42 



FOREST AND STREAM, 



[Feb. 11, 1886. 



TO THE WALLED-LW LAKES. 



X. — IIP SWIFT CURRENT. 



'T^HE morning brought more wind, but the sun shone 

 bright and clear from a sky whose brilliant blue was 

 patched here and there with white clouds. 



We were to-day to start on a two days' excursion to the 

 Swift Current Lakes, and having seen them and the moun- 

 tains about them, to return to St. Mary's and then to depart 

 for the Agency. 



Our scanty outfit was speedily collected and put on the 

 pack horse. Blankets, bacon and bread, with a frying pan, 

 bucket and a tin cup or two made up the load, and we 

 were soon stringing out over the level plains toward Swift 

 Current. 



Something has already been said about this rushing tor- 

 rent. Although neither very deep nor wide, it is not always 

 an easy stream to ford because of its swiftness and the char- 

 acter of the bottom. Over the great smooth boulders, about 

 which the waters foam, a horse has to pick his way with 

 great care if he is to keep his footing, and the rider experi 

 ences a feeling of relief when his animal, after slipping and 

 staggering through the flood, gets his forefeet on the dry 

 gravel of the bank. 



It happened that I rode down last into the water and just 

 before me was the pack horse, which Yellowfish was lead- 

 ing. The bank on the other side was almost a cut bluff for 

 twenty or thirty feet, but there was an easy trail leading up 

 the bluff. I was close behind the pack horse, which hung 

 back, and rode out of the water above the trail, rather than 

 keep my horse standing in the stream until the way should 

 be clear. Just as I bad got clear of the water I saw the pack 

 horse rear as if to put his feet on the bank and then fall over 

 backward, nearly pulling Yellowfish out of the saddle. The 

 beast fell squarely on the pack and the force of the current 

 swept him along, rolling him over half a dozen times, giving 

 him another turn every time he tried to regain his feet, until 

 at length, exhausted, he lay still, with nothing but his head 

 and half the pack out of the water. By this time we were 

 all off ourhorses and down by the water's edge, and Yellow- 

 fish ran into the stream and caught the lariat and we dragged 

 the dripping beast to shore and up the bank. From every 

 corner of the pack the water was trickling in capacious 

 streams, and it was plain that our bedding was well soaked. 



While we apostrophised the unlucky author of our mis- 

 fortune in no measured terms, the pack was jerked off the 

 saddle and its contents exposed. The blankets were wrung 

 out and spread in the sun to dry and the damp bread treated 

 in like fashion. Then we sat down and while the horses 

 fed and the blankets dried we grumbled. 



Yellowfish said: "Some person is doing this. First rain 

 all the time, then fall in the creek. Bad." 



"If that is so," I said, "let us make a present to some god. 

 which one shall it be, Appekunny?" 



"The Sun, I suppose," he replied. 



So we took a couple of the damp biscuit3, and I gave Ap- 

 pekunny a piece of tobacco. Then he sang a little song in 

 which he magnified the Sun, and prayed, saying: "I yu 

 Nafase, I yu Napi, Kim-o-tit, Kim-o-Ut. Hear Sun, hear 

 Old Man, pity, pity. Look down. Many days ago we 

 started out, and all the time we have had bad luck. First 

 plenty of rain, then fall in the creek ; misfortunes all the 

 time. Have pity, Sun. Give us good. Take care of us. 

 Let us make a lucky journey and kill plenty of meat. Pity. 

 Pity." And we all murmured Kim-o-tit Kim-o-tit, Then 

 Appekunny put the presents up in a little tree and came 

 back, and we smoked and waited for an hour or two longer, 

 when the things, having become a little dry, we packed up 

 and started on. 



The way is merely a hunters' trail leading into the moun- 

 tains; but it shows a good deal of use, and the Kootenays 

 had evidently been trapping here recently, for their fresh 

 horse tracks were often seen. Two or three miles above the 

 Kootenay camp we saw where some Canadians the previous 

 year had cut a large quantity of timber which, during the 

 high water in spring, they floated down to the St. Mary's 

 River and so over the line. A United States Deputy Mar- 

 shall was sent after them, when the Piegan Indian Agent 

 learned what these men were doing; but before he reached 

 the spot they had gone. It is said that they took out many 

 thousand feet of timber, to which, of course, they had no 

 shadow of right. Where it comes out of the hills the valley 

 of Swift Current is wide, though it has no true bottom, the 

 terraces or benches extending quite down to the water's edge. 

 It is fitly named Swift Current, for its fall is very rapid, and 

 there are no quiet pools or reaches of water near where it 

 pours into the St. Mary's. The water is cold as ice. 



Six or eight miles from the stream's mouth we entered the 

 gateway of the mountains which it drains. Hitherto the 

 ridges which bound the valley had been rather low and 

 rounded and timbered to their summits; but now we passed 

 on the north a long, knife-edged mountain, showing on the 

 side toward us only a bare pink and gray rock slope. This 

 was immediately succeeded by one much more lofty and cov- 

 ered in part with snow. On the south side of the valley rose 

 one equally high, but showing little snow on its exposed 

 slope. 



Before we could see these mountains to their bases, how- 

 ever, we rode over a little ridge in view of the lower of the 

 Swift Current Lakes. These lakes were discovered a few 

 years ago by a hunting party, and have been visited only 

 once or twice by white men. They have been reported as 



being five in number. The lower one is perhaps a mile in 

 length and quite broad. Those above it are smaller, but still 

 quite considerable. 



The water of Swift Current is markedly different in one 

 respect from that of most mountain streams. These are 

 usually pure and as transparent as crystal. Swift Current, 

 however, though by no means a turbid stream, is still some- 

 what roily, or at all events very far from clear, and where 

 the water is a foot or two deep it is impossible to see the 

 bottom. The color of the water is pale greenish, and its 

 aspect, by the time we had reached the lowest of the lakes, 

 led me to suspect the existence of glaciers at the head of the 

 stream. 



The bed of the stream is on the south side of the valley, 

 which is here rather broad, and on the mountains which rise 

 above it, the spruce timber comes down to the very edge of 

 the water. To thejnorth of the stream the slope is much 

 more gradual, and there is at first but little evergreen tim- 

 ber, its place being taken by quaking aspen and cottonwood 

 brush. Above the lower lake the immediate shores of the 

 stream are low and marshy, and overgrown with high grass 

 and clumps of willows — fine feeding ground, one would im- 

 agine, for moose and white tailed deer. 



As we advanced, the confines of the valley drew closer 

 and closer together, and the mountains became more abrupt. 

 Finally on the north they became mere vertical walls of from 

 three to four thousand feet in height, with a talus of finely 

 broken rock at the base perhaps 500 feet high. At intervals 

 of a mile or less, narrow canons opened out from between 

 the mountains, leading back into wide amphitheatre-like 

 basins scooped out in time long past by the action of the ice. 

 On the south side of the stream the mountains, though seem- 

 ingly less steep, were higher and— because we could see more 

 of them — more grand. Here on the northern slope of the 

 mountains snow was much more abundant, and from every 

 drift fell a long line of white waving mist, marking the 

 course of some cascade down the nearly vertical side of the 

 mountain. A few black pines clothe the lower half of the 

 talus slope, but higher up nothing grows save occasionally 

 in a ravine, worn out by some torrent, a few stunted willows 

 maintain themselves, and here and there in a crevice of the 

 rock a spruce strives to draw sustenance from the flint. 



Ice is present in many of the ravines, but nowhere along 

 the lower lakes did I see any that appeared permanent. As 

 we advanced, however, and could see further up the valley, 

 a superb glacier came into view. It lies on the south side of 

 the stream and forms the source of a sixth lake, which is an 

 arm of the fifth, which has, until now, been considered the 

 uppermost of the Swift Current Lakes. 



We made camp below fifth lake, in a little patch of green 

 timber, it being thought that further up the stream there 

 would be found no grass for the horses. Near this pointwas 

 an old Blood camp of three lodges which had been deserted 

 about six weeks ago. The bones about the camp showed 

 that they had killed some sheep and goats, and not far off 

 was a spot where, from the great quantity of hair scattered 

 about, we saw that they had been tanning sheephides. 



Before doing anything else, Appekunny and I went up the 

 trail to see the falls at the outlet of fifth lake, for we had 

 heard them described in glowing terms as being one hundred 

 feet high and of great beauty. We were greatly disappointed 

 in them. They consist of a series of broken cascades, each 

 about twenty-five feet high, the stream itself being about 

 twenty feet wide and flowing between vertical walls of rock. 

 The lake itself, walled in as it is by lofty mountains, is very 

 beautiful. From an elevated point we could see something 

 of the sixth lake, the greater part of which, however, was 

 concealed behind a great mountain. The waters of this lake 

 are green and milky— true glacier waters, in fact — and a well 

 defined line in the fifth lake shows where its clear waters and 

 the milky ones of its arm come together. Very impressive 

 is the superb mountain which lies between fifth and sixth 

 lake, and partially conceals the glacier which gives origin to 

 the latter. Its base in sections is triangular, two of its sides 

 facing the lakes being cut away vertically. Its acute angle 

 is directed a little south of east. Along its lower third it is 

 thickly clothed with brush, willows and aiders and aspens. 

 Above this is a narrow belt of evergreens. Still above, rise 

 a series of narrow ledges one above another, and on each 

 grow a few pines. These ledges indicate the different strata 

 of rock which have weathered off from above. These rocks 

 are all dark in color, black and dull green and dark red and 

 purple; and these, with the different hues of the foliage and 

 the white snow, gave the mountain a most varied aspect. 

 Behind this mountain and over sixth lake the glacier was 

 visible. We could see at least a mile of its width, aDd how 

 much was hidden from view we could not conjecture. Its 

 course, if uninterrupted, would make it a part of another 

 great glacier which lies at the head of the main chain of 

 Swift Current Lakes. The thickness of this mass of ice we 

 estimated at several hundred feet, but as our efforts to reach 

 it were unsuccessful, we can only guess at this. It extends 

 back a long way on the mountain side, quite to the summit, 

 in fact, and is broken in two by falling over a tremendous 

 cliff, the height of which is greater than the thickness of the 

 ice, so that the face of the rock is visible. We spent a long 

 time examining the mountain sides, on which we detected 

 many little white dots, which we thought might possibly be 

 goats, but we could discover no motion in any of them. 



Our fire that night was built in a little opening among the 

 spruces, and as it burned high after dinner, the tips of the 



overhanging bough3 crackled sharply in the heat. On sticks set 

 in the ground about were our damp garments smoking in the 

 warmth. The tent, swung on a rope between two conven- 

 ient trees, stood a few yards back from the fire, and as I 

 surveyed the camp from my couch of dry pine needles on the 

 opposite side of the fire it had a wonderfully comfortable and 

 homelike aspect. 



Even an old dweller in camps like myself is sometimes 

 surprised by the very little it requires to make a comfortable 

 home in the wilderness. Blankets and fire are all that is 

 needed. You can really carry your home about with you on 

 your saddle. The old camper instinctively selects the place 

 which each piece of his camp furniture shall occupy almost 

 before he has unsaddled bis horse. The fire must be there 

 because there is no chance of its spreading and there is a 

 convenient log or rock where he can place his dishes while 

 cooking. Here is the place for the bed, a smooth spot and 

 level and near the fire, and he rides up and unsaddles there 

 so that he will not be obliged to carry saddle and blankets 

 from one place to another. His slender stock of "grub" is 

 placed among the branches of a tree out of the way of any 

 prowling fox, coyote or skunk that may visit camp during the 

 night, or if no tree be at hand , is put under his head, so that 

 if it is disturbed he will be likely to know of it. The water 

 bucket has its place and so with every article he possesses. If 

 he has to find anything in the dark he knows just where to 

 put his hand on it. Needless to say that he takes good care 

 of and keeps close watch over his horse, on whom his very 

 life may depend. Usually the animal is allowed to wander 

 hobbled or with his picket rope dragging until the approach 

 of darkness, and then he is brought as close to camp as pos- 

 sible and picketed, if the surroundings will admit of it, where 

 the grass grows thickest and best. 



One wants to be as comfortable as possible at all times, 

 and I have not the slightest sympathy with those who de- 

 light in making hardships for themselves. But when it is 

 necessary to travel light, to go insufficiently provided, to 

 sleep with a single blanket, to eat meat straight, or to get 

 along for days or weeks on bacon and unleavened bread, a 

 m an, if he only looks on the cheerful side of things 

 and laughs at hardships, can have a lot of comfort and 

 can take a vast amount of pleasure out of this life. 

 But I do hate to have to travel at night and to He by with- 

 out a fire during the day. However, those days are about 

 over now. 



Our talk that night was of the superb mountains 

 about us, of the great ice masses that furrow their 

 side, and of the possibilities of meat for the morrow. As 

 we talked, the wind howled down the valley and made 

 curious sad murmurs through canon and ravine, while the 

 tops of the spruces tossed themselves to and fro sighing in 

 an undertone that was but faintly heard; but our fire burned 

 bravely upward, for where we were the wind could not 

 reach us, and it was warm and bright and pleasant. The 

 pipes kept going well, there was plenty of wood, and we 

 lounged about and chatted or dozed, until at length one by 

 one we crept into our blankets and the wind sang our lullaby. 



Yo. 



Address all communications to the Forest and Stream Publish- 

 ing Co. 



CAMP FLOTSAM. 



XXIII. — AURI SACROFAMES. 



LOAFING about camp, picking berries and spring hunting 

 was fast becoming monotonous, but the blow on the 

 water showed no signs of a let up and we were obliged to 

 content ourselves in idleness. One night, just after sundown, 

 we tried the white flies in the creek, but there was not a 

 breeze stirring, and while we had a few small strikes from 

 baby bass we had larger ones in the proportion of about six 

 hundred to one of the former, from the mosquitoes from the 

 marsh. It would have been an interesting spectacle from 

 the shore, had any one been there to see, as we made a cast 

 with one hand and at the same time a slap on the face with 

 the other, then shifted the rod to the left hand to crush a 

 patriarch which had settled on the off side and again 

 dropped the rod altogether to smite the hoardes upon our 

 hands. It was too much to be enjoyed at a single sitting, 

 and we got out of the creek into the lake as rapidly as pos- 

 sible. 



We waited long and anxiously for the rain which the Col- 

 onel promised us would dispel the blow. It came after 

 many days and lasted for twenty-four hours with a strong 

 wind which we trusted would put us in the way of sport 

 once more. When the rain ceased it left the weather cold 

 with the thermometer at 56°. The blow had mostly disap- 

 peared from the water, although some signs of it were yet 

 observable over the shallow stretches. A cruise among the 

 adjacent islands resulted in two small bass, which we threw 

 back, and on our way to camp a fair strike ended by fouling 

 the leader on a log which stood upright with the end just 

 below the surface, where we lost a gang of flies. The next 

 day the blow was back on the water and the brimstone de- 

 posit on the beach, so the rod was unjointed and put away 

 and we returned to loafing and prospecting. 



One afternoon when we returned to camp, we found the 

 household of Sabattis awaiting our coming on the slope be- 

 fore the tents. They had brought us a basket of field peas 

 and half a dozen fine full grown chickens for our poultry 

 yard, which yet consisted of the original two. The chick- 

 ens had been procured for us from some one in the interior, 

 while the peas, though they were from the fodder field of 

 some farmer, were nevertheless good when prepared for the 

 table. The Indians spent over half the afternoon in delight 

 over a Grant memoiial number of a New York illustrated 

 paper which had been brought us from Kingston. Occa- 

 sionally, they would jabber to each other as they turned over 

 the leaves, and we wondered whether the pictures conveyed 



