50 CAMP-FIRES IN THE CANADIAN ROCKIES 



until it stopped against a rock wall which went on up 

 several hundred feet more. In a notch quite near us 

 was a big bank of eternal ice. In that country, such 

 things are called glaciers; and its melting foot was the 

 starting-point of Goat Creek. Fifty paces taken east- 

 ward from our tents brought us to a projecting point 

 from which we looked down a hundred feet to a rope 

 of white water, and on down Goat Creek as it drops 

 five hundred feet to the mile, to the point where it turns 

 a sharp corner to the right, and disappears. 



Westward of camp, after climbing up a hundred feet 

 or so, through dead standing timber, the ridge slopes 

 steeply down for a mile and a half to the bottom of a 

 great basin half filled with green timber, that opens 

 toward Bull River. It was on this slope, at a point where 

 a wall of rock cropped out, that Mr. Phillips cornered 

 his flock of goats and photographed them. 



At our camp, water and wood were abundant; there 

 was plenty of fine grass for our horses, spruce boughs 

 for our beds, scenery for millions, and what more could 

 we ask? 



The day following our arrival on Goat Pass was dull 

 and rainy, with a little snow, and we all remained in 

 camp. At intervals, some one would stroll out to our 

 lookout point above Goat Creek, and eye-search the 

 valley below " to see if an old silver-tip could come 

 a-moochin' up, by accident," as Guide Smith quaintly 

 phrased it. 



That gray day taught me something of color values 

 in those mountains. As seen from our lookout point, the 



