76 THE ADVENTURES OF A NATURE GUIDE 



on a winter night, with forest outposts half buried 

 in the white snow; of crowded stars in the field of 

 space; of terrific winds and irresistible avalanches 

 of vast snow piles. 



With flying snow, in perfect autumn days and 

 during mist-filled nights, I have slept and com- 

 muned with my camp-fire at timberline. Timber- 

 line gives one the feeling of being on the edge of 

 things. Envelop it in unevenly moving mist and 

 everything seems a mystery. The strangely shaped 

 trees and the weird forms of tree clumps half re- 

 vealed are a part of the indefinite, the uncom- 

 prehended. Add to this vague realm the magic 

 of a camp-fire, and one loses the experience of ages 

 and again is a primitive, crouching fire worshipper 

 in a new and unexplored world. A camp-fire ever 

 recalls the ages long past, and paints primeval 

 scenes. Through all the centuries the camp-fire 

 has been a place of safety and comfort, of hope and 

 cheer. 



Though they stand in one place all their years, 

 trees have adventurous lives from their seedling 

 days to battered old age, and stored in their un- 

 rolled and untranslated annual rings are their rec- 

 ords and perhaps glimpses of the everchanging 

 scenes in which they grew. Sometimes while 

 watching my changing camp-fire blaze I have half 

 believed that the blazing tree was picturing with 

 fire the story of its life — the larger experiences of 

 the years; the triumphs of the good seasons and the 



