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EXPERIENCES IN GLACIÈRES.

EXPERIENCES IN GLACIÈRES.

SUBTERRANEAN ICE IN KING’S RAVINE.

Subterranean ice was brought to my notice by a mere accident, late in the month of September, 1877, while on a descent of King’s Ravine, on Mount Adams, in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. We had just descended the rock wall of the mountain and had reached the head of the gorge, when my companion, Mr. Charles E. Lowe, the well-known Appalachian guide of Randolph, suddenly said to me, “Would you like a piece of ice? I can get you some presently.” I answered, “Certainly,” wondering where he would find any. When we got among the big boulders, which form so rough a path for the traveler at the bottom of the ravine, Mr. Lowe climbed down under one of the biggest, and presently reappeared with a good sized lump of ice. I was much impressed at finding ice at the end of the summer in this gorge, when for months past no ice or snow had been visible on the surrounding mountains. I noticed also the peculiar, flaky formation of the ice, and saw at once that it was something new to me, and in fact it was a piece of what I have since learned to know as “prismatic ice.”

GLACIÈRE NEAR BRISONS.

In the summer of the year 1880, I traveled through the Alps, with a friend from Philadelphia. On the 17th of September, we drove from Geneva to Bonneville. Thence we started on foot without a guide, and as a result got lost in the woods, from which we only extricated ourselves at nightfall. After retracing our steps to Bonneville, we were glad to find a man to show us the way we should have taken, and finally reached the little village of Brisons in France, where we slept. The next day we took a guide and made our way across the mountains to Annecy, at one spot going out of our direct route to see a place spoken of by the natives as a glacière. It was a little pit, and at the base of one side thereof was the mouth of a small cave into which we could not see any distance. At the bottom of the pit lay a mass of dirty snow and ice to which we did not descend, as the sides of the pit were sheer and smooth, and there was no ladder. This pit seemed to be more of the nature of a gully filled with winter snow, than a true rock cave containing ice.

THE GLACIÈRE DE L’HAUT-D’AVIERNOZ.

Three days after this, on Tuesday, the 21st of September, 1880, we visited the two largest glacières on the Mont Parmelan, near Annecy, France. At Annecy we inquired at the hotel for a man who knew the Mont Parmelan; and, after finding one, we made our way to Les Villaz, where we spent the night in an auberge. Our companion was an odd personage. He was small, about fifty years of age, and looked meek, crushed and hungry. He wore a long black frock coat and black trousers, thin boots and a linen shirt, certainly not the ideal outfit for a cave explorer. Under his care we started early in the morning and toiled up a mountain path some eight hundred or a thousand meters,[1] through woods and pastures, to the higher plateau of Mont Parmelan, in which was situated the first glacière. This was in a great pit, at the bottom of which, on one side, was a big cave. On the side of the pit opposite to the opening, there was a steep rock slope, forty or fifty meters long, whose lower portion was covered with snow. Down this slope we descended with but little difficulty, reaching at the bottom an almost level ice floor which spread over the entire cave and was formed throughout of thick, solid ice. A second and much smaller pit in the roof of the cave opened directly over the ice floor; and under this pit rose a small cone of ice, some two meters high, the only one in this glacière.

[1] The metric system is used throughout this book, except in a few quotations. Thermometric observations are given in degrees Centigrade.

The glacière itself was approximately round in shape, and some twenty meters in diameter. At one place the rock wall was broken and we could look into a much smaller inner cave or chamber. Into this we could not penetrate on account of a long, narrow crack or hole which yawned in the ice floor for a distance of some five or six meters and continued through the opening into the second chamber. We tried to cut our way along the side of the hole, but had to give it up, finding the ice too hard and our time too short. The crack or hole, whose sides were solid ice, proved conclusively that the ice in this glacière was many meters in thickness, for we could look a long way down into the hole, certainly for ten or twelve meters, until the ice sides disappeared in darkness, without any visible bottom. The hole cannot be spoken of as a crevasse, for, besides not looking like a crevasse, it was certainly formed by other causes than those which form the crevasses in glaciers, since there is, as a rule, no perceptible movement in subterranean ice. Doubtless, the hole was due to the drainage of the cave, which undoubtedly passed off through the hole. There may be, nevertheless, some little motion in the ice of this glacière, for it is evident that it is fed principally directly by the winter snows; which, whether as frozen or melted snow, descend gradually, by the force of gravitation, from the slope of the pit into the glacière.

As for any possibility of this great mass of ice melting away and forming again in any one year, it passes belief; there must be at least the cubic contents of a dozen ordinary houses in the cave, and such a mass could hardly be destroyed or formed again in any such short space of time as a fall or spring. This is, therefore, probably a permanent or perennial glacière.

THE GLACIÈRE DE CHAPUIS.

Starting out from the Glacière de l’Haut-d’Aviernoz we walked across the plateau of the Mont Parmelan, en route for the second glacière. This plateau is a curious rock formation, consisting of what the natives call lapiaz, which might be translated “stone-heaps.” The plateau is full of great projecting rocks; and myriads of cracks and crevices everywhere rend the surface, and over these crevices one sometimes has to jump. Still, I do not remember any particular difficulty. It was certainly not nearly as bad walking as the taluses of loose rocks one meets at the base of many mountains.

Our guide led us for about an hour across the plateau in a southerly direction, and then, looking over the side of the Parmelan, with a sweep of the arm covering south, west and north, he told us that the glacière lay between those points, but he did not know exactly where. This seemed a rather hopeless prospect, so, as we had no clue to the whereabouts of our prospective hole, we descended to a couple of châlets we saw some two hundred meters below, but which at least were in the direction of Annecy. We followed a goat-herd’s path which led to the châlets from the plateau, one of those dangerous grass tracks, where nothing would be easier than to make a slip, and where a bad slip might have unpleasant results. This is, however, just the kind of place where every one is particularly careful not to slip. We were careful and so reached the châlets all right, and there we found a strong, intelligent boy, who at once pointed out the place where the glacière was, about half way up the slope we had just come down. So we took him with us, leaving our guide at the châlets to await our return.

The entrance to the glacière was in a wall of rock, set at an angle of some thirty-five degrees; at the bottom of this there was some grass. An easy chimney some fifteen meters high led up to the glacière. Up this chimney we climbed. At the top we entered a little cave about two meters deep, by a sort of portal about two meters wide. The cave made an elbow to the right, and passing this we found that it turned to the left and pointed directly into the mountain. The rock went down vertically in front of us, but the boy said we could get down, so having first lowered a candle by a string to see the depth, which turned out to be a perpendicular drop of some four or five meters, with the help of the rope we all climbed down. We were already almost entirely away from the daylight and a few steps took us into complete darkness, except for the light we had from the candle each of us held in his hand.

The fissure led straight into the mountain. It was a couple of meters wide at places, and there we moved along the bottom. In one place it narrowed below to a wedge, and there we progressed either by climbing along one side or by placing one foot on one side and the other foot on the other. The fissure led downwards as well as inwards. It would have been nothing in daylight to go through it; but in the semi-darkness it was not easy.

After a descent of some twenty-five meters or thereabouts, we arrived at the glacière, and I have certainly never seen a weirder place. There was a great arched rock dome, perhaps six meters in height, and some twelve in diameter; the floor was a sheet of smooth, slippery ice, at one end curling over, gently at first, afterwards more steeply, to a lower depth; and on the sides were seven or eight ice columns streaming from cracks in the rocks to the floor. Each of these columns was some three or four meters high, and, small at the top and in the middle, spread out at the base into the shape of fans. In the dim candle light and the cold damp atmosphere, the columns loomed up like so many ghosts, and the landscape impression was strange and solemn. The air here seemed perfectly still.

There was another curiosity. The fissure we had come down, at this point some three meters wide, was filled, just beyond the glacière, with pure, transparent water, which formed a little lake: this was perhaps one meter deep, and extended across the fissure, barring further progress. It certainly seems strange that in the same cavern, under nearly the same conditions of temperature, there should be one place covered with a flooring of ice and another filled with water. The explanation, however, is perhaps not far to seek. Over the lake there was a distinct draught of air. The draught probably melts the ice in summer, if indeed it does not prevent any from forming in winter. There are, so far, no winter observations reported of this cave, yet it would seem to be one which would well repay the trouble.

THE GLACIÈRE DE CHAUX-LES-PASSAVANT.

On the 17th of August, 1894, my brother and I arrived at Besançon, the Vesontio of the Romans, bent on seeing the Glacière de Chaux-les-Passavant or de la Grâce-Dieu, which is not far distant from the town. The hotel we stopped at was pretty bad; the beds were surmounted with those old-fashioned curtains which were of use before the invention of glass windows, but which now only serve to exclude air and ventilation. However, I learnt something of the manners and customs of the country, for on getting down at six o’clock the next morning for breakfast, the first question the waiter asked was: Quel vin monsieur prendra-t-il? At seven o’clock we sallied forth in a little open one-horse victoria, with a dull gray sky overhead. Besançon is well down in a valley, so the first five miles of the road were a slow, gradual rise to the surrounding levels. The scenery as we drove along reminded us of Turner’s pictures: distant vistas of hills and valleys with factories blowing off their smoke and with tumble-down old houses ensconced in picturesque nooks, just those long-distance effects that Turner loved to paint and which, for some reason, the artists of the present generation have generally neglected and usually speak of as unpaintable or unpicturesque. There was a row of trees, the whole way, on each side of the road, a bit of practical forestry, the wisdom of which it would be well for Americans to recognize. After our poor horse had pulled us up the long hills, we had an almost level road running in a straight line as far as the eye could see. We saw at least a hundred little hawks, who live on field mice and other rodents, and whose preservation is another evidence of French wisdom. The last four miles of the drive was up a ravine in the woods, near the beginning of which we passed the Trappist convent of la Grâce-Dieu.

GLACIÈRE DE CHAUX-LES-PASSAVANT.

From a Photograph by E. Mauvillier.

Opposite the entrance of the glacière, there is a little restaurant where the peasants come to dance and picnic, and where the few travellers who get to these parts, can obtain a tolerable déjeuner. They keep a fair vin du pays there, and we had some trouble on the way home in consequence. Our driver, a talkative specimen of the genus and an old soldier of Bourbaki’s, told us, on the way out, many things about Besançon during the Franco-German war and of the retreat of the French army into Switzerland; but on the way home, he showed that he evidently was not a member of the blue ribbon army. He first seemed desirous of not taking us back to Besançon, preferring to go in the other direction towards Bale; and afterwards he evinced a violent inclination to go to sleep. We thought we should have to request him to change seats with us, and drive back ourselves, but we obviated the difficulty by plying him with questions as soon as he began to nod on his box. Eventually, we reached Besançon all right, only once bumping a passing cart, and only once nearly capsizing into a ditch. If Americans can learn some points from Europeans about forestry, I think the latter might get some equally valuable information from us concerning the use of water, externally and internally.

The good lady at the restaurant acts the part of the old-fashioned cave dragon, and we had to appease her by handing over four sous as a preliminary to exploration. She also had a sign up, saying that no one is allowed to break off or take away any ice, which must sadly interfere with the tourists’ privilege of bringing away specimens.

The entrance of the glacière was surrounded by woods, which formed a natural rampart to anything like wind. As we stood facing the glacière a great pit opened before us, with a slope about one hundred and thirty-five meters long leading to the bottom. This slope is at first gentle in its gradient, but lower down it steepens to an angle of some thirty degrees so that we were glad to resort to the trail which descends in regular Alpine zigzags. In one place, on the right hand, there were the remains of a stone wall with a door, and local tradition relates that in former times there was a sort of fortified habitation there, which was used in war times as a place of retreat. The lower part of the slope is covered by a protecting roof of rock which, thin at the rim where it is edged with forest, gradually slopes downward overhead so that at the mouth of the glacière we looked back and up what might be described as an immense tunnel. The lower part of the slope was a mixture of broken rocks, mud and ice: the last, however, seemed to be all on the surface, although it was impossible to determine whether it went to any depth.

ICE STALAGMITES, CHAUX-LES-PASSAVANT.

From a Photograph by E. Mauvillier.

At the base of the tunnel we found ourselves on the threshold of an immense, almost circular cave, with a diameter of some fifty meters, rising overhead into a regular vault or dome about twenty-seven meters in height. The entrance to the cave is so large that plenty of daylight is admitted, and the whole cave easily examined. The rocks are of a yellowish brown hue, and I could not help thinking of Nibelheim in Richard Wagner’s Rheingold.

Fig. 1.[2] Vertical Section of Chaux-les-Passavant.

[2] The figures in this book are rough sketches, without pretense at accuracy of measurement, and are only explanatory of the text.

The bottom of the cave was entirely covered with a flooring of ice. How thick this flooring was there was no means of judging, as there were no holes, but it must have been at least two or three meters thick in places. At the back of the cavern, directly facing the entrance, one magnificent frozen water fall streamed from a fissure. It was perhaps five meters high, and began to take the fan shape from its origin. The base was about four meters wide, and did not rest on the ice floor, but on a sloping rock extending out from the side of the cave.

Perhaps the most remarkable feature of all, were six or seven great ice stalagmites, shaped like cones or rough pyramids, which rose on the floor of the cave. One of these was at least five meters in diameter and six in height, and seemed perfectly solid. In the case of two of the others, however, the cones were broken on one side, revealing in each the stem and branches of a young pine tree. These evidently had been planted in the ice and round them the columns had grown. Whether all the ice cones were thus artificial in their origin I could not determine, but it seemed probable that they were the result of years of undisturbed accretion and growth. In both the cones where the break on the side gave a view into the interior, the dark blue-green color of deep glacier crevasses was present.

A pool of water, perhaps thirty centimeters in depth and three or four meters in diameter, lay at one place on the ice floor. The whole cave was damp and the ice in places decidedly slushy, in fact all the signs showed that it was thawing. In the case of this glacière as well as in those of the Mont Parmelan, it seemed clear that it must be in the winter months that the formation of ice takes place.

ICE STALAGMITES, CHAUX-LES-PASSAVANT.

From a Photograph by E. Mauvillier.

DÓBSINA JEGBARLANG.

The cavern of Dóbsina, in the Carpathian Mountains, is easily reached either from Poprád to the north, or from Dóbsina to the south. The hotel at Poprád is better, however, than the inn at Dóbsina, where my brother and I spent two nights. It was decidedly primitive. The food was not so bad, but the pigs ran round in the courtyard, and one morning a gypsy band woke us at half-past three o’clock by playing in front of our windows, in dreadful wailing tones, which were most irritating at that hour. At the proper time, however, Hungarian gypsy music,—despite the fact that none of the players ever seem to look at the leader, and that each man appears to play the tune he likes the best,—is strangely fascinating.

Dóbsina itself lies in a hollow, surrounded with well-wooded hills, the general appearance much resembling some of the valleys of the White Mountains of New Hampshire. My brother and I started from Dóbsina on the morning of the 27th of July, 1895, at half-past seven o’clock, in a little open carriage with excellent horses and a Hungarian driver in national costume. He was a nice fellow, but he did not understand a word of German. The road reminded us of some of our own mountain roads, as it was rough, full of holes and partly washed away by the rains. We first ascended to the crest of the surrounding hills and then descended to the Stracena Thal, a wild limestone valley covered with fine forest. Two hours and a half driving landed us at the hotel-restaurant near the cave, at which I should certainly stop on another visit. It was half an hour’s stroll thence, through beautiful woods, to the cavern’s entrance. Northwards in the distance the Tátra Range was visible, a set of sharp bare rock peaks, at whose base, ensconced in pine forests, is situated the famous Hungarian summer resort of Tátra Füred, which much resembles Bar Harbor.

The entrance to the cavern is enclosed by a fence with a gate, and here the Dóbsina people have a high tariff and take toll from tourists. At the gate, we waited for half an hour, until a sufficient number of persons had arrived to form a party. This mode of visiting the cave rather detracts from the pleasure, even though it does away with all difficulty and makes the beauties of Dóbsina accessible to everyone. It was also necessary to wait long enough to cool off thoroughly before entering, on account of the icy air of the cavern, where heavy winter clothes are indispensable.

Fig. 2. Vertical Section of Dóbsina.

The entrance to Dóbsina faces nearly due north. It is small, perhaps two meters wide and three meters high, and is perfectly sheltered from any wind. The sudden drop in temperature at the entrance was startling; in fact it was the most extreme change I have noticed in any cave. Within the length of an ordinary room, say in a distance of five meters, we passed from an extremely hot summer morning to the chill of a mid-winter afternoon. A slight air current, perhaps, issued from the entrance, as we observed a faint mist there. At the rock portal there was ice on the rocks overhead, and underfoot was the beginning of the huge mass of ice which almost fills the cavern. A descent down eighteen wooden steps landed us at the beginning of a great ice floor, in what is called the Grosser Saal. It is a magnificent cave. The floor is a sheet or rather a mass of solid ice, the surface of which is level enough in one place to permit of skating; in other spots it is sloping and covered with small ice hillocks. The ice is solid throughout, without any holes or cracks. Several fissure columns stream to the floor from cracks in the sides. Joining the roof to the floor are numerous big ice stalactites, which form frozen pillars and columns. These are from eight to eleven meters in height, and some two to three meters in average breadth and width. Nearly translucent, they are covered with all sorts of icy ornaments hanging about them in tufts and fringes; they are beautiful in their shapes, as well as in their white and blue colors. One of these columns is called the Brunnen, because until about ten years ago, a small stream dribbled continuously from the roof and cut a channel across the ice floor; but now the stream has solidified into the pillar, and the channel is filled up, although it can still be traced in the ice.

The cavern is lighted by electricity, which has the merit, even if it brings in an element of artificiality, of clearly revealing one of the chief glories of Dóbsina. This is the rime or hoar frost, which in the shape of ice or snow crystals, covers the entire limestone roof, and, reflecting the electric light, shines like frosted silver. Some of these frost crystals seem to be precipitated to the floor, and in one place I found a small sheet of them, perhaps two meters in width each way, which looked and felt like genuine snow. The general color effect of all this upper cave is white, although there is some blue in the ice, and gray and brown in the rocks and shadows. It would not be much of a misnomer to call Dóbsina “the great white cave.”

The ice extended to the sides of the cave except in two places. Here there were holes in the ice, bridged by low rock arches. We passed through one of these and descended by a wooden staircase some eighty steps, afterwards returning up through the other arch by another staircase. At the bottom we stood in a magnificent gallery named the Korridor, formed by a solid wall of ice on one side and by a wall of limestone rock on the other. The ice wall is the lower portion of the ice floor; the rock wall is the continuation of the roof. For the entire distance the ice wall rises almost perpendicularly some fifteen meters in height, while the rock wall arches overhead.

THE LOWER ROSITTEN ALP AND THE UNTERSBERG.

The bottom of the Korridor was filled with blocks of fallen limestone, through which any water drains off, and on which there was a wooden walk, so that we circled round the ice with the greatest ease. At one place on the limestone wall hung a cluster of big icicles, which, from their shape really deserved the name they bear, of the Orgel. At another place a hole, some six or seven meters deep, was hewn, in the form of a small chamber, directly into the ice mass. This is the Kapelle, where we performed our devotions by leaving our visiting cards on the floor. Near the middle of the Korridor the ice mass bulges out and extends to the limestone wall, breaking the whole Korridor into two parts, the western portion about eighty meters, and the eastern about one hundred and twenty meters long. This necessitated cutting a tunnel about eight meters long in the ice to get through. The color of the Korridor is a darkish gray and is much more sombre than that of the Grosser Saal. A remarkable feature of the ice wall is the fact that distinct bands of stratification are visible in the ice in many places. Why the Korridor is not filled up with ice and why the ice is perpendicular for such a distance are questions I am unable to answer satisfactorily; but it is probable that the temperature of the rock walls is sufficiently high to prevent ice from forming in winter or to melt it in summer if it does form in winter.

The air in Dóbsina seemed still, and scarcely felt damp. In one or two places in the Grosser Saal there was a slight sloppiness, showing incipient signs of thaw. In the Korridor it was freezing hard.

THE KOLOWRATSHÖHLE.

The Kolowratshöhle is situated on the north slope of the Untersberg, near Salzburg, at an altitude of 1391 meters. My brother and I visited it on the 2d of August, 1895. We had one of the patented guides of the district, Jacob Gruber by name, in regular Tyrolese dress, with gray jacke and black chamois knee breeches. We left Salzburg in the early morning in an einspänner and drove to the foot of the Untersberg in about an hour, whence, by a rough path passing by the Rositten Alp, we ascended to the cave in about three hours. The last hundred and sixteen meters of the path were cut across some moderately steep rock slabs and a perfectly unnecessary iron hand-railing affixed.

The entrance faces northeast. Here there must have been a slight draught of cold air moving outwards, the effect of which was perceptible to the eye, as at the point where the cold inside air met the quiet warm outside air, a faint mist was visible. From the entrance, a sharp slope, set at an angle of about forty degrees, led to the lowest point of the cave. The upper half of this slope was still covered with the winter snow which had blown or had slid in. We descended on the right hand edge of the snow by means of some steps cut in the rock by the Deutschen-Oesterreichischen Alpen Club. These steps were covered with a sticky, red mud, which left almost ineradicable stains on our clothing, and as there was also ice in places, they were decidedly slippery.

THE ENTRANCE OF THE KOLOWRATSHÖHLE.

Fig. 3. Vertical Section of the Kolowratshöhle.

At the bottom of the slope we were at the lowest point of the cave, to which all the water flowed, and where it drained off into a crack with a loud gurgling noise. Back of us was the daylight streaming through the entrance; opposite to us was first an ice floor, then a great ice slope, which came down from the further end of the cave. The ice was transparent and of a pale ochre-greenish hue, and filled the entire width of the cave. There is a streak of iron, probably, through the limestone, which in places tints the rocks a dull red. The color impression is a dull green-red, and, on account of the size of the entrance, the light effect is only semi-subterranean.

The ice floor was covered with a layer of slabs of ice, eight or ten centimeters thick, which, earlier in the year, had evidently had water under them. The ice wall or ice slope consisted of two big waves, one above the other, the lower set at an angle of about ten degrees, the upper set at an angle of about twenty-five degrees. To get up the upper wave required about twelve steps cut with the axe. Behind the upper wave, five or six fissure columns streamed out to the beginning of the ice. One ice stalactite, at least two or three meters long, overhung the ice floor, and Gruber said about this: “Well, I wonder it has not fallen yet: they seldom last as late in the year,” a confirmation of what was clearly evident, namely, that the whole cave was in a state of thaw.

In two places there was a strong, continuous drip from the roof to the ice floor, which formed, in each case, what I can only call an ice basin. These basins were nearly circular; one was about four meters, the other about two, in diameter. Around about two-thirds of the rim of the larger one, ice rose in a surrounding ring two or three meters high, suggesting that earlier in the year this basin was a cone, and possibly a hollow cone. The depth in the ice floor, in both cases, was about one and a half meters, and each basin contained some thirty centimeters in depth of water. They reminded me of the rock basins one sees in mountain torrents, where an eddying current has worn smooth all the edges of the rocks. From the larger of these basins, a channel as deep as the basin ran to the lowest point of the cave. This channel was cut out by the overflow, which ran through it in a tiny stream.[3]