I had walked from Redding, sauntering leisurely11 from station to station along the old Oregon stage road, the better to see the rocks and plants, birds and people, by the way, tracing the rushing Sacramento to its fountains around icy Shasta. The first rains had fallen on the lowlands, and the first snows on the mountains, and everything was fresh and bracing12, while an abundance of balmy sunshine filled all the noonday hours. It was the calm afterglow that usually succeeds the first storm of the winter. I met many of the birds that had reared their young and spent their summer in the Shasta woods and chaparral. They were then on their way south to their winter homes, leading their young full-fledged and about as large and strong as the parents. Squirrels, dry and elastic13 after the storms, were busy about their stores of pine nuts, and the latest goldenrods were still in bloom, though it was now past the middle of October. The grand color glow—the autumnal jubilee14 of ripe leaves—was past prime, but, freshened by the rain, was still making a fine show along the banks of the river and in the ravines and the dells of the smaller streams.
At the salmon-hatching establishment on the McCloud River I halted a week to examine the limestone16 belt, grandly developed there, to learn what I could of the inhabitants of the river and its banks, and to give time for the fresh snow that I knew had fallen on the mountain to settle somewhat, with a view to making the ascent17. A pedestrian on these mountain roads, especially so late in the year, is sure to excite curiosity, and many were the interrogations concerning my ramble7. When I said that I was simply taking a walk, and that icy Shasta was my mark, I was invariably admonished18 that I had come on a dangerous quest. The time was far too late, the snow was too loose and deep to climb, and I should be lost in drifts and slides. When I hinted that new snow was beautiful and storms not so bad as they were called, my advisers19 shook their heads in token of superior knowledge and declared the ascent of "Shasta Butte" through loose snow impossible. Nevertheless, before noon of the second of November I was in the frosty azure20 of the utmost summit.
When I arrived at Sisson's everything was quiet. The last of the summer visitors had flitted long before, and the deer and bears also were beginning to seek their winter homes. My barometer21 and the sighing winds and filmy half-transparent clouds that dimmed the sunshine gave notice of the approach of another storm, and I was in haste to be off and get myself established somewhere in the midst of it, whether the summit was to be attained23 or not. Sisson, who is a mountaineer, speedily fitted me out for storm or calm as only a mountaineer could, with warm blankets and a week's provisions so generous in quantity and kind that they easily might have been made to last a month in case of my being closely snowbound. Well I knew the weariness of snow-climbing, and the frosts, and the dangers of mountaineering so late in the year; therefore I could not ask a guide to go with me, even had one been willing. All I wanted was to have blankets and provisions deposited as far up in the timber as the snow would permit a pack animal to go. There I could build a storm nest and lie warm, and make raids up and around the mountain in accordance with the weather.
Setting out on the afternoon of November first, with Jerome Fay, mountaineer and guide, in charge of the animals, I was soon plodding24 wearily upward through the muffled25 winter woods, the snow of course growing steadily26 deeper and looser, so that we had to break a trail. The animals began to get discouraged, and after night and darkness came on they became entangled27 in a bed of rough lava28, where, breaking through four or five feet of mealy snow, their feet were caught between angular boulders29. Here they were in danger of being lost, but after we had removed packs and saddles and assisted their efforts with ropes, they all escaped to the side of a ridge about a thousand feet below the timberline.
To go farther was out of the question, so we were compelled to camp as best we could. A pitch pine fire speedily changed the temperature and shed a blaze of light on the wild lava-slope and the straggling storm-bent pines around us. Melted snow answered for coffee, and we had plenty of venison to roast. Toward midnight I rolled myself in my blankets, slept an hour and a half, arose and ate more venison, tied two days' provisions to my belt, and set out for the summit, hoping to reach it ere the coming storm should fall. Jerome accompanied me a little distance above camp and indicated the way as well as he could in the darkness. He seemed loath30 to leave me, but, being reassured31 that I was at home and required no care, he bade me good-bye and returned to camp, ready to lead his animals down the mountain at daybreak.
After I was above the dwarf32 pines, it was fine practice pushing up the broad unbroken slopes of snow, alone in the solemn silence of the night. Half the sky was clouded; in the other half the stars sparkled icily in the keen, frosty air; while everywhere the glorious wealth of snow fell away from the summit of the cone33 in flowing folds, more extensive and continuous than any I had ever seen before. When day dawned the clouds were crawling slowly and becoming more massive, but gave no intimation of immediate34 danger, and I pushed on faithfully, though holding myself well in hand, ready to return to the timber; for it was easy to see that the storm was not far off. The mountain rises ten thousand feet above the general level of the country, in blank exposure to the deep upper currents of the sky, and no labyrinth36 of peaks and canyons37 I had ever been in seemed to me so dangerous as these immense slopes, bare against the sky.
The frost was intense, and drifting snow dust made breathing at times rather difficult. The snow was as dry as meal, and the finer particles drifted freely, rising high in the air, while the larger portions of the crystals rolled like sand. I frequently sank to my armpits between buried blocks of loose lava, but generally only to my knees. When tired with walking I still wallowed slowly upward on all fours. The steepness of the slope—thirty-five degrees in some places—made any kind of progress fatiguing38, while small avalanches39 were being constantly set in motion in the steepest places. But the bracing air and the sublime40 beauty of the snowy expanse thrilled every nerve and made absolute exhaustion41 impossible. I seemed to be walking and wallowing in a cloud; but, holding steadily onward42, by half-past ten o'clock I had gained the highest summit.
I held my commanding foothold in the sky for two hours, gazing on the glorious landscapes spread maplike around the immense horizon, and tracing the outlines of the ancient lava-streams extending far into the surrounding plains, and the pathways of vanished glaciers43 of which Shasta had been the center. But, as I had left my coat in camp for the sake of having my limbs free in climbing, I soon was cold. The wind increased in violence, raising the snow in magnificent drifts that were drawn45 out in the form of wavering banners blowing in the sun. Toward the end of my stay a succession of small clouds struck against the summit rocks like drifting icebergs46, darkening the air as they passed, and producing a chill as definite and sudden as if ice-water had been dashed in my face. This is the kind of cloud in which snow-flowers grow, and I turned and fled.
Finding that I was not closely pursued, I ventured to take time on the way down for a visit to the head of the Whitney Glacier44 and the "Crater47 Butte." After I had reached the end of the main summit ridge the descent was but little more than one continuous soft, mealy, muffled slide, most luxurious48 and rapid, though the hissing49, swishing speed attained was obscured in great part by flying snow dust—a marked contrast to the boring seal-wallowing upward struggle. I reached camp about an hour before dusk, hollowed a strip of loose ground in the lee of a large block of red lava, where firewood was abundant, rolled myself in my blankets, and went to sleep.
Next morning, having slept little the night before the ascent and being weary with climbing after the excitement was over, I slept late. Then, awaking suddenly, my eyes opened on one of the most beautiful and sublime scenes I ever enjoyed. A boundless50 wilderness51 of storm clouds of different degrees of ripeness were congregated52 over all the lower landscape for thousands of square miles, colored gray, and purple, and pearl, and deep-glowing white, amid which I seemed to be floating; while the great white cone of the mountain above was all aglow53 in the free, blazing sunshine. It seemed not so much an ocean as a land of clouds—undulating hill and dale, smooth purple plains, and silvery mountains of cumuli, range over range, diversified54 with peak and dome55 and hollow fully35 brought out in light and shade.
I gazed enchanted56, but cold gray masses, drifting like dust on a wind-swept plain, began to shut out the light, forerunners57 of the coming storm I had been so anxiously watching. I made haste to gather as much wood as possible, snugging58 it as a shelter around my bed. The storm side of my blankets was fastened down with stakes to reduce as much as possible the sifting-in of drift and the danger of being blown away. The precious bread sack was placed safely as a pillow, and when at length the first flakes59 fell I was exultingly60 ready to welcome them. Most of my firewood was more than half rosin and would blaze in the face of the fiercest drifting; the winds could not demolish61 my bed, and my bread could be made to last indefinitely; while in case of need I had the means of making snowshoes and could retreat or hold my ground as I pleased.
Presently the storm broke forth62 into full snowy bloom, and the thronging63 crystals darkened the air. The wind swept past in hissing floods, grinding the snow into meal and sweeping64 down into the hollows in enormous drifts all the heavier particles, while the finer dust was sifted65 through the sky, increasing the icy gloom. But my fire glowed bravely as if in glad defiance66 of the drift to quench67 it, and, notwithstanding but little trace of my nest could be seen after the snow had leveled and buried it, I was snug8 and warm, and the passionate68 uproar69 produced a glad excitement.
Day after day the storm continued, piling snow on snow in weariless abundance. There were short periods of quiet, when the sun would seem to look eagerly down through rents in the clouds, as if to know how the work was advancing. During these calm intervals70 I replenished71 my fire—sometimes without leaving the nest, for fire and woodpile were so near this could easily be done—or busied myself with my notebook, watching the gestures of the trees in taking the snow, examining separate crystals under a lens, and learning the methods of their deposition72 as an enduring fountain for the streams. Several times, when the storm ceased for a few minutes, a Douglas squirrel came frisking from the foot of a clump73 of dwarf pines, moving in sudden interrupted spurts74 over the bossy75 snow; then, without any apparent guidance, he would dig rapidly into the drift where were buried some grains of barley76 that the horses had left. The Douglas squirrel does not strictly77 belong to these upper woods, and I was surprised to see him out in such weather. The mountain sheep also, quite a large flock of them, came to my camp and took shelter beside a clump of matted dwarf pines a little above my nest.
The storm lasted about a week, but before it was ended Sisson became alarmed and sent up the guide with animals to see what had become of me and recover the camp outfit78. The news spread that "there was a man on the mountain," and he must surely have perished, and Sisson was blamed for allowing any one to attempt climbing in such weather; while I was as safe as anybody in the lowlands, lying like a squirrel in a warm, fluffy79 nest, busied about my own affairs and wishing only to be let alone. Later, however, a trail could not have been broken for a horse, and some of the camp furniture would have had to be abandoned. On the fifth day I returned to Sisson's, and from that comfortable base made excursions, as the weather permitted, to the Black Butte, to the foot of the Whitney Glacier, around the base of the mountain, to Rhett and Klamath Lakes, to the Modoc region and elsewhere, developing many interesting scenes and experiences.
But the next spring, on the other side of this eventful winter, I saw and felt still more of the Shasta snow. For then it was my fortune to get into the very heart of a storm, and to be held in it for a long time.
On the 28th of April 1875 I led a party up the mountain for the purpose of making a survey of the summit with reference to the location of the Geodetic monument. On the 30th, accompanied by Jerome Fay, I made another ascent to make some barometrical80 observations, the day intervening between the two ascents81 being devoted82 to establishing a camp on the extreme edge of the timberline. Here, on our red trachyte bed, we obtained two hours of shallow sleep broken for occasional glimpses of the keen, starry83 night. At two o'clock we rose, breakfasted on a warmed tin-cupful of coffee and a piece of frozen venison broiled84 on the coals, and started for the summit. Up to this time there was nothing in sight that betokened85 the approach of a storm; but on gaining the summit, we saw toward Lassen's Butte hundreds of square miles of white cumuli boiling dreamily in the sunshine far beneath us, and causing no alarm.
The slight weariness of the ascent was soon rested away, and our glorious morning in the sky promised nothing but enjoyment86. At 9 a.m. the dry thermometer stood at 34 degrees in the shade and rose steadily until at 1 p.m. it stood at 50 degrees, probably influenced somewhat by radiation from the sun-warmed cliffs. A common bumblebee, not at all benumbed, zigzagged87 vigorously about our heads for a few moments, as if unconscious of the fact that the nearest honey flower was a mile beneath him.
In the mean time clouds were growing down in Shasta Valley—massive swelling cumuli, displaying delicious tones of purple and gray in the hollows of their sun-beaten bosses. Extending gradually southward around on both sides of Shasta, these at length united with the older field towards Lassen's Butte, thus encircling Mount Shasta in one continuous cloud zone. Rhett and Klamath Lakes were eclipsed beneath clouds scarcely less brilliant than their own silvery disks. The Modoc Lava Beds, many a snow-laden peak far north in Oregon, the Scott and Trinity and Siskiyou Mountains, the peaks of the Sierra, the blue Coast Range, Shasta Valley, the dark forests filling the valley of the Sacramento, all in turn were obscured or buried, leaving the lofty cone on which we stood solitary88 in the sunshine between two skies—a sky of spotless blue above, a sky of glittering cloud beneath. The creative sun shone glorious on the vast expanse of cloudland; hill and dale, mountain and valley springing into existence responsive to his rays and steadily developing in beauty and individuality. One huge mountain-cone of cloud, corresponding to Mount Shasta in these newborn cloud ranges, rose close alongside with a visible motion, its firm, polished bosses seeming so near and substantial that we almost fancied that we might leap down upon them from where we stood and make our way to the lowlands. No hint was given, by anything in their appearance, of the fleeting89 character of these most sublime and beautiful cloud mountains. On the contrary they impressed one as being lasting90 additions to the landscape.
The weather of the springtime and summer, throughout the Sierra in general, is usually varied91 by slight local rains and dustings of snow, most of which are obviously far too joyous92 and life-giving to be regarded as storms—single clouds growing in the sunny sky, ripening93 in an hour, showering the heated landscape, and passing away like a thought, leaving no visible bodily remains94 to stain the sky. Snowstorms of the same gentle kind abound95 among the high peaks, but in spring they not unfrequently attain22 larger proportions, assuming a violence and energy of expression scarcely surpassed by those bred in the depths of winter. Such was the storm now gathering96 about us.
It began to declare itself shortly after noon, suggesting to us the idea of at once seeking our safe camp in the timber and abandoning the purpose of making an observation of the barometer at 3 p.m.,—two having already been made, at 9 a.m., and 12 m., while simultaneous observations were made at Strawberry Valley. Jerome peered at short intervals over the ridge, contemplating97 the rising clouds with anxious gestures in the rough wind, and at length declared that if we did not make a speedy escape we should be compelled to pass the rest of the day and night on the summit. But anxiety to complete my observations stifled98 my own instinctive99 promptings to retreat, and held me to my work. No inexperienced person was depending on me, and I told Jerome that we two mountaineers should be able to make our way down through any storm likely to fall.
Presently thin, fibrous films of cloud began to blow directly over the summit from north to south, drawn out in long fairy webs like carded wool, forming and dissolving as if by magic. The wind twisted them into ringlets and whirled them in a succession of graceful100 convolutions like the outside sprays of Yosemite Falls in flood time; then, sailing out into the thin azure over the precipitous brink101 of the ridge they were drifted together like wreaths of foam102 on a river. These higher and finer cloud fabrics103 were evidently produced by the chilling of the air from its own expansion caused by the upward deflection of the wind against the slopes of the mountain. They steadily increased on the north rim15 of the cone, forming at length a thick, opaque104, ill-defined embankment from the icy meshes105 of which snow-flowers began to fall, alternating with hail. The sky speedily darkened, and just as I had completed my last observation and boxed my instruments ready for the descent, the storm began in serious earnest. At first the cliffs were beaten with hail, every stone of which, as far as I could see, was regular in form, six-sided pyramids with rounded base, rich and sumptuous-looking, and fashioned with loving care, yet seemingly thrown away on those desolate106 crags down which they went rolling, falling, sliding in a network of curious streams.
After we had forced our way down the ridge and past the group of hissing fumaroles, the storm became inconceivably violent. The thermometer fell 22 degrees in a few minutes, and soon dropped below zero. The hail gave place to snow, and darkness came on like night. The wind, rising to the highest pitch of violence, boomed and surged amid the desolate crags; lightning flashes in quick succession cut the gloomy darkness; and the thunders, the most tremendously loud and appalling107 I ever heard, made an almost continuous roar, stroke following stroke in quick, passionate succession, as though the mountain were being rent to its foundations and the fires of the old volcano were breaking forth again.
Could we at once have begun to descend108 the snow slopes leading to the
timber, we might have made good our escape, however dark and wild the
storm. As it was, we had first to make our way along a dangerous
ridge nearly a mile and a half long, flanked in many places by steep
ice-slopes at the head of the Whitney Glacier on one side and by
shattered precipices109 on the other. Apprehensive110 of this coming darkness,
I had taken the precaution, when the storm began, to make the most
dangerous points clear to my mind, and to mark their relations with
reference to the direction of the wind. When, therefore, the darkness
came on, and the bewildering drift, I felt confident that we could
force our way through it with no other guidance. After passing the "Hot
Springs" I halted in the lee of a lava-block to let Jerome, who had
fallen a little behind, come up. Here he opened a council in which,
under circumstances sufficiently111 exciting but without evincing any
bewilderment, he maintained, in opposition112 to my views, that it was
impossible to proceed. He firmly refused to make the venture to find the
camp, while I, aware of the dangers that would necessarily attend our
efforts, and conscious of being the cause of his present peril113, decided114
not to leave him.
Our discussions ended, Jerome made a dash from the shelter of the
lava-block and began forcing his way back against the wind to the "Hot
Springs," wavering and struggling to resist being carried away, as if he
were fording a rapid stream. After waiting and watching in vain for
some flaw in the storm that might be urged as a new argument in favor of
attempting the descent, I was compelled to follow. "Here," said Jerome,
as we shivered in the midst of the hissing, sputtering115 fumaroles, "we
shall be safe from frost." "Yes," said I, "we can lie in this mud and
steam and sludge, warm at least on one side; but how can we protect our
lungs from the acid gases, and how, after our clothing is saturated116,
shall we be able to reach camp without freezing, even after the storm is
over? We shall have to wait for sunshine, and when will it come?"
The tempered area to which we had committed ourselves extended over about one fourth of an acre; but it was only about an eighth of an inch in thickness, for the scalding gas jets were shorn off close to the ground by the oversweeping flood of frosty wind. And how lavishly117 the snow fell only mountaineers may know. The crisp crystal flowers seemed to touch one another and fairly to thicken the tremendous blast that carried them. This was the bloom-time, the summer of the cloud, and never before have I seen even a mountain cloud flowering so profusely118.
When the bloom of the Shasta chaparral is falling, the ground is sometimes covered for hundreds of square miles to a depth of half an inch. But the bloom of this fertile snow cloud grew and matured and fell to a depth of two feet in a few hours. Some crystals landed with their rays almost perfect, but most of them were worn and broken by striking against one another, or by rolling on the ground. The touch of these snow-flowers in calm weather is infinitely119 gentle—glinting, swaying, settling silently in the dry mountain air, or massed in flakes soft and downy. To lie out alone in the mountains of a still night and be touched by the first of these small silent messengers from the sky is a memorable120 experience, and the fineness of that touch none will forget. But the storm-blast laden with crisp, sharp snow seems to crush and bruise121 and stupefy with its multitude of stings, and compels the bravest to turn and flee.
The snow fell without abatement122 until an hour or two after what seemed to be the natural darkness of the night. Up to the time the storm first broke on the summit its development was remarkably123 gentle. There was a deliberate growth of clouds, a weaving of translucent124 tissue above, then the roar of the wind and the thunder, and the darkening flight of snow. Its subsidence was not less sudden. The clouds broke and vanished, not a crystal was left in the sky, and the stars shone out with pure and tranquil125 radiance.
During the storm we lay on our backs so as to present as little surface as possible to the wind, and to let the drift pass over us. The mealy snow sifted into the folds of our clothing and in many places reached the skin. We were glad at first to see the snow packing about us, hoping it would deaden the force of the wind, but it soon froze into a stiff, crusty heap as the temperature fell, rather augmenting126 our novel misery127.
When the heat became unendurable, on some spot where steam was escaping through the sludge, we tried to stop it with snow and mud, or shifted a little at a time by shoving with our heels; for to stand in blank exposure to the fearful wind in our frozen-and-broiled condition seemed certain death. The acrid128 incrustations sublimed129 from the escaping gases frequently gave way, opening new vents130 to scald us; and, fearing that if at any time the wind should fall, carbonic acid, which often formed a considerable portion of the gaseous131 exhalations of volcanoes, might collect in sufficient quantities to cause sleep and death, I warned Jerome against forgetting himself for a single moment, even should his sufferings admit of such a thing.
Accordingly, when during the long, dreary132 watches of the night we roused from a state of half-consciousness, we called each other by name in a frightened, startled way, each fearing the other might be benumbed or dead. The ordinary sensations of cold give but a faint conception of that which comes on after hard climbing with want of food and sleep in such exposure as this. Life is then seen to be a fire, that now smoulders, now brightens, and may be easily quenched133. The weary hours wore away like dim half-forgotten years, so long and eventful they seemed, though we did nothing but suffer. Still the pain was not always of that bitter, intense kind that precludes134 thought and takes away all capacity for enjoyment. A sort of dreamy stupor135 came on at times in which we fancied we saw dry, resinous136 logs suitable for campfires, just as after going days without food men fancy they see bread.
Frozen, blistered137, famished138, benumbed, our bodies seemed lost to us at times—all dead but the eyes. For the duller and fainter we became the clearer was our vision, though only in momentary139 glimpses. Then, after the sky cleared, we gazed at the stars, blessed immortals140 of light, shining with marvelous brightness with long lance rays, near-looking and new-looking, as if never seen before. Again they would look familiar and remind us of stargazing at home. Oftentimes imagination coming into play would present charming pictures of the warm zone below, mingled141 with others near and far. Then the bitter wind and the drift would break the blissful vision and dreary pains cover us like clouds. "Are you suffering much?" Jerome would inquire with pitiful faintness. "Yes," I would say, striving to keep my voice brave, "frozen and burned; but never mind, Jerome, the night will wear away at last, and tomorrow we go a-Maying, and what campfires we will make, and what sunbaths we will take!"
The frost grew more and more intense, and we became icy and covered over with a crust of frozen snow, as if we had lain cast away in the drift all winter. In about thirteen hours—every hour like a year—day began to dawn, but it was long ere the summit's rocks were touched by the sun. No clouds were visible from where we lay, yet the morning was dull and blue, and bitterly frosty; and hour after hour passed by while we eagerly watched the pale light stealing down the ridge to the hollow where we lay. But there was not a trace of that warm, flushing sunrise splendor142 we so long had hoped for.
As the time drew near to make an effort to reach camp, we became concerned to know what strength was left us, and whether or no we could walk; for we had lain flat all this time without once rising to our feet. Mountaineers, however, always find in themselves a reserve of power after great exhaustion. It is a kind of second life, available only in emergencies like this; and, having proved its existence, I had no great fear that either of us would fail, though one of my arms was already benumbed and hung powerless.
At length, after the temperature was somewhat mitigated143 on this memorable first of May, we arose and began to struggle homeward. Our frozen trousers could scarcely be made to bend at the knee, and we waded144 the snow with difficulty. The summit ridge was fortunately wind-swept and nearly bare, so we were not compelled to lift our feet high, and on reaching the long home slopes laden with loose snow we made rapid progress, sliding and shuffling145 and pitching headlong, our feebleness accelerating rather than diminishing our speed. When we had descended146 some three thousand feet the sunshine warmed our backs and we began to revive. At 10 a.m. we reached the timber and were safe.
Half an hour later we heard Sisson shouting down among the firs, coming with horses to take us to the hotel. After breaking a trail through the snow as far as possible he had tied his animals and walked up. We had been so long without food that we cared but little about eating, but we eagerly drank the coffee he prepared for us. Our feet were frozen, and thawing147 them was painful, and had to be done very slowly by keeping them buried in soft snow for several hours, which avoided permanent damage. Five thousand feet below the summit we found only three inches of new snow, and at the base of the mountain only a slight shower of rain had fallen, showing how local our storm had been, notwithstanding its terrific fury. Our feet were wrapped in sacking, and we were soon mounted and on our way down into the thick sunshine—"God's Country," as Sisson calls the Chaparral Zone. In two hours' ride the last snowbank was left behind. Violets appeared along the edges of the trail, and the chaparral was coming into bloom, with young lilies and larkspurs about the open places in rich profusion148. How beautiful seemed the golden sunbeams streaming through the woods between the warm brown boles of the cedars149 and pines! All my friends among the birds and plants seemed like OLD friends, and we felt like speaking to every one of them as we passed, as if we had been a long time away in some far, strange country.
In the afternoon we reached Strawberry Valley and fell asleep. Next morning we seemed to have risen from the dead. My bedroom was flooded with sunshine, and from the window I saw the great white Shasta cone clad in forests and clouds and bearing them loftily in the sky. Everything seemed full and radiant with the freshness and beauty and enthusiasm of youth. Sisson's children came in with flowers and covered my bed, and the storm on the mountaintop banished150 like a dream.
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1
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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2
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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3
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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4
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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5
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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6
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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7
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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8
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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9
snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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10
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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11
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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12
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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13
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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14
jubilee
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| n.周年纪念；欢乐 | |
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15
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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16
limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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17
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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18
admonished
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| v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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19
advisers
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| 顾问，劝告者( adviser的名词复数 )； （指导大学新生学科问题等的）指导教授 | |
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20
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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21
barometer
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| n.气压表，睛雨表，反应指标 | |
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22
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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23
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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24
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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25
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
lava
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| n.熔岩，火山岩 | |
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29
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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30
loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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31
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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32
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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33
cone
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| n.圆锥体，圆锥形东西，球果 | |
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34
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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35
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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36
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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37
canyons
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| n.峡谷( canyon的名词复数 ) | |
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38
fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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39
avalanches
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| n.雪崩( avalanche的名词复数 ) | |
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40
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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41
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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42
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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43
glaciers
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| 冰河，冰川( glacier的名词复数 ) | |
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44
glacier
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| n.冰川，冰河 | |
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45
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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46
icebergs
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| n.冰山，流冰( iceberg的名词复数 ) | |
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47
crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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48
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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49
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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50
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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51
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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52
congregated
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| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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54
diversified
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| adj.多样化的，多种经营的v.使多样化，多样化( diversify的过去式和过去分词 )；进入新的商业领域 | |
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55
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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56
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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57
forerunners
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| n.先驱( forerunner的名词复数 )；开路人；先兆；前兆 | |
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58
snugging
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| v.整洁的( snug的现在分词 )；温暖而舒适的；非常舒适的；紧身的 | |
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59
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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60
exultingly
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| 兴高采烈地，得意地 | |
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61
demolish
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| v.拆毁(建筑物等)，推翻(计划、制度等) | |
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62
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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63
thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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64
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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65
sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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66
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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67
quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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68
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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69
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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70
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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71
replenished
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| 补充( replenish的过去式和过去分词 )； 重新装满 | |
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72
deposition
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| n.免职，罢官；作证；沉淀；沉淀物 | |
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73
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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74
spurts
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| 短暂而突然的活动或努力( spurt的名词复数 )； 突然奋起 | |
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75
bossy
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| adj.爱发号施令的，作威作福的 | |
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76
barley
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| n.大麦，大麦粒 | |
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77
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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78
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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79
fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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80
barometrical
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| 气压计的 | |
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81
ascents
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| n.上升( ascent的名词复数 )；（身份、地位等的）提高；上坡路；攀登 | |
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82
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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83
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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84
broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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85
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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87
zigzagged
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| adj.呈之字形移动的v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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89
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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90
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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91
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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92
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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93
ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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94
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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95
abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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96
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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97
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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98
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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99
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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100
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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101
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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102
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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103
fabrics
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| 织物( fabric的名词复数 )； 布； 构造； （建筑物的）结构（如墙、地面、屋顶）：质地 | |
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104
opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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105
meshes
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| 网孔( mesh的名词复数 )； 网状物； 陷阱； 困境 | |
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106
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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107
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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108
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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109
precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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110
apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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111
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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112
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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113
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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114
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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115
sputtering
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| n.反应溅射法；飞溅；阴极真空喷镀；喷射v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的现在分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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116
saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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117
lavishly
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| adv.慷慨地，大方地 | |
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118
profusely
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| ad.abundantly | |
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119
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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120
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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121
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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122
abatement
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| n.减(免)税，打折扣，冲销 | |
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123
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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124
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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125
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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126
augmenting
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| 使扩张 | |
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127
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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128
acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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129
sublimed
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| 伟大的( sublime的过去式和过去分词 )； 令人赞叹的； 极端的； 不顾后果的 | |
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130
vents
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| （气体、液体等进出的）孔、口( vent的名词复数 )； （鸟、鱼、爬行动物或小哺乳动物的）肛门； 大衣等的)衩口； 开衩 | |
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131
gaseous
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| adj.气体的，气态的 | |
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132
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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133
quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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134
precludes
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| v.阻止( preclude的第三人称单数 )；排除；妨碍；使…行不通 | |
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135
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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136
resinous
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| adj.树脂的，树脂质的，树脂制的 | |
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137
blistered
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| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
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138
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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139
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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140
immortals
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| 不朽的人物( immortal的名词复数 )； 永生不朽者 | |
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141
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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142
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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143
mitigated
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| v.减轻，缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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145
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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146
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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147
thawing
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| n.熔化，融化v.（气候）解冻( thaw的现在分词 )；（态度、感情等）缓和；（冰、雪及冷冻食物）溶化；软化 | |
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148
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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149
cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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150
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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