_The Wild Character of Paradise Valley—Difficulties with Pack Horses—A
Remarkable Accident—Our Camp and Surroundings—Animal Friends—Midsummer
Flowers—Desolation Valley—Ascent of Hazel Peak—An Alpine Lake in a
Basin of Ice—First Attempt to Scale Mt. Temple—Our Camp by a Small
Lake—A Wild and Stormy Night—An Impassable Barrier—A Scene of Utter
Desolation—All Nature Sleeps—Difficulties of Ascent—The Highest Point
yet Reached in Canada—Paradise Valley in Winter—Farewell to Lake
Louise._
Our delightful experience in Paradise Valley convinced us that a camp
should be established in it near the southern base of Mount Temple,
which we hoped to ascend. From this camp we intended to make branch
excursions in all directions and learn something of the mountains toward
the east and south. All this region, though so near the railroad, had
apparently never been explored by the surveyors, and the early
expeditions had of course never approached this region nearer than the
Vermilion Pass on the east and the Kicking Horse Pass on the west. In
all our expeditions through these lonely but grand mountain valleys, we
never discovered any mark of axe or knife on the trees, any charred
pieces of wood to indicate a camper’s fire, nor any cairn or pile of
stones to prove some climber’s conquest.
In fact, the impenetrable barrier of mountains at every valley end
dissolved the surveyor’s hopes, even from a distance, of finding any
practicable pass through the maze of lofty mountains and intervening
valleys blocked with glaciers and vast heaps of moraine. The lone
prospector would not be tempted by any sign of gold in the streams to
explore these valleys, though the Indian hunter may have occasionally
visited these regions in search of bears or the mountain goat.
We first blazed a trail from the chalet to the entrance of Paradise
Valley. The route followed was merely the best and most open pathway
that we could find through the forests, and though not more than three
miles in length, it required as many hours to reach the valley entrance.
Pack horses we obtained at the chalet, but no man could be found who
would consent to act as our cook or assistant in managing the horses.
Our camp was at length established by the side of a small rivulet on the
lower slopes of Mount Temple, where we found the altitude to be 6900
feet above sea-level. Our experiences with pack animals were of a most
exciting nature and sometimes severely trying to our temper and
patience. The horses were not accustomed to this service and performed
all sorts of antics, smashing the packs among the trees, jumping high in
air to clear a small stream six inches wide, or plunging regardless into
rivers where, for a moment, the horse and packs would be submerged in
the water. There was one place about two miles within the valley
entrance that might well try the patience of Job himself. On one side of
the stream, was an impassable area covered with tree trunks
criss-crossed and piled two or three deep by some snow-slide of former
years. On the other side of the stream, which we were compelled to take,
was a dense forest. Below was a tangled growth of bush, and many fallen
trees, all resting on a foundation of large loose stones covered six
inches deep with green moss. Between these stones were deep holes and
occasional underground streams, the water of which could be faintly
heard below and which had probably washed away the soil and left these
angular stones unprotected. To lead a horse through this place required
the greatest skill, patience, and even daring. Without some one to lead
the animal with a rope, the poor beast would stand motionless, but to
pick one’s way over the rough ground while leading the horse invariably
ended in disaster. The very first hole was enough to frighten the horse,
so that, instead of proceeding more slowly, the animal usually made a
mad rush forward regardless of the leader, who invariably fled and
sought the protection of a tree, while the horse soon fell prostrate
among the maze of obstacles. In these frantic rushes many of us were
several times trampled on by the horse, and the packs were smashed
against the branches and trunks of trees, or torn off altogether. This
was an exceedingly dangerous bit of ground, and it was remarkable that
on so many occasions we were able to lead our horses through it without
a broken leg.
One of our most remarkable adventures with a horse may indeed test the
credence of the reader, but five men can vouch for its actual
occurrence. We were passing along through the forest in our usual
manner, which was the outgrowth of much experience. First of all, one
man preceded and did nothing else but find the blaze marks and keep on
the ill-defined trail as well as possible. About twenty-five yards
behind came another man whose duty it was to find the pathfinder, and if
possible, improve on his trail. Then came one of our party who led the
horse with a long head rope, while behind the horse were two men whose
duty it was to pick up whatever articles fell out of the packs from time
to time, and fasten them on again.
As we were proceeding in this manner, we came to a slanting tree which
leaned over the trail at an angle of about thirty degrees. It was just
small enough to be limber, and just large enough to be strong. Moreover,
it was too low for the horse to go under, and a little too high for him
to jump over. One might travel a lifetime and never meet with just such
another tree as this. In less than ten seconds this tree had brought the
horse and two of our party to the ground and wrought consternation in
our ranks.
As the horse approached the slanting tree, F., who was leading, saw the
animal rear high in the air to prepare for a jump. He thought it best to
get out of the way, but in his haste stumbled and fell headlong into a
bush. Meanwhile the horse, a stupid old beast, prepared for the effort
of his life, and with a tremendous spring jumped high in air, but
unfortunately his fore-feet caught on the small tree, which swung
forward a little and then returning like a powerful spring, turned the
animal over in mid-air. The horse landed on his back some five yards
farther on, and, with his four legs straight up in the air, remained
motionless as death. But this was not all, for the tree swung back
violently and struck H. on the nose, fortunately at the end of the
swing, but with sufficient force to knock him down.
When our two friends recovered, we turned our attention to the horse,
which still remained motionless on his back. “He is dead,” said F., but,
on rolling him over, the poor animal got up and seemed none the worse
for his experience, except for a more than usual stupidity.
We camped about ten days in Paradise Valley in a beautiful spot near the
end. Here, on all sides except towards the north, the place is hemmed in
by lofty mountains. We saw the valley in all sorts of weather, in clear
sunshiny days, and when the clouds hung low and shut out the mountains
from view. On one or two occasions the ground was white with snow for a
short time, though our visit was during the first part of August.
Many kinds of animals frequented the valley, and some of the smaller
creatures lived in the rocks on all sides of our camp and became quite
friendly. One of the most interesting little animals of the Canadian
Rockies is the little pica, or tailless hare. This small animal abounded
in the vicinity of our camp and is in fact always found at about 7000
feet altitude. It is a hare about the size of a rat, which, with its
round ears, it more resembles. These little fellows have a dismal
squeak, and they are very impertinent in their manner of sitting up
among the rocks at the entrance to their holes, and gazing at their
human visitors, ever ready to pop out of sight at a sign of danger.
Chipmunks were likewise abundant and visited our camp to pick up
scattered crumbs from our table.
There is a species of rat with a bushy tail that lives in the forests
and rocky places of these mountains and is the most arrant thief among
all the rodents. Nothing is too large for them to try and carry off, and
they will make away with the camper’s compass, aneroid, or watch, and
hide them in some inaccessible hole, apparently with the desire to set
up a collection of curios.
The siffleur, or marmot, is the largest among these rodents, and reaches
the length of twenty-five or thirty inches. These animals usually
frequent high altitudes at, or above the tree line, where they build
large nests among the rocks and lay up a store of provisions for winter
time. They are very fat in the fall, but it is not known whether they
hibernate or not. Their note is a very loud shrill whistle, which they
make at a distance, but they never allow one to approach very near, like
the impudent picas.
We saw very few of the mountain goats, though we often came upon their
fresh tracks in the mud near streams or in the snow far up on the
mountain sides. On several occasions we could hear the patter and rattle
of stones sent down by the movements of some herd, though our eyes
failed to detect them.
Where the forests grew thick in the valley, the herbs and flowering
plants were always less numerous, but in the meadows the ground was
colored by mountain flowers of beautiful shades and pretty forms. The
tasselled heads of the large anemones, long since gone to seed, were
conspicuous everywhere, and they are always a beautiful object among the
meadow grass as the summer breezes make gentle waves over these seas of
verdure. Along the bare rocky margins of the streams, where all else has
been forced to retire by occasional floods, two species of plants make a
most brilliant coloring and dazzle the eye with discordant shades. They
are the castilleias, or painter’s brush, with bright scarlet and green
leaves clustered at the top of a leafy stem, and the epilobiums, with
reddish-purple blossoms; these two plants were often so close together
with their inharmonious color tones as to perplex the observer in regard
to nature’s meaning. When nature does such things we grow to like her
apparent mistakes, just as we love the bitter-sweet chords of Schumann,
or Grieg’s harsh harmonies.
We made several excursions into the next valley to the eastward, and
beyond that, over the water-shed into British Columbia. The valley to
the east offered the greatest contrast to Paradise Valley. It was
somewhat wider, the altitude was in general higher, so that a great part
was above the tree line, while the awful wildness and confusion created
by vast heaps of moraine and a large glacier at the foot of a range of
saw-edged mountains made this place seem like a vale of desolation and
death.
At the close of our camping experiences, we effected the conquest of two
mountains, Hazel Peak and Mount Temple, on two successive days. We first
tried Hazel Peak, and by following the route which had been previously
selected, we found the ascent remarkably easy. On the summit, the
climber is 10,370 feet above sea-level,—higher than the more celebrated
Mount Stephen, often claimed to be the highest along the railroad,—and
surrounded by more high peaks than can be found at any other known part
of the Canadian Rockies, south of Alaska. In fact there are seven or
eight peaks within a radius of six miles that are over 11,000 feet high.
The view is, at the same time, grand and inspiring, and has certain
attractions that high mountain views rarely present. The rock precipice
and snow-crowned crest of Mount Lefroy are separated from the summit of
Hazel Peak by one of the grandest and deepest canyons of the Canadian
Rockies, so that the distance from summit to summit is only one mile and
a half. The ascent of Hazel Peak is certainly well worth the labor of
the climb, as the round trip may be easily accomplished from Paradise
Valley in five hours, though the ascent is nearly 4000 feet.
On the north side, from the very summit, a fine glacier sweeps down in
steep pitch far into the valley below and with its pure white snow and
yawning blue crevasses of unfathomable depth, forms one of the most
attractive features of this mountain. The most remarkable and beautiful
object that we discovered, however, was a small lake or pool of water
only a few yards below the summit of the mountain. Encircled on all
sides by the pure snows of these lofty altitudes, and embedded, as it
were, in a blue crystal basin of glacier ice, the water of this little
lake was colored deep as indigo, while over the surface a film of ice,
formed during the previous night, had not yet melted away.
[Illustration: Camp in Paradise Valley.]
We returned to camp much elated with our success but doubtful of the
morrow, as no easy route had yet been discovered up the forbidding
slopes of Mount Temple. The year before, Mr. A. and I had been
hopelessly defeated even when we had counted most on success. Moreover,
the mere fact that, though this mountain was the highest yet discovered
anywhere near the railroad, it had never been ascended by any surveyor
or climber, made success appear less probable, though it urged us on to
a keener ambition.
The attempt by A. and myself to ascend this mountain in 1893 was
probably the first ever made. During the first week of August, we
started from Laggan, having with us a Stoney Indian, named Enoch
Wildman, and one horse to carry our tent and provisions. The day was
unusually hot, and, as we forced our monotonous and tiresome passage
through the scanty forests of pine near the Bow River, we suffered very
much from heat and thirst. In these mountain excursions, it is the best
policy to wear very heavy clothes, even at the disadvantage of being
uncomfortable during the day, for the nights are invariably cold, even
at low altitudes. We did not camp until nightfall, when we found
ourselves on the northern slope of the mountain, 7000 feet above
sea-level, by the side of a small lake. The little lake occupied a
depression among giant boulders and the debris of the mountain. At one
end, a large bank of snow extended into and below the water, which was
apparently rising, as there were fragments of frozen snow floating about
in the lake. The banks sloped steeply into the water on all sides, and
there was not a single level spot for our camp, so that it was necessary
to build a wall of stones, near the water’s edge, for our feet, and to
prevent ourselves from sliding into the lake during the night.
The weather was wild and stormy, and the long night seemed to drag out
its weary length to an interminable extent of time, attended as it was
by showers of rain and hail and furious gusts of wind, which threatened
to bring our flapping tent to the ground at any moment.
Our camp-fire, which had been built on a scale appropriate to some
larger race of men, was a huge pile of logs, each fully ten feet long,
and twelve or eighteen inches through, but the wind blew so strong that
the mass roared like a vast forge during the early hours, and then died
away into an inert mass of cinders toward the chill of morning.
The light of day revealed our wild surroundings. We were under the
northern precipice of Mount Temple, and so close that we could see only
the lower part of this inaccessible wall. A beautiful fall dashed down
in a series of cascades through a distance of about 1000 feet, and fed
our little lake. Sometimes the strong wind, blowing against the cliff,
or sweeping upward, would make the water pause and momentarily hang in
mid-air, suspended, as it were, on an invisible airy cushion, till
gathering greater volume, it would burst through the barrier and fall in
a curtain of sparkling drops.
Poor Enoch had suffered terribly from cold during the night, and begged
our permission to return to Laggan, promising to come back the next
day—“sun so high,” pointing to its place in the early afternoon. He said
in his broken English: “No grass for pony here, too cold me; no like it
me.” So we took pity on him and sent him back to more comfortable
quarters while we rested in comparative quiet, it being Sunday.
Early Monday morning we had our breakfast and were on foot at four
o’clock. The gloom of early dawn, the chill of morning, and the cloudy
sky had no cheering effect on our anticipations. Our plan was to
traverse the mountain side till we should come to the southeast
shoulder, where we had once observed an outline of apparently easy
slope.
By eleven o’clock we had reached an altitude of nearly 10,000 feet
without meeting with any very great difficulty, but here we came
suddenly to a vertical wall of rock about 400 feet high and actually
leaning over in many places, a barrier that completely defeated us, as
the wall extended beyond our view and offered no prospect of giving out.
At the base of this cliff was a steep, narrow slope of loose, broken
limestone, and then another precipice below. Along this dangerous
pathway we continued for some distance, keeping close to the base of the
cliff. The loose stones, set in motion by our feet, slid down and rolled
over the precipice, where we could hear them grinding to powder on the
cliffs below.
Never in my life have I been so much impressed with the stern and
desolate side of nature. The air was bitter cold and had the frosty
ozone odor of winter. A strong wind rushed constantly by us, and, as it
swept up the gorges of the precipice above, and over the countless
projections of the cliffs, made a noise like the hoarse murmur of wind
in a ship’s rigging, or the blast of some great furnace. To the south
and east, range beyond range of bare, saw-edged mountains raised their
cold, sharp summits up to a cloudy sky, where the strong wind drove
threatening clouds in long trains of dark and lighter vapors. The
intervening valleys, destitute of vegetation or any green thing, were
filled with glaciers and vast heaps of moraine, and the slides of debris
from the adjacent mountain side. All was desolate, gloomy, cold, and
monotonous in color. Three thousand feet below, a small lake was still
bound fast in the iron jaws of winter, surrounded as it was by the walls
of mountains which shut out the light and warmth of the summer sun.
Inert, inanimate nature here held perpetual rule in an everlasting
winter, where summer, with its flowers and birds and pleasant fertility,
is unknown, and man rarely ventures.
Overcome with the terrors of this lonely place and the hopelessness of
further attempt to reach the summit, where a snow-storm was now raging,
we turned back. As we reached our camp we found Enoch just approaching,
according to his promise, and though the afternoon was well advanced, we
packed up and moved with all speed toward Laggan. We reached Lake Louise
at 10.30 P.M., after almost nineteen hours of constant walking.
Now, however, at our camp in Paradise Valley, the conditions were
somewhat different. We were at the very base of the mountain, and had
learned much more about it, in the year that had elapsed since our first
attempt.
The mountaineer has many discomforts mingled with the keen enjoyment of
his rare experiences. None is more trying than the early hour at which
he is compelled to rise from his couch of balsam boughs and set forth on
his morning toil. At the chill hour before dawn, when all nature
stagnates and animate creation is plunged in deepest sleep, the mountain
climber must needs arouse himself from heavy slumber and, unwilling,
compel his sluggish body into action.
This is the deadest hour of the twenty-four—the time just before dawn.
The breezes of early night have died away into a cold and frosty calm;
the thermometer sinks to its lowest point, and even the barometer, as
though in sympathy, reaches one of its diurnal minima at this untimely
hour. And if inanimate nature is thus greatly affected, much more are
the creations of the vegetable and animal kingdoms. The plants are
suffering from the cold and frost; the animals of daytime have not as
yet aroused themselves from sleep, while the nocturnal prowlers have
already ceased their quest of prey and returned to their dens. Even man
is affected, for at this dead hour the ebb and pulse of life beat slow
and feeble, and the lingering spark of life in those wasted by disease
comes at this time most near going out.
At such an unseasonable hour, or more accurately at four A.M., were we
up, on the 17th of August preparing for our ascent of Mount Temple.
There was no trace of dawn, and the waning moon, now in her last
quarter, was riding low in the southern sky, just above the sharp
triangular peak at the end of our valley.
At nine o’clock in the morning, we had gained the summit of the pass
between Mount Temple and Pinnacle Mountain, where we were 9000 feet
above sea-level. The ascent so far had not been of an encouraging
nature, as we had encountered a long, loose slide where everything moved
threateningly at each step. I have never seen a more unstable slope. The
stones and boulders would slide, and begin to move at a distance of ten
and fifteen feet above the place where we stood, and on every side also.
F., who was one of the party, was terror-stricken, for he now had a
horror of moving stones of any description.
The view from this pass was very extraordinary. To the east stood the
rugged, saw-edged mountains of the Desolation Range, looming up in
solemn grandeur through an atmosphere bluish and hazy with the smoke of
forest fires. The air was perfectly calm and had the bracing coolness of
early morning and high altitude, which the rising sun tempered most
gently. The weather conditions for accomplishing our ascent were
perfect, but there was little prospect of a fine view by reason of the
smoke.
The outlook from the pass was indeed discouraging. Cliffs and ledges
with broken stones and loose debris seemed to oppose all safe passage.
Fortunately, as we progressed the difficulties vanished, and not till we
reached an altitude of about 10,000 feet did we encounter any real
obstacles. We found a passage through the great rock wall which had
defeated us last year, by the aid of a little gully, which, however,
entailed some rather difficult climbing. This arduous work continued
throughout the next 1000 feet, when, at an altitude of 11,000 feet, we
came to the great slope between the southwest and west _arêtes_ and
found an easy passage to the summit.
[Illustration: SUMMIT OF MOUNT TEMPLE.]
Many a hearty cheer rent the thin air as our little party of three
reached the summit, for we were standing where no man had ever stood
before, and, if I mistake not, at the highest altitude yet reached in
North America north of the United States boundary. The summit was formed
of hard bluish limestones, broken and piled up in blocks, as on all high
mountain tops. The cliffs toward the east were stupendous and led the
eye down to the valley more than a mile below. The air was almost calm
and just above freezing, and the snow was melting quite fast in the sun.
The thermometer at the Lake Louise chalet reached seventy-two degrees at
the same time that we were on the summit of Mount Temple, which proves
this to be almost the highest temperature that ever occurs on this lofty
point. It would be safe to say that the temperature on the top of Mount
Temple never rises higher than forty degrees.
If one is fortunate in a good selection of routes, the ascent of Mount
Temple will not be found difficult. But the descent is very perplexing,
for unless one remembers the intricate combination of gullies and ledges
by which the ascent is made, many precipitous cliffs will be encountered
down which it is impossible to descend.
This was our last exploit in Paradise Valley, and a few days later the
various members of our party, one by one, bade farewell to the beautiful
region of Lake Louise with its many pleasant associations.
I remained there five or six weeks longer until winter commenced in
earnest and drove every one away. During the first week of October I
made a final visit to Paradise Valley with Mr. Astley, the manager of
the chalet, in order to bring back our tent and the camping utensils.
Snow covered the ground in the shady parts of the woods, even at the
entrance of the valley. The stream had fallen so much that its rocky bed
proved the best route up the valley, especially for the horse. After an
hour’s journey within the entrance we found ourselves at the base of
Mount Sheol, and not far above us could be seen a fine herd of seven or
eight mountain goats. They scampered off on seeing us, but soon came to
halt as they were tempted by curiosity to have another look. These
snow-white goats are the most characteristic animals of the Rockies and
nearly correspond in habits with the more cunning chamois of
Switzerland. Like them it is a species of antelope, though it resembles
a goat to a remarkable degree.
We found our camp buried in snow, the ridge-pole of the tent broken down
with the heavy burden, and everything so much disguised by the wintry
mantle that we had difficulty in finding the camping place. Even as we
were packing up the frozen canvas and blankets, the air was full of
falling snow and the mountains encircling the valley were only revealed
in vague and indefinite outlines, while ever and anon could be heard the
dull roar of snow-slides sweeping down to the glacier.
About nightfall we were back at the entrance to the valley, where the
lower altitude gave us the advantage of a ground nearly free of snow,
though a fine rain sifted down through the spruce needles almost
constantly.
Here we camped in the dense forest, and our roaring fire, built high
with great logs, soon drove away the chill and dampness of the rainy
night. The tent, our clothes, and the mossy ground were soon steaming,
and the bright glare of our camp-fire illumined the trees and gave us
good cheer, surrounded as we were by miles of trackless forests in the
blackness of night. A hearty supper and a great pail of strong hot tea
soon revived our spirits, and on a soft couch of heaths and balsam
boughs—more luxurious than any bed of down—we bid defiance to the
darkness and storm in perfect comfort. The next day the snow-flakes were
falling gently and steadily, so that the trees were covered even to
their branchlets and needles with the white mantle. The bushes, the
mosses, and even the blades of grass in the swampy marshes, as we
pursued our homeward way, were all concealed and transformed into pure
white images of themselves in snow.
A few days later I went up to Lake Agnes to hunt for mountain goats,
which frequent this place in great numbers. The snow was two feet deep.
The lake was already nearly covered with ice, and I was compelled to
seek shelter behind a cliff against a bitterly cold wind, driving icy
particles of hail and snow against my face.
It was useless to prolong the contest longer. Winter had resumed her
iron sway in these boreal regions and high altitudes, and in a few weeks
Lake Louise too would begin to freeze, and no longer present its endless
change of ripple and calm, light and shadow, or the reflected images of
rocks and trees and distant mountains.
[Illustration]