Stopping at the first place where hay could be had, a stay of nearly two hours was made for breakfast for ourselves and horses.
From our last night's experience, we decided to carry hay with us and camp wherever night should overtake us, which was at the foot of a high mountain our trail led over, and on the bank of the river as before. The day was uneventful, if we omit mention of the many hornets' nests we passed through and the four pheasants which fell before the unerring aim of Nichol's rifle. The pheasants led us to a fitting close of the day in the shape of pheasants and dumplings, prepared by the writer and pronounced by Nichols (who, by the way, is an epicure) to be simply par excellence. And here I might add that the writer is a single man.
The end of the third day found us at the Hotel Longmire at Hot Springs, located on the southwest slope of Mt. Rainier, at an altitude of three thousand feet, and some five miles from the perpetual snow limit. And no finer people ever lived than Mr. and Mrs. Longmire, who own and preside over the hotel and springs. The hotel material was cut by hand out of the finest grained cedar that ever grew—boards twelve inches wide and fifteen feet long—as perfect as though sawed.
As a matter of information for those interested, it might be well to say here that the waters of the springs are positively life-giving. The writer has visited many mineral springs, and has never seen anything that will compare with the stimulating and health-giving qualities of these springs.
But, to resume: we left the springs next morning, with a single pack horse, expecting to leave the horse at the top of the ridge (eight thousand feet altitude) overlooking Paradise valley, and, with blankets on our backs, to make our way to Ewing's camp, ten thousand five hundred feet above sea level. We reached Paradise valley, and, finding the same had been so well and truly named, decided to stop till next day and enjoy some of its beauties. Accordingly, camp was pitched, fire-wood gathered, and a camp fire built, and a pot of beans placed thereon. After a light lunch we strolled, enjoying the alpine beauties of the valley, well named Paradise.
During the afternoon the wind changed to the southwest, and clouds gradually spread over the firmament. From our experience a year ago on Mount Hood in a storm, at no higher altitude than we now were, no thought was given to ascending higher till fair weather and a northwest wind prevailed. Morning dawned and no indications of good weather. Our spirits were accordingly depressed. Observing the barometer, we found it moving quite rapidly in the direction of storm. By noon the sky was heavily overcast, and an hour later undercast as well.
By 3 o'clock rain began to fall. The wind had already risen to quite a gale. Re-staking our tent, digging a ditch around the head and sides, and piling wood and rocks along the edges to keep out the wind and rain, we crawled into our blankets and awaited developments. Soon the storm broke upon us with all its alpine fury, and raged during the entire night. By morning the rain had turned into sleet and snow, the thermometer, at daylight registering 34 degrees. Shortly the storm ceased. After some difficulty a fire was started and coffee made. Sampling our pot of beans, which had boiled at least four hours, we found them still hard; after an hour more boiling we emptied them on the ground, having learned that beans are hard to cook at an eight thousand foot altitude. Our barometer still indicating foul weather, we decided to start at once for a more congenial climate. Accordingly our shivering horses (which we had blanketed) were packed and four hours later we were at the Springs hotel, in a rather moody frame of mind. Tuesday morning all was clear, the barometer indicated fair weather, and we started early, reaching the 8500-foot ridge at 1 p.m. Turning our horses loose to feed upon the succulent grass, we bound our blankets upon our backs and started for Ewing's camp, altitude 11,000 feet. Evening coming on, we made camp at 10,500. Clearing away the rocks, leaving a sandy bottom, we stretched our light, small tent, banking wet sand around the edges to keep out the piercing wind, which almost invariably blows at high altitudes. Placing our oilcloth over the damp, cool sand, we soon had a comfortable bed. For tent poles we used our alpine stocks, one of which was seven and one-half feet long. Our bed being satisfactorily arranged, we took notes on the scenery, temperature, etc. A haze hung over the valleys; in fact, it rose to a height of nine thousand feet. The rosy-tinted summits of Hood, Adams and St. Helens towered away above it, however, reflecting the rays of the declining sun.
The chilliness of the temperature, 28 degrees, prevented us from remaining long outside our tent. Crawling in, we tightly fastened the flaps and really passed a comfortable night. Twenty minutes after 4 a.m. found us astir, and at five o'clock we were under way.
We had scarcely as yet taken time to admire the beauties of the scene, so intent had we been on getting an early start so as to be able to return before sundown to our blankets and provisions.
We soon had an opportunity to admire the beauties around and below us, as climbing above eleven thousand feet altitude is productive of sudden stops for rest and breath.