156 Professor J. Norman Collie [May 9, 



first gale to bring them crashing to the ground. Others that had lain 

 perhaps scores of years in the wet underbrush had decayed and rotted, 

 having rich masses of decomposing vegetation. There is a marvellous 

 fascination about these quiet shady fastnesses of the western valleys. 

 As one wanders day after day through this underworld cut off from 

 the glaring sun of noonday and the blue sky, hardly a sound breaks 

 the stillness, whilst all around lie piled the ruins of ancient woods. 

 In these western valleys the rainfall too is far greater than on the 

 other side of the range, hence the forests are thicker and the swamps 

 more dangerous ; progression, therefore, up an unknown valley is often 

 very tedious. This we found to be the case in the Bush Valley. It 

 is true that our first view of this valley from the summit of a small 

 hill near its mouth, held out hopes that we should soon get to the 

 head waters and snow-peaks fifteen miles away. Stretched out at one's 

 feet as we looked down on the Bush Valley, was a wide and almost 

 level expanse of shingle. There were no canyons or defiles that 

 might necessitate lengthy detours up precipitous hillsides. It is 

 true we saw some swamps at the sides, but along the level bottom 

 stretched the shingle flats, seamed by innumerable streams, and the 

 main river which wound first to one side and then to the other. The 

 whole formed a veritable puzzle of interlacing channels, islands of 

 pebbles, stretches of swamps and lakes all hopelessly intermingled. 

 The first ten miles up that valley took us ten days' incessant work. 

 Our way was alternately through immense timber, dense thickets of 

 willows, through swamps, streams, small lakes, along insecure river 

 banks, climbing up the hillsides, jumping logs, cutting through fallen 

 trees and undergrowth so thick one could hardly see a yard in front 

 of one, splashing, fighting and worrying ahead ; we had an experience 

 of almost everything that could delay us, and whether the woods, 

 the streams, or the swamps, were worst it was impossible to say. So 

 the days go by, and often real mountaineering is a luxury which has 

 to be left to the last. But we were the pioneers ; now the trails are 

 partly made, and the way to get to the peaks is known, therefore the 

 expenditure of time in arriving at any particular spot can be calcu- 

 lated with much greater certainty. But with this gain in time comes 

 also the loss of the pleasure of the uncertainty of an unknown land. 



However, it will be many a long year before much real change can 

 be made in the valleys that lie thirty or more miles from this line ; also 

 the snow-peaks, the marvellously clear atmosphere, the woods, lakes, 

 and scenery will remain the same. After a long day through those 

 valleys of the Canadian Eocky Mountains, one will be just as able to 

 pitch one's tent and enjoy over the camp fire the stories of the hour, 

 to eat one's dinner with the mountaineer's appetite, to smoke by the 

 light of the smouldering logs, and to go to sleep safely surrounded 

 by the mysterious and dark forests. I always think that the supreme 

 moments of a mountaineer's existence are more often not whilst 

 battling with the great mountains, but afterwards when the struggle is 

 dont) and the whole story is gone over again quietly by a camp fire. 



