{139} The next day, August 8, a topographic station was occupied on the summit of the Pinnacle pass cliffs. We were astir before sunrise, and had breakfast over before four o'clock. The morning was cold, and a cutting wind swept down the Seward glacier from the northeast. All of the mountains were lost to view in dense clouds. A few rays of sunshine breaking through the vapor banks above Point Glorious gave promise of better weather during the day. Lindsley and Stamy had not yet returned from the lower camp, where they were to obtain additional rations; and Kerr and I concluded to try to reach the crest of the Pinnacle pass cliffs and take the chances of the weather being favorable for our work. Leaving camp in the early morning light, we chose to climb over the summit of Point Glorious rather than thread the crevasses at its northern base. Reaching the top of the point, we were still beneath the low canopy of clouds, and could see far up the great amphitheatre to the base of _Mount Owen_.[31] Descending the eastern slope, we soon reached the floor of the amphitheatre, and found the snow smooth and hard and not greatly crevassed. Cheered by faint promise of blue skies, we pressed on rapidly, the snow creaking beneath our tread as on a winter morning. Two or three hours of rapid walking brought us to the southern wall of the amphitheatre, nearly beneath the point we wished to occupy. As we ascended the slope the way became more difficult, owing not only to its steepness but also to the fact that the snow was softening, and also because great crevasses crossed our path. Looking back over the snow we had crossed, two well-characterized features on its surface could be distinguished: these were large areas with a gray tint, caused by a covering of dust. This dust comes from the southern faces of the Pinnacle pass cliffs, and is blown over the crest of the ridge and scattered far and wide over the snow-fields toward the north. Should the dust-covered areas become buried beneath fresh snow, it is evident that the strata of snow would be separated by thin layers of darker color. This is what has happened many times, as we could see by looking down into the crevasses. In one deep gulf I counted five distinct strata of clear white snow, separated by narrow dust-bands. In other instances there are twenty or more such strata visible. Each layer is evidently the record of a snow-storm, while the dust-bands indicate intervals of fine weather. {140} The strata of snow exposed to view in the crevasses, after being greatly compressed, are usually from ten to fifteen feet thick, but in one instance exceeded fifty feet. If we assume that each layer represents a winter's snow, and that compression has reduced each stratum to a third of its original thickness (and probably the compression has been greater than this), it is evident that the fresh snows must sometimes reach the depth of from 50 to 150 feet.