The Mountaineer 23 
leaving the park, when three days later the hood became an 
umbrella and we were just beneath the drip. 
Down the Winthrop and up Van Horn Creek to Spokwush 
meadows, one is surrounded with vistas. Toward the west 
from the divide across the torrent-scarred ridges, appears the 
snowy line of the Olympics, a mile below stands the gray arch 
of the great stone bridge, while to the south of the valley rise 
the rich red turrets of the ruined castles of the Sluiskins. 
Before the blazing campfire, one of our geologists interpreted 
part of the story from the great stone book that for many days 
had been spread before our eyes on the rocks and glaciers of 
this typical voleanic peak, a story as old as the hills indeed, 
yet ever new and full of interest. Morning came in one saffron 
sheet, unrolled beyond seven ranges of foothills. Reluctantly 
we packed and started to breakfast. The women had been 
asked to bring down their dunnage and there immediately en- 
sued a wild scramble as the bags were released on the heights 
above commissary. Rolling, bouncing, hurtling downward, 
they made straight for the fire or the stream. Shouts rent 
the air at every fresh catapault from above and cheer upon 
cheer for the hero who dared to stop the missile. 
From Chenuis Mountain to Spray Park is not far hori- 
zontally, but we alas, measured the distance up and down, so 
there was but time for an afternoon’s acquaintance, a last look 
at our mountain of mountains, a last rest on our beloved 
heather, a last race across the snow, and we were off down the 
trail toward the Carbon river. 
The very heavens wept at our departure, and such a down- 
pour! Yet despite the soaking, it was a right jolly company 
that gathered that night in Ranger O’Farrel’s hospitable cabin 
to celebrate Christmas in August, with a real illuminated tree 
and a most real Santa Claus in a fur coat to distribute the gifts. 
One more campfire, ending with a “hob-nail dance” in the 
deserted mining town of Hillsboro, a coveted opportunity to 
study the coal mine now being actively operated at Fairfax, 
and we boarded the special car. This time the hill mud clung 
visibly to our shabby and beloved boots and with it the joy of 
all that we found, in those wonderful playgrounds among the 
eternal peaks. 
