WINTER MOUNTAINEERING 47 



a great leap forward, and rolled and struck about 

 with the pretence of worrying something she had 

 captured. She repeated this pantomime a few 

 times, and then, as if suddenly remembering her 

 original plan of action, again walked westward. 

 Arriving at the summit she hesitated, and when I 

 saw her last she was calmly surveying the scenes 

 far below. 



On the mountain skyline I crossed a white 

 tundra, half expecting to see an Eskimo peer from 

 a snow mound. Arctic plants buried in the snow 

 and ptarmigan — " Eskimo chickens" — in their 

 snow-white dress were the only signs of life. Later 

 in the day I saw a white weasel slipping over the 

 snow toward a number of the ptarmigan. Often 

 on the summits the ptarmigan, in leggings and 

 coats of pure white, watched me and allowed me 

 to come and remain near. They, like the snowshoe 

 rabbit, skimmed over the surface on home-grown 

 showshoes. Possibly from them the Eskimos got 

 the idea for the webbed snowshoe, which they have 

 used for ages. More than once, when weathering 

 gales where the thick, insistent snow dust made me 

 acquainted with the unpleasant sensations of 

 strangulation, I have envied the rosy finch and 

 other birds of the snow who have a well-developed 

 screen to keep choking snow dust out of the nos- 

 trils. The Eskimos also have a slotted wooden 

 shield to protect the eye from the burning glare of 

 reflected sunlight. 



