In three hours the glacier was reached. It was a more significant feature than we had supposed. Where it emerged from the mountain hollow it was almost obliterated from view by an immense morainal accumulation which had choked up the river, as the Professor guessed, forming a small lake, fed also, we discovered, by the underground waters flowing from the glacier itself. Over this moraine we made our way in a helter skelter manner because of its unevenness, the scattered rocks bulging up and intercepting our path with a perverse frequency that drove Hopkins to improvisation:
“If I had a little dynamite
To put these pebbles out of sight,
I think I’d skip from pure delight
And say my prayers with all my might
As well I know is surely right.
But as it is they make me cuss
And put my temper in a fuss,
So if perdition is my share,
I owe it to this rocky lair.”