WINTER MOUNTAINEERING 



soft and white — a wonderful world of mountains 

 made of snowflakes. 



Near my camp was an ancient-looking tree 

 clump. None of the trees was taller than my 

 head, and though of almost normal form they were 

 somewhat gnarled and appeared as old as the hills. 

 Centuries they surely had seen. Trees on the 

 forest outpost in high mountains endure severe 

 trials. They are dwarfed, battered, and broken; 

 huddled behind boulders, buried, or half buried in 

 snow. The forest frontier is maintained by these 

 brave tree people. Seen again and again, this re- 

 gion displays features of new interest as often as 

 the visitor returns to it. 



On the heights I frequently saw conies. One 

 day I lingered to watch one that was less shy than 

 the majority. He sat with his back against the 

 sunny side of a boulder, looking serious and keep- 

 ing a careful survey of his field of vision. Presently 

 I discovered his haystack — his supply of winter 

 food — a tiny heap of grass, sedge, and alpine 

 plants. It was about two feet high and was 

 sheltered beneath two half-arching stones. 



Many were the ways in which I found animals 

 spending the winter. In the course of this out- 

 ing I saw several flocks of mountain sheep. All 

 these were in the heights above the tree line. On the 

 day following the snow-drifting one I crossed the 

 heights and on the summit passed close to a flock. 

 They were feeding in a space that the wind had 



