26 



Sierra Club Bulletin. 



I established my camp at about 7500 feet elevation at 

 the junction of two rushing mountain streams. A hasty- 

 study of the geological map led me to identify them as 

 Illilouette Creek and Clark Fork. Later, to my sorrow, 

 they turned out to be Clark Fork and Gray Creek. I 

 was so buried in the forest that I could see nothing but 

 trees on all sides. Yellow pine and tamarack, silver fir, 

 balsam fir and quaking aspen hemmed me in, but I had a 

 fine flat-topped granite boulder for a fireplace and table, 

 plenty of fuel and water at hand, and an abundance of 

 balsam fir boughs for a bed. A tall yellow pine, six feet 

 in diameter, stood in the center of the clearing and fur- 

 nished in the roughness of its bark convenient points for 

 suspending my few household articles. 



Subsequent events showed that this camp-site was 

 really a playground or a fighting place for Douglas squir- 

 rels, who raced madly about every morning at dawn. 

 They barked in wild hilarity and often waked me too 

 early for my taste. One morning, for instance, they 

 scrambled past my face and' over my bed, then up and 

 around my pine-tree pantry, ignoring and avoiding my 

 precious utensils but giving numerous jolts to my nerves. 

 I kept perfectly quiet, enjoying it all and seeing all I 

 could without disturbing the fun. I finally made out that 

 the chaser must be the proprietor of that grove, and the 

 chased some intruder. 



After a few meals from the mountaineer's usual freak 

 bill of fare, I started out at six one morning to climb 

 Red Peak — 11,700 feet high — though its top was not 

 visible from that side of the range. I expected a hot 

 day's work, wore only a sleeveless nainsook undershirt 

 and a pair of light tennis trousers and carried a meager 

 lunch of Swedish bread and bacon sandwiches. 



It was a glorious day in a glorious place. I felt exhila- 

 rated in every faculty. As a Canadian guide quaintly 

 expressed to me his feeling on climbing some ridge at 

 dawn while carrying mail to Ottawa, "I felt as if I was 

 fresh born." Guided only by the music of the tumbling 



