July 20, 1895. J 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



47 



We now begin to climb in earnest and tbe puffing and 

 straining of the two mighty giants that push and pull us 

 up the great grades fill the air with a deafening roar, for 

 160ft. to the mile is at least a fair grade. We are soon 

 looking down on a little silver-like stream 1,000ft. below, 

 whose course we can just trace through the dense forest 

 that fills the valley. We are struck with the almost tropi- 

 cal luxuriance of the vegetation and the denseness of the 

 fir and cedar trees. The juxtaposition of the high peaks 

 has a tendency to dwarf and belittle the immense trees of 

 this section, but one must notice their great height in 

 spite of that. 



The scenery now is something that no pen can describe 

 so that any idea of its real grandeur can be conveyed. 

 Nature in many ways defies the efforts of weak and puny 

 man to portray her beauties. The master hand of the 

 greatest artist fails when he essays to place on canvas the 

 many hued tints of the gorgeous sunset, or the flashing 

 lights of the aurora borealis, and words fail to convey, 

 though they be ever so flowery or well placed, in describ- 

 ing the real beauties of a ride through the Selkirks. 



We can only try to show a little and feel that there is 

 so much left unseen that even the trial is a failure. 



From side to side of the observation car we gO, first gaz- 

 ing up the valley of the Beaver to the line of high peaks 

 ahead, then admiring some foaming cascade that comes 

 plunging down the precipitous mountain side, nearly all 

 foam as it dashes over the rocks, then almost holding our 

 breaths as we cross some stupendous work of engineering 

 in the shape of a bridge over a chasm so deep and dark 

 that the rays of the sun light it only for a few moments 

 each day. At Bear Creek station we are 1,000ft. above 

 the Beaver, and through a break in the cliffs catch a view 

 of Hermit Mountain, at whose base the pass we are seek- 

 ing lies. 



We now leave the Beaver and follow Bear Creek deeper 

 into the heart of these glacier- covered peaks. Great 



gorges and tumbling cascades are on all sides, and the 

 chief of all is that of Stony Creek. The bridge, a new 

 steel one, is 295ft. above the little stream below. We now 

 are in the great snow country and snow sheds come too 

 often to suit us, as we begrudge every moment we lose in 

 darkness, but the Canadian Pacific people have done the 

 best they can by having outside or summer tracks at 

 points where the scenery is too fine to miss. 



Now we approach Rogers Pass, 4,275ft. high, and go 

 between Mount Macdonald on the left and Mount Hermit 

 on the right, the first of which rears his hoary head a mile 

 and a quarter above us. 



The pass was named for Major A. B. Rodgers, who 

 discovered it in 1883, before which it is claimed no human 

 foot had ever trod these mountain fastnesses. It is only two 

 miles to the summit and we soon reach it, 4,300ft. up and 

 1,700ft. above Donald, and only 33 miles in distance have 

 we ridden, but such a ride! This is the summit of the 

 Selkirks and here we are surrounded by 



"The snow-crowned monarchs of an upper world, 

 Bugged and steep and bare the mountains rise; 

 Their very feet are planted in the skies; 

 Adown their sides are avalanches hurled." 



Mt. Cheops is before us and down the dark valley of the 

 Illicilliwaet we gaze upon the beautiful symmetry of Poss 

 Peak. While overtopping all, like some huge giant, the 

 sharp peak of Sir Donald, the father of them all, rises 

 through the fleecy clouds that hide the lower levels 

 from view. 



Tho steel pathway of our iron horse is seen winding in 

 and out among the green firs and cedars away below us, 

 turning on itself, and twisting like the coils of some huge 

 serpent as it seeks its way to the valley below. Huge 

 snow-sheds are on our left, but we remain on the outer 

 track, provided for summer use, and with a sharp turn 

 we front the great Glacier, which looks as if its immense 

 ice fields were ready to slide down and overwhelm us, but 

 which is more than two miles away. 



Our engine snorts and the wheels grind and we glide 

 down the steep descent into Glacier Station. Here, 

 nestling in the green trees of the forest, only enough of 

 which has been removed to make room for the station 

 and the three buildings that are used for hotel purposes, 

 we find one of the most charming stopping-off places that 

 heart can wish for. It is dinner time, so only delaying 

 long enough to register, we pass into the pleasant dining 

 room and with our fellow travelers enjoy a good dinner. 



It does not seem like the average railway eating station, 



in fact, it is not. Ample time is given to serve a regular 

 course dinner, and everything is done with a quietness 

 and order that is refreshing as well as surprising. We do 

 not hurry, but are ready to go and wave farewell to the 

 friends who do not stop with us, but quite a party remain, 

 and it may not be uninteresting to state what a cosmopol- 

 itan crowd we were. There was a gentleman from Swe- 

 den, who was circling the globe; a wholesale grocer from 

 Ohio; a young student from Yale College, who had spent 

 the entire summer among the glaciers near Lakes Louise 

 and Agnes climbing and hunting white goats; two young 

 gentlemen from EDgland, who were enthusiastic moun- 

 tain climbers, and were also traveling round the sphere; 

 several ladies from Chicago and Madame and your obedient 

 servant from Detroit. So the world is small after all. 



The foot of the great glacier is a mile and one-half 

 away and 540ft. above the hotel. A very good footpath 

 leads up to it and we wend our way under the great trees 

 and through brush toward it. 



The ice-cold stream that flows down from the great ice 

 body above is crossed by rough bridges. Great ferns and 

 flowers abound in the dense shade, or where the sun can 

 send his rays. The vegetation is almost tropical in its 

 luxuriance and surprises us as we walk through it. Bear 

 berries and blue berries grow in profusion. We cross the 

 second bridge and follow the zigzag path up the hillside 

 through the trees, and then into the open through lower 

 brush, and finally over boulders and rocks to the great 

 ice bed which covers the mountain before us. By skirt- 

 ing the ice field and keeping through the forest, one can 

 easily get upon the ice, but this we did not attempt the 

 first day. 



The "great glacier," or as many call it the great "Ille- 

 cellewaet glacier," is a field of pure white or blue ice, 

 2,500ft. high, and lies to the right of Mount Sir Donald, 

 which is the highest peak of the Selkirks, 10J545ft. high. 

 The ice is covered with snow most of the year, but when 



any portion happens to be bare and the bright rays of the 

 sun shine upon it, the effect is dazzling. 



In this section are many other glaciers. The glaciers 

 of Mount Bonny, the Dawson, Van Home and numerous 

 others lie in among the great peaks about the Glacier 

 House. One need not climb at all to get a fairly good 

 view of the glacier, as it can be seen very plainly from 

 the hotel veranda, but most everyone wants to get to the 

 ice. 



The view from the hotel satisfied Madame, as it was 

 pretty wet in the forest, a snowstorm having come up, 

 arriving the night we did. The next morning was wet, 

 but the storm did not prove continuous and it was a bless- 

 ing rather than otherwise, as it killed the forest fires to 

 the westward, and the low driving clouds heightened the 

 beauty of the scene about us. The sun would come forth 

 now and then from out the dark clouds and send its 

 darting rays toward some white-capped peaks, making 

 the pure white snow glisten and shine like a silver crown 

 upon the heads of the mountain kings. 



Old Grizzly in the Hermit range, Mount Cheops, Ross 

 Peak, Eagle Peak and Sir Donald would play hide and 

 seek with us, now covered with fleecy or dark, storm- 

 laden masses of vapor, now standing out bare and bold 

 against the blue background of clear sky, then half ob- 

 scured with only the dark forest below showing beneath 

 the light covering of snow, which seemed to be marked 

 by a line, as if some mighty hand had stretched an invis- 

 ible barrier, saying, "Thus far shalt thou come." Sudden 

 squalls would come flying up the valley, and hail and 

 snow would mingle for a moment down below, while far 

 above we would see the fleecy covering grow thicker on 

 the green firs. 



We would long have lingered at Glacier, as its beauties 

 grow upon the lover of mountain scenery, but there is 

 more before us. As a point for the mountain climber or 

 the lover of nature who wishes to sit and admire, Glacier 

 is a spot that will rank with the finest — but a "sportsman's 

 paradise" it can hardly be called. White goats are in the 

 immediate neighborhood, no doubt; bear are quite plenty, 

 and at certain seasons can be seen near the hotel, but one 

 must make up his mind if he hunts in this country to 

 walk and pack. There are no trails nor horses to use, if 

 there were. If, however, one is strong enough to pack 

 and stand severe climbing, there is plenty of sport, but 

 still to stop at Glacier just for hunting would not pay. A 

 little further west, a miner informed us, if we would 

 stop at his camp, we would find '.'plenty of goats." There 

 is no doubt that one who wishes to thoroughly enjoy the 



trip over the Canadian Pacific should do as we were 

 doing, stopping and taking it in sections. It is altogether 

 too much of a feast to digest all at once. The old adage 

 that "too much of a good thing is good for nothing" ap- 

 plies very forcibly here, for if one goes right through 

 from Banff in one day he will see so much that he will 

 not appreciate half. Therefore, stop off as often and as 

 long as possible. F. F. Fbisbie. 



[to be continued.] 



CAMPING OUT. 



The taste for camping out during the summer months 

 seems to have grown greatly during the last few years, 

 and the fashion is a healthy one. It is good to get away 

 from the restraints and vexations of city life and, resting 

 our nerves and renewing health in the pure air of the 

 woods or seashore, realize our insignificance when alone 

 with nature in the wilderness, and how much there is in 

 our daily life that is useless and unnecessary. The style 

 of camp may vary greatly, from the elaborate affair, 

 floored, curtained, with cots, kitchen tent, refrigerator, 

 etc., in the woods, down to the little tent pitched in a 

 back lot of the suburbs; but in any case it is good, and I 

 trust the fancy may still spread and more of us will see 

 our way clear to include the women and children in the 

 annual camping party. 



For some years I lived in Australia and passed many 

 months of that time under a cotton tent. Camp life may 

 be made by necessity very simple and yet be both easy 

 and pleasant. It is wonderful how little a man can 

 get along with when driven by necessity, and how what 

 at one time we look upon as a hardship at another is 

 passed by without a thought. Now I look back with 

 pleasant memories of my life under the cotton,, of the 

 nights in the silence of the forest, with the wind sighing 

 in the tops of the giant gum trees and the camp-fire 

 flashing faintly in our sleepy eyes and of the awakening 

 before dawn in the cool violet-covered light of the morn- 

 ing, with the lofty ranges standing clear cut against the 

 sky, while the magpies, "laughing jackasses," and cocka- 

 toos commenced their daily clamorous chattering. 



I can laugh now as I think how we had to pass one 

 Sunday sitting holding down our tent inside, with a 

 blanket over our heads, and our clothes, etc., underneath 

 us to keep them dry, while the wind roared and the rain 

 sifted through our old 8x6 cotton tent, and we tried to 

 pass time between lulls by reading an old paper, smoking 

 and abusing things generally, but we weathered the 

 storm. 



Australia is the land of the camper, and on any bush 

 road the wandering digger, shepherd or laborer, on foot 

 or on horseback, may be met miles from a settlement, 

 each with his little cotton tent, roll of blankets, tin pail 

 or kettle and hatchet. One of the most primitive styles 

 of camp consists of two long sheets of bark cut from a 

 big, stringy bark gum tree. One sheet laid on the ground 

 serves as a bed, and the other sheet, round side up, laid 

 over the occupant, serves both as quilt and roof. As it is 

 difficult to cut a sheet of bark over 5ft. long the camper's 

 head or feet generally have to stay outside in the wet. 

 Two such campers were located thus one wild, wet night 

 on a bleak hillside, all to be seen of them being long boots 

 projecting at one end and soft hat with glowing pipe at 

 the other. Said one to the other, "Bill, I pity them poor 

 chaps what's out to-night without a cover." 



Ordinary travelers on foot usually carry a small cotton 

 wall tent of 8x6ft., with fly, fitted with long, light ridge 

 rope. Weight is an important consideration, as tent, 

 blankets, spare clothes, boots, hatchet, tin pots, frying pan 

 and provisions make load enough|f or two men on a twenty - 

 mile-a-day tramp. By using a ridge rope the tent is easily 

 slung up between two saplings and no poles are neces- 

 sary. Diggers use the same style of tent, but when set- 

 tled down raise it a foot or so on log foundation, fix per- 

 manent poles, etc., and add to it a mud fire-place and 

 chimney. Such a home as this can be made very com- 

 fortable, and I have known a married couple with young 

 children live in such a tent 10 X 12 for months. Of course 

 the mild Australian climate makes tent life easy all the 

 year round. Campers always avoid the neighborhood of 

 big trees, as a dry branch falling any distance is no joke, 

 and some of the blue gums in Victoria grow 400ft. high. 

 In Gipplands, in the south, many such are to be found to- 

 day. I have wandered considerably on the subject of 

 camping, and will not take up more of your space, but I 

 think all your readers who have not done so should try a 

 turn of camp life, and I believe they will enjoy it. Why 

 should not parties of neighbors unite in a little camp set- 

 tlement for the vacation? United they would find time 

 pass quickly and would go back to their homes invigor- 

 ated by the rest and pure air. What say you? 



W. Hammersley. 



Massachusetts. ' 



A Correction. 



St, Louis, Mo., July 11. — The other ,day a veteran, to 

 whom I am indebted for many "points" strolled into the 

 office and asked for the last few numbers of Forest and 

 Stream. After reading a while, he looked up suddenly 

 and exclaimed: "Say, who told you that rattlesnakes wuz 

 good eatin'?" 



"You did." 



"Me!" 



"Y-s." 



"I never told you no sech thing." 

 Here was a facer. 



" Why, didn't you tell me once that you used to eat 

 rattlesnakes when grub was scarce, and that you got to 

 liking them?" 



"Not much. Prob'ly a big fat diamond rattler might 

 be good, but the little prairie rattler ain't no good at all — 

 too sweetish fer my taste. We had to eat them sometimes, 

 but they ain't no comparison to puff-adder." 



He paused, with a far-away look in his eyes. Then he 

 remarked: "Puff-adder is out of sight." 



Horace Kephart. 



i REPORT YOUR LUCK { 



With Rod or Gun 



I To FOREST AND STREAM, \ 



| New York City. | 



