My Sled' "Trip on the Muir Glacier 



one. I thought there must be wolves where there were 

 goats, and in a few minutes heard their low, dismal, 

 far-reaching howling. One of them sounded very 

 near and came nearer until it seemed to be less than a 

 quarter of a mile away on the edge of the glacier. 

 They had evidently seen me, and one or more had 

 come down to observe me, but I was unable to catch 

 sight of any of them. About half an hour later, while 

 I was eating breakfast, they began howling again, so 

 near I began to fear they had a mind to attack me, 

 and I made haste to the shelter of a big square boulder, 

 where, though I had no gun, I might be able to de- 

 fend myself from a front attack with my alpenstock. 

 After waiting half an hour or so to see what these 

 wild dogs meant to do, I ventured to proceed on my 

 journey to the foot of Snow Dome, where I camped 

 for the night. 



There are six tributaries on the northwest side of 

 Divide arm, counting to the Gray Glacier, next after 

 Granite Canon Glacier going northwest. Next is Dirt 

 Glacier, which is dead. I saw bergs on the edge of the 

 main glacier a mile back from here which seem to 

 have been left by the draining of a pool in a sunken 

 hollow. A circling rim of driftwood, back twenty rods 

 on the glacier, marks the edge of the lakelet shore 

 where the bergs lie scattered and stranded. It is now 

 half past ten o'clock and getting dusk as I sit by my 

 little fossil-wood fire writing these notes. A strange 

 bird is calling and complaining. A stream is rushing 

 into a glacier well on the edge of which I am camped, 

 back a few yards from the base of the mountain for 



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