464 



AMERICAN FORESTRY 



ing air, the joy of a weary climb accomplished, a seat 

 on a log and renewed study of the map, lunch by the 

 brook. 



There is no use in describing it to those who en- 

 joy it for they know already and there is no use for 

 those who are puzzled over it for they never can know. 

 We reached the hotel by half past eight, dusty and 

 footsore and luxuriated in the hiker's delight, a hot 

 bath and clean cotton sheets and night clothes. If 

 summer outings do nothing more they make one 

 realize the luxury of ordinary comforts of civilization. 

 We rested and analysed flowers a whole day, then 

 climbed Sky-line Ridge, one of the forestry lookout 

 stations. The forestry crew built this trail the spring 

 of 1914, and whenever there is a lightning storm the 

 Ranger sends a man up to look for lightning fires. 

 The outlook is vast and wonderful, but the thickening 

 haze hid most of it from us. There is hardly a foot 

 of lost elevation on this trail and yet it is a stifif climb. 

 It rises 5,500 feet in five miles. 



We started too early for hotel meals and prepared 

 our three meals ourselves. We had breakfast down by 

 the brook on hot cofTee, boiled eggs and hot toast and 

 were on the trail by half past five. Nevertheless, noon 

 found us on the snow meadows, whence all the snow 

 was gone, and the only signs of the trail far apart 

 blazings. By having one of us stay near a blazing 

 until the other had found the next one we plodded up 

 over the slippery, grassy, flower-bedecked, hot mead- 

 ows until we reached the lookout's tent. The springs 

 on the trail are not perennial and there was only one 

 place where we found water. When we reached the 

 ridge above the tent the world was veiled in a smoky 

 haze. Only the bare outlines of ridges and mountain 

 peaks hinted at what we would see on a more auspi- 

 cious day. The ridge is a succession of meadows out- 

 lined by alpine firs and hemlocks, brilliant with blue 

 lupine, white heliotrope and buttercups, but so much 

 alike that we soon realized that, surrounded by. this 

 haze like a fog, it would be very easy to lose the 

 tent and so the trail. This checked our exploration 

 of the ridge. We missed what we came for, but never- 

 theless it was worth while, the trail itself, the meadows 

 and flowers, the lookout station, the geography of the 

 ridge were all interesting enough to balance the fact 

 that it was a hot, weary, dry and resultless climb. 



We had lunch without wai:er on the meadows. 

 These lunches are always simple on the summit for 

 obvious reasons. We had dinner down by the river 

 again about a mile out of our way. We started to 

 Heliotrope Ridge, taking a plate, knife, spoon, cup and 

 bucket, the simplest of culinary outfits. We had this 

 last meal with hot cofTee, the one utensil, a cup 

 apiece. We left our plates and knives with our bed- 

 ding at Heliotrope Ridge. We had lost the penknife 

 on the trail so we broke our bread. As there were no 

 new flowers on the summit I left the bucket at the 

 Outlook tent, forgetting about supper. We built a 



tiny fire and made coffee in our tin cups. We spread 

 butter on our broken bread with flat pebbles, stirred 

 the sugar in our coffee with dry twigs, divided the 

 orange, and nutmeats, raisins and candy and with our 

 hot coffee and toast, by the boiling river under the 

 fir trees in the afterglow of a dusky twilight, ate our 

 last luxurious meal. Thus you can simplify the sim- 

 plified. 



We reached the hotel long after dark, after our 

 longest one-day trip, seventeen miles, and in the 

 morning, after eight miles of tramping we took the 

 auto stage for a forty-mile ride out of the foothills to 

 Bellingham. 



SCRAPPIN' FIRE ON TH' CHEROKEE 



By H. L. Johnson 



I RECKON she's swiped th' whole durned thing, 

 From Oswald's Dome dowm to Clemmer's 

 Spring." 

 "Naw, 'tain't that bad," says a little feller, 

 "Our gang stuck to 'er an' never showed yeller. 



We cut her off twixt the' prongs er th' crick, 



An' saved th' south end, Lord but I'm sick. 



Let's stop here an' drink, who's got a chaw? 



An' who's ever heerd of th' eight-hour law? 



Here, take yer blamed ol' busted hoe, 



I've toted hit round 'till I dunno 



Ef I'm able ter git back home 'fore day. 



Wonder when we'll git our pay? 



No grub sense momin', sucked water like a bee 



Now fire's jes played H on th' Cherokee. 



"Jeff, you take the lead an' the rest'll foller, 

 COURSE I KNOW THESE WOODS, ev'ry lead 



an' holler ; 

 But I'm fair to admit, I'm a leetle mixed, 

 LORD a' mighty, now I'm fixed. 



Huh? Oh nothin' tall, keep peggin' ahead, 

 Stumped my toe, an' was dreamin' uv bed. 

 This looks a heap like makin' a crop, 

 Us scrappin' fire, an' it ain't rained a drop 

 Sense week 'fore last when they cut th' still, 

 Back cr Fate's house and busted his mill. 

 A fool that'll grind malt in a coffee machine, 

 Is sure ter git ketched ez soon ez it's seen. 

 Huh? Naw, thet FOREST FELLER can't hear, 



or SEE, 

 All he knows is scrappin' fire on th' Cherokee. 



"Whoa, hoi' on, ain't that a light, 

 A man gits blind in a fire fight? 

 Yep, thank the' Lord it's Greasy Crick, 

 Git up ol' woman, my skull's too thick 

 Ter figger how we made it back, 

 SURE it's me, git up an' cook a snack 

 Er grub, (come in men), for these fellers 

 Ter eat as they go, that boy bellers, 

 Jes' as soon as he hears his Pap, 

 Here SON, set up here, on yer ol' Dad's lap. 

 An' keep out fum under yer Maw's feet, 

 Till she gits suthin' fixed fer the men ter eat. 

 Now men, set right up an' EAT, it ain't no spree, 

 This scrappin' fire on th' 01' Cherokee." 



