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Bungalow camps in the Canadian Pacific Rockies Canadian Pacific Railway Company 1928

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 Lake 0*Hara Bungalow Camp BUNGALOW CAMPS
IN THE CANADIAN PACIFIC ROCKIES
Wapta Camp—Overlooking beautiful Lake Wapta, just west of
the Great Divide. Centre for Alpine climbing, drives, pony rides, and
hikes to Lake O'Hara, the Yoho Valley, the Kicking Horse Canyon, etc.
Postal Address, Wapta Bungalow Camp, Hector, B.C.
Lake O'Hara Camp—This Alpine lake, of exquisite coloring and
charm, is a splendid climbing, riding and walking centre. Excursions to
Lake McArthur and Lake Oesa, or over Abbot Pass to Lake Louise.
Postal Address, Lake O'Hara Bungalow Camp, Hector, B.C.
Yoho Valley Camp—At the most delightful location in Yoho
Valley, facing. Takakkaw Falls. Excursions to the upper valley or over
Yoho Pass to Emerald Lake.
Postal Address, Yoho Valley Bungalow Camp, Field, B.C.
Moraine Lake Camp—At the head of the Valley of the Ten
Peaks. Good trout fishing, climbing, riding and hiking to Consolation
Lakes, Paradise Valley, Wenkchemna Pass, etc.
Postal Address, Moraine Lake Bungalow Camp, Lake Louise, Alta. (Open June 1*
September 30).
Castle Mountain Camp— First stop on the new Banff-Winder-
mere automobile highway, the most spedtacular automobile road in
America. Wonderful panoramic views of Castle Mountain and other
peaks.
On the Banff'Windermere Road. Postal Address, Castle Mountain Bungalow Camp,
Castle Mountain, Alta.
Vermilion River Camp—Second stop on this road. Fine fishing
in the Vermilion River, and magnificent mountain climbing.
On the Banff'Windermere Road. Postal Address, Vermilion River Bungalow Camp,
via Castle Mountain, Alta.
Radium Hot Springs Camp—Third stop on this road. Swimming in Radium Hot Springs Pool, hiking and climbing, and wonderful
views of the Selkirks.
On the Banff'Windermere Road. Postal Address, Radium Hot Springs Bungalow
Camp, Radium Hot Springs, B.C.
Lake Windermere Camp—A popular bungalow camp on the
shore of the loveliest warm water lake of British Columbia. Riding,
motoring, swimming, boating and excursions to the glaciers of the Selkirks.
Postal Address, Lake Windermere Bungalow Camp, Invermere, B.C.
The above camps are open (except where otherwise stated, and subject
to road conditions) from June 15th to September 15th. Rates $5.50 per
day, American plan. Information how to reach these camps, and the
accommodation at each, is found on later pages, under each separate camp. i?
6 Lake Windennere Camp
CaiwdiflEPacfflc Rockies
THE CANADIAN PACIFIC ROCKIES, which interpose their
giant barrier between the prairies and the Pacific CoaSt, comprise
the moSt wonderful mountain region in the world. Nearly seven
hundred peaks of 6,000 feet or over in height—lovely mountain lakes,
swift rivers, silent primeval forests, glistening glaciers, extensive
national parks, hundreds of miles of roads and good trails, climbing,
fishing, riding, hiking and motoring—these are some of the attractions
that they offer.
At eight points in the Canadian Pacific Rockies are Bungalow
Camps, making a special appeal to the trail-rider, the hiker and the
climber. A Bungalow Camp consists of a cluster of buildings of log
or other wooden construction: the principal one being the dining-room
and social centre, the others individual sleeping cabins of various sizes.
These Bungalow Camps—which are supplemented by many outlying
tea houses conveniently spaced—combine comfort, simplicity, and good
food with moderate charges—and always they have the background of
magnificent Nature.
Printed in Canada—1928
Page One Nation
Yoho National Park, with an area of 476 square miles, lies juSt
west of the Great Divide on the western slopes of the Rocky Mountains. It is a region of charm and winsome beauty, of giant mountains
and primeval forests, of rushing rivers and sapphire-like lakes. Its
principal river is the Kicking Horse, with the Ottertail and Yoho as
main tributaries; its chief lakes are Emerald, Wapta, McArthur, O'Hara
and Sherbrooke. The Yoho Valley (with its great glacier, Twin Falls
and Takakkaw Falls), Emerald Lake, Burgess Pass, Lake O'Hara and
Lake McArthur are amongst the chief scenic features.
Three bungalow camps are situated in Yoho National Park. Linked
together as they are by good motor roads or trails, and supplemented
by tea houses, they make one of the moSt delightful circle tours of the
entire Rockies.
Yoho Valley Bungalow Camp
Eleven miles from Field Station by road.    Thirteen miles from Wapta Camp by road.    Also
reached by trail or road from Emerald Lake.    Accommodation for 64.
Wapta Bungalow Camp
Close to Hedtor Station.    Also reached by road from Field (8 miles), Lake Louise (8 miles), or
Yoho Camp (13 miles).   Accommodation for 58.
Lake O'Hara Bungalow Camp
Eight miles south of Hector Station, by trail.   Also reached from Lake Louise over Abbot Pass,
or by trail from Field.    Accommodation for 38.
Kicking  Horse  Canyon  Tea  House Natural Bridge Tea House
Between Wapta Lake and Field Between Field and Emerald Lake.
Summit Lake Tea House Twin Falls Tea House
Between Yoho Valley and Emerald Lake In the Upper Yoho Valley.
Sleeping accommodation for 12. Sleeping accommodation for 5.
Abbot Pass Alpine Hut Plain of Six Glaciers Tea House
Between Lake O'Hara and Lake Louise Between Abbot Pass and Lakes in the Clouds
Sleeping accommodation for 20. Sleeping accommodation for 4.
All trains Stop at Field. At Hedtor (12 miles eaSt) moSt trains
Stop.    (See time-tables).
OTHER CENTRES OF THE CANADIAN PACIFIC ROCKIES
Banff Springs Hotel Chateau Lake Louise
Emerald Lake Chalet Hotel Sicamous
Page Two YOHOWilJLEY CAMP
The derivation of Yoho is from an Indian
ejaculation of astonishment or wonder,
"Yo-Ho!" say the Crees, when they come
suddenly upon anything that amazes them.
The Stoney Indians say it thus: "YO-ho!"; and in
all this valley, for white visitors of to-day, it is
either a case of "Yo-ho!" or of simply the silence
that comes from lack of knowing what to say to
voice their admiration.
Field, on the main line of the Canadian Pacific,
is the detraining place. There, under the great
hump of Mount Stephen and the crags of Mount
Burgess, the motor-cars aw? it to take us up to the
camp. With their whistling honk they speed away
across the Kicking Horse River, either left to
Emerald Lake, or right to the Yoho Bungalow Camp.
Along the Kicking Horse
As the car runs east along the river side it is
worth while to look up at the crags of Mount
Stephen opposite. By careful scrutiny of some of the
apparent natural cavities in these high cliffs, you
will discern timbers. These holes are actually the
entrances to tunnels of the Monarch Mine. The
bin to hold the ore, so steep is the face of the mountain there, is like an eagle's eyrie clamped to the rock
front. Even as we are looking up at it, the car
swings away into a valley down which Yoho pours
its waters to the Kicking Horse River.
If you are smoking, don't toss your cigarette end
lightly out. Here you are at the gateway of an
earthly paradise. Remember the Scripture which
sayeth: "Behold how great a matter a small fire
kindle th."   These tall trees must never become a
bonfire. The smell of the place is what chiefly
enchants us at the beginning. Newly out of the
railway cars, we breathe deep of the rich odor of the
woods, the blent aroma of balsam and spruce; we
rush through scent, robust, invigorating scent, that
fills our lungs. Yoho foams below us, and the road
twists and mounts through that pervading odor and
the green dusk of the forests.
Yoho Camp
There are summer vacation resorts at which,
though to be sure we exchange town for country,
the summer heat still pursues us. OriQ of the great
charms of the Yoho Valley Bungalow Camp is
that it is never too hot to sleep refreshingly there.
At its altitude we have all the sun of summer days;
but we have comfortable nights. The club house
is perched in a meadow facing Takakkaw, the
stream that comes down from the Daly Glacier. In a
fissure of the mountains this stream drops a sheer
thousand feet and more. The winds toy with it.
It is not, up there, a river of water but a river of
foam, and comes down with an oddly leisurely appearance despite its great drop, very much like a
falling of those rockets called Golden Rain. It has
its colors too, it is not always white; but of that
more later.
The bungalows, in a semi-circle, are dotted
round the community house, each with its simple
necessities for those going into the mountains. In
the middle of the cleared space before them is a
small tablet to Tom Wilson, the original trail maker
of these parts, who found (that is, as far as whites are
Page Three Near the Summit of Burgess Pass
concerned, for it was an Indian who led him there)
the Lake of Little Fishes, now called Lake Louise,
and then, over the ridge behind us, Emerald Lake,
in 1882. Not so long ago, that, as the centuries go!
Just a moment ago, in a sense! The automobile
comes now to Yoho Valley Camp where Tom
Wilson came, afoot, by a dim Indian trail, or no
trail at all. Otherwise all is as he saw it. Takakkaw
roars, as he heard it roar, out of a notch in the cliffs
below the Daly Glacier, into a sweep of rock up
there like a colossal font-stone, and then overflows,
even as he (the Cortez of these parts) saw it—wind-
plucked foam.
Takakkaw Falls
As one sits on the verandah of the community
house, lulled rather than at all troubled in spirit
by that wind-borne rumble, there come at irregular
intervals harsher notes in the flow of sound. These
are rocks brought down by Takakkaw and dropped
into that high cupped projection of the cliff that
is like a stupendous font. At times there comes
another accent in the orchestration, sometimes so
high and crashing as to seem like the first of a peal
of thunder, sometimes less thunderous and distinguishable promptly for what it is, crashing,
splitting, and with a kind of vast tinkling as of ice
in a thousand-fold tumbler; for it is of ice, thawed
away from the forefoot of the glacier that lies there
invisible above, of ice chunks washed down in the
flow, dropped in the great cup and tossed to and
fro there into shattered atoms.
After supper one may stroll over by the little
path for a nearer survey of that gauzy, billowing
foam.   At once one is in virgin forest.   Bungalow
camps might be leagues away. The path leads
up on a hump of woods, drops to the river side,
and leads across a foot-bridge to where the last spray
of the falls drifts ceaselessly in the air.
Close to Camp
It is an ideal place, this Yoho Bungalow Camp,
for both riders and hikers. About a couple of
miles along on the road northward we can turn
aside to the left and see the Point Lace Falls. Not
as high as Takakkaw, they yet have their beauty.
One may weary of the multitude of Bridal Veils in
the Rockies, and wonder that those who name places
have no brighter wit than to see so many foaming
falls as bridal veils; but Point Lace Falls is otherwise. The name is apt, not banal, for that filigree
of foam on a cliff face. Only a few feet farther upon
the main road, to the right, a trail leads away a
mere hundred yards, to other falls, called Angels'
Stairs. They come zigzagging down from high cliffs,
the last bastions of the Daly Glacier, again with that
oddly leisurely aspect of so many precipitous waters.
Easy Strolls
All these are close to camp, and can be visited
between breakfast and lunch. Then in the afternoon one may stroll a mile up the trail on the mountain immediately behind the camp, take the first
tributary trail to the left, and experience, less than a
mile farther on, the quiet of Hidden Lakes. There
they lie, utterly whelmed round by the woods,
mirroring the still trees. Not a sound but the fitting
call of a whisky-jack, as whites have contorted the
Indian name of the bird wiss'\otjan. Its lonely call
seems a part of all the old serenity of that place.
Page Four -"¥'"
Page Five During the past few years a very comprehensive programme of road construction has been carried on by the National Parks Branch of the Canadian
Government, and has resulted in all of the Bungalow Camps (except Lake
O'Hara) and most of the Tea Houses being linked up together by good motor-
roads.
The principal road is now that which runs, under various names, from
Banff to Golden, a distance of 118 miles. Along it are situated Banff Springs
Hotel, the Chateau Lake Louise, Moraine Lake Bungalow Camp (on a short
branch), Wapta Bungalow Camp, Yoho Valley Bungalow Camp, Field, and
Emerald Lake Chalet.
Another excellent road is the Banff-Windermere Road, the same as the foregoing so
far as Castle Mountain, and turning southwesterly to Lake Windermere.  (See page 32).
From Golden the Columbia River Highway-
runs to Lake Windermere and Cranbrook,
connecting with points south, east and west.
A complete circle trip through the most
magnificent scenery of the Canadian Pacific
Rockies, from any point back to the starting
place without once traversing the same
ground, is thus possible. The Bungalow
Camps en route offer convenient sleeping
or  dining  accommodation.
The great affairs at Yoho are the rides. Past
the bend of the road, where one turns aside for
Takakkaw Falls, or beyond the Takakkaw Cabins,
across the broad shingle of a creek that in summer
time is shrunken to a series of little creeks brawling
through the shingle, we begin to mount into
precipitous forests and into a great quiet, as if the
quiet of cathedrals had somehow been brought into
the open air.
On the Trail
There is a sense of immortal ease among that
big timber where the cariboo moss hangs its tassels
from the branches. The ponies'" hoofs fall almost
without a sound on the ribbon of old loam or fallen
cones and needles that is the trail. The trail winds
on through the green old peace and brings us to the
end of Duchesnay Lake.
People are apt to talk of tropic color, as though
the tropics had a monopoly of color; but here already, even before we come to the flower-covered
upland meadows, we have it. In high summer here,
the skies are wontedly of an unfathomable blue
above the spires of the tall spruce trees, and in the
balsams, though they are nominally green, there
lurks a sift of blue. Chinks of distant cliff also, between the branches, make an inlay of blue and grey-
blue and the hue of pumice-stone. And sudden,
among the green, there is whiteness and then the
drumming of a creek. We coast a foaming little
gorge, and on a long bridge crossing it look up at
the rock over which it pours.
The Upper Valley
This is Laughing Falls, and we dismount and
turn aside from the trail to see how it churns in the
cup of rocks at its base. It is like an inverted fountain, but with the spread at its foot instead of at its
top. We mount again and ride on our way to Twin
Falls, and soon we see them, far and high, at an
angle of maybe fifty degrees. Below us a river tomtoms, its canyon strewn with trees brought down
out of the forests, criss-crossed and tossed and wild.
Just before we leave that view to twist on and
up into the higher forests again, we have a glimpse
or the gulch through which the river flows. Beyond
that crevice we see the exquisite green end of a
sequestered glen, a place that to those of us who
remember stolen moments at school over Deadwood
Dick and such heroes must inevitably suggest the
secret pocket where our once idolized outlaw un-
bitted and unsaddled his steed and left him to feed
while he took his sheriff-free ease. On again, up
and up, through the wash of green lights we go.
For a couple of miles or so we ride farther on up
the narrowing valley, coasting, rising and dipping
along its slopes. The trees stand up like living
pillars, and below them and by the trail side wild
flowers flaunt and fade through the exquisite summer—tall clusters of columbine, yellow arnica, tufts
of labrador tea, wild heliotrope, white hedysarum
and the little low flowers of the wild raspberry.
We pass as we ride evidence of old occupancy,
here and there the time-darkened notches where
were once marten traps, and the ruins of a trapper's
cabin. All is intensely still, hushed and tranquil.
When we come to the last rise among the timber and
look out on the glacier that is the valley's end, we,
too, could cry: "Yo-ho!"
Yoho Glacier
There is something individual about these
glaciers. They seem each to have personality and
entity. There it rolls and hangs, at Yoho's end, from
neve to forefoot, as if it looked at us, watched us
come, noted us. As we draw rein on the last spur of
woods and stare out across the boulder-strewn
hollow it seems in some wild unfathomable way to
look back at us.
The Yoho Glacier is as if over-laid upon the
mountain crest and sides by some master jeweller
whose medium is ice and rocks—colored ice, colored
rocks—instead of silver and enamels. The curved
top is of a whiteness beyond anything but that of
what it is—neve snow. The lower seracs are each
individualized in the clear air, with subtle blue
shadows. Mrs. Walcott, the gifted wife of a gifted
man, and daughter of a famous mountaineer, took,
over a series of years in company with her brother,
measurements of the Yoho Glacier to determine the
rate of its movement.
Page Six Page Seven To know such details of the lives of these great
crests of snow, these pinnacles, and chasms of green
and translucent blue, just as the quality of the day's
light decrees, adds to our interest, but to many of
us it is the pictorial aspect that chiefly counts, that
we carry away in our mind's eye. Back home again
we remember the exquisite Yoho Glacier, across
that vast cup of shingle and frothing streams. For
it is exquisite. It does not give a sense of horror,
as do some ice fields. The beauty of it triumphs over
that.
Twin Falls Tea House
For the majority the ride up the valley to
the culminating glacier is enough for one day.
One does not wish to glut the mind, does not wish
to pack over-summarily into the store-house of
memory too much beauty all at once. That ride
from camp to where the trails fork can well be taken
again without growing weary of it. But one does
not, as it happens, have to return at once, for close
to the Twin Falls is Twin Falls Tea House, a picturesque log-cabin house that provides meals that
would be attractive anywhere, but are still more
highly appreciated because they are where they are.
The Tea House also has good sleeping accommodation; and rising refreshed next morning, we can
return by what is called the High Trail.
We are now in an ecstatic betwixt and between
region. We look down on tree-tops and the white
swerve of the stream. We look up at the cliff face
where, in two notches, the Twin Falls pour down.
They are like Takakkaw, or Laughing Falls, seen in
duplicate.
After leaving the Twin Falls Tea House, we ride
along the farther, the western edge of the valley,
mounting by easy grades. We pass a little lake,
still as glass, and (like glass) mirroring trees and
reeds round its edges, and in its middle trie sky.
To our right, behind an old rock slide, towers a
barrier of cliffs; and our coming is announced by
the high shrill whistle of a hoary marmot. Always
there seems to be one there, sitting on a rock as
sentinel.
The High Trail
So musing we ride on upon the winding trail,
looking up at the old cliff face. As we rise in the
world, we come to a torrent, and the log bridge over
it gives us a shock. So much of the old original
world has been round us that a bridge seems out
of place ! Crossing it we ride into one of those
Alpine meadows that are just dotted with tree
and all carpeted with purple and white bryanthus.
From the odor of balsam we ride into the scent of
wild flowers. To right is a tree upon which is
printed: "To the A.C.C. Camp." {Alpine Club of
Canada.J That is one of the ways into the Little
Yoho Valley—a beautiful lesser valley abutting on
the main one, a long lateral sweep of just such high
flowered meadows hung round with woods, then
rocks, then glacier edges.
Even as the glaciers seem each to have their
individuality, their personality, so do the upland
lakelets to which we come. There is one here, Lake
Celeste, an exquisite expanse of water, two green
mirrors for the surrounding peaks, with a narrows
connecting them. Through a V of the hills to northwest of it we look to a sweep of snow; if a white
cloud to match it topples above against the shimmer
of the sky, the picture is complete. We have left
the sound of falls and the roar of compressed waters.
There is just utter quiet up here, and the sky. And a
little way on we have the impression of riding near
to empty space, coasting cloud-land.
We are high above Yoho Valley, looking across
the summer shimmer at the great Waputik snowfield.
No snowfield, thus far south, is larger. Its long
easy undulations invite an eye-journey. We rein in,
and in fancy wander over it from where it sweeps
down into Daly Glacier to where the pinnacles
of Trolltinder stand fantastically to the empty dome
above. We realize how infinitely we have been
mounting since we left Twin Falls. Dismounting
there, the guide invites us to come up that cuplike edge and look. We leave the horses tearing
grass and walk a few yards after him.
High up in the World
Yo-ho, Yo-ho, indeed! As we come to that edge
of jagged rocks, a sort of natural bastion, suddenly
the sense of quiet ends. There come to us, slam,
abrupt, a roar of waters and a sigh of wind. The sigh
is in the tops of the forest on which we look down
a thousand feet below; the roar is of all the foaming
torrents blent, below again, and beyond, and everywhere, of Yoho and Takakkaw, of the Angels* Stairs
and Point Lace, of Laughing Falls, of Whisky-Jack
Falls, and all the other tumbling waters of that
valley upon which we look down.
We know then where we are. We are somewhere on those stupendous cliffs above the Bungalow Camp that, loafing on the verandah of the community house, we previously looked up at, wondering
how one could get there. It is a spot that invites
us to linger. There is a feeling there as of being
winged, not bound to earth. Takakkaw Falls, which
from below as we rode out in the morning seemed
very high above us, are far below, across the valley;
but not now white. The westerning sun is on
Takakkaw; the likeness to the falling dust of these
rockets called Golden Rain is intensified. The foam
billows and drifts; the fine spray hangs in the air
like steam, but the sun has turned it to the semblance of broken opals.
A Spacious View
The Camp from which we started we cannot
see below us; it is hidden by a ledge of rock, over
which Whisky-Jack Falls pour down, but away
south through a gap of the tossed landscape we can
pick out, in that clear air, the faint scar of the Canadian Pacific track going into the Spiral Tunnel
beyond the Kicking Horse River. That is one thing
the High Trail gives us—a sense of spaciousness.
At last we tear ourselves away, and half-a-dozen
steps down the slope from that look-out ridge, suddenly, as if a door was shut, the roar of waters and
the sigh of winds are obliterated. A slant up the
farther side of this one, another trail debouches, to
Page Eight I
I
iiiiiiiiii Canadian Pacific Railway
Motor Roads     •—-Traifs
Yoho National Park
Page ?s(me wind away through further peace round the Little
Yoho Valley and join the far end of that one the
beginning of which we noted some way back.
But our way, on the High Trail, leads on through
a saddle of this meadow. And there we are back
at the beginning of things, seeing a tit of our planet
very obviously in the making. "The strange-
scrawled rocks, the lonely sky" speak to us with
that "still small voice." If we have lived much
in cities this grandeur and this wildness are revelations. Here, with the strewn debris of eons before
us, we realize these old ages of our earth instead
of just reading of them in books of geologists.
Topping the saddle we leave the flowers behind
and begin to coast a vast slope of boulders intersected by ravines, each with its turbulent, gurgly,
glacial stream. That is an awe-inspiring stretch.
The surefooted ponies walk daintily here. We look
up, and see the melting ends of the ice, the glacier
tongues of the President Range. Ahead, a majestic
cone, Mount Wapta stands in the clear day.
Summit Lake
We can if we wish, when we come again to a
fork in the trail, ride straight on into the timber
and go through the woods there to Summit Lake.
Here, in a meadow of red and white heather, in the
midst of a mot green forest, is Summit Lake Tea
House—a charming log-cabin house that provides a
welcome stop. In front is Summit Lake, green but
tiny: behind towers snow-streaked Mount Wapta.
Of if we prefer, we can take the descending trail
that leads into the woods immediately over the
invisible Yoho Camp, and so home. That, for one
with time to spare, is the usual procedure, for the
trail ahead through the last rocks shows us no
more of the great sweep of Yoho than we have
already seen.
Our objective another day is beyond Summit
Lake, round the shoulder of Wapta and on to Burgess
Pass. It is a wonderful journey. The great crags
of Wapta flaunt up close by. At every step, there
bob up higher new visions of the President Range,
and then, as the trail swings south, and rises over
the flanks of Wapta, it is once again for us: "Yo-h-o!"
Over Burgess Pass
"What came we out for to see?"—"A reed
shaken in the wind!" Yes, even something so.
It is all here spread before us. We rest our eyes,
our hearts, our minds on the grand view. We are
coasting along into Burgess Pass between the height
of timber and the edge of the high rocks. A little
wind sighs in the spruce tops, shaking their scent
in the air below; around us the wild flowers grow,
tall anemones, Alpine milk-vetch, whole clumps of
Indian paint brush, and dainty orchids.
We have a seemingly limitless view. All the
President Range looks over the intervening miles at
us, and we look back and in imagination pry in its
wedges of dense forest, scale its cliffs, adventure
over its glaciers.
The guides can point out to you the way to the
now well-known Burgess Pass Fossil Quarry, which
was discovered by Dr. Walcott in 1910. This quarry
has yielded to science the finest and largest
series of Middle Cambrian fossils yet unearthed,
and the finest invertebrate fossils discovered
in any formation. These wonderful specimens are
now to be seen at the Smithsonian Institution at
Washington. The shale of Burgess Pass is remarkable in that it keeps in preservation animals as non-
resistant as worms and jelly-fish, even to their internal parts.
Twenty Million Years Old
When the great slabs of this shale were blasted
loose they had then to be split very carefully with a
chisel to expose the fossil remains in them that
had been there through the long ages as flowers are
pressed between the leaves of a book. For twenty
million years or more these various creatures had
lain there. Once that shale was mud, in which thesz
creatures of earth's early days were embedded.
There they remained through the slow ages,
subjected to the pressure of that mud, and of sand
and pebbles, till all was changed by that pressure
and by chemicalization into sandstone, shale,
limestone. Then came the lateral thrusts upraising
these mountain ranges till what had been river
bed became mountain summit; and there, in the
peaks between Field and the Yoho Valley, all
maniier of queer things that had once, ages and
ages ago, slithered in ooze, were elevated intact and
kept for the curious twentieth century geologist to
pry loose.
The Yoho Pass
You will remember that we paused at Summit
Lake. Here you can rest a while—or sleep over the
night at the Tea House. Summit Lake is 6,020 feet
above sea level ! And before you is another breathtaking ride—the trail trip down the Yoho Pass to
Emerald Lake.
Down, down, down, while the forest folds you
about! Steeper, and steeper! The pony breathes
heavily, and you twist in your saddle a little awed
to find so vast a portion of the world beneath you.
But presently you leave the forest and emerge
upon a treeless cliff, and go zigzagging down across
glacial moraine rocks. About half-way down there
is revealed a splendid view of Emerald Falls, seeming
to gush directly from the turquoise vault into which
Emerald Peak pushes its graceful head. A long,
silver streak it drops, spreads into a rainbow fan,
then hurtles downward to the great boulders that
convert it into a lashing, lunging cascade.
And then you clatter over boulder-strewn flats
and cross noisy mountain brooks as the full beauty of
Emerald Lake breaks upon you. The trail is around
the far side of the lake, with the Chalet directly
opposite against the sharp outline of Mount Burgess.
Eighteen hundred feet you have descended by the
time you rein up at the Chalet's hospitable door.
Emerald Lake is one of the most exquisite spots
in the Canadian Rockies. No blending of pigment,
no symphony on muted strings, no lyric penned by
the hand of man ever interpreted the tender harmony of that strangely peaceful region, where verdure of infinite variety dominates the landscape,
Page Ten Page Eleven With the Alpine Club of Canada in Yoho Park
offers rest to the wearied eye and suggests a pause
in the flight of a winged and adventurous spirit.
Emerald Lake breathes a serenity that defies description.
Emerald Lake
Oh, the rare loveliness of it! Too small to mirror
the soaring peaks that almost surround it, it reflects
the wooded slopes with flawless accuracy; and
patches of snow which the sun has forgotten,
sprawling at the water's edge, repeat themselves
like tufts of woolly clouds afloat on the jade surface.
Far more often than not, the lake is jade instead
of Emerald; and more than that, it is jade-auAait,
with the peculiar milkiness that characterizes all
glacial water.
Emerald Lake Chalet is built of great squared
timbers, fortress-like in their solidity. A large extension has been built in keeping with the original
building. It is a rendezvous of picturesqueness and
spaciousness. To it has also been added a bungalow
annexe.
The Club-house, a few yards from the Chalet,
is a charming rustic building, with a hardwood
floor kept in splendid condition for dancing, with
writing desks, card tables, a piano, a Victrola and
lounges; and with a gaping fireplace that gobbles
up each evening a ration of logs which 20 years ago
would have cost the average Dawson miner his
season's gleanings.
There are some very delightful hikes and trail
trips at Emerald Lake—there is even some fishing;
but if you are going into Field and not back over the
Yoho Pass again, there is a magnificent seven-mile
drive along what is well-named Snowpeak Avenue,
through a deep forest scented with balsam, spruce
and pine.
Snowpeak Avenue
Snowpeak Avenue is part of this pungent journey ; only a small part, but imagine a two-mile
stretch of straight roadway, margined by slender
pines whose heads nod a stately salutation as you
pass, and permit now and again a glimpse of robin's-
egg sky about the width of a small girl's sash. Then
close your eyes still tighter and imagine this straight
driveway blocked by a glittering pinnacle crowned
with a diadem of blue-white snow. Emerald Peak
lies to the north, Mount Goodsir to the south—
natural focal points that some artist must have
pictured in his dreams.
Page Twelve WAPTA CAMP
I know a vale where I would go one day,
When June comes back and all the world once more
Is glad with summer.  Deep in shade it lies
A mighty cleft between the bosoming hills,
A cool dim gateway to the mountain's heart.
These beautiful  lines of Bliss Carman's are
surely applicable to Wapta Bungalow Camp.
It is "a cool dim gateway to the mountains'
heart," for from it some of the most enchanting parts of the Canadian Pacific Rockies are reached.
One of the hubs of the Rockies, it is the first camp
reached going West from Lake Louise.
Just after the westbound train on the main line
of the Canadian Pacific Railway leaves the Great
Divide—where you can delight in drinking from
the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans at one and the
same time, or walk from Alberta to British Columbia and back again in the space of a few seconds—
you start on a noticeable descent and coast down to
Hector Station. Two ancient Indian totem poles
give you an impassive welcome, and mark the way
to the launch that meets all trains.
Wapta Lake
Wapta Lake, 4 M miles west of the Great Divide,
and 5,200 feet above sea-level, is an interesting body
of water in which rises the celebrated Kicking Horse
River. It is some half mile long and quarter-mile
wide. On the far side of the lake from the station a
veritable village of artistic cabins forms Wapta
Bungalow Camp.
Wapta Camp Club House verandah welcomes
you with a variety of lounge chairs. Multi-colored
Iceland poppies fringe the steps you have ju^t
climbed; Indian paint-brush and columbine and fire-
weed spread a gay mantle over the slope, on which
a cluster of rustic cabins are also strewn; the lake
—an immense area of applegreen glass—reflects a
powder-puffy cloud.
The Bungalow Camp
The main building, containing the dining room
and lounge, are on the hill. The cabins are scattered,
some among the spruce and pine, others on the
shore of the lake. These cabins are most attractive,
with all the comforts of a country home, and best
of all they have its privacy. Who has not dreamed of
a mountain cabin, nestling among the pines, or one
perhaps lost in infinite solitude? Fireplaces — or
stoves in some—are part of the joy of mountain
life—crackling logs with their pungent odor of
pine!
These cabins have large verandahs, even though
the one selected may have only one room, with
comfortable chairs. No camping was ever like this
—a spacious house all your own, hardwood floors,
screened windows, a verandah, a clothes cupboard,
an insomnia-proof bed, electric light, running water;
and outside, Rocky Mountains rising all around
you,  calling their lavender-shadowed  peaks.
An enormous fire is burning in the dining room.
Morning and evening it greets you, and you simply
can't believe that people in the cities are being
prostrated by the heat.
What a View!
The view from the verandah of the main bungalow is very lovely. In front is the shimmering sheet
of Wapta Lake. Cathedral Mountain, with its delicate crags, and Mount Stephen—picturesque spurs
of the northern end of the Bow Range—are on the
Page Thirteen Cathedral Mountain from Wapta Camp
south side of the valley to the right as one faces
the lake. Beyond the lake is a high plateau guarded
by Narao on the left.
Up there beyond Narao, when the valley
between it and Victoria is crowded with mist, you
will see a giant obelisk glide out of the void, and
refresh your soul with its simple grandeur. It is the
Watch Tower and its Sentinel—a monumental
peak of mystery, impossible, to discern save under
certain atmospheric conditions, but surpassingly
impressive in its emergence.
Sherbrooke Lake
The shortest trip of real importance is to Sherbrooke lake. The best reason for riding is that
you're too lazy to walk, but five miles covers the
round trip, and the trail is beautifully wooded
most of the way. Early in the season a hundred
varieties of wild flowers offer their perfume and their
blithe colors for your delight; later, a profusion of
berries tempts you to test statistics regarding the
capacity of the human stomach. As you rise, step
by step, the world becomes full of mountain peaks,
and you are conscious of a new sensation. You have
grown — attained a mental and spiritual stature
that synchronizes with the surrounding grandeur.
Little things have fallen away.
Sherbrooke lies in a depression between Mount
Ogden and Paget Peak. It receives into its alluring
green depths water from the Daly Glacier, whose
great tongue forms the marvel known as Takakkaw
Falls, in Yoho Valley. Not the least interesting
feature of a sojourn in the Rockies is this linking up
of lake and glacier, trail and crag—tracing tribal
beginnings, as it were, discovering relationships in
this vast picture gallery.
A Hanging Lake
A mile long, and 700 feet above Wapta, Sherbrooke Lake is one of those delightful lakes in a
"hanging valley". "One of the most beautiful results
of former ice action is to be found in the 'cirques' ",
says A. O. Wheeler, in his Glaciers of the Roc\ies
and Sel\ir\s, "half kettle or arm chair valleys, high
up among the mountains overhanging the main
valleys, and enclosed by vertical cliffs on all sides
except in front. These are the deserted nests of
cliff glaciers, hollowed out by the ice itself and often
deepened so that a turquoise-blue lake lies within
rock rims. If not too high up, these cirque lakes
are surrounded by evergreen forest, behind which
rise the gray or purple walls of rock with some
snow in the ravines above, the whole mirrored in
the lake, until some catspaw of breeze shatters the
reflection."
If you are an irreclaimable fisherman, you will
take trout from Sherbrooke, but otherwise you will
agree that it is little short of criminal to tempt
the poor things to leave their beautiful ice-cold
home. There is a row-boat riding gently at anchor,
and lying on your back in it, staring at the sky, which
is thick and blue and empty like a desert, you rock
and drift without a care, without a thought,
wrapped about in the caress of that unreliable
companion, Contentment, whose merit is too often
ignored until its presence is withdrawn.
Very curious is the sensation, coming back,
when half of your horse has achieved the angle of
Page Fourteen Page Fifteen the switchback and the other half has not. Fervently you hope he will not break in two. He takes the
trail without haste, presuming possibly that you will
want to watch avalanches tumbling down Mount
Stephen. They look like a cloud of feathers, and
several seconds pass before you hear the roar. A
little toy train, with two engines, crawls up the
canyon of the Kicking Horse. A tinier launch slides
across the green pool down there, and leaves a
band of watered ribbon in its wake. You look
about for Santa Claus, or perhaps a small boy who
ought to be somewhere near operating these
mechanical devices. Rounding a curve, a cluster of
doll-houses comes into view. Why, they must be
Wapta Camp, although you can scarcely believe it!
A picnic ground par excellence is Ross Lake,
which lies in the opposite direction, off what is
known as the Lake Louise Upper Trail.
There is an element of adventure in starting for
this point, because, unlike Sherbrooke, the Canyon
or O'Hara, Ross Lake is not inevitably at the end
of the trail. Directions for finding it are a medley
of blazed trees, fallen branches, forked streams and
sundry other forest landmarks—interesting, but
not perceptibly helpful. Armed with such, however, you mount your horse, take your lunch, turn
eastward, and hope you can guess when you've gone
four and a half miles.
Ross Lake
What does it matter if you follow a few wrong
by-ways ? You can always come back parallel to
the railroad; you can always rest on a fallen tree
and watch Mount Bosworth, where, like as not, a
sheep or two will be scrambling. Near at hand,
you may surprise a deer—or he may surprise you—
or a bear, or a porcupine; and, of course, there are
hundreds of greedy, inquisitive gophers.
Be not deceived by the little green stain lying
in a dry sandy stretch just beside the track. This
is only Sink Lake, the bottom of which is said to be
quicksand.
Ross Lake lies hidden between Niblock and
Narao. A wall of jealous trees guards it from a
surprise attack. It breaks upon your vision little
by little and grudgingly. Over a carpet of moss
at least three feet thick, and patterned with twin-
flowers, you tip-toe to the water's edge. Cathedral
silence lies upon the world. No, not quite, for
the drumming of plunging falls—a sound with
which you are now familiar—breaks through the
stillness.
That waterfall leaps from the very sky, and makes
a silver seam down the face of the rock. Perhaps,
like clouds, it has a silver lining. Numerous smaller
cataracts glisten in the sun. They appear, not from
any visible source, but as ex-subterranean channels
through the moraine.
Lake O'Hara
From Wapta Camp the mo& magnificent trail
trip is perhaps along Cataract Brook to Lake O'Hara,
eight miles south. Cataract Brook, which rises in
Lake O'Hara and flows into Wapta Lake, is a mad
turbulent stream which works its way through steep
rock walls shortly before it reaches the lake. There
is a beautiful trail leading up-stream which starts
almost at Hector station, or to be exact, by the water
tank. The alternative is up the steep hill immediately facing Wapta Lake. Either lead to the main
trail, which goes through lovely meadows where
the mountain rhododendron and many beautiful
Alpine flowers are found. Mountains tower both
sides of the valley, giant piles that at times appear
to close the end of the trail. Cataract Brook is
crossed and recrossed, and many smaller streams
which flow into it. There is possibly no valley in
the Canadian Rockies with a greater number of
small streams, many flowing through deep banks of
moss.
The Canyon Road
Someone suggests the Canyon Tea House for
lunch. You really should walk the glorious three
miles, but perhaps you've taken a fancy to that
mettlesome horse; and besides, you're trying for a
Trail Rider's gold-button—a modest decoration that
will tell the world you have explored five hundred
miles of Canadian Rocky Mountain trails.
No need to take a guide. Turn westward and
proceed down the old bed of the railway, now part
of the motor road connecting Yoho, Emerald Lake,
Field and Wapta with Lake Louise and Banff. The
descent through the pass is at first very rapid, and
a steep sided canyon has been cut by the river.
Its vertical walls rise 300 feet in places, and they
are filled with the clamor of rushing waters, drowning the noise of the upcoming train. Its width
(before the construction of the motor highway)
was just sufficient to admit the railway tracks.
A few yards below the narrowest spot, on the
right, you will notice a cataract that looks like liquid
beryl. It comes direct from Sherbrooke Lake, and
flings itself into the Kicking Horse as though determined to tear the very soul from the patient earth.
In one mile it drops 800 feet.
The Canyon presses in upon you, a roofless
tunnel. Far below, the Kicking Horse hews its
frenzied way between rust-colored rocks to whose
unfriendly sides cling shrubs and even trees. The
walls of stone lean towards one another, as though
trying to heal the scar cut by the plunging river.
Each bend of the road is barricaded by crenellated
ridges that dip and rise and sway and swim, while
fleets of cloud in a cobalt sea stand motionless above
them.
The Canyon Tea House
The Tea House is a gem of rustic beauty. It is so
artistically placed and fashioned that it seems to
have grown up with the mountains. Perched on
a bluff overlooking a deep-bosomed, purple valley,
it commands a superb view of the Waputik Ice
Field. From the front verandah you will thrill
at the sight of Cathedral Crags.
From a short distance below the Tea House you
can command an excellent view of the Spiral Tunnels, constructed by the Canadian Pacific to over-
Page Sixteen Page Seventeen, Wapta Lake has good Trout Fishing
come this too-rapid descent through the Canyon.
The upper Tunnel lies in the base of Cathedral
Mountain, and is 3,255 feet long. The lower one,
which can be seen so clearly from the road, cuts
through Mount Ogden, and measures 2,922 feet.
By building these tunnels, the line was lengthened
about four and a half miles, but the grade was
reduced from 4.5 per cent, to 2.2.
The Horse that Kicked
Long may the truth endure regarding the origin
of place names, for history is in them and the romance of reality! Of recent years a crag in the Kicking Horse Pass, somewhat in the likeness of a horse,
has caused some to give that as the origin of the
name; but the truth of it is otherwise, and is part
of the story of the making of this wonderful railway
that carries us to-day in comfort into the very heart
of the wilderness. When Doctor Hector, the famous
doctor and botanist of the Palliser Expedition of the
fifties (who later was knighted—Sir James Hector—
and became Governor of the Windward Islands)
was unsaddling in the pass one day, in the year
1858, he did not notice that he had just loosened
the cinch-strap instead of drawing it free. Walking
behind, as he pulled the saddle; the strap tickled the
horse. Out shot its hind legs, kicking him over a
cliff. Not only was he kicked over the cliff, but he
was supposed to be dead, and the Indians accompanying him were considering burying him when he
opened his eyes.
Page Eighteen A Trail Riders' Cabin in the Rockies
Page Ttyncteen JibA li
A trail trip into the depths of the mountains
forms the most enjoyable way of visiting
beautiful spots that would not otherwise be
accessible. It affords good scenery, often good
fishing, and a glimpse into the heart of nature which will be worth "more than many
books."
The mountain pony, mountain-bred, foolproof, untiring, can be ridden by practically
anyone, whether he or she has ever before
been on a horse or not. From all hotels and
bungalow camps in the Canadian Pacific
Rockies, there are good roads and trails
radiating in all directions, built, maintained
and constantly being extended by the National Parks Department. Some trail trips are
of one day's duration only; others stretch over
several days, necessitating carrying camping
outfit. It is customary, on all long trips and
even on some short ones, to engage guides who
supply horses, tents, food, etc., and do the
necessary cooking.
The Trail Riders' Association
Those who have ridden fifty miles or upwards in the Canadian Rockies are qualified
for membership in the Trail Riders of the
Canadian Rockies, which affords an unusual
opportunity for those interested in trail-
riding to get together. The aims of the Trail
Riders' Association are, principally, to encourage travel on horseback through the
Canadian Rockies, to foster the maintenance
and improvement of old trails and the building of new trails, and to encourage the love
of outdoor life.
Membership is of several grades, according to the distance ridden—50, 100, 500,
1,000 and 2,500 miles. There are now 1,000
members.
The Annual Pow Wow
Each year an annual "Pow-Wow" and
Official Ride is held, lasting several days and
bringing together a large number of men and
women interested in the fine recreation of
trail-riding.    The 1928 Official Ride will be
from Horse Thief Creek, near Lake Windermere, to the spectacular Lake of the Hanging
Glaciers. This annual Ride will start early in
August and last four days; Rate, including
horse, food, and share of tent, $50.00, exclusive of automobile to the starting point.
Riders must bring their own sleeping bags and
blankets. Reservations must be made at least
14 days in advance to the Secretary-Treasurer, Mr. J. M. Gibbon, Room 324, Windsor
Station, Montreal, Quebec.
Circle Trail Rides
In addition to this official ride, circle trail
rides will be operated during July and
August around the Bungalow Camps in
Yoho Park. These are under the auspices
of the Trail Riders' Association. The trip,
starting once a week, will last six days, with
the following itinerary:
First day—Motor or ride to Wapta Camp.
After lunch, ride to Lake O'Hara Camp.
Second day—Side trip to Lake McArthur,
spending the night in a new cabin and
tent-camp on McArthur Creek.
Third day—Ride from McArthur Creek down
the Ottertail trail to Emerald Lake.
Fourth day—From Emerald Lake ride over
Yoho Pass to Yoho Valley Camp.
Fifth day—Side trip to Twin Falls, spending
the night at Yoho Camp.
Sixth day—Ride over Burgess Pass to Field,
and   motor  or   ride   back  to  Emerald
Lake.
The rates for these Circle Trips are $10.00
per day per person inclusive of pony, food,
guide and sleeping accommodation (except for
the Emerald Lake day, which will be $12.00).
Another Circle Trip, lasting four days and
under the same auspices, will be operated
weekly from Banff to Stoney Creek, Sawback
Lakes, and Mystic Lake, with good fishing
en route. Trail Riders cabins, supplemented
by teepees, will be at each camp.
These Circle Rides will be under the direction of Colonel Phil A. Moore, whose office
is at Lake Louise.
Page Twenty LAKE OHAR\ CAMP
If you must have the glories of Rocky Mountain
scenery plus such trappings of modern luxury
as magnificent hotels, ball rooms, golf courses,
automobiles and swarms of visitors, go to
Banff or Louise. O'Hara's appeal is rather to those
who prefer to take their scenery straight. To
these, the fact that the only way to reach O'Hara
is on foot or by pony, and that the accommodation
at the lake is confined to a log chalet and a group of
bungalows, so modest and so happily conceived
that they seem to melt into their background, are
counted as not the least of its many advantages.
Such happy people refuse to admit that a grate
fire and comfortable chairs, hot and cold water
baths, simple but well-cooked meals, and beds that
are a benediction to tired bodies, should be classed
as modern luxuries. At any rate one has yet to
hear of the visitor to O'Hara who gave these conspicuous features of the Camp anything but his
whole-hearted blessing.
Which is the Lovelier?
It would be extremely difficult to say which of
these two glorious mountain lakes—O'Hara or
Louise—is the more beautiful. Each has its own
incredible and indescribable colour, a colour that
is seldom constant for more than a short time, that
sometimes changes with bewildering rapidity under
the influence of passing cloud or wind, like a gigantic opal. Each has its marvellous setting of
mountain peak and glacier and forest, seemingly
incomparable until the other is seen. If the eye
travels from the glory of Louise up to its matchless
background and back again to the exquisite lake,
and concludes that this is Nature's supreme master
piece, the vision of O'Hara, set like a priceless
jewel in its circle of glittering peaks, compels one
to the same decision.
It must, however, be said there is a great sweetness and friendliness about O'Hara which is lacking
in Louise; no doubt the trees, those noble companions of man, are responsible for this, for the
mountain slopes are treed to the water's edge, and
less austere. There are always some artists at
Lake O'Hara endeavoring to give its subtle charm
to the world.
Three Routes to O'Hara
There are three routes to Lake O'Hara, but the
most convenient and favourite one is the trail from
Wapta. The early morning train can be taken to
Hector, or one can motor from Louise to the mouth
of the Kicking Horse River—which rises in Wapta
Lake—where the trail that leads to O'Hara starts a
few hundred feet away. The most enjoyable way of
reaching this starting point is, of course, to spend
a day at the Wapta Bungalow Camp, exploring that
district a little, leaving early the following morning for this eight mile trip. Of the other two routes
we will speak later.
There are two trails leading from the south shore
of Wapta Lake to O'Hara; one starts not far from
the west end of the lake up a steep hill, the other
starts east of Hector station, at the water tank.
This is really the prettiest trail, for it follows Cataract Creek, a mad turbulent stream which cuts its
way through steep rocks. Both trails join in the
meadows some distance beyond the top of the hill.
For about three miles you canter along a level
plain, and then the ascent is rapid.  Emerging from
Page Twenty-One On the way to Lake O'Hara
the jade temple of a forest, you enter an alpine garden
where the botanist can count seventy-five varieties
of wild flowers in half as many minutes. Delicate
as a muted harmony, many of them, others flame
with regal insolence, and the whole meadow is so
thickly carpeted that picking your way through it
without damaging some of the blossoms is utterly
i mpossible.
On the Trail
To the left are Narao Lakes, small sheets of blue.
Towering mountains rise in all directions; Narao
Peak is to the left of the valley, Vanguard and
Cathedral Mountain to the right. After passing
through the meadows, the trail leads for miles
through heavy timber. Mountain after mountain
comes into view—Mount Huber on the left and
Mount Odaray rearing its summit above the valley
on the right, while a succession of other peaks loom
in the distance. Many small streams are crossed,
several very beautiful, flowing through deep
banks of moss. The siren-song of a cascade calls; you
push on, passing through a grove of spruces, and the
richly colored waters of Lake O'Hara invite your
admiration.
There is something about the very stillness of
these mountain solitudes that is appealing. One
conceives that it might become appalling to some
restless souls, but to the average man or woman,
fresh from the unfettered clamor of modern city
life, it bears the magic of cool, compassionate fingers
upon a  fevered head.
Think of it! One comes from hard, wearing labor
in a hot, dusty town; from the nerve-wracking discordances of city streets; from a hodge-podge of
smells in which those of gasoline and hot asphalt
are only minor evils—to the heart of this earthly
paradise. One sinks down upon a mossy bank and
breathes in the life-giving air of the mountains, pure,
fresh, pine-scented. One feels the soothing harmony of this enchanted spot; the gentle surf in the
tree-tops on the mountain-side and the almost
indistinguishable murmur of wavelets on the shore.
A lone sandpiper curtsies on a rock and a couple
of wild-ducks bob up and down on the lake. An
eagle soars up in the cloudless sky, his keen eyes
alert for some unwary marmot. One's eyes are drawn
up and up to the glorious peaks that stand guard
about O'Hara—Wiwaxy's jagged top sharply defined against the skyline, the towering mass of
Huber, the white splendour of Victoria and Lefroy,
and the encircling majesty of Yukness, Hungabee,
Biddle, Schaeffer and Odaray, with the vast towers
of Cathedral in the distance. There has been rain
in the mountains, which has strengthened that exquisite color and melody, freshness and fragrance
that nature keeps for her own.
Trail's End
Lake O'Hara was discovered by J. J. McArthur
of the Dominion Land Survey, and for its name
geography is indebted to an Indian Army Officer,
who spent much time camping here.
It is a far cry from the primitive tents and tepees
of Colonel O'Hara to the cosy Bungalow Camp
that is one of the most picturesque and attractive
resorts in the Rockies. It is the kind of a place
one dreams of finding at the trail's end.
Page TwentyTwo Page TwentyThrce The Bungalow Camp is on a slight elevation overlooking the lake, the cabins—encircled with tall
pines and spruces—on the shore. One of these
cabins can be claimed as a mountain home, or a
room in the Chalet. Some people prefer the Chalet
because there is a real bathroom there with hot and
cold water, while others like the idea of going to
sleep in a little house of their own and watching
the moonlight shining across the placid lake.
The Bungalow Camp
The Chalet, serving as the dining room and
lounge, is a rustic building on the style of a Swiss
Chalet, built of huge logs. Its interior is charming.
The ceiling extends to the full height of the building,
and a number of sleeping apartments open off the
balcony that runs around four sides. The room is
furnished with a rustic simplicity that is not too
rustic to be comfortable. There are long, low chairs
and lounges arranged about a blazing log fire, and
gaily decorated tables in front of the windows facing
the Lake, where you attend three times a day to
your more material needs.
Perhaps you think that food would be unimportant in these inspirational surroundings, but
here the mountain air is buoyant and fresh, and you
find that at meal times your interest is almost equally
divided between the delicious dishes set before you
by dainty waitresses in Swiss costumes, and the
sight of the sun playing on the green surface of
Lake O'Hara and the wooded slopes of the surrounding mountains.
Alpine Meadows
No words could depict the beauty of an Alpine
meadow half a mile from the Bungalow Camp.
The trail, leading through the woods a short distance, comes out near a small stream that runs into
the lake. The first Bungalow Camp was built in
these meadows, and here, also, Alpine Club of
Canada held one of their camps. The first tiny
mountain hut built in this district still stands.
Further up stream and away from these cabins one
can find the peace on earth of which we all dream.
The whole area is covered with short grass, a velvety
sward relieved of its monotony of green by flowers of
brilliant hues. The stream adds to this pastoral
beauty, and breaks the silence of the meadows;
while further up a tiny lake enhances its sylvan
loveliness. Mountains close in the meadows, but
they are far away and do not intrude, knowing
their rugged grandeur has no place here.
The old Camp is deserted save by gophers and
pack rats, and one gets that feeling of almost
intolerable loneliness that is never associated with
nature, but broods over human habitations that
are no longer inhabited. In the stillness a sudden
crash in one of the cabins becomes startling. One
suspects that a bear has managed to get trapped,
but on reconnoitring through a window, it turns
out to be nothing more formidable than a gopher
who, in his inquisitive scampering about the room,
has managed to overturn an empty box standing on
the edge of a high shelf.
Carefree you set out from O^Hara to see some, at
least, of the worth-while things that are to be seen
and enjoyed in this little world of lakes and waterfalls, mountains and alpine meadows and cool
forest depths. It is a wrench to leave O'Hara, but
there are advantages in tramping away from it
to see other sights, for one returns by one trail or
another to a lake that is never quite the same, from
varying points of view and under ever-changing conditions of light and shade and atmosphere, but always rarely beautiful.
To Lake McArthur
The trail to Lake McArthur is neither long nor
particularly difficult. It leads from the shore past
the old camp, climbs steadily through the forest,
and emerges finally on a green meadow of some extent with a shallow pond in its midst. Here the trail
forks, one branch leading up to the flanks of Odaray
and McArthur Pass, and the other to McArthur
Lake. Here one has to negotiate a short bit of steep
trail around the shoulder of Mount Schaeffer.
Up and up it zigzags, until at length we scramble
up the last few feet and find ourselves in a rocky
basin, a high valley about 7,300 feet above the sea.
From the entrance, looking back, there is a splendid
view down the Ottertail Valley, with the trail
from McArthur winding up its opposite side.
Perhaps now we hear a long-drawn whistle.
Can it be that there is another party on the trail,
approaching us ? It comes again, somewhat more
prolonged, still identical to a human call. But we
are (as we presently find) entirely alone; the whistle
is that of a little furry dweller in this rocky amphitheatre—the hoary marmot, or "whistler."
These articulate animals live among rocks at the
base of a slope; their favorite recreation being to
lie in the sun by the hour. One can see them scurrying among the rocks, watch them on some high rock
whistling and waiting for an answer.
Unearthly Beauty
Turning about we look anxiously for Lake McArthur, but it is nowhere in sight. Surely this
cannot be the wrong trail ? We climb over the
rocks, and suddenly it is there below—a thing of
unearthly beauty—in the foreground a little turf
and a few flowers. Sombre peaks towering above
it—no sound but the lapping of the waves and the
sound of a little waterfall on the right. And its
colour? Blue, every conceivable shade of blue-
aquamarine—sapphire—cerulean—a glorious gem,
its surface covered with dancing points of silver;
a vast shield of damascened steel. Walter D. Wilcox
in his "Rockies of Canada" points out that McArthur is one of the few mountain lakes whose
waters are unmistakably blue—often the very blue
of the sky—as though a bit of the heavens had fallen
to earth. And the reflected colors, despite the
sombre cliffs that surround the lake, range throughout the blues, lilacs and purples to bronze and gold.
Lake McArthur is above the line of vegetation,
with only a few Alpine flowers clinging to the shelter of the rocks. These higher cirque lakes, above
timberline, enclosed only by cliffs and snow, or with
a glacier, as there is at the end of this lake, have
an austere beauty all their own.  There is no sight
Page Twenty-Four Page Twenty-Five or sound of human habitation, even the marmots do
not invade its shores.
The return trail reveals new wonders of the
mountains, gigantic ridges and pinnacles and
pyramids, dazzling summits, sombre slopes, deep
valleys, silver threads of distant streams. We
scramble down the steep descent and rest for a
while in the meadow, finding relief in the song of
birds and the graciousness of flowers. A swim in
the secluded waters of the lakelet in the forest
prepares one for the evening meal at O'Hara.
O'Hara by moonlight ! Every aspect of this wonderful lake is memorable, but one must carry away
unforgettable memories of O'Hara glowing softly
in the light of a full moon. The air is chilly at this
hour, but one forgets such discomforts as the silver
disk creeps up behind an ebony peak, throwing it
into sharp outline; then slowly emerges, hovers
for a moment on the very summit like a glorious
pearl, and sails out over the lake whose velvet
depths receive its other self.
The Song of the Seven Sisters
It is at this enchanted hour that you can sometimes hear the song of the Seven Sisters Waterfall. We can visit the Seven Sisters tomorrow. They
are separate falls, lazy streams whose cadence adds
to the beauty of the lake. The trail is from the
Bungalow Camp to the property owned by the
Alpine Club, on a point jutting out into the lake—
not the poor trail around the lake at the water's
edge, but one further back in the woods, as hard
and firm as a macadam road.
But now for the song of the Seven Sisters—a
sad song like the falling of millions of tears. Long,
long ago, when the world was very young, a group
of dryads and naiads asked Mother Nature to give
them a playground that would be indisputably their
own. They begged for a distant and secret place,
free from the intrusion of giants and titans and
satyrs, and so, with her finger on her lips, Mother
Nature led them to a mile-long jewel, nearly seven
thousand feet above the sea, and hidden partly
by the copper skirts of Wiwaxy, partly by the
towering ramparts of Lefroy, and partly by a fortress of trees standing so close together that the sun
is defeated when he tries to throw a blanket over
its shimmering surface.
Blue as a Sapphire
Blue as a sapphire, green as a peacock's tail-
feathers, amethyst and rose, this little lake was the
playground of fairy-folk for many a long year.
Then, one day, a curious two-legged creature who
had lost his horns and tail along with his immortality
strayed into the hidden garden. Following him
there came a soft-treading, fleet-footed Indian, and
later a trapper or two. It was terrible when, for
the first time, the fairy-folk heard a gun fired at
one of their gentle companions. In a panic, they
fled to the far end of the lake, and besought protection of the Giant Lefroy. And the benign old
rocks gathered them in a sheltering embrace—and
there they are to-day, the Seven Sisters waterfall,
mingling their tears in an agony of bereavement
over their lost paradise.
Among the other worth while things at Lake
O'Hara is the trip to Crystal Cave. The scramble
up will seem arduous enough to the average climber, but the view from there is a high reward. The
Cave itself is not particularly remarkable, for it is
now nearly closed. Only the mouth remains open,
but some pieces of rock are very white and clear.
The trip from the Chalet and return can be made
in a morning.
Lake Oesa
But the most interesting trail of all is the one
to Lake Oesa, and the lake itself is of a conquering
beauty. One follows the trail from the Chalet to
the foot of the lace-work of the Seven Sisters, and
clambers up a steep bit to the left of the waterfall
to a plateau, covered for the most part with rock
fragments varying in size from a football to a small
house. Through this wilderness one makes one's
way to the shores of a small and nameless lake,
and from there climbs up a series of sharply-defined
terraces, with occasional glimpses into a spectacular
gorge, and past two somewhat larger lakes, also
apparently nameless, to the upper plateau in the
bosom of which rests Oesa.
Oesa is much smaller than either O'Hara or
McArthur, and its coloring is different—more of an
aquamarine. Its beauty, although more austere than
that of McArthur, is none the less authentic. Set
far up in the mountains, beyond the tree line, beyond all vegetation except moss and alpine flowers;
surrounded by gigantic rock walls and pinnacles
and glaciers; brooded over by the very spirit of
silence; serene and undisturbed, it seems to be as
remote from the living world as if it were in the
moon.
To the right an immense shale slope runs down
to the lake. On the opposite side snow-banks survive usually throughout the summer. A glacier
tongue touches the border of the lake. In the
background looms mighty Lefroy. Fleets of miniature icebergs sail across Oesa even in midsummer.
The silence is broken, or emphasized, by the mournful whistle of a marmot. An enterprising mosquito
—Heaven only knows what brought him up here—
adds his minute song.
One would not have missed Oesa, made perhaps
all the more attractive because of the strenuous
quality of the trail, but one's regret in leaving it
behind is tempered by the thought that one is
returning to an even more beautiful lake in the
valley below. The vision of O'Hara through the
tree-tops from the plateau above the "Sisters," who
wear coral veils at sundown, is just one more revelation of the infinite variety of the moods of that
entrancing pool.
The Abbot Pass Route
We spoke away back of other routes to Lake
O'Hara; and this, by Lake Oesa, is the second. It is
the Abbot Pass route to and from Lake Louise.
This is not a trip for the unseasoned, the inexperienced, or the foolhardy, for it is on foot over
glaciers; but provided you have a sturdy constitution, especially plenty of "spares" in the matter of
Page Twenty-Six Page Twenty-Seven Lake McArthur
breathing gear, a Swiss guide, proper climbing
clothes, and about eight hours of fair weather, you
can make this magnificent excursion easily.
Take a Swiss Guide!
Dozens of people make this trip every summer.
It is difficult enough to be an achievement, but not
dangerous or exhausting. It is absolutely imperative, however, to employ a Swiss guide. Arrangements may be made at either of the starting points—
Lake O'Hara or Lake Louise, preferably the latter.
Abbot Pass lies between Mount Victoria and
Mount Lefroy, and has been called "the gateway
to Cataract Valley"—that is, from the Lake Louise
side of the range. It reaches 9,598 feet above sea
level and was named after Philip Stanley Abbot,
a distinguished member of the Appalachian Mountain'Club (Boston) who lost his life while trying to
capture the peak of Mount Lefroy.
Abbot Pass is a V-shaped notch, whose secluded
summit is hemmed in between mighty precipices
from which avalanches constantly thunder, and
from which the outlook commands nothing but
naked pinnacles, snow and cataracts of ice. There
is not a sign of life—neither tree nor shrub nor
blade of stunted grass within the range of vision.
It is a dead world, locked in the frozen grip of
snow and ice.
"It is a picture," writes Sir James Outram, "of
weird wonder and desolate majesty, almost incomparable and boundlessly impressive in its might
and its eternal suggestiveness."
At the summit of the Pass is an Alpine Hut,
fast becoming almost as well known as the adjacent
resorts. The majority of people use it as a lunch
objective, but it is convenient for parties who wish
to remain the night, and witness the miracle of day
unfolding on the mountain peaks and glaciers.
From it descent is made to Lake Oesa.
The Ottertail Route
And now for the third route to Lake O'Hara—
the Ottertail route, providing a spectacular glimpse
of the Ottertail Valley and Range. You motor or
ride west from Field to the picturesque cabin
of the game warden, some five miles, and from there,
your pony carries you to the conjunction of the
Ottertail with McArthur Creek. Leaving the
latter where it ought to be, on the floor of the
earth, you ride up an almost perpendicular wall and
feel intense surprise, upon reaching McArthur
Plateau and Pass, that your head is not touching the
ceiling. From McArthur Pass, O'Hara is distant
about three miles.
Page Twenty-Eight MORAINE LAKE CAMP
Nine miles by road from Lake Louise
Accommodation for 9.
Saddleback Tea House
Between Paradise Valley and Lake Louise.    Serving meals only.
When you get to Lake Louise or Banff you
will motor over to the Valley of the Ten
Peaks, where the green-blue waters of
Moraine Lake lie below the high-pitched
mountain ramparts. A glacier reached over the top
of the world like a huge white paw, blue-green
at the tip; and there's a bungalow camp on a bench
by the lake.
We must usually associate Moraine Lake with
Lake Louise, because that other beautiful lake of the
Canadian Pacific Rockies is the entry-point to
Moraine Lake; but Moraine Lake is just as beautiful,
and its Bungalow Camp provides ideal accommodation for the hiker, trail-rider or angler who wishes to
linger in this magnificent region.
The Valley of the Ten Peaks
Moraine Lake is nine miles distant from the
Chateau Lake Louise, and can be reached by motor
from there or the station. It is two miles long, a
half mile wide, and is flanked on one side by a half
circle of frowning peaks, scarred and furrowed by
glaciers, bare of vegetation and capped with snow.
These are the Ten Peaks from which the Valley
takes its name.
The Peaks themselves were originally named for
the ten numbers of the Stoney Indian language, but
several now bear Aryan names. Not one of these
peaks is less than 10,000 feet in height, and one of
them, Mount Deltaform, is 11,225 feet.   Standing
off a little as a sort of outpost, and not included in
the bright constellation, is the "Tower of Babel,"
an interesting rock formation of unusual shape.
On another side of the Lake are the gigantic Mount
Temple, Pinnacle Peak, Eiffel Peak and others.
Moraine Lake
Moraine Lake is not perhaps so well-known as
Lake Louise, and those who come out on the bus
from the latter, stay but a brief half-hour, and go
away, lose something very beautiful within their
reach. Moraine Lake has its own individual charm.
The exquisitely blue-green waters of the lake, the
jagged peaks which rise out of the water and pierce
the sky, the glacier slipping down their sides, form
a picture wild and majestic in its primitive loneliness.
Mount Temple (11,626 feet above sea level) is one
of the most superb piles in the Rockies. The mountains on this southwest side of the Bow Valley are
bold and impressive, and include some of the highest
peaks in this part of the Rockies. The valleys cutting
into this range, including—besides the Ten Peaks—
the Paradise and Lake Louise valleys, all head in
glaciers and typical hanging glacial valleys.
One should—if not staying over at the Bungalow
Camp—plan to take the morning bus from Lake
Louise, lunch at the Camp, and return in the afternoon. This would give sufficient time for some exploring.
Page Twenty-Kline It is strange to
find in this age-old
wildness and loneliness even a sign of
human life, but here
on the shore of
Moraine Lake,
whose waters are
sheltered from the
gusty wind and are
so 3till that they
reflect every twig
above its surface, is a
Bungalow Camp, as
charming as any
camp you've ever
seen. There is a
bright comfortably
furnished living and
dining room in the
main building, which
is surrounded by
several small bungalows with sleeping
accommodation.
Consola tion
Valley
About three miles
to the south-east,
by a trail around
the Tower of Babel,
is Consolation Valley and Lakes, another beautiful little
spot. The valley is
green and smiling
with an abundance
of Alpine flowers;
at its head are
Mounts Bident and
Quadra. The twin
lakes contain a plen-
tiful supply of
rainbow and Dolly
Varden trout, which
will take almost any bait, and also cut-throat trout,
a vigorous fish which takes the fly in July and
August.
Between peaks Nine (Neptuak) and Ten is the
Wenkchemna Pass, the route.to Prospector Valley,
Tokumm Creek, and Vermilion River. Projecting
down the valley is the tongue of Wenkchemna
Glacier—which, although small, has the unusual
quality amongst nearly all the glaciers of the
world of being in an advancing, progressive state,
not in a state of recession.
*^/>;
Moraine Lake and its locality
Moraine Lake
Camp is open from
June 1st to September 30th.
Postal address,
Moraine Lake Camp,
via Lake Louise,
Alberta.
Paradise Valley
Between Moraine
Lake and Lake Louise
lies Paradise Valley, about six miles
long, carpeted with
anemones, alters and
other Alpine flowers.
Great peaks rise
around it like citadel
walls. The Valley
can be reached by
trail through a lovely Alpine meadow
known as Larch Valley and over Sentinel
Pass. This is a
climbing excursion,
for shale slides every
spring make travelling for a pony almost impossible; but
anyone with an average sense of location
can continue the
journey down the
valley on foot to
Lake Annette, a
tiny emerald sheet
of water on the
other side of Mount
Temple, or to the
"Giant's Steps," a
stair-like formation
over which Paradise
Creek tumbles in a
beautiful cascade.
From these points a trail leads down the Creek
and joins the old Moraine Lake Trail to Lake Louise,
while another branches off through the beautiful
Sheol Valley and zigzags up to Saddleback. Saddleback has a good trail from Lake Louise, and is a popular excursion from that point; and it has a very
popular tea-house at its summit.
sp
Page Thirty Page Thirty-One Lake Windermere Camp1
B\NFFWM)ERMERE R(MD
The Banff-Windermere Road, opened in 1923, provides a through
automobile route across the Canadian Pacific Rockies from either
Banff or Lake Louise through Rocky Mountains Park, and Kootenay
Park to the Columbia Valley.
This road, which connects at its southern end with the Columbia
River Highway from Golden to Cranbrook, is the Canadian end of the
great highroad which leaves Portland, Oregon, under the name of the
Columbia Highway. It is also an important link in the "Grand Circle
Tour'1 that embraces 16 national parks in the United States.
Storm Mountain Bungalow Camp
26 miles from Banff.    Accommodation for 14.
Vermilion River Bungalow Camp
51 miles from Banff.    Accommodation for 18.
Radium Hot Springs Bungalow Camp
92 miles from Banff.    Accommodation for 34.
Lake Windermere Bungalow Camp
104 miles from Banff. Accommodation for 42.
The distance from Lake Louise is the same as from Banff.
Lake Windermere can also be reached by rail, for the Windermere Valley branch
of the Canadian Pacific runs from Golden, on the main line, to Cranbrook, on the
Crow's Nest Pass line. (Windermere is 74 miles from Golden, and 120 from Cranbrook.) Radium Hot Springs can also be reached by automobile from Firlands station,
2)4 miles distant.
Page Thirty-Two r
Page Thirty-Three In the Banff-Lake Windermere Highway, travers*
ing   Rocky   Mountains,   National   Park   and
Kootenay Park, Canada has what is undoubtedly  one of the very finest motor roads in the
whole world.
This wonderful highway, wide and smooth and
hard as any the old Romans or the modern Ameri-
can ever built, twines its tortuous way through
unbelievably magnificent mountain scenery from
Banff to Lake Windermere, clinging to the brim
of sheer precipices, cleaving through sheer canyons,
skirting giant mountains, spanning giant rivers, over'
looking giant valleys and affording the mo& soul'
shaking views of rivers and valleys and mountains
stretching away endlessly as far as one can see. It
has, in fact, become the main artery of the central
Canadian Pacific Rockies.
The Vermilion Pass
From Banff the route westward is to Castle Moun
tain, where another road joins it from Lake Louise.
Here the road takes a southerly course, crossing the
Bow River and rising to the Vermilion Pass (altitude 5,264 feet). Here it enters Kootenay Park. The
road then follows the Vermilion River to its junction
with the Kootenay River. This again it crosses
and follows through a beautiful avenue between
virgin forest, then ascending the Sinclair Pass
between the Brisco and Stanford Ranges. Turning westerly again, it reaches Radium Hot Springs,
long famous for their curative qualities, and,
emerging through the gap of Sinclair Canyon,
meets the Columbia River about nine miles north of
Lake Windermere.
The road was officially opened in 1923, and
history began there, so far as the modern world is
concerned. But, if you chance on an old-timer,
you'll hear tales of Kootenays and Blackfeet, of the
Priest's mine and the Ochre beds, of long-dead
prospectors and silent chiefs, that will make a
shadowy background—a bit melancholy, but wholly
picturesque—for the white-floored, tree-bordered,
mountain-crowned miles of the present.
You were a chattering party when you left
the hotel—a heterogeneous crowd intent only on
another trip. But somehow, after you have pitched
south-west from Castle Mountain into the untrodden wilds, and as the motor climbs and the
miles reel off under your tires, the talk dies away.
A World Older than  Time
This new world into which the road has bored
its way is a world older than Time, yet, in some
vivid and tremendous fashion, still unfinished. That
scarred skyline seems as though it might break in
a black wave and sweep down—sweep down on life
as we know it, with the crash of suns, for surely
nothing so vital, so full of power, could be fixed
forever. These huge creatures of granite and snow
that crouch together above the tiny track, these
mountains in among whom you've dared to come—
you've never seen so many together, so close—■
herds of mountains, one behind the other, looking
over each other's shoulders, enormous, inert, yet
■—alive. You feel as though you'd slipped through
the hole in the wall—gone into the land where
we only go in dreams.
Storm Mountain
At last you swing around a curve, and the
biggest mountain of them all sweeps into view—
Storm Mountain. A million tons of rock went to
its making, a million years to its rearing, a million
storms to the carving of its great head, powdered
with snow. No trees to soften it, except the trees
n the hills that break about its feet. Always a
cloud behind it. Always a wandering wind. And
high up above the world, facing Storm Mountain
and looking over the sweeping amphitheatre of
peaks that encompass the Bow River, stands Castle
Mountain Bungalow Camp.
From the verandah you can see Storm, of course,
and all the burnt-cinder pinnacles, the long slag
walls of the Sawback Range with cloud shadows
drifting across them—grey, violet, mist-colored,
black. The mighty bulwarks of Cattle Mountain,
too. And, looking down the road to the southwest, peak after peak, peak after peak—treed or
treeless, black or snow-crowned—vi&a after vista
that flings together miles of far-off mountain-top in
a little dip between two nearer giants. If you
aren't a real Alpinist, you can never see another
such view in all the Rockies or the Selkirks. It
has an austere grandeur that makes it kin to those
snowbound miles far above timberline that few
people but the Swiss guides ever see.
Castle Mountain Bungalow Camp
Castle Mountain Bungalow Camp is a delightful
place for a family, for guests can have their own
mountain cabin and the privacy of a home without
responsibilities or the trouble of meals. It consists
of a large main building, constructed of logs with a
broad verandah, and containing a combination
lounging and dining room, artistically decorated.
Clustering around it are the sleeping bungalows,
of log construction—some with one room, others
with two rooms and bath, but all with verandahs.
Each is equipped with single beds, clotl es closet,
fireplace, table, chairs, washstand and mirror.
There is a public bath-house, with hot and cold
running water, and separate bathroom and toilets.
It's no wonder that you break your motor trip to
stay at Cattle Mountain over night—over many
nights. It were worth while to stay if only to see
the sunrise, dissolving the grey chilly mist in the
valleys and bursting over the Sawback. One
reason for building the camp here was to give this
joy of the early morning hours to guests. Those
who are anglers will find two well-stocked lakes—
Vista Lake, lj^ miles from the Camp, and Boom
Lake, 4 miles.
Another delightful trip is to Twin Lakes, between six and seven miles, and though these lakes
are not so well known, those who are fond of
walking or riding will be repaid for the time spent
Page Thirty-Four Page Thirty-Five on the trail. One lake is especially beautiful. At one
end is a glacier, the source of the waterfalls which
leap to the lake. This is entirely a virgin part of the
mountains.
Kootenay National Park
But there comes a time when the road beckons,
and off we go by motor again, under a high blue
sky, to meet the Vermilion River, born almost on
the toes of Storm, but destined to rush into the cold
arms of the Kootenay far to the south. Having
met it, we wind about and about in its company,
thankful that it dug such a spectacular yet convenient valley for itself just where we wanted to go.
Always we can see peaks that have never been
climbed—when the road engineers came first in
1910, the country hadn't even been surveyed !
Always we can look down long valleys that cry for
our cameras. But the motor whirls on, carrying
us deeper into the shut-in world of gorge and crag
and glacier.
With the Vermilion Pass crossed, and the long
steady descent commenced to Lake Windermere, we
enter Kootenay National Park, which tucks its
587 square miles in between the southern portions
of Rocky Mountains and Yoho Park. This Park
consists of almost virgin forest, untouched by the
hand of man, reaching back to a magnificent back'
ground of mountains, and inhabited practically only
by big game.
At Marble Canyon, there is a gash in the rock
300 feet deep, over whose terraces of blue and
pinkish marble the waters of Tokumm Creek leap in
cascades down the Canyon, and a trail to the Paint
Pots, those mysterious round wells of color from
which the Kootenays of the old days used to get
their sacred ochre, and trade it to the plains Indians
for more mundane things.
The Vermilion River
The Vermilion River rises near Castle Mountain, farther back, but rushes along to join the
mighty Kootenay River, and dug for itself this
spectacular and convenient valley; and it is in the
bend of its cool and foamy arm that another bungalow camp, log-cabin set where the Kootenays
themselves used to rest before they crossed, is
situated. This is the very middlemost middle of the
big game country. If you want to see a bear, you
don't even have to wander off the road, for the
black fellows—mostly little ones—will actually
venture out to your car to eat any lumps of sugar
or cake you may throw to them !
You're in a National Park, you see, and so is he.
The entire park is a game sanctuary. The results of
closing it to hunters have been remarkable. Elk and
deer, mountain sheep and mountain goat, and
black and grimly bear abound, many of these animals grown absolutely fearless and harmless. And
up in the valleys near the Bungalow Camp there
are game trails on which you should always go with
your camera ready, for at any turn of the trail you
may come upon a friendly animal. Wild birds, also,
are extremely plentiful, and most of the lakes and
rivers teem with fish.
Outside the park area, subject to certain restrictions, mountain sheep, mountain goat, deer, moose,
caribou and bear may be shot in the fall, as well as
ducks, geese and other game birds; while the fighting cut-throat, Dolly Varden, bull lake and salmon
trout may be caught during the summer, the
government hatcheries at Banff keeping the waters
constantly stocked.
And now that the trail over Wolverine Pass has
been completed—the very latest and most spectacular wrinkle in the Rockies' multiple face—even
the thirty-third degree mountaineer is bound to be
happy because he has a four day trip ahead of him
that not only includes the bleak grandeur of the
Pass, but the toes of Mount Goodsir, the Ottertail
Valley, McArthur Creek, and Lake McArthur itself, with Lake O'Hara as the final goal.
Vermilion River Camp
Vermilion River Bungalow Camp consists of a
club house, containing a combination dining and
lounging room, with open fireplace; and of sleeping
accommodation for 18 persons, in log bungalows,
each equipped with three single beds, clothes
closet, stove, table, chairs, washstand, and mirror.
There is a public bath-house with hot and cold
running water, and separate bath-room and toilets.
Soon after leaving Vermilion River Bungalow
Camp, there is a brief but magnificent view of the
pyramidal peak of famous Mount Assiniboine,
many miles distant. As the Vermilion and the
Kootenay approach each other, the most picturesque
part of the trip begins, and the road winds along
the high ridge between the two rivers, cunningly
graded and skilfully bent, caught to the mountainside as only an inspired engineer could do it.
Here, too, is where you see that terrific object lesson, five miles long, that weird study in black and
grey, in lines and spots, that used to be a forest before Kootenay Park was established. But now it's an
infinite series of slim skeletons. No wonder the
Parks Commission has placed a black-rimmed signboard at each end of that pathetic cemetery. Carelessness. That's what did it. . . . And when
you take these jackknife turns it's just as well to
remember that there are other forms of the disease
than those concerned with cigarettes.
Sinclair Pass
And then you come to a miniature valley and
canyon. This is the country of Sinclair Pass,
where the mountains crowd together to make the
road a narrow gorge, which enters the valley
through the "Iron Gates'". These portals are gloriously colored, as if Indians had splashed them with
pigments of vivid hues—yellow, pinks and reds.
Radium Hot Springs are in this miniature valley,
a few hundred yards east of the Iron Gates. There
is something suddenly sub-tropical in the beauty of
this little valley.
Radium Hot Springs Bungalow Camp is situated
on a hill overlooking Sinclair Creek, the Hot Springs
and the highway.   The surroundings are exotic in
1
Page Thirty-Six Page Thirty-Seven beauty, and colors vie for supremacy—green dominating, varying in shades from sage to emerald.
The forest, of luxuriant growth, is deep and cool.
To the left of the camp are the Iron Gates; facing
the camp are mountains with steep well-timbered
slopes, while to the right the Selkirks are piled peak
upon peak as ocean billows.
Radium Hot Springs Camp
The Camp consists of a large main building, of
log construction, with large, wide verandahs, and
contains a combination dining and lounging room,
with open fireplace. Clustering around it are the
sleeping bungalows, also of log structure, each
equipped with single beds, clothes closet, stove,
table, chairs, washstand, and mirror. There is a
public bath-house with hot and cold running water,
and separate bath-room and toilets.
The remedial properties of the radio-active hot
springs have long been known to the Indians, who
made yearly pilgrimages to this spot long before the
first white settlers set foot in the upper Columbia
Valley. Enjoying a wide fame, they are visited by
thousands every year, and have a temperature of
about 110 degrees. An attractive open-air swimming pool, with a bath-house, has been erected by
the government.
Next morning it doesn't take long to drop, circling
like a great bird, to the valley levels where Lake
Windermere lies peaceful after all the emotional
climaxes of the mountains.
The Columbia River
There's something hard to describe about this
huge trench that the Columbia River has dug between the Rockies and the Selkirks. The two
ranges tower, white-headed, above their bench lands
and their river reaches, facing each other across
a great green gulf, mountains of another world,
as aloof and ever-beautiful as one's memories of
childhood. Lake Windermere lies, warm and still,
in the middle, under skies that are always blue.
There are flowers and flowers and more flowers.
There are lazy bells again, as the cows graze. . . .
But none of these things quite accounts for the
feeling of Elysian ease that makes the very soul of
the place. When you go in swimming, you turn
over on your back and float, and look into the high
blue. When you fish—well, you do catch something every time, but you wouldn't much care if
you didn't. When you motor, you're willing to
loaf.   Truly, a lotus-land.
There are tennis courts. There are motor
launches on the lake, and rumors of an old river boat
that will take her serene course under the orange
moon while the people dance. There's the David
Thompson Fort where town gatherings and dances
are held, and you can study the Indian in the
craft work he has left. There are guides and horses
and outfits for you to go shooting in season, either
into the Selkirks or up Vermilion way. Or you
can find ducks yourself, hundreds of them, almost
anywhere in the valley.
And as for side trips—nobody who has ever
seen a cool and breathless picture of the Lake of the
Hanging Glaciers will want to miss that astonishing
thing if he can spare the time and is good for fording
rivers. But even if he isn't, there will still be Toby
Canyon, and the Paradise mines beyond, eight thousand feet in air—and Radium Hot Springs—and
Swansea Peak—and—that's ju& a beginning. Indeed, as you settle down in your bungalow at
Lake Windermere Camp by the lake shore, it comes
to you that this isn't place to visit and rush away
from. It's a centre for a whole summer's rest and
exploration. Which is what the old-timers felt when
you were too young to know where the Rocky
Mountains were.
Lake Windermere
Lake Windermere lies in a long and beautiful
valley traversed by- two rivers, between the main
line of the Rockies and the smaller but equally
spectacular Selkirk Range. It is a warm-water lake
over ten miles in length and from one to three
miles in breadth, surrounded by bench land, much of
which has recently been transformed by irrigation
into good farm land. Behind the benches are the
foothills, and then the towering, jagged mountains
typical of this region.
Lake Windermere, although one of the newer
tourist regions of the Canadian Pacific Rockies, is
not without fame, for it is the source of the mighty
Columbia River, the most important waterway that
flows into the North Pacific. Nor is it without
history, for the explorer David Thompson discovered it as long ago as 1807, and established a
trading post at Kootenai House. But although its
charm has always been known to the "old-timers"
who have pioneered in this lovely valley, it is only
since the construction of a railway a few years ago
that the outside world has taken any real notice of
it.
Lake Windermere Camp
Lake Windermere Camp has accommodation for
42 guests. It consists of a large main building, with a
wide verandah, and containing a combination dining, recreation and lounging room, with an open
fireplace; and of separate small living and sleeping
bungalows. Each of the latter has single beds, 3tore,
clothes closet, wash basin, running water, mirror,
table and chairs. A double bath-house, with hot
and cold running water, contains separate bath
room and toilets. All the buildings are electrically
lighted.
Mountain ponies of local breed are available
for riding the trails, and the neighboring village of
Invermere has automobiles for the excellent roads
of the valley. In several of the creeks and smaller
lakes within easy reach, good trout fishing in season
may be had. The water of Lake Windermere itself
is too warm for trout, though it contains countless
squaw fish, many of large size. There are also landlocked salmon to be caught by trolling in the spring.
For bathing and boating the waters of Lake
Windermere are ideal. The summer temperature
averages about 68 degrees, and the water is crystal
clear. There are several islands on the lake, each
tempting the explorer.
Page Thirty-Eight Page Thirty-Hine The warm waters of Lake Windermere are ideal for bathing
Lake Windermere is and outfitting centre for
hunting goat, bear, and deer on the slopes of the
Selkirks, and goat, mountain sheep, moose, bear and
deer in the famous hunting grounds of the Kootenay
Valley.
Among the many expeditions to be recommended
are those up Toby Creek, Sinclair Canyon and
Horse Thief Creek. Nine miles up Toby Canyon,
Toby Creek is spanned by a spectacular bridge
three hundred feet above the bed of the stream,
uniting roads on either side, so that a highly interesting round-trip automobile ride of eighteen
miles can be made from Lake Windermere Bungalow
Camp. Beyond the bridge the road leads in the
direction of Earl Grey Pass or Wells Pass to Kootenay Lake.
Lake of the Hanging Glaciers
Horse Thief Creek is an easy gateway to very
spectacular glacier country. One can drive by auto
for eighteen miles, after which there is a pony trail
leading direct up towards Horse Thief Creek, with
a new trail to the wonderful Lake of the Hanging
Glaciers, where both the annual Official Ride and
Pow-Wow of the Trail Riders' Association, and the
annual camp of the Alpine Club of Canada, will be
held this summer.
Touring automobiles can be hired in either
Banff, Lake Louise, or Windermere. Auto bus service, Banff or Lake Louise to Lake Windermere
(when operated)—one way $10.00 per person, round
trip (2 days) $18.00. During the month of July and
August, an "all expense tour" will be operated from
Banff three times a week, providing four or more
persons wish to make the drive, at the rate of $25.00
per person. This rate will include meals at Castle
Mountain Camp, Vermilion River Camp, Radium
Hot Springs Camp and Lake Windermere Camp,
and one night's lodgings at Lake Windermere.
A Fine Circle Trip
The Columbia River Highway, referred to previously, connects at its northern end (Golden) with
the new Kicking Horse Trail, between Golden,
Field, Lake Louise and Banff. This was completed
last summer. It is possible to take the circle of
Rocky Mountains National Park, Kootenay Park
and Yoho Park, without traversing the same
ground. This is the most magnificent motor-drive
of the entire American continent.
The Lariat Trail
During the summer season of 1928, commencing
June 30th, a Three Day Circle Trip ("The Lariat
Trail") will be operated every Monday and Thursday, or any day with a minimum of four passengers,
over this route from Banff via the Banff-Windermere Road, Golden, Emerald Lake, the Yoho Valley
and back to the starting point. The rate will be $3 0
(not including meals or sleeping accommodation.)
Page Forty PRINCIPAL
CANADIAN PACIFIC OFFICES
CANADA AND UNITED STATES
Atlanta, Ga E. G. Chesbrough, Gen. Agt. Pass. Dept 1017  Healey  Building
Banff, Alta J. A. McDonald, District Passenger Agent  C.P.R. Station
Boston, Mass L. R. Hart, Gen. Agt. Pass. Dept 405 Boylston St.
Buffalo, N.Y H. R. Mathewson, Gen. Agt.   Pass. Dept 160   Pearl   St.
Calgary, Alta G. D. Brophy, District Pass. Agt C.P.R. Station
Chicago, 111 . T. J. Wall, Gen. Agt. Rail Traffic 71  East Jackson Blvd.
Cincinnati, Ohio M. E. Malone, Gen. Agt. Pass. Dept 201 Dixie Terminal Bldg.
Cleveland, Ohio G. H. Griffin, Gen. Agt. Pass. Dept 1010 Chester Ave.
Detroit, Mich G. G. McKay, Gen. Agt. Pass. Dept 1231  Washington  Blvd.
Edmonton, Alta C. S. Fyfe, City Passenger Agent C.P.R. Building
Fort William, Ont A. J. Boreham, City Passenger Agent 404   Victoria   Ave.
Guelph, Ont W. C. Tully, City Passenger Agent 30 Wyndham St.
Halifax, N.S A. C. McDonald, City Passenger Agent 117Hollis St.
Hamilton, Ont A. Craig, City Passenger Agent Cor. King and James Sts.
Honolulu, T.H Theo. H. Davies & Co.
Indianapolis, Ind J. A. McKinney, Travelling Passenger Agent....Merchant's Bank Bldg.
Juneau, Alaska W. L. Coates, Agent.
Kansas City, Mo R. G. Norris, City Pass. Agent 723  Walnut Street
Ketchikan, Alaska  Edgar Anderson, Agent.
Kingston, Ont J. H. Welch, City Passenger Agent 180 Wellington   St.
London, Ont H. J. McCallum, City Passenger Agent 417 Richmond St.
Los Angeles, Cal W. Mcllroy, Gen. Agt. Pass.  Dept 621   So.   Grand   Avenue
Milwaukee, Wis F. T. Sansom, City Passenger Agent 68   Wisconsin   St.
Minneapolis, Minn H. M. Tait, Gen. Agt. Pass.  Dept 611   2nd  Ave.   South
Montreal, Que (£• £■ Gingras, District Pass. Agent      Windsor Station
,v \F. C. Lydon, City Pass. Agent 141   St.   James   St.
Moosejaw, Sask T. J. Colton, Ticket Agent Canadian  Pacific Station
Nelson, B.C J. S. Carter, District Pass. Agent Baker  and  Ward   Sts.
New York, N.Y F. R. Perry, Gen. Agt. Rail Traffic Madison Ave. at 44th St.
North Bay, Ont C. H. White, District Pass. Agent 87 Main Street West
Omaha, Neb H. J. Clark, Trav. Pass. Agent 727 W.O.W. Building
Ottawa, Ont J. A. McGill, Gen. Agt. Pass. Dept 83 Sparks St.
Peterboro, Ont J. Skinner, City Passenger Agent George   St.
Philadelphia, Pa J. C. Patteson, Asst. General Agent, Pass. Dept 1500 Locust St»
Pittsburgh, Pa C. L. Williams, Gen. Agent Pass. Dept 338  Sixth Ave.
Portland, Ore W. H. Deacon, Gen. Agt. Pass. Dept 55 Third St.
Prince Rupert, B.C W. C. Orchard, General Agent.
Quebec, Que C. A. Langevin, Gen. Agt. Pass. Dept Palais Station
Regina, Sask J. W. Dawson, District Pass. Agt Canadian Pacific Station
Saint John, N.B G. B. Burpee, District Pass. Agent 40  King  St.
St. Louis, Mo Geo. P. Carbrey, Gen. Agt. Pass Dept 412 Locust Street
St. Paul, Minn...-. W. H. Lennon, Gen. Agt. Pass. Dept. Soo Line. Robert and Fourth St.
San Francisco, Cal F. L. Nason, Gen. Agt. Pass. Dept 675  Market St.
Saskatoon, Sask G. B. Hill, City Pass. Agent.. 115 Second Ave.
Sault Ste. Marie, Ont J. O. Johnston, City Pass. Agent 529 Queen Street
Seattle, Wash E. L. Sheehan, Gen. Agt. Pass. Dept 1320 Fourth Ave.
Sherbrooke, Que J. A. Metivier, City Pass. Agent 91 Wellington St. No.
Skagway, Alaska L. H. Johnston, Agent.
Spokane, Wash E. L. Cardie, Traffic Mgr. Spokane International Ry.
Tacoma, Wash D. C. O'Keefe, City Passenger Agent 1113 Pacific Ave.
Toronto, Ont Wm. Fulton, District Passenger Agent Canadian Pacific Bldg.
Vancouver, B.C F. H. Daly, District Passenger Agent 434   Hastings  St.   W.
Victoria, B.C L. D. Chetham, District Passenger Agent 1102   Government  St.
Washington, D.C C. E. Phelps, General Agent Passenger Dept., 905 Fifteenth St. N.W.
Windsor, Ont W. C. Elmer, City Passenger Agent 34   Sandwich   St.   West
Winnipeg, Man C. B. Andrews, Dist. Passenger Agent  Main and Portage
EUROPE
Antwerp, Belgium  A. Schmitz 25 Quai Jordaens
Belfast, Ireland Wm. McCalla 41-43 Victoria  St.
Birmingham, Eng W. T. Treadaway 4 Victoria Square
Bristol, Eng A. S. Ray 18 St. Augustine's Parade
Brussels, Belgium  L. H. R. Plummer 98 Blvd. Adlophe-Max
Glasgow, Scotland W. Stewart 25 Bothwell St.
Hamburg, Germany T. H. Gardner Gansemarkt 3
Liverpool, Eng H. T. Penny . Pier Head
¥ ~~A*„   i?««* /C. E. Jenkins 62-65 Charling Cross, S.W. 1
London, Eng |Q> g^ Jones 103 Leadenhall St> EC> 3
Manchester, Eng J. W. Maine 31 Mosley St.
Paris, France A. V. Clark 7 Rue Scribe
Rotterdam, Holland J. S. Springett Coolsingel  No.  91
Southampton, Eng H. T?ylor 7  Canute  Road
ASIA
Hong Kong, China G. E. Costello, Gen. Agt. Pass. Dept Opposite Blake Pier
Kobe, Japan B. G. Ryan, Passenger Agent 7 Harima Machi
Manila, P.I J. R. Shaw, Agent 14-16 Calle David, Roxas Bldg.
Shanghai, China A. M. Parker, Gen. Agt. Pass. Dept No.  4  The   Bund
Yokohama, Japan E. Hospes, Gen. Agt. Pass. Dept  No.   1   The   Bund
AUSTRALIA, NEW ZEALAND, Etc.
J. Sclater,Traffic Man. Can. Pac. Ry., for Australia and NewZealand, Union House, Sydney, N.S.W..
A. W. Essex, Passenger Manager, Can. Pac. Ry., for New Zealand, Auckland, N.Z.
Adelaide, S.A Macdonald, Hamilton & Co.
Auckland, N.Z Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.)
Brisbane, Qd Macdonald, Hamilton & Co.
Christchurch, N.Z Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.)
Dunedin, N.Z Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.)
Fremantle, W.A Macdonald, Hamilton & Co.
Hobart, Tas Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.)
Launceston, Tas Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.)
Melbourne, Vic Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.), Thos. Cook & Son.
Perth, W.A Macdonald, Hamilton & Co.
Suva, Fiji Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.)
Sydney, N.S.W Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.)
Wellington, N.Z Union S.S. Co. of New Zealand (Ltd.) Canadian Pacific Rockies
in ike heart of
ROCKY MOUNTAINS
YOHO »«l KDOIENAY
NATIONAL PARRS

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