Notes and Correspondence 357 



At Chiloquin we bundled into a straw-filled sleigh; thirteen persons 

 occupied the seats, with a big red rooster in a crate as rear guard and 

 superstition chaser. . . . The snow had gradually deepened to over four 

 feet as we neared Fort Klamath. . . . The outlook Tuesday morning 

 was not promising. Over a foot of snow had fallen during the night. 

 It was still snowing, and the heavy gray sky gave no assurance of any 

 immediate change for the better. . . . Frgm the Copeland place we 

 continued our way on skis. Our packs averaged over thirty-five pounds 

 each. ... In addition to the provisions and personal effects, we had 

 snow-shoes strapped on our packs for emergency use. . . . We pushed 

 on through the soft snow, taking turns breaking trail through the pine 

 forest. Another snowstorm about mid-afternoon shut out the sun and 

 we looked for mile-posts or signs. Cheered by the sight of a blue en- 

 ameled sign on a nearby pine, we turned aside to investigate. After 

 poking the snow away I unearthed, or rather unsnowed, an ice-cream 

 sign. For the first time it failed to awaken a responsive chord. About 

 five o'clock a peaked snow mound, rising slightly above the level, an- 

 nounced our destination. A shovel thrust in the snow under the peak 

 gave us the means to clear an entrance, and we soon ferreted below and 

 entered the cabin of the Wildcat ranger station at the park entrance. . . . 



Wednesday morning promised fair, sunshine and blue sky following a 

 starlit night. We left our snow-shoes behind as useless luggage and 

 started up the road, tall, high-crested yellow pines casting long shadows 

 on a spotless floor of white. Soon we neared the rim of Anna Creek 

 Cafion, frequently enticed to the very edge for the enchanting view of 

 the stream, a green twisting ribbon far below. White slopes alternated 

 with sheer walls of colored rock, columns and spires upthrusting here 

 and there. . . . After eight hours of continuous plodding we reached 

 the deep-set curve where a timber-cribbed opening under a deep floor 

 of snow showed us Bridge Creek, the only bridge on the road. We 

 found out later that this was five and three-quarter miles from Wild 

 Cat. ... It was after sunset when we reached Headquarters, where we 

 were most cordially welcomed by H. E. Momyer, acting superintendent 

 of the park. Fourteen feet of snow on the level necessitated going down 

 a snow stairway to the front door. Mr. Momyer was monarch of all he 

 surveyed, his only companions, bluejays, feathered camp robbers, and a 

 pine marten, all so tame that a robber ate from his hand, and the mar- 

 ten overcame all caution in his eagerness to secure scraps of the fresh 

 meat we had brought. His dark lithe body appeared like a shifting sil- 

 houette against the snow stairway. . . . 



Thursday morning registered seven degrees above zero — clear, cold 

 and snappy. . . . Friday afternoon we went up the low gap where the 

 old road meandered to the rim, and came out on the lake at the base of 

 Castle Crest. The sun was setting, giving a warm glow to the snow in 

 the light, and cold gray to the snow in shadow. In the shadow below 

 lay Wizard Island, a white cone ; The Watchman, Glacier and Llao rose 



