Chapter II: Part I: Experiences in Glacières (2)

The day was hot, so it took us three-quarters of an hour on foot, along the valley of the Thaya, to reach the base of the bluff where the Eisleithen are situated, at an altitude of about four hundred meters. The hillside is covered with patches of scrubby forest; and towards the summit, the entire mass of the hill is honey-combed with cracks and the rocks are much broken up. After about ten minutes' ascent up a little path, we came to small holes, from each of which a current of cool air poured out; these holes seemed fairly horizontal, and the temperatures were high enough to prove that there was no ice within. A little further on, we came to a hole or tiny cave among a pile of rocks, where there was a painted sign: _Eisgrube_. It went down from the mouth, and I put my hand well in, but, beyond the length of my arm, I could neither see nor measure its shape or depth. The air felt cold, but was nowhere near freezing point; nor was it possible to determine whether there was a draught: it may or may not be a wind cave. Not far from this, there were two gullies, each terminating in a small cave. The first gully was planned somewhat like certain traps for wild animals, that is, it narrowed gradually from the entrance, then became covered over; and then dwindled, after some four meters more, into a small descending hole, the end of which we could not reach. But we got in far enough, to come to large chunks or slabs of ice plastered about on the floor and sides. In this cave, which was sheltered against sun and wind, the air, as tested by the smoke of a cigar, was motionless, and the cave seemed unconnected with any air current. The second gully terminated in a somewhat larger cave, whose floor was well below the entrance; no ice was visible, however, although the air was still and the temperature low. This cave may or may not be a glacière; but surely it is not a cold current cave.

These Frainer Eisleithen certainly offer an interesting field to anyone studying subterranean ice, from the fact that there are, in the same rocks, caves without apparent draughts in summer and containing ice, and caves with distinct draughts and no ice. The problem seems more intricate than is usually the case, but the solution is simply that the two classes of caves happen to be found together.

THE EISHÖHLE BEI ROTH.

The Eifel is one of the bleakest districts of Central Europe, and to one entering it from the vineyards and the well-inhabited basin of the Rhine, the contrast is impressive. The railroad rises gradually to a land of comparatively desert appearance, with rocks and trees on the heights and a sparse cultivation in the valleys. But, if the country is unattractive to the agriculturist, it is interesting to the geologist, on account of the great number of extinct volcanoes. Almost in the centre of the Eifel is the little town of Gerollstein, famed for the _Gerollsteiner Sprudel_, which gives forth an effervescence undreamed of by anyone, who has not visited the birth place of some of these German table waters.

About an hour's walk from Gerollstein, on the side of a small hill, is situated the little Eishöhle bei Roth, named after a neighboring village. I went to this place, on the 25th of June, 1896, with a young boy as guide. The cave is sheltered from the wind by a wood around it, among which are many large trees. It is at the base of a wall of piled up lava, or at least volcanic, rocks which form a sort of cauldron. The entrance is a small tunnel some five meters long, which goes straight down at an angle of about twenty-five degrees and then turns sharply to the left. At the turn, the cave may be perhaps one meter in height. We did not go beyond this spot, where the air was icy and the temperature sub-normal, as the tunnel was blocked up by a large boulder, which had evidently recently fallen from the rocks in front. There was no ice, as far as we went, and the boy said it began three or four meters further in. He told me that there was no ice in the cavern in winter, but admitted that he had not entered it at that season, so that was hearsay. He had heard also that the ice was sometimes taken out for sick people, but otherwise it was not used.

It seemed to me that the conditions at Roth show that the ice is formed by the cold of winter alone: the cave is well below the entrance; it is the lowest point of the surrounding cauldron of rocks and all the cold air naturally gravitates to it; it is sheltered by rocks and trees from wind or exposure to the rays of the sun; the tunnel faces nearly due north; and the water necessary to supply the ice, easily soaks between the lava blocks.

THE FRAUENMAUERHÖHLE.

Eisenerz, in Eastern Tyrol, is a picturesquely situated little town. It is at the bottom of a great valley, with mountains all around it. Two of these are bare, gaunt limestone peaks, which are decidedly dolomitic in form and color. The sharpest of these is to the north. It is called the Pfaffenstein and is the beginning of the range culminating in the Frauenmauer. On a mountain to the east of the town, one sees the iron mines and works, whence the town takes its name "Ironore," and whence quantities of iron are taken out every year. The mines are said to have been in operation for over a thousand years, since about A. D. 800. After the ore is taken from the mine and roughly prepared, it is run down in small cars through a covered way to the railroad station to be shipped; and at certain times there is a seemingly endless procession of these cars, each bearing, besides its load of ore, a miner, with clothes and person entirely begrimed to the yellow-brown color of the iron.

As I walked out of the Eisenerz railroad station, an old man in Tyrolese costume asked me if I wanted a _träger_ and a guide, so, while he was carrying my valise to the hotel, we came to terms. He was one of the patented guides of the district and wore the large badge of the Austrian guides. If the size of the badge made the guide, one should be safe with Tyrolese, but for difficult excursions, it will not do to trust to a guide simply because he happens to be "patented"; that is, not if one values the safety of one's neck. Next morning, July the 9th, 1896, the old guide arrived betimes at the hotel and roused me by tapping on the wall below my window with his stick. We left at half past five o'clock. My companion, who should have known better, had not breakfasted, so by the time we reached the Gsoll Alp at a quarter-past seven, he was almost tired out. He wore the regulation black chamois knee breeches and a _gamsbart_ in his hat. He picked many flowers en route, ostensibly because they were pretty; but in reality, I think, because it gave him the opportunity to recover his wind. He told me he was sixty-three years old, and he certainly went up hill with some difficulty, and for the first time in my life, I fairly succeeded in showing a clean pair of heels to a _patentirter führer_ on a mountain side. At one place he found a large snail in the road. This he wrapped up in leaves and placed on a rock, and on our return he picked the leaves and snail up, and rammed the whole bundle into his pocket, informing me that it was excellent _Arznei_, although he did not mention for what complaint.

The road led up a wooded valley, in a sort of series of steps, bits of even ground interspersed by steeper ones, with the Pfaffenstein-Frauenmauer limestone peaks poking up their jagged summits on the left. The sky was clear at starting, except in the west, where clouds were forming, and these gradually overspread the whole sky, and finally turned to rain. Just before we reached the Gsoll Alp, we went by a huge snow avalanche, which had fallen in February and torn a lane clear through the pines, bringing down numbers of them with it. The remains of the avalanche were banked up on the side of the road, which was cut out, and many of the pines were still piled on and in the snow. Stopping ten minutes at the alp to allow my guide to recuperate on some bread and milk, we then crossed the pastures and pushed up a rather steep slope by a small path, at one place crossing the remains of another avalanche. We also came near having the attentions of a little bull which was screaming viciously. My guide said it was an extremely disagreeable beast, but he did not think it would attack him, as he always made a point of giving it bread when at the châlet. We reached the entrance of the cave at a quarter-past eight.

A man and a boy from Eisenerz, who had heard I was going to the cavern and who wished to profit by my guide, caught up with us here. They were much disappointed when I told them I should visit only the _Eiskammer_. They went into the cave at the same time that we did, and eventually we left them pushing up one of the side chambers, with only one torch in their possession. My guide said he thought they were risking their lives, as there were many holes they might fall into, besides the probability of their finding themselves in total darkness. He told me that once, while in the cavern, he heard distant yells, and, going up the gallery whence they proceeded, found a man half dead, who said he had tried to come through the mountain by himself, had broken his lantern and had remained in the darkness an indefinite number of hours; a situation, the horror of which could not be realized by anyone who has not been underground without a light and felt the absolute blackness of a cavern.

The Frauenmauer is a limestone peak, 1828 meters in height, one of several forming a horseshoe round the Gsoll Alp. It presents on that side a sheer wall of rock, in which there are two holes close together, at an altitude of 1335 meters. These are the lower openings of the Frauenmauerhöhle, of which the higher and biggest one is used for an entrance. They are some thirty or forty meters from the base of the rock wall, and a flight of wooden steps leads up to the entrance opening, which is narrow and high. At the top of the steps, we stood in the mouth of the cave; and, going in four or five meters, saw the other opening to the left, below us. About five meters further, there was one small lump of ice, as big as a pumpkin, lying on the ground, but this may have been carried there from within. The cavern went nearly straight for some twenty-five meters from the entrance, rising all the time gently. Then came a steep little drop, of some four or five meters, in the rock floor, and here a small wooden staircase was placed. A gallery opened to the right and this was the cavern proper, which leads through the mountain. It rose considerably and contained no ice as far as we went, which was for some distance. The walking was bad, as the floor was covered with _geröll_, that is broken detritus.

From a Photograph by A. Kurka.
]

Returning and continuing towards the freezing chamber, the floor of the cavern began to rise once more, continuing for some forty-five meters to its highest point, which is lower, however, than the top of the entrance, an important fact to notice. For, although the floor of the cave is considerably higher, at a distance of seventy meters within, than the level of the bottom of the entrance; still, that highest spot is below the level of the top of the entrance. This fact, and also the size of the gallery, unquestionably explains why the cold air can get in as far as it does. At this highest spot we found a considerable mass of ice, a couple of cartloads in bulk perhaps, which the guide said would melt away later in the summer. This was, perhaps, the remains of a fallen stalactite. This mass of ice is an interesting point in connection with the Frauenmauerhöhle, for it shows that ice in a cave sometimes forms, even if in small quantities, above the level of the base of the entrance. There seems no reason why it should not do so, provided there is the necessary water supply. Such ice would, however, suffer more, as soon as the outside air was over freezing point, than would ice which was below the level of the entrance. It would probably disappear early in the year, unless the cave were in a latitude or at an altitude where snow remained in the open during most of the year.

From this highest point, the cave turns somewhat to the left, and the floor begins to slope downward, sinking gradually to some six meters below the level of the entrance. Ten meters or so from the highest point, we began to find icicles and fissure columns, and about twenty meters further, we reached an almost level ice floor, stretching across the entire width of the cave--some seven meters--and extending about fifty meters more to the end of the cave. In several places there was much frozen rime on the rock walls. There were also a number of columns and icicles, though none of any special beauty. I broke a piece off one of them, and the ice was transparent and free from prisms, showing that this column was probably of fairly recent origin. Letting a bit melt in my mouth, the water tasted pure and sweet.

From a Photograph by A. Kurka.
]

In two places, there were _abgrunds_, that is, holes in the ice. One of these was a wide, deep hole on the left side of the cave, between the rock and the ice floor. The other was a great hole in the ice floor itself. As the edges of both holes sloped sharply, it was impossible to get near enough to look into either, but I threw in lumps of ice, and from the sound should judge that the holes were about three meters deep. The hole in the ice floor seemed to be cut by drip, and I think they both carried off the drainage.

The ice floor was sloppy and thawing rapidly. At the furthest point we reached, within about fifteen meters from the end of the ice chamber, we were stopped by an accumulation of water lying on the ice. I poked into it with my ice axe and found it about twenty centimeters in depth. There was a crust of ice on top in places. The lake was cold, but I am sure the water was not freezing, as I held my hand in it at least a minute without pain. The guide assured me that in two weeks or so the lake would be completely frozen, provided there was some fine, warm weather; but, if there was rain, he said that it would not freeze. By this statement, he unintentionally explained, what he asserted was true, namely, that the cave froze harder in August than in July. The explanation of course is, that in fine, dry weather, water does not run into the cavern, and then the lake gradually drains off, leaving the ice floor free from water; and this the natives interpret to mean that the water has frozen up.

At the edge of the lake there was a fissure in the left hand rock wall, in which my companion assured me that a column would shortly form. I absolutely doubt this statement, as, if it were true, it would be contrary to everything I have seen; still, I wish I could have returned in August, to verify the matter. I poked my torch up the fissure, also felt in with my hand. It was cold, and on the rocks inside there was much hoar frost, but I could neither see nor feel any ice mass, nor am I sure how far the fissure extended.

The air was still, damp and over freezing point throughout the _Eiskammer_, and all the signs showed that the cave was in a state of thaw. Although the rocks are limestone and scarcely blackened by smoke anywhere, yet as our torches did not give much light, the color impression was black and gray, like the Schafloch.

At the hotel the landlord confirmed in every particular the story of the cave freezing hardest in August or September. He had never been there himself, but stated that everyone said the same thing, and that many people had "broken their heads" trying to account for it. At eight o'clock in the evening, my guide came to let me know that the man and boy, whom we left trying to penetrate the cave, had just turned up after making all their relatives extremely anxious. They were nearly lost, and had in general an extremely uncomfortable time. It is scarcely to be wondered at that accidents occur in caves and on mountains when people, with neither knowledge nor proper preparation, go wandering off by themselves into the unknown.[4]

[4] On the evening of June 29th, 1897, I met at Hieflau three Viennese tourists who had come that day through the Frauenmauer. They found the lake on the ice floor of the _Eiskammer_, just as I had in 1896. They said also, moreover, that they found ice and icicles or ice columns in the main cave; unfortunately, they did not explain clearly in what part.

THE MILCHHÄUSER OF SEELISBERG.

The summer of 1896, will long be remembered by Alpine climbers for the pitiless rain storm, which kept coming steadily down during the vacation months. It was in the midst of this that I arrived at Trieb, on the Lake of Lucerne, on the 6th of August, to see whether I could find the windholes which were reported near Seelisberg. At the landing place I found Herr J. M. Ziegler, the owner of the Hotel Bellevue at Seelisberg, who promptly secured a nice, blond bearded young fellow, a relative of his and his _knecht_, as a guide. It was pouring when we started, a proceeding which kept on during our entire excursion. We tramped up a narrow road, paved with great stones in the old Swiss fashion, and, as my guide truly said, awfully steep for horses.

Half an hour from the boat landing, took us to the first milkhouse, which belonged to Herr Ziegler. It was in a small patch of woods, and was placed against a cliff, where rocks had fallen down and formed a talus of broken detritus. The side walls of the house were built out from the cliff and roofed over, and the front wall had a doorway closed with a wooden door. At the back the detritus or _geröll_ was built into a vertical, unplastered wall between most of the interstices of which, cool air came forth. Several of these interstices were fairly large holes of uncertain depth. It was a cool day and the air currents were only a little cooler than the temperature outside.

Another half an hour of uphill walking, partly on roads and partly over soaking meadows, took us to Seelisberg, where we stopped at the house of the owner of the second milkhouse, to get the key. The owner could not go with us because he had damaged his foot, by wearing great wooden shoes or _sabots_ armed with enormous spikes, while cutting grass on steep slopes. He was hospitable enough: unlike his dog, who was exceedingly anxious to attack us. The owner said--in the intervals of the dog's howls--that ice formed during the winter in the rear wall of his milkhouse and remained until about June. The milkhouse was in a little patch of woods against a small cliff, at the bottom of which were broken rocks. We had some difficulty in getting in, working for at least ten minutes at the lock, while drops of rain-water would occasionally drip into our coat collars. Just as I had given up hope, my companion succeeded in getting the key to turn. There were several pans, full of milk, placed to cool, and several barrels of potatoes; and, as at the first milkhouse, we found that the rear wall consisted simply of heaped up detritus built into a vertical position. Gentle air currents flowed from several large holes and from the cracks between the stones.

From here we went by a path through woods and over meadows down to the lake, coming to the shore some distance to the west of the steamboat landing. Everything was soaking wet, and as we proceeded, I felt my clothes getting wetter and my shoes absorbing water like sponges until, when we came to an overflowing brook, wading through seemed rather pleasant. There is one advantage of getting thoroughly wet feet in the mountains: it makes crossing streams so much easier, as one does not delay, but simply steps right in.

The lower milkhouse was on the shore of the lake, near the house of a fisherman, whose wife opened the door for us. There was some milk in pans and several barrels of wine; and on a board were a number of _ferras_ from the lake; the result of two days' catching in nets. This was the largest of the three milkhouses; although it did not have as many big holes in the rock wall as the others, but only the interstices between the blocks of rock, whence we could feel cool air flowing out. The woman said that the ice melted away by April or May, but that in winter the wine barrels were all covered with frost. She also said that the air coming from the clefts in summer was colder when the weather was warm, than when it was rainy. Doubtless the temperature of the draughts remains the same during the summer, but the air feels cooler to the hand when the outside air is hot.

A walk of another half hour, through more soaking wet grass, brought us back to the steamboat landing at Trieb, where I touched my guide's heart with the gift of a five franc piece, and had a talk with Herr Ziegler. He said that there were a number of places in the neighborhood whence cold air came forth during the summer from cracks in the rocks: that there were also other milkhouses, notably one at Tell's Platte, on the lake: and that the milkhouses were not generally used in winter, when the doors were left open, to allow the cold air to penetrate as much as possible through the rocks behind. During the winter the draughts were reversed, and poured in instead of out of the openings, and Herr Ziegler thought that at that time the interior of the rock cracks became chilled, and that possibly ice formed in them which helped to chill the summer currents, when the draughts poured out from the holes.

THE GLACIÈRE DE LA GENOLLIÈRE.

On Tuesday, the 11th of August, 1896, a cool and rainy day, I left Geneva and went by train to Nyon, where I found at the station a little victoria, in which I drove up to Saint-Cergues. The road lay across the plain to the base of the slopes of the Jura, and then up these in long zigzags; it was admirably built and on the hill slopes passed the whole way through a beautiful thick forest, principally beeches and birches. At Saint-Cergues, I went to the Pension Capt, where the landlady soon found a guide in the shape of the gendarme of the district, a right good fellow, Amy Aimée Turrian by name. He was in uniform, with an army revolver in a holster at his belt. We then drove about half an hour beyond Saint-Cergues, the road rising but little, and the thick forest giving place to a more open wood of evergreens, with patches of pasturage. As a forest sanitarium, Saint-Cergues seems unsurpassed in the whole of Europe. The carriage turned up a little country road, which soon became too rough for driving, so we proceeded on foot for about another half hour, through pine woods and pastures, to the glacière. Turrian enlivened the way with an account of his life as a gendarme, of the long solitary six hour patrols in the woods in winter, and of how he lay in ambush for poachers. He said he would not take long to fire on anyone resisting arrest, as that was _sérieux_.

The glacière is in the middle of a pasture, with several pine trees overhanging it. It is surrounded by a wall, built to prevent the cows from falling in. There are two pits, side by side and about three meters apart: they are some thirteen meters in depth, with a width of five or six meters. They open into one another at the bottom; the rock separating them, forming a natural bridge overhead. One of the pits is vertical on all sides. The other is vertical all around, except on the side furthest away from the natural bridge. Here the side of the pit is in the shape, so usual in glacières, of a steep slope. Down this slope we descended. It was slippery and muddy, owing to the recent heavy rains, and my ice axe proved invaluable and probably saved me some unpleasant falls. Under the bridge, the floor was covered with a mass of shattered limestone debris, among which there was neither ice nor snow; both of which my guide said he had found in abundance the preceding June. A little limestone cavern opened on one side below the bridge. A great, flat limestone slab formed a natural lintel, and, lighting our candles, we stooped down and passed under it into the cave, which was about the size of a room and in which we could just stand up. At the entrance and over most of the floor there was ice, in one place thirty or forty centimeters in depth, as I could see where a drip from the roof had cut a hole. There were no signs of icicles or columns. My guide said he had never penetrated into this chamber, which he thought, on his earlier visit, was blocked with ice and snow. I did not see any limestone stalactites anywhere, and I am inclined to think that the low temperatures of glacières have a tendency to prevent their formation.

After our visit, we went to the Châlet de La Genollière close by, where there were some thirty cows and calves. The intelligent _berger_ or manager said that most of the ice from the glacière was used for butter making during the hot weather; and that between the inroads thus made upon it and from other causes, the ice disappeared every year before autumn, but that it formed afresh every winter; pretty good evidence to show that the ice in this cave has nothing to do with a glacial period. He also stated that when he first entered the inner chamber in the spring there were four ice columns there.

The glacière de La Genollière is a clear exemplification of the theory that the cold of winter is the sole cause for the ice. The whole glacière is rather small and is fairly well protected against wind. Although snow cannot fall directly under the rock arch, yet I should imagine it drifts under, or after melting, runs in and refreezes. To the inner cave snow, as snow, could hardly reach; and the cavern is probably filled, like most cave glacières, from frozen drip. The inner cave is, therefore, a true cave glacière, while the outer pits and the bridge are something between a gorge and a cave. La Genollière should, I think, be visited about the end of June, when the ice formations are certainly larger and more interesting than in August.

THE FRIEDRICHSTEINER OR GOTTSCHEER EISHÖHLE.

A little to the east of, and in about the same latitude as Trieste, is the small town of Gottschee, now reached by a branch railroad from Laibach. Gottschee is a German settlement almost in the centre of the district known as the Duchy of Krain, Austria, which is mainly inhabited in the north by Slavonians and in the south by Croatians. Gottschee lies directly at the western base of the Friedrichsteiner Gebirge, one of whose peaks is the Burgernock. On the eastern slopes of this mountain is situated the Friedrichsteiner or Gottscheer Eishöhle, at an altitude of about nine hundred meters.

On the 24th of June, 1897, I left Gottschee at half past six o'clock in the morning with Stefan Klenka, a nice little man. I had asked to have him come at six o'clock, but he did not turn up and I had to send for him. His excuse was, that tourists always ordered him for six o'clock, but when the time came, they were still in bed. He had taken a German officer and his wife to the cave the year before, and after keeping him waiting three hours, they started at nine o'clock. The result was that they did not get to the cave until two o'clock, and returned to Gottschee just at nightfall.

We reached the cave at half past eight o'clock. The steep and rough path went uphill through a fine forest, which my guide said was _Urwald_, _i. e._, primeval forest; and there were certainly some big trees and many fallen ones, and much underbrush. He assured me that bears were still plentiful in the neighborhood, and that Prince Auersperg, who owns the shooting, does not allow them to be killed, preferring to pay for any damage they may cause to the peasants' fields or for any cattle they may dine on, rather than to have these interesting animals exterminated from his woods. He also said that there was a two meter snowfall in Gottschee in winter: a sufficient quantity to account for the glacières. At one place on the road we stopped before a small crack in the rocks, and Klenka dropped in some small stones, which we could hear strike two or three times a long distance below. There is surely an unexplored cavern at this spot.

The Friedrichsteiner Eishöhle is a large pit cave, well lighted by daylight. It is sheltered from any winds by the great trees which grow all around it and even over the rock roof. A long, steep slope leads straight into the pit and from the top the ice floor is in full sight. On both sides of the slope the rocks are almost sheer. Over the bottom of the slope the rock roof projects at a great height. The sides of the cave rise perpendicularly at least forty meters, and in fact, the cave suggests an unfinished tunnel set on end.

Some years ago, the _Deutschen und Oesterreichischen Alpen Verein_ built a wooden staircase, in a series of zigzags, on the slope. This staircase should have been cleared off earlier in the year, but, of course, the matter was neglected. Down these steps we descended until they became covered with snow, and lower down with hard ice. All this was winter's snow which fell directly on to the slope and gradually melted and froze again, so this was really a miniature glacier. It was not subterranean ice at all. We cut down the snow, but had to stop when we came to the ice, as it would have involved a couple of hours at least of the hardest kind of step cutting; and this my guide did not care to undertake, especially as he was nearly killed on this slope the week before. He had reached, with some tourists from Trieste, a place above that where we stopped, when he slipped and fell down the slope, shooting clear across the cave, where he remained until ropes were procured, and he was dragged out. He afterwards showed me the numerous cuts and bruises he had received on his perilous glissade.

We had to stop also for another reason. I had unwisely brought as wrap, a thick overcoat reaching to the knees, and this was such an impediment on the icy staircase, that I took it off, and soon began to feel long shivers creeping down my spine. This question of extra clothing for glacière exploration is hard to arrange. One must guard against most trying changes of temperature. For, on entering a big glacière, the heat of a July day without, will, at a distance of only a few meters, give place to the cold of a January day within, and nothing could be better devised than a big glacière to lay the seeds of rheumatism. It is difficult to plan a garb suitable to meet all the varying conditions, but the dress must be cool and warm, and light enough to permit free motion. The clothes I have found most practical are a thin waistcoat and thick trousers, and two short sack coats, one of them a heavy winter one. The coats should button at the throat, and it is well to place straps round the bottom of the trousers. Thick kid gloves should always be worn in caves, to save cutting the hands on rocks or ice in the darkness, and hobnails may prevent some unpleasant slips.

From the point where we stopped, some ten meters away from the ice floor, the largest portion of the cave was visible. The finest object was a big ice curtain or _vorhang_, as my guide called it, which, from a height of five or six meters, flowed down from fissures to the ice floor, and which covered the rocks on the eastern side. Under one point of this curtain, Klenka said that there was a deep hole in the ice. Smaller fissure columns also streamed from the rear wall to the ice floor. The ice floor itself was flat, of an ochre greenish tinge, and was covered with broken ice fragments. We could not see the western portion of the cavern, as the rocks jutted out in a sort of corner. Klenka said that there were several small pyramids there; a large one which he spoke of as the _Altar_; and a small ice slope, plastered on the side rocks.

The sides of the cave were of a dark gray limestone rock, and from the top of the slope they assumed a decidedly bluish tone, and I am inclined to think that there was already--we were there from eight-thirty A. M. until ten A. M.--a faint mist in the cavern. This is the most interesting phenomenon connected with the Friedrichsteiner Eishöhle. The cavern faces due south, and about midday, in clear weather, the sun shines directly into it, causing a mist or cloud to form in the cave on warm days; a mute witness that evaporation is connected with the melting, not with the forming, of the ice. The air at every point seemed still.

On my return to Gottschee, I called on one of the professors of the K. K. Gymnasium, and he told me many interesting facts about the surrounding country. Among other things he said that no traces of a glacial period or indeed of glaciers were found in the Krain; and as this district is particularly rich in glacières, this fact is a strong proof against the glacial period theory. He assured me also that many bears still existed in the neighborhood; that one family was known to inhabit the woods round the Friedrichsteiner Eishöhle, and that he had often seen bear tracks on his own shooting, some ten kilometers to the south.

THE SUCHENREUTHER EISLOCH.

On the 25th of June, 1897, I left Gottschee at six-thirty A. M. in an _einspänner_, and drove thirteen kilometers southward, over a good road, albeit hilly in places, to Mrauen, which we reached in about two hours. The weather was exceedingly hot. I took Klenka along, as he spoke German, and he entertained me on the drive by telling me that there were many poisonous snakes in the country, of which the _kreuzotters_ or vipers were the worst, and that three or four persons were bitten every year.

Mrauen is in Croatia, and I could see a slight difference in the people and their dress from those of Gottschee. From Mrauen, the landlord of the _Gasthaus Post_, Josef Sirar, led us to the Grosses Eisloch. This is sometimes spoken of as the Eisloch bei Skrill, but as it lies in a patch of woods below the village of Suchenreuth, the Suchenreuther Eisloch seems the correct name. At least that was what Sirar called it. It took us about an hour on foot from Mrauen to get into the woods. On the way we met two guards in uniform, carrying Männlicher carbines with fixed bayonets, and it was agreeable to feel that the strong arm of the Austrian government extended over this semi-wild land. In the woods, following Sirar's able guidance, we took a short cut--always a mistake--and were lost temporarily in a maze of bushes and brambles, in which I thought of the _kreuzotters_. After that, Sirar at first could not find the cave and had to hunt around for it, while I sat on a stone and waited impatiently.

At the cave a rather steep slope of wet mud, covered with dead leaves, led down through a rock arch. Sirar had to cut several steps in the mud with his hatchet, or we should probably have sat down suddenly. The archway opened into a moderately large cavern, which was about twenty meters deep, almost round and some fifteen meters in diameter. The slope continued right across the cave, and on some parts of it were logs of wood and much débris. On the wall hung a few limestone stalactites. In the roof of the cave was a great hole, and under this was a big cone of old winter snow, which had become icy in its consistency, and on which there was much dirt and many leaves. The temperature in the cave was several degrees above freezing point, and there was no ice hanging anywhere. Sirar said that when the weather got hotter, the ice would come; but as he said also, that he had been only once before in the cave, some ten years ago, his opinion was not worth much. Both men said that the preceding winter was unusually warm.

THE NIXLOCH.

Near Hallthurm in Bavaria, a railroad station between Reichenhall and Berchtesgaden, is a well known congeries of windholes, called the Nixloch. I visited it on Friday, July the 2d, 1897, with a railroad employee, whom I found at the peasants' _gasthaus_.

The Nixloch is ten minutes distant in the forest, on the slopes of the Untersberg. It is among a mass of big limestone blocks, and close by are the remains of the walls of an old castle or fortification. The Nixloch descends from the entrance for about two meters nearly sheer, and there is just room to get through. As I sat within the outside edge of the mouth of the cave, the smoke of my cigar was slowly carried downward into it.

Dropping down through the hole, we found ourselves in a small cavern formed of rough limestone blocks overhead and underfoot. It is possible to go still further down and my companion said that formerly it was possible to go through the cave and come out at a lower opening; this exit, however, was destroyed when the railroad was built. The draught, as tested by the flame of a candle, was still drawing in some seven or eight meters from the entrance. There is a second cavity immediately next to the entrance, and at the bottom of these holes, the inward draught was so violent as to blow the candle out. The thermometer outside in the shade was 28°C.; inside the cave, where the draught was still perceptible, it was about 20°C. Within the cave I noticed two large, dark brown spiders.

On returning to the _gasthaus_, I had a talk with some peasants who were dining there, and they told me that it was warm in winter in the Nixloch, and that ice never formed there.

THE DORNBURG.

If one draws a line northeast from Coblentz and another northwest from Frankfort-on-the-Main, they will intersect nearly at the Dornburg. The railroad from Frankfort goes, via Limburg and Hadamar, to Frickhofen and Wilsenroth, from either of which villages the ice formations of the Dornburg are easily reached on foot in half an hour.

I arrived at Wilsenroth on the 26th of July, 1897, and soon found an old forester, who said he had lived in the neighborhood for over fifty years, to show me the way. The Dornburg is a low hill, perhaps a hundred meters high and a kilometer long. It is basaltic and covered with sparse woods. The forester said that on top were the remains of the foundations of an old castle, and that this was possibly the origin of the name Dornburg. We circled round the eastern base of the hill for some ten minutes, when we came to a little depression, filled with basalt debris, among which were several small holes, out of which came currents of cool air.

Ten minutes further in the woods, we arrived at the _Dornburg Restauration_ and then almost immediately at the glacière. It is at the bottom of a talus of broken basaltic rocks and has been much affected by the agency of man. In it are two _eislöcher_ or _stollen_, as the forester called them. These are little artificial pits or cellars, dug into the talus. They are side by side, opening about southeast, and each is about one and a half meters wide, three meters long, and two meters high. The sides are built up with wooden posts and overhead is a thick roof of logs strewn with dirt. The day was cool and at the mouth of each _eisloch_, a faint outward current of air was discernible at nine-thirty A. M. I could not find any currents coming into the _eislöcher_. Inside it was cold and damp, and evidently thawing. There was a good heap of ice in each _eisloch_; it was clear, and I could detect no trace of prisms.

By much questioning, I dug out something of the history of these _stollen_ from the forester. Formerly the ice was found at this spot, among the boulders at the base of the slope. But the people gradually took many of these basaltic blocks away, to break up for road making, and then the ice diminished. About 1870, a brewery, since burnt, was built at the Dornburg and the brewer had these _stollen_ built, a sort of semi-natural, semi-artificial ice house. Every winter, the present owner of the _stollen_ throws a quantity of snow into them, and this helps materially in forming the mass of ice.

Just below the restaurant there is a spring, which was said to be extremely cold, but there was nothing icy nor apparently unusual about it.

Under the restaurant itself is an interesting cellar. It was closed by wooden doors. First there was a passage way which turned steadily to the right, and which we descended by some ten steps. This was about two meters wide and was full of beer bottles and vegetables. On the left of the passage was a large double chamber where meat is kept. At eleven-thirty A. M. a faint draught blew down the passage and into the hall, the outside door being then open. The double hall was perhaps six meters each way, and I could detect no air currents coming into it at any place, except from the passage way. Both passage and halls were, as far as I could see, entirely built over with masonry. There was no ice and the temperature was some 7° or 8° above freezing point.

The daughter of the proprietor of the restaurant said that ice began to form in the cellar in February and that it lasted generally until October; but that this year it was destroyed early because the masonry was repaired, although it was still possible to skate in the cellar as late as March. In the beginning of winter the cellar was warm, and as she expressed it, _der Keller schwitzt dann_, which I suppose means that the walls are damp. She also said that it was a _naturlicher Keller_, and I am inclined to think that it was a natural glacière, converted into a cellar.

This visit to the Dornburg gave me many new ideas about classifying glacières, especially in relation to the movements of air. I was long puzzled by the German terms, _Eishöhlen_ and _Windröhren_; and it suddenly struck me, at the Dornburg, that this terminology is incorrect, when used as a classification of glacières. The presence or absence of strong, apparent draughts, cannot be considered as a test as to whether a place is or is not a glacière; the presence of ice, for at least part of the year, alone makes a glacière, and this it does whether there are or are not draughts. It seems to me more than ever clear, however, that it all depends on the movements of air, as to whether ice forms in a cave. If the movements of air take the cold air of winter into a cave, then and then only--provided there is also a water supply--do we have ice. I am now inclined to think that caves, as far as their temperatures are concerned, should be classified into caves containing ice, cold caves, ordinary normal caves, and hot caves, without reference to the movements of air.

THE GLACIÈRE DE SAINT-GEORGES.

From Rolle, on the north shore of the Lake of Geneva; an excellent carriage road leads in two hours and a half to Saint-Georges in the Jura. At first the way goes steeply uphill and passes through many vineyards, and afterwards it crosses level fields to Gimel, then rises through woods to Saint-Georges. On arriving there on the afternoon of August 3d, 1897, I found the street filled with evergreens, and long benches and tables; the débris of a _fête de tir_, which had lasted for two days, with dancing and banquets and, I suspect, much _vin du pays_.

When I got down stairs at six o'clock next morning, all the people of the inn were sound asleep recovering from the effects of the _fête_, and instead of their calling me, I had to call them. Finally I succeeded in getting breakfast and then started in company with a first rate fellow, named Aymon Émery.

From a Photograph by E. Truand.
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We walked up through woods, in about an hour and a half, to the Glacière de Saint-Georges, which lies at an altitude of 1287 meters in the midst of the forest. There are two holes close together. One of these descends vertically and is partly roofed over with logs on which is rigged a pulley. Émery, who was the _entrepreneur_ of the glacière, which means that he attended to getting out the ice, told me that they pulled the ice up through this vertical hole, making a noose with a rope round each block.

The other and shallower opening ended in a rock floor, which was reached by a short ladder. To the right was an arch, under which the rock terminated as a floor and descended vertically, forming the wall of the cave. On this wall two ladders, spliced at the end into one long ladder, were placed in a nearly vertical position. I tied the end of my rope round my waist, and got a workman, who had come to cut ice, to pay out the rope to me, while I went down.

The cave is rather long and narrow, perhaps twenty-five meters by twelve meters, and the limestone roof forms an arched descending curve overhead. I could not see any limestone stalactites; neither were there any ice stalactites or stalagmites in the cave, but a good part of the wall, against which the long ladder was placed, was covered by an ice curtain. It was thin and had evidently been damaged by the ice cutters or I think it would have covered the entire lower portion of the wall.

The base of the long ladder rested on an ice floor which filled the bottom of the cave, and which would probably have been level if it had not been cut out here and there in places, leaving many holes. A good many broken ice fragments lay on the floor and in some of the holes were pools of water. Some of the floor ice was exceedingly prismatic in character, and I was able to flake it off or break it easily with my hands into prisms.

Under the vertical shaft, which is at one end of the cave, was a mass of winter's snow which had fallen through the opening. Under this snow was a deep hole, which I believe was the drain hole of the glacière before the ice floor was cut away to a level below its mouth. Into this hole I threw lumps of ice and heard them go bumping down for three or four seconds.

The atmosphere was not uncomfortable, although the temperature was about 7° C. The air did not feel damp, and seemed almost still, but standing on the ice floor nearly under the vertical hole, I found that the smoke from my cigar ascended rapidly, and it seemed as if there were a rising air current, which sucked up the smoke.

Saint-Georges is a fine cavern and well worth visiting. Émery said that the ice was not cut out for eight years preceding the summer of 1897, and that for several years it was not possible to go down at all, as there were no ladders, until he put in the two we utilized.[5] All the natives of Saint-Georges believed that the ice was a summer formation and that it was warm in the cave in winter.

[5] In the illustration of the Glacière de Saint-Georges, the opening to the left is the vertical pit, through which the ice is taken out: underneath it, is the heap of winter snow. The man in the upper part of the picture is standing on the rock shelf at the base of the upper ladder and at the top of the lower ladder. To the right of the lower ladder near the bottom, a bit of the ice curtain is visible.

THE GLACIÈRE DU PRÉ DE SAINT-LIVRES.

From the Glacière de Saint-Georges, Émery and I pushed on through the woods to the Pré de Saint-Livres. In several places we came on the tracks of deer, and my guide told me he had killed eleven roe during the last hunting season. He said also that an attempt is being made to introduce the red deer into the Jura, and that the experiment seemed to be meeting with success. We kept to the crest of the ridge along wood paths, and, as the day was fortunately cool and cloudy, we were able to walk fast and reached the Pré de Saint-Livres in two hours. At a spot called La Foiraudaz we met the workmen coming down with a cartload of ice, which they were taking to Bière. Some of this ice was extremely prismatic.

The Pré de Saint-Livres is a big mountain pasture or meadow, surrounded with hills covered with pine trees. In the middle of it is the Châlet de Saint-Livres, round which numerous cows and calves were congregated and where a small shepherd gave us some milk. The châlet is not one of the old picturesque Swiss châlets with great stones on the roof to keep it from being blown away by the wind, but a strongly built single storied stone structure, which looks extremely modern among the green hills.