352 A STIFF CLIMB. 



the eastern side of the Cascades, unlike the 

 scenery of the west or coast slope, which is 

 densely wocded. Here it was like riding through 

 a succession of parks, covered with grass and 

 flowers of varied species. 



We reached the junction of the two streams, 

 and camped, just as the sun, disappearing behind 

 the western hills, tinted with purple twilight the 

 ragged peaks of the rocks that shut us in on 

 every side. Scarce a sound of bird or beast dis- 

 turbed the silence of the forest, and save the 

 babble of the stream, as it rippled over the 

 shingle, all nature was soon hushed in deathlike 

 sleep. I could dimly make out in the fading 

 light the grim hills we had to climb, towering 

 up like mighty giants ; the clear white snow, 

 covering their summits, contrasted strangely with 

 the sombre pine-trees, thickly covering the lower 

 portion of the mountains. 



We had a stiff climb before us, and my hopes 

 were high in expectation of bowling over big- 

 horn (Ovis montana} and ptarmigan. For some 

 distance we scrambled up the sides of the 

 brawling torrent, whose course, like true love, 

 was none of the smoothest, being over and among 

 vast fragments of rock, that everywhere covered 

 the hillside. From amidst these relics of desfruc- 



