=Source.=--_Ocean to Ocean_, 1873: the diary kept by the Rev.
George M. Grant, Secretary to the Expedition through Canada of
Sandford Fleming, Engineer-in-Chief of the Canadian Pacific and
Inter-colonial Railways.
September 11th. Away this morning at 6.15 a.m., and halted at 1
p.m., after crossing the Rivière de Violon or Fiddle river, when
fairly inside the first range. It was a grand morning for mountain
scenery. For the first three hours the trail continued at some
distance east from the valley of the Athabasca, among wooded hills,
now ascending, now descending, but on the whole with an upward
slope, across creeks where the ground was invariably boggy, over
fallen timber, where infinite patience was required on the part
of horse and man. Suddenly it opened out on a lakelet, and right
in front a semi-circle of five glorious mountains appeared....
For half a mile down from their summits, no tree, shrub, or plant
covered the nakedness of the three that the old trappers had
thought worthy of names, and a clothing of vegetation would have
marred their massive grandeur. The first three were so near and
towered up so bold that their full forms, even to the long shadows
on them, were reflected clearly in the lakelet, next to the rushes
and spruce of its own shores.... The road now descended rapidly
from the summit of the wooded hill that we had so slowly gained, to
the valley of the Athabasca. As it wound from point to point among
the tall dark green spruces, and over rose bushes and vetches, the
soft blue of the mountains gleamed through everywhere; and, when
the woods parted, the mighty column of Roche à Perdrix towered
above our heads, scuds of clouds kissing its snowy summit.... We
were entering the magnificent Jasper portals of the Rocky Mountains
by a quiet path winding between groves of trees and rich lawns like
an English gentleman's park.
... Soon the Rivière de Violon was heard brawling round the base
of Roche à Perdrix and rushing on like a true mountain torrent to
the Athabasca. We stopped to drink to the Queen out of its clear
ice-cold waters, and halted for dinner in a grove on the other side
of it, thoroughly excited and awed by the grand forms that had
begirt our path for the last three hours. We could now sympathise
with the daft enthusiast, who returned home after years of absence,
and when asked what he had as an equivalent for so much lost
time--answered only "I have seen the Rocky Mountains." ...
There was a delay of three hours at dinner because the horses, as
if allured by the genii of the mountains, had wandered more than a
mile up the valley, but at four o'clock all was in order again and
the march resumed in the same direction. A wooded hill that threw
itself out between Roches à Perdrix and à Myette had first to be
rounded. This hill narrowed the valley, and forced the trail near
the river. When fairly round it, Roche à Myette came full into
view, and the trail now led along its base....
As we passed this old warder of the valley, the sun was setting
behind Roche Suette. A warm south-west wind as it came in contact
with the snowy summit formed heavy clouds, that threw long black
shadows, and threatened rain; but the wind carried them past to
empty their buckets on the woods and prairies.
It was time to camp, but where? The Chief, Beaupré, and Brown rode
ahead to see if the river was fordable. The rest followed, going
down to the bank and crossing to an island formed by a slew of the
river, to avoid a steep rock, the trail along which was fit only
for chamois or bighorn. Here we were soon joined by the three who
had ridden ahead, and who brought back word that the Athabasca
looked ugly, but was still subsiding, and might be fordable in the
morning. It was decided to camp on the spot, and send the horses
back a mile for feed. The resources of the island would not admit
of our light cotton sheet being stretched as an overhead shelter,
so we selected the lee side of a dwarf aspen thicket, and spread
our blankets on the gravel, a good fire being made in front to
cook our supper and keep our feet warm through the night. Some of
us sat up late, watching the play of the moonlight on the black
clouds that drifted about her troubled face, as she hung over Roche
Jacques; and then we stretched ourselves out to sleep on our rough
but truly enviable couch, rejoicing in the open sky for a canopy
and in the circle of great mountains that formed the walls of our
indescribably magnificent bed chamber. It had been a day long to be
remembered.