I
first scanned the western spurs, hoping some way might appear through
which I might reach the northern glacier, and cross its snout; or pass
around the lake into which it flows, and thus strike my morning track.
This route was soon sufficiently unfolded to show that, if practicable
at all, it would require so much time that reaching camp that night
would be out of the question. I therefore scrambled back eastward,
descending the southern slopes obliquely at the same time. Here the
crags seemed less formidable, and the head of a glacier that flows
northeast came in sight, which I determined to follow as far as
possible, hoping thus to make my way to the foot of the peak on the east
side, and thence across the intervening canons and ridges to camp.
The inclination of the glacier is quite moderate at the head, and, as
the sun had softened the _neve_, I made safe and rapid progress,
running and sliding, and keeping up a sharp outlook for crevasses. About
half a mile from the head, there is an ice-cascade, where the glacier
pours over a sharp declivity and is shattered into massive blocks
separated by deep, blue fissures. To thread my way through the slippery
mazes of this crevassed portion seemed impossible, and I endeavored to
avoid it by climbing off to the shoulder of the mountain.
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