ys, these "tables" incline more and more to the
south, until they slide off their pedestals.]

Another warning must be given to the general tourist. Do not try to
climb the Mountain without guides. The seasoned alpinist, of course,
will trust to previous experience on other peaks, and may find his
climb here comparatively safe and easy. But the fate of {p.115} T.
Y. Callaghan and Joseph W. Stevens, of Trenton, N. J., who perished on
the glaciers in August, 1909, should serve as a warning against
over-confidence. Unless one has intimate acquaintance with the ways of
the great ice peaks, he should never attack such a wilderness of
crevasses and shifting snow-slopes save in company of those who know
its fickle trails.

[Illustration {p.114}: Carbon River below its Gorge, and Mother
Mountains. This range was so named because of a rude resemblance to
the up-turned face of a woman seen here in the sky-line, while the
view of snowy Liberty Cap beyond and the milky whiteness of the stream
gave rise to the pleasing fiction that the Indian name of the peak
meant "nourishing breast." "Tacoma" meant simply the Snow Mountain.]

[Illustration: Copyright, 1910, By C. E. Cutter. Oldest and youngest
climbers, Gen. Hazard Stevens and Jesse McRae. General Stevens, with
P. B. Van Trump, in 1870, made the first ascent. In 1905, he came west
from Boston and joined the Mazamas in their climb. The picture shows
him before his tent in Paradise Park. He was then 63 years old.]

Under the experienced guides, many climbers reach Crater Peak each
summer, and no accidents of a serious nature have occurred. The
successful climbers numbered one hundred and fifty-nine in 1910. Many
more go only as far as Gibraltar, or even to McClure Rock (Elevation,
7,385 feet), and are well rewarded by the magnificent views which
these points command of the south-side glaciers and aretes, with the
ranges lying below. The name "McClure Rock" is a memorial of the
saddest tragedy of the Mountain. Over the slope below this landmark
Prof. Edgar McClure of the University of Oregon fell to his death on
the night of July 27, 1897. He had spent the day in severe scientific
labor on the summit, and was hurrying down in the moonlight, much
wearied, to Reese's Camp for the night. Going ahead of his companions,
to find a safe path for them, he called back that the ice was too
steep. Then there was silence. Either he slipped in trying to
re-ascend the slope, or he fainted from