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FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Jtjnb 23, 1894. 



"Forest and Stream's" Yellowstone 

 Park Game Exploration. 



In the Heart of the Mountains. 

 Long before the sun had dreamed of touching the top 

 of even Mt. Washburn in the Park, let alone the rocky 

 front of the Obsidian Cliff, which frowned down not far 

 from our snow-bound camp, there was a general unbend- 

 ing and straightening out of the cramped forms in the 

 little shack, and everyone busying himself preparing for 

 the day's march. It was only a little after 3 o'clock in 

 the morning when Sergt. Kellner and his party took the 

 trail. Billy and our men were a little later, as we stopped 

 to give the skis a scientific scorching and waxing. A 

 new ski is like a new shoe, it needs breaking in. A 

 scorching which leaves, the surface browned or almost 

 black seems to lay the grain of the wood. The coat of 

 grease and wax heated in on this surface keeps the grain 

 from being started by the snow, and gives that perfect 

 slipperiness so much valued by the experts and so em- 

 barrassing to the greenhorn. 



I left the camp ahead of our party, sometime before 

 sun up. The trees were banked with snow, so that one 

 could not see 20yds. into the forest. Where- 

 ever one could get a look through at the 

 mountains he saw only a white silence 

 which repelled and did not greet. We 

 were now in the heart of the mountains 

 and the trip was on. There was a singular 

 feeling of smallness and insignificance 

 which came over one in such surroundings, 

 yet I felt cheerful and happy in the fact 

 that I was not so badly off physically as I 

 had feared, but was refreshed fully by the 

 night's sleep. Moreover, some advice from 

 the boys had set me on better terms with 

 the skis. The day before I had had my toe 

 straps too tight, and had been walking with 

 my heel on top of the heel strap. I now 

 loosened up the thongs of the toe straps, put 

 my heelsquare down into the heel straps and 

 buckled the ski fast on. The bottom strap 

 of the heel brace I cut off altogether, as it 

 was too short for the big overshoes. Thus 

 arranged, I found that my foot got a con- 

 trol over the ski it had not had before, and 

 I was free of much muscular strain, while 

 the foot worked with far greater ease in 

 the straps. 



Billy's Turn. 

 I plodded along alone in the trail of the 

 Kellner party for a while, but not fast 

 enough to keep ahead of Larsen and Holte, 

 who raced on, anxious to get over the nine 

 miles which we had set for the limit of the 

 day's journey. Billy was last to come on, 

 and by the time we joined forces we were 

 some distance on the way. We then went 

 ahead in company for a few miles. Billy 

 was dull and loggy, and at about 9 o'clock 

 he said he was feeling weak and faint. By 

 that time we had run the "Brick Kiln Hill" 

 and were over on the hot country near the 

 "Devil's Frying-Pan," a couple of miles or 

 so from Norris Basin. Here our shoes had 

 begun to stick again, and we concluded to 

 stop and wax up and make some tea for 

 Billy, who was distressed a good deal, much 

 as I had been the day before, only not so 

 badly. I guyed him a little bit about its 

 being his turn to give out, but after he had 

 drunk about a pint of tea with a little 

 brandy in it, he recovered from his f aint- 

 ness and was soon sassy as ever. We had 

 trouble in getting any good wood here, as 

 the axe was on ahead and the snow covered 

 everything deeply, but Billy with his usual 

 deftness managed to get a fire. We started 

 the snow to melting in our teapot by sink- 

 ing the latter in one of the little boiling 

 Bprings near by. As it melted we put in 

 more snow, a little at a time. On all the 

 trip we had to melt snow to make tea or 

 coffee, and we learned that if you crowd 

 snow into your cup so high that it sticks up 

 over the top, the water will taste smoky. 

 The best way is to get a little water first in the cup and 

 then add snow gradually. 



Winter Scenes. 

 There was a little open lake to the right of the trail 

 here, and a lot of steaming, red hot little geyserettes 

 which had no business to be out there in the snow. A 

 broad strip of bare ground crossed the trail every once in 

 a while, where the underground heat kept the surface too 

 warm for the snow to lie. The melting of the heavy 

 snow often created quite beautiful effects. Moreover we 

 found an energetic little "paint pot" or so along the trail, 

 where boiling clays kept up an eternal complaint, and 

 the big "Devil s Frying-Pan," with its endless sputtering 

 and sizzling of gaseous hot water, served to make pause 

 for a moment eyes already beginning to get used to the 

 wonders of this unnaturally wonderful country. 



At the Soldiers' Station. 

 Private Lockhart, from the soldiers' station at Norris 

 Basin, joined Billy and me as we were finishing our way- 

 side rest and we went up to the station together, arriving 

 at the soldiers shack all in good shape. Here I put my feet 

 into a bucket of ice water, much to the horror of Larsen 

 who thought that was inviting a cold. Yet I found that 

 a short trot barefoot in the snow did not have that effect 

 We all ate like fiends, and created apprehension in Lock- 

 hart s mind, as his rations were running low. He had 

 »de meat, flour and canned tomatoes, and we thought 

 that was good enough for anybody. The Norris Hotel 

 was never rebudt after burning down, and the onlv 

 accommodation at thej Norris Geyser Basin is a lunch 

 house, which is closed in winter. The soldiers' quarters 

 are not public, but we were taken in and given share and 

 share alike. Lockhart was at that time alone. Two men 

 are stationed here all winter, and there are also two 



horses, two cats and one dog. The horses have a barn, 

 and rarely get more than a few yards away from it, ex- 

 cept close along the banks of the Gibbon Eiver, which 

 rushes by near the shack. Between the barn and the 

 house the snow was 6 or 8ft. deep, with drifts of twice 

 that depth. The horses had trodden down a sort of yard, 

 and seemed to be wintering well and to be full of spirit. 

 The thermometer was 45° below here once this winter, 

 but it was above zero when we were there, and in this 

 spring-like air we all took off our heavy wear and un- 

 buttoned our shirt fronts. 



The Winter Patrol. 

 It was about the middle of the afternoon of our stop 

 here that Burgess brought in his prisoner, Howell, as I 

 have earlier described. Later on Capt. Scott and Lieut. 

 Forsyth came in, and at 7 o'clock in the evening "Snow- 

 shoe" Pete," the telephone lineman, who had been over 

 the line in the upper Park, also came in, so that we had 

 a houseful again. All reported soft snow and plenty of 

 it, and very hard shoeing, The two officers were tired 

 enough with their journey of twelve miles from the 

 Canon that day. Capt. Scott had a bad heel. Billy's heel 

 was also badly blistered, and I had a bad place on my own 

 heel. Here was where I threw away my shoes and took 

 to the moccasins, which I never regretted. Billy stuck 

 it out and got part of his original heel back to the Post at 

 the end of the trip. Poor Burgess, with his frozen toe, 



E. HOUGH OF "CHICAGO AND THE WEST. 1 ' 



was the worst off of the party. Pete, who had come in 

 from the Fountain, had had nothing to eat but one sand- 

 wich for the past twenty-four hours. I did not hear any- 

 body complain, and such little aches and pains seemed to 

 be regarded very much as a matter of course, and as a 

 necessary part of the business. My admiration for the 

 U. S. Army and the Park patrol rose still higher. There 

 are men out there who don't need any pomp, pride and 

 circumstance, but who can put on a Mackinaw shirt and 

 "plug" their twenty miles a day on the shoes when they 

 want to. The American public doesn't know the first 

 thing about the U. S. Army, and I imagine that most of 

 the Army doesn't know anything about Ft. Yellowstone 

 and its pleasant little winter service, trying to do what 

 can't be done. I couldn't help thinking of the weary 

 miles of tramping that had been done for this dirty, 

 greasy specimen of humanity, Howell, who seemed so 

 chirk and sure of his early release at the Post. Down the 

 trail, somewhere, were Kellner and his party, making 

 their twenty-one miles that day to get the plunder this 

 fellow had left behind him. Still another party was to 

 follow to bring the stuff out. Here were the two officers 

 and Burgess. The whole Park was full of men for the 

 first time in its winter history, all on account of this 

 fellow, who had been doing something which ought to 

 bring him ten years in prison, but which would really net 

 him only a few days in the guard house. Yet there was 

 not a complaint, not a harsh word to the prisoner only a 

 quiet, dignified acceptance of duty as it came. 



Ski Lore and Snow Quality. 

 The next morning Burgess left for the Post with 

 Howell, accompanied by Pete. Capt. Scott and Lieut- 

 Forsyth concluded to make two days of it, and camped 

 that night at the Crystal Spring shack, where we had 

 passed our first night out. The shoeing continued bad 



continued falling of snow adding always to the great 

 depth already fallen, and lying light and fluffy on top the 

 settled body of snow. As we learned later, it took 

 Burgess till dark to do the twenty miles in. "Snowshoe 

 Pete," who is a very excellent shoer has really made this 

 twenty miles in three hours and thirty-five minutes. 

 Larsen has made it in four hours and twenty minutes. 

 Sergt. Morrison has gone from the Fountain Hotel to the 

 Mammoth Hot Springs, forty full miles, in half a night 

 and a day. It all depends on the shoeing. To the inex- 

 perienced all snow would seem alike, but the expert ski 

 runner knows that it is never the same two days in suc- 

 cession. If the weather is very slippery and not freezing, 

 the shoes will slide and not stick. If the thermometer 

 then drops to the point of freezing they will begin to 

 "ball up" and stick horribly in the moist snow. In the 

 morning when the snow is cold and dry the shoes slip 

 nicely, but by 9 or 10 o'clock, when the sun begins to 

 strike the snow, they will begin to clog up before the 

 snow shows any sign of melting. In fresh-fallen snow 

 the shoes do not stick, but sink down deep and make 

 awful going. On the other hand, a very cold, dry, floury 

 snow will stop the shoes like so much ashes. One of the 

 most dangerous things to meet in running a hill is a 

 strip of this fine, dry, drifted flour snow. One can not 

 see it until into it, and it stops the shoes at once, and will 

 give the best ski runner a tumble. Still another sort of 

 snow is a crusted snow, and this may again be a stiff 

 crust or a crust which now and then breaks 

 down. The ski-goer realizes at once when 

 he has struck a good day, though often he 

 can not tell why the snow is so obliging, 

 and on such a day he travels long and far 

 as he can, resting when the going is bad. 

 Sometimes he travels at night, as we did 

 some of the time later on in our trip. 

 When he hits a deep, light, soft and yet 

 moist snow, with more of it coming, as we 

 found it at Norris Basin that next morning, 

 he looks wise, shakes his head and holes up 

 . for the day. We holed up, concluding to 

 exercise only enough to take the soreness 

 out of the muscles. This we did by a trip 

 through the geyser basin, a mile or so dis- 

 tant from the shack. 



Geyserland in Winter. 

 We first went over the east part of the 

 basin, where the wide valley lies out, bare 

 of snow and covered with steam. The rim 

 of this valley as seen by the summer tourist 

 is one of hills covered with dark pines. As 

 we saw it, it was all white with heavy 

 snow. In many places, as at the outlet of 

 the Great Growler Geyser, the masses of 

 snow assumed the most grotesque forms. 

 Often we walked in among great clumps of 

 snow, high as one's head, with our feet on 

 the bare hot ground. Under each clump, 

 hid deep from sight, was one of the boulders 

 among which the summer tourist picks his 

 way with ease. 



The geysers were very accommodating to 

 us, and kept up a great series of spectacular 

 eruptions. The Constant, the Hurricane, 

 and lots of big ones in this part of the basin 

 kept in view nicely, and every way we 

 looked there was a little hell of steam and 

 boiling water on tap. At the edge of one 

 of the smaller geysers we stood close 

 enough to feel the thin rock heave and 

 sink rhythmically beneath our feet. It was 

 a strange, unreal scene about us, and one 

 the world can hardly parallel. No wonder 

 that we put a camera into active requisi- 

 tion. 



The Growler Geyser, which lies at the 

 top of a knoll above this east valley, at the 

 side of the trail, is a rare and beautiful 

 sight in winter. As we saw it, its crater 

 was deep in a well of crystal-like snow and 

 ice, out of which came a cloud of. fleecy 

 white steam. As the wind changed, it 

 often whipped this obscure cloud away, 

 and gave us a glimpse below our risky foot- 

 ing on the edge of the ice wall. The hot 

 steam melts the snow it strikes. The wind 

 changes, and the melted snow freezes while 

 the steam is busy elsewhere, so all up and 

 down for apparently 30ft. or more, we saw 

 a ridged and wrinkled caisson of many- 

 tinted ice. If you will stick a stick down into the snow 

 and pull it out, you will on looking down into the hole 

 see that the snow seems of a deep blue color. This icy 

 case of the Growler has all that wonderful deep blue tint, 

 but a hundred grades of it, dazzling, bewildering, evad- 

 ing. When we can photograph in colors and reproduce 

 the colors, one may see this picture of a winter wonder, 

 but until then one must take the winter trip to gain a 

 notion of it even the most meager. 



We left the Growler finally, passed the many mud pots 

 and miniature hell spouts, till we reached the fathom- 

 lessly beautiful Emerald pool. Thence we descended a 

 steep trail the hot water had made through the snow, 

 and examined the mighty Monarch Geyser, which was 

 fretting and fuming, but not making much of it. The 

 Minute Man, and a lot more mud pots and pools of 

 course came next, and the wrongly named "Blood 

 Geyser," which Hayden called the Echina. In some of 

 the little nooks of the hills back of the geysers we got 

 wonderful effects from the snow masses, melted into all 

 sorts of shapes by the heat of the geysers, and of these I 

 got two beautiful photographs, which I prize very much. 



The New Crater gave us an interesting exhibition of 

 spurting hot spray, and we spent some time here. There 

 had been an eruption of this geyser apparently about a 

 month ago. It seems to have a habit of slamming out 

 rocks and things to a distance of 30 to 250ft. At the 

 edge of the hot ground around the main vent of this 

 angry funnel there was a clean-cut drift of snow, in 

 which it was easy to read the record of the geyser. Deep 

 down under the surface was the layer of old snow, and 

 above this came a stratum of mud, rocks, etc., which the 

 Crater had spit out. Then snow had again fallen several 

 feet in depth, and over all, not so very far beneath the 

 top of the snow, had fallen a many-colored deposit of 

 hquified clay, rock, and what not, which had apparently 



