TOURING IN THE CANADIAN ROCKIES. 



269 



so we can not attempt the main river except 

 above where its tributaries come together. 

 Even Bear creek causes us great anxiety, 

 for the icy water is running 3 or 4 feet 

 deep. A single misstep in the rocky ford 

 and a horse is lost, and in a few moments 

 is struggling in the main stream 100 yards 

 below. A mile or 2 above this ford the 

 river widens out until it is nearly half a 

 mile across. There we cross the horses in 

 safety, though the last few feet bring the 

 water well up into our saddles. 



The mountains in our immediate vicinity 

 rise with gentle, grassy slopes to the 

 timber line and then go up in great, 

 rugged peaks. It is on such spots as these 

 that the mountain goat, with his little, 

 straight, sharp horns and long, white, silky 

 coat, loves to graze. Below in the timber 

 and along the river bottom the red deer 

 pick their way daintily over fallen logs, 

 while an occasional great cloven track on 

 the river bank tells us there are moose 

 in the vicinity. Of other game we see little 

 save the Richardson grouse, or, as the 

 mountaineers call them, the "fool hen." 

 They are properly called, for a bird more 

 devoid of common sense does not exist. I 

 recall one occasion when we spied a foolish 

 hen and 4 scions of her foolish race sitting 

 on a limb all in a row, like the painted iron 

 birds one sees in a shooting gallery. Un- 

 limbering, we opened fire. Bang ! Down 

 came mother. Bang ! Birdie No. 2 passed 

 away. The other birds were interested in 

 the proceedings, as they testified by cocking 

 their heads on one side and looking down 

 at us with their little beady eyes to see 

 what was doing ; but there was not the 

 least anxiety. The last one, finding itself 

 left alone, flew to another tree, where it 

 was also shot. On another occasion we 

 killed 4 with a stick. Notwithstanding 

 their intense stupidity these grouse make a 

 most delicious meal for the hungry hunter. 

 A few days of drenching rain and atro- 

 cious trails bring us to another great fork 

 in the river. From the West comes in a 

 stream which someone lacking in original- 

 ity dubbed the West fork. Here is a 

 great mountain wedge through the valleys 

 on both sides of which flow rivers. Our 

 course leads us up the main branch, the 

 valley of which becomes narrower as we 

 advance. The river passes through deep 

 cuts, and it is necessary to ford it again 

 and again. Each crossing is attended with 

 more or less anxiety, as the streams are full 

 of eddies, and already we have lost large 

 quantities of our provisions by the horses' 

 getting in over their depths and soaking 

 their packs. The trails are dreadful. Often 

 we have to drag the horses up the hill and 

 over fallen logs. At other times the de- 

 scents are so steep that the horses sit on 



their haunches and slide down. It is truly 

 said that "a pack horse can go wherever a 

 man can stand and many places where he 

 can not." We camp in a deep valley, al- 

 most a canyon. After the sun has set the 

 moon comes up in its full grandeur and 

 turns the stream that tumbles at our feet 

 into a thousand silver ripples. 



A little farther and we turn sharply to 

 the right, leave the valley and strike up to 

 a plateau between 2 mountains. The valley 

 that we leave terminates a few miles be- 

 yond at the foot of the great glacier of the 

 Saskatchewan. For several hours we are 

 climbing a fearful grade, the trail zigzag- 

 ging back and forth through the timber 100 

 times. At last we reach the plateau, which 

 is over 6,000 feet above sea level and above 

 which the flanking mountains rise another 

 5,000 feet. It is a beautiful spot, with 

 every now and then thick patches of tim- 

 ber and little stretches of green sward and 

 rolling green hills. A climb up one of the 

 neighboring mountains reveals the most 

 wonderful of views. To the South we look 

 down the valley through which creens the 

 silver thread of the Saskatchewan. To the 

 West is a great range of mountains, with 

 i2 ; oco and 13,000-foot peaks, and covered 

 with a mantle of snow and ice stretching 

 as far as the eye can reach. To the North 

 is a great, confused heap of ridges and tow- 

 ering peaks. As we linger on the snowy 

 summit amid the rugged crags and stunted 

 verdure, where no sound but the trickle of 

 water from the glacier strikes the ear, the 

 sun sets. Below us the green plateau is al- 

 ready sunk in twilight, while the mountain 

 tops to the West are bathed in a flow of 

 crimson light. An eagle soars majestically 

 in the sky above us, and all is silent; silent 

 and vast. This is the world as God made 

 it. 



Following up the valley, we come to yet 

 another fork in the river, an unnamed, un- 

 cared for fork, which few have seen. Up 

 the valley to the Westward 15 miles and we 

 are on another plateau, 1,000 feet higher 

 than the last. Here all is still and dreary. 

 No trees or foliage are here save the little 

 stunted growth one finds above the timber 

 line. The grass lies matted and wet, while 

 the snow still remains in small, slushy 

 patches^ To the left rises a razorback 

 mountain, some thousands of feet above 

 us. The edge of the razor is barely a foot 

 wide. On the Western slope it falls away 

 8,000 or 10,000 feet into a great arena-like 

 valley, at the head of which is an enormous 

 glacier and part of the Columbia ice field, 

 which spreads its cold grasp 70 miles over 

 the_ mountains. Mt. Athabasca towers op- 

 posite and off to the North one can faintly 

 see Brown and Hooker, the 2 peaks that 

 stand guardian at the opening of Yellow 



