_TO THE SUMMIT OF THE SELKIRKS._
The Eagle Pass--Kicking-Horse River--Valley of the Columbia--The
Selkirk Range--The Columbia River--Summit of the Selkirks--Major
Rogers’ Discovery.
The point which we have reached is about two and a third degrees
north of the international boundary, of the forty-ninth parallel. The
Columbia takes its rise ninety or a hundred miles to the south-east of
us and flows in a generally direct course to a point known as the Boat
Encampment, some seventy miles to the north-west. From its source for
nearly this whole distance the Columbia is flanked by lofty mountains,
those on the south-west side of the valley being known as the Selkirk
Range. The Boat Encampment is a trifle to the north of the fifty-second
parallel. At this point the Columbia completely changes its course
and runs almost directly south to Washington Territory, in the United
States. This section of the Columbia also flows between high mountains,
the Selkirk Range being in this direction of its course on the east and
the Gold Range on the west.
Near the point where the river crosses the 51st parallel there is a
remarkable opening in the Gold Range, known as the Eagle Pass, which
leads westerly towards Kamloops. Measured on the map, the distance, in
a straight line to the second crossing of the Columbia at the Eagle
Pass, is scarcely sixty miles. To reach that point is the task directly
before us.
The route which we had followed to the position where we now are, is
the Valley of the Kicking-Horse River, which has its source in one
of the Summit lakes of the Rocky Mountains. It flows with tremendous
impetuosity for the first six miles from the summit and for the last
ten miles through canyons. The descent in the principal canyon is most
rapid, and the water in the lower reach, now of great volume, rushes
downwards with wonderful force before it falls into the Columbia. In
the lower canyon this large volume of water is forced through a rocky
chasm of unknown depth. At one spot which I visited, the rocks on
opposite banks so over-hung the current that their summits did not seem
to be more than fifteen yards apart.
The valley of the Columbia where we are now encamped is several miles
in width. Although less than one hundred miles from its source the
river is of considerable size, being fed by many streams, like the
Kicking-Horse, having their sources in the glaciers.
It is the first of September, which we devote to the rest needed for
the horses and men. The subject of discussion naturally is the chance
of getting through to Kamloops. A lofty range of mountains intervenes
directly before us to make our advance in that direction impracticable.
We know that there is a possibility of passing round the Selkirk range
by descending the Columbia to the Boat Encampment and thence continuing
until we reach the Eagle Pass, and so get through the Gold Range to our
destination.
We learn, however, from Major Rogers that he has found a pass through
the Selkirk range which we can take, and he proposes to accompany
us part of the distance and to send his nephew, Mr. Albert Rogers
the entire route. We must follow the Columbia River north-westerly
thirty-two miles on the way to the Boat Encampment, and then turning
westerly enter the Selkirk Mountains by the valley of a stream named
Beaver River to an opening in the west of the range, and crossing the
summit descend the valley of a stream, the Ille-celle-waet, which,
running southerly and westerly, falls into the Columbia directly
opposite Eagle pass. We learn that a horse trail has been opened to the
summit of the Selkirk range and a short way down the Ille-celle-waet.
Beyond that point we have the wilderness in its native ruggedness,
without a path for the human foot, with the river and mountain gorges
only as landmarks and guides.
Such is the condition of the country to the second crossing of the
Columbia. The passage through the Eagle Pass is mentioned as being
of the roughest description; we have therefore to prepare for the
work before us. We take a day’s rest, lightening the packs as much
as possible. We arrange to start the horses in the morning, while we
ourselves will descend the Columbia in a canoe and overtake the animals
at the end of their first day’s journey.
It is again Sunday. The horses with the men leave us as arranged. We
remain quietly in our camp. It is a beautiful morning; the sun lights
up the whole valley of the Columbia. The great Selkirk range lies in
front of us. To the west and north-west high peaks appear, forming a
golden line of stern magnificence. We are at the base of the Rocky
Mountains, which lie behind us to the east, and hence they form no
part of the panorama. A glacier is visible to the south and huge areas
of snow, possibly the accumulation of centuries, rest between the
peaks. It is a prosaic fact to record, amid all this grandeur, that
yesterday’s halt admitted of some washing of our clothes; a homely fact
but suggestive of volumes of comfort. We look forward for the rest of
the day to enjoying the quiet scene in which we seek a few hours’ rest,
to regain our vigour and elasticity, and they have never more strength
than after repose from labour.
As it is Sunday Dr. Grant holds a short service. Our congregation,
gathered from the nearest engineer’s camp, numbers twenty-two. The
incident may hereafter be remembered as the first act of public worship
in this part of the Columbia Valley. After service we walk to the
river, about a mile and a half of a stroll over low ground. We find
the quiet stream gently flowing in its north-western course, a strange
contrast to the bold broken mountain peaks which form the border of
the valley through which it runs. The evening was warm. Some of us
took a plunge into the Columbia, a pleasant incident in our trip. The
water was of the right temperature, and there was a certain romance in
swimming in a stream in the heart of the mountains, in water as calm as
the Serpentine, in the centre of a vast solitude without the slightest
impress of civilization. In the cool of the evening we walked up the
first gravelly terrace in rear of the camp to enjoy the view, ascending
some 500 feet. We were repaid for our effort. The huge mountains in our
front and the valley stretching away in the magnificence of foliage
to the south-east, lit up by the warm colour of sunset, presented a
noble landscape. I asked myself if this solitude would be unchanged,
or whether civilization in some form of its complex requirements would
ever penetrate to this region? What is the nature of the soil, what
isothermal lines curve in this direction? Is there anything that
can be sown and ripened? Certainly as a grazing country it must be
valuable. Beef and mutton may be produced for men and women of other
lands. Will the din of the loom and whirl of the spindle yet be heard
in this unbroken domain of nature? It cannot be that this immense
valley will remain the haunt of a few wild animals. Will the future
bring some industrial development: a future which is now dawning upon
us. How soon will a busy crowd of workmen take possession of these
solitudes, and the steam whistle echo and re-echo where now all is
silent? In the ages to come how many trains will run to and fro from
sea to sea with millions of passengers. All these thoughts crowd upon
me with that peaceful scene before us as the sun sinks behind the
serrated Selkirk Mountains, and I do not think that I can ever forget
the sight as I then gazed upon it.
The evening, like all evenings in the mountains, after sunset, became
cold, and we found our camp fire comfortable. As we sat opposite it we
missed our friend, Mr. Dunbar, whose cheery voice we would have all
welcomed. Possibly I exaggerate my friend’s powers, for it was the only
human melody we heard on our travels. We retired early to prepare us
for the journey. The night was cold, and sleeping in our clothes and
wrapped in our blankets we could not complain of the heat. As usual
we were up early. At eight we were in a canoe floating down the River
Columbia. The immediate banks are low and the river winds in its
course with but little current. We could now see the rocky range which
we have left behind us. The terrace on which we stood at sunset lies
along the foot of the hills and a second terrace is seen to follow the
Kicking-Horse River, I learn, some 1,200 feet high. The ground from the
canyon of the Kicking-Horse River ascends to this terrace with a slope,
as far as I can judge, scarcely one to one, an angle of less than 45°,
and it was along the face of this upper shelving acclivity that the
narrow ledge of pathway was traced, which we followed for miles. I
never wish to take such another walk. I dared not look down. It seemed
as if a false step would have hurled us to the base, to certain death.
There is many a joke of the strong head of the North Countryman. I
shall ever listen to any wit of this character complacently, for I feel
that it was because of my experience in my younger days amid hills
and dales that my nerve did not fail me as we went onward. I am not
ashamed to say that I still look upon the tramp in the Kicking-Horse
as a serious effort. I believe that there are many who could not have
passed through it in any form. The power to walk along heights is a
constitutional endowment not extended to us all. For my part I have no
desire to retrace my steps by the path I have followed in the descent
of the Kicking-Horse Valley.
Six miles below our starting point, to-day, we touched the shore to
take note of the buildings erected by those engaged on the railway
survey of twelve years back. They are five or six in number, and look
as if once they offered a comfortable resting place.
We continue our journey for three miles. We feel the contrast between
this comfortable advance compared to our efforts of last week. The
glacier-fed river, the grand wide banks and the dim distant hills,
with the snow-covered mountains far behind them, presented a panorama
as striking as it is rarely seen. At noon we passed a tributary
which has been called “Wait-a-bit,” suggestive as the spot where
travelling parties rest and adjust the loads in their canoes before
passing the three miles of descending rapids which lay before them.
In twenty minutes we have passed the rapids and reach the landing. We
have crossed the outlet of a clear stream from the east discharging
its bright blue water far into the turbid flood of the Columbia. The
landing is at the upper end of a canyon through which the river passes
between rocky bluffs at the foot of the mountains. At this point we
have overtaken our pack train. George and Dave speedily unload the
canoe and we make preparations for a twelve mile march on foot or
saddle. The sun has been hot the whole day. The air is smoky and the
distant mountains are not visible. The trail we follow passes up the
hillside for some little distance and then descends to a lower level,
and for this locality is comparatively good. It continues for six
miles alongside the canyon, so called, but which, really, is no more
than a series of rapid descents through the contracted portion of the
river. There is nothing to prevent them being safely run by canoes and
boats, as many of the rapids of the Saint Lawrence are so passed over.
Indeed, I believe that a steamer could descend them, for the water is
less turbulent than the rapids overcome by the Beauharnois canal. Once
down, however, ascent would be impossible. As far as I can learn, the
Indians of this territory do not use canoes to any extent. Generally
they depend on the Indian ponies, and mounted upon them they follow
known trails through the forest. We followed the flats of the river to
our camping ground, some thirty miles north-westerly from the mouth of
the Kicking-Horse River, opposite the mouth of the Beaver River on the
Selkirk side.
We had now to ascend the eastern slope of the Selkirk range. We are
up by day-break. Although only the 4th of September, as usual in
these mountain valleys, the morning was raw and cold. A heavy dew had
fallen during the night. Breakfast was over at six, but our horses
were missing. There was little pasture for them in the neighbourhood
and they had strayed in search of food. George has been absent since
day-break in search of them. He shortly returns with three horses
less than our number. Those he has collected have to be taken across
the river, and the only way of reaching the opposite bank is to make
them swim the stream. The width is about 400 feet and the water is deep
for three quarters of the distance. All animals swim, especially the
horse, but to land on an opposite shore is not always easy. Such was
the case in this instance, and some of the poor creatures, failing to
make a landing, by instinct returned to the side whence they started,
the strong current sweeping them a long distance down stream. The three
lost horses are found. At last man and beast are on the Selkirk side of
the river.
We ourselves, and the _impedimenta_ are taken across by an old leaky
boat built by the Moberly surveying party in 1871. By this time it is
nine o’clock. It is no use crying over spilt milk; but time is now
precious, and every hour lost is a mishap. I did not look complacently
on our delay; there was, however, the satisfaction that we had overcome
the difficulty. We hope after crossing the mountains before us to
meet the Columbia in its southern course in about a week. We follow
the rough and recently cut trail by the Beaver River itself, a large
stream, passing through an open canyon for four or five miles. It is
quite unnavigable. There are few places where it can be forded along
the whole route. We proceed through a flat well-timbered valley over
half a mile in width.
There is a dense growth of cedar, spruce and cotton wood, and such
magnificent cedar! Four feet and more in diameter. We have now an
undergrowth which is the genuine flora of the Pacific slope. Everywhere
the prickly aralia or devil’s club[G] and ferns and skunk cabbage[H]
are to be seen, all of the rankest growth, on the low ground. There is
no pasture for horses. Having had little to eat last night the poor
animals look miserable and wearily wind their way through the woods up
and down the ascents, while the voices of the drivers are constantly
heard encouraging them.
As we advance we come upon a flock of grouse, five of which were
secured by hand without much difficulty, the birds being so tame. The
packmen know them as “fool hens.” We fancy that they resemble the
spruce partridge of the Atlantic Provinces. A short time after the
capture as we were trudging onwards a few miles beyond the spot, my
friend, Dr. Grant, finds that he has lost his watch. He supposes that
it dropped from the guard as he was engaged in the chase. We are three
miles past the spot. Unfortunately it was a gold presentation watch,
highly valued, and an effort must be made to find it. Along with Mr.
Albert Rogers he determines to return to make a search for it. It was
not possible to halt; the pack-train moves forward and I accompany it.
The smoke in the air now becomes more dense, for we were reaching a
region where fires appeared to be ahead of us, the ordeal of passing
through which we did not wish to experience. The forest had evidently
been burning some time, and the trees had fallen in many directions,
obstructing the path and causing considerable delay. With difficulty
we continued our advance. The horses at one time clambered over fallen
trees, still on fire, at another waded through hot ashes or burning
vegetable soil. We go on with some dread. If wind arises the half
burned trees may be hurled across the horses and ourselves.
We continue on wearily hour after hour in the hope of finding a spot
where the horses can pasture, but none is to be seen. At last we reach
an engineer’s camp about six p.m., and Dr. Grant soon appears, in the
best of spirits. He had found his watch, and if ever a patient search
was justly rewarded it was in his case.
There is no pasture for a long way before us, and there is no
alternative; we must remain for the night, even if there be no feed for
the horses. The surveying party is in charge of Major Critchelow, a
West Point man, with all the marks of culture which that institution
extends. His assistants are equally agreeable. They give us a cordial
welcome, and we have a supper of oatmeal porridge and condensed milk.
I could eat only with effort when I thought that our horses were
without their feed. But so it was, and nothing could be done. We have
still five or six miles to ascend before we reach the summit. We have
travelled eighteen miles to-day, and we are fatigued, and I do not
think any of us were long wrapped in our blankets before we were fast
asleep.
Our poor horses could only nibble the leaves of the devil’s club in
the attempt to satisfy hunger. There was nothing to be done but to
proceed, and as soon as possible reach good pasture at the summit. We
were now no longer by Beaver River. We had followed it for fifteen
miles, and had ascended a branch named Bear Creek. We heard that a
number of these creatures are to be met in this locality. The surveying
party had seen as many as fifty. We pass through a tall forest until
we reach a rugged mountain defile leading up to the summit, which we
are to cross. The mountain peaks rise high above us, and although it is
far advanced in the forenoon the sun has not yet appeared to us in the
defile, for it has not yet ascended to the lofty horizon. We crossed
many old avalanche slides. On the southern side of the mountains, as we
wind our way, great scaurs, banked with snow, are seen two hundred or
three hundred feet above the bottom of the narrow valley through which
Bear Creek flows. To the north we observe a glacier, possibly fifty
yards thick at its overhanging termination. It takes its origin at some
remote lofty source far beyond the reach of our view. Below the glacier
on the mountain side there are traces of a heavy avalanche, where trees
have been broken and crushed in all directions. Judging from the age
of the timber the movement must have taken place a considerable time
back, and was probably caused by the breaking off of a huge mass of the
glacier. What could have been more majestic than the fall of one of
those great glaciers, in its descent driving everything before it as
stubble in the field.
Five miles from our last night’s camp we leave Bear Creek and follow
a small stream to the south. Half a mile further brings us to the
summit. At last there is pasture for the poor horses, so they are
unloaded and unsaddled and turned out to their food. Our dinner, too,
is prepared, although it is not yet noon. The horses require rest and
we ourselves are now in no hurry to proceed. There is a grassy knoll
in our neighbourhood which might have been placed in the most sylvan
of scenes, and we recline at our full ease to enjoy the scene around
us. Nothing would have been gained by leaving before the horses had
satisfied themselves. I recollected that I had a package of cigars,
a gift from our genial Ottawa friend, Mr. N----. They had crossed and
re-crossed the Atlantic with me during the present summer, and it was
little thought when they came into my possession that their aroma would
mingle with the atmosphere of a summit in the Selkirk range. They are
produced. We have no wine, so we can only congratulate Major Rogers
over the cigars on the discovery of a pass so far practicable and on
certain conditions appearing to furnish a solution of the problem of
crossing over the Selkirk range instead of making a detour, following
the Columbia by the Boat Encampment. We are now 4,600 feet above the
sea, surrounded by mountains of all forms, pyramidal, conical and
serrated. They are marked in bold relief on the lofty sky line. Between
them the everlasting glaciers present the most remarkable variety of
appearance. Westward there is an open valley with great peaks which
stands out in the dim distance. It is by looking north in the direction
whence we came that we have the grandest view. The valley is to all
appearance completely enclosed by what seemed to be impenetrable
mountains. The defile which we entered is not visible, although the
entrance is dimly seen clothed in shadow through the smoky air.
Towering high near the crest there is a series of glaciers extending
for half a mile or more from north to south.
As we quietly rested, enjoying our cigars in the midst of the
remarkable scenery which surrounded us on every side, Major Rogers
described to us various details connected with the discovery of the
pass, and we felt that his description was as creditable to him as the
discovery itself. He stated that he was indebted to the report of Mr.
Walter Moberly for a suggestion which led to the examination. As far as
I have any knowledge, Mr. Moberly is the first white man who ascended
the Ille-celle-waet, the stream which we have now to follow on our
journey. It was eighteen years ago. He was engaged in an exploration
for the Government of British Columbia. In the year 1865, Mr. Moberly
had discovered the Eagle pass, through the Gold Range. He then
ascended the Ille-celle-waet, a distance which he estimated at forty
miles, to the Forks, where it divided into two streams, one of which,
the most northern, he traced some thirty miles farther. This branch
terminated in a _cul-de-sac_ among snowy mountains. The other branch
he was unable to follow, as the season was advanced, 23rd September,
and his Indian guide declined to accompany him. In his report, Mr.
Moberly spoke hopefully of a route by that branch[I] and recommended
that it “should be examined before a road is finally determined on.”
It was upon this hint that Major Rogers acted. Three years back he
traced the Ille-celle-waet to the Forks, and then followed the eastern
branch. This branch also proceeded from two streams, the most southerly
of which he followed. With his nephew he climbed a mountain on its
northern bank, and from the summit he looked down on the meadow on
which we were then resting. Major Rogers, pointing up to the height
directly in front of us, said: “There Al. and I stood; we could trace
through the mountains a valley, and the conclusion was established in
my mind that it led to the unexplored branch of the Ille-celle-waet. We
also traced a depression to the east, which we considered might lead to
the upper waters of the Columbia. And so it proved.” Major Rogers could
go no further at that date. He was short of provisions, and he returned
as he came. But next year he ascended the stream by which we have
travelled for the last two days and reached this grassy plot. On this
occasion also his nephew accompanied him, and recognized the meadow,
the height on which they formerly stood and the peculiar features
of the scenery which they beheld. All that remained was to follow
the flow of water westerly. They did so as far as the forks of the
Ille-celle-waet. They returned by another route in the hope of finding
a better pass, but this effort proved unsuccessful.
A party had been detailed to cut out a trail westward, which we are now
to follow as far as it is made passable. Beyond that point our party
will be the first to pass across the Selkirk Range from its eastern
base on the upper Columbia to the second crossing of that river.
The horses are still feeding and we have some time at our command. As
we view the landscape we feel as if some memorial should be preserved
of our visit here, and we organize a Canadian Alpine Club. The writer,
as a grandfather, is appointed interim president, Dr. Grant, secretary,
and my son, S. Hall Fleming, treasurer. A meeting was held and we
turn to one of the springs rippling down to the Ille-celle-waet and
drink success to the organization. Unanimously we carry resolutions
of acknowledgment to Major Rogers, the discoverer of the pass, and to
his nephew for assisting him. The summit on which we stand is a dry
meadow about a mile in extent, with excellent grass. On the approaches
we found raspberries, blackberries, blueberries, pigeonberries and
gooseberries. They were a treat to us with our hard fare. Fruit,
gathered from the bush is always more pleasant to the taste, and fancy
eating these delicious fruits in the heart of the Selkirk Range,
nearly a vertical mile above the ocean! We are in the best of health,
and have the digestion of ostriches. The air is bracing, the day is
fine. We have regained our freshness and elasticity, and to show that
we are all still young and unaffected by our journey we deem it proper
to go through a game of leap-frog, about the only amusement at our
command, an act of Olympic worship to the deities in the heart of the
Selkirks! Our packers look upon our performance gravely, without a
smile. It struck us that the thought passed through their minds that
it would be as well for us to reserve our strength for the morrow, and
that in view of the path before us our elation was somewhat premature.
If such were their thoughts they were certainly justified by the
following week’s experience.