BOVE the rapids we had a lovely reach of river, from a quarter to half a mile wide, with no perceptible current. Impelled by our united efforts, our light cedar canoe shot over the water as lightly and almost as swiftly as the gulls above us sped through the air. I took one of the poles and used it while the Indians plied their paddles, and for a distance of nearly two miles the depth of water did not vary two inches from four and a half feet. The bottom was composed of a hard, white sand, into which the pole, with my weight on it, sunk less than an inch; in fact, the current is so slight, the width of the river so great, and the general character of the water such, that it might all be termed a lake above the falls; though the foot of the lake, as designated on the map, has a still greater widening five miles above the head of the falls.
Abrupt basaltic walls, 500 to 1,000 feet high and nearly perpendicular, rise from the water's edge on either side. On the more sloping faces of these, vegetation has obtained root-room, little bunches of soil have formed, and various evergreens, alders, water hazels, etc., grow vigorously. Half a foot of snow had lately fallen on the tops of these mountains, and a warm, southwest wind and the bright sun were now sending it down into the river in numerous plunging streams of crystal fluid. For thousands of years these miniature torrents have, at frequent intervals, tumbled down here, and in all that time have worn but slight notches in the rocky walls.
A TRIBUTARY OF THE HARRISON.
Shrubs have grown up along and over these small waterways, and as the little rivulets come coursing down, dodging hither and thither under overhanging clumps of green foliage, leaping from crag to crag and curving from right to left and from left to right, around and among frowning projections of invulnerable rock, glinting and sparkling in the sunlight, they remind one of silvery satin ribbons, tossed by a summer breeze, among the brown tresses of some winsome maiden. I took several views of these little waterfalls, but their transcendent beauty can not be intelligently expressed on a little four-by-five silver print.
Several larger streams also put into the Harrison, that come from remote fastnesses, and seem to carve their way through great mountains of granite. Their shores are lined with dense growths of conifers, and afford choice retreats for deer, bears, and other wild animals.
At three o'clock in the afternoon we rounded a high point of rocks that jutted out into the river, and another beautiful picture—another surprise, in this land of surprises—lay before us. Harrison Lake, nestling among snowy peaks and dotted with basaltic islands, reflected in its peaceful depths the surrounding mountains as clearly as though its placid surface had been covered with quicksilver. This lake is about forty miles long, is fed by the Lillooet river and numerous smaller streams. Silver creek, which comes in on the west side, twenty miles north of the hot springs, is a beautiful mountain stream of considerable size. A quarter of a mile above its mouth, it makes a perpendicular fall of over sixty feet. It is one of the most beautiful falls in the country. Near the head of the lake, and in full view from the springs, old Mount Douglass, clad in perpetual snow and glacial ice, towers into the blue sky until its brilliancy almost dazzles one's eyes. Though forty miles away, one who did not know would estimate the distance at not more than five, so clearly are all the details of the grand picture shown. It is said that from the glaciers on this peak come the streams whose waters give their peculiar milky cast to Harrison Lake and Harrison river. Near the base of Mount Douglass is an Indian village of the same name, and the Hudson Bay Fur Company formerly had a trading post in the neighborhood, which they called Fort Douglass. This Indian village is the home of my prospective guide, and from it he has adopted his unpoetic cognomen.
Half a mile to the right of where we entered the lake, the famous hot springs, already mentioned, boil out from under the foot of a mountain, and discharge their steaming fluid into the lake. The curative power of these waters has been known to the natives for ages past, and the sick have come from all directions, and from villages many miles away, to bathe in the waters and be healed. All about the place are remains of Indian encampments, medicine lodges, etc. The tribes in this vicinity are greatly exercised over the fact of the white man having lately asserted ownership of their great sanitarium, and having assumed its control. Mr. J. R. Brown has erected over the springs a large bath-house, and near that a commodious hotel. He has cut a road through a pass in the mountains to Agassiz station, on the Canadian Pacific Railway, five miles distant, so that the springs may now be easily reached by invalids wishing to test their curative properties. Soon after my arrival at the springs, I climbed the mountain to the east of the hotel, and passed the time pleasantly, until sunset, viewing the beautiful scenery in the neighborhood.
On the following morning I took a boat and rowed up the east shore of the lake, in hope of getting a shot at a deer, but though I saw plenty of fresh signs all along the shore no game was visible. I spent the afternoon looking anxiously for my promised guide, but he came not. I again amused myself, however, taking views of the scenery, but found on developing the negatives that I had not been eminently successful with either Mount Douglass or Mount Chiam. Snowy mountains are about the most difficult objects in all nature to photograph, especially if you attempt to include anything beside the snowy peaks in the picture; for they are so intensely white, and the sky or even clouds that form the background are so light and afford so slight contrast, that it is next to impossible to get good sharp pictures of them. The landscape about the mountains is sure to offer some dark objects, perhaps deep shadows, and even the mountain itself nearly always has bare rocks and dark, gloomy cañons, and to get these and the dazzling whiteness of the snow and ice on the same plate is decidedly difficult. Of course we see many fine photographs of snow-covered mountains, but if taken with a clear sky or with light clouds for background, there is generally more or less retouching necessary, and more or less doctoring in printing, with tissue paper, glass screens, etc., in order to obtain the results we see in the prints. I made some fair views of both these peaks, but not such as an enthusiastic amateur might wish. Of the lower mountains, where at that time there was no snow, of the lake, the islands, etc., I got very satisfactory pictures. I went up the road, toward the railway station, a mile or more, where it passes through one of those grand forests for which this country is so famous, where—