272 THE WILDERNESS OF THE UPPER YUKON 



turrets, cones and rough-hewn crags. Scarred, seamed, 

 and shattered, cliff upon cliff, ledge upon ledge, the great 

 walls reared straight up from the debris below. 



Neither before nor since have I commanded at one 

 view such vast areas of forest on all sides. I could see 

 both forks of the MacMillan, the Selwyn ranges, the 

 smoother plateau mountains between the MacMillan and 

 the Pelly, the Itsi Mountains, and the distant peaks of 

 the Mackenzie ranges across the divide. 



The impression felt when standing on the summit of 

 that lone, massive mountain peak, isolated from other 

 high ranges by miles of intervening wilderness was not 

 that caused by silence and grim desolation, although they 

 reigned supreme. It was a profound sense of loneliness 

 a loneliness caused by the vacancy of uninterrupted space. 

 Never had I felt it in a similar way before. My nature 

 was compelled to a stern accord with the upper world of 

 sky, rock, and snow. But when I gazed down upon the 

 great stretches of wilderness below, the impressions of 

 the world above were transformed into those produced 

 by the beauty and grandeur of the surrounding landscape. 



Walking around the crest I could see no more sheep 

 except those below which were peacefully resting. I made 

 the descent without disturbing them and returned to camp. 



September 5-6. I had seen a few old caribou tracks 

 on the mountain and the next day we took the sleeping 

 robe, a piece of canvas, and some meat, and crossed four 

 miles through the woods to timber-line, at Mount Riddell, 

 which appeared to be a better range for caribou. There 

 we threw the canvas on some inclined poles and filled 



