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Sierra Club Bulletin 



was again on his back at the bottom. No damage, however, was done, 

 except a broken saddle. By this time the mule was trembling like 

 an aspen-leaf, and we turned him loose, with the idea of taking him 

 up the following day. Next we tried one of the best horses, and in 

 an instant he was lying on his back in the rocks, the pack under him 

 and his legs pointing upward. Only one animal made the ascent 

 with his pack. A second one got halfway up and then was unpacked. 

 In every instance, at the last stretch, the animals were steadied with 

 ropes about their necks, for fear they would turn over, an act which 

 would have been absolutely fatal. The mule which made the first 

 attempt, in ten minutes after the incident, had forgotten all about his 

 troubles, was searching for the choice morsels of grass growing in 

 the rocks, and when all the others had gone up went through without 

 difficulty. 



Above this stairway is a small flat area, where we repacked, and 

 by two o'clock we were in camp on the glacial shelf at the north side 

 of the Whaleback Basin (elevation, 10,000 feet), a wonderfully 

 beautiful spot in a grove of trees beside a fine stream (a small branch 

 of the main stream), the water plunging down in beautiful little 

 cascades and waterfalls, interspersed with fine little pools, and sur- 

 rounded by an innumerable variety of wonderful wild flowers. From 

 this shelf we could look south up the full length of the Whaleback 

 Basin and southwest across the meadow to the knife-edge crest of 

 the Whaleback — from beginning to end a succession of weird- 

 looking gargoyles, pinnacles, and spires, particularly noticeable as 

 the rays of the declining sun shone through and across them. 



The afternoon was spent in exploring up a ridge which bounds 

 the Whaleback Basin on the northeast. From this ridge we got a 

 good view of Milestone and of the great cirque described by Mr. 

 Colby, also of a long stretch of the crest line; but even now, with 

 powerful glasses, we deliberated long and earnestly as to which was 

 the real pass. We looked down on an unmapped lake, a beautiful 

 sheet of water, two-thirds of a mile in length by one-third in width. 

 Colby had questioned the possibility of getting around its shores; 

 so from our point of vantage we examined carefully with the glasses 

 the north shore of the lake. It appeared to be impassable — a smooth 

 granite buttress, about midway along, extending from the cliffs 

 above out into deep water. Possibly one could get around by climb- 

 ing up 500 feet over the buttress. On our return trip to camp we 



