£2 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Feb. 5, 1885. 



THROUGH TWO-OCEAN PASS. 



II.— LOOKING INTO THE CANON. 



fTVHE next morning two or three of the horses and mules 

 -*- were missing, which it took some little time to find, 

 so the preparations for the start were hy no means hurried. 

 Ours was not the only party that had lost stock, and every 

 few moments a rider would gallop up to the eamp and in- 

 quire if we had seen such and such horses. When the train 

 was nearly ready, Mr. Davis suggested that he and Tshould 

 ride on ahead and catch some fish from the little stream on 

 which we were to camp. The suggestion was accepted, and 

 we were soon riding on a long, swinging lope up the East 

 Fork of the Firehole River. 



There were a goodly nutnher of people ia the Basin. 

 Stages clattered along with their freight of Eastern tourists, 

 bound for the Falls or the Lake, the slower but more com- 

 fortable wagons of the campers moved along in a. leisurely 

 fashion, and every now and then a little group of two or 

 three horsemen with one or two pack animals would meet 

 us, all bound for the wonderful Geyser Basins. For a few 

 miles the road follows up the valley of the East Fork. In 

 dry weather it is an excellent one, but after a ram the soft 

 bottom becomes badly cut up by wagon wheels. The ascent 

 on to the plateau, from which the drainage flows into the 

 Yellowstone, is steep and hard for loaded teams, and in 

 spring, when the snows are melting, must be very difficult. 

 It lies through the green timber all the way, and the trees 

 stand so close together that no view is to be had of the val- 

 ley below. The plateau above is timbered, and as we ap- 

 proached an open spot we saw through the trees a pale, 

 misty blue appearance of the atmosphere, almost like that 

 made by a thin smoke rising from a partially burned out 

 forest tire, but the blight blue sky above our heads showed 

 no sign of smoke, and after riding a short distance further we 

 suddenly passed out of the woods and were on the borders of 

 Mary Lake, whose blue waters we had been watching 

 through the tree trunks. It is a tiny lake, on the very 

 crest of the mountain, surrounded by the timber, and with- 

 out any outlet. Soon afterward we rode out into the open 

 country, and although spending some little time in examin- 

 ing a number of hot sulphur springs near the road, reached 

 Alum Creek not long after noon. 



Following the stream up for about a mile, we tied our 

 horses at the edge of the timber and set to work to catch 

 some fish. The creek was but a foot or two in width, and 

 flowed between banks two or three feet high, so that, with 

 my nine-ounce rod, I was somewhat at a disadvantage, for 

 it was impossible to cast in such a stream in the high wind 

 that was blowing. Mr. Davis, however, with his young 

 spruce tree, short line and grasshopper bait, was catching 

 fish about as fast as he could bait his hook. Meanwhile, the 

 elk gnats had gathered in force, and their petsistenec and 

 ferocity almost drove me crazy. After walking a mile or 

 two and only catching half a dozen fish, I ascended a point 

 of bluff where there was a good breeze blowing, and the 

 gnats would so be at a disadvantage, and here, in the shade 

 of a noble pine, I sat for a while and enviously watched my 

 more successful companion. Further up the stream, as I 

 could see from here, were some old beaver dams and several 

 pools of open water, where it would be possible to cast. 

 Proceeding to these pools, I had some excellent fishing, 

 though all tke trout taken were little fellows, running from 

 six to eight inches iu length and weighing about five to the 

 pound. From these pools I took twenty-eight fish in a short 

 time, and then about 4 o'clock turned back toward the 

 horses. In the meantime, Stewart, the chief packer, had 

 come across the bill from the camp and wet his line. On 

 reaching camp we found that Mr. Drvis had eighty-seven 

 fish, Stewart eighteen, and 1 had thirtv-five; enough for at 

 least two meals for the hungry company. 



The camp was pleasantly situated on a level bit of grass, 

 between the timbered hill behind and the swiftly-flowing 

 stream in front, with a broad meadow near at hand, over 

 which were scattered the feeding animals. About the cheer- 

 ful camp-fire after dinner, we lounged and smoked and chat- 

 ted, and discussed the plans for the morrow, until the cres- 

 cent moon slowly sinking in the west, warned us that it was 

 time to seek our blankets. 



From our eamp on Alum Creek to the Lake is sixteen 

 miles, and to the Falls twelve. The latter were too near to 

 be passed by. Long before the mules were packed, therefore, 

 I started alone to visit them. The road is a good one, and 

 passes along over the undulating sage brush prairie near a 

 considerable group of hot springs, whose curiously colored 

 waters, and trickling rills of steaming water coustantly 

 tempted one to stop and examine them. 



The day was overcast and lowering, threatening rain. I 

 regretted that it was not bright, for, remembering the wealth 

 of coloring of the Canon. I thought that it would be much 

 more beautiful in the sunshine than in shadow. 



Before reaching the Yellowstone Biver a number of 

 streams are crossed, some of which have wide miry bottoms 

 ' over which good corduroy roads have been built. On all 

 these streams are to be seen places where camps have been 

 made, old fire-places, and wooden picket pins still standing 

 in the ground, and the ubiquitous tin can and beer bottle- 

 painful evidences of civilization, from which at the present 

 day it seems hopeless to attempt to escape. 



Not long before reaching the river, Crater Hills, or as it 

 was once called, Sulphur Mountain, was passed; a great 

 barren white hill, full of hot springs and sulphur vents. 



About these last, much sulphur has been deposited, and 

 many fragments of the bright yellow mineral are strewn over 

 the ground. Once or twice I noticed where two or three 

 blades of grass had fallen across one of the vents, and on 

 their slender heads most delicate crystals of sulphur had col- 

 lected. One of the largest springs is near, and just south, of 

 the road at the foot of the hill. It is six or eight feet in 

 diameter, and is almost constantly in a state of ebullition. 

 The water was thrown sometimes to a height of eight or ten 

 feet, not in jets, but by impulses from the center of the pool, 

 so that the spray was sent outward in all directions. 



The road down toward the Falls is a fairly good one, but 

 not having been repaired for a year or more, was in some 

 places in rather bad condition. Innumerable little springs 

 trickle from the hillside above it, and where they cross the 

 road make muddy places, which soon become what are aptly 

 called "chuck holes." The time to work these roads is in 

 the very early summer, after the snows have for the most 

 part melted, and the freshets have accomplished their work 

 of destruction. Eepairs should be made then; that is, just- 

 before the travel in the Park begins, so that the tourist may 

 pass over good roads. If the mending is d@ue iu the autumn, 

 the water which falls in the spring destroys the repairs and 

 leaves the roads in a condition but little better than if they 

 had not been worked. The meagreness of the Congressional 

 appropriations for the care of the Park and the late date at 

 which these are available, has made it hitherto impracticable 

 to repair the roads at the proper season of the year, but it 

 is hoped that before long there will be a change for the better 

 in this respect. 



After following the river for two or three miles, the white 

 tents of the Improvement Company are passed, and after 

 climbing over the high hill beyond them, the roar of the Falls 

 salutes the ear. At the base of the hill are seen the rapids 

 which are just above the Upper Falls, and here the dark 

 green river is patched with great dancing masses of snowy 

 foam. The thunder of the rushing waters becomes louder, 

 and a few mometits' ride brings one to the Upper Falls. The 

 mighty mass of dark water glides rather than plunges into 

 the depth3 below, and is broken up into white foam and 

 then spray just below the crest of the cataract. The height 

 of the fall is one hundred and ten feet, and the clouds of 

 white vapor which rise from its base obscure the view as one 

 peers down into the abyss where the tossing, restless waters 

 leap and whirl with a never ceasing motion. On the left 

 rises the steep slope of the timbered mountain; on the right 

 the more nearly vertical wall of the Grand Canon of the 

 Yellowstone, while before us are glimpses of the glories of 

 that canon. 



Leaving the Upper Falls I followed the trail north along 

 the river, and was soon opposite the Great Palis. These are 

 310 feet in height, and this, taken in connection with the 

 tremendous volume of water which passes over them, ren- 

 ders the sight a most impressive one. Perhaps I cannot do 

 better than to transcribe the graphic description of these 

 falls by Colonel Win. Ludlow, United States Engineers. He 

 says: 



"Close at hand, the river narrowed in its bed to a width 

 of some seventy feet and with a depth of four or five feet, 

 through the pure deep green of which the hardly wavering- 

 outlines of the brown boulders beneath are distinctly visible, 

 springs to the crest with an intensity of motion that makes 

 its clear depths fairly seem to quiver. Just before making 

 the plunge, the stream is again contracted, and the waters 

 are thrown in from both sides toward the center, so that two 

 bold, rounded prominences or buttresses, as it were, are 

 formed where green and white commingle. Lying prostrate, 

 and looking down into the depth, with the cold breath of 

 the Canon fanning the face, one can see that these ribs con- 

 tinue downward, the whole mass of the fall gradually 

 breaking into spray against the air, until lost in the vast 

 cloud of vapor that hides its lowest third, and out of which 

 comes up a mighty roar that shakes the hills and communi- 

 cates a strange vibration to the nerves. From far below this 

 cloud emeiges a narrow, green ribbon, winding: and twist- 

 ing, in which the river is hardly recognizable, so dwarfed is 

 it and creeping with so oily and sluggish a current, as 

 though its fall had stunned it. On either hand, the walls of 

 the Canon curve back from the plunging torrent, and rise 

 weltering with moisture to the level of the fall, again ascend- 

 in " 500 or 600 feet to the pine-fringed margin of the Canon; 

 pinnacles and towers projecting far into the space between, 

 and teeming to overhang their bases." 



But stupendous as is this mighty torrent, it 4s but one 

 feature of the grand scene. A canon a thousand feet deep 

 and perhaps twice as wide, extends to the northward for 

 miles. Its sides are curiously sculptured and carveu into 

 fantastic forms. Sometimes a vertical cliff supports a num- 

 ber of lofty cones of rock, ranged side by side upon some 

 horizontal ledge along its face, or a narrow buttress may 

 rise from the river's level in a series of pinnacles and turrets 

 ovei topping one another, until the summit of the Cation 

 wall is reached. Here that wall is so nearly perpendicular 

 that it seems as though a stone dropped from the edge of the 

 cliff would fall at once into the water of the river; there the 

 decomposing rock has been eaten away above, until a soft 

 talus rises half way to the top in a steep slope. But, after 

 all, the glory of the Cation is in its color. The walls glow 

 with a vivid, intense radiance wnich is no less wonderful 

 than beautiful. Browns and reds, and pinks and yellows, 

 and delicate grays and pure white, have painted these hard 



rocks with a wealth and richness of coloring which cannot 

 be described in words; and although 1 had imagined that 

 I remembered the Cation well, I was fa : rly startled by its 

 majesty and its beauty of coloring, for the exquisite variety, 

 delicacy and blending of the tints had passed from my mind. 

 A general impression of the variety and brilliancy of the 

 scene remained, but now looked upon again, it was a real 

 surprise. 



For hours I remained on the mountain-side, riding up and 

 down the Canon, and, from the top of one projecting rock 

 pinnacle after another, contemplating the wonderful scene 

 before me. On the other s'de of the river could be seen the 

 level grass plattau, which represents the geneial level of the 

 country, dotted here and there with groups of graceful pines; 

 beyond in the distance were mountain peaks. The great 

 gash cut in the earth at my feet and splashed with the mul- 

 titude of colors, which glowed as the sunlight touched them, 

 or when clouds obscured the sky, grew dull, stretched away 

 north and south until lost in the bend of the river. At the 

 foot of the Great Falls the sky was reflected in the mist 

 which hung there, as if a bit of heaven's own azure had 

 been brought down to earth to add to the beauty of the 

 scene. 



Far below my perch, on the summits of several of the 

 rocky towers that had not yielded to the erosive effects 

 of the air and water, were a number of ospreys' nests, and 

 about them the birds still lingered, though their broods had 

 long been gone. Hawks were perched on the nests, or on 

 the rocks near at hand, while others, like black specks, sailed 

 over the waters far below, or balanced themselves with half- 

 opened wings on the dead pine trees that here and there 

 clung to the sides of the Canon. Now and then a bird would 

 rise high in air above the water, and on motionless pinion, 

 turning his head from side to side as he examined me with 

 bis keen eye, swing close by my seat, scrutinizing me closely 

 to discover if possible who the stranger was. The little spar- 

 row hawks too seemed to like the Cation, and flitted about on 

 nervous wing, and sometimes with a glass I could detect far 

 below on the river's edge a dipper moving about with restless 

 flight. Ever the dull roar of the cataract sounded in say 

 ears, and mingled with its hollow murmur were the piercing 

 melancholy screams of the fish hawks, reminding one of the 

 sad, wailing cry of the sea gulls along the surf-beaten sea- 

 shore. 



[to be continued.] 



TOPOGRAPHY OF THE YELLOWSTONE PARK. 



WE stated last week the changes proposed to be made in 

 the boundaries of the Yellowstone Natioual Park, 

 and urged upon Congress the importance of considering with- 

 out delay the subject of the bill's passage. By a reference to 

 tbe map of the regi m which we publish to-day, our readers 

 can see just what those changes are and just how much is to 

 be taken from and added to the Park. Tbe light dotted 

 lines running north aud south and east and west, and meet- 

 iug in the upper left hand corner of the map. are the north 

 and west boundaries of the Park as it stands to-day, the 

 heavily dotted lines just within these lighter ones are the 

 north and west boundaries of the Territory of Wyoming. 

 Should the bill now under consideration become a law, the 

 western boundary of the Park will be the oue hundred 

 and eleventh meridian, the northern boundary will follow 

 the forty fifth parallel to the north bank of the Yellow- 

 stone River, thence it will follow the north or east 

 bank of that river to the m >uth of the E ist Fork of the Yel- 

 lowstone, thence up the East Fork to the meridian of 110° 

 10' or about the mouth of Soda Butte Creek, and thence 

 due east to the meridian of 109' 30'. From the point where 

 this east and west line intersects the meridian of 109° 30', 

 the eastern bouodary runs due south to the parallel of 44°, 

 thence due west along th it parallel to its point of intersec- 

 tion with the meridian of 111", and thence due north to the 

 starting point. By following the lines indicated, as can 

 readily be done on the map, each reader can see for himself 

 iust how the present reservation is to be modified. He will 

 see, too, that so far as its natural wonders are concerned, it 

 loses little or nothing by the reduction on the west and 

 north, while the increase in size on the east and south adds 

 to it a great deal of scenery that is incomparably grand and 

 beautiful, besides taking in several groups of hot springs 

 and the wonderful Two Ocean Pass. 



* The greatest of all the advantages to be gained by the 

 change is tbe addition of the considerable extent of forest 

 land which protects the sources of the Yellowstone and the 

 Snake River. No one can look upon this map without per- 

 ceiving that the country which it covers is one abounding 

 in water." Lakes, rivers, creeks, brooks and springs are in- 

 numerable here. Through the spring aud early summer 

 they collect and store up the moisture from the rains and 

 melting snows— all the precipitation of this great region— 

 and in summer and fall they give it forth again, to be carried 

 on by the great rivers to fertilize the dry regions east and 

 west of the mountains. The soil here is rich aud black, 

 composed of decaying vegetation, and forms a spenge which 

 soaks up and holds the moisture, giving it forth gradually as 

 it is needed. 



Suppose, now, that this territory were to be denuded of its 

 timbers. It matters little, so far as the final results are con- 

 cerned, whether the destroying agent were fire, kindled 

 through carelessness, or the axe of the lumberman. But 

 suppose the timber gone, this would be tbe result: The 



