324 CAMP-FIRES IN THE CANADIAN ROCKIES 



formally christened that body of water, in honor of my 

 wife, and filed her claim on the side of a fine young 

 balsam that stood on the southern shore. 



Then it began to rain, and we made haste to pitch 

 our tent, cut spruce boughs for our bed, and collect a 

 huge pile of wood for the camp-fire; for it was nearly 

 night. 



People may paint and photograph camps and camp- 

 fires, until doomsday; but after all they are mostly tame 

 and spiritless. One might as well try to paint the 

 perfume of orange blossoms, or the charm of a lovely 

 woman's manner, for all are equally futile. But those 

 who have camped in the lap of Nature, far from the 

 haunts of man, far beyond the last trail and the ultimate 

 tin can, can realize without any pictures the composite 

 sensations of awe, of triumph, and of rare satisfaction 

 which filled our souls as we lit our camp-fire, and 

 settled down for the night. 



Our tent was small, even for two men; but in view 

 of the rain that steadily pattered down, and dog Kaiser 

 shivering as he lay tightly coiled on the dry needles at 

 the foot of our sheltering spruce, we cordially invited 

 him to come into the tent, for the night. Kaiser always 

 was persona grata, and it was no hardship to share with 

 him our bed, as well as our board. 



When not exercising, it was stinging cold; and Char- 

 lie was blanketless. To remedy that, he left the front 

 end of the tent wide open, and built across it bows, and 

 only six feet away, a perfectly gorgeous camp-fire six 

 feet long by three feet high. The heat of this radiated 



