OH, SHOOT! 



tered palms, virtually ascending that stream 

 hand over hand as a man climbs a rope. We 

 worked until we were all in, then camped, or 

 went hunting, for it was daylight always, 

 excepting only an hour's twilight at midnight. 



On one such night we scaled Sheridan 

 Glacier, a great, dead thing of ice and desola- 

 tion which lay back next to the range, sepa- 

 rated from the river by a confusion of lakes and 

 ponds and beaver dams. These dead glaciers 

 differ from live ones only in that they are now 

 motionless and gradually melting year by year 

 as the elements prey upon them. 



We began to feel that we were entering 

 another world, a region of wonders where 

 living things were minute and inconsequent 

 and where the dead forces of nature were so 

 hugely manifested as to dwarf all else, and, 

 while ostensibly we were hunting, in reality we 

 were merely looking. All day the narrowing 

 mountain walls rumbled with avalanches, all 

 night the faint thunder of rending glaciers 

 and tumbling bergs rolled down upon us. In 

 miles the distance we had to traverse was not 

 great, but in labor and isolation it was 

 tremendous. 



Late one June evening, after a killing day, 

 84 



