eeds and these are as varied as the climbers themselves.
However, I have found that it is well to dress lightly, for this
permits freedom of movement. Personally I prefer light, low shoes that
reach just above the ankle, the soles studded with soft-headed hob
nails, not the iron ones. A change of socks is sometimes a life-saver,
for frequently the footing leads through ice water or soft snow. Numb
feet are always clumsy and slow, and dangerous besides. I have found
it best to wear medium-weight wool underclothes and just enough outer
garments to keep one warm. A staff is a handicap on rockwork, but
helpful on glaciers or other ice climbing.

On the mountain tops, as well as upon the highways, speed is dangerous.
Haste on a mountain brings grief of various kinds, nausea, needless
exhaustion, injuries. Never sprint! Climb slowly, steadily, like a
sober old packhorse. You will make better time, and reach the summit
in condition to enjoy your achievement.

I came to distrust, and to test out, every rung in my rocky ladders. I
found that even the most secure-appearing "stepping stones" were often
rotten and treacherous, weathered by the continual freezing and thawing
of the moisture in its seams. Often a mere touch was sufficient to
shatter them, but sometimes it was not until I put my weight upon them,
holding to a shrub or an earth-buried bowlder the while, that they gave
way.

I learned, too, that the wise selection of a route up and down is the
crucial test of a good guide. In such selection there are no rules;
for every climb presents problems particularly its own, and what worked
out well on the last climb may turn out to be dangerous on the next.
Thus, on one ascent of the cliffs of Black Canyon, my companion
suggested that we follow a "chimney," a water-worn crack that offered
convenient toe-holds. We ascended by the selected route without
difficulty. But an hour later, when a similar ascent confronted us, we
selected the same sort of route and came to grief, finding our way
blocked by an overhanging wall impossible to surmount.

The actual climbing of difficult places becomes a habit, so far as the
physical effort is concerned, leaving one free to inspect the
precipices above, and to feel out, instinctively, the possible routes
to the top.

The selection of a way up difficult places calls for the sixth sense,
instinct, which cannot always be acquired by experience. Wild animals
possess this "inst