244 



SCIENCE. 



[Vol. VII., No. 162 



of snow and ice borne winter and summer upon 

 their naked heads, — the most striking fact in 

 their scenery, a description of which cannot be 

 attempted here. 



The Bow River, at the point where it breaks 

 through its ' gates,' is a swift, deep stream of pea- 

 green water. We follow it for several miles 

 through a low forest, which occupies a large 

 valley parallel with the main range, and between 

 it and an outlying one, which is somewhat analo- 

 gous to the parks of Colorado. Near the southern 

 end of this valley is the station Banff, — the 

 locality of a huge sulphur-spring. This occupies 

 a pit which has a chimney-like entrance, and 

 broadens below into a chamber of considerable 

 size. In the bottom of this boils up a powerful 

 spring strongly impregnated with sulphur, and 

 almost too hot for bathing. The interior of the 

 cavity abounds in masses of crystals, splinter-like, 

 brittle, translucent amber in color, and extremely 

 beautiful, which, fortunately, are carefully pro- 

 tected by the owner. That the spring was for- 

 merly more copious, is shown by the oven-shaped 

 tank it has built up more than forty feet above 

 the present surface of the water. 



Just beyond the impressive berg named Castle 

 Mountain, which, like most of its fellows, has as 

 many curious forms as 3'ou can find changed 

 points of view, in the valley of the Bow River, 

 the traveller gets sight of the first of the great 

 glaciers which are a distinguishing feature of the 

 scenery in the Rocky Mountains of British Colum- 

 bia. It is a broad, crescent-shaped river of ice, 

 the farther part of which is concealed behind the 

 lof ty yellow cliffs hemming it in. You seem to be 

 almost on a level with it, and near at hand ; but 

 it is a dozen or more miles away, and fully fifteen 

 hundred feet above you. 



The forest is not noteworthy until the top of the 

 pass (altitude about five thousand feet) is reached, 

 when the eye gazes across miles of magnificent 

 evergreens, filling the great depression through 

 which the young Kicking Horse rushes from 

 cataract to cataract, down to the westward. 

 The Cathedral and Mount Stephen represent the 

 supreme heights of the continental divide at this 

 point. They are magnificent mountains, and sur- 

 rounded by scores like them, unspeakably pre- 

 cipitous, nigged, and noble. On every side, as 

 you make your way along, stand great cliffs, 

 bearing prodigious weights of clear ice or almost 

 equally solid and glittering masses of snow. In 

 spite of this ruggedness, the gradient adopted by 

 the railway is surprisingly low, and trains will 

 be able to run at great speed ; a schedule al- 

 lowing only seventy-two hours between Montreal 

 and the Pacific going into operation next May. 



It is rather farther down from the summit on 

 the western side than on the eastern. The exit is 

 made through a narrow canon, picturesquely 

 filled by the turbulent stream ; and beyond, with 

 the grandest surprise, you emerge upon the valley 

 of the Columbia, and are face to face with the 

 long, splendid range of the Selkirks. 



Crossing the Columbia on a fine truss-bridge, 

 the railway runs down its margin, close under 

 the steep, wooded foot-hills of the Selkirks. Sev- 

 eral miles below, it turns into the narrow gateway 

 through which the Beaver finds a straitened exit 

 (like all the streams of this region), and ascends 

 its gorges by ingenious engineering to the summit 

 of the range, thirty-four miles (by rail) west of the 

 Donald crossing, and 4,350 feet above the sea. 



The principal difficulty in construction, along 

 this part of the line, was occasioned by the many 

 torrents which come down the very steep moun- 

 tain-side, often in splendid cascades. To span 

 these fierce torrents by bridges or culverts which 

 should not fail, required great skill and liberal 

 expenditure. 



Among these bridges is the loftiest wooden 

 structure of its kind in the world. It crosses 

 Stony Creek, — a noisy rill at the bottom of a 

 V-shaped channel cut deeply into the soft rock of 

 the hillside : and the track is no less than 295 feet 

 above the water. This bridge is supported upon 

 two towers of wooden crib- work, erected upon 

 masonry the foundations of which are solid rock 

 75 feet below the surface. This bridge is about 

 750 feet long, cost $250,000, and was built in a 

 very short time. It is exceeded in height by only 

 one railway-bridge in the world, — the iron one 

 lately put up at Kinzua, Penn. 



The approach to the summit is through a nar- 

 row passage between enormous precipices, down 

 one of which pitches a waterfall several hundred 

 feet in unbroken height, white and dusty like 

 snow ; and at the summit the glacier of which it 

 is the outlet comes into view. 



This glacier has an area of several miles, and 

 its head cannot be seen from the pass. It is 

 wedge-shaped, and in August was so dusty white, 

 where the surface had been honey-combed by the 

 sun, or powdered by the frequent storms, that it 

 was not easy to say where it ceased and the in- 

 clined snowbanks lying under the shelter of the 

 huge 1)1 ack combing began. Streaks, patches, and 

 marbling of vivid blue (or, in some lights, green) 

 could always be detected, however, where the 

 solid ice was exposed ; and the whole picture was 

 irresistibly attractive. The foot of this glacier is 

 approximately 7,350 feet above the sea, and is 

 overlooked by Carroll's and two or three neigh- 

 boring peaks, towering three thousand feet higher. 



