south and 175 feet east and west. If it once were, as we suppose, a
volcanic crater, the pit had long since been filled up with snow and
ice. There were no rocks to be seen on the rim--only the hard crust of
the glistening white surface. The view from the top was desolate in
the extreme. We were in the midst of a great volcanic desert dotted
with isolated peaks covered with snow and occasional glaciers. Not
an atom of green was to be seen anywhere. Apparently we stood on
top of a dead world. Mountain climbers in the Andes have frequently
spoken of seeing condors at great altitudes. We saw none. Northwest,
twenty miles away across the Pampa Colorada, a reddish desert, rose
snow-capped Solimana. In the other direction we looked along the
range of Coropuna itself; several of the lesser peaks being only a
few hundred feet below our elevation. Far to the southwest we imagined
we could see the faint blue of the Pacific Ocean, but it was very dim.

My father was an ardent mountain climber, glorying not only in the
difficulties of the ascent, but particularly in the satisfaction coming
from the magnificent view to be obtained at the top. His zeal had
led him once, in winter, to ascend the highest peak in the Pacific,
Mauna Kea on Hawaii. He taught me as a boy to be fond of climbing
the mountains of Oahu and Maui and to be appreciative of the views
which could be obtained by such expenditure of effort. Yet now I
could not take the least interest or pleasure in the view from the
top of Coropuna, nor could my companions. No sense of satisfaction
in having attained a difficult objective cheered us up. We all felt
greatly depressed and said little, although Gamarra asked for his
bonus and regarded the gold coins with grim complacency.

After we had rested awhile we began to take observations. Unslinging
the aneroid which I had been carrying, I found to my surprise and