The clouds covered the entire sky and obscured the highest mountain peaks. Worse still, they steadily descended lower and lower, a sign of bad weather. We had, however, but this day in which to see the south side of Mount Assiniboine, and consequently were resolved to do our best, though the chances were much against us. For three hours we followed the stream through the burnt timber, then the country became more open and our progress, accordingly, more rapid. A little after ten o’clock we sat down by the bank of the stream to rest for a few moments, and eat a lunch of hard tack and cold bacon. Such fare may seem far from appetizing to those of sedentary habits, but our tramp of three hours over the fallen trees was equivalent to fully five or six hours walking on a good country road, and what with the fresh mountain air and a light breakfast early in the morning, our simple lunch was most acceptable.
A most pleasing and encouraging change of weather now took place. A sudden gleam of sunlight, partially paled by a thin cloud, called our attention upward, when to our great relief several areas of blue sky appeared, the clouds were rising and breaking up, and there was every prospect of a change for the better.
Once more assuming our various packs, we pushed on with renewed energy. On the left or south was a long lofty ridge of nearly uniform height. On the right was a stupendous mountain wall of great height, the top of which was concealed by the clouds. This impassable barrier seemed to curve around at the head of the valley, and, turning to the south, join the ridge on the opposite side. This then was a “blind” valley without an outlet. There were two courses open to us. The first was to wait a few hours, hoping to see Mount Assiniboine and return to camp the way we came. The second was to force a passage, if possible, over the mountain ridge to the south and so descend into the North Fork valley, which we were certain lay on the other side. The latter plan was much preferable, as we would have a better chance to see Mount Assiniboine, and the possibility of returning to camp by a new route.
After a short discussion, we selected a favorable slope and began to ascend the mountain ridge. A vast assemblage of obstacles behind us in the shape of two high passes, dense forests, and a horrid infinity of fallen trees, crossed bewilderingly, made a picture in our minds, constant and vivid as it was, that urged us forward. In striking contrast to this picture, hope had built a pleasing air castle before us. We were now climbing to its outworks, and should we succeed in capturing the place, a new and pleasant route would lead us back to camp and place us there—so bold is hope—perhaps by nightfall.
Thus with a repelling force pushing from behind and an attractive force drawing us forward, we were resolved to overcome all but the insuperable.
There was much of interest on the mountain slope, which was gentle, and allowed us to pay some attention to our surroundings. On this slope the scattered pine trees had escaped the fire and offered a pleasant contrast to the burnt timber. We passed several red-colored ledges containing rich deposits of iron ore, while crystals of calcite and siderite were strewed everywhere, and often formed a brilliant surface of sparkling, sharp-edged rhombs over the dull gray limestone. Among the limestones and shales we found fossil shells and several species of trilobites.
In an hour we had come apparently to the top of our ridge, though of course we hardly dared hope it was the true summit. As, one by one, we reached a commanding spot, a blank, silent gaze stole over the face of each. To our dismay, a vertical wall of rock, without any opening whatever, stood before us and rose a half thousand feet higher. Thus were all our hopes dashed to the ground suddenly, and we turned perforce, in imagination, to our weary return over the many miles of dead and prostrate tree trunks that intervened between us and our camp.
The main object of our long journey was, however, at this time attained, for the clouds lifted and revealed the south side of Mount Assiniboine, a sight that probably no other white men have ever seen. I took my camera and descended on a rocky ridge for some distance in order to get a photograph. Returning to where my friends were resting, I felt the first sensation of dizziness and weakness, resulting from unusual physical exertion and a meagre diet. I joined the others in another repast of raisins and hard tack, taken from our rapidly diminishing store of provisions.
Some more propitious divinity must have been guiding our affairs at this time, for while we were despondent at our defeat, and engaged in discussing the most extravagant routes up an inaccessible cliff, our eyes fell on a well defined goat trail leading along the mountain side on our left. It offered a chance and we accepted it. Peyto set off ahead of us while we were packing up our burdens, and soon appeared like a small black spot on the steep mountain side. Having already passed several places that appeared very dangerous, what was our surprise to see him now begin to move slowly up a slope of snow that appeared nearly vertical. We stood still from amazement, and argued that if he could go up such a place as that, he could go anywhere, and that where he went we could follow. We rushed after him, and found the goat trail nearly a foot wide, and the dangerous places not so bad as they seemed. The snow ascent was remarkably steep, but safe enough, and, after reaching the top, the goat trail led us on, like a faithful guide pointing out a safe route. We could only see a short distance ahead by reason of the great ridges and gullies that we crossed. Below us was a steep slope, rough with projecting crags, while, as we passed along, showers of loose stones rolled down the mountain side and made an infernal clatter, ever reminding us not to slip. At one o’clock we stood on the top of the ridge 9000 feet above sea-level, having ascended 4300 feet from our last camp.
The valley of the north fork of the Cross River lay far below, with green timber once more in sight, inviting us to descend. After five minutes delay, for another photograph, we started our descent, very rapidly, at first, in order to get warm. We descended a steep slope of loose debris, then through a long gully, rather rough, and rendered dangerous by loose stones, till at length we reached the grassy slopes, then bushes, finally trees and forests, with a warm summery atmosphere. Here, beautiful asters and castilleias, and beds of the fragrant Linneas, delicate, low herbs with pale, twin flowers, each pair pendent on a single stem, gave a new appearance to the vegetation. In still greater contrast to the dark coniferous forests of the mountain, there were many white birch trees, and a few small maples, the first I have ever seen in the Rockies. In a meadow by the river we feasted on wild strawberries, which were now in their prime.