DOWN AVALANCHE CREEK, AND OUT 327 



The valley route was impossible, because of the wet snow 

 on the logs, so we went down the crest of the ridge west 

 of our little creek. 



It is easy to over-estimate the height that one climbs, 

 and magnify the difficulties of an ascent; but, as truly as 

 I live, that descent seems like one of the most trying 

 experiences that I ever went through in hunting. We 

 went down at a frightfully steep pitch, through green 

 timber and dead timber, clinging like frightened 

 monkeys to every branch, and bush, and twig that we 

 could grasp, to keep from pitching headlong. There 

 were ten thousand fallen trees to climb over, — but we 

 didn't climb over quite all of them. Every fallen tree 

 was wet, every root and stone was slippery. I got three 

 hard falls on soft earth, and each time thankfully went 

 forward to the next. It seemed to me that we went down 

 about five thousand feet, — at least twice as much as we 

 climbed up in going to Lake Josephine, — but I know that 

 the distance was nothing like that. To my last day, it 

 will be to me a profound mystery how we climbed up so 

 easily, and scrambled down so far, and so hard. During 

 the lower third of the descent, the tangle of down timber 

 on that awfully steep mountain-side was most trying. 

 It made one think of tangled hair. 



Soaking wet, we reached Camp Necessity about noon, 

 and were glad to get into dry clothing. The cutting 

 of the trail had been steadily going forward, but instead 

 of being nearly at an end, three miles were yet unopened, 

 and the work was slow and toilsome. To save Charlie 

 Smith from heavy axe-work, which he was then in no 



