Camp 14 was on a sharp crest of limestone, conglomerate, and shale belonging to the Pinnacle system, which was not over ten feet broad where our tent was pitched. East of our tent there was a broad, upward sloping snow-plain banked against the precipitous base of a hill about a thousand feet high. At the edge of the snow, within three feet of our tent, there was a pond of clear water, seemingly placed there for our special use. The western edge of our tent was at the margin of a cliff about a hundred feet high, overlooking the Seward glacier. We held this camp for several days and reöccupied it on our return from St. Elias.
SUMMIT OF PINNACLE PASS CLIFFS.
From Camp 14 Crumback returned to Blossom island, and Stamy took his place. Word from Christie assured me that supplies would be advanced to Blossom island, and that our cache on the Marvine glacier would be renewed. Stamy's arrival was especially welcome for the reason that he brought letters from dear ones far away, which had been forwarded from Sitka by a trading schooner that chanced to visit Yakutat bay.
While the camp hands were busy in bringing up fresh supplies, Kerr and I occupied two stations on the summit of the Pinnacle pass cliffs. One of these was on a butte at the western end of the ridge and just above our camp; the other was on the crest of the main line of cliffs almost directly above Pinnacle pass, at an elevation of 5,000 feet. Each of the stations embraced magnificent views, extending from the outer margin of the Malaspina glacier to the crest of the St. Elias range. The station on the butte near camp was occupied several times, and proved to be a most convenient and commanding point for study of the geography, geology, and distribution of glacier over a wide area. On account of the splendid view obtained from the top we named it Point Glorious. Its elevation is 3,500 feet.
One of the days on which we occupied Point Glorious was especially remarkable on account of the clearness and freshness of the air and the sharpness with which each peak and snow-crest stood out against the deep-blue heavens. We left our camp early in the morning, and spent several hours on the summit. On our way up we found several large patches of Alpine flowers and, under a tussock of moss, a soft, warm nest just abandoned by a mother ptarmigan with her brood of little ones. One hundred feet higher we came to the borders of the snow-field which covered all of the upper slopes except a narrow crest of sandstone at the top.
The Seward glacier, sweeping down from the northeast, curves about the base of Point Glorious and flows on southward. Its surface has the appearance of a wide frozen river. Toward the east of our station there was a broad, level-floored amphitheatre, bounded on the south by the cliffs of Pinnacle pass and on the east by long snow-slopes which stretch up the gorges in the side of Mount Cook. The amphitheatre opens toward the northwest, and discharges its accumulated snows into the Seward glacier. Beyond this, on the north, stood the great curtain-wall named the Corwin cliffs, west of which rose Mount Eaton, Mount Augusta, Mount Malaspina, and other giant summits of the main St. Elias range. Toward the west the view culminated in St. Elias itself, ruggedly outlined against the sky. As the reader will become more and more familiar with the magnificent scenery of the St. Elias region as we advance, it need not be described in detail at this time.
All day the skies were clear and bright, giving abundant opportunity for making a detailed survey of the principal features in view, and for reading the history written in cliffs and glaciers. When the long summer day drew to a close, we returned to our tent and watched the great peaks become dim and generalized in outline as the twilight deepened. The fading light caused the mountains to recede farther and farther, until at last they seemed ghostly giants, too far away to be definitely recognized. With the twilight came soft, gray, uncertain clouds drawn slowly and silently about the rugged precipices by the summer winds from the sea. St. Elias became enveloped in luminous clouds, with the exception of a few hundred feet of the shining summit; and a glory in the sky, to the left of the veiled Saint, marked the place where the sun went down. The shadows crept across the snow-fields and changed them from dazzling white to a soft gray-blue. Night came on silently, and with but little change. There was no folding of wings; no twittering of birds in leafy branches; no sighing of winds among rustling leaves. All was stern and wild and still; there was not a touch of life to relieve the desolation. A midwinter night in inhabited lands was never more solemn. Man had never rested there before.
The air grew chill when the shadows crossed our tent, and delicate ice crystals began to shoot on the still surface of our little pond. We bade good night to the stern peaks, about which there were signs of a coming storm, and sought the shelter of our tent. Small and comfortless as was that shelter, it shut out the wintry scene and afforded a welcome retreat. Sound, refreshing sleep, with dreams of loved ones far away, renewed our strength for another advance.
The next day, August 8, a topographic station was occupied on the summit of the Pinnacle pass cliffs. We were astir before sunrise, and had breakfast over before four o'clock. The morning was cold, and a cutting wind swept down the Seward glacier from the northeast. All of the mountains were lost to view in dense clouds. A few rays of sunshine breaking through the vapor banks above Point Glorious gave promise of better weather during the day. Lindsley and Stamy had not yet returned from the lower camp, where they were to obtain additional rations; and Kerr and I concluded to try to reach the crest of the Pinnacle pass cliffs and take the chances of the weather being favorable for our work.