CHAPTER VIII 



THE WHITE CYCLONE 



ONE bright winter day while snowshoeing 

 through the San Juan Mountains I saw a 

 snowslide make a most spectacular "run." 

 A many-thousand-ton cliff had fallen several hun- 

 dred feet upon an enormous snow and ice field. 

 I was standing on a ridge above the timberline 

 with peaks rising high before me when the crashing 

 echoes warned me of what was happening. 



The slide's first move was a high dive. The 

 dislodged mass of snow, ice, and stones plunged 

 down an extremely steep, smooth slope. Then 

 it slid and rammed a cliff. As it went on it ram- 

 med various obstructions and finally started two 

 other avalanches moving. 



I first caught sight of the snowslide as it struck 

 a low cliff. This contact crushed tons of snow 

 and ice to powder. The snow dust was whirled 

 into a gigantic geyser-like column a few hundred 

 feet wide and more than half a mile high. It re- 

 mained for several seconds the highest object in 

 the sky, the bright sun and blue heavens behind 

 it, then slowly disbanded. 



With volume and momentum increasing as it ad- 



114 



