A Hill Pass of the Pyrenees 



The snow-line was soon reached, at a height of little over 

 4,000 feet. Here a wide view opened up in a northerly direc- 

 tion, and snow-covered hills stood out sharply. A pair of 

 snow buntings flitted quietly past. They had little fear, 

 settling on some rocky ground from which the snow had 

 already disappeared, and through the glass could be made 

 out plainly. They had not assumed the nesting dress 

 the cock as yet lacked the striking black and white plumage 

 and black bill and feet which mark him conspicuously during 

 the time of his nesting but I was informed by my companion 

 that the birds do actually nest in the district. From a steep, 

 rocky face above us were borne curious, chirping cries, and, 

 as we approached, numbers of Alpine choughs circled around. 

 Their nesting sites were still snow covered, but their descent 

 to the lower ground was a none too favourable sign for the 

 continuance of fine weather. And now we walked forward 

 through an unbroken waste of snow, from which life of any 

 kind was entirely absent, though in the snow we found at 

 intervals feathers of the ptarmigan, which in the high Pyre- 

 nees, as in Scotland, has its home on the roof of the world. 

 I believe that in the Pyrenees the ptarmigan reaches a greater 

 size than in its Scottish haunts, but I did not succeed during 

 my visit in obtaining a sight of the species. For some miles 

 the way led steadily upwards until, at a height of 8,000 feet, 

 we reached the watershed and the boulder which stands there 

 as the boundary between France and Spain. 



All around us the sky was dark and lowering. To the 

 north squalls were already descending on the hilltops; 

 south the hills were clear, but the sky was of that inky 

 hue which presages a storm. Above us the green mass of 

 a glacier could be distinguished against the snow, a glacier 

 which withstands the sun's heat through the summer months; 

 but of life there was no sign, save a lonely chough which flew 

 screaming from a rocky gorge. The descent into Spain is, 

 I imagine, an easy one when no snow lies on the ground; 

 but when we made the expedition an average depth of many 



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