92 The Mountaineer 



At half past seven, accoutered as for the great 

 climb, with thirty-eight in line and four in the general 

 staff, we started for the mountain. Continual climbing, 

 sometimes over a 45 degree slope, brought us to an alti- 

 tude of 6000 feet by noon. A halt was called near a 

 great ice gorge. Here we saw magnificent ice sculp- 

 tures. High turrets and spires arose from the masses 

 of clear ice, shaded from deepest indigo to the most deli- 

 cate turquoise. Standing in the midst was a magnificent 

 pillar of ice, symmetrical and perfect as though fash- 

 ioned by the cunning hand of a master. Lack of time 

 prevented the whole party from making the descent into 

 the gorge, but exclamations of wonder, from those who 

 did, showed that only greater wonders were revealed by 

 a more intimate acquaintance. 



The bugle sounded retreat, and we slowly descended 

 but reaching a long slope, with no crevasses ahead, the 

 order came to coast. With shouts of glee the women 

 entered the sport with the gusto of children. Clergy- 

 men joined them ; the doctors, sure of plenty of adhesive 

 plaster in camp, sailed gayly down the slope, and the 

 lawyers broke every law in legal writ concerning "speed 

 limits." 



Our next attack was upon Boulder Glacier, which 

 proved "a foeman worthy of our steel." The walking 

 was so difficult, the ice being covered with pulverized 

 rock, that many slips and ignominious falls resulted. 

 (In fact, an observer of one of these complicated falls 

 has immortalized the incident in verse.) 



On the morning of July 24, we awakened to find 

 our beautiful world of blue and green and white 

 changed to an ugly gray, our mountain entirely invisible, 

 and a drizzle of rain falling. In the words of Dr. 

 Eaton: "Blessed was he who had brought a poncho 

 into the wilderness, for he was the only one to sleep 

 dry." The unprotected ones gathered their damp pos- 

 sessions and fled to the tents. Fires were built, and 



