Through the Olympics With the Mountaineers 153 



All the more could we enjoy the grandeur that surrounded 

 us. This central portion of the Olympic Range was one of the 

 wildest regions we had ever seen. The three peaks of Olympus 

 and the high ranges radiating from them were all dark, pre- 

 cipitous mountains of metamorphic rock. Glaciers with their 

 castellated ice cliffs and their brown-veined, blue-shadowed 

 crevasses, shone all about us. From the Straits we had fol- 

 lowed the paths of their ancient flow. Now we stood among 

 their living fountains and could trace the course of their canons 

 circHng among forested ranges to the Pacific. The ocean was 

 veiled in fog, but a silver strip of the Straits showed far to the 

 north. Along the eastern horizon the Cascades lay outstretched 

 for two hundred miles, their shining ranks crowned by the 

 loftier, more gloriously radiant volcanic cones. Baker, Rainier, 

 Adams and St. Helens. 



One more night we spent in Queets Basin where the an- 

 ticipated Olympian rains overtook us with most of our rain- 

 proof outfits many miles away. After another day in Elwha 

 Basin, which offered choice of an easy climb of Mt. Barnes, a 

 difficult ascent of Mt. Meany, or a lazy time of rest, we broke 

 camp. 



Four miles down the Elwha branched the new trail, leading 

 to the Low Divide. There, at the edge of a meadow, bright 

 with lupines, elephants' heads, (Pedicularis groenlandica) 

 columbine, and great masses of delphinium, waist-high, we 

 made camp for three rainy nights. One clear morning gave 

 opportunity for a visit to Martin's Park and Mt. Christy, an 

 unfrequented place where fresh elk tracks everywhere pre- 

 ceded us — beside ponds where yellow lily pads bloomed, among 

 marshes fragrant with violets, and up in the level, heather- 

 clad park where streams from Christy's glaciers meandered. 

 Then for a day and a night rain fell, and we huddled together 

 under tents and flies, burned untold quantities of firewood, and 

 drove the cooks to distraction with our clamorous appetites. 



Though the high mountains were now left behind, the most 

 difficult part of our journey was yet to come. The trail beyond 

 the Low Divide was of the roughest description, and the forest 

 cover on the more rainy western slope was even more tropical 

 in its luxuriance. Tangled labyrinths of fallen logs, dense 



