Puget Sound, seeming like a pretty little lake embowered in
green, could be seen in the northwest, beyond which the
Olympic Mountains extend out into the Pacific Ocean. The
Cascade Mountains, lying dwarfed at our feet, could be traced
northward into British Columbia, and southward into Oregon,
while above them, at comparatively regular intervals, rose
the ghost-like forms of our companion volcanoes. To the
eastward the eye ranged for hundreds of miles over chain on
chain of mountain ridges, which gradually disappeared in the
dim, blue distance.
In the truncated summit of Mount Rainier there are three craters. The
largest one, partially filled by the building of the two others, is
the oldest, and has suffered so greatly from subsequent volcanic
explosions and erosion that no more than its general outline can be
traced. Peak Success and Liberty Cap are prominent points on the rim
of what remains of this huge crater. Its diameter, as nearly as can be
judged, is about 2-1/2 miles. Within the great crater, in the
formation of which the mountain was truncated and, as previously
stated, lost fully 2,000 feet of its summit, there are two much
smaller and much more recent craters. The larger of these, the one in
which we took refuge, is about 300 yards in diameter, and the second,
which is an incomplete circle, its rim having been broken by the
formation of its more recent companion, is perhaps 200 yards across.
The rim of each now partially snow-filled bowl is well defined, and
rises steeply from within to a sharp crest. The character of the inner
slopes shows that much rocky material has been detached and has fallen
into the cavities from which it was ejected. The rock in the crater
walls is in fragments and masses, some of them well rounded and
probably of the nature of volcanic bombs. In each of the smaller
craters there are numerous steam jets. These show that the rock below
is still hot, and that water percolating downward is changed to steam.
These steam jets evidently indicate the presence of residual heat and
not an actual connection with a volcanic center deep below the
surface. All the evidence available tends to show that Rainier is an
extinct volcano. It belongs, however, to the explosive type of
volcanoes, of which Vesuvius is the best-known example, and there is
no assurance that its energies may not be reawakened.
In descending we chose the south side of the mountain, knowing from
the reports of many excursionists who had ascended the peak from that
direction that a practicable route could probably be found. Threading
our way between numerous crevasses we soon came in sight of a bold,
outstanding rock mass, which we judged to be Gibraltar, and succeeded
in reaching it with but little difficulty. On gaining the junction of
the rock with the snow fields rising above it, we found evidences of a
trail, which was soon lost, however, and only served to show that our
general course was the right one. A deep, narrow space between the
border of Nisqually Glacier and the precipitous side of Gibraltar,
from which the snow and ice had been melted by the heat reflected from
the cliffs on our left, led us down to a shelf on the lower side of
the promontory, which proved a safe and easy way to the crest of a
rocky rib on the mountain side which extended far down toward the dark
forests in view below.
Gibraltar is a portion of the cone of Rainier built before the
explosion which truncated the mountain. It is an outstanding and very
prominent rock mass, left in bold relief by the ice excavation which
has carved deep valleys on each side. The rock divides the descending
névé in the same manner as does The Wedge, and causes a part of the
snow drainage to flow to the Cowlitz and the other part to be
tributary to the Nisqually Glacier. The rocks forming Gibraltar
consist largely of fragments ejected from the crater above, but
present a rude stratification due to the presence of lava flows. When
seen from the side and at a convenient distance, it is evident that
the planes of bedding, if continued upward at the same angle, would
reach above the present summit of the mountain. Gibraltar, like The
Wedge, and several other secondary peaks on the sides of Mount
Rainier, are, as previously explained, the sharp, upward-pointing
angles of large V-shaped masses of the original volcanic cone, left in
bold relief by the excavation of deep valleys radiating from the
central peak. On the backs, so to speak, of these great V-shaped
portions of the mountain which now seem to rest against the central
dome, secondary glaciers, or interglaciers as they may be termed, have
excavated valleys and amphitheaters. In the V-shaped mass of which
Gibraltar is the apex, a broad amphitheater-like depression has been
cut out, leaving a bold cliff above it. The excavation of the
amphitheater did not progress far enough up the mountain to cut away
the apex of the V-shaped mass, but left it with a precipice on its
lower side. This remnant is Gibraltar. An attempt will be made later
to describe more fully the process of glacial erosion of a conical
mountain, and to show that the secondary topographic features of Mount
Rainier are not without system, as they appear at first view, but
really result from a process which may be said to have a definite end
in view.
Below Gibraltar the descent was easy. Our life line was no longer
needed. Tramping in single file over the hard surfaces of the snow
field, remnants of the previous winter's snow, we made rapid progress,
and about noon gained the scattered groves of spruce trees which form
such an attractive feature of Paradise Park.
Fortunately, we found Prof. E. S. Ingraham, of Seattle, and a party of
friends, including several ladies, encamped in Paradise Park, and the
hospitality of the camp was extended to us. During the afternoon we
basked in the warm sunshine, and in the evening gathered about a
roaring campfire and enjoyed the society of our companions, who were
enthusiastic in their praise of the wonderful scenes about their camp.
The southern side of Mount Rainier is much less precipitous than its
northern face, and the open park-like region near timber line is
broader, more diversified, and much more easy of access. The general
elevation of the park is between 5,000 and 7,000 feet, and it is
several thousand acres in extent. Its boundaries are indefinite. It
merges into the heavily forested region to the south, and into more
alpine regions on the side toward the mountain, which towers above it
on the north. To the east it is bordered by Cowlitz Glacier, and on
the west by Nisqually Glacier. Each of these fine ice rivers descends
far below timber line. The small interglacier, known as the Paradise
Glacier, may be considered as lying within the limits of the park.
Paradise Park presents many and varied charms. It is a somewhat rugged
land, with a deep picturesque valley winding through it. The trees
grow in isolated groves. Each bunch of dark-green firs and balsams is
a cluster of gracefully tapering spires. The undulating meadows
between the shady groves are brilliant in summer with a veritable
carpet of gorgeous blossoms. In contrast to the exquisite charms of
the groves and flower-decked rolling meadows are desolate ice fields
and rugged glaciers which vary, through many tints and shades, from
silvery whiteness to intense blue. Added to these minor charms, and
towering far above them, is the massive summit of Rainier. At times
the sublime mountain appears steel blue in the unclouded sky, or rosy
with the afterglow at sunset, or all aflame with the glories of the
newborn day. Clouds gather about the lofty summit and transform it
into a storm king. Avalanches rushing down its side awaken the echoes
in the neighboring forest. The appearance of the mountain is never the
same on different days; indeed, it changes its mood and exerts a
varying influence on the beholder from hour to hour.
While the central attraction to the lover of mountain scenery in
Paradise Park is the vast snow-covered dome of Mount Rainier, there
are other mountains in view that merit attention. To the east rises
the serrate and rugged Tattoosh range, which is remarkable for the
boldness with which its bordering slopes rise from the forested region
about it and the angularity of its many serrate summits. This range
has never been explored except by miners and hunters, who have made
no record of their discoveries. It is virgin ground to the geologist
and geographer. Distant views suggest that the Tattoosh Mountains have
been sculptured from a plateau, probably an upraised peneplain in
which there existed a great mass of igneous rock rounded by less
resistant Tertiary sediments. The softer rocks have been removed,
leaving the harder and more resistant ones in bold relief, to become
sculptured by rain and frost into a multitude of angular peaks. This
attractive, and as yet unstudied, group of peaks is in plain view from
Paradise Park, and may be easily reached from there by a single day's
tramp. Many other delightful excursions are open to one who pitches
his tent in the alpine meadows on the south side of Mount Rainier.
FOOTNOTES:
[25] Called the North Mowich Glacier on the present map.
[26] Since shown to be 14,408 feet.
[Illustration: PROFESSOR EDGAR MCCLURE.]
XII. McCLURE'S ACHIEVEMENT AND TRAGIC DEATH, 1897
BY HERBERT L. BRUCE AND PROFESSOR H. H. McALISTER
Visitors to Paradise Valley, who climb above the Camp of the
Clouds to the snowfields, are sure to be attracted to McClure
Rock. It is the scene of one of the mountain's earliest
tragedies, in which Professor Edgar McClure of the University
of Oregon lost his life. He was trying to measure accurately
the height of the great mountain as he had already done for
Mount Adams and other peaks.
The record of his extensive observations was computed with
the greatest care by his colleague, Professor H. H. McAlister
of the University of Oregon. An account of the work so
tragically ended was prepared by Herbert L. Bruce. Both
articles were published in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer for
November 7, 1897, from which paper they are here reproduced.
The portrait of Professor McClure is furnished by his
brother, Horace McClure, editorial writer for the Seattle
Daily Times.
The height of the mountain, 14,528 feet, thus obtained,
remained in use until 1914, when the United States Geological
Survey announced its new and latest findings to be 14,408
feet.
One of the most tragic incidents in modern science was the death of
Professor Edgar McClure, who lost his life on Mount Rainier July 27,
1897. Occupying, as he did, the chair of chemistry in the University
of Oregon, his personal tastes, instincts and ambitions were
essentially scientific. In addition to this he was a member of the
Mazamas, whose purposes in the line of scientific exploration have
lent a romantic interest and a cumulative value to the geography of
the northwest. The particular expedition with which Professor McClure
was associated when he met his untimely death, left Portland with the
distinct object of making the ascent of Mount Rainier, recording such
geographical and topographical observations as might be feasible. As a
member of the expedition Professor McClure was placed in charge of the
elevation department and set before himself a somewhat more distinct
and definite purpose, viz., to ascertain by the most approved methods
and with the most accurately graduated instruments the precise height
of the famous and beautiful mountain. How well he accomplished this
purpose will best appear in the subjoined letter from Professor E. H.
McAlister, his friend and colleague, who with infinite care and
sympathetic zeal has worked out the data, which would otherwise have
been undecipherable not only to the general public but to the average
scholar. As he himself said when he had completed his arduous task: "I
have done everything possible to wring the truth from the
observations. In my judgment they should become historic on account of
the probability of their great accuracy."
To the accomplishment of this object Professor McClure brought all the
varied resources of a ripe culture and an ardent, vigorous young
manhood. His plans were all laid with the greatest care. To him their
fulfillment meant not so much a personal or selfish triumph as a
victory for science. The very instrument on which he most relied for
accurate determinations, as will be seen from Professor McAlister's
statement, was not only hallowed by scientific associations, but was
prepared for its high mission more lovingly and assiduously than a
favorite racer would be groomed for the course. Twice had it looked
upon the beauties of the Columbia river from the summit of Mount Hood,
and on three other lofty peaks it had served its silent but efficient
ministry to the cause of science. On one of these, Mount Adams, the
altitude determined with this instrument was accepted by the United
States government, yet a new tube was filled for it, Professor McClure
himself preparing the mercury by distillation, and seeing to it that
the vacuum was exceptionally perfect. That the barometer was most
carefully handled at the time of observation will fully appear from
the record below. It was suspended by a ring and allowed to hang until
it had assumed the temperature of the surrounding air before being
read. Not only this, but all the subsidiary phenomena which could have
the slightest bearing on the result were laboriously determined.
Concurrent observations were made at all salient surrounding stations,
while for a week before the date of actual observation Professor
McClure himself had made numerous observations both of pressure and of
temperature at various sub-stations in the vicinity of Mount Rainier,
and his collaborateur has secured simultaneous observations from
Seattle and Portland. Uniting as he did the fervor of the pioneer
explorer with the accuracy of the laboratory chemist, Professor
McClure was peculiarly fitted to obtain a result which bids fair to
become historic.
The broken barometer will appeal powerfully to every lover of science.
If, as has been suggested, a monument be reared to mark the spot where
the young scientist gave up his life, no fitter design could be
adopted than a stone shaft bearing on its face a bas-relief of the
historic instrument which he bore on his back with sacred care. It is
entirely probable that this barometer, coupled with his unselfish
solicitude for the safety of other members of the expedition, was the
immediate cause of his death. He carried it in a double case; a wooden
one which his own hands had constructed, and outside of this a strong
leather tube. From the latter stout thongs enabled him to strap the
instrument on his back, much as a pioneer huntsman would wear his
trusty rifle. While standing on the perilous ledge whence he took the
fatal plunge, he turned to sound warning to his companions whom he was
leading in a search for the lost pathway down the mountain. "Don't
come down here; it is too steep," he called, turning so as to make
his voice more audible. These were his last words. He vanished in the
night and the abyss. It is likely that the tube, three and a half feet
in length, caught as he turned and helped to hurl him from his
precarious footing. Like his own high strung frame, the delicate
instrument was shattered; but neither of the twain went away from the
world without leaving an imperishable record.
It is interesting to note the close correspondence of his independent
observations with those made by others. The height of the mountain had
been measured many times before he essayed to measure it. Some
observers had measured it by triangulation, and others, notably Major
E. S. Ingraham, of Seattle, had given its altitude from the readings
of mercurial barometers. Major Ingraham gave the height at 14,524
feet. It will be noticed that the result obtained by Professor McClure
was just four feet greater, a remarkable coincidence at that vast
altitude and among conditions of hardship, exposure and uncertainty.
Prior to Professor McClure's record, the latest measurement of Rainier
had been made by George F. Hyde, of the United States Geological
Survey, in 1896. He pursued the method of triangulation, and, taking
as his base a line at Ellensburg, in connection with the sea level
gauge at Tacoma, he figured out the extreme height of Rainier at
14,519 feet.
The value of Professor McClure's determination will be heightened
rather than lessened by the peculiar difficulty and rareness of
scientific work in an unexplored territory and from a base which has
not all the appurtenances and advantages of the older scientific
stations of the East and of Europe. In this respect his work is like
that of Agassiz and of Audubon. Not unlike those great masters was he
in his intense and lofty devotion to science. Not unlike them he
wrought with rigid accuracy where others had worked almost at random.
Not unlike them he aroused among his friends and students the
conviction that he was a born high priest of nature, whose chief
mission in the world was to reveal her secrets to mankind. He offered
up his life virtually a sacrifice to the cause of popular and
practical science, and in as lofty a sense as ever dignified a Roman
arena he was a martyr to the cause of truth. To use the matchless
figure employed by Byron in describing the death of Henry Kirk White,
who died a victim to his own passionate devotion to literary art, he
was like the struck eagle whose own feather "winged the shaft that
quivered in his heart."
Just in harmony with this thought came countless expressions of
sympathy and condolence to the members of Professor McClure's family
when the sad news of his death went abroad. One of the most touching,
and, to my mind, one of the most typical of all these came from an
obscure man in an obscure corner of Kentucky. He was not a great man
himself, as the world counts greatness, this man in Kentucky; but he
knew a great man when he saw him. He had known Edgar McClure; and when
he heard the circumstances of his death he sat down and wrote a brief
note. One sentence in it was worthy of Whittier or Emerson. It was
this: "Edgar McClure died as he had always lived--on the mountain
top."
In transmitting his results to Horace McClure, brother of the deceased
scientist, Professor McAlister brings to a proper close a labor of
love, one that is as creditable to his scholarly culture as it is to
his unselfish and devoted friendship.
HERBERT L. BRUCE.
LETTER OF TRANSMISSION
University of Oregon,
Eugene, Or., October 28, 1897.
MR. HORACE MCCLURE--Dear Sir: I herewith transmit to you for
publication my report upon the observations of your late brother,
Professor Edgar McClure, relative to the altitude of Mount Rainier,
the data having been referred to me for reduction and computation by
yourself and by the officials of the Mazama Club.
It is but just to myself to say that the long delay in the appearance
of this report has been caused by unavoidable difficulties in the
collection of subsidiary data; in particular, the comparison sheet
showing the instrumental error of Professor McClure's barometer could
not be found until the 9th of this month, when it was discovered among
some effects left by him in Portland. A further delay has been
occasioned in obtaining a few other important data. A report
approximately correct could have been made some time ago, but I felt
it was due to the memory of Professor McClure's reputation for extreme
accuracy that no report whatever should be published until I was able
to state a result for which I could vouch as being the very best that
the observations were capable of affording.
The thanks of all concerned are due to Mr. B. S. Pague, Director of
the Oregon Weather Bureau, for numerous courtesies and for his
efficient aid in the collection of data.
Very respectfully,
E. H. MCALISTER,
Professor of Applied Mathematics.
THE RESULT
For the benefit of those not interested in the scientific details of
this report, it may be stated at once that the summit of Mount
Rainier, according to Professor McClure's observations, is 14,528 feet
above sea level. The altitudes of various sub-stations occupied en
route will be found further on. An account of the data, with
description of the methods employed in reduction and computation, is
given, to indicate the degree of reliance to be placed upon the
result.
The principal observation to which this report refers was made by
Professor Edgar McClure, of the University of Oregon, on the summit of
Mount Rainier, Washington, July 27, 1897, at 4:30 P.M., Pacific
standard time. The observation consists of a reading of Green's
standard mercurial barometer, No. 1612, together with readings of
attached and detached thermometers. It appears that the barometer,
which was suspended by a ring at the top, was allowed so to hang until
it had assumed the temperature of the surrounding air, before being
read; that the sky was clear at the time; and that the place of
observation, the highest on the mountain, is designated as Columbia
Crest.
The barometric reading, corrected for instrumental error and
temperature, was 17.708 inches; the air temperature was 29 degrees
Fahrenheit.
Concurrent observations were made at 9:30 A.M. and hourly during the
afternoon by the regular observers at Seattle, Portland, Fort Canby,
the University of Oregon at Eugene, Roseburg, and one observation at
Walla Walla at 5 P.M.
In addition to these, during the week preceding the 27th Professor
McClure made numerous observations both of pressure and temperature at
various sub-stations in the vicinity of Mount Rainier, and
simultaneous observations are furnished from Seattle and Portland.
At the very outset of the work of reduction it was evident that Eugene
and Roseburg were under an area of relatively low barometric pressure
on the 27th, representing atmospheric conditions that did not prevail
in the region of Mount Rainier. I therefore rejected the observations
at both these places, using only those at Seattle, Portland, Fort
Canby and Walla Walla. The strategic position of these four points
will be seen at once by a glance at the map.
The method followed in making the reduction was, in brief, to deduce
from the observations at the four base stations surrounding the
mountain the actual atmospheric conditions prevailing in the
immediate region of the mountain. More specifically, the process
consisted in determining the atmospheric pressure and temperature at
an imaginary sea level vertically under the mountain, which level I
shall subsequently call the "mean base."
In this I was greatly assisted by a careful study of the daily weather
charts issued by the government, Mr. Pague having kindly loaned me his
official file for July. I thus practically had at my disposal
observations from all the important points on the Coast, both before
and after the principal observation. With due regard to the position
and direction of the isobars, and giving proper weight to the
observations at each of the four base stations, I finally deduced
30.130 inches as the value of the pressure at the mean base which best
satisfied all the data. It ought to be said, perhaps, that this result
does not depend upon my judgment to any appreciable extent, but was
legitimately worked out from the observations and isobaric lines.
In determining the mean temperature of the air column extending from
the mean base to the summit of the mountain, the observations made by
Professor McClure during the previous week in the vicinity were so
numerous and well timed as to leave far less than the usual amount of
uncertainty. Making due allowance for the moderate elevations of the
stations, these observations show clearly that the temperature about
the mountain at that time followed that of Seattle very closely, and
was also not much different from that of Portland, but departed
notably from both the heat of Walla Walla and the low temperature of
Fort Canby. Allowing proper weight to these facts, the observations at
the base stations, with that of Professor McClure at the summit, gave
49 degrees Fahrenheit as the mean temperature of the air column.
I regard the method of reduction outlined above as possessing decided
advantages over any other that could be applied to the problem in
hand; especially because it admits of using the isobaric charts with
great freedom and effectiveness, thereby increasing the reliability of
the result to a marked extent.