pull up stream as far as possible, for it cannot be climbed directly
opposite. We land on a talus of rocks at the upper end in order to reach
a place where it seems practicable to make the ascent; but we find we
must go still farther up the river. So we scramble along, until we reach
a place where the river sweeps against the wall. Here we find a shelf
along which we can pass, and now are ready for the climb.

We start up a gulch; then pass to the left on a bench along the wall;
then up again over broken rocks; then we reach more benches, along which
we walk, until we find more broken rocks and crevices, by which we
climb; still up, until we have ascended 600 or 800 feet, when we are met
by a sheer precipice. Looking about, we find a place where it seems
possible to climb. I go ahead; Bradley hands the barometer to me, and
follows. So we proceed, stage by stage, until we are nearly to the
summit. Here, by making a spring, I gain a foothold in a little crevice,
and grasp an angle of the rock overhead. I find I can get up no farther
and cannot step back, for I dare not let go with my hand and cannot
reach foothold below without. I call to Bradley for help. He finds a way
by which he can get to the top of the rock over my head, but cannot
reach me. Then he looks around for some stick or limb of a tree, but
finds none. Then he suggests that he would better help me with the
barometer case, but I fear I cannot hold on to it. The moment is
critical. Standing on my toes, my muscles begin to tremble. It is sixty
or eighty feet to the foot of the precipice. If I lose my hold I shall
fall to the bottom and then perhaps roll over the bench and tumble still
farther down the cliff. At this instant it occurs to Bradley to take off
his drawers, which he does, and swings them down to me. I hug close to
the rock, let go with my hand, seize the dangling legs, and with his
assistance am enabled to gain the top.