The Columbia River . ve him, the sky. The west-ern horizon, more hazy than the eastern, is punctu-ated by the smooth dome and steely glitter of Mt. Far southward, across a wilderness of brokenheights, rises the sharp pinnacle of Mt. Hood, and farbeyond that, its younger brother, Jefferson. Still be-yond, are the Alpine peaks of the Three Sisters, nearlytwo hundred miles distant. Our vision sweeps a cir-cle whose diameter is probably five hundred westward the white haze betokens the presence ofthe sea. A deep blue line north-westward, far beyondthe smooth dome of St. Helens
The Columbia River . ve him, the sky. The west-ern horizon, more hazy than the eastern, is punctu-ated by the smooth dome and steely glitter of Mt. Far southward, across a wilderness of brokenheights, rises the sharp pinnacle of Mt. Hood, and farbeyond that, its younger brother, Jefferson. Still be-yond, are the Alpine peaks of the Three Sisters, nearlytwo hundred miles distant. Our vision sweeps a cir-cle whose diameter is probably five hundred westward the white haze betokens the presence ofthe sea. A deep blue line north-westward, far beyondthe smooth dome of St. Helens, stands for PugetSound. Numerous lakes gleam in woody solitudes. Having looked around, let us now look down. Onthe eastern side the mountain breaks off in a mon-strous chasm of probably four thousand feet, most ofit perpendicular. We crawl as we draw near it. Ly-ing down in turn, secured by ropes held behind, fear-ful as much of the mystic attraction of the abyss asof the slippery snow, we peep over the awful >. ^ a O H a; :^ o < Side Trip to Some Great Snow-Peaks 377 Take your turn, gentle reader, if you would knowwhat it seems to gaze down almost a mile of nearlyperpendicular distance. Points of rock jut out fromthe pile and eye us darkly. That icy floor nearly amile below us is the Klickitat glacier. From beneathit a milk-white stream issues and crawls off amid therocky desolation. At the very edge of the great preci-pice stands a cone of ice a hundred feet high. Green,blue, yellow, red, and golden, the colours play withthe circling sunbeams on its slippery surface, untilone is ready to believe that here is where rainbows aremade. We roll some rocks from a wind-swept point,and then shudder to see them go. They are lost tothe eye as their noise to the ear, long before theycease to roll. Silence reigns. There is no echo. Thethin air makes the voice sound weak. Our loudestshouts are brief bubbles of noise in the infinite pistol shot is only a puff of powd
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