the rugged crests of nearer ranges, many of which would have been counted magnificent mountains in a less rugged land. This was the first view of the great peak obtained by any of our party. Not a cloud obscured the defination of the mountain; and the wonderful transparency of the atmosphere, after so many days of mist and rain, was something seldom if ever equalled in less humid lands.

Much nearer than St. Elias, and a little west of north of my station, rose Mount Cook, one of the most beautiful peaks in the region. Its summit, unlike the isolated pyramid in which St. Elias terminates, is formed of three white domes, with here and there subordinate pinnacles of pure white, shooting up from the snow-fields like great crystals. On the southern side of Mount Cook there are several rugged and angular ridges, which sweep away for many miles and project like headlands into the sea of ice, known as the Malaspina glacier, bordering the ocean toward the southwest. Between the main ridges there are huge trunk glaciers, each contributing its flood of ice to the great glacier below; and each secondary valley and each amphitheatre among the peaks, no matter how small, has its individual glacier, and the majority of these are tributary to the larger ice-streams. All the mountains in sight exceeding 2,000 feet in elevation were white with snow, except the sharpest ridges and boldest precipices. The attention of the geologist is attracted by the fact that all the foot-hills of Mount Cook are composed of gray sandstone and black shale; and he also observes that the angular mountain crest so sharply drawn against the sky furnishes abundant evidence that the mountains were never subjected to the abrasion of a continuous ice-sheet.

As I stood on the steep-sloped ridge, the Atrevida and Lucia glaciers, their surfaces covered from side to side with angular masses of sandstone and shale, lay at my feet; while farther up the valley the débris on the surface of the ice disappeared, and all above was a winter landscape. The brown, desolate débris-fields on the glacier at my feet extended far southward, and covered the expanded ice-foot in which the glacier terminates. Most curious of all was the fact that the moraines on the lower border of the glacier were concealed from view by a dense covering of vegetation, and in places were clothed with forests of spruce trees.

To the southward, beyond the end of the Lucia glacier, and separated from it by a torrent-swept bowlder-bed, lay a vast

Former Height of the Ice-Flood.

93

plateau of ice which stretched toward the south and west farther than the eye could reach. This is the Malaspina glacier, shown on plate 8. Its borders, like the expanded extremity of the Lucia glacier, are covered with débris, on the outer margins of which dense vegetation has taken root. All the central portion of the ice-sheet is clear of moraines, and shone in the sunlight like a vast snow-field. The heights formerly reached by the nearer glaciers were plainly marked along the mountain sides by well-defined terraces, sloping with the present drainage. When the Lucia glacier was at its flood the ridge on which I stood was only 200 or 300 feet above its surface; now it approaches 1,000 feet.

Turning toward the southeast, I could look down upon the waters of Yakutat bay, with its thousands of floating icebergs, and could distinguish the white breakers as they rolled in on Ocean cape. Beyond Yakutat stretches a forest-covered plateau between the mountains and the sea, and the eye could range far over the mountains bordering this plateau on the northeast. In the distance, fully a hundred miles away, stood Mount Fairweather, its position rendered conspicuous by a bank of shining clouds floating serenely above its cold summit.

The mountains directly east of Yakutat bay rise to a general height of about 8,000 feet, but are without especially prominent peaks. In a general way they form a rugged plateau, which has been dissected in various channels to depth of 2,000 or 3,000 feet. Nearly all of the plateau, including mountains and valleys, is covered with snow-fields and glaciers; but none of the ice-streams, so far as can be seen from a distance, descend below an elevation of about 4,000 or 5,000 feet. This region is as yet untraversed ; and when the explorer enters it, it is quite possible that deep drainage lines will be found through which glaciers may descend nearly or quite to sea-level.

After drinking in the effect of the magnificent landscape and endeavoring to impress every detail in the rugged topography upon my memory, and having finished writing my notes, it was time to return; for the sun was already declining toward the west. Wishing to see more of the wonderful land about me, I concluded to descend the western slope of the ridge upon which I stood, and to return to camp by following a stream which issues from the Atrevida glacier directly below my station and empties into Yakutat bay a mile or two south of our third camp.

H-NAT. GEOG. MAG., VOL. III, 1891.

The quickest and easiest way down was to slide on the snow. Using my alpenstock as a brake, I descended swiftly several hundred feet without difficulty, the dogs bounding along beside me, when on looking up I was startled to see two huge brown bears on the same snow surface, a little to the left and not more than a hundred and fifty yards away. Had my slide been continued a few seconds more I should have been in exceedingly unwelcome company. I was unarmed, and entirely unprepared for a fight with two of the most savage animals found in this country. The bears had long yellowish-brown hair, and were of the size and character of the "grizzly," with which they are thought by hunters, if not by naturalists, to be specifically identical. They were not at all disturbed by my presence, and in spite of my shouts, which I thought would make them travel off, one of them came leisurely toward me. His strides over the snow revealed a strength and activity commanding admiration despite the decidedly uncomfortable feeling awakened by his proximity and evident curiosity. Later in the season I measured the tracks of an animal of the same species, made while walking over a soft, level surface, and found each impression to measure 9 by 17 inches, and the stride to reach 64 inches. So far as I have been able to learn, this is the largest bear track that has been reported. Realizing my danger, I continued my snow slide, but in a different direction and with accelerated speed. The upper limit of the dense thicket clothing the slope of the mountain was soon reached, and my unwelcome companions were lost to sight.

Following the bed of a torrent fed by the snow-fields above, I soon came to the creek chosen for my route back to camp; the waters, brown and turbid with sediment, welled out of a cavern at the foot of an ice precipice 200 feet high, and formed a roaring stream too deep and too swift for fording. The roaring of the brown waters and the startling noises made by stones rattling down the ice-cliff, together with the dark shadows of the deep gorge, walled in by a steep mountain slope on one side and a glacier on the other, made the route seem uncanny. On the sands filling the spaces between the bowlders there were many fresh bear tracks, which at least suggested that the belated trayeler should be careful in his movements.

This locality was afterward occupied as a camping place, and is shown in the picture forming plate 10. The dark-colored ice,

mixed with stones and earth, might easily be mistaken for stratified rock; but the dirt discoloring the ice is almost entirely superficial. The crest of the cliff is formed of débris, and is the edge of the sheet of stones and earth covering the general surface of the glacier. Owing to the constant melting, stones and bowlders are continually loosened to rattle down the steep slope and plunge into the water beneath.

I followed down the bank of the stream, by springing from bowlder to bowlder, for about a mile, and then came to a steep bluff, the western side of which was swept by the roaring flood. The banks above were clothed with spruce trees and dense underbrush; but, there being no alternative, I entered the forest and slowly worked my way in the direction of camp. To traverse the unbroken forests of southern Alaska is always difficult, even when one is fresh; and, weary as I was with many hours of laborious climbing, my progress was slow indeed. One of the principal obstacles encountered in threading these Arctic jungles is the plant known as the "Devil's club" (Panax horridum), which grows to a height of ten or fifteen feet, and has broad, palmate leaves that are especially conspicuous in autumn, owing to their bright yellow color. The stems of this plant run on the earth for several feet and then curve upward. Every portion of its surface, even to the ribs of the leaves, is thickly set with spines, which inflict painful wounds, and, breaking off in the flesh, cause festering sores. In forcing a way through the brush one frequently treads on the prostrate portion of these thorny plants, and not infrequently is made aware of the fact by a blow on the head or in the face from the over-arching stems.

I struggled on through the tangled vegetation until the sun went down and the woods became dark and somber. Thick moss, into which the foot sank as in a bed of sponge, covered the ground everywhere to the depth of two or three feet; each fallen trunk was a rounded mound of green and brown, decked with graceful equiseta and ferns, or brilliant with flowers, but most treacherous and annoying to the belated traveler. In the gloom of the dini-lit woods, the trees, bearded with moss, assumed strange, fantastic shapes, which every unfamiliar sound seemed to start into life; while the numerous trails made by the bears in forcing their way through the thick tangle were positive evidence that not all the inhabitants of the forest were creatures of the imagination. My faithful companions, "Bud" and

"Tweed" showed signs of weariness, and offered no objection when I started a fire and expressed my intention of spending the night beneath the wide-spreading branches of a moss-covered evergreen. Having a few pieces of bread in my pocket, I shared them with the dogs, and stretching myself on a luxuriant bank of lichens tried to sleep, only to find the mosquitoes so energetic that there was no hope of passing the night in comfort.

After resting I felt refreshed, and concluded to press on through the gathering darkness, and after another hour of hard work I came out of the forest and upon a field of torrent-swept bowlders, deposited by the stream which I had left farther up. I was surprised to find that the twilight was not so far spent as I had fancied. The way ahead being free of vegetation, I hastened on, and after traveling about two miles was rejoiced by the sight of a camp-fire blazing in the distance. The warm fire and a hearty supper soon made me forget the fatigues of the day.

This, my first day's exploration, must stand as an example of many similar days spent on the hills and in the forests northwest of Yakutat bay, of which it is not necessary to give detailed descriptions.

CANOE TRIP IN DISENCHANTMENT BAY.

On July 3, I continued my examination of the region about the head of Yakutat bay by making a canoe trip up Disenchantment bay to Haenke island. With the assistance of Christie and Crumback, our canoe was launched through the surf without difficulty, and we slowly worked our way through the fields of floating ice which covered all the upper portion of the inlet. The men plied the oars with which the canoe was fortunately provided, while I directed its course with a paddle. A heavy swell rolling in from the ocean rendered the task of choosing a route through the grinding ice-pack somewhat difficult. After four or five hours of hard work, during which time several vain attempts were made to traverse leads in the ice which had only one opening, we succeeded in reaching the southern end of the island.

The shores of Haenke island are steepa nd rocky, and, so far as I am aware, afford only one cove in which a boat can take refuge. This is at the extreme southern point, and is not visible until its entrance is reached. A break or fissure in the rocks there admits of the accumulation of stone and sand, and this