A GIRL'S CAMP LIFE IN THE ROCKIES 



MYRTIS B. BUTLER. 



My introduction to camp life took place 

 when I was a girl just out of school, and 

 consisted of a tour through Yellowstone 

 Park, which I made with a party of 4 

 ''grown-ups," 3 seated in our own buck- 

 board, with only Cy, a cowboy driver, 

 for guide by day, and a small wall tent for 

 shelter by night. Every day we drove, 

 pitching the tent where night overtook us. 

 There I first learned how good are potatoes 

 roasted in the ashes, and freshly caught 

 trout fried over a camp fire. There, most 

 wonderful cf all, from a woman's point of 

 view, I got sound wholesome sleep and rest, 

 rolled in a blanket on the bare ground ; 

 for in such hurried camps as those there 

 was not always time to cut fir boughs for a 

 bed, even could they have been found. In 

 that way we spent a fortnight of rarest 

 pleasure, stopping where fancy took us, 

 exploring all the well known beauties and 

 interests of the great park, studying many 

 lovely spots that the stage driver passes 

 with a wave of his hand, and learning with 

 it all how to enjoy as primitive a form of 

 camping as one often finds in a party in- 

 cluding women. 



However, the place that I grew to re- 

 gard as my camp home was Lake Chelan, 

 a beautiful stretch of water that winds 20 

 miles among the Cascade mountains, at no 

 place more than 3 miles wide, and often 

 only one mile across. It is more accessible 

 now, since the Great Northern has connect- 

 ed at Wenatchee with the Columbia river 

 steamboats, but in the days of my first trips 

 there it meant hard travel ; 63 miles in a 

 Concord coach, over the Great Bend coun- 

 try, where the weight of an almost spring- 

 less vehicle carried us down through a foot 

 or more of alkali dust to the broken, ba- 

 saltic rock, on which we jarred and jolted, 

 while the dust rolled in clouds over the 

 wheels and hung on the travelers until we 

 were scarcely recognizable after an hour. 

 Twice I have made that trip in a summer 

 day, between dawn and midnight ; but at 

 other times we broke the journey by a 

 night at the ranch in Moses coulee, a won- 

 derful great rent running across the plain, 

 and the only green, cultivated spot in a 

 waste of dust. 



One might think the journey done with 

 that, but no ; there was the sudden descent, 

 300 feet in half a mile, to the Columbia 

 river, which was crossed then in a hand- 

 ferry, run by 2 Indians, besides another 6 

 miles to drive along a narrow, shelflike 

 road through the canyon of the Chelan 

 river, before we had even a first glimpse of 



our Mecca, with a prospect then of a whole 

 day on the steamer, as we were to go with- 

 in 5 miles of the lake's head. 



About the foot of the lake the shores are 

 rolling, sparsely wooded prairie, glorious 

 with flower life by spring, and rich in culti- 

 vated fruits and vegetables by fall. As 

 one sails, each serpentine turn in the river- 

 lake brings a change. The shores rise to 

 hills and then to mountains. Along the 

 last 20 miles the rugged peaks are snow- 

 capped the year around, and great over- 

 hanging cliffs tower on either side, offering 

 few good landing places and still fewer 

 camping sites. 



On the Northeastern shore we found a 

 small cove, however, with a rocky point on 

 one side, over which the spray dashed 

 madly when the wind blew down the 

 stream, and on the other side a somewhat 

 gentler looking point, well wooded and 

 with a rushing creek of snow-water tum- 

 bling through it. A few feet of sandy 

 beach midway between these points, with a 

 little brook that ran the year around at one 

 side, offered a good site and became our 

 camp. To that spot we went back again 

 and again, seeing it at every season of the 

 year, and finding each month so attractive 

 in its own way and so totally different 

 from others as to make us almost forget 

 the joys of the last. 



Even the rainy season was not left out. 

 On one occasion we were pitching tents the 

 10th of October, about a week after the 

 fall rains had set in. The natives had all 

 folded their tents some weeks before and 

 stolen back to cabin and shack. We after- 

 ward learned they thought us a set of 

 lunatics, and were calculating on attending 

 our funerals ; but there we were, in all the 

 mist and rain, and not one of the 3 women 

 of that party what one could call robust. 

 Yet we lived, and incidentally had a joyous 

 time. During our 7 weeks' stay rain or 

 snow fell some part of each day, and the 

 appearances of the sun could be counted 

 on the fingers of one hand. After the first 

 3 weeks, perhaps it was a risk, but no one 

 caught cold. The 2 semi-invalids of the 

 party came out strong and well ; and while 

 there was more than once a 'dissenting 

 voice, when the water got too thick in the 

 frying pan, and the food cooled before we 

 could eat it, still the majority ruled and 

 voted it well worth while. Those soft, cloudy 

 days were made for long climbs on the 

 benches, for the shooting was excellent. 

 Many a hard pull we took up goat trails 

 and over rocky slides, with none of the 



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