As we came through this remarkable pass, in the afternoon, dark clouds rapidly spread themselves over the sky, reinforced by others more dense and threatening, engulfing us suddenly in darkness. Then the artillery of the heavens rang out in such deafening reports as to stifle all attempts at speech. The discharges and echoes among the gloomy gulches and tall peaks mingled so rapidly that it was impossible to separate cause and effect. The rain was like a cloud-burst. The sharp flashes of lightning were so incessant and blinding that one sat with closed eyes and bated breath. The great locomotive could barely make way on the steep up-grade, the wheels having so much less hold upon the track when thus submerged. Passengers looked into each other’s pale faces in fear and amazement. Still the slow, regular throb, throb, of the iron horse was heard through the din of the thunder and the roar of rushing waters. We did move forward,—barely moved. To stop would be destruction; backward impetus would instantly follow, and no brakes are powerful enough to stop the train from a dash downward towards the plain if once it started in that direction. But stay. Soon there came a faint glimmer of light from out of the sky, gradually this increased, the dark pall of the heavens was slowly removed, and the afternoon sun burst forth with soft, ineffable beauty. The thunder sounded farther and farther away, the echoes ceased, and the throb, throb of the ponderous engine steadily held the long train and forced the great load onward.
At Field station, in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, we begin an ascent of twelve hundred and fifty feet with two powerful engines, where the roadway is cut out of the sides of nearly perpendicular cliffs to which it seems to cling with iron grasp, overhanging the roaring torrent of the Kicking Horse River, which flows at a fabulous depth below. Here we cross now and again trestle bridges, three hundred feet above some frightful gorge, or pass over a viaduct of great span. The highest point of the road is reached at fifty-three hundred feet above the level of the sea, or say just one vertical mile. This extreme elevation is about five hundred miles from Vancouver.
The scenery at this point is grand beyond description, thrilling the whole nervous system while we gaze at it and vainly strive to comprehend its vastness. The very excess of emotion makes one dumb. The most experienced traveler watches the changing scene with a vivid interest. So wild, so comprehensive, and so startling a natural panorama is rarely met with in any land. A longing comes over the observer to divide the ecstasy of the moment with the loved ones left behind. No joy is complete which is not shared; it is no hermit quality, but was born a twin. Mountains, valleys, glacier-bound peaks, domes, spires, and snow-capped pyramids are seen in all directions, brought out in minute detail by the singular clearness of the atmosphere. Tall forests are spread out far, far below our feet, the mammoth trees looking no larger than pen handles, while the river winds like a broad silver belt through the green sward of the valley. Thus the Canadian Pacific Railway passes for hundreds of miles along glacial streams in full sight of the frozen rivers which feed them.
By and by we come in view of Castle Mountain, five thousand feet in height, which, with a little help of the imagination, becomes a giant’s keep, turreted, bastioned, and battlemented. At another point of view it presents a remarkable resemblance to the grand Indian Temple of Tanjore. A short distance farther and we reach Banff, where a couple of days were most agreeably passed by the author. The railway station here is in the midst of sky-piercing heights, whose first impression upon the traveler is both solemn and lonely. To the northward stands Cascade Mountain, nearly ten thousand feet in height; eastward is Mount Inglismaldie, beyond which looms up the sharp cone of Mount Peechee, reaching more than ten thousand feet into the blue ether. Close at hand rises the thickly wooded ridge of Squaw Mountain, in whose shadow lie the beautiful Vermilion Lakes, the home of myriads of wild geese and ducks. Other mountains are in view, but in the memorable tableau which we recall the grand peaks we have mentioned are the most prominent.
This is the station for the Rocky Mountain Park, the altitude being forty-five hundred feet above the sea. At this point the Canadian government has established a national reservation after the plan of our Yellowstone Park, between which and this place lies five hundred miles of the wildest sort of country. There is no comparison between the two parks, either in size, importance, or natural wonders. This reservation is twenty-six miles long by ten in width, embracing portions of three rivers, with two considerable lakes, cascades, and waterfalls. The scenery could not be otherwise than bold, being in the midst of such a mountain range and surrounded by such monarch elevations. Money is to be freely expended in making good paths, together with convenient avenues and bridges.
The Pacific Railway Hotel at Banff is a large, admirably situated, and picturesque establishment, designed to accommodate from two to three hundred guests at a time, and is especially patronized by Canadian bridal parties. The view from it is superb, commanding the winding course of the Bow River and valley for miles, with the many adjacent mountains. The river pours swiftly down from its sources among the snow fields, and plunges seventy feet over rock and precipice close beside the hotel, passing almost beneath our feet as we stand upon the broad piazza, gazing in admiration at the grand scenic carnival, and listening to the thrilling anthem of the rushing waters, while breathing the soft aroma of the Douglas pine and cedar forests which cover the surrounding slopes. The region in proximity to the hotel will give the lover of fishing ample sport. Trout of large size abound in Devil’s Lake near at hand. A guest brought in forty pounds of this gamey fish, caught in two hours’ time in the lake, while the author was at Banff. Wild sheep and mountain goats abound in the neighboring hills, while bears are more numerous than is desirable. Wildcats, mountain lions, deer, and caribou are also frequently shot by the hunters. The restriction as to use of firearms which is established in the Yellowstone Park does not apply in this region. Sportsmen roam where they please and freely hunt the wild animals which roam in this section of the country. Good roads and bridle paths take one in all directions among some of the finest scenery of the Rocky Mountains, where we watch the morning sun dispel the mist which floats upward and away, disclosing the snow-decked peaks in their virgin whiteness blushing roseate tints at the ardor of the sun.
This is called the eastern gateway to the Rocky Mountains, through which the grand Bow River flows on its diversified journey of fifteen hundred miles to Hudson Bay.
There are extensive hot springs on the eastern slope of what is known as the Sulphur Range, some six thousand feet above the sea level. They are at different elevations, and have good bathing-houses erected over them, in charge of courteous attendants. One of the springs is inside of a dome-roofed cave, which is a favorite resort of visitors to Banff. The medicinal character of these springs is considered so important that an iron pipe two miles in length conducts their heated waters for use at the hotel, the normal temperature being sustained by metallic coils of superheated steam. It rains much and often in this region. The weeping clouds make one feel rather gloomy, purely out of sympathy for their ceaseless tears, but when the sun finally asserts his power and lifts the misty veil, then come forth in hold contrast silvery, sparkling, sky-reaching mountains, covered with their frosty mantles, together with richly wooded valleys and river-threaded cañons, opening views of unrivaled sublimity and grandeur.
At Anthracite, five hundred and seventy miles from Vancouver, we are forty-three hundred and fifty feet above the sea. Here are the remarkable coal mines located in the Fairholme Range, a true anthracite of excellent quality and of great importance to the railway. The pass through which the road takes us is four miles wide, great masses of serrated rocks rising on either side, back of which mountains tower above each other as far as the eye can reach, forming long vistas of lofty elevations so numerous as not to bear individual names.
At Calgary, about a hundred miles farther eastward, we are still thirty-four hundred feet above the sea. This is a particularly handsome and thriving young town, scarcely four years old, but containing three thousand inhabitants. It is pleasantly situated on a hill-girt plateau, in full view of the jagged peaks of the Rockies, thirty or forty miles away, and which, as we look back upon them, form a vast blue and white crescent extending around the western horizon. Two placid rivers, the Bow and Elbow, wind through the broad green valley, adding a charming feature as they mingle with the tall waving grass. Here cattle and sheep ranches abound, extending westward to the very foot-hills of the great mountain range, and stretching far away to the southward a hundred and fifty miles to the United States boundary line. We were told that the cattle and horses ranging over this space would aggregate two hundred thousand head.