Jan. 29, 1885.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



3 



THROUGH TWO-OCEAN PASS. 



I. — INTO T1TE FIREHOLE BA.8TN, 



ONE can enter the Yellowstone Park from the north or 

 from the west, By way of the Northern Pacific Rail- 

 road you are Drought by steam to within seven miles of the 

 Mammoth Hot Springs on Gardiner's River, while the main 

 points of interest, the Geyser Basins, the Lake, the Falls and 

 the Canon are still a long stage drive distant. From the rail 

 road station of the Utah Northern Railroad, at Beaver 

 Canon, it is about ninety miles into the Firehole Basin, and 

 when that is reached the most delightful and interesting 

 scenery of the Park is easily accessible. 



Ten years ago T entered the Park from the north, last sum- 

 mer from the west, A friend, whose name is familiar to 

 workers in science in America, in Europe and in the farthest 

 East, had asked me to join him for a few weeks' trip through 

 the marvelous region of the Park, and 1 had gladly accepted 

 his kind invitation. 



In the simple narrative of the trip which will be comprised 

 in these letters, there will be found no description of those 

 wonderful features of the Park which lie on the route of the 

 ordinary traveler. These wonders and beauties have already 

 an extensive literature of their owu, to which the reader 

 who is interested in the subject can readily turn . To this 1 i tei- 

 ature nothing of value could be added from the hasty notes 

 made during a very hurried trip, whose main plan and pur- 

 pose was an examination of a tract of country proposed, by 

 a bill now before Congress, to be added to the present reser- 

 vation. This examination was made in part, though (lie 

 early setting in of winter in the mountains prevented its 

 completion. Enough was seen, however, to make it quite 

 clear that a wide stretch of country to the south of the Park 

 should be added to it, The reasons for this are that — 



First — It is a country in which rise the heads of two very 

 important rivers, the Yellowstone, flowing into the Atlantic, 

 and the Snake, flowing into the Pacific Ocean. 



Second— It is a country of grand natural scenery, which 

 should be retained by the Government for the free and per- 

 petual use of ail its citizens. 



Third— It is a country valueless to the settler, i. e., to the 

 agriculturist, to the stock raiser, and to the miner, its sole 

 economic product being its timber, which should be protected 

 from the axe under the severest penalties. 



Fourth— It is a country abounding in game, from which, if 

 efficiently preserved, all the territory adjacent to the Park 

 may perpetually be stocked with the wild animals peculiar 

 to the Rocky Mountains. 



The observations upon which these conclusions are based 

 will be set forth more or less fully in the succeeding narra- 

 tive. 



Five days of railroad travel had brought me to Beaver 

 Canon, whence the stage was to take me into the Firehole 

 Basin, where I expected to find the camp. There we would 

 cut loose from civilized methods of travel, and pony and 

 pack mule would thereafter furnish us transportation. 



It. was a lovely morning when I stepped into the stage at 

 Beaver. The air had a crisp, autumnal sharpness, though 

 the August sun, which was just showing its face over the 

 eastern hills, would soon melt the rime from the willows along 

 the stream, and pour down upon the plain with fervid power. 

 The loungers of the town had not yet begun to collect about 

 the saloon doors, but the tame bears chained to their posts 

 had already taken up their monotonous march backward and 

 forward over the narrow space worn bare by their weary, 

 patient tread. From the underbrush in the stream bottom 

 could be heard the voices of many mountain birds, and the 

 surface of the pools, where the hurrying rivulet paused now 

 and then, as if to take breath, was often dimpled by the 

 splash of the rising trout. 



From the town the road leads southward down the canon 

 about four miles, and then having reached the plain, turns 

 eastward and follows the foothills toward the Continental 

 Divide. The hills on the left are rounded and for the most 

 part smooth. Here and there grow pines, with pretty 

 meadowy openings among them. Down on the plain the 

 land, viewed from the farmer's standpoint, looks well. If 

 irrigated it would no doubt bear crops, and there is no dearth 

 of water, for many little streams flow out from the moun- 

 tains. On Camas Creek, about fifteen miles from Beaver 

 Canon, there are wide, level meadows, over which it would 

 be an easy matter to bring water, and from which heavy 

 crops of hay might be cut. Oats and barley, with potatoes, 

 turnips, and other root crops could undoubtedly be grown 

 here, and in time will be. To all appearances the country is 

 admirably adapted for stock, but there seems to be none 

 here, a fact which is explained by the statement that the 

 winters are very severe, the snow falling heavily and lying 

 so deep on the ground, that even horses have to be taken up 

 and fed hay. It is said that here neither the soft, warm Chi- 

 nook breezes of Northern Montana and Idaho, nor the bit- 

 ing, incessant winds of Central Wyoming, carry off the snow, 

 but that it falls heavy and quiet all through the winter, and 

 remains on the ground until spring. Neither will the coun- 

 try do for a summer range, for the stock would have to be 

 driven so far in spring and fall, that it would not be worth 

 while to move them in and out. All the principal streams 

 between the Beaver and Henry's Fork of Snake River — 

 Camas, Divide, Sheridan and Shotgun— have a good volume 

 of water, and would seem to invite settlement. The country 

 along Shotgun especially is for a long distance a natural hay 



meadow several miles in width, on which the grass grows 

 thick and rank, but there seem to be as yet no settlements. 

 Far across the valley of this stream a few antelope were seen, 

 but they were wild and permitted no near approach. Geese 

 and ducks are very abundant here. They are thought to 

 breed in the mountain lakes, and when the broods are old 

 enough to fly they collect on these streams, where food is 

 abundant and the banks so low that they can see a long dis- 

 tance, and so are not easily approached. Trout are numer- 

 ous in all these waters, and are very gamy on the hook, and 

 delicious eatiug. Three gentlemen fishing in the Shotgun 

 the last of August, took one afternoon two hundred fish 

 from a single hole. They reported them enormously abun- 

 dant, wherever they fished for them, and spoke in the highest 

 terms of the sport which they afforded. The same party had 

 excellent goose shooting on this stream. 



A short distance above the mouth of the Shotgun, the stage 

 road crosses Henry's Fork, which is a large clear stream per- 

 haps fifty yards in width and from three to four feet deep. 

 Its volume remains about the same winter and summer, and 

 the melting of the snows in spring causes but little rise in 

 the water. The river abounds in trout and whitefish of excel- 

 lent quality. Some idea of their number may be formed from 

 the fact that near the station a man in one night speared 600 

 fish late in August. Such fishing as this cannot fail, if long 

 kept up, to lessen the supply, but at present it only takes 

 place at one or two points, for there are but few settlements 

 on the river. 



After crossing the stream near the mouth of the Shotgun, 

 the road leads through the green pine timber, and across 

 open grassy parks at no great distance from the river, which 

 it crosses again about six miles further on. Two miles 

 beyond the second crossing is the stage station, consisting of 

 two or three comfortable cabins and as many tents. The 

 station is admirably kept, the beds clean and the table well 

 supplied. It is in striking contrast to many similar stopping 

 places in the "West. 



The claim belongs to the Rea brothers, who have built 

 cabins, stables, a blacksmith shop and other buildings, and 

 have a few head of horses and cows. An enormous quan- 

 tity of hay might be cut here, for on both sides of the stream 

 the land is a rich, black, moist soil, which nourishes a heavy 

 growth of grass. The winters are so severe— that is the snow 

 lies so deep —that all stock must be taken up in the fall and 

 fed. The elder Rea has been in the country seveuteen years 

 and may therefore be supposed to know it fairly well. He 

 stated in a conversation I had with him that game is still 

 quite plenty here. There are a few moose; elk and deer are 

 rather abundant, as are also bears, the black and cinnamon 

 being common,while the grizzly is not often seen. Mountain 

 sheep are very scarce. In reply to special inquiries as to 

 white goats and caribou, lie stated that he had never known 

 of either being found in the neighborhood or in the vicinity 

 of the Park. The nearest points where goats are to be found 

 is, he said, between Bitterroot and the Bighole, a long dis- 

 tance to the westward. The Reas make a business of taking 

 out hunting parties, and had but just come in from a twenty- 

 eight days' trip with three Englishmen. Iu this time, the 

 party got four moose, one black bear, and enough elk and 

 deer to keep the camp supplied with meat. They also cap- 

 tured a black bear cub. 



Of the abundance and excellence of the trout Rea spoke 

 very enthusiastically. He said that at present they only run 

 up to three and one-half or four pounds in weight, but that 

 formerly it was not unusual to catch them much larger, and 

 that the heaviest one he ever caught weighed six and one- 

 half pounds. Rea stated that he intended next winter to 

 build a good hotel here, and he hopes that in a few years the 

 place will become quite a resort for travelers. Certainly 

 the spot is a beautiful one. The houses stand close to the 

 water's edge in the green timber. Across the river is a 

 wide meadow, and beyond this the dense forest. The cool 

 clear waters are broken almost constantly by the rise of the 

 trout, and in the distance, over the treetops, can be seen the 

 summit of the mountains, rough with bold rock faces and 

 pinnacles, with here and there a deep ravine or a steep moun- 

 tain slope on which still (in August) lies a drift of the snow 

 of the past winter. 



From Henry's Fork to Marshall's, in the lower Geyser 

 Basin, is forty -five miles, a long drive when it is remembered 

 that a part of the distance is over a steep mountain by a very 

 bad and hard road. From the station to the Pass over the 

 Continental Divide the road crosses the level bottom of the 

 river, but it is wet and in many places quite soft, so that it 

 is impossible to drive fast. A few antelope were seeu at a 

 gz*eat distance in this bottom, but they were wild and took 

 to flight almost as soon as the stage came in view. Geese, 

 ducks and sandhill cranes were enormously abundant here, 

 and could be seen everywhere, either feeding on the prairie 

 or swimming in the pools and sloughs. Every few hundred 

 yards, as it seemed, we would approach some bare spot 

 where a great flock of geese would be standing motionless, 

 intently watching our approach, and when we were within 

 a hundred yards or so, the oldest birds, with a premonitory 

 honk or two, would prepare to rise, and then the whole 

 clamorous flock would take to wing and circle about until, 

 as they gradually drew further away, the trumpet-like music 

 of their voices would fall on the ear more and more faintly, 

 and at length be lost in the distance. 



Just before reaching the low hills to the north of this 

 meadow, Henry's Lake comes into view. It is a beautiful 



sheet of water, with gently sloping grassy shores, from 

 which, here and there, a wooded point juts out intx> the lake. 

 The mountains stand far back from the lake, and the scene, 

 though beautiful and picturesque, has about it little that is 

 grand or imposing. To the westward the Red Rock Moun- 

 tains rise boldly, thickly timbered on their lower slopes, and 

 then breaking off sharply into the abrupt precipices and 

 landslides, from the color of which the range takes its name. 

 On the east is the main range. The Continental Divide is 

 here very low, but little more than 7,000 feet in height at the 

 Pass, and the mountains, though topped by precipices of bare 

 rock, are not especially bold nor striking. 



The road takes us through the Tyhee Pass. The name on 

 the maps and in the guide books is variously spelled Tyhgee, 

 Tighee or Taghee, and I heard a gentleman explain it as the 

 name of an old Bannock chieftain who used to live down to- 

 ward Fort Hall, and bring his tribe up each year through 

 this Pass on their autumn hunt. The explanation was no 

 doubt satisfactory to most of those who heard it. but, though 

 given in good faith, it was pure fiction. The word tyhee in 

 the so-called Chinook jargon, means chief, and this pass iB 

 the Chief Pass, and is called by this name quite as often 

 as by the name Tyhee Pass. There is, to be sure, somewhat 

 more of poetry in the thought of the old Bannock chieftain 

 leading his dusky warriors up over the gentle ascent of this 

 pass to the lovely Basin of the Madison beyond, but, as a 

 matter of fact, the Tyhee Pass was not named after any one 

 in particular. It is the chief, or principal, pass. Just before 

 turning into the Pass a creek is crossed on which General 

 Howard, at the time of the Nez Perces outbreak, had a 

 tight with that tribe. 



The ascent to the Pass is a moderate one, and for half a 

 mile near the summit the road is quite level. The last water 

 flowing into the Pacific is a beautiful clear spring, which 

 trickles out of the hillside to the left of the road, and is at 

 once lost in the green meadow below. The Atlantic water 

 is a larger stream near its source, and before long is dammed 

 by the beavers, and spreads out into pretty ponds. 



The Madison Basin, into which we now descend, is a 

 beautiful bit of country — an extensive park — watered by clear 

 streams, with abundant grass and fine timber. The stage 

 stopped for noon at the South Fork of the Madison, a re- 

 markably beautiful stream. Its waters, which are of unusual 

 transparency and brilliancy, abound in trout and grayling of 

 large size. I heard of the capture of one of the latter, on a 

 fly-rod, which weighed two and three-quarter pounds. There 

 are no settlements in the Basin, though one ranch was passed 

 where a couple of men were putting up hay, and one or two 

 abandoned cabins were seen. The stage station consists 

 merely of a rough stable for the horses and a tent for the 

 statiou keeper. There are few more beautiful locations than 

 this; but here, as so often through this country, the heavy 

 snowfall has prevented settlement. 



After leaving South Fork, the road for about fifteen miles 

 winds about through the timber on the level flood plain of the 

 river, and is as good as could be asked for. Though there are 

 some limited areas which have been burned over, most of the 

 trees are green. Little parks are passed here and there, and 

 sometimes the road runs along the bench close above the broad 

 river. The ascent of the mountain range which separates 

 the Madison from the Firehole Basin, is the only really bad 

 piece of road between Beaver and the end of the stage route 

 It is appropriately called the Big Hill, and the road is laid 

 out as badly as possible. It would be difficult anywhere to 

 find a worse piece of engineering. Instead of winding about 

 and taking advantage of the easier slopes, it runs straight up 

 the sides of some of the steepest hogbacks. A road is 

 much better if long with a gradual ascent, than short and 

 steep, and by increasing somewhat the absolute length of the 

 ascent of this hill, it could have been made much easier; but 

 no attempt is made to spare the horses and the pull is terri- 

 bly severe. 



The mountain is volcanic, the lava being a black rhyolitic 

 rock, almost an obsidian. In many places one can see where 

 the sedimentary rock and soil have been calcined by the 

 molten lava which has been extruded through it. The 

 rhyolite often breaks down readily on exposure to the 

 weather, and the ground is covered in many places with its 

 jet black fragments, which, shining and glossy, at a little 

 distance resemble so much finely-broken anthracite coal. 



The summit of the mountain reached, we pass a girdled 

 pine tree, which marks the western border of the Yellow- 

 stone National Park. From here for several miles the road 

 is tl rough an undulating timbered country, and then we 

 come to the crest of the hill and see beneath us the columns 

 of steam and the white tracts of geyserite, which mark the 

 Basin of the Firehole. 



It is well named. Looking down from the mountain top 

 it might be imagined that in the broad valley at our feet were 

 burning a thousand fires. From some of them rise great 

 white clouds, as from a mighty conflagration; others give 

 forth a tiny gray, curling vapor, like that which might come 

 from the dying embers of a deserted camp-fire. The scene 

 in the valley below is one of life and activity. Horses 

 and cattle are browsing on the flat. Mounted men dash 

 hither and thither on their nimble steeds. Two or three 

 stages move briskly along the roads. Heavy wagons laden 

 with trunks, provisions and bedding stand by tents, about 

 which move numbers of people. Men are chopping wood, 

 building fires, or hobbling and picketing out their horses. 

 There are houses— one, two, three, a dozen. It is the. 



