i68 



THE MUSEUM. 



lot of the observer is not enviable. 

 In the winter all trains on the cog 

 road are stopped, there is no way of 

 getting down save by snow shoes and 

 burros, the wind blows furiously, the 

 thermometer gets low, the air is so 

 rare that little exertion can be engag- 

 ed in without great fatigue, and there 

 is little to relieve the monotony. It 

 is the highest place in the world where 

 civilized man lives the year round. 



There are many things that impress 

 one who stands on this summit for the 

 first time. On my first ascent we ar- 

 rived at the top at 6:30 in the even- 

 ing, clothed in summer garb, in early 

 August, and of course were doomed to 

 spend the night there. No one of the 

 party could have gotten down. We 

 were nearly gone — in many ways. 

 Any of the rocks seemed soft to lie 

 upon, and to lie and breathe without 

 exertion was indeed a luxury. 



The changes in temperature are 

 quite noticeable. At night it is cool. 

 It is so in all high altitudes. When 

 one reaches the altitude of 12000 feet, 

 one-third of the atmosphere has been 

 left below. At Pike's Peak this alti- 

 tude is exactly at timber line. As 

 soon as the sun sets or goes behind a 

 cloud the rocks that have been warm- 

 ed radiate their heat, and there being 

 little in the air or space to impede it the 

 heat goes off into space, soon leaving 

 the rocks cold. Precipitation at such 

 altitudes is mostly in the form of snow 

 or hail. When the sun shines, it is 

 likewise correspondingly hot. Evap- 

 oration is rapid, and the moisture is 

 taken up very rapidly. Conway tells 

 us in the Himalayas that at an alti- 

 tude of 16000 or 1 8000 feet, where 

 six inches of snow fell on his tent in 



the night, it would be melted and the 

 tent dry in a half hour after the sun 

 shone upon it. During thunder storms 

 the electrical manifestations are very 

 marked, though personally I have not 

 had much experience in this line, 

 much as I have sought them. But it 

 is a very common occurrence to have 

 such electrical induction as to make 

 the fingers and ears tingle, and even 

 to charge guns and other objects so as 

 to make it difficult to handle them. 

 It is difficult to do cooking on account 

 of the rarity of the atmosphere. At 

 timber line one is obliged to boil cof- 

 fee for a half hour before it has a 

 coffee taste. We, one day, tried to 

 make soup with squirrel and grouse, 

 and after boiling from eleven to half 

 past one, gave it up. 



But what most people go up for is 

 the view from the summit, 14147 feet 

 above the level of the sea, and over 

 8000 feet above the level of the plain 

 at the base.' The first time I ascend- 

 ed I camped high enough to make col- 

 lections of birds and insects. The 

 second time my party lugged a photo* 

 graphic outfit to the extreme summit 

 only to find ourselves in such a blind- 

 ing snow storm that to take a picture 

 was a physical impossibility — there 

 was nothing visible to take. But the 

 view at sunrise on a clear morning is 

 sublime. Far away to the east the 

 first streaks of dawn are seen. The 

 altitude of the arc of light becomes 

 higher, its azimuth wider. Lighter 

 and lighter, the color gradually chang- 

 es from that beautiful color seen at 

 early dawn to that roseate tint which 

 transcends all description and surpass- 

 es the work of all artists, and which 

 heralds the king of day. The plain in 



