BUTTERFLIES OF MT. HOOD 151 



moving from your position, box the compass 

 with the landscape, the whole world lying di- 

 rectly beneath you and rounding out to an 

 unbroken horizon that girdles the globe. 



And away up here above the world, here over 

 the eternal snows, here in the fumes of old vol- 

 canic fires, hovered a host of black and red 

 butterflies. It was an amazing sight. I was pre- 

 pared for hailstones and coals of fire, for seismic 

 shocks and slides and booming avalanches, but 

 not for butterflies. 



Cloud Cap Inn, our starting-point that morn- 

 ing, is on the edge of the tree-line. We passed 

 immediately into the Alpine zone on leaving the 

 Inn, a few flattened, twisted pines accompanying 

 us for a distance, a few Alpine-Arctic flowers 

 going on with us almost to the stony shoulder 

 of Barrett's Spur, some four thousand feet from 

 the summit. But here all life seemed to stop. 

 The Spur rises between the two great glaciers of 

 this side of the mountain, separating them at right 

 angles. It is a high pile of broken rock, so utterly 

 devoid of soil that life could scarcely find a foot- 

 ing here, were it able to climb so high ; but the 

 white lupine, the flat pussypaws, the low purple 



