244 



AMERICAN FORESTRY 



beyond which rises Crescent Mountain and its allied 

 peaks; while from south to north the same view that 

 cheered our way during the morning completes the pano- 

 ramathe Mission Mountains and the Swan Valley. 

 Holland and Elbow Lakes peep out from the forest 

 cover below, between which the fields of the Gordon 

 Ranch are plainly seen. 



On this sighty point, we indulged in the diversion of 

 "looking at things upside down." This, as most know, is 

 accomplished by leaning over until one looks at things 

 upside down from between the knees. The ordinary 

 landscape takes on a vividness of hue quite imperceptible 

 when viewed in the ordinary way. It also made Henry 

 dizzy. 



But join our little caravan again as it slowly picked 

 its way, slipping and sliding, down the steep slope below 

 the Gateway. The steepest part over, we passed through 

 several tiny 

 Alpine mead- 

 ows in which 

 brilliant flowers 

 were blooming. 

 In drier spots 

 were beds of 

 the Mountain 

 Heather, the 

 delicate pink 

 blossoms rising 

 from clumps of 

 deep green foli- 

 age. Here the 

 tree growth has 

 a better chance, 

 the Alpine firs 

 attain ing the 

 spire-like form 

 which is so 

 graceful in its 

 symmetry. 



Two small lakes were passed, the first rather desolate, 

 with forbidding granite shores and leaden-hued water; 

 the second below it, in a steep-sided timbered amphi- 

 theatre. Unlike the upper, the lower lake had water of 

 a greenish hue, rippling and sparkling in the afternoon 

 sun as we caught glimpses of it through the trees on our 

 descent to its margin. 



Camp was made in a tiny meadow at the head of this 

 lake. Although the sunlight still lingered on this meadow, 

 the chill of evening was in the air. Gradually the shadows 

 of the hills we had crossed crept over our camp, and 

 looking up, we saw that the sun had gone. We drew in 

 closer to the supper fire, by the welcome blaze of which 

 we appeased appetites sharpened by the cold. As the 

 night was clear, the tent had not been pitched, our beds 

 being spread under the open sky. The tent was drawn 

 over all as extra bedding. The dishes washed, we heaped 

 the fire with dry wood and basked in the warmth, telling 

 stories until too drowsy to stay awake longer. Then, 

 leaving the fire to die as it might, we crawled under the 



FIRE LOOKOUT STATION, FLATHEAD NATIONAL FOREST 



We made a brief stop at a wooden tripod marking a fire lookout station occupied during the summer. 

 Henry, even more than the panting horses, welcomed these stops. 



frosty covers. The flickering light from the fire gradually 

 disappeared, and as our eyes became accustomed to the 

 darkness, we saw great wavy streamers of the Aurora 

 extending above the northern mountain wall almost to 

 the zenith. They added a wierd interest to the scene, 

 their strange, moving fingers of light one moment glow- 

 ing high into the heavens, and the next instant receding 

 almost to the horizon. A slight breeze, cold as a breath 

 from winter, drifted across the meadow, touching our 

 faces with an icy kiss. It sighed a moment drearily 

 among the trees on the lake shore, and then all was silent 

 but for the occasional note from the horse bell. I re- 

 member hearing Henry remark how lonesome it seemed, 

 and then I fell asleep. 



An early breakfast in the little meadow, before the sun 

 had risen to dispel the hoary aspect of the mountain 

 world, preceded our long day's trip down Gordon Creek 



to Big Prairie. 

 It was another 

 day of brilliant 

 sunshine, 

 warming to 

 summer heat 

 towards noon, 

 and making us 

 wonder if our 

 shivery night in 

 the m e a d ow 

 had not been a 

 delusion. 



The massive 

 hills on either 

 side of Gordon 

 Creek are but- 

 tressed by pre- 

 cipitous bluffs 

 of lime stone 

 whose white- 

 ness, colored in 

 places by streaks of mineral, and rising above the green 

 forest, forms a dazzling contrast with the blue of a clear 

 summer sky. As the day advanced, masses of billowing 

 cumulus clouds, whiter by far than any cliff and yet 

 bearing delicate shadow tones away from the sun, rose 

 above the valley to the south, casting fleeting patches of 

 shade which would surround us for an instant and then 

 hurry away to leave us again in blinding sunshine. 

 At last the South Fork was crossed, and the trail 

 emerged on Big Prairie, a broad plain covered with grass 

 and scattering groves of pines, through which the river 

 finds its way, now curving in graceful meander, now 

 foaming over stretches of noisy riffle. In every direction 

 a mountain arrests the eye. One charm of the Prairie 

 lies in the individuality of these surrounding hills. Each 

 has characteristics of form unlike the others, and in 

 majestic array, they surround the valley not near enough 

 to oppress by their presence, but standing apart like 

 friendly sentinels keeping watch over this sheltered 

 domain. Chief of these is Gordon Peak, rising with 



