To Go Farther Was Out Of The Question, So We Were Compelled To Camp As
Best We Could.
A pitch pine fire speedily changed the temperature and
shed a blaze of light on the wild lava-slope and the straggling storm-bent pines around us.
Melted snow answered for coffee, and we had
plenty of venison to roast. Toward midnight I rolled myself in my
blankets, slept an hour and a half, arose and ate more venison, tied
two days' provisions to my belt, and set out for the summit, hoping to
reach it ere the coming storm should fall. Jerome accompanied me a
little distance above camp and indicated the way as well as he could
in the darkness. He seemed loath to leave me, but, being reassured
that I was at home and required no care, he bade me good-bye and
returned to camp, ready to lead his animals down the mountain at
daybreak.
After I was above the dwarf pines, it was fine practice pushing up the
broad unbroken slopes of snow, alone in the solemn silence of the
night. Half the sky was clouded; in the other half the stars sparkled
icily in the keen, frosty air; while everywhere the glorious wealth of
snow fell away from the summit of the cone in flowing folds, more
extensive and continuous than any I had ever seen before. When day
dawned the clouds were crawling slowly and becoming more massive, but
gave no intimation of immediate danger, and I pushed on faithfully,
though holding myself well in hand, ready to return to the timber; for
it was easy to see that the storm was not far off. The mountain rises
ten thousand feet above the general level of the country, in blank
exposure to the deep upper currents of the sky, and no labyrinth of
peaks and canyons I had ever been in seemed to me so dangerous as
these immense slopes, bare against the sky.
The frost was intense, and drifting snow dust made breathing at times
rather difficult. The snow was as dry as meal, and the finer
particles drifted freely, rising high in the air, while the larger
portions of the crystals rolled like sand. I frequently sank to my
armpits between buried blocks of loose lava, but generally only to my
knees. When tired with walking I still wallowed slowly upward on all
fours. The steepness of the slope - thirty-five degrees in some
places - made any kind of progress fatiguing, while small avalanches
were being constantly set in motion in the steepest places. But the
bracing air and the sublime beauty of the snowy expanse thrilled every
nerve and made absolute exhaustion impossible. I seemed to be walking
and wallowing in a cloud; but, holding steadily onward, by half-past
ten o'clock I had gained the highest summit.
I held my commanding foothold in the sky for two hours, gazing on the
glorious landscapes spread maplike around the immense horizon, and
tracing the outlines of the ancient lava-streams extending far into
the surrounding plains, and the pathways of vanished glaciers of which
Shasta had been the center. But, as I had left my coat in camp for
the sake of having my limbs free in climbing, I soon was cold. The
wind increased in violence, raising the snow in magnificent drifts
that were drawn out in the form of wavering banners blowing in the
sun. Toward the end of my stay a succession of small clouds struck
against the summit rocks like drifting icebergs, darkening the air as
they passed, and producing a chill as definite and sudden as if ice-water had been dashed in my face. This is the kind of cloud in which
snow-flowers grow, and I turned and fled.
Finding that I was not closely pursued, I ventured to take time on the
way down for a visit to the head of the Whitney Glacier and the
"Crater Butte." After I had reached the end of the main summit ridge
the descent was but little more than one continuous soft, mealy,
muffled slide, most luxurious and rapid, though the hissing, swishing
speed attained was obscured in great part by flying snow dust - a
marked contrast to the boring seal-wallowing upward struggle. I
reached camp about an hour before dusk, hollowed a strip of loose
ground in the lee of a large block of red lava, where firewood was
abundant, rolled myself in my blankets, and went to sleep.
Next morning, having slept little the night before the ascent and
being weary with climbing after the excitement was over, I slept late.
Then, awaking suddenly, my eyes opened on one of the most beautiful
and sublime scenes I ever enjoyed. A boundless wilderness of storm
clouds of different degrees of ripeness were congregated over all the
lower landscape for thousands of square miles, colored gray, and
purple, and pearl, and deep-glowing white, amid which I seemed to be
floating; while the great white cone of the mountain above was all
aglow in the free, blazing sunshine. It seemed not so much an ocean
as a land of clouds - undulating hill and dale, smooth purple plains,
and silvery mountains of cumuli, range over range, diversified with
peak and dome and hollow fully brought out in light and shade.
I gazed enchanted, but cold gray masses, drifting like dust on a wind-swept plain, began to shut out the light, forerunners of the coming
storm I had been so anxiously watching. I made haste to gather as
much wood as possible, snugging it as a shelter around my bed. The
storm side of my blankets was fastened down with stakes to reduce as
much as possible the sifting-in of drift and the danger of being blown
away. The precious bread sack was placed safely as a pillow, and when
at length the first flakes fell I was exultingly ready to welcome
them. Most of my firewood was more than half rosin and would blaze in
the face of the fiercest drifting; the winds could not demolish my
bed, and my bread could be made to last indefinitely; while in case of
need I had the means of making snowshoes and could retreat or hold my
ground as I pleased.
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