A TRIP TO THE OLYMPICS. 



W. S. JONES. 



Toward evening, July 17th, '99, I left 

 my office, in gloomy meditation, and arriv- 

 ing at home, was soon lost in the pages of 

 July Recreation. I had been ill in early 

 spring, was thin, and getting thinner. I 

 resolved on a trip, and next morning called 

 the ticket agent. Twenty minutes' con- 

 versation decided the matter ; 5 minutes 

 more and my ticket was made out for a 

 trip to the Olympic mountains. 



Next morning, I took the boat, and was 

 soon borne away from hot, dusty, smoking 

 Akron. At Cleveland I boarded the 

 "Northland," of the Northern Steamship 

 Co., and a few hours later we touched 

 at Detroit, a city where cleanliness is held 

 in high consideration. It is a real pleasure 

 to go driving there ; Detroit certainly has 

 a broom that sweeps clean. Next came 

 St. Clair flats, just in time for us to wit- 

 ness the finish of a noble fight between a 

 lucky angler and a 5-pound big mouth. 

 The next day we touched at Mackinac. 

 Up the St. Mary's river the scenery is 

 beautiful, and, as the channel is narrow 

 there, the camera clicked every time we 

 rounded a point. At 4 p. m. we found our- 

 selves in the lock at the Soo. As soon as 

 the gates were closed, we made a rapid 

 trip heavenward, being hoisted 17 or 18 feet 

 to a level with the waters of Lake Su- 

 perior. As the sun went down, we glided 

 gracefuly into those waters. The moon 

 was full, and just enough breeze came 

 over the sparkling waves to make one feel 

 comfortable in a light overcoat. We gath- 

 ered in knots of 3 or 4 on the deck, de- 

 lighted with our surroundings, and drink- 

 ing in the delicious ozone of the Northern 

 woods. If one doubts the healing power 

 of our Northwest, let him sail Superior or 

 Huron for 3 days, and his doubt will 

 vanish forever. 



Twenty-four hours after our departure 

 from the Soo, we landed at Duluth, a 

 busy city, some day to be magnificent. The 

 following morning, we boarded the Great 

 Northern Flyer, and were soon spinning 

 along through Minnesota's forests. We 

 made a short pause at Bear lake at noon. 

 Excepting at Blackfeet Reservation, the 

 finest physically developed Indians seen on 

 the trip were at Bear lake. They appear 

 like fighters, and I am sure they are. What 

 a loss it will be to us as a nation if Con- 

 gress does not set aside this natural wood- 

 land park for the preservation of wild ani- 

 mal life. Every sportsman should use all 

 fair means to attain this object. 



I went over t the Great: Npr.thern, and 



returned by the Northern Pacific. We 

 fairly flew across North Dakota, while 

 rich prairies and vast acreage of wheat 

 passed in review. On through Mon- 

 tana, with her beautiful, rolling prairies, 

 boundless pastures and countless herds. 

 The sloughs were partially filled with 

 water and myriads of wild fowl were 

 seen there. Lazy jack snipe and fat 

 plovers fairly made my trigger finger 

 twitch. Thousands of young ducks were 

 seen here and in North Dakota, some learn- 

 ing to fly and some apparently but a week 

 old. In the distance could be seen a 

 herder on his rocking cayuse, rounding up 

 a bunch of cattle; to the right a slinking 

 coyote, making for a friendly ridge, and 

 away to the left, through the blue haze, a 

 great shapeless mass, our first sight of the 

 Rockies. 



To a novice, it is worth the expense and 

 weariness of 3 days' travel to feel the 

 thrill that goes through one's frame at first 

 sight of the Rockies. If one wishes to feel 

 his own insignificance, let him camp in the 

 mountains. Up, up, we went, over the 

 summit just at sunset, and the shadows 

 stole across the valleys, in the gathering 

 twilight as we began the descent. Next 

 morning we arrived ,'n Spokane Falls on 

 schedule time. 



A few went North from that point ; a 

 few, including me, left that evening by 

 sleeper for Portland, Ore. ; but the greater 

 number remained aboard, with Seattle as 

 objective point. 



The ride down the Columbia was one 

 never to be forgotten ; the sc,enery was all 

 that could be desired, but, gee whiz ! the 

 sand ! It required a half hour's sham- 

 pooing, to get it out of my hair, and I 

 have not so much as some others have. 



Portland, with her balmy air, beautiful 

 roses, luscious fruits and kind welcome of 

 friends, should have detained me a month, 

 but I was there to restore my health, so in 

 a week I was en route to Seattle. There 

 I secured passage on the "Alice Gertrude" 

 to Port Angeles, for it had long been my 

 desire to wet a line in Lake Crescent. 



I was in error, and so warn others. Go 

 to Port Crescent, if you wish to get into 

 the lake by the easiest and quickest route. 

 However, time was no object to me, and I 

 shall always be glad I left the steamer at 

 Port Angeles, for by so doing I met that 

 genial gentleman, Mr. Burt Borrowman. 

 He has a ranch in Eden "valley, 9 miles 

 back in the mountains. Nature in all her 



428 



