It rained during the night; we were comfortable in our tents, but the men were exposed to the rain, having brought with them no protection against it. Before starting their blankets had to be dried, so it was nearly eight o’clock before we got off.
In less than two-thirds of a mile we gain Bluff Lake on the summit; the steep rocky sides have given it its name, and the walking is so difficult that we deem it expedient to form a raft on which we can float to its further end.
We have now entered into the third range of mountains and have passed beyond the waters flowing into the Columbia. We have reached the waters of the Eagle River, which find their way to the Fraser. Our raft carried the tent and baggage, but was not large enough for all to find a place upon it. Accordingly some had to clamber over the rocks as best they could, and a difficult walk they had. We reached the end of the Lake and continued on our journey. Another three-quarters of a mile brings us to a second Victor Lake. We did not construct a raft to navigate it. Baptiste took us by what he called an easy route. We had, however, to clamber over rocky precipices the whole of the way, and it is the afternoon before we sat down to take our meal at its western end. The Lake is about three-quarters of a mile in length; the water is like a mirror, in which the lofty peaks are reflected in every variety of shade. Directly in our front there is a magnificent bluff rising vertically sheer from the water seven hundred feet. Its image appears in the mirror-like lake as well defined as in the atmosphere. On behalf of the Canadian Alpine Club we name the bluff after Her Majesty, and give three cheers for the Queen in honour of the occasion. We all feel in good spirits, for we are satisfied with the progress we are making. Our advance, however, was not without its difficulties. We had a seemingly endless number of prostrate trunks of trees and rocks to surmount, and on the lower ground we had from time to time to wade through troublesome marshes.
Three and a half miles from Victor Lake we arrived at Three Valley Lake. Our Kamloops men, on their way to meet us, had constructed a raft at this point, which is again available. It is large enough to take the whole party. So we embarked upon it. Baptiste followed in a small, birch-bark canoe, which he had taken from its cache. We move slowly through this beautiful lake, nestling in the mountains, where three valleys meet. Its shape is somewhat that of a three-corner staff officer’s hat. It has lofty, wide banks, with bold rocky bluffs standing out from the spruce and birch wood, here and there visible. It is a beautiful sheet of water, dark in color and exceedingly deep. It has been said that it is fathomless. Few Swiss lakes, which I have seen in my limited wanderings, rise in my mind as superior to it in wild, natural beauty. This sheet of water has a character of its own. We reach the outlet in about an hour, somewhat chilled by sitting immovably in one position on the raft. We soon are ourselves again as we arrange our camping ground. Every spot is bright green, but there is not a blade of grass. Possibly, owing to the excessive moisture of the locality, the ground is brilliant with rich mosses of the thickness of three or four inches, and you walk on them as on a Turkish carpet.
We encamped on a small tree-covered promontory at the outlet of the lake. Eagle River has now become a good sized stream of clear water flowing over a rocky bottom. The scenery is striking in all directions. The central of the Three Valleys branches into four subordinate valleys, between each of which high peaks, covered with snow, are to be seen. To the north and west the peaks are less lofty. Baptiste tells us that much game abounds, and that from the lake large fish are taken, as we infer, salmon. The evening was very pleasant; we were all in good humour, not by any means the worst resource to the wanderer in his travels.
It did not rain last night. I do not hold my own experience as sufficient for any generalization, but from all I can learn, at this season of the year, it is seldom that such is the case in the mountains. Certainly the nights during which we have escaped rain since entering the Selkirk Range have been few.
We had now to part with our Indian guide, who had fulfilled his contract, so we settled with him and found he had a cool way of his own in reckoning the value of his services, whatever he might know of arithmetic. As a “lucky penny” we supplied him with enough matches to last him a month, a mine of wealth to him; and he paddled away to the east to find his way back to the Grand Eddy.
The Kamloops Indians, now on their own ground, are unusually active this morning. A tree is felled on which we can cross the river, and we get off by eight o’clock, trudging through the woods, passing over alder swamps and dry rocky ground, encountering prostrate trees of giant growth until we reach Griffin’s Lake, a mile in length, with rough and rugged sides. We constructed a raft of light timber and formed our paddles of split cedar. It took an hour and three-quarters to make the raft, but by paddling through the lake we made up the time and reserved our strength for further efforts. We had an excellent opportunity of seeing the country from the middle of the lake. Snow covered peaks were here and there visible, but I question if this snow be permanent; it struck me that it was only the deposit of the late storms which we had experienced. We took our mid-day meal, it was now bread and water, on the raft, so there was no delay in our starting westward when we landed. The ground was smooth for some distance, but we soon reached a part of the valley where it was entirely swamp to the base of the hills. We had, therefore, to clamber along its side, which was encumbered with large fallen trees and huge stones. Our progress was as slow as in the valley of the Ille-celle-waet; and soon, from sheer fatigue, we were forced to accept the first available camping ground which offered: a small plateau near a mountain stream.
As arranged, Albert and McLean started next morning at day-break towards the point where the horses and supplies had been left, to get everything in order, so that when we came up no time would be lost and we could at once proceed. We shall not reach the spot a minute too soon, for we are out of everything in the shape of food. McLean and the four Indians, despatched from Kamloops with supplies, have helped to finish the remnant of stores which we have carried across three mountain summits from the Bow River. Without our forced marches our provisions would certainly have been insufficient, and but for the accident of meeting a guide we might have been in an unenviable situation. Yet the failure of our plan was in itself so ridiculous that I cannot look back upon it without a smile. We were in the heart of a desert and asked for bread. We did not even get a stone, but we met five hungry Indians ready to devour the little store we had brought with us.
We started soon after seven, every member of the party carrying his own pack, except Albert and McLean, who had been already despatched without loads. Our advance had much of the character of that of yesterday, along a steep hill side, among fallen trees from four to six feet in diameter. Our progress was exceedingly slow through these difficulties; at length we reached the cached provisions at eleven o’clock. The hour of short commons was passed, and at our mid-day meal we had a sumptuous fare. We found tinned oysters, potatoes, coffee, bacon, flour, onions and such delicacies; we also had an example of the saying that “it never rains but it pours,” for my son fortunately shot a salmon in the Eagle River. We were thus in the very lap of luxury; but our business was to do more than revel on good fare. We had to be up and moving. The Indians expressed great astonishment when the order was given to march. They expected we should remain here for a few days to feast on the good things till they were done: as they term it in British Columbia, to have a regular “potlatch.”