It was interesting to hear the wild cries of the muleteers,
and to watch the long descending string of the animals; they
appeared so diminutive, there being nothing but the black mountains
with which they could be compared. When near the summit, the wind,
as generally happens, was impetuous and extremely cold. On each
side of the ridge we had to pass over broad bands of perpetual
snow, which were now soon to be covered by a fresh layer. When we
reached the crest and looked backwards, a glorious view was
presented. The atmosphere resplendently clear; the sky an intense
blue; the profound valleys; the wild broken forms: the heaps of
ruins, piled up during the lapse of ages; the bright-coloured
rocks, contrasted with the quiet mountains of snow, all these
together produced a scene no one could have imagined. Neither plant
nor bird, excepting a few condors wheeling around the higher
pinnacles, distracted my attention from the inanimate mass. I felt
glad that I was alone: it was like watching a thunderstorm, or
hearing in full orchestra a chorus of the Messiah.
On several patches of the snow I found the Protococcus nivalis, or
red snow, so well known from the accounts of Arctic navigators.
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