Februaey 2, 1917] 



SCIENCE 



107 



still flashed and gurgled about my ankles, recall- 

 ing a wild winter flood in Yosemite when a hun- 

 dred waterfalls came booming and chanting to- 

 gether and filled the grand valley with a sealike 

 roar. 



After drifting an hour or two in the lower 

 woods, I set out for the summit of a hill 900 feet 

 high, with a view to getting as near the heart of 

 the storm as possible. In order to reach it I had 

 to cross Dry Creek, a tributary of the Yuba that 

 goes crawling along the base of the hill on the 

 northwest. It was now a booming river as large as 

 the Tuolumne at ordinary stages, its current brown 

 with mining-mud, washed down from many a 

 ' ' claim, ' ' and mottled with sluice-boxes, fence-rails, 

 and logs that had long lain above its reach. A 

 slim footbridge stretched across it, now scarcely 

 above the swollen current. Here I was glad to 

 linger, gazing and listening, while the storm was in 

 its richest mood — the gray rain-flood above, the 

 brown river-flood beneath. The language of the 

 river was scarcely less enchanting than that of the 

 wind and rain; the sublime overboom of the main 

 bouncing exultant current, the swash and gurgle of 

 the eddies, the keen dash and clash of heavy waves 

 breaking against rocks, and the smooth, downy 

 hush of shallow currents feeling their way through 

 the willow thickets of the margin. And amid all 

 this varied throng of sounds I heard the smothered 

 bimiping and rumbling of boulders on the bottom 

 as they were shoving and rolling forward against 

 one another in a wild rush, after having lain still 

 for probably 100 years or more. 



It is at the time of storm that the large 

 work of erosion is done. The great storm of 

 the year may do more work than all the other 

 storms of the year; and possibly the great 

 storm of the century more work than all the 

 other storms of the century. 



John Muir's explorations of the Sierra and 

 in Alaska were done alone. He had no pack 

 train; his entire outfit he carried on his back, 

 a sack of bread and a package of tea for food 

 (as long as they lasted), his scientific instru- 

 ments and his note book constituted his load; 

 he had neither rod nor gun, usually no blanket, 

 and seldom a tent except when chance threw 

 him in with others. 



This means to those who have been in the 

 mountains and on the glaciers that Muir was 

 wet for days and nights, that throughout 

 many nights he was cold, that he was fre- 



quently hungry; yet to these discomforts, 

 which would be intolerable to a less hardy 

 man, Muir appeared oblivious. 



Climbing in the mountai/is by one's self, 

 as did Muir, is one of the most exacting of 

 the physical arts. The semiprofessional 

 climbers, who climb in order to write articles, 

 for magazines, go with not less than two pro- 

 fessional guides, the three being roped to- 

 gether. Only those who have done climbing- 

 will appreciate how unlike are the two meth- 

 ods. When three are roped together, if one- 

 makes a mistake, in all probability his life is- 

 saved. When a man is climbing alone on a 

 steep or vertical cliff, his first mistake is. 

 likely to be his last. Neither hand nor foot 

 can be moved except with the exercise of sure 

 judgment, and with the nicest precision. 



Muir was able to do what he did only by 

 possessing a most wonderful combination of 

 clear eye, unfaltering nerve, and limbs of 

 great strength and endurance. John Muir's 

 books, in the matter of personal safety, are in 

 marked contrast with those of many mountain 

 climbers. One finds danger only occasionally 

 mentioned. In order to appreciate Muir's- 

 marvelous, almost uncanny skill as a climber, 

 it is necessary to go to the writings of others 

 who have had the good fortune to see Muir at 

 work. With remarkable speed, miflagging 

 energy, and nerves unshaken, he would climb 

 on dangerous ground for twelve, fourteen or 

 sixteen hours without rest; and on one re- 

 markable occasion when a life was at stake 

 his mountain work extended throughout the 

 night, during which he had not only himself to- 

 guide, but to lead and carry his crippled friend 

 over very difficult ground in the darkness. 



The same qualities were shown in Muir's 

 glacial work. To explore glaciers alone, and 

 especially unknown glaciers, requires great 

 agility and endurance, constant skill, steady 

 coolness, and never-failing watchfulness. To 

 jump innumerable crevasses, to cross those 

 too wide to jump on ice bridges, are a severe 

 strain upon the nerves of any man; and yet 

 Muir, on one of his trips of exploration, drag- 

 ging a heavily loaded sled over the rough ice 

 or pushing it ahead of him across the ice 



