A CHROMATIC BEAR HUNT 



In places the ice wall opposite was like 

 crusted snow, again it was opaque or cloudy, 

 while beyond or above were patches ranging 

 from pale azure to the purple that lurks in a 

 mountain valley. These vivid colors lay often 

 in ribbons, and the melting streamlets from 

 above had likewise laced the glacier's front 

 with delicate chocolate lines like the wrinkles 

 in the face of a hag. And always the hungry 

 river gnawed it. 



We were opposite the lower shoulder, where 

 the ice cliffs overhung, when the glacier spoke 

 for the first time. There was a boom like the 

 report of a cannon many times multiplied, and 

 a half mile ahead of us a piece of ice detached 

 itself, then plunged a hundred feet sheer down- 

 ward into the river. It left another blue scar 

 for the air slowly to bleach. We had heard of 

 the peril from falling bergs stories of boats 

 swamped by the waves, of men caught beneath 

 the overhanging banks and swept away but 

 we had put them down as fanciful and exag- 

 gerated, so when Joe dropped the towline and 

 dashed excitedly back towards the skiff I was 

 inclined to laugh. 



"Look out for the boat!" he cried. 



My answer was framed when the surface 

 87 



