The call of the mountains : rambles among the mountains and canyons of the United States and Canada

Front matter

CALL O F

MOUNTAINS

FE,

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

Introduction . . . . . v I The Call of the Mountains . . i

THE NORTHWESTERN UNITED STATES AND CANADA

Chapter I

It is not the fortune of every one to live in sight of the mountains, nor is it the habit of all who dwell amid their enfolding arms to seek inspiration on their topmost pinnacles. Many indeed, who have only read of mountain climbing, consider it wasted energy. But to all who are willing to receive their message, the glorious, eternal mountains ever extend a silent invitation. To stroll up even a hill is often to find at its summit a new vision of life and of its possibilities. As the true mountaineer toils upward from the valley, he is rewarded not only with physical exercise of the greatest variety, but his thoughts expand before the unfolding landscape, while his heart is filled with new courage for the battle of life, and with a deeper sympathy for his fellow men.

The sport and the art of mountain climbing is in many ways the finest and most interesting of all outdoor activities. Its thrill may be enjoyed in safety far later in life than may other forms of vigorous exercise. None but the climber can know the fascination of the ascent or experience the joy of the summit. Courage and endurance are developed, for all one's skill may be required in solving the problem of a difficult rock peak; or one may find his resources taxed to the utmost when he is overtaken by storm amid the snow and ice of a glacier-hung summit.

In mountaineering one enters into intimate relations with the greatest heights and depths our planet has to offer, while a new world is opened to the student and lover of nature. All true mountaineers are at heart explorers, and the topography of a region is soonest revealed to him who ascends its highest elevation. In the pure, free air of the mountains one may part with his cares and find renewal of his life. In the strenuous life of to-day, one's mental and physical health demands outdoor exercise of interesting variety. Nothing can afford better training for the climber than cross country and hill walking; but we eagerly await the day when convenient airplane service will

Hvroii Harmon

THE SPIRIT OF MOUNTAINS AND OF MOUNTAIN CLIMBING ! FIRST ASCENT OF MOUNT RESPLENDENT. CANADIAN ROCKIES, 11

73 FEET.

enable our city dwellers to spend a frequent week end, and a far longer vacation than is now possible, amid the companionship of the mountains.

For the beginner much hardship and danger may be avoided by joining one of the various mountaineering clubs that ofifer summer outings amid our western peaks. From two to four weeks of camp life are offered, sometimes at a fixed camp from which knapsack trips and climbs are conducted; while with other clubs one may travel daily from ten to twenty miles afoot, and camp is moved by pack-train. On a mountaineering expedition in which one is to be absent for a few days from permanent camp, a sleeping bag and provisions are carried on one's back. An ice-axe is taken to cut steps in the ice on a precipitous glacial ascent, to sound for concealed crevasses, and to aid in the descent. A rope is carried, which the climbers fasten about their waists to afford protection in difficult rock work, or on glacial snow fields where there are likely to be hidden crevasses. Goggles of amber glass are necessary to protect the eyes from the glare of the snow and sometimes grease paint is used to keep the face from the burning actinic rays. Most important are the alpine boots, which are specially made, and must be edged and studded with Swiss nails for safety in climbing.

A mountaineer should be expert in the art of balance, and it should be easy for him to stand directly upon the brink of a precipice. He ought never to be careless in his movements, but must keep steady, whether the handholds are ample or only give opportunity for the use of a few fingers. Occasionally his weight must be supported on a narrow ledge by but two or three nails in his boot. A true mountaineer will be cautious, but fearless in the face of danger.

There are many thrills which a climber may enjoy. On crossing the upper snow fields of a glacier the man or woman next him on the rope may suddenly disappear from view into a hidden crevasse of unknown depth, falling with the snow bridge for ten or fifteen feet until checked by the rope. In reaching the bergschrund, or great crevasse near the head of a glacier, there are yawning chasms difficult to cross, especially when there is an overhanging snow cornice above them. In precipitous climbing the rock is often rotten and may suddenly give way with disastrous results, unless one's companion has belayed the rope about a rock, or has a sufficiently secure position to withf stand the unexpected strain. Often there is the unseen peril of falling stones or avalanches which may sweep the route of ascent. When the snow is deep and powdery covering a steep icy slope, or when it is wet and heavy on the heights, the mountaineer must proceed with extreme caution if he would avoid starting an avalanche from which he cannot escape. Electrical conditions on a mountain top may become exceedingly dangerous, imperiling the whole party, which are sometimes struck by lightning. High winds, against which no one can stand, frequently sweep the upper slopes of a mountain; and sudden storms arise which lower the temperature, coat the rocks with ice, and veil everything in impenetrable blizzard. The careful mountaineer may avoid many of these perils, but when they are encountered his skill and resourcefulness will be put to the test. He need never experience fear, for on the heights Divine protection seems near.

Who is there who does not recall with rare delight his first vision of the high mountains glistening with snow, or transfigured with rose and purple in the alpenglow? Were not these radiant heights of heaven? Then did childhood's dreams become reality, and the acquaintance of a lifetime adds but details to that perfect memory. Few are the climbers whose chief concern is to break existing records, with eye for the hidden beauty of the waterfall, the unpaintable hues of glacial ice, or the myriad forms and colors of pure mountain snow as it glistens in the sunlight or purples in the shade. Perchance the climber may never awaken to the vision of God that awaits him on every mountainside. His summit may only be a point en route on which to eat, to sleep, to leave a record; or it may be his open door to a new experience of reality and to a deeper acquaintance with his heavenly Father.

Alas, how few are the mountain ranges with which man has become really acquainted! Many have been mapped, but with almost none does he enjoy an intimate fellowship. Here and there for a few brief hours some enthusiast has wandered, finding rich treasure. But amid the storms and the sunshine mountains are born ever anew, and one seldom may find them the same in spirit. Like the call of the sea, forever potent to him who has wandered amid its vast spaces, the call of the mountains is heard by the true mountaineer, and he returns again and again to their inmost sanctuaries. Joyfully he seeks the companionship of

4'^

I* f-

If

R. L. GHsan

ASCENDING MOUNT RAINIER FROM THE NORTH.

their highest solitudes, resting his soul at last amid their enfolding silences. Here the voices of nature speak to him more clearly than among the abodes of men, and here his awakened spirit may commune in deeper reality with the Eternal Spirit whose voice is heard in the silence of his soul.

THE NORTHWESTERN UNITED STATES AND CANADA

Chapter II A Day And A Night On Mount Moran, Giant Of The Tetons

On account of the scarcity of professional guides on this continent, the usual initiation to the mountains is with some mountaineering organization where opportunity is offered to climb with experienced amateurs. But much of the resourcefulness of a competent mountaineer must be gained through his own initiative. While solitary exploration and climbing are not to be recommended to another, the brevity of vacations and the difficulty of finding suitable companions at the time are often temptations to follow the example of John Muir, who was the most ardent and fearless mountaineer that America has known. Although he was often alone he never felt lonely, for had he not the companionship of God and of the living world about him? When the heart is at peace what is there in nature to harm one?

On my journeys among the mountains I carry sleeping bag and mountaineering equipment on my back, with ice-axe in hand. Leaving the world behind while exploring some interesting region, I have usually lived on dried fruits, nuts, chocolate and crackers, with plenty of fresh air and water. Starting at daybreak and traveling until dark, I have often traversed twenty or more miles of mountainous country in a day, including one or two ascents on the way. Among many mountaineering experiences one of the most interesting was that of a few summers ago in the Teton Range of Wyoming.

The little hamlet of Moran on the eastern shore of Jackson Lake is about 70 miles by auto to the south of the geysers of the Yellowstone, and may be conveniently reached by a regular service in summer. Here is a glorious view of the rugged Tetons rising impressively beyond the lake. Directly opposite is Mount Moran, a vast massive, 12,100 feet in height, with precipitous cliffs majestically encircling its summits. To the south are serrated peaks guarding Leigh and Jenny Lakes, with the Grand Teton^ i3,747 feet, looming fantastic and ideal like some Himalayan giant. Seen from this point the glaciers and cathedral spires of the surrounding mountains lead upward to a culminating peak which grandly dominates them all.

Although a little range in extent, the Tetons are unique among American mountains, having many unclimbed summits with interesting problems that await the mountaineer. From the east they rise with unusual steepness from 5,000 to 7,000 feet above the surrounding country.

As the Grand Teton had already been climbed, I was more interested in the possibilities of Mount Moran which was said to be unclimbable. The Superintendent of Yellowstone Park had just viewed it from various sides, everywhere finding sheer cliffs. In August, 1917, a considerable party ascended as far as the glacier on its eastern face, which they named Huntley Glacier. It was then reported in the Scientific American of March 30, 191 8, that "The summit has never been attained and probably never will be, as the last 3,000 feet of the mountain are sheer perpendicular walls of rock." The local authority on the mountain told us that he had spent many years in hunting sheep on its crags, always searching for a route to the summit, but he was always turned back by unscalable cliffs. He recounted an experience in which he nearly lost his life, and he had come to the conclusion that the peak could be ascended only by driving staples into the cliffs.

These reports made the mountain seem all the more interesting, and my wife and I left Moran at eight o'clock that evening for the nine-mile trip across Jackson Lake. There was a brilliant sunset with radiant clouds as the full moon rose in the east; but as we neared the base of Mount Moran, its cliflFs towered far above us, grim and inaccessible in the night. Impressed with the warning that the walls near the glacier could not be climbed, we decided to investigate the northern face, and we landed as far to the right of the central mass of the mountain as it seemed safe for us to go in the boat. As it was uncertain when we should return to the lake, we made no arrangements for the boat to meet us, expecting to travel south across country to settlers on the Snake River

That night we lay in our sleeping bags while the moon kept watch through the pines, and the silvery clouds sailed over the lake. We were up before six on August ii, 19 19, watching the wonderful orange-and-lemon glow of the morning mingle with the blue-gray of the lake. Shouldering our equipment, we started up the slope through a thick tangle of undergrowth and over fallen timber. With uncertain footing, plentiful mosquitoes, and a very hot day, it was a tiresome distance to the beginning of our climb. More than 1,500 feet of steep slope to the base of the cliffs measurably increased the weight of my 35-pound pack. Finding the route impracticable, we decided to traverse the slope of the mountain toward its eastern glacier. Climbing in and out of ravines and over precipitous ridges, in order to avoid loss of elevation, proved very costly to our strength and time. On reaching a giant rock overhanging the glacial torrent, we left our sleeping bags, taking with us only our rucksacks and my ice-axe. It was a steep ascent of several hundred feet along the ancient pathway of the glacier to the cave in its snout. We entered its cooling portal, curtained by a torrent of icy water, and continued beneath the glacier for nearly a hundred feet. Surrounded by solid ice, from the entrance archway we watched the cloud shadows on the distant lake.

It was my plan to investigate the possibility of working up a couloir in the heart of the mountain, which may be seen in the illustration as the long, narrow streak of snow that nearly reaches the summit. With an early start from the glacial valley there should be ample time to test this route before it becomes excessively dangerous. It is not unlikely, however, that unclimbable cliffs may be en-

[1^]

countered. Geologically Mt. Moran has a most interesting variety of rock, and its avalanches bring down specimens of many colors. An enormous reddish brown buttress rises from base to summit of the great inner wall of the mountain and is visible against the warm gray of the peak for many miles.

Leaving my wife to descend to our sleeping bags, where she was to await my return, I cut a few steps in the ice to reach the surface of the glacier. It was after i P.M. on a hot day, a most unfavorable time for a serious climb on any glacial mountain, for the sun had long been melting the snow on the heights. Already the glacier was strewn with newly fallen rocks, but I pressed on, jumping the open fissures and sounding in the snow with my ice-axe where there was danger of concealed crevasses. I found delicate work in crossing the bergschrund and surmounting the cliff above it, for I had to descend into the edge of the chasm, where there were great passageways and caverns of blue and green, leading to sudden depths which I was not desirous to fathom. The greatest danger, however, was from falling stones which were whizzing down the cliffs to the glacier, and I was not eager to intrude on their line of fire.

Ascending the wall above the bergschrund, I reached the summit just as a giant mass of rock came bounding and crashing down from unseen heights in an avalanche, which passed within a few feet of the trembling rock on which I stood. As the rocks followed the route of my ascent and spread over the entire glacier below me, it seemed unwise to continue my climb. After proceeding a little farther I reluctantly retraced my steps. Thus far my climb had involved only such technical difficulties as are in the day's work of any competent mountaineer; but it is a safe rule never to trifle with falling stones, for they are not a fair test of any one's skill.

A thunderstorm was raging amid the crags as I retreated across the glacier and decided to climb the aiguille which is seen on the left. This in itself proved to be of considerable height, and before reaching its summit, I became interested in the great walls of the main peak. Discovering what appeared to be an opportunity to get on the rocks without reascending the glacier, I hastened down the aiguille, crossed the moraine at the foot of the glacier, and put my theory to the test.

It was after four o'clock and I had had continuous climbing all day, but I realized that, if I abandoned the attempt, lack of time and provisions would compel my departure the following day. I had found the weak spot in the defensive walls of the mountain near the foot of the glacier, and I easily worked up into a concealed ravine, Which I ascended for several hundred feet to the eastern arete of the mountain. Following this ridge I climbed a cliff that was impossible to circumvent, enjoying thrilling views of the glacier almost directly below me; and, on the opposite side, of perpendicular walls of great height. Charming little lakes, nestling close to the base of the range, mirrored the sunshine and the clouds of a summer's day. In the distance lay the brown valley of the winding Snake overarched with rainbows. Thunderstorms were raging among the Wind River Mountains. Far too swiftly the shadow of Moran advanced to Jackson Lake, the sun disappeared, and darkness reached upward from the valley. Meanwhile I left the ridge and traversed the face of the mountain until I came to a long chimney. Entering it I found my way upward in the failing light, reaching and straddling from side to side for possible hand- and foot-holds, and struggling to surmount giant boulders which were insecurely wedged above me in the chimney. At one point

I had to leave it for a short detour on the steep, smooth surface of the surrounding rock, holding on by friction and an infrequent rest for a nail or two of my boot. Again I had to throw my rucksack up ahead, wedge my axe into a crack, and work over a beetling crag. Contrary to custom on a rock climb, I had brought my ice-axe with me, using it in the absence of a companion to lengthen my reach at difficult points. The chimney was many hundred feet in length, and afforded athletic diversion which would have been more enjoyable earlier in the day. When I should have climbed more rapidly.

After leaving the top of the chimney there was a delicate fifty feet or more of vertical cliff and slanting rock, where the slightest slip meant an unhindered descent for thousands of feet. On reaching its summit, I found a level surface, possibly 510 feet long and 96 feet wide, that was strewn with a few loose rocks on which no foot had trod. Arriving at the western end, I looked down into a col less than 100 feet below me. Beyond, there rose another summit of the mountain surmounted by a pile of loose rocks, which made it a little higher. From the lake my summit appears to be the highest, as seen in the illustration.

Under ordinary circumstances I should have crossed the col, but I was facing extraordinary conditions. It was 9 o'clock, and instead of moonlight which I had expected, I was threatened with an immediate electrical storm. Sleet was sweeping against me and clouds were hurrying over from the Grand Teton. I was far above the rest of the range and exposed to the unbroken fury of a gale in the darkness.

Hurriedly I pocketed some samples of the rock, and piled a few stones over a can in which I placed a slip of paper bearing my name. Asking Divine protection, without which I could never have descended in safety, I cautiously felt my way down the perilous upper cliff. The hand-holds were meager and the slant of the rocks so alarming that, if I had started, friction would not have saved me from the abyss. When I reached the head of the chimney I was quite encouraged. Facing outward I felt for foot- and hand-holds, making fairly rapid progress some of the way, but it was necessary now and then to drop my axe ahead. Finally the inevitable occurred and my faithful ice-axe bounded from ledge to ledge, striking fire as it fell toward the glacier. Possibly it served me well, for it warned me that I had descended too far on the

©/. E. Haynes

MOUNT MORAN, WYOMING, I2,IOO FEET.

precipice. Taking the hint I slowly reascended to safety on the arete. Thinking it desirable to join my wife as soon as possible in order to remove her anxiety, I pressed on and was finally rewarded by arriving at the head of the ravine which I had first ascended. The moon had now appeared and I progressed more rapidly, although continued caution was necessary, as a slip of only a few feet might easily have been disastrous. Missing the right place to leave the ravine, and not wishing to retrace my steps, I continued down a slope one would be unlikely to descend by daylight, and finally reached the gorge at a point considerably below the glacier. There was now a long and steep descent, over loose boulders that tried my patience, to the great rock where I expected to join my wife. I arrived at 1.30 A.M. to find neither wife nor sleeping bags !

I searched the mountainside and repeatedly called, but only the voice of the torrent replied. It seemed probable that my wife had taken the bags with her and was on her way for assistance. In the morning when we were traversing the mountain, we had seen a cabin a few miles to the south, and I mentioned a camp which was several miles beyond at the southern end of Leigh Lake.

There are no trails, save those of bear, elk, and moose, and one must fight his way with considerable difficulty. Ordinarily I would have taken a brief rest at this point, but it was necessary to locate my wife without delay. So I followed the stream, forcing my way through continuous thickets which offered great resistance, and leaping from rock to rock in my efforts to escape the tangle. For some distance I was able to travel on an avalanche of gigantic white blocks of stone, which had torn their way down the mountain and were now gleaming in the moonlight. Turning to the south, I climbed a ridge, and worked my way with difficulty over fallen timber and down a steep, forested slope where it was impossible to see my footing. Here I clung to branches and bushes to prevent accident when stepping into holes and over cliffs. Toward morning I lay down for a short time, but soon continued along the shore of a morass until it was light enough to cross. With daylight I reached the cabin which we had seen from the mountain, but found it had long been abandoned. I was rewarded, however, by a note pinned to the logs by my wife, stating that she had spent the night there. This was welcome news, for I had wondered whether I was safe in traveling far from our agreed meeting place, or whether I should have remained in that vicinity until morning. It was only a few steps to the shore of Leigh Lake, where I heard a distant response from my wife in answer to my call. She was slowly fighting her way through a thick growth of lodge-pole pine toward the western side of the lake. As its waters extend well into the mountains, we followed instead the eastern shore, which was also without a trail for much of the way.

Gradually I learned my wife's experiences. After we parted at the glacier, she had descended by the bank of the stream, in order to be near water on account of the heat. Finding she was not thirsty, it occured to her that it would be easier to descend farther away from the torrent. As she climbed a little to one side, she rested for a moment behind a rock, but immediately heard the sound of a great avalanche which seemed to shake the mountains. A stream of enormous boulders came leaping past her down the gorge, grinding the rocks into fragments and filling the air with the roar of destruction. It was twenty minutes before the confusion had ceased and she felt safe to leave the shelter of the rock. Thinking that I might have been killed was naturally disturbing; but through all that afternoon and night, she had the deeper feeling of my safety. If it had occurred to me that she might be in danger, I should have hastened to return. As it was, my thoughts to her were those of peace and Divine protection. After the avalanche, my wife descended in search of our sleeping bags, but they could not be found. Thinking that she had missed their location, she climbed back and forth for some time on the slope of the mountain, but without result, for they had been swept away. She left in the evening, following animal trails where possible, and reached the deserted cabin about the same time that I stood on the summit of the mountain.

At last we arrived at the end of Leigh Lake where there was a private camp, and we lay down for a brief nap. With the exception of the few moments' rest which I had secured before daylight, I had continuous vigorous exercise for nearly thirty hours. My various ascents totaled about 7,000 vertical feet, and I had traversed many miles of difficult mountain slopes. Under ordinary conditions, Mt. Moran is not an unusual climb for any competent mountaineer, — if he knows the route. We were soon journeying south for fifteen miles to Menor Ferry on the Snake River. Such an unusual succession of wild and unclimbed peaks and canyons would be difficult to find elsewhere in this country. From this point of view the Grand Teton is a gigantic rock peak of great height. On a naked gray cone to the south, a deep and narrow chimney springs from base to summit, looking as if an enormous rope had been thrown over it. Others are fantastically pinnacled and are enlivened with varied colors. Many are sharply pointed, offering interesting problems to the mountaineer. Although a very remarkable range, the Tetons have rarely been visited by the traveler. While Yellowstone Park has numerous mountains, none are of the interest and importance of the Tetons, which should be added as a fitting climax to its wonders.

At Menor Ferry we crossed the river and walked for several burning miles to the main highway, where we secured an auto for the long ride back to Moran that evening. Long will we remember the picturesque skyline of the Tetons, soft blue against the orange sky. Early the next morning we started on a day's ride to the northern entrance of Yellowstone Park. Rosy were the mountains in the morning glow, while peacefully the full moon lingered over Mount Moran.

Returning to Moran with Warren H. Loyster, of the National Park Service, we started from base camp Aug. 6, 1922, and ascended the eastern glacier and the Long Snow Tongue, which reaches almost to the western summit of Mount Moran. The snow lies deep, and it was necessary to cut and kick steps all the way. Where the Tongue divides we chose the lefthand couloir and at last reached the summit rocks. The view of rugged mountain peaks beneath us was particularly impressive. It was five o'clock, and it would have been very slow and difficult work to descend in safety over the hard snow, so we traversed the narrow ridge connecting the western and eastern summits. The ascent of this part of the mountain from its base is wholly a rock climb involving much more difficult and interesting work than the snow route to the western summit. Mr. Loyster noted the cairn I had erected on Aug. 11, 191 9, photographed the can which I had left there, and read the enclosed record of my ascent. We estimated this eastern summit to be about 250 feet lower than the one we had just left. We removed our 1919 record, which was much yellowed, and left bottles on both summits containing the new record. It was eight o'clock when we started our descent, which was assisted in part by the moon. At several critical points I was able to recall my former route, but we varied it for a considerable distance. We descended a long succession of hazardous cliffs, which required the utmost care and constantly required the most strenuous exercise. Cliff work in semi-darkness is hardly to be recommended, even to the most venturesome. In the darkness that preceded daylight the cold was intense. We reached camp safely and descended to the lake after about thirty hours' continuous exercise, having made the first traverse of Mount Moran.

Chapter III Rambles In Yellowstone And Glacier National

PARKS

Of foremost importance in the life of the nation are our national parks and monuments. Each one has distinctive and unrivaled features and many are becoming world-famous. In the last few years there has been a remarkable increase in the number of visitors to the better known parks and many people have seen a few of them; but it is unusual to find a traveler who is acquainted with all of them. Sooner or later we, as a nation, are destined to awaken to their supreme value and to a more active cooperation in their creation, development and protection. It has now been fifty years since the Yellowstone National Park was created in Wyoming and its natural wonders are probably more widely known than are those of other parks.