142 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Mabch 1&, 1885. 



THROUGH TWO-OCEAN PASS. 



IX. — IN THE SHADOW OF THE TETONS. 



/""CLAMBERING down the rough mountain side, the Pinto 

 ^ and I scrambled along over the loose rock piles, and 

 ■wound in and out among the dead tree trunks that strewed 

 the ground. After reaching the valley, I rode down over 

 the low, bare, burnt hills, and then turned out into the broad 

 meadows at the head of Jackson's Lake, and striking the 

 trail pushed on after the pack train. 



The country is very lovely, and one never tires of gazing 

 at the grand lauge toward which we are journeying. The 

 mountains are so lofty that they seem close at hand, and yet, 

 all through the day's march, they never seemed to draw any 

 nearer. No satisfactory view of Jackson's Lake is had after 

 passing the meadows at its northern end, for the trail passes 

 for the most part over lowlands, and the immediate shores of 

 the lake are covered with timber. A few miles from the 

 head of the lake the trail bends off to the southeast to cut 

 across to the bend of Snake River. 



The country is well watered, small lakes and wet meadows 

 being abundant, and often among the high grass about such 

 places could be seen trails where the elk and moose had 

 passed along but a short time before. The timber on these 

 hills is very fine; much larger than that seen on the east side 

 of the range, some of the pines and firs measure from eigh- 

 teen inches to two feet in diameter. From the hills that 

 were every now and then crossed, glimpses could be had 

 of Snake River, here flowing between high banks. Great 

 numbers of white swans were seen in the river and in the 

 little lakes which we passed. While crossing these same 

 ridges I could occasionally see far ahead of me the train, the 

 tiny men and mules reduced to picture book size in the dis- 

 tance. 



Late in the afternoon, just before-reaching Buffalo Creek, 

 a small cabin was passed on a little bench to the left of the 

 trail, built, as I afterward learned, by prospectors as a 

 shelter for their horses in fly time. The valley of Snake 

 River here is narrow, and greatly overgrown with under- 

 brush and young pine timber. The streams flowing in from 

 the east, of which Pacific and Buffalo creeks are the most 

 important, carry a great deal of water, even at this their 

 lowest stage, but their wide beds covered with gravel and 

 boulders show how enormously greater must be their flow 

 in the spring, and give a hint of the very great area drained 

 by them. Here in this valley I noticed Menzies spruce, a 

 northwest coast conifer not seen during the trip except in 

 this neighborhood. 



A little below the mouth of Buffalo, Snake River Valley 

 becomes much wider, and here may be seen some of the 

 grandest ice work to be found on this continent, marvellous 

 terrace and morainal deposits which would delight the heart 

 of a geologist. 



The sun had disappeared behind the Tetons before I rode 

 out into this plain, but I could still see in the trail the fresh 

 tracks of the animals, and urged the Pinto to a lope in order 

 to overtake them, if possible, before dark. This was accom- 

 plished, and I found them just going into camp in the river 

 bottom among some tall old cottonwoods and almost on the 

 edge of a beaver pond. Great logs, a foot or more in diam- 

 eter, lay on the ground, cut down by the chisel-like teeth of 

 the beavers, and there were some old stumps nearly two feet 

 through, which showed that their trunks had been felled 

 in the same manner. Willows grew on every hand, but a 

 little open level spot was found where there was room 

 enough for the tents and the fire. Not far off was heard the 

 rushing murmur of the great river. We found here a pros, 

 pector and his partner, who were starting for the Wind 

 River Mountains in search of the ever hoped for, but always 

 elusive, "rich strike," which is the motive power of men of 

 this class. 



Their camp was made not more than fifty feet from ours 

 and through the thick network of willows, which formed 

 the dividing line between the two, we could see the dancing 

 flames of their roaring fire, and now and then as a log was 

 tossed on the burning pile, a cloud of sparks soar upward 

 among the dark green foliage of the overhanging spruces. 

 Meanwhile the animals of the two camps were fraternizing, 

 for among the prospectors' stock was a mare with a sucking 

 colt, and about this small creature all our mules gathered 

 in silent adoration, forgetting even to eat in their admiration 

 for the ungainly little beast. 



The prospectors' dog — who ever saw a prospector without 

 a particularly lean and ill-favored cur? — sneaked over to our 

 fire and munched the backbones of the trout that had been 

 thrown from the plates on the grass, and a little later Carter, 

 the cook, detected him in the act of purloining from one of 

 the mess boxes a piece of bacon, which he carefully held by 

 the string, not touching the meat with his mouth. Stewart 

 suggested that the prospector had trained the dog to forage 

 for his master in the neighboring camps, but this was no 

 doubt a libel. 



That night the river sung our lullaby, and at intervals a 

 great owl sat in the trees above our camp and drowned all 

 other sounds by his dolorous hootings. 



The Teton Range runs north and south, and forms the 

 divide between Snake River and the waters flowing into 

 Henry's Fork. It is the most imposing range in the Rocky 

 Mountain system, and its principal peaks are only equaled 

 in majesty by some of the superb volcanic cones of the 

 furthest Northwest. The northern and southern extremities 

 of the range, though grand in their maesiveness, are low 



by comparison with the central mountains. The chief of 

 these are Mount Moran, a gigantic square-topped pile of 

 granite, with two or three glacier-like masses of ice on its 

 northern face, and a few miles further to the south the tow- 

 ering pinnacles of the Three Tetons, which shoot skyward 

 in real rock aiguilles, reminding one forcibly of the Matter- 

 horn, 



From our camp in the Snake River bottom the range 

 could not be seen, for the opposite bank was lined with tall 

 spruce trees, which entirely cut off the view. About 10 

 o'clock Mr. Hague and I started across the river, intending 

 to ride over at least to Leigh's Lake and there obtain a nearer 

 view of the lofty peaks. The river was wide and so deep 

 that the water came almost up to our saddle blankets; but 

 although the bottom is covered with large boulders on which 

 the horses were likely to slip and stumble, we crossed with- 

 out mishap, and rode through the open dry woods of the 

 bottom toward the high bluffs which form the true,river 

 bank. We saw here abundant tracks of deer and elk, some 

 of the former quite fresh, and came across a huge old porcu- 

 pine which tried, awkwardly enough, to run away, and 

 then stopped among some low rose bushes and, hiding its 

 bead, erected all its quills in most threatning fashion. 



The bottom was here about a mile wide, and before we 

 had gone more than half this distance we w r cre abruptly 

 brought to a standstill. The whole western portion of this 

 bottom was a great beaver marsh, much of it very soft and 

 miry, overgrown with willows, and intersected in all direc- 

 tions by narrow, muddy sloughs, with steep banks, in which 

 a horse might readily enough sink out of sight. We turned 

 northward, and for the next two hours were engaged in try- 

 ing to make our way out on to the high prairie. Every little 

 while we would find what looked like a good dry tongue 

 of land, which we hoped would extend through to the bluffs, 

 and after following it for a longer or shorter distance, would 

 find some impassable mud hole which would oblige us to 

 seek another road. Just under the bluffs which we were 

 trying to reach, a slough about thirty feet wide, marshy, 

 boggy and overgrown with long grasses, ran north and south 

 for a mile and a half, and although we several time reached 

 the margin of this, we were never able to cross it. At length, 

 after we had worked our way for a considerable distance 

 along its borders, moving very slowly on account of the 

 treacherous nature of the ground, I climbed a Cottonwood 

 tree and obtained a wider view, which showed me that only 

 about a quarter of a mile away was a strip of hard ground 

 which would take us to the bluffs, and by making a consid- 

 erable detour to avoid the heads of the slough, we at length 

 reached the high prairie. Just before we left the bottom we 

 rode into a full-grown brood of the Western ruffed grouse 

 (Bonasa umbellus saUna), which rose and scattered in all 

 directions among the willows. 



Reaching the bluffs we rode up the steep ascent and off 

 toward the range. The prairie is curiously carved and sculp- 

 tured by glacial action, and everywhere are to be seen mor- 

 ainal deposits of great extent. The drift is mainly quartzite 

 granite and serpentine with some volcanic rock. Long 

 ridges, composed wholly of this drift, run out for a long dis- 

 tance from the foot of the range, and are now for the most 

 part bare of timber, though on some of them the fire has 

 spared many of the pines, and young quaking aspen timber 

 grows on many of their slopes. On the highest of the river 

 terraces on this, the west side of the river, are a number of 

 groups of evergreen timber and occasionally single trees left 

 standing by themselves in what is now a wide sage plain. 

 This is a very unusual occurrence in the West, and here 

 goes to show that at no very distant time in the pa3t this 

 -whole wide terrace was covered with pine forest. This ter- 

 race is essentially a flat plain, though occasionally traversed 

 by ancient waterways at right angles to the axis of the range, 

 a few feet below the general surface of the plain, and from 

 one hundred yards to half a mile broad. At one place in 

 this plain stands a timber-covered oval mound, regular in 

 shape, its longer axis at right angles to the axis of the range. 

 It is perhaps three hundred yards in length, and is probably 

 morainal in character, though as its surface is covered with 

 dead and living vegetation, this is mere conjecture. On this 

 plain a number of antelope were seen, but they were wild 

 and there was no cover under which they could be ap- 

 proached. 



Looking back from the top of one of the ridges above this 

 plain we had a fine and wide view. Well up above where 

 the river now flows one could trace the beautifully marked 

 terraces, showing the different flood plains of the stream, 

 running smoothly and evenly along the hillsides north and 

 south as far as the eye could reach. Above rose the pine 

 clad mountains, sometimes attaining the dignity of peaks, 

 as Mt. Leidy, but generally forming a low though massive 

 range. Below the upper terraces could be seen, here and 

 there, extensive sage plains, which at this distance had all 

 the appearance of far-reaching wastes of gray sand. The 

 river was not visible from this point, being hidden by the 

 high bluffs between which it flows. 



Riding on, we passed over a number of the burnt ridges 

 to the northwest, hoping to obtain a view of Jackson's Lake, 

 which here runs in close to the foot of Mount Moran, but 

 finding that the ridges became constantly higher, and were 

 always more thickly covered with timber, we at length 

 turned off to the southwest to look for the smaller Leighs 

 Lake. As we passed over the burned hills in this direction, 

 great numbers of fresh elk tracks and trails were noticed. 



Many of them had been made the night before and some 

 since daylight, and it is probable that in the timber before us 

 there were great numbers of them. At length having reached 

 a ridge a little higher than any that we had yet passed over, 

 we had a fine view of the southern end of Jackson's Lake. 

 It seems to wind and twist about among its points and 

 islands, and sends out long, narrow, finger-like bays into the 

 hills in a curious way, and as Mr. Hague remarked, "it 

 needed but a few more points and islands to make it like the 

 Japanese Inland Sea." Having admired this beautiful sheet 

 of water and the grand old mountain whose base it kisses, 

 we rode on, and a little latter saw from a hilltop Leighs 

 Lake. It is about two miles long, and flows, not as might 

 be supposed, into Jackson's Lake, but by an outlet to the 

 south into Snake River. Lying, as it does, in the midst of 

 a dense pine forest, and mirroring the superb peaks which 

 overhang its waters, it is an ideal mountain lake. 



Here we dismounted and studied for a while the range 

 before us. The mountains are masses of granite, almost every 

 where bare and gray, though here and there they are a little 

 blackened by groves of pine timber high up on their sides, 

 and their summits and the few ravines which seam them are 

 whitened by patches of snow. Perhaps their most impressive 

 feature is their nakedness. They are so utterly bare that 

 it adds to their majesty. And they are so steep that it is 

 only in the ravines that any considerable masses of snow can 

 lie on them. Elsewhere it slips off as it falls, or is blown 

 away by the fierce winds that ever play about their lofty 

 summits. The ice masses on the eastern face of Mt. Moran 

 are much smaller than those on its northern side. Those 

 have to the eye the appearance of being true glaciers, though 

 this could only be determined by an examination of the 

 waters that flow out from beneath them. Even here on the 

 east side, however, the ice when examined through the glass 

 shows crevasses and fluting on its lower border and occasion- 

 ally the color which is so characteristic of the glacier. A 

 very prominent and striking feature of Mt. Moran, which 

 may be seen from this point to the best advantage, is a nearly 

 vertical dyke of dark rock running up the side of a square 

 granite face, immediately under the summit of the mountain. 

 This dyke must be one hundred feet wide, and reaches from 

 the summit of the mountain down under a snow mass and 

 the talus of loose granite blocks at its foot, and then appears 

 again on the mountain side in a direct fine with the upper 

 part of the dyke. Just south of the snow and the debris 

 below it appears a dark mass which looks like a part of the 

 dvke broken and pushed a little out of line. It may be a 

 bend in, or an enlargement of the mass. 



Our nearness to the range at this point prevented any sat- 

 isfactory view of the Three Tetons, for the southernmost of 

 the three was hidden behind the Grand and the northernmost 

 was dwarfed by it. This superb peak, however, towered 

 above its fellows grander and more impressive than we had 

 yet seen it. The long sloping saddle which runs up toward 

 the peak was visible, and then above that the sharp needle 

 of granite inaccessible to human foot. The view there had 

 was one that will never be forgotten by the beholder, for 

 though lapse of time may blot out from the memory the 

 sharpness of detail and the vividness of first impressions, 

 yet the awe-inspiring majesty of these tremendous mountains 

 gave rise to feelings that can never be wholly obliterated, 



Turning again toward camp, we regretfully rode away 

 from the hill where we had had so much enjoyment. Tak- 

 ing the nearest way down to the plain, we passed around 

 the points of the ridges on our way to camp. From the 

 aspen thicket where one of these points runs out toward the 

 head of a ravine a great brown doe bounced out as we ap- 

 proached and ran down to the ravine, her long ears flapping 

 backward and forward at every bound. I jumped from my 

 horse to shoot at her, but just as I did so she sprang down a 

 depression in the prairie, so that when I stood on the ground 

 I could only see her ears. She ran off down the ravine and 

 was not seen again. Later, we rode over a ridge near where 

 four antelope were feeding. They took the alarm at once, 

 and my shot, made as they were running quartering up the 

 opposite hillside, was just about four inches too high, pass- 

 ing into the ground just over the buck's shoulders. All the 

 antelope here were wild, as if a good deal hunted. 



On reaching the river bottom again we endeavored to take 

 advantage of our experience of the morning, and by keep- 

 ing out close to the river's edge succeeded in finding firm 

 ground all the way to the ford, although the process of forc- 

 ing our way through the tangled willow thickets was not 

 pleasant. Arrived in camp, we found that the fishermen 

 had been successful and had secured a number of fine and 

 heavy trout. Just before dark a flock of seven Canada 

 geese flew up the river, honking loudly, and as they were 

 passing camp I answered them, and presently they turned 

 about and came back, flying directly over the tents and look- 

 ing down in the most interested way, as if to see who it was 

 that was talking to them. 



During the night the storm which had been brewing for 

 several days broke upon us, and the next morning when we 

 turned out it was raining hard. Everything was wet, and 

 we did not attempt to move. It was rather cold, and over- 

 coats were in demand as we stood about the fire, while the 

 rain, sometimes changing to snow, came down with a per- 

 sistent drip. Stewart and Saddlemeyer, as soon as they had 

 arisen, had cut some poles, and with a mania and three or four 

 sling ropes, soon rigged up a capital shelter, under which, 

 about 9 o'clock, we had breakfast in a very luxurious lazy 



