VII. INDIAN WARNING AGAINST DEMONS
By SLUISKIN, INDIAN GUIDE
The beautiful Sluiskin Falls, at the head of Paradise Valley, have been admired by countless visitors to the Mount Rainier National Park. The name was bestowed upon them by Stevens and Van Trump after their return from what the Indian guide believed was sure death. Before they had left him at the camp near the falls and started to climb over the snow and ice, he delivered an eloquent plea in the Chinook jargon accompanied by natural but effective gestures.
The speech was remembered and repeated by the white men when they returned among their friends. One of those who committed it to memory was former Congressman M. C. George of Oregon. He furnished a copy. General Stevens in 1915 revised it, but added: "My Chinook I have somewhat lost, so the rendering is probably not so correct as it might be."
However, the Indian speech and the translation by General Stevens will likely be cherished as here reproduced.
Kloshe nanich, mesika kloshe tilikum. Nika tikigh wawa kopa mesika.
Mesika tikegh klatawa saghalie Takhoma, hyiu pelton. Halo tilikum mamook okoke pe mitlite. Hyas tyee mitlite kopa saghalie illahee kopa hyiu piah. Wake tikigh tilikum chako kopa yahka illahee.
Ahnkuttie nika papa yahka papa, hyas skookum tyee kopa konaway Yakima tilikum, klatawa wake siah yahka la tet. Alta nanich piah chuck pe keekwulee tyee chako mimoluse yahka pe hyak klatawa keekwulee saghalie illahee, pe hyiu kloshe tumtum. Yahka wake mamook alta, halo ikt siwash mamook klatawa.
Kloshe mesika klatawa, kloshe mamook. Hyiu snow, kloshe klatawa snow illahee, ahnkuttie nika mimoluse Takhoma mowich kloshe ooakut. Alta mesika nanich klatawa hyiu stone, wake kloshe klatawa pe mesika teahwit tseepie alta mesika klatawa keekwulee pe mimoluse, keekwulee pe mimoluse. Mesika klatawa hyas mesachie snow pe keekwulee hyas mesachie illahee yahka Takhoma mowich halo klatawa. Mesika klatawa hyas saghalie illahee hyiu stone chako, hyiu stone chako, pe mesika mimoluse pe kokshut mesika.
Spose mesika klatawa kopa okoke saghalie illahee alta mesika hyiu skookum pe cole wind alta yahka mahsh mesika kopa keekwulee illahee pe mimoluse mesika. Spose mesika mitlite mesachie iktas hyas keekwulee tyee mitlite Takhoma mesika mimoluse pe mesika mahsh okoke piah chuck.
Wake mesika klatawa!
Mesika mamook nika tumtum kwass, spose mesika klatawa Takhoma saghalie. Mesika mimoluse mesika spose klatawa Takhoma. Mesika mimoluse pe mesika tilikum sollecks kopa nika.
Wake klatawa!
Wake klatawa!
Spose mesika klatawa, nika mitlite mokst sun pe alta nika klatawa kopa Olympia pe wawa kopa mesika tilikum alta mesika mimoluse siah saghalie Takhoma. Mesika potlatch pehpah kopa nika mamook kumtuks mesika mimoluse wake nika mesachie.
Kopet wawa nika.
Translation by General Stevens
Listen to me, my good friends. I must talk to you.
Your plan to climb Takhoma is all foolishness. No one can do it and live. A mighty chief dwells upon the summit in a lake of fire. He brooks no intruders.
Many years ago my grandfather, the greatest and bravest chief of all the Yakima, climbed nearly to the summit. There he caught sight of the fiery lake and the infernal demon coming to destroy him, and he fled down the mountain, glad to escape with his life. Where he failed, no other Indian ever dared make the attempt.
At first the way is easy, the task seems light. The broad snowfields, over which I have often hunted the mountain goat, offer an inviting path. But above them you will have to climb over steep rocks overhanging deep gorges where a misstep would hurl you far down—down to certain death. You must creep over steep snow banks and cross deep crevasses where a mountain goat could hardly keep his footing. You must climb along steep cliffs where rocks are continually falling to crush you, or knock you off into the bottomless depths.
And if you should escape these perils and reach the great snowy dome, then a bitterly cold and furious tempest will sweep you off into space like a withered leaf. But if by some miracle you should survive all these perils the mighty demon of Takhoma will surely kill you and throw you into the fiery lake.
Don't you go!
You make my heart sick when you talk of climbing Takhoma. You will perish if you try to climb Takhoma. You will perish and your people will blame me.
Don't go!
Don't go!
If you will go, I will wait here two days, and then go to Olympia and tell your people that you perished on Takhoma. Give me a paper to them to let them know that I am not to blame for your death.
My talk is ended.
VIII. SECOND SUCCESSFUL ASCENT, 1870
By S. F. EMMONS
Later in the same year, 1870, when Stevens and Van Trump made their first successful ascent, the achievement was also accomplished by S. F. Emmons and A. D. Wilson of the Geological Exploration of the Fortieth Parallel. Samuel Franklin Emmons was born at Boston on March 29, 1841. He died painlessly and unexpectedly on the eve of his seventieth birthday, March 28, 1911.
George F. Becker gave him a fervent eulogy which appeared in the Transactions of the American Institute of Mining Engineers for 1911. He says: "There is not a geological society or even a mining camp from Arctic Finland to the Transvaal, or from Alaska to Australia, where Emmons's name is not honored and his authority recognized." With all his fame and ability, the biographer declares, he was modest to diffidence.
His account of the ascent is in the form of a letter to his chief, Clarence King, who published it in the American Journal of Science for March, 1871. It is here reproduced from that source. The photograph of Mr. Emmons was obtained from the United States Geological Survey. It will be noticed that Mr. Emmons calls the mountain Tachoma.
The Mountain's largest glacier, to which he refers with enthusiasm, was for a long time known by the name of White River which it feeds. It is peculiarly appropriate that that glacier should bear the name given it on the official map of the United States Geological Survey—Emmons Glacier.
The glaciers of Mt. Tachoma, or Rainier as it is more commonly called, form the principal sources of four important rivers of Washington Territory, viz: the Cowlitz, which flows into the Columbia, and the Nisqually, Puyallup and White rivers which empty into Puget Sound. In accordance with your instructions, Mr. A. D. Wilson and I visited this mountain in the early part of October, 1870, and carried the work of making its complete survey, both geological and topographical, as far as the lateness of the season and the means at our disposal would permit. As the topographical work has not yet been plotted, the figures given in my notes are merely estimates, and liable to subsequent correction. I herewith transmit an abstract from my notes upon the glaciers, embracing those of rather more than half the slopes of the mountain, those on the eastern side, from the extreme southern to the extreme northern point.
The summit of Tachoma is formed by three peaks, a southern, an eastern, and a northwestern: of these the eastern is the highest; those on the south and northwest, being apparently a few hundred feet lower, are distant about a mile and a half to two miles from this, and separated by deep valleys. The eastern peak, which would seem to have formed originally the middle of the mountain mass, is a crater about a quarter of a mile in diameter of very perfect circular form. Its sides are bare for about 60 feet from the rim, below which they are covered by a névé having a slope of from 28° to 31°. This névé extending from the shoulders of the southwestern peak to those of the northern, a width of several miles, descends to a vertical distance of about 2000 feet below the crater rim, an immense sheet of white granular ice, having the general form of the mountain surface, and broken only by long transverse crevasses, one of those observed being from one to two miles in length: it is then divided up by the several jutting rock-masses or shoulder of the mountain into the Nisqually, Cowlitz and White River glaciers, falling in distinct ice cascades for about 3000 feet at very steep angles, which sometimes approach the perpendicular. From the foot of these cascades flow the glaciers proper, at a more gentle angle, growing narrower and sinking deeper into the mountain as they descend. From the intervening spurs, which slope even more gradually, they receive many tributary glaciers, while some of these secondary glaciers form independent streams, which only join the main river many miles below the end of the glaciers.
The Nisqually, the narrowest of the three main glaciers above mentioned, has the most sinuous course, varying in direction from southwest to south, while its lower extremity is somewhat west of south of the main peak: it receives most of its tributaries from the spur to the east, and has a comparatively regular slope in its whole length below the cascades. There are some indications of dirt-bands on its surface, when seen from a considerable elevation. Toward its lower end it is very much broken up by transverse and longitudinal crevasses: this is due to the fact, that it has here cut through the more yielding strata of volcanic rock, and come upon an underlying and unconformable mass of syenite. The ice front at its base is about 500 feet in height, and the walls of lava which bound its sides rise from 1000 to 1500 feet above the surface of the ice, generally in sheer precipices.
The bed of the Cowlitz glacier is generally parallel to that of the Nisqually, though its curves are less marked: the ice cascades in which each originates, fall on either side of a black cliff of bedded lava and breccia scarcely a thousand feet in horizontal thickness, while the mouths of the glaciers, if I may be allowed the expression, are about three miles apart. From the jutting edge of this cliff hang enormous icicles from 75 to 100 feet in length. The slope of this glacier is less regular, being broken by subordinate ice cascades. Like the Nisqually its lower extremity stretches out as it were into the forest, the slopes on either side, where not too steep, being covered with the mountain fir (Picea nobilis) for several hundred feet above the level of the ice, while the Pinus flexilis grows at least 2000 feet higher than the mouth of the glacier.
The general course of this glacier is south, but at its extremity it bends to the eastward, apparently deflected from its course by a cliff of older felsitic rock, more resisting than the lava. The consequence of this deflection is a predominance of longitudinal over transverse crevasses at this point, and an unusually large moraine at its western side, which rises several hundred feet above the surface of the glaciers, and partakes of the character of both lateral and terminal moraines: the main medial moraine of the glacier joins this near its lower end. This medial moraine proceeds from the cliff which bounds the ice cascade source of the glacier on the north, and brings down a dark porous lava which is only found high up on the mountain near the crater. The position of the medial moraine on the glacier would indicate that at least half its mass came from the spur on the east, which is probably the case.
This spur, comprehending the whole mass between the Cowlitz and White Rivers glaciers, has the shape of a triangle whose apex is formed by a huge pinnacle of rock, which, as its bedding indicates, once formed part of the crust of the mountain, but now stands isolated, a jagged peak rising about 3000 feet above the glaciers at its foot, so steep that neither ice nor snow rest upon it. One of the tributaries to the Cowlitz glacier from this spur brings down with it a second medial moraine, which is traceable to the mouth of the glacier, though in general these tributary glaciers bring no medial moraines.
On the eastern slopes of this spur between the two above named glaciers, spread secondary glaciers, frequently of great width, but owing to the limited height of their initial points, of inconsiderable length. These end generally in perpendicular cliffs overhanging the rocky amphitheaters at the heads of the smaller streams which flow eastward into the Cowlitz. Looking up from the bottom of one of these amphitheaters one sees a semi-circular wall of nearly 2000 feet of sheer rock, surmounted by about 500 feet of ice, from under which small streams of water issue, falling in silvery cascades on to the green bottom below.
A ridge of high jagged peaks connects this spur with the main range of the Cascade Mts. in the east, and forms the water-shed between the White and Cowlitz rivers. From the connecting saddle one can look northward across the brink of six glaciers, which all contribute to the White River; of these the first four come from the triangular spur already mentioned and are of comparatively little extent. The first two are, however, interesting from the vein structure which they exhibit; they both originate in an irregularly oblong basin, having the shape somewhat of an inclined ellipse, turning on its longer diameter, the outlets of the glacier being opposite the foci. Seen from a high point the veins form concentric lines generally parallel to the sides of the basin; the ends of those towards the center gradually bend round, until they join together in the form of a figure 8, and finally just above the outlets form two small ellipses. They thus constantly preserve a direction at right angles to that of the pressure exerted, downward by the movement of the ice mass, and upward by the resistance to this movement of the rock mass between the two outlets.
The main White River glacier, the grandest of the whole, [22] pours straight down from the rim of the crater in a northeasterly direction, and pushes its extremity farther out into the valley than any of the others. Its greatest width on the steep slope of the mountain must be four or five miles, narrowing towards its extremity to about a mile and a half; its length can be scarcely less than ten miles. The great eroding power of glacial ice is strikingly illustrated in this glacier, which seems to have cut down and carried away on the northeastern side of the mountain, fully a third of its mass. The thickness of rock cut away as shown by the walls on either side, and the isolated peak at the head of the triangular spur, in which the bedding of the successive flows of lava, forming the original mountain crust, is very regular and conformable, may be roughly estimated at somewhat over a mile. Of the thickness of the ice of the glacier I have no data for making estimates, though it may probably be reckoned in thousands of feet.
It has two principal medial moraines, which, where crossed by us, formed little mountain ridges having peaks nearly 100 feet high. The sources of these moraines are cliffs on the steeper mountain slope, which seem mere black specks in the great white field above: between these are great cascades, and below immense transverse crevasses, which we had no time or means to visit. The surface water flows in rills and brooks, on the lower portion of the glacier, and moulins are of frequent occurrence. We visited one double moulin where two brooks poured into two circular wells, each about ten feet in diameter, joined together at the surface but separated below: we could not approach near enough the edge to see the bottom of either, but, as stones thrown in sent back no sound, judged they must be very deep.
This glacier forks near the foot of the steeper mountain slope, and sends off a branch to the northward, which forms a large stream flowing down to join the main stream fifteen or twenty miles below. Looking down on this from a high overhanging peak, we could see, as it were, under our feet, a little lake of deep blue water, about an eighth of a mile in diameter, standing in the brown gravel-covered ice of the end of the glacier. On the back of the rocky spur, which divides these two glaciers, a secondary glacier has scooped out a basin-shaped bed, and sends down an ice stream, having all the characteristics of a true glacier, but its ice disappears several miles above the mouths of the large glaciers on either side. Were nothing known of the movement of glaciers, an instance like this would seem to afford sufficient evidence that such movement exists, and that gravity is the main motive power. From our northern and southern points we could trace the beds of several large glaciers to the west of us, whose upper and lower portions only were visible, the main body of the ice lying hidden by the high intervening spurs.
Ten large glaciers observed by us, and at least half as many more hidden by the mountain from our view, proceeding thus from an isolated peak, form a most remarkable system, and one worthy of a careful and detailed study.
From a photograph taken in 1883.
IX. EXPLORATIONS ON THE NORTHERN SLOPES, 1881-1883
By BAILEY WILLIS
The Northwest for April, 1883, which was Number 2 of Volume I of that magazine, contained an article by Bailey Willis, Assistant Geologist of the Northern Transcontinental Survey. The article is entitled "Canyons and Glaciers. A Journey to the Ice Fields of Mount Tacoma." Mr. Willis was born at Idlewild-on-Hudson, New York, on May 31, 1857. It speaks well for his skill and training that he should have attained to such a position at twenty-four years of age.
Since then he has worked out a great career in the United States Geological Survey, in China and in other parts of the world. He is now Professor of Geology at Stanford University. He has kindly revised for this publication the product of his younger years. And there has also been found a photograph of the geologist as he appeared when the surveys were made.
To this day, people who visit the northern slopes and parks of the mountain become familiar with the Bailey Willis trail and from Moraine Park they get a view of the wonderful Willis Wall named in his honor.
The Puyallup River, which empties into Puget Sound near New Tacoma, heads in three glaciers on Mount Tacoma. During the summer months, when the ice and snow on the mountains are thawing, the water is discolored with mud from the glaciers and carries a large amount of sediment out to Commencement Bay. If the Coast Survey charts are correct, soundings near the centre of the bay have changed from one hundred fathoms and "no bottom" in 1867, to eighty fathoms and "gray mud" in 1877. But when the nights in the hills begin to be frosty, the stream becomes clearer, and in winter the greater volume of spring water gives it a deep green tint.
For twenty miles from the Sound the valley is nearly level. The bluffs along the river are of coarse gravel, the soil is alluvium, and a well sunk a hundred feet at the little town of Puyallup passed through gravel and sand to tide mud and brackish water. From the foot-hills to its mouth the river meanders over an old valley of unknown depth, now filled with material brought down by its several branches. About eighteen miles above its mouth the river forks, and the northern portion takes the name of Carbon River; the southern was formerly called the South Fork, but it should retain the name of Puyallup to its next division far up in the mountains. A short distance above their junction both Carbon River and the Puyallup escape from narrow, crooked cañons, whose vertical sides, one hundred to three hundred feet high, are often but fifty feet apart. From these walls steep, heavily timbered slopes rise two hundred to eight hundred feet to the summits of the foot-hills. These cañons link the buried river basin of the lower stream with the upper river valleys. The latter extend from the heads of the cañons to the glaciers. They are apparently the deserted beds of mightier ice rivers, now shrunk to the very foot of Mount Tacoma.
From New Tacoma the entire course of the Puyallup and part of Carbon River are in view. Across Commencement Bay are the tide marshes of the delta; back from these salt meadows the light green of the cottonwoods, alder and vine-maple mark the river's course, till it is lost in the dark monotone of the fir forest. No break in the evergreen surface indicates the place of the river cañons; but far out among the foot-hills a line of mist hangs over the upper valley of Carbon River, which winds away eastward, behind the rising ground, to the northern side of Mount Tacoma. Milk Creek, one of its branches, drains the northwest spur, and on the western slope the snows accumulate in two glaciers, from which flow the North and South Forks of the Puyallup. These streams meet in a level valley at the base of three singular peaks, and plunge united into the dark gateway of the cañon.
A trip to the grand snow peak from which these rivers spring was within a year a very difficult undertaking. There was no trail through the dense forest, no supply depot on the route. No horse nor donkey could accompany the explorer, who took his blankets and provisions on his back, and worked his way slowly among the towering tree trunks, through underbrush luxuriant as a tropic jungle. But last summer a good horse trail was built from Wilkeson to Carbon River, crossing it above the cañon, sixteen miles below the glacier, and during the autumn it was extended to the head of the Puyallup. Wilkeson is reached by a branch railroad from New Tacoma. It is on a small tributary of Carbon River, called Fletts Creek, at a point where the brook runs from a narrow gorge into a valley about a quarter of a mile wide. Coal mines are opened at this point. The horse trail climbs at once from Wilkeson to the first terrace, four hundred feet above the valley; then winds a quarter of a mile back through the forest to the second ascent of a hundred feet, and then a mile over the level to the third. Hidden here beneath the thick covering of moss and undergrowth of the primeval forest, fourteen hundred feet above the present ocean level, are ancient shore lines of the sea, which has left its trace in similar terraces in all the valleys about the Sound. [23] Thence the trail extends southward over a level plateau. Carbon River Cañon is but half a mile away on the west, and five miles from Wilkeson the valley above the cañon is reached. The descent to the river is over three miles along the hillside eastward.
From Wilkeson to the river the way is all through a belt of forest, where the conditions of growth are very favorable. The fir trees are massive, straight and free from limbs to a great height. The larger ones, eight to twelve feet in diameter on a level with a man's head, carry their size upward, tapering very gradually, till near the top they shoot out a thick mat of foliage and the trunk in a few feet diminishes to a point. One such was measured; it stands like a huge obelisk 180 feet, without a limb, supporting a crown of but forty feet more. The more slender trees are, curiously enough, the taller; straight, clear shafts rise 100 to 150 feet, topped with foliage whose highest needles would look down on Trinity spire. Cedars, hemlocks, spruce and white fir mingle with these giants, but they do not compete with them in height; they fill in the spaces in the vast colonnades. Below is the carpet of deep golden green moss and glossy ferns, and the tangle of vines and bushes that cover the fallen trunks of the fathers of the forest.
The silence of these mountains is awesome, the solitude oppressive. The deer, the bear, the panther are seldom met; they see and hear first and silently slip away, leaving only their tracks to prove their numbers. There are very few birds. Blue jays, and their less showy gray, but equally impudent, cousins, the "whiskey jacks," assemble about a camp; but in passing through the forest one may wander a whole day and see no living thing save a squirrel, whose shrill chatter is startling amid the silence. The wind plays in the tree tops far overhead, but seldom stirs the branches of the smaller growth. The great tree trunks stand immovable. The more awful is it when a gale roars through the timber; when the huge columns sway in unison and groan with voices strangely human. It is fearful to lie in the utter darkness of a stormy night, listening to the pulsating rush of the wind, the moan of the forest and the crash of uprooted giants upon the ground—listening with bated breath for the report which may foretell the fall of yonder tall decaying shaft, whose thick, deep cleft bark blazed so brightly on the now dying camp fire. The effect of one such storm is seen in Carbon River Valley, above and below where the trail crosses. The blast followed the stream and the mountain slope on the south side; over an area eight miles long and a half a mile to a mile wide the forest is prostrate. Single trees stand gaunt and charred by a recent fire, but their comrades are piled like jackstraws, the toys of the tornado. Over and under each other they lie, bent and interlaced, twenty, thirty feet deep. Pigmy man strained his eyes to see their tops, when they stood erect; now he vainly stands on tiptoe to look over them in their fallen majesty.
To the head of Carbon River from the bridge, on which the trail crosses it, is about sixteen miles. The rocky bed of the river is 100 to 200 yards wide, a gray strip of polished boulders between sombre mountain slopes, that rise sharply from it. The stream winds in ever-shifting channels among the stones. About six miles above the bridge Milk Creek dashes down from its narrow gorge into the river. The high pinnacles of the spur from which it springs are hidden by the nearer fir-clad ridges. Between their outlines shines the northern peak of Mount Tacoma, framed in dark evergreen spires. Its snow fields are only three miles distant, but Carbon River has come a long way round. For six miles eastward the undulating lines of the mountains converge, then those on the north suddenly cross the view, where the river cañon turns sharply southward.
Three miles from this turn is Crescent Mountain, its summit a semi-circular gray wall a thousand feet high. [24] At sunset the light from the west streams across the head of Milk Creek and Carbon River, illuminating these cliffs as with the glow of volcanic fires, while twilight deepens in the valley. The next turn of the river brings Mount Tacoma again in view. Close on the right a huge buttress towers up, cliff upon cliff, 2,500 feet, a single one of the many imposing rock masses that form the Ragged Spur between Carbon River and Milk Creek. The more rapid fall of the river, the increasing size of the boulders, show the nearness of the glacier. Turning eastward to the south of Crescent Mountain, you pass the group of trees that hide it.
This first sight is a disappointment. The glacier is a very dirty one. The face is about 300 feet long and thirty to forty feet high. It entirely fills the space between two low cliffs of polished gray rock. Throughout the mass the snows of successive winters are interstratified with the summers' accumulations of earth and rock. From a dark cavern, whose depths have none of the intense blue color so beautiful in crevasses in clear ice, Carbon River pours out, a muddy torrent. The top of the glacier is covered with earth about six inches deep, contributed to its mass by the cliffs on either side and by an island of rock, where a few pines grow, entirely surrounded by the ice river. The eye willingly passes over this dirty mass to the gleaming northeast spur of the mountain, where the sunlight lingers after the chill night wind has begun to blow from the ice fields.
The disappointment of this view of the glacier leaves one unprepared for the beauty of that from Crescent Mountain. The ascent from a point a short distance down the river is steep, but not dangerous. The lower slopes are heavily timbered, but at an elevation of 4,000 feet juniper and dwarf pine are dotted over the grassy hillside. Elk, deer and white mountain goats find here a pleasant pasture; their trails look like well trodden sheep paths on a New England hill. A curious badger-like animal, sitting erect on his hind legs, greets one with a long shrill whistle that would make a schoolboy envious, but trots quickly away on nearer approach. The crest of the southwest rim of the amphitheater is easily gained, and the grandeur of the view bursts upon you suddenly. Eastward are the cliffs and cañons of the Cascade Range. Northward forest-covered hill and valley reach to Mount Baker and the snow peaks that break the horizon line. Westward are the blue waters of the Sound, the snow-clad Olympics and a faint soft line beyond; it may be the ocean or a fog bank above it. Southward, 9,000 feet above you, so near you must throw your head back to see its summit, is grand Mount Tacoma; its graceful northern peak piercing the sky, it soars single and alone. Whether touched by the glow of early morning or gleaming in bright noonday, whether rosy with sunset light or glimmering ghost-like, in the full moon, whether standing out clear and cloudless or veiled among the mists it weaves from the warm south winds, it is always majestic and inspiring, always attractive and lovely. It is the symbol of an awful power clad in beauty.
This northern slope of the mountain is very steep, and the consolidated snow begins its downward movement from near the top. Little pinnacles of rock project through the mass and form eddies in the current. A jagged ridge divides it, and part descends into the deep unexplored cañon of White River, probably the deepest chasm in the flanks of Mount Tacoma. The other part comes straight on toward the southern side of Crescent Mountain, a precipice 2,000 feet high; diverted, it turns in graceful flowing curves, breaks into a thousand ice pyramids and descends into the narrow pass, where its beauty is hidden under the ever-falling showers of rock.
This rim you stand upon is very narrow; a hundred feet wide, sometimes less, between the cliff that rises 2,000 feet above the glacier and the descent of a thousand feet on the other side. Snow lies upon part of this slope; stones, started from the edge, leap in lengthening bounds over its firm surface and plunge with a splash into the throat of the lakelet that lies in the amphitheater. The ice slope, dipping into the clear water, passes from purest white to deepest blue as it passes out of sight in the depths of the basin.
A two days' visit to this trackless region sufficed only to see a small part of the magnificent scenery. White River Cañon, the cliffs of Ragged Spur, the northern slope of Mount Tacoma, where the climber is always tempted upward, might occupy him for weeks. Across the snow fields, where Milk Creek rises, is the glacier of the North Fork of the Puyallup, and the end of the horse trail we left at Carbon River is within six miles of its base. When a trail is built up Carbon River, the way across this divide will be found, and, with comfortable stopping places on the two rivers, the tourist can pass a delightful week amid scenery we now cross the ocean to Switzerland to see.
X. DISCOVERY OF CAMP MUIR, 1888
By MAJOR E. S. INGRAHAM
Major Edward Sturgis Ingraham has visited the mountain annually since 1888. He has ascended to the summit seven times and has spent as many nights in the crater. It was he who gave to a number of the prominent features of the Park their beautiful and enduring names.
On his first ascent in 1888 the party included John Muir, most famous naturalist of the Pacific Slope. Since he found a sheltered pumice patch and suggested camping there for the night, Major Ingraham called it Camp Muir, now well known to all climbers.
Major Ingraham prepared an account of the ascent which was published in The Puget Sound Magazine for October, 1888. That magazine has long since ceased to be issued. It was edited by the editor of this present work, who has rescued the article from the rare and almost forgotten files.
After an extensive career as superintendent of schools, printer, militia officer and miner, Major Ingraham has been devoting his later years to the boy scout work, in which his love for the mountains plays an important part.
A glacier on the mountain bears the name of Ingraham. How that came to be, is related by him as follows: "One time when I was on the mountain encamped at the Camp of the Clouds, Professor I. C. Russell and another man, both in their shirt sleeves, came tottering into my camp at early morning. They had been caught upon the summit and had spent a shivering night in the crater. I treated them the best I knew how and they departed. When their maps came out I found that a beautiful glacier had been named for me—Ingraham Glacier."
Mount Rainier, one of Nature's masterpieces, is the most striking object of grandeur and beauty amidst the unsurpassed scenery of Washington Territory. Occupying nearly a central position geographically in the Territory, it is alike an object of pride to the inhabitants of the Great Plain of the Columbia and to the dwellers on Puget Sound. There are other peaks that command our attention, but it is to the old monarch that we turn with unfeigned pride and exclaim, "Behold a masterpiece!"
The height of Mount Rainier, as estimated by triangulation, is 14,444 feet. This height was verified by barometer in the hands of one party that reached the summit in the month of August of the present year. From many points of view it appears a single peak; but in reality it is composed of three peaks of nearly the same height. These peaks may be designated as northern, crater and southern. They are not in direct line, but occupy apexes of an obtuse-angled triangle. The northern peak is a cone, with its apex about two miles from the summit of crater peak; the southern peak is somewhat flattened on top, and is about one and one-half miles from crater peak. Crater peak, as the name suggests, has two large craters, with well-defined rims—one sloping slightly towards the northeast, and the other towards the southwest. The culminating point of this peak is a sugarloaf-shape mass of pure snow, about one hundred feet above all adjacent points. The northern and southern peaks are inaccessible, except from crater peak, owing to the precipitous condition of their sides, which are so steep that snow will not cling to them except in small patches. Down these sides, during some seasons of the year, avalanches go thundering almost hourly with a roar that makes the tourist shudder with fear.
The volcanic condition of Mount Rainier is everywhere apparent. For miles before the base is reached vast quantities of ashes, forming the greater part of the soil of that region, plainly tell of extensive eruptions; the immediate foothills are covered with masses of red and black lava; while pumice is found in great abundance upon some of the ridges. All these evidences suggest that, long ages ago, Rainier was the scene of volcanic activity of immense magnitude. Ascend to the top, behold the two well-defined craters, with their rims perfect; descend those walls, and try to count the many jets of steam constantly puffing forth their sulphurous odors, and one is led to believe that Rainier has been active at a comparatively recent period.
Mount Rainier, with its many glaciers, is the source of the principal rivers of Western Washington. From the summit of the three peaks the snow forges its way downward until it is compressed into ice; the ice in turn is compressed until it assumes that peculiar blue tint that characterizes ice under great pressure. These ice streams move slowly down the valleys, about one foot in twenty-four hours, conforming to their beds. Where the bed is inclined, the glacier breaks into innumerable masses, somewhat regular, with great yawning crevasses between. While crossing one of the White River glaciers below an ice-fall I had to stand clear of a dozen bowlders that came rolling down from the brink, telling very forcibly that the glacier was moving. These glaciers plow their way down the valleys to an elevation of between 3000 and 4000 feet, and there dissolve into water. Some of them terminate in a gentle incline; others present a high wall of clear ice, with the river issuing from an immense cave; still others deposit vast quantities of stones and earth, forming what is called the "terminal moraine." The glaciers of the northern peak, five in number, form the Puyallup and its principal tributary, the Carbon; the twelve glaciers of the eastern slope of crater peak yield the icy waters of the White and Cowlitz; the glaciers of the southern peak form the several sources of the Nisqually. The glaciers are from one to two miles in width, and from six to twelve miles in length. Like the rivers which they form, they themselves have tributaries. When two glaciers unite, their inside lateral moraines join and form a medial moraine.
The ascent of Mount Rainier is difficult and dangerous. Three different parties have reached the summit from the south side—namely, Hazard Stevens and P. B. Van Trump in 1870; P. B. Van Trump, James Longmire and Mr. Bailey, in 1883; and a party of seven, of which the writer was the projector, in August of the present year. A party of three from Snohomish claim to have reached the summit by the northeast side in the summer of 1884. Several others and myself have made two attempts to reach the summit from that side, but came to an impassable crevasse at an elevation of about 14,000 feet on both occasions.
On the morning of the 10th of last August a party of eight gentlemen left Seattle for Yelm with the necessary equipments and provisions for a two weeks' sojourn among the eternal hills. At Yelm we secured the necessary horses to convey our outfit to the snow line on the south side. The day at Yelm was clear and beautiful—Mount Rainier never looked so grand before. Its three peaks stood out in bold relief against the sky, while its walls of ice sparkled with resplendent beauty. During the morning and evening the play of colors around its base, extending in graduated bands far towards the zenith, made our artist groan aloud because of his inability to transfer them to canvas. It took us three days from the time we left Yelm to reach the Longmire Mineral Springs. These springs were discovered by Mr. James Longmire in 1883. They number twenty-five or more, and are heavily charged with carbon dioxide and other gases that combine to make the water a very pleasant drink as well as a health-giving beverage. Around each spring is an incrustation of soda compounds deposited by the water. One spring, over which a rude bath-house has been constructed, pours forth a large quantity of water at a temperature of 85° Fahr. A bath in this water is pleasant and invigorating. The view from the springs is very beautiful. On the right is the swift flowing Nisqually; on the left, a solid white wall of basaltic rock rises to a height of nearly one thousand feet; while in front, seeming only a mile away, Mount Rainier stands in silent majesty. There were several visitors at the springs. In the near future these springs will be sought by hundreds of invalids. We would gladly have remained at the springs for several days, but, with the old monarch so near, we could not delay. The next day found all of the party but two on the tramp. That day's work was to ascend to Camp of the Clouds, distant about five miles from the springs. It was no small task. The trail is steep and rugged, and has been traveled but little. About three miles from the springs it crosses the Nisqually. From that point for a mile it is one of the steepest trails I have ever traveled. When the top was reached we were regaled by the sight and odor of flowers that surpassed description in odor and variety. From this point to Camp of the Clouds, two miles further on, our path was literally strewed with beautiful flowers. This entire region is a paradise for the botanist, and the flowers deserve a much fuller description.
At last, after four days of hard tramping, we have reached permanent camp at an elevation of about 6,000 feet. Here we unpack, pitch our tent and turn our jaded horses loose. Here we wish all our friends with us, and here we would gladly remain a month in deep enjoyment of the grandeur and beauty around us, but our time is limited and our friends far away.
Monday noon, August 14th, we carefully prepare for the ascent. It is light artillery now—a pair of blankets, a small supply of provisions, principally chocolate, and our Alpine staves complete the outfit. With cheerful hearts and steady nerves we begin the climb. It is our purpose to ascend to a height of about 10,000 feet and there make camp for the night. Soon we pass the timber line. Our pathway now lies over the eternal snow, broken only by a projecting spur of the mountain. After five hours of hard climbing, we come to a ridge covered with sand and pumice. From the presence of the latter we know it to be a spot comparatively free from wind, for, on account of the lightness of the pumice, it is easily blown away. Here we decide to camp. Two by two we go to work preparing our beds. This we do by clearing away the loose stones from a space about three by six feet, stirring the sand up with our pikes and making a wall of rocks around the cleared place. After a half hour's toil we declare our beds prepared. Hastily partaking of a little chocolate and hardtack, we "turn in," although the hour is early; but the wind is rising and the sharp, stinging cold is upon us. After passing a miserable night, we break camp at 4:30 o'clock. Throwing aside our blankets and part of our provisions, we begin the final ascent. Our course takes us along the crest of a rocky ridge and beneath a perpendicular wall of basalt over a thousand feet in height. Here the courage of one of the party failed him, and he concluded to go no farther. The most dangerous part of the ascent is along the base of this cliff. The earth pitches at an angle of 35° from its base, and at three particular places this incline is not over six feet wide, ending in a perpendicular jump-off of fifteen hundred feet to the Nisqually glacier below. After a half hour's crouching and crawling we get past this dangerous part of our undertaking. We must now ascend almost perpendicularly one thousand feet to the top of this wall. Ordinarily steps have to be cut in the snow and ice, but on this occasion the snow lay in little drifts that served as steps. Up this ladder of snow and ice, prepared by the winds, we climb, pausing every few steps "to take breath." The top is reached at last. Upon consulting our barometer we find we are 12,000 feet above the sea level. A halt is ordered to put six steel brads in the sole of each boot, to prevent us from slipping on the ice and hard snow that we must now encounter.
From the crest of this cliff the incline of the mountain to the summit is less than at any other point and consequently fewer crevasses, the terror of the mountaineer. Bracing ourselves for the final effort, we resumed the march. On account of the continuous ascent and the rarity of the atmosphere we have to rest every twenty or thirty steps. Still ascending, avoiding the crevasses by a zigzag path, we at last reach the last one, or what might more properly be called the first crevasse. This crevasse is formed by the first breaking off of the snow as it begins to slide down the mountain. The upper side is often a perpendicular wall of hard snow from ten to fifty feet high. This same crevasse, for it extends half way round the mountain, prevented our further progress on two previous occasions, when attempting to reach the summit from the northeast slope. Luckily on this occasion we found a bridge that afforded us a safe passage over. From this point we can see a clear path to the summit. Upward we climb to where the rim of the crater seems but a few hundred feet away. Look! there is a jet of steam right ahead; one grand effort and I sit upon the rim of the crater. I shout a word of triumph which sounds strangely shrill to my companions below, who, one by one, soon gain my exalted position. The feeling of triumph that filled the heart of each one as he gained that sublime height can be realized by no one who has not been in a similar position.
Space precludes an extensive description of the view from our elevated position; Washington, Oregon and the Sound and sea lay below us. A roll of clouds extending entirely around the horizon somewhat obstructed the prospect, yet added to the beauty of the scene. Mts. Baker, Adams, Hood, St. Helens, and Jefferson appeared above the clouds; the Cascade and Olympic ranges, Puget Sound and numerous river basins appeared below, while the smoke of distant cities completed the scene. Reluctantly turning from this grand panorama of nature, I gave my attention to an examination of the craters. There are two, elliptical in shape, and from one-half to three-fourths of a mile across. Their rims are bare outside, and in to an average depth of thirty feet from the crest. This is owing to the internal heat and escaping steam, which issues from a hundred jets within the circumference of the craters. The steam escapes in intermittent jets from little orifices about three-fourths of an inch in diameter. The walls of the crater in some places are quite warm, all of which plainly indicates that Mount Rainier is a volcano, not extinct but slumbering.
The amount of steam that escapes from the crater at any one time varies with the atmospheric pressure. In fact, Mount Rainier is a reliable barometer, foretelling a storm with certainty. Everyone who has noted the appearance of the mountain from time to time is familiar with the peculiar white cloud that is frequently seen suspended just above the summit, while no other clouds are in sight. This peculiar cloud, caused by the condensation of escaping steam, is called "Rainier's cap," and is the forerunner of a storm. There was considerable snow in the craters, but it had the appearance of having recently fallen. I believe, should it cease to snow for two or three months, the crater would become entirely bare inside; but this is not possible, for it snows on Mount Rainier even in midsummer.
Our party spent about two hours on the summit. We would gladly have tarried longer, but the clouds were gradually approaching from all points, and we did not care to take the chance of spending a night in the crater. Our descent in some places was even more dangerous than the ascent, owing to the falling rock. I recall with a shudder the successful dodging of a shower of bowlders on their way down from the top of a cliff two thousand feet above. They were singing as merrily as a cannon ball just shot from a thirty-pounder as they passed my head.
Our party left the summit about two o'clock, and some of us reached "Camp of the Clouds" by six o'clock, descending in four hours the same distance that we were twelve hours in covering on the upward climb. The names of the party making this very successful ascent are: John Muir, P. B. Van Trump, A. C. Warner, D. W. Bass, N. O. Booth, C. V. Piper and E. S. Ingraham.