RECREATION. 



245 



It is an experience most exhilarating 

 to pick one's trail over the white wilder- 

 ness of snow and ice that covers this 

 majestic mountain captain, which is, no 

 doubt, hundreds of feet deep. Hard 

 and slippery at places, softer and a 

 trifle slushy at others, it furnished a 

 splendid foothold for our spiked shoes, 

 and now warmed up and full of enthu- 

 siasm, we work rapidly upward ; 12,500, 

 13,000 ; 14,000 feet our barometer reads. 

 We are nearing the crest. A few cre- 

 vasses have been headed or crossed on 

 hard snow bridges ; two or three small 

 ones leaped over. 



Our route to the di- 

 vide, between Peak 

 Success and Crater 

 Peak, is westward. 

 Then we turn north 

 and make straight 

 for the highest point. 

 As we near it we 

 hasten forward. We 

 are tired, but what 

 matters that ? We 

 urge our weary but 

 hardened legs on, 

 faster and faster. 

 The south rim of 

 the crater is reach- 

 ed ; plunging down 

 into the snow field 

 that fills the inter- 

 ior, we traverse that, 

 and only the beauti- 

 ful white dome that 

 forms the topmost 

 point of the moun- 

 tain is before us. All 

 else is behind and 

 under us ; and in a 

 few moments that is 

 also. With a feeling 



of exultation, triumph and joy, we stand 

 on " Columbia's Crest," as this dome 

 has been happily termed, and feel all 

 the swelling pride that only the Alpine 

 climber can feel, with another and more 

 difficult peak successfully surmounted. 



Don't ask me to tell what I saw there. 

 Go and see for yourself, then you will 

 know. No man can describe the picture. 



Ice and snow stretching in one vast, 

 whitened sheet were everywhere. A 

 few rocks, especially on the west- 

 ern slope of Tahoma, or the North 

 peak, between which and our peak a 

 white, shining canyon lay, broke through 



the white veneering, as if bound to 

 assert themselves, at least to a degree. 

 On each side were the remnants of two 

 old craters, and at many places steam 

 issued forth. Thousands of feet below 

 us was a plain of clouds. 



A grander sight no man ever beheld. 

 This sea of clouds literally obscured the 

 whole world, save the slopes of the 

 mountain immediately about us. They 

 lay as quiet, as solemn, as immovable as 

 the masses of granite in mid earth. 

 Beautiful, grand, sublime — these words 

 are tame. None can express our feel- 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 



ings, our emotions. The hour spent on 

 that mountain top was a hallowed one. 

 It will never be forgotten while we live. 



But the wind was keen and cold, and 

 we were at last compelled to go down 

 among the steam jets and warm our- 

 selves. Then we started on the descend- 

 ing trail, retracing our upward course. 



It was sundown when Gibraltar was 

 passed again in safety, and, stopping 

 only at our night bivouac to gather up 

 our packs, the downward course was con- 

 tinued. 



As we stepped from the Cleaver out 

 on to the wide snow plain, the moon 



