I therefore scrambled back eastward, descending the southern slopes obliquely at the same time.

Here the crags seemed less formidable, and the head of a glacier that flows northeast came in sight, which I determined to follow as far as possible, hoping thus to make my way to the foot of the peak on the east side, and thence across the intervening canons and ridges to camp.
The inclination of the glacier is quite moderate at the head, and, as the sun had softened the _neve_, I made safe and rapid progress, running and sliding, and keeping up a sharp outlook for crevasses.

About half a mile from the head, there is an ice-cascade, where the glacier pours over a sharp declivity and is shattered into massive blocks separated by deep, blue fissures.

To thread my way through the slippery mazes of this crevassed portion seemed impossible, and I endeavored to avoid it by climbing off to the shoulder of the mountain.

But the slopes rapidly steepened and at length fell away in sheer precipices, compelling a return to the ice.