OUR GREATEST NATIONAL MONUMENT 



2G7 



rival, and so tip I started, without wait- 

 ing for Hagelbarger and Henning, who 

 were to meet me; but before I had gone 

 far it commenced to rain so hard that, 

 though I could still see the volcano, it was 

 of no use to try to take pictures. Never- 

 theless, the day was not wasted, for I 

 was enabled to pick out the best route to 

 the summit and to study the general situa- 

 tion of the mountain. 



On the second attempt to climb, clouds 

 settled down on us at the 3,500-foot 

 level; but, thanks to bearings secured the 

 first time, we were able to continue on 

 across the glacier, through the obscurity, 

 for another hour, in hope of a break that 

 would permit us to scale the summit. 



Finally, having gone as far as we dared 

 beyond the previous observations and 

 reached the main divide of the range, we 

 sat down and ate our lunch, hoping in 

 vain for a rift in the clouds that would 

 permit us to get new bearings. 



Later we found we were directly under 

 the last steep pitch of the cone, and if we 

 had only known the way could have 

 climbed on to the rim in a few minutes 

 more. But it would have been an empty 

 stunt to have reached the top under such 

 conditions, for we could have seen noth- 

 ing when we got there. 



It was a mournful "bunch" that de- 

 scended the mountain that evening, for 

 the demands of other work were impera- 

 tive and camp had to be broken next day, 

 with the crater yet unseen after two 

 weeks of waiting for a chance to climb. 



CLIMBING MARTIN FROM THE WRONG SIDE) 



Five days later, as I lay awake at Baked 

 Mountain camp, I crawled out into the 

 night to look at the valley and the vol- 

 canoes in the spectral light of a wonder- 

 ful full moon. There was Martin puffing 

 away, beautifully clear, its unconquered 

 steam column rising majestically over all. 

 Why not do it tomorrow? (see p. 220). 



We were now on the wrong side of the 

 range and so far from a favorable starting 

 point that it was uncertain whether we 

 could make it ; but it was the only chance, 

 for there were unmistakable signs that 

 the good weather that had favored us for 

 two days was about to change. 



It meant covering a mile in altitude and 

 30 miles in distance ; but I was not to be 



turned back if there was any possible way 

 of getting there, and I knew Charlie Yori 

 was as anxious as I to try it. Indeed, I 

 should never have dared attempt to cross 

 the glaciers that guard it on the valley 

 side without his guidance. 



So I waited until a decent time to rouse 

 the camp, and then interceded with Dr. 

 Allen, for Charlie was his man, for his 

 release that day. This was readily ob- 

 tained, for the chemists needed to pause 

 in their field-work and rig up some new 

 apparatus anyway. So Fenner and I got 

 ready in a hurry and started off with Yori 

 double quick, in our eagerness to get to 

 the top before anything should happen. 



The whole of the course after the first 

 slope lay across glaciers and snow-fields. 

 For the most part, going was not difficult, 

 except that we had to waste much time 

 winding in and out around the irregu- 

 larities of the ash-covered glaciers — here 

 following a drainage gully, there cutting 

 across the ridges. 



But before we reached the high snow- 

 fields that surround the summit, we had 

 to cross an area all cut up by close-set 

 crevasses. As we entered this, Yori re- 

 marked, "This is a real glacier, all right 

 enough." 



With his customary hardihood, he pro- 

 fessed to scorn a rope and took a sort of 

 fiendish glee in trying me out in the most 

 "ticklish" places he could find. 



I will not deny that I was somewhat 

 skittish, for my hob-nailed boots were 

 worn out and I had been compelled to 

 come in rubber-soled shoe-packs which 

 could get no grip on the slippery sur- 

 face — a fact that bothered me greatly, 

 though the ice-axe which I carried prob- 

 ably counterbalanced the disadvantage. 



Our way lay, as Fenner expressed it, 

 "along the ridge-pole," following narrow 

 crests, themselves sloping both ways, be- 

 tween bottomless crevasses on each side. 

 Any slip would have meant certain death, 

 and that glaring blue ice was deucedly 

 slippery ; but we crept along, using all 

 the care we could, and finally reached the 

 neve above without mishap. 



AT THE EDGE OF THE CRATER RIM 



Without stopping for the pictures we 

 so much desired, we pressed forward 

 feverishly in our anxiety to reach the 



