I40 CAMP-FIRES IN THE CANADIAN ROCKIES 



water, and began to climb upward through the green 

 timber. There being no wind to speak of, the exercise 

 warmed us. 



At 500 feet up, my gloves came ofif, were labelled 

 " not wanted," and stowed away in the hold. 



At 700 feet, ofif came my silk muffler. 



At 1,000 feet, my hunting-shirt was voted a superflu- 

 ous luxury, taken ofif, and strapped upon my back. 



At 1,500 feet, my shirt-sleeves were turned up as high 

 as they could go. 



At 1,800 feet, all my shirts were opened wide at 

 the neck, and we had to wait for more air to blow 

 along. 



At 2,000 feet an icy-cold wind struck us hard, and the 

 mercury began to fall. Collars were hurriedly closed, 

 and sleeves unreefed and made snug. To take ofif one's 

 cap to mop away perspiration was like thrusting one's 

 head into a pail of ice-water. 



At about 2,300 feet above Avalanche Creek, we 

 reached the summit. It was as cold as Cape Sabine, and 

 the icy wind blew half a gale. The rapid evaporation 

 of the perspiration in my clothing made my body feel 

 like the cylinder of an ice-cream freezer. With all 

 haste, we flung on our outer garments, put on our gloves, 

 and hurried over the sky-line to get out of the wind. 



A short distance down the eastern side we found an 

 old goat-bed, in a little depression. In this we crouched, 

 to scan the magnificent landscape below, and if possible 

 to get less cold. The grandeur of what we saw instantly 

 made us forget the icy wind. 



