June 23, 1894.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



331 



been thrown over a atrip of country 200yds. across. This 

 geyser is a corker when it gets down to business, and 

 when it is having a busy day I would just as soon be 

 somewhere else. It is liable to drop a chunk of rock 

 about the size of a piano on a fellow, anywhere from 25 

 to 50yds., and disfigure him. 



On top of a hill to your right as you return to the Gib- 

 bon River from the basin, is the Congress Geyser, so called 

 because its new crater was formed at the time, three years 

 ago, when a congress of geologists was visiting the Park. 

 This open pool is without bottom apparently, and is of a 

 gracious opaline hue, with indescribable blending tints of 

 yellow, blue and pearl. 



In the distance, on Schurz Mountain, we could see the 

 gleam of the Monument Geyser basin, some miles distant, 

 but we did not go over there, for we had more wonders 

 than we could handje right at hand. I cannot, of course, 

 attempt any actual"description of this weird region, addi- 

 tionally wonderful and startling as it is under the disguis- 

 ing robe of winter, for the main purpose of these articles is 

 different. I can only say that even those to whom the 

 geysers are an old story in summer became enthusiastic 

 over them in this winter aspect, and even Billy was eager 

 to go over the entire basin again. To Billy, of course, 

 much of our pleasure was due here, for he knows every 

 geyser thoroughly, and is a most interesting and thorough 

 and enthusiastic guide. If I had a friend wish- 

 ing to make the Park trip, I should by all means 

 advise him to get Billy to go along, for he 

 knows the Park inch by inch, and even its 

 scientific features and scientific history are not 

 strange in the least to him, since he has been so 

 much associated there with parties of scientists 

 of all sorts. Billy could talk of rhyolite and 

 algas and silicates in a way to make your head 

 swim. 



In walking over the geyser country we left 

 our skis, and picked our way along the hot 

 water streams which traversed the country so 

 generally. Once in a while we had to plunge 

 through snow waist deep to get from one geyser 

 to another. Our feet were soaking wet in spite 

 of our overshoes when we again mounted our 

 skis and took the tidy run down hill to the 

 soldiers' quarters by the Gibbon. We had done 

 enough work among the geysers to earn a good 

 night's sleep. 



Off for the Canvon. 

 Those who visited the Hunter's Cabin at the 

 "World's Fair probably saw BUly Hofer curled 

 up on the settee, reading a novel describing 

 the trials of the Lady Evalina, or something of 

 the sort, and thought he was plenty lazy. That 

 is correct. All mountain men are lazy when 

 at home. It is the delving lowlander who gets 

 out before breakfast to plow corn. But on the 

 trail I found Billy an energetic and tireless 

 comtnander-in-chief, always alert, but alert for 

 all and hot for himself alone. About 3 o'clock 

 in the morning of the following day, about the 

 time I was just fixed all right in among my 

 blankets, Billy crawled out arid began waxing 

 up his skis for an early start. Our breakfast 

 of bread, coffee and bacon was soon over, and 

 we each made a sandwich for his lunch. We 

 were to do the twelve miles to the Canon that 

 day, and needed to make an early start, for the 

 shoeing was found to be bad. The light was 

 barely gray when Billy and I pulled out, Larsen 

 and Hoi te not starting for half an hour or so 

 later. I broke trail foe a mile or so and found 

 it hard work, the shoes sinking down into the 

 soft, light snow nearly a foot at each step. Then 

 BUly and I alternated for a time at breaking, 

 until at length Larsen and Holte came up and 

 went ahead for the rest of the day. 



A Lunch in the Snow. 



Even Larsen and Holte found it bruising 

 work, and at 11 o'clock in the morning, after 

 hours of choppy hill work, where we could only 

 average about two miles an hour, they turned 

 out of the trail and asked for coffee. Billy did 

 not like to stop, but we out-voted him, and so 

 made a wayside camp. The snow was so deep 

 on all the level that we could not find bottom 

 with the snowshoe pole, but we got along all 

 right with the fire. The little camp axe soon 

 had a dead pine tree in lengths, and these we 

 corded crosswise on the trodden snow, making 

 a platform on which we built our fire. Around 

 this, with our feet down in the hole, we Bat 

 on the e<ige of the snow pit, with logs and 

 boutrhs to keep us from sinking. Our packs we threw 

 off and left standing on our skis.. Noticing how 

 picturesque our little camp appeared, Billy backed out 

 and made a shot at us with his big camera, though 

 the light was dim and the shadows very heavy. In that 

 section the pine timber was very dense, nearly all of 

 straight, slim trunks about Sin. in diameter. Over it all 

 the snow hung in great flakes and rolls, like strips of cot- 

 ton batting. One could not see into the woods for any 

 distance. The silence was simply oppressive. There was 

 no sign of life except the track of an occasional pine 

 squirrel or of the big-footed "snowshoe rabbit." Every- 

 where was whiteness and silence, the gravity and dignity 

 of nature, m which a jest seemed almost out of place. 



Bad Hills. 



We had some hard hills to climb on this day's march, 

 the first of these being the Cascade Hill, that winding, 

 reckless eminence down which the Gibbon River leaps 

 and plunges so beautifully summer or winter. At this 

 bill we had the hardest sort of corduroying and a slide 

 backward would have been dangerous. The snow was 

 much higher than the rail on the roadside and from there 

 it filled the entire cut with a great drift which slanted far 

 up the mountain side to the left. We had to climb, and 

 climb along a risky sidehill of snow, too, and the best of 

 the shoers could not help distress at such labor. I 

 waited till the others had gone on and took my time on 

 this hill. Time and again I slipped and fell, and every 

 time I went down I took more than ten seconds before I 

 came up again. I learned that the only way to do was 

 to he still and rest when one got a tumble, and not to 

 wallow and work too hard, or try to do it all at once, It 



may have been half an hour or three-quarters before I 

 got to the top of this hill, and I was mighty glad when I 

 got to where I could see over. 



"Is this the worst hill we've got to-day?" I asked Billy 

 with what little breath I had left. 



"Well," said he dubiously, "the Blandon hill is longer. 

 It's about a mile climb up the Blandon." 



Of course this made me feel real good, but when we 

 actually came to the Blandon hill I found I was worse 

 scared than hurt. Larsen and Holte walked right up it, 

 on end, only corduroying in a few of the steepest pitches. 

 Billy told me to put on clogs here, so I tied a good knot 

 of gunnysacking under each shoe and went ahead. To 

 my delight I found I could go right up the hill, and rais- 

 ing my toe high and slapping the skis down hard I made 

 great time and caught the two privates resting at the top. 

 They complimented me on my increased skill and pulled 

 on out as soon as Billy came in sight. Billy was having 

 a hard time with his heavy camera and complained of a 

 coal of fire between his shoulders. We took off the head- 

 strap of my Lake Superior pack bag and arranged it so he 

 could ease his shoulders by passing the strap across his 

 forehead. Which reminds me, now that I think of it, 

 that Billy has got that head-strap yet, and I wish he 

 would send it back, as it is part of the combination of my 

 pack bag and worth more than all of his old camera, as I will 



E. HOCJGH. 



Of the Forest and Stream's Yellowstone Pari Expedition. 



later show. Billy and I rested a moment at the hot country, 

 eight miles from Norris, but we did not drink at the stream 

 where we saw the others had stopped to drink. Billy 

 warned me again that to take a drink of cold water was 

 the most weakening thing I could do on the trail. He 

 said also that men who drank liquor on the trail always 

 paid for it with an early exhaustion. We did not touch 

 our brandy supply that day, nor for many days after- 

 ward, and neither of us suffered from exhaustion to any 

 extent. I had lightened my pack by leaving some under- 

 clothing and other articles at Norris Basin and was now 

 rapidly hardening up and getting into the work, so that 

 I got along all right. 



"We haven't very far to go now," said Billy as we 

 paused at the top of a long and winding hill. "At the 

 bottom of this hill is Cascade Creek, and beyond that we 

 have to climb the Canon hill, about a mile, then we're 

 there. You go on ahead down this hill, and I'll come 

 after you, so that if anything happens to you I won't 

 have to come back up the hill. It's pretty steep." 



Of course, this made me feci real cheerful, but there 

 was only one thing to do. My spine sort of crept a little, 

 but I turned loose, and away we went on a lovely, swim- 

 ming, sliding, sailing flight down the winding mountain 

 trail, which was indescribably exhilarating, and like 

 most dreaded things, not so bad after all when you go 

 ahead into them. I disappointed Billy by not even getting 

 a fall, though this hill is not really a bad one. 



The Flowers that Bloom in the Spring. 



Billy noticed that the boys ahead of us had not followed 

 the usual trail down to the bridge, but had taken a short 

 cut through the woods, We followed their trail f oohshly 



enough, as it proved, for it took but a few moments to 

 see that they had had no idea what they were going into. 

 Their trail led across a series of ravines and steep, choppy 

 side hills, covered with dense timber. We could see 

 where they had fallen time after time, and where they 

 had taken some risky slides. It was finely reckless ski 

 running of them to turn loose through such a country, but 

 it was poor judgment, and we found it poor judgment to 

 follow them. It was an awful bit of travel, and we had 

 a rough time of it, hanging on to the side of the moun- 

 tain and trying to keep from toppling over, or from 

 smashing into the trees on some of the sharp little runs. 



It was here that I met with what might have been a 

 very serious accident, possibly one that would end the trip 

 at once unfortunately. I was trying to get abound a jut- 

 ting bit of rock on the mountain side, when my pack 

 struck a tree and I got a fall, sitting down hard and swift 

 on the snow. My ski, purposely left a little loose to avoid 

 injury to the ankle in such rough work, slipped off my 

 foot, but I shoved my ski pole through the strap as it 

 started to glide away, and stopped it. 



"Look out there!" cried Billy; "for heaven's sake don't 

 let your shoe get away from you here!" 



It was too late, for even as he spoke the pole slipped as 

 I reached out for the shoe, and the evil thing started by 

 itself down the mountain side. 



At first the ski slid smoothly and gently, 

 front end first, by some miracle avoiding the 

 trees as if it were alive. Then it got on speed, 

 and began to leap and jump and glance down 

 the steep slope, leaving a fine white skit of 

 snow behind it as it flew. At last it took a final 

 leap, and disappeared from sight over the bluffs 

 which we knew lined the creek at the bottom 

 of the great ravine below us. 



I was in dismay, for to be left helpless in that 

 way 30 miles from a settlement, in snow so deep 

 and soft as that, is by no means a laughing 

 matter. Men have, perhaps, perished from 

 such accidents, when having no axe to mend 

 a broken shoe. I have heard of a man who 

 bound pine bark on his hands and knees, and 

 so crawled half a mile to his own home. I have 

 heard also of a man who made a pair of skis 

 out of barrel staves, and of yet another who 

 cut off the splintered end of a ski, and so 

 traveled on a ski and a half — not so difficult as 

 it sounds. But to travel 30 miles, or one mile, 

 on one ski, in such a country as this, was some- 

 thing impossible, and I grew suddenly con- 

 templative as I realized this. I didn't want to 

 sit there without anything to eat till spring time, 

 and as no one would be apt to be along before 

 then, the flowers that bloom in the spring would 

 have had, in my opinion, entirely too much to 

 do with the case, tra la, because they would be 

 growing over a discarded and forgotten journal- 

 ist long before any relief expedition could have 

 found him. Tra la, again. 



"Did she smash into any tree?" sung out 

 Billy. 



"No, I think not," said I. 



"Well, sit down on your other shoe and slide 

 down after it," said Billy. 



I was just warm enough under the collar to 

 slide down anything about there, so I obeyed 

 directions and slid, hanging on to the straps of 

 the remaining shoe. The grade was awfully 

 steep, but the snow that rolled up between my 

 legs broke the facilis descensus, and I found I 

 could manage it and also could keep in sight of 

 the trail left by the flying recreant ahead. At 

 last, with a final plunge and slide, I found my- 

 self clear at the bottom, by the side of the 

 creek. Clear across the creek was a great white 

 drift of snow, and in the side of this I saw a 

 narrow slit of broken snow. The ski had 

 jumped 50ft., clear across the creek, and in that 

 drift, after some digging, I found it, saved from 

 splintering by the cushion of snow, and saved 

 by the Forest and Stream luck from absolute 

 ruin on any one of a thousand trees, past which 

 it had glided on its bullet-like flight. 



In a Hole. 



Billy, plucky and faithful always in time of 

 trouble, started on down the mountain side after 

 me, and after a while succeeded in getting way 

 down to the creek, over an awfully rough little 

 gully. And there we were, down in a well of 

 snow, on each side of us slopes so steep that it 

 seemed a goat couldn't go up them. 



"Never you mind," said Billy, "I'll soon show 

 you I know right where we are. We're three- 

 quarters higher up the creek than the bridge at the falls, 

 so we've saved just that much elknb if we can once get 

 up out of this canon, and I think we can." 



Out of the Hole. 



We did get out, after an hour of the toughest work we 

 had on the trip. The further side of the creek was bare 

 of trees after we got up a bit, but it was very steep. We 

 had to zig-zag up, rail fence fashion. Of course this 

 mearrt a turn at an acute angle every once in a while, and 

 at every turn some one would get a fall and a slide. But 

 finally we struck a draw which offered easier going, and 

 soon saw the great roof of the Canon Hotel crowning the 

 ultimate hill. It was far after 2 o'clock when we got in. 

 Larsen and Holte had had a rough time on their trail and 

 were just in. Soon we were all about the big stove in 

 the kitchen, all talking with our mouths full, and all very 

 happy. 



The Park as a Winter Resort. 

 There are three hotels of the magnificent chain of 

 hostleries established by the Yellowstone Park Associa- 

 tion which have keepers left in them by the Association 

 all through the winter. None of the hotels is open to the 

 public after the close of the season. It was a great 

 courtesy, then, of Manager Deane, the acting and efficient 

 head of the Association in the Park, to give us permission 

 to stop at fche Park hotels when we found that con- 

 venient. At the Lake Hotel Mr. Fletcher and his wife 

 spent the winter. At the Fountain Hotel John Schmidt 

 has been winter caretaker for some time. At the Canon 

 Hotel is John Folsom, the best pnowshoer in the Park, 

 and by reason of his horribly lonesome life, absolutely 

 alone for more than half the year, grown to be ©n© of the 



