We are indebted to Mr. Graham, of Mount Forrest, for our dinner. He very hospitably received us at his contractor’s camp, and we were in a condition to enjoy all he gave us.
About 4 o’clock we arrived at Hillsdale, named after Mr. Hill, manager of the company’s store. I was glad to meet here Mr. Dunbar, the resident engineer, for I had looked forward to obtaining from him some more definite information than we had yet received, especially of our way across the Selkirk Range. A short conversation with this gentleman gave a new colour to our enterprise, and I resolved not to proceed further that day. Indeed we would have derived no advantage from doing so. One statement of Mr. Dunbar, and he was supported in it by one of his assistants who had recently come from the country in front of us, certainly surprised me. He had heard of no one having crossed the Selkirk Range. Major Rogers had made several attempts to do so, but he had only so far succeeded as to reach the summit, or one of the summits, but had not penetrated entirely through the mountains on a connected line. No one was known to have passed over from where we stood by the route before us to Kamloops; not even an Indian, and it was questionable, if it were possible, to find a route which could be followed.
I must confess that this information was unwelcome to me. I was not without experience in crossing mountains, but expected in this instance that our route would be over known ground, and that, whatever difficulties lay before us, we had only to persevere to overcome them. From what I now heard all seemed uncertain before me. It was possible that we might have to walk our toilsome way onwards for many days, suddenly to find it was impossible to proceed. I did not contemplate assuming the position of an original explorer. My knowledge of work of this kind had taught me how frequently it exacted much time and labour, often to end in failure; that a gigantic natural impediment might present itself to bar further advance, and that whatever the courage, determination and fertility of resource shown, failure to proceed onward would be the irremediable result.
I reserved, however, my opinion of our position until I had met Major Rogers, in charge of these explorations. I understood he was at the mouth of the Kicking-Horse River. In the meantime I entered into the details of our journey with Mr. George Wilson, who had been detailed to go with us in command of the pack train.
We discussed our route, estimated every day’s journey, and all the possibilities and probabilities incident to our advance. George had once been a scout in the service of the Southern States during the war, and was evidently experienced in rough travelling. He appeared to me to know well the work and duty of crossing the mountains, and we formed some estimate of the pork and flour required to take us, with half a dozen packers, to Eagle Pass, at the Columbia. I went into the whole question so far as my knowledge permitted, and we talked it over until bed time.
I owed to Mr. Dunbar, on that occasion, that we had comfortable beds to sleep on, for he and his friends insisted that we should take possession of their quarters.
The weather on Sunday morning was really beautiful. Those living in cities can with difficulty understand the effect on the spirits and minds of men away from civilization of a bright, cheery Sunday. In all well ordered expeditions Sunday is a day of rest, and this view alone, denuded entirely of all religious feeling, which is to some extent dependent on early education, creates a scene of quiet and repose not always experienced to the same extent in civilized communities. To one bred like myself in the strict views of the Presbyterian Church, there is something more than this sentiment: it is as if you held it a privilege on these remote mountains to pay homage to the lessons of your youth. Not from the merely mechanical acceptance of them, but from a heartfelt sense of their truth. I have felt, on such occasions, a sense of peace and freedom from the carping cares of life I never could explain; but that the thought is not peculiar to myself many circumstances have shown. You seem, as it were, at such times, only to commune with nature, and to be free from all that is false and meretricious in our civilization. You are beyond the struggles and petty personalities of the world, and you feel how really and truly life is better and happier as it is more simple.
The sun lit up in warm colours the great mountains encircling the valley. We were surrounded by these magnificent heights. Our camp was but a few miles distant from the valley, which leaves Bow River for the Vermilion Pass. The atmosphere was not so clear as we could wish, and the distant peaks were invisible. We had, nevertheless, a remarkable view of the towering battlements to the north, in themselves so lofty and so near to us, and the details so intricate that it would be impossible to portray them within the limits of ordinary canvas. It remains to be seen what effect will be produced by photography.
Dr. Grant held a service at ten o’clock, and gave a short sermon. The congregation was composed of men engaged on the surveys and works. Some two dozen attended. There was one also of the gentler sex present, who, with her husband, came from the contractors’ camp near by. We dine early. As to-morrow we have to take to the saddle, and in order to get hardened to our work, we think it prudent that we fit ourselves for the journey. We ride about twelve miles up the valley, between mountains of the grandest description. To the south two heights of great prominence present themselves. They command a view of the depression leading to the Vermilion Pass. One of the peaks is crowned with perpetual snow, and is of striking beauty. The other has a cubical form of summit. A third, at no great distance, is pyramidal, and so on in every conceivable variety these mountains tower above us. Westward we see Castle Mountain to our right. The resemblance to Cyclopean masonry has doubtless suggested the name, for it is marked by huge masses of castellated-looking work, with turreted flanks. After passing through a mile of burnt pine wood at its base, we reach Spillman’s camp, where we stay for the night. The fires in the valley are extinguished, but they are still running up the mountain side, and as night comes on the flames gleam with a weird light. We soon wrapped ourselves in our blankets. Although with a certain sense of fatigue, I could not sleep. My thoughts reverted to the journey before us. Uncertainty seemed to increase as we advanced.
Next morning some of us felt a little stiff and tired from our afternoon drill, for such indeed was the object of our ride. Wilson and Kit Lawrence, his assistant, started early with the supply waggon, as our own movements are governed by those of the baggage. We did not deem it necessary immediately to follow, and hence did not hurry our start. The sun was a degree or so above Castle Mountain as we left. Our ride was very agreeable: to some extent through Banksian pine, occasionally along the bank of the Bow River, still a large stream, more considerable, for instance, than the Thames at Richmond. The current is strong, and unhappy the canoeman who has to pole up against it. Here and there we ride through burnt woods. A “brulé” is an ominous word to any one who has to make his way through the bush. The fire has recently destroyed the growth of young timber. The existence of these fires explains the frequent thick, heavy, smoky atmosphere through which we have been unable to see the outline of the mountains. Occasionally a snow-covered peak peers far above the dense smoke below, and to the south we see what the maps suggest to be Mount Lefroy; but there are several lofty summits, any one of which is sufficiently remarkable to be named after that distinguished General. One is crested like a huge camel’s back; one rises to a sharp cone; a third has the appearance of an extinct volcano, and the crumbling edge of the crater reveals the glacier within.