IN GREEN ALASKA 



and glacial expeditions in various directions; yes, 

 and one hunting party to stir up the bears in Howl- 

 ing Valley. Howling Valley, so named by Muir, is a 

 sort of coat-tail pocket of the great glacier. It lies 

 twenty or more miles from the front, behind the 

 mountains. The hunters started off eagerly on the 

 first afternoon of our arrival, with packers and gHs- 

 tening Winchesters and boxes of ammunition, and 

 we had little doubt that the genius loci of Howling 

 Valley would soon change its tune. 



While some of us the next afternoon were explor- 

 ing the eastern half of the glacier, which is a vast 

 prairie-Uke plain of ice, we saw far off across the 

 dim surface to the north two black specks, then two 

 other black specks, and in due time still other black 

 specks, and the conjecture passed that the hunters 

 were returning, and that the heart of the mystery 

 of HowUng Valley had not been plucked out. Our 

 reluctant conjectures proved too true. Just at night- 

 fall the hunters came straggling in, footsore and 

 weary and innocent of blood — soberer if not sad- 

 der, hardier if not wiser men. The undertaking 

 involved more than they had bargained for. Their 

 outward course that afternoon lay for a dozen miles 

 or more across the glacier. They had traveled till 

 near midnight and then rested a few hours in their 

 sleeping-bags upon the ice. One may sleep upon the 

 snow in a sleeping-bag, but ice soon makes itself felt 

 in more ways than one. When the cold began to 

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