully rippled and perfectly
clean.

A few days farther on we came to the
chief mass of Oberland mountains, the
Jungfrau and her fellows. Right through
the heart of the range goes a splendid

336

A Thousand Miles ihroitgh tltt Alps

A Snow Cornice.

snow-valley, cut across at three places by
low passes, but orographically continu-
ous. Two days' marching took us from
end to end of this longest snow traverse
in the Alps. We halted for two nights in
the midst of it at the Concordia hut by
the snow-field of the Great Aletsch gla-
cier, and spent the intervening day in
ascending the Jungfrau. Few European
mountains are easier or more beautiful,

337

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

for the starting-point is remote from the
habitations of man, and all the climb is
done in one of Nature's purest and most
enclosed solitudes. Rocks are not once
touched between the Concordia hut and
the summit ; the whole route lies over
spotless snow and ice, up gently inclined
plains of it, and then steeper slopes to
a ridge of ice, and so to the top. The
views are throughout of snowy regions,
and not till the summit is gained does
the sight plunge down to fertile valleys,
blue lakes, and a far-off land of woods
and fields. As we stood on the highest
point, and looked over the great snow-
basin to the towering Finsteraarhorn, with
a bright roof of cirrus cloud spread above
it on the blue sky, I thought I had sel-
dom beheld a more impressive spectacle.

Thus far the weather, though by no
means perfect, and often bad, had not been
systematically evil ; but from this time for-
ward our journey was made in a succession
of storms, separated from one another by
thinnest fine-weather partitions. On one
perfect day we climbed the Galenstock, a
mountain known to all who have crossed
the Furka. We left the Grimsel inn be-
fore midnight, and came in a dark hour
to the pallid snow-field of the Rhone Gla-

338

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

cier. Crossing it, as in a featureless dream,
we mounted a monotonous snowy valley to
the mountain's ridge, where such a splen-
dor of dawn burst upon us from the glow-
ing east that it obliterates all other mem-
ories, and remains the feature of the day.
We looked abroad over low Italian and
Ticino hills, bathed in soft air and trans-
parent mist, and playing at hide-and-seek
with floating lines and balls of changeful
cloud ; then on to the Engadine peaks, and
farther yet to remote ranges under a newly
risen sun, forming backgrounds to the
various-tinted atmosphere, through which
each, remoter than the ridge before, seemed
more soft and ethereal than its neighbor,
till the last led fitly to the sky.

Looking back, however, upon this part
of our journey — the traverse, that is to
say, from the Oberland into the Tyrol —
it stands out as a period of storm. We
went forward without regard to weather,
and took what came. Sometimes we
started in fog, and steered by compass and
map to the glacier, then felt our way up
it to some narrow pass by which access
was obtained to the next valley. These
were exciting times. One day, for in-
stance, we had to cross the Silvretta group
of mountains in the neighborhood of the

339

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

Lower Engadine. We had been unable
to obtain the least glimpse of them, so
dense were the clouds that enveloped
them. Yet we started at our usual hour
in the morning, trusting
to luck and an indifferent
map as guide. For hours
the way was up a swampy
valley that bent and
branched with fitful va-
grance. Avoiding wrong
turns, we came to a gla-
cier's foot which loomed
forth out of the fog and
rain. We advanced up it
not without satisfaction,
for physical features on a
glacier are more orderly in
sequence than they are in
a mere upland valley; and
the character of the snow
under foot reveals the level
attained, an element by
which to reckon the way.

tee. J

The rain presently gave
place to falling snow, which the wind
drove against us. We could not see twenty
yards in any direction. At the foot of
the glacier we took the bearing of the
pass; but the map we had was twenty

340

Getting down a rock crevice.

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

years old, and in the interval the glacier
had greatly changed, so that the bearing
was not correct. Roping in a long line
for convenience of guiding, the compass-
bearer being last, we set forward at a late
hour of the afternoon into the wild upper
regions. The new snow under foot was
soft and deep. For hours we waded, rather
than walked upward. Only the dip of the
slope we were on, and the barometric alti-
tude, gave indication of the place we had
reached. Higher and higher we went,
hoping to run into the gap ; but only the
slope rose featureless before us, to vanish
in fog a few yards away. Daylight waned,
and still the advance continued. The ba-
rometer showed that we were far above
the level of the pass. We had missed it,
therefore, and were climbing a peak beside
it ; but was the pass on our left hand or on
our right ? Probably the right, we said ;
so we struck off that way, and traversed
horizontally, then up again, and then an-
other traverse. The gale raged wildly, the
snow whirled in our faces, and buffeted us
into a stupid condition. At last a tooth of
rock came in view close at hand, and we
knew we must be near the ridge. A few
minutes later we were going down the
other side like wild creatures, racing for

341

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

In Wind and Snow.

the day. Half an hour brought us sud-
denly into clear air, and showed us a green
valley leading down, and mountains at the
end of it, on which the evening light was
beginning to fade. We ran down the val-
ley to the long slope at its mouth, and in
the dark night we plunged and stumbled
through a pathless wood to the Engadine
highroad at its foot.

This was but one of many similar ex-
periences. Sometimes the evening was

342

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

fine, sometimes the morning, but the rest
of the day was usually given over to storm.
We became callous as time went on, and
the habit of bad-weather travelling grew
in us. There are certainly excitements
and beautiful effects as well which are
only to be had in mountains in bad
weather, and these we enjoyed to the full.
Wild places, such as the lofty secluded
rock-bound lake of Mutt in Canton Gla-
rus, never look so fine as when clouds are
rolling over them.

On the way to the Mutt Lake we had a
strange adventure, of which I was fortu-
nate enough to secure a photograph. We
were approaching the highest sheep pas-
ture as the day waned. The sheep, seven-
teen hundred in number, saw us from the
surrounding slopes, and, urged by a long-
ing for salt, rushed down upon us from all
sides, with one united " Baa," in a wild
converging avalanche. We beat off the
leaders, but they could not retreat, for those
behind pressed them forward. Finding
that Carrel was the saltest morsel, the whole
flock surged upon him. They lifted him
off his feet, carried him forward, cast him
to the ground, and poured over him. For-
tunately the ground was flat. When the
shepherd saw what had happened he

343

A Thousand Miles through tJte Alps

whistled shrilly thrice, whereupon the
sheep dispersed in terror, fleeing up the
mountain-side in all directions, till no two
remained together.

At Nauders we entered the Tyrol, that
happy hunting-ground of the German and
Austrian Alpine Club, a body whose pop-
ularity and power may be gauged by the
fact that it possesses over thirty thousand
members, and its activity by the hundred
and odd climbers' huts it has built, the
footpaths it has made, the inns it has sub-
sidized, the thousands of spots of paint it
has splashed upon rocks, and finger-posts
it has set up by waysides to indicate the
wanderers' route. The contrast between
Switzerland and the Tyrol, from a travel-
ler's point of view, consists herein, that
whereas travel in Switzerland is exploited
by hotel-keepers and organized in their
interests, the Tyrol is, through the agency
of the powerful German and Austrian
Alpine Club, organized by travellers them-
selves in their own interests. In Switzer-
land traps are laid for the tourist's francs;
in the Tyrol every effort is made to spare
his pocket. The Tyrol is thus the para-
dise of poor holiday-makers, who wander
impartially over the whole country, nine
out of ten of them carrying their own

344

A Thousand Miles through tile Alp.

Getting Down a Glacier.

packs, and enjoying themselves in a rea-
sonable and decent fashion.

Every one who has climbed a Swiss
mountain knows what a cabane is like. It
is usually a rough stone hut, perhaps di-
vided by wooden partitions into two or
three chambers. In a corner of one is a
small stove. On a shelf are a few pots,

345

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

plates, cups, and a crooked set of odd
knives, forks, and spoons. In the other
room are beds of hay ranged along the
floor, and sometimes also on shelves. The
stove smokes. The door has to be left
open or the fire will not draw. Draughts
find their way in through numerous chinks.
Early in the season the floor is probably
covered with ice. Ancient and fusty rugs
form the sole bed-covering. The newer
huts, built by the Italian Alpine Club, are
an improvement on these horrid Swiss
shelters. They are framed of well-fitted
wood ; and all their appointments are bet-
ter, but they consist of the same elements.
In the case of Mont Blanc alone, on the
rocks called the Grands-Mulets, there is a
hut where a woman resides to act as at-
tendant and cook. Even this cabane is a
wretched hole, dirty, draughty, and un-
comfortable in more ways than can be
briefly catalogued. The climber on this
route up Mont Blanc can, indeed, sleep in
a bed, procure a hot meal, and purchase
provisions ; but his bill for indifferent ac-
commodation and food will come to about
a hundred francs, the bulk of which goes,
not to the innkeeper, but, in the form
of rent, to the Commune of Chamonix.
Compare the Grands-Mulets with such a

346

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

Tyrolese hut as the Warnsdorfer. The
comparison is fair ; for the height of both
is about the same, as is also their distance
from the nearest village. This hut is a
wooden building of two stories on a mas-
sive base, to which it is bound with steel
cables. On the ground floor are a kitchen
and guides' room, a dining-room, and some
bedrooms. Up-stairs are more bedrooms,
and a hayloft for the guides. A clean little
woman lives in the place to do the cooking
and service, and extend a warm welcome
to the traveller, who can, at any hour,
procure from her a hot meal of fresh
meat well prepared. He can buy wine or
liquors. He can write a letter and post it.
He can amuse himself in the skittle alley
outside the door, or play at chess, cards,
or other games within. The bedrooms
are clean and well furnished. They are
provided with fireplaces. In the dining-
room, which is warmed, are chairs and
tables, with tablecloths, books, a clock, a
barometer, a guitar, pen and ink, pictures,
maps, and various other conveniences, be-
sides a cupboard containing an elaborate
medical and surgical apparatus. A mem-
ber of any Alpine Club whatever pays two-
pence for the use of the hut by day, and
about a shilling for his bed at night. Pro-

349

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

visions are correspondingly cheap. Guides
do not pay for lodgings, and are supplied
with food at an economical rate.

Huts of the first order, like this one, are
becoming numerous. Each is the prop-
erty of one of the local sections of the Ger-
man Club, and generally bears its name, —
the Magdeburg Hut, the Brunswick Hut,
the Dresden Hut, and so on. Sections try
to outdo one another in the excellence of
the accommodation they provide, and every
year sees some improvement. One day,
when we were crossing through the midst
of the Stubai Mountains in a dense fog (as
usual), guiding ourselves merely by the
compass, there suddenly came a cave in the
clouds, and in the midst of it appeared a
large stone house in course of erection,
planted on the top of a rocky eminence
rising out of the snow-field. It is the last
new thing in huts, and when finished will
be really a hotel, capable of accommodat-
ing at least fifty guests. Such elaborate
cabanes are not yet numerous, but in the
next few years they will spread over the
whole snowy area of the Tyrol. After
them come huts of the second order, in
which no attendant resides, but where sup-
plies can be obtained. Each of these huts
contains its store of firewood, frequently

350

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

renewed, and a cupboard full of tinned
meats, tea, sugar, compressed soups, wine,
spirits, and even champagne. The prices
of these things are posted up on the wall.
There are mattresses and bedding. Often
there are books, maps, and games. The

Street of a Mountain Village.

traveller supplies himself with what he
pleases, makes out his own bill, writes it
in a book, and deposits the money in a
box, which is as often as not unlocked.
Yet a third order of huts is to be found.
They for the most part occupy the most

351

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

elevated situations, close to the summits of
peaks, or on the saddles of passes, and are
intended merely as refuges from storms.
They resemble ordinary Swiss huts, to the
average of which they are usually superior ;
like them they contain no supplies. The
present tendency is to rebuild these on a
larger scale, and provide them with stores.
The Tyrol is as much ahead of Switzer-
land in climber's food as it is in mountain
huts. Who does not know the stringy
meat and hard cheese that form the staple
contents of a Swiss mountaineer's wallet?
If he is a careful and foreseeing person,
perhaps he provides himself with a tin or
two of American beef or fruit. But the
average Tyrolese climber would regard his
best hillside menu with scorn. In the Ty-
rol it is seldom necessary to carry any pro-
visions except bread. There are two or
three huts on most mountains, and you call
at them for your meals. In many, and
a year or two hence probably in all, you
will find baskets stocked according to what
they call the " Pottsche Provian " system.
From these you can supply yourself with
a meal in several courses, and you have
your choice of two or three wines. The
various tins contain elaborate and excel-
lent messes of food, some to be heated

352

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

before served. It would be hard to cite
a more elaborate and successful application
of the cooperative principle to the supply
of commodities. The German and Aus-
trian Alpine Club is in reality a coopera-
tive association of over thirty thousand
members, who kindly permit the members
of other Alpine clubs to participate in
their advantages.

When it is remembered that the guide-
system of the Tyrol is under the govern-
ance of this club, that it makes paths,
receives privileges from the railways, pub-
lishes and supplies gratis to its members
useful annuals, maps superior to those
provided by the government surveys, and
handbooks of different sorts, the value and
extent of its activity may be conceived.
The whole country is in consequence wan-
dered over, not by herds of tourists follow-
ing personal conductors, but by an immense
number of individuals going alone or in
parties of two or three, taking a guide now
and again from one hut to another, but for
the most part carrying their own baggage
and rinding their own way. There are no
great centres where people flock together
and make one another miserable. Trav-
ellers keep moving about, and strew them-
selves fairly evenly over the mountain area,

353

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

Each hut and village inn forms a small
focus where chance assemblages of wan-
derers meet for the night, to sunder again
next day. Community of momentary in-
terests unites them into a society for the
few hours of their common life. The
wandering spirit pervades them and the
whole country during the summer season.
Twenty years ago this state of things did
not exist. I remember the Stubai and
Zillerthal Mountains when there was not
a hut among them, not a guide nor an ice-
axe in their villages. During the three
months I spent in the district, scarcely a
traveller came by. The change, which is
due to German enterprise, is doubtless re-
acting upon the youth of Germany. The
spirit cultivated by the mediaeval Wander-
schaft, which sent every young craftsman
away from his home for three years, now
grows out of the annual summer tramp.
Youthful students from the German uni-
versities are infected by it. They range
like mediaeval roving scholars in their hun-
dreds over the land, and penetrate the
mountain regions. All the huts and most
of the inns open their arms to receive them
at reduced rates, so that a lad with a few
florins in his pocket can wander unre-
strained from place to place.

354

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

Hannove^s Hut at AnkogeL

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

The picture which I have thus endeav-
ored to draw will present little attraction,
no doubt, to most of my readers. Com-
fortable hotels, in the usual European sense,
do not await them here. There are few
carriage-roads in the best parts of the coun-
try. The place is not arranged for their
convenience. It is designed for the fairly
robust wanderer, who goes his way with-
out a plan, and desires only to find at suit-
able times a roof over his head, sound food
to eat, and splendid scenery to delight the
eye and develop the imagination. Such a
one, especially if he possesses some moun-
taineering experience and capacity, may
traverse the mountain region, in company
with a like-minded friend or two, from
north to south, and from east to west, as-
cending snowy peaks and crossing glacier
passes, without requiring the assistance of
either guide or porter. In every group
of mountains he will find huts placed in
the best positions for scenery, not in the
likeliest places for entrapping guests. Ev-
erywhere he will meet a free and intel-
ligent, if sometimes a rather rough and
boisterous company. He will seldom find
himself either solitary or overcrowded. He
will suffer more from well-intended kind-
ness than from rudeness or neglect. He

357

A Thousand Miles through the Alps

will never be swindled. In fine, no part
of the Alps now forms a better training-
ground for the youthful would-be moun-
taineer, none a less vulgarized holiday
resort for the man of moderate physical
capabilities, simple tastes, or restricted
means, than the region comprised in the
Austrian and Bavarian Tyrol.

358

14 DAY USE

I RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED

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General Library

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THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY

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