102 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Mabch 5, 1885. 



THROUGH TWO-OCEAN PASS. 



VI. — OYER THE DIVIDE. 



nPO ray mind there is no way of traveling so delightful as 

 -*- with a pack train. To he sure one cannot carry quite 

 so much baggage in this way as with wagons, yet this is 

 not a valid ohjection, for after all if your animals are sum- 

 cicntly numerous you need not limit yourself in the matter 

 of baggage; Did not a mule in the President's train a year 

 ago carry a gigantic cast-iron cooking stove for over three 

 hundred miles, and have we not seen billiard tables packed 

 across the mountains in Mexico, on the hacks of burros? 



The advantages of this mode of travel are many. First 

 and most important is its perfect freedom and independence. 

 You are limited by no metes or bounds, but can go precisely 

 where you please. Rugged mountains and tangled forests 

 oppose no barriers that can keep you back. You are free to 

 go and come as may suit your fancy. It is a pretty sight too, 

 to see the white packs winding in and out among the timber, 

 or following one another along a narrow ridge, or zigzaging 

 up and down a steep hillside, each animal stepping carefully 

 in the footsteps of bis predecessor, until, when the worst 

 part of the trail is passed, they all hurry along in the strug- 

 gle for the place of pride near the bell-mare. It is true that 

 with a pack-train progress is a little slower than with 

 wagons, and more time is spent in loading and unloading, 

 but this, I tbink, is quite compensated for by the directness 

 with which one can travel from place to place. 



The intelligence manifested by an experienced pack 

 mule when passing over rough and difficult country or 

 through bad timber, is very surprising, and they display re- 

 markable judgment iu selecting a trail through the forest, 

 which will just permit them to pass. The pack usually pro- 

 jects a foot or eighteen inches above the animal's back and 

 almost as much from each side, and as the branches are often 

 low and the trees often grow so close together that an object 

 of this kind will not pass between them, the path winds about 

 a good deal, seldom going straight forward in the direction 

 to be pursued. Usually the chief packer or some other com- 

 petent man rides at the head of the train to select the path to 

 be followed, and after him come the animals, nose to tail in 

 single file. Often, however, some mule eager to march 

 nearer the head of the procession, will leave its place and 

 attempt to make a cut-off through the forest and will then 

 come back to the trail in advance of its own place and try 

 to crowd into the path close behind the leader. In doing 

 this it is very likely to have to pass through thick timber, 

 yet it is quite unusual to see one ' 'bung up" between two 

 trees. Sometimes, to be sure, this happens, and the animal 

 pushes and strains and twists in its efforts to advance, never 

 thinking apparently of retreating and going ardund the ob- 

 stacle. When a mule is caught in this fix, it is necessary to 

 ride round in front of it and by threatening gestures cause it 

 to back out from its position. 



"Down timber" is one of the greatest obstacles to rapid 

 travel with a pack train in the mountains. It is not an easy 

 matter to travel through a forest where the trees stand close 

 together, and the ground is rough and rocky and covered 

 sometimes four or six feet deep with dead trees, from which 

 the branches project in every direction. The history of a 

 patch of down timber is usually something like this: A fire 

 has passed over the forest and has killed, but has not con- 

 sumed the trees. They have stood perhaps for twenty years, 

 and in the meantime a vigorous growth of young timber has 

 sprung up and flourishes. At length, however, the smaller 

 roots of the dead trees, which have been rotting ever since 

 the sap left them, become so weak as to no longer support 

 the tall trunks, and then it happens that with every gale of 

 wind the dead trees come crashing to the ground. Often in 

 its fall some tall trunk may cany with it half a dozen others, 

 and this dead limber lies piled upon the ground in inextricable 

 confusion. It is not always pleasant to ride during a high 

 wind through a forest of dead standing timber where such 

 conditions prevail. The green pines rustle and eigh com- 

 plainingly, and toss their branches wildly to and fro; the 

 trunks and branches of the dead trees give forth discordant 

 screams and creakings as they are rubbed against each other, 

 and all the while the gale hisses among the bare stems and 

 twigs with the same 6ouncl that you hear at sea when the 

 blasts whistle through the ship's rigging. The whole forest 

 is full of a loud but inarticulate moaning that is unspeakably 

 depressing. You can see the trees swaying with every gust 

 of the wind, and at short intervals, from near and from far, 

 comes the rattle and crash of the falling trees, as their roots 

 give way and they are hurled to the ground. You know 

 that the. chances are 10,000 to 1 against a tree falling near 

 you, yet you ai"e always just a little bit nervous, for there is 

 always a possibility that some one of those beneath which 

 you are riding may yield and either crush you or give you a 

 shock, which will send your heart into your mouth. Once 

 on a windy day, as our train was proceeding down Lewis 

 Fork of Snake River, a large tree fell near the trail, its top 

 striking the ground within twenty feet of the Rooster, and 

 throwing dirt and splinters in all directions. It took Roos- 

 ter but a very small fraction of a second to make up his 

 mind that this was no place for him, and with head and tail 

 up he simply fled through the woods and ran a long distance 

 before he could be overtaken and driven back. In the 

 Rocky Mountains it is usually possible to pass through the 

 down timber, but on the Pacific coast, in Oregon, Washington 

 and British Columbia I have seen the tree trunks piled thirty 

 feet high, and utterly impassable except for a cat or a bear. 



As mules vary in size, and there are small ones as well as 

 great, it will sometimes happen that a log which can be 

 stepped or jumped over by a tall mule will prove a barrier to 

 a small one, so that after a part of the train have surmounted 

 an obstacle, some little mule may doubt its ability to get 

 over the logs and may seek an easier place to cross. Then 

 those behind it strike out for themselves, each selecting his 

 own spot for jumping the logs. The use of mules in down 

 timber has an advantage over pack horses. In going through 

 bad places they will usually follow the bell as far as they 

 can, while horses will often get tired of stepping over logs, 

 and will stop and stand still, refusing to advance unless each 

 one is driven separately over the obstacles before it. The 

 care with which a mule scrutinizes each side of a log before 

 it steps over it is very funny, and when it does make up its 

 mind to cross it, it places its forefoot almost exactly in the 

 print of the hoof of the preceding animal, and you can often 

 see, where a numerous train has passed along, a hole as large 

 as a dinner plate and half a foot deep on the further side of 

 a log, which all the mules in the train have done something 

 to excavate. Some of the old trails made by large govern- 

 ment pack trains are worn down eight or ten inches below 

 the surface of the surrounding soil, and thus remind one of 

 the old buffalo roads along the Smoky Hill and Solomon 

 rivers in Kansas. The pack train presented a new phase, 

 and the individuals composing it manifested new character 

 istics every day. 



It was afternoon when the train started from the camp on 

 the lake to cross the Continental Divide. The search for 

 Mr. Hague's horse, lost the night before after getting into 

 the quicksands, had occupied all the morning, and by the 

 time the last lash rope was fastened, and the last jaquimo 

 stem tied up, the sun had passed the zenith. The first day's 

 march was to be a short one, only twelve miles, to the shores 

 of Lewis Lake, which pours out its mighty tribute to form 

 one of the principal forks of Snake River, and after crossing 

 the wind-swept plains of Idaho and Washington, mingles 

 with the Columbia and hurries down past desolate prairies 

 and by rugged mountains, between black walls of basalt and 

 through cool, green forests of redwood, to unite with the 

 maelstrom of waters ever heaving over the bar at the river's 

 mouth. 



The way, for there was no trail, led up a narrow grassy 

 valley, and the slopes on either side were clothed with the 

 dark green forest. As we slowly climbed the hills, a glance 

 backward showed the beautiful lake with its wonderful set- 

 ting of mountain and forest, a picture so lovely that I think 

 we were all loath to leave it behind us. Then again we en- 

 tered the forest, and rode quietly along beneath the shadow 

 of the whispering pines. The course by the sun was a little 

 east of south, but before long a considerable body of down 

 timber was encountered, and the train began to wind and 

 twist about, seekiug always the spot where the obstructions 

 were lowest. For some time all went very well, and there 

 was no difficulty in finding places where the animals could 

 readily pass. Little by little, however, matters became 

 worse, and at length, in trying to ride the Pinto over a high 

 pile of logs, he caught his foot and almost fell. We dis 

 mounted, and by lifting the larger sticks and breaking the 

 smaller ones, soon made a way practicable for the mules. 

 This was the worst place we met with, and just beyond here 

 the down timber ended and an easy ascent soon brought us 

 to the divide. This is very low, only 160 feet above the 

 Yellowstone Lake by aneroid measurement, and is also very 

 flat, being spread out in long park like meadows, inclosed on 

 either hand by low wooded hills. There is no water here in 

 the late summer, but the drainage from the hills in spring 

 has worn out little gullies, now dry. From either end of these 

 meadows, when the snows are melting, mimic torrents pour 

 down the opposite siftes of the mountain, some toward the east 

 to find their way by the Yellowstone and the Missouri into the 

 Atlantic, and others through Snake River and the Columbia 

 to reach the Pacific. In the dry stream beds and water 

 holes were many tracks of elk, all of them made when the 

 ground was soft, showing that in spring this is a feeding 

 ground for these animals. Following the general direction 

 of one of these watercourses, we soon began to descend, and 

 before long were following down the dry bed of one much 

 larger, whose sand}' bottom was dotted with great blocks of 

 the black lava everywhere exposed in its high bank, and so 

 characteristic of, this region. In many places it had been 

 beautifully glaciated, the ice polishing being remarkably 

 fine. The valley of this dry stream is a beautiful park, the 

 country gently rolling, with timbered knolls and open 

 grassy intervales. Some of the trees were unusually large, 

 the firs and spruces being two feet in diameter at the butt, 

 and some of the pines almost as large. Marching down the 

 valley, we came on to the deeply worn trail made by Presi" 

 dent Arthur's large party during the summer of 1883, and 

 following it, an hour or two before sunset, reached the lake. 

 Camp was made near the shore in a wide, green meadow, 

 dotted here and there with groups of graceful pines, at the 

 edge of one of which the tents were pitched. Just behind 

 them was a low, wet place, where the grass and reeds grew 

 waist high, and hither the hungry animals repaired, and lux- 

 uriated among the abundant pasture. 



Lewis Lake is a beautiful sheet of water, three or four 

 miles in diameter and almost circular in form. It is sur- 

 rounded by bold hills, of which the Red Mountain range to 

 the east are the highest. In many places the waters lap the 

 feet of bold high bluffs, and where the banks are not so 



steep, the dense forest comes down to the very shore. At its 

 northern end, near our camp, the land was lowest, and here 

 was a wide bay, with a circular sweep and a broad sand 

 beach, on the edge of which grew a fringe of wind-swept 

 spindling pines, the whole reminding one quite vividly of a 

 tropical bay fringed with cocoanut trees. Just back of this 

 beach, which is in fact rather a bar, is an extensive marsh, 

 with many open ponds, large and small, in and about which 

 grow yellow water lilies and high reeds and grasses. It 

 must be a great resort for fowl during the migrations, and 

 there is abundant reason to believe that large game is quite 

 plenty here. 



It was blowing hard when we made camp, a fresh, dry, 

 wholesome breeze from the west, which raised quite a sea on 

 the lake, and the big waves tumbled up on the beach after 

 one another so fast that it was not an easy matter to get a 

 bucket of water without at the same time getting a wet foot. 

 Most of us who have lived upon the seashore have seen a 

 little sandpiper feeding along the water's edge upon the mat- 

 ter cast up by the waves; as one of these retreats, the bird 

 rushes after it, wading knee deep in the ebbing foam, and 

 hastily seizing each morsel of food within its reach, and 

 then, as the following surge comes tumbling in, the tiny 

 forager runs as fast as its legs will carry it up the beach to 

 avoid being buried in ttie white smother. So, backward and 

 forward the bird follows the waves. Somewhat in the same 

 way we followed the water in our efforts to get a pailful that 

 was clear and free from floating particles of wood and other 

 debris that was being cast up on this lee shore. 



After dinner and as the sun was setting, Mr. Hague and I 

 took a stroll along the shore. It seemed very like a walk by 

 the seaside; the fresh breeze, the dancing white-capped 

 waves, the roar of the surf pounding upon the beach, and 

 the glancing moonlight on the water all brought back mem- 

 ories of evenings spent on the ocean beach, and it was hard 

 to appreciate that we were 7,800 feet above the sea and 2,000 

 miles from its shores, amid the solemn mountains of the 

 Great Divide. 



All along the beach there is worn a path whero the elk pass 

 back and forth, from the valley where we are camped to the 

 great marsh, and here and there upon the smooth sand were 

 seen places where two bulls in a fury had charged upon 

 each other, and meeting head to head had pushed and • 

 strained against each other until one had yielded and turned 

 to fly. In other places some bull had turned aside from the 

 trail and thrown himself on his knees in the sand and rolled 

 in it. For at this season the bulls are just beginning to feel 

 like war. 



The pines which grow along the beach are small and ill- 

 nourished, but are worthy of notice in one respect, for on 

 the side toward the west they are almost without branches, 

 and the few that grow are bent and twisted so that their ends 

 pointed to the east, showing the great force and prevalence 

 of the westerly winds. 



Through a gap in the hills we had a glimpse of some peaks 

 of the Teton Range, shadowy and distant to be sure, but 

 superbly grand. 



NATIONAL PARK SUPERINTENDENTS. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



In your editorial of Jan, 29 on the new bill concerning the 

 Yellowstone National Park, you speak of its guardians in a 

 way that most of your readers would suppose that they were 

 possessed of powers enabling them to make arrests and bring 

 to justice all persons found violating the laws governing said 

 Park. Now if we are supplied with any such powers, I ask 

 you why the Secretary of the Interior in his report to Con- 

 gress last year should have said that the superintendent and 

 his assistants were powerless to enforce the laws through 

 lack of power to make arrests, and to remedy it why did he 

 petition the Legislature of the Territory of Wyoming to come 

 to his aid? 



Our presence has been the only restraint we were able to 

 use for the defense of the Park against the enemies of law 

 and order therein, until the Territory of Wyoming came to 

 the rescue and appointed justices and constables in the Park; 

 and today if an assistant superintendent finds a man violat- 

 ing the laws he has to go to the justice, sometimes forty 

 miles away, and enter a complaint, and place it in the hands 

 of one of the two constables in the Park, thereby giving the 

 criminal plenty of time to get out of the way. 



lhave felt chagrined and disgusted at the thought that 

 the great and potent government of the United States should 

 be unable to govern and protect the Yellowstone National 

 Park reservation and maintain its laws, but must call upon 

 the poor Territory of Wyoming for help, thereby creating a 

 two-headed government. I am confident that the Territory 

 could do it alone without the help of the Interior Depart- 

 ment. It is further mollifying that Congress should be so 

 niggardly in its appropriations for the improvement of the 

 roads, trails and the building of bridges in the Park. I con- 

 tend that the present generation is as much entitled to the 

 benefits of comfortable travel as those will be in the next, 

 and if the State of New York is able to lay out one million 

 a Year for the improvement of her pleasure grounds, the 

 whole United States should be able and willing to appro- 

 priate half that amount to the opening to travel the curi- 

 osities and wonders of this the greatest and most beautiful 

 pleasure ground in the world. 



The idea that the Yellowstone National Park is a source 

 of pride to the whole people of the United States, and that 

 our law-makers are too penurious to open it up to the eyes 

 of the world. The petty appropriations thus far have been 

 inadequate (I mean the last two) to make those routes already 

 opened reasonably passable, and in a year or two more it 

 would be barely enough to keep those made in repair. We, 

 the assistant superintendents of the Park, have been very 

 wrongfully accused of inefficiency, and mostly by men who 

 know nothing except by hearsay, like Gov. Crosby, who, 

 because he knew that game had been brought into the Park 

 took it for granted that it was killed on the reservation, when 

 at that time it was almost impossible to find the haunts of 



