A CHAPTER XX THE LAST OF ACONCAGUA FTER Vines had joined us we continued with the survey traverse and levelling of the Horcones Valley. The whole of our party, consisting of Lightbody, Vines, Gosse, and myself, together with our porters and arrieros, were now collected together in one great camp in the open plain of the valley, just below our old tent under the forked peak. From here we had a splendid view of the topmost peak of Aconcagua lying due south from us. We had measured the height from many stations, but as a method of checking our work, and of making doubly sure that we had made no mistakes, we very carefully measured a base-line on this level plain, and made a fresh and independent triangulation of the mountain. This occupied us for many days, as our base-line from here was, owing to the formation of the country, necessarily a small one. We therefore took very elaborate pains to get our measurements absolutely correct. The altitude angles were measured with three theodolites, and checked with the sextant, these altitudes being repeated again and again at various times in the day, so as to minimise any errors that might possibly creep in owing to refraction. The angles and altitudes, when worked out, corresponded exactly with our previous heights, so we were at length satisfied that the measurements were as correct as it lay within our power to make them. We then turned our attention to continuing our traverse to the head of the Horcones Valley. Meanwhile Lightbody made a series of plane-table sketches from all our trigonometrical points, which we plotted out, to get the detail of this valley as perfect as possible. TRIANGULATION 221 On 24th April, at an early hour in the morning, Vines and I started up to the head of the valley for the last time, in order to reach our 14,000 foot camp, and finish our work. The days were getting much shorter now, and everything gave us the impression of approaching winter-dull, leaden skies, and bitterly cold nights. We had set ourselves the task of finishing our triangulation at the head of the Horcones Glacier. As we rode up the valley we found the streams a mass of hard ice, and the rocks all glazed and slippery with icicles. I had sent on a couple of men with our instruments before sunrise, to avoid delay, and by about 11 a.m. we reached our old camp. The ground here was covered with snow, and a cold biting wind from the north-west made our work very trying. We at once set ourselves to carry out the measurements we required on the glacier, and continued thus employed until 4 p.m.; then, as it was getting late, we decided to make the last trigonometrical station at the head of the valley on a great pile of loose stones that lay on the glacier. The sun was now setting, and the Catedral had already cast its long shadow across us. During the last of our observations at this point we got our finger-tips severely touched by frost, for the screws upon our instruments were so cold that our skin peeled off as we touched them. It was impossible, we found, to adjust them properly with our gloves on. At about 5 p.m. I turned homewards, and it was with a feeling of great reluctance that I looked for the last time at this vast amphitheatre of ice and snow that had been the scene of so much of our labour. Many a day had I gazed out on it from our high camp with a feeling of utter hopelessness and bitter disappointment. Then all the forces of nature seemed to have combined to hold me back in my work; even the elements themselves threatened at times to overwhelm our little camp, while many a weary day was wasted in waiting to see if it were not possible to overcome the fearful nausea that disabled me. Many a time had I crossed this glacier on my way to our upper camp, full of health, vigour, hope, and ambition; then, alas, how many times had I passed down, walking in the same tracks, disheartened, dejected, weary, hopeless-my work still undone, while I was mentally and physically broken by cold and suffering, and failure stared me in the face-to return once more to an attack that at the time seemed well-nigh in vain. Just as we were leaving, the sun set, lighting up the scene with a fiery glow. I turned once more to look on this great glacier surrounded with snowy peaks, before taking leave of it for ever. Though we were now in the shade of evening, the sun having disappeared behind the neighbouring hills, the great battlements of Aconcagua still rose up on our right, bathed in sunlight, the shadows gradually creeping up its sides, till at last darkness like a cloak enveloped the peak, and only the summit remained tinged with red. Recollecting the lateness of the hour, and the long rough track that lay before us, we hurried towards the spot where we had left our horses, and mounting, we pressed on as fast as the dangerous way allowed. It was soon night and the stars gradually came out. Suddenly, before we had gone more than a mile, the light seemed to come back, as if the sun were rising again, and once more the great crags of Aconcagua rose above us, bathed in a ruddy brightness which seemed to invest them with even more than their wonted mystery and grandeur. This strange afterglow was caused, no doubt, by the reflection of the sun's rays, now invisible to us, from the surface of the Pacific Ocean to the clouds. It lasted but a few moments, and disappeared as suddenly as it came, leaving us in utter darkness, our eyes still dazzled by its radiance. The night was cold, and we pressed onward, reckless of consequences, trusting to the instinct and intelligence of our horses to find the way safely through the defiles. It was nearly midnight when we reached our camp. The next morning, our work at the head of the valley being completed, and the mountain being measured, it only remained for us to make the exploration of the south face. Vines and I rode up the eastern branch of the Horcones Valley, to make a general reconnaissance, and to see how we could best place our trigonometrical stations. This was the first time we had penetrated into this valley, and we were |