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Title: Mount Rainier - A Record of Exploration
Author: Various
Language: English
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
Subscripts in chemical formulas are indicated by an
underscore followed by the subscripted number enclosed
by curly brackets (example: SiO_{2} is the formula for
silicon dioxide).
In Chapter XII we were unable to resolve a discrepancy
between H. H. McAlister and E. H. McAlister, so both
were retained.
MOUNT RAINIER
* * * * *
[Illustration]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS
ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
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[Illustration: FIRST PICTURE OF MOUNT RAINER.
Drawn by W. Alexander from a sketch by J. Sykes, 1792.
Engraved by J. Landseer for Vancouver's Journal.]
MOUNT RAINIER
A Record of Exploration
Edited by
EDMOND S. MEANY
Professor of History in the University of Washington.
President of The Mountaineers.
Author of "Vancouver's Discovery of Puget Sound,"
"History of the State of Washington," etc.
New York
The Macmillan Company
1916
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1916,
By the Macmillan Company.
Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1916.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
To
GENERAL HAZARD STEVENS
EARLY LOVER OF THE MOUNTAIN, THIS BOOK
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
PREFACE
Mount Rainier National Park is visited annually by increasing
thousands of tourists. Many of them seek information about the
discoveries and explorations of the mountain and its environs. Much of
the information sought, especially that about the origin of place
names, has never been published. The annals of discovery and
exploration, which have been published, have often appeared in books,
pamphlets, or periodicals not easily accessible. It is the purpose of
this work to gather the essential portions of the desired information
within a compact, usable form.
During the summer of 1915, the mountain was for the first time
encircled by a large company of travelers. Small parties, carrying
their luggage and provisions on their backs, had made the trip a
number of times. The Mountaineers Club, in 1915, conducted a party of
one hundred, with fully equipped pack train and commissary, around the
mountain. They camped each evening at or near the snow-line. At the
daily campfires extracts were read from the original sources of the
mountain's history. The interest there manifested in such records gave
additional impulse to the preparation of this book.
It is natural that the chronological order should be chosen in
arranging the materials, beginning with the discovery and naming of
the mountain by Captain George Vancouver of the British Navy. The
records are then continued to the present time. There still remains to
be done much scientific work on the glaciers, snowfields, rocks, and
plants within the Park. It is hoped that this book may stimulate such
field work as well as the publication of the results.
The reader will notice that several writers in referring to the
mountain use some form of the name Tacoma. The editor has not
hesitated to publish such names as were used in the original articles
here reproduced. In all other cases he has used the name Mount
Rainier, approved by the United States Geographic Board.
In the separate chapters it will be noticed that the height of the
mountain has been placed at varying figures. The United States
Geological Survey has spoken on this subject with apparent official
finality, giving the altitude as 14,408 feet above sea level. How this
height was determined is told in the official announcement reproduced
in Chapter XVIII of the text, with comment thereon by F. E. Matthes,
one of the engineers of the United States Geological Survey.
The place names within the Park have been derived from such varied
sources that it is well-nigh impossible to ascertain the origin and
meaning of all of them. For the first time they are here (Chapter XIX)
gathered into a complete alphabetical arrangement with as full
information as is now available. The writer would welcome further
facts about any of the names.
In the introductory paragraphs before each chapter, the editor has
sought to express his acknowledgment for assistance rendered by others
in the compilation of the work. For fear some may have been omitted he
wishes here to express gratitude for all such help and to mention
especially Professor J. Franklin Jameson, Director of the Department
of Historical Research of the Carnegie Institution of Washington, for
his assistance in securing photostat reproductions of a number of rare
items found in the Library of Congress.
The editor also acknowledges the assistance rendered by Victor J.
Farrar, research assistant in the University of Washington.
EDMOND S. MEANY.
UNIVERSITY OF WASHINGTON,
Seattle, August, 1916.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE MOUNTAIN DISCOVERED AND NAMED, 1792 1
By Captain George Vancouver, R.N.
II. FIRST APPROACH TO THE MOUNTAIN, 1833 6
By Doctor William Fraser Tolmie.
III. FIRST RECORDED TRIP THROUGH NACHES PASS, 1841 13
By Lieutenant Robert E. Johnson, U.S.N., of
the Wilkes Expedition.
IV. TACOMA AND THE INDIAN LEGEND OF HAMITCHOU 34
By Theodore Winthrop.
V. FIRST ATTEMPTED ASCENT, 1857 73
By Lieutenant A. V. Kautz, U.S.A.
VI. FIRST SUCCESSFUL ASCENT, 1870 94
By General Hazard Stevens.
VII. INDIAN WARNING AGAINST DEMONS 132
By Sluiskin, Indian Guide.
VIII. SECOND SUCCESSFUL ASCENT, 1870 135
By S. F. Emmons.
IX. EXPLORATIONS ON THE NORTHERN SLOPES, 1881-1883 142
By Bailey Willis.
X. DISCOVERY OF CAMP MUIR, 1888 150
By Major E. S. Ingraham.
XI. EXPLORING THE MOUNTAIN AND ITS GLACIERS, 1896 159
By Professor I. C. Russell.
XII. MCCLURE'S ACHIEVEMENT AND TRAGIC DEATH, 1897 183
By Herbert L. Bruce and Professor H. H.
McAlister.
XIII. FIELD NOTES ON MOUNT RAINIER, 1905 194
By Professor Henry Landes.
XIV. GLACIERS OF MOUNT RAINIER 201
By F. E. Matthes.
XV. THE ROCKS OF MOUNT RAINIER 241
By George Otis Smith.
XVI. THE FLORA OF MOUNT RAINIER 254
By Professor Charles V. Piper.
XVII. CREATION OF MOUNT RAINIER NATIONAL PARK 287
Memorial by Scientific Societies.
XVIII. MOUNT RAINIER IS 14,408 FEET HIGH 297
By the United States Geological Survey.
XIX. PLACE NAMES AND ELEVATIONS IN MOUNT RAINIER
NATIONAL PARK 302
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
First Picture of Mount Rainier. Drawn by W. Alexander,
from a sketch by J. Sykes, 1792. Engraved by J.
Landseer for Vancouver's Journal _Frontispiece_
PAGE
Captain George Vancouver, Royal Navy 1
Doctor William Fraser Tolmie 6
Commander Charles Wilkes, United States Navy 13
Theodore Winthrop, from the Rowse Crayon Portrait. 34
General August Valentine Kautz, United States Army. 73
General Hazard Stevens 94
Samuel Franklin Emmons 135
Bailey Willis, from Photograph taken in 1883 142
Major Edward Sturgis Ingraham 150
Professor Israel Cook Russell 159
Professor Edgar McClure 183
Professor Henry Landes 194
François Émile Matthes 201
George Otis Smith 241
Professor Charles Vancouver Piper 254
Peter Rainier, Admiral of the Blue, Royal Navy 302
MOUNT RAINIER
A RECORD OF EXPLORATIONS
[Illustration: CAPTAIN GEORGE VANCOUVER.
Royal Navy.]
I. THE MOUNTAIN DISCOVERED AND NAMED, 1792
BY CAPTAIN GEORGE VANCOUVER, R.N.
Captain George Vancouver, the great English navigator and
explorer, lived but forty years, from 1758 to 1798. He
entered the British navy on the _Resolution_ under Captain
James Cook in 1771 and was with that even more famous
explorer during his second and third voyages, from 1772 to
1780. He was placed in command of the _Discovery_ and
_Chatham_ in 1791 and sent to the northwest coast of America.
On this voyage he discovered and named Puget Sound and many
other geographic features on the western coast of America.
The portions of his Voyage of Discovery to the North Pacific
Ocean, giving the record of his discovery, naming, and
exploration in the vicinity of Mount Rainier, are taken from
Volume II of the second edition, published in London in 1801,
pages 79, 118, and 134-138.
[Tuesday, May 8, 1792.] The weather was serene and pleasant, and the
country continued to exhibit, between us and the eastern snowy range,
the same luxuriant appearance. At its northern extremity, mount Baker
bore by compass N. 22 E.; the round snowy mountain, now forming its
southern extremity, and which, after my friend Rear Admiral Rainier, I
distinguished by the name of MOUNT RAINIER, bore N. [S.] 42 E.
[Saturday, May 19, 1792.] About noon, we passed an inlet on the
larboard or eastern shore, which seemed to stretch far to the
northward; but, as it was out of the line of our intended pursuit of
keeping the continental shore on board, I continued our course up the
main inlet, which now extended as far as, from the deck, the eye could
reach, though, from the mast-head, intervening land appeared, beyond
which another high round mountain covered with snow was discovered,
apparently situated several leagues to the south of mount Rainier, and
bearing by compass S. 22 E. This I considered as a further extension
of the eastern snowy range; but the intermediate mountains, connecting
it with mount Rainier, were not sufficiently high to be seen at that
distance.
[Saturday, May 26, 1792.] Towards noon we landed on a point on the
eastern shore, whose latitude I observed to be 47° 21', round which
we flattered ourselves we should find the inlet take an extensive
eastwardly course. This conjecture was supported by the appearance of
a very abrupt division in the snowy range of mountains immediately to
the south of mount Rainier, which was very conspicuous from the ship,
and the main arm of the inlet appearing to stretch in that direction
from the point we were then upon. We here dined, and although our
repast was soon concluded, the delay was irksome, as we were
excessively anxious to ascertain the truth, of which we were not long
held in suspense. For having passed round the point, we found the
inlet to terminate here in an extensive circular compact bay, whose
waters washed the base of mount Rainier, though its elevated summit
was yet at a very considerable distance from the shore, with which it
was connected by several ridges of hills rising towards it with
gradual ascent and much regularity. The forest trees, and the several
shades of verdure that covered the hills, gradually decreased in point
of beauty, until they became invisible; when the perpetual clothing of
snow commenced, which seemed to form a horizontal line from north to
south along this range of rugged mountains, from whose summit mount
Rainier rose conspicuously, and seemed as much elevated above them as
they were above the level of the sea; the whole producing a most
grand, picturesque effect. The lower mountains, as they descended to
the right and left, became gradually relieved of their frigid garment;
and as they approached the fertile woodland region that binds the
shores of this inlet in every direction, produced a pleasing variety.
We now proceeded to the N. W. in which direction the inlet from hence
extended, and afforded us some reason to believe that it communicated
with that under the survey of our other party. This opinion was
further corroborated by a few Indians, who had in a very civil manner
accompanied us some time, and who gave us to understand that in the
north western direction this inlet was very wide and extensive; this
they expressed before we quitted our dinner station, by opening their
arms, and making other signs that we should be led a long way by
pursuing that route; whereas, by bending their arm, or spreading out
their hand, and pointing to the space contained in the curve of the
arm, or between the fore-finger and thumb, that we should find our
progress soon stopped in the direction which led towards mount
Rainier. The little respect which most Indians bear to truth, and
their readiness to assert what they think is most agreeable for the
moment, or to answer their own particular wishes and inclinations,
induced me to place little dependance on this information, although
they could have no motive for deceiving us.
About a dozen of these friendly people had attended at our dinner, one
part of which was a venison pasty. Two of them, expressing a desire to
pass the line of separation drawn between us, were permitted to do so.
They sat down by us, and ate of the bread, and fish that we gave them
without the least hesitation; but on being offered some of the
venison, though they saw us eat it with great relish, they could not
be induced to taste it. They received it from us with great disgust,
and presented it round to the rest of the party, by whom it underwent
a very strict examination. Their conduct on this occasion left no
doubt in our minds that they believed it to be human flesh, an
impression which it was highly expedient should be done away. To
satisfy them that it was the flesh of the deer, we pointed to the
skins of the animal they had about them. In reply to this they pointed
to each other, and made signs that could not be misunderstood, that it
was the flesh of human beings, and threw it down in the dirt, with
gestures of great aversion and displeasure. At length we happily
convinced them of their mistake by shewing them a haunch we had in the
boat, by which means they were undeceived, and some of them ate of the
remainder of the pye with a good appetite.
This behavior, whilst in some measure tending to substantiate their
knowledge or suspicions that such barbarities have existence, led us
to conclude, that the character given of the natives of North-West
America does not attach to every tribe. These people have been
represented not only as accustomed inhumanly to devour the flesh of
their conquered enemies; but also to keep certain servants, or rather
slaves, of their own nation, for the sole purpose of making the
principal part of the banquet, to satisfy the unnatural savage
gluttony of the chiefs of this country, on their visits to each other.
Were such barbarities practiced once a month, as is stated, it would
be natural to suppose these people, so inured, would not have shewn
the least aversion to eating flesh of any description; on the
contrary, it is not possible to conceive a greater degree of
abhorrence than was manifested by these good people, until their minds
were made perfectly easy that it was not human flesh we offered them
to eat. This instance must necessarily exonerate at least this
particular tribe from so barbarous a practice; and, as their affinity
to the inhabitants of Nootka, and of the sea-coast, to the south of
that place, in their manners and customs, admits of little difference,
it is but charitable to hope those also, on a more minute inquiry, may
be found not altogether deserving such a character. They are not,
however, free from the general failing attendant on a savage life. One
of them having taken a knife and fork to imitate our manner of eating,
found means to secrete them under his garment; but, on his being
detected, gave up his plunder with the utmost good humour and
unconcern.
They accompanied us from three or four miserable huts, near the place
where we had dined, for about four miles; during which time they
exchanged the only things they had to dispose of, their bows, arrows,
and spears, in the most fair and honest manner, for hawk's bells,
buttons, beads, and such useless commodities.
[Illustration: DOCTOR WILLIAM FRASER TOLMIE.]
II. FIRST APPROACH TO THE MOUNTAIN, 1833
BY DOCTOR WILLIAM FRASER TOLMIE
Doctor William Fraser Tolmie was a medical officer in the
service of the Hudson's Bay Company. He was born at
Inverness, Scotland, on February 3, 1812, and died at
Victoria, British Columbia, on December 8, 1888. He was
educated at Glasgow, and when twenty years of age he joined
the Hudson's Bay Company. In 1833, he was located at
Nisqually House, Puget Sound. It was then that he made his
trip to the mountain. He later served at other posts in the
Pacific Northwest, and was raised to the rank of Chief Factor
in 1856. He was then placed on the board of management of the
great company. In 1860 he retired from the service.
In 1850 he was married to Jane, eldest daughter of Chief
Factor John Work. Their descendants still live at Victoria,
British Columbia. They, especially the son John W. Tolmie,
have compared this reproduction from Doctor Tolmie's diary
with the original manuscript to insure accuracy. So far as is
now known, this is the first record of a white man's close
approach to Mount Rainier.
It is pleasant to note that the new map of Mount Rainier
National Park, published by the United States Geological
Survey, shows the peak he climbed and the creek flowing near
it bearing the name of Tolmie.
August 27, 1833. Obtained Mr. Herron's consent to making a botanizing
excursion to Mt. Rainier, for which he has allowed 10 days. Have
engaged two horses from a chief living in that quarter, who came here
tonight, and Lachalet is to be my guide. Told the Indians I am going
to Mt. Rainier to gather herbs of which to make medicine, part of
which is to be sent to Britain and part retained in case intermittent
fever should visit us when I will prescribe for the Indians.
Aug. 28. A tremendous thunder storm occurred last night, succeeded by
torrents of rain. The thunder was very loud, and the lightening
flashing completely enlightened my apartment. Have been chatting with
Mr. Herron about colonizing Whidby's island, a project of which he is
at present quite full--more anon. No horses have appeared. Understand
that the mountain is four days' journey distant--the first of which
can only be performed on horseback. If they do not appear tomorrow I
shall start with Lachalet on foot.
Aug. 29. Prairie 8 miles N. of home. Sunset. Busy making arrangements
for journey, and while thus occupied the guide arrived with 3 horses.
Started about 3, mounted on a strong iron grey, my companions
disposing of themselves on the other two horses, except one, who
walked. We were 6 in number. I have engaged Lachalet for a blanket,
and his nephew, Lashima, for ammunition to accompany me and Nuckalkut
a Poyalip (whom I took for a native of Mt. Rainier) with 2 horses to
be guide on the mountain after leaving the horse track, and Quilniash,
his relative, a very active, strong fellow, has volunteered to
accompany me. The Indians are all in great hopes of killing elk and
chevriel, and Lachalet has already been selling and promising the
grease he is to get. It is in a great measure the expectation of
finding game that urges them to undertake the journey. Cantered slowly
along the prairie and are now at the residence of Nuckalkut's father,
under the shade of a lofty pine, in a grassy amphitheatre, beautifully
interspersed and surrounded with oaks, and through the gaps in the
circle we see the broad plain extending southwards to Nusqually. In a
hollow immediately behind is a small lake whose surface is almost one
sheet of waterlilies about to flower. Have supped on sallal; and at
dusk shall turn in.
Aug. 30. Sandy beach of Poyallipa River. Slept ill last night, and as
I dozed in the morning was aroused by a stroke across the thigh from a
large decayed branch which fell from the pine overshadowing us. A
drizzling rain fell during most of the night. Got up about dawn, and
finding thigh stiff and painful thought a stop put to the journey, but
after moving about it felt easier. Started about sunrise, I mounted on
a spirited brown mare, the rest on passable animals, except Nuckalkut,
who bestrode a foal. Made a northeasterly course through prairie.
Breakfasted at a small marsh on bread, sallal, dried cockels and a
small piece of chevriel saved from the last night's repast of my
companions (for I cannot call them attendants). The points of wood now
became broader, and the intervening plain degenerated into prairions.
Stopped about 1 P.M. at the abode of 3 Tekatat families, who met us
rank and file at the door to shake hands. Their sheds were made of
bark resting on a horizontal pole, supported at each end by tripods,
and showed an abundance of elk's flesh dried within. Two kettles were
filled with this, and, after smoking, my Indians made a savage repast
on the meat and bouillion, Lachalet saying it was the Indian custom to
eat a great deal at once and afterwards abstain for a time; he,
however, has twice eaten since. Traded some dried meat for 4 balls and
3 rings, and mounting, rode off in the midst of a heavy shower.
Ascended and descended at different times several steep banks and
passed through dense and tangled thickets, occasionally coming on a
prairion. The soil throughout was of the same nature as that of
Nusqually. After descending a very steep bank came to the Poyallip.
Lashima carried the baggage across on his head. Rode to the opposite
side through a rich alluvial plain, 3 or 4 miles in length and 3/4 to
1 in breadth. It is covered with fern about 8 feet high in some parts.
Passed through woods and crossed river several times. About 7 P.M.
dismounted and the horses and accoutrements were left in a wood at
the river's brink. Started now on foot for a house Nuckalkut knew, and
after traversing woods and twice crossing the torrents "on the
unsteadfast footing" of a log, arrived at the house, which was a
deserted one, and encamped on the dry part of river's bed, along which
our course lies tomorrow. The Poyallip flows rapidly and is about 10
or 12 yards broad. Its banks are high and covered with lofty cedars
and pines. The water is of a dirty white colour, being impregnated by
white clay. Lachalet has tonight been trying to persuade me from going
to the snow on the mountain.
Aug. 31. Slept well, and in the morning two salmon were caught, on
which we are to breakfast before starting. After breakfast Quillihaish
stuck the gills and sound of the fish on a spit which stood before the
fire, so that the next comer might know that salmon could be obtained
there. Have traveled nearly the whole day through a wood of cedar and
pine, surface very uneven, and after ascending the bed of river a
couple of miles are now encamped about ten yards from its margin in
the wood. Find myself very inferior to my companions in the power of
enduring fatigue. Their pace is a smart trot which soon obliges me to
rest. The waters of the Poyallip are still of the same colour. Can see
a short distance up two lofty hills covered with wood. Evening cloudy
and rainy. Showery all day.
Sunday, Sept. 1. Bank of Poyallip river. It has rained all night and
is now, 6 A.M., pouring down. Are a good deal sheltered by the trees.
My companions are all snoozing. Shall presently arouse them and hold a
council of war. The prospect is very discouraging. Our provisions will
be expended today and Lachalet said he thought the river would be too
high to be fordable in either direction. Had dried meat boiled in a
cedar bark kettle for breakfast. I got rigged out in green blanket
without trousers, in Indian style, and trudged on through the wood.
Afterwood exchanged blanket with Lachalet for Ouvrie's capot, which
has been on almost every Indian at Nusqually. However, I found it more
convenient than the blanket. Our course lay up the river, which we
crossed frequently. The bed is clayey in most parts. Saw the sawbill
duck once or twice riding down on a log and fired twice,
unsuccessfully. Have been flanked on both sides with high, pineclad
hills for some time. A short distance above encampment snow can be
seen. It having rained almost incessantly, have encamped under
shelving bank which has been undermined by the river. Immense stones,
only held in situ by dried roots, form the roof, and the floor is very
rugged. Have supped on berries, which, when heated with stones in
kettle, taste like lozenges. Propose tomorrow to ascend one of the
snowy peaks above.
Sept. 2. Summit of a snowy peak immediately under Rainier. Passed a
very uncomfortable night in our troglodytic mansion. Ascended the
river for 3 miles to where it was shut in by amphitheatre of mountains
and could be seen bounding over a lofty precipice above. Ascended that
which showed most snow. Our track lay at first through a dense wood of
pine, but we afterwards emerged into an exuberantly verdant gully,
closed on each side by lofty precipices. Followed fully to near the
summit and found excellent berries in abundance. It contained very few
Alpine plants. Afterwards came to a grassy mound, where the sight of
several decayed trees induced us to encamp. After tea I set out with
Lachalet and Nuckalkut for the summit, which was ankle deep with snow
for 1/4 mile downwards. The summit terminated in abrupt precipice
directed northwards and bearing N. E. from Mt. Rainier, the adjoining
peak. The mists were at times very dense, but a puff of S. W. wind
occasionally dispelled them. On the S. side of Poyallip is a range of
snow-dappled mountains, and they, as well as that on the N. side,
terminate in Mt. Rainier, a short distance to E. Collected a vasculum
of plants at the snow, and having examined and packed them shall turn
in. Thermometer at base, 54 deg., at summit of ascent, 47 deg.
Sept. 3. Woody islet on Poyallip. It rained heavily during night, but
about dawn the wind shifting to the N. E. dispersed the clouds and
frost set in. Lay shivering all night and roused my swarthy companions
twice to rekindle the fire. At sunrise, accompanied by Quilliliash,
went to the summit and found the tempr. of the air 33 deg. The snow
was spangled and sparkled brightly in the bright sunshine. It was
crisp and only yielded a couple of inches to the pressure of foot in
walking. Mt. Rainier appeared surpassingly splendid and magnificent;
it bore, from the peak on which I stood, S. S. E., and was separated
from it only by a narrow glen, whose sides, however, were formed by
inaccessible precipices. Got all my bearings more correctly to-day,
the atmosphere being clear and every object distinctly perceived. The
river flows at first in a northerly direction from the mountain. The
snow on the summit of the mountain adjoining Rainier on western side
of Poyallip is continuous with that of latter, and thus the S. Western
aspect of Rainier seemed the most accessible. By ascending the first
mountain through a gully in its northern side, you reach the eternal
snow of Rainier, and for a long distance afterwards the ascent is very
gradual, but then it becomes abrupt from the sugarloaf form assumed by
the mountain. Its eastern side is steep on its northern aspect; a few
glaciers were seen on the conical portion; below that the mountain is
composed of bare rock, apparently volcanic, which about 50 yards in
breadth reaches from the snow to the valley beneath and is bounded on
each side by bold bluff crags scantily covered with stunted pines. Its
surface is generally smooth, but here and there raised into small
points or knobs or arrowed with short and narrow longitudinal lines in
which snow lay. From the snow on western border the Poyallipa arose,
and in its course down this rock slope was fenced into the eastward by
a regular elevation of the rock in the form of a wall or dyke, which
at the distance I viewed it at, seemed about four feet high and four
hundred yards in length. Two large pyramids of rock arose from the
gentle acclivity at S. W. extremity of mountain, and around each the
drifting snow had accumulated in large quantity, forming a basin
apparently of great depth. Here I also perceived, peeping from their
snowy covering, two lines of dyke similar to that already mentioned.
Sept. 4. Am tonight encamped on a small eminence near the commencement
of prairie. Had a tedious walk through the wood bordering Poyallip,
but accomplished it in much shorter time than formerly. Evening fine.
Sept. 5. Nusqually. Reached Tekatat camp in the forenoon and regaled
on boiled elk and shallon. Pushed on ahead with Lachalet and
Quilliliash, and arrived here in the evening, where all is well.
[Illustration: COMMANDER CHARLES WILKES.
United States Navy.]
III. FIRST RECORDED TRIP THROUGH NACHES PASS, 1841
BY LIEUTENANT ROBERT E. JOHNSON, U.S.N.
The proper and official title of the United States Exploring
Expedition, 1838-1842, by common speech has been contracted
to the Wilkes Expedition. The commander of the expedition was
Charles Wilkes, who entered the United States Navy as a
midshipman on January 1, 1818. On July 25, 1866, he was
promoted to rear-admiral on the retired list. He was born at
New York City on April 3, 1798, and died at Washington City
on February 8, 1877.
He was honored in Europe and America for his scientific
attainments, especially in connection with the expedition
that now bears his name. That voyage with a squadron of
American naval vessels was for the purpose of increasing the
world's knowledge of geography and kindred sciences. They
reached Puget Sound in 1841 and, while making headquarters at
Nisqually House of the Hudson's Bay Company, Commander Wilkes
sent Lieutenant Robert E. Johnson in command of a party to
cross the Cascade Range. Search in the Navy Department
revealed only scant information that Lieutenant Johnson was
from North Carolina. The Historical Commission of that State
and others there have failed to find information about his
subsequent career.
Since he speaks of obtaining a guide, it is likely that he
was not the first white man to cross the Cascades, but he was
the first to leave us a known record. The portions of that
record which bear upon Mount Rainier and its environs is here
reproduced.
Commander Wilkes, before giving the record of his
subordinate, makes reference to the peak as follows: "The
height of Mount Rainier was obtained by measuring a base line
on the prairies, in which operation I was assisted by
Lieutenant Case, and the triangulation gave its height,
twelve thousand three hundred and thirty feet." (Narrative,
Volume IV., page 413.)
The final reports of the expedition were to appear in
twenty-four large volumes and eleven atlases. Several of the
volumes were never published, and of those completed only one
hundred sets were printed. The rare monographs were full of
information. The first part or "Narrative" in five volumes
was issued in several editions. The portions here reproduced
are taken from the edition by Lea and Blanchard,
Philadelphia, 1845, Volume IV., pages 418-429 and 468-470.
I have before stated that Lieutenant Johnson's party was ready for
departure on the 19th May [1841]; that it consisted of Lieutenant
Johnson, Messrs. Pickering, Waldron, and Brackenridge, a sergeant of
marines, and a servant. I must do justice to the exertions of this
officer in getting ready for his journey, which he accomplished in
less time than I anticipated, as the delays incident to setting out on
a novel expedition, and one believed by most persons to be scarcely
practicable in the summer season, are great and tantalizing. In making
preparations for such a journey, the Indians were to be bargained
with, and, as I have before had occasion to remark, are enough to tire
the patience of Job himself. First, the Indian himself is to be sought
out; then the horse is to be tried; next the price is to be discussed,
then the mode of payment, and finally the potlatch: each and all are
matters of grave consideration and delay, during which the Indians
make a business of watching every circumstance of which they can take
advantage. No one can be sure of closing his bargain, until the terms
are duly arranged, the potlatch given, and the horse delivered. After
obtaining horses, Lieutenant Johnson had the saddles, alforcas,
saddle-cloths, saddle-trees or pack-saddles, etc., with a variety of
lashings, to prepare. For many of these we were indebted to the
kindness of Captain M'Niel and Mr. Anderson.[1] Others were made on
board the ship, after a pattern lent us. One of the most important
persons to obtain was a good guide, and hearing of one who resided at
the Cowlitz river, by the name of Pierre Charles,[2] he was at once
sent for; but I did not think it worth while to detain the party until
his arrival, as he could easily overtake it. Lieutenant Johnson,
therefore, was directed to hurry his departure, and to set out, which
he did on the 19th May, at noon, and proceeded to the prairie about
two miles distant, where the party encamped.
There is little danger on these expeditions of having too few
articles: the great difficulty is to avoid having too many. It turned
out as I had anticipated. The first night passed in their tent fully
satisfied them of this, and taught them to dispense with all other
bedding save blankets.
Mr. Anderson rode to the encampment before night, bringing the news of
the arrival of Pierre Charles at the fort; whereupon Lieutenant
Johnson returned to make an agreement with him and his companion. This
was done, although, as is to be supposed, their demands were
exorbitant, in consequence of the belief that their services were
indispensable.
Pierre Charles's companion was a young man, named Peter Bercier, (a
connexion of Plomondon)[3] who spoke English, and all the languages of
the country.
On the morning of the 20th, they obtained an accession to their
horses, and set out on their route towards the mountains. Although the
possibility of crossing them was doubted, yet I felt satisfied if
exertion and perseverance could effect the object, the officer who had
charge of the party would succeed. This day, they made but five miles;
after which they encamped, at the recommendation of Pierre Charles, in
order that the horses might not be over-fatigued, and be able to get
good pasture and water. Here a number of natives visited the camp.
Pine trees were in large numbers, many of them upwards of one hundred
and thirty feet in height. On the banks of a small stream, near their
camp, were found the yellow Ranunculus, a species of Trillium, in
thickets, with large leaves and small flowers, Lupines, and some
specimens of a cruciferous plant.
On the 21st they made an early start, and in the forenoon crossed the
Puyallup, a stream about seventy feet wide; along which is a fine
meadow of some extent, with clumps of alder and willow: the soil was
of a black turfy nature. After leaving the meadow-land, they began to
ascend along a path that was scarcely visible from being overgrown
with Gaultheria, Hazel, Spiræa, Vaccinium, and Cornus.
During the day, they crossed the Stehna.[4] In the evening, after
making sixteen miles, they encamped at the junction of the Puyallup
with the Upthascap.[5] Near by was a hut, built of the planks of the
Arbor Vitæ (Thuja), which was remarkably well made; and the boards
used in its structure, although split, had all the appearance of being
sawn: many of them were three feet wide, and about fifteen feet long.
The hut was perfectly water-tight. Its only inhabitants were two
miserable old Indians and two boys, who were waiting here for the
arrival of those employed in the salmon-fishery. The rivers were
beginning to swell to an unusual size, owing to the melting of the
snows in the mountains; and in order to cross the streams, it became
necessary to cut down large trees, over which the packs were carried,
while the horses swam over. These were not the only difficulties they
had to encounter: the path was to be cut for miles through thickets of
brushwood and fallen timber; steep precipices were to be ascended,
with slippery sides and entangled with roots of every variety of shape
and size, in which the horses' legs would become entangled, and before
reaching the top be precipitated, loads and all, to the bottom. The
horses would at times become jammed with their packs between trees,
and were not to be disengaged without great toil, trouble, and damage
to their burdens. In some cases, after succeeding in getting nearly to
the top of a hill thirty or forty feet high, they would become
exhausted and fall over backwards, making two or three somersets,
until they reached the bottom, when their loads were again to be
arranged.
On the 22d, their route lay along the banks of the Upthascap,[6] which
is a much wider stream than the Puyallup. A short distance up, they
came to a fish-weir, constructed as the one heretofore described, on
the Chickeeles,[7] though much smaller.
This part of the country abounds with arbor-vitæ trees, some of which
were found to be thirty feet in circumference at the height of four
feet from the ground, and upwards of one hundred feet high.
Notwithstanding the many difficulties encountered, they this day made
about twelve miles.
On the morning of the 23d, just as they were about to leave their
camp, their men brought in a deer, which was soon skinned and packed
away on the horses. This was the first large game they had obtained,
having previously got only a few grouse.
They had now reached the Smalocho,[8] which runs to the westward, and
is sixty-five feet wide: its depth was found to be four and a half
feet, which, as it was also rapid, was too great for the horses to
ford and carry their loads. The Indians now became serviceable to
them. Lieutenant Johnson had engaged several that were met on their
way, and they now amounted to thirteen, who appeared for a time lively
and contented. This, however, was but a forerunner of discontent, and
a refusal to go any farther; but with coaxing and threatening they
were induced to proceed.
The road or way, after passing the river, was over a succession of
deep valleys and hills, so steep that it was difficult for a horse to
get up and over them with a load, and the fall of a horse became a
common occurrence. They were all, however, recovered without injury,
although one of them fell upwards of one hundred feet; yet in
consequence of his fall having been repeatedly broken by the shrubs
and trees, he reached the bottom without injury to himself, but with
the loss of his load, consisting of their camp utensils, &c., which
were swept off by the rapid current of the river.
The route lay, for several days, through forests of spruce, and some
of the trees that had fallen measured two hundred and sixty-five feet
in length. One of these, at the height of ten feet from the roots,
measured thirty-five feet in circumference, and at the end which had
been broken off in its fall, it was found to be eighteen inches in
diameter, which would make the tree little short of three hundred feet
when it was growing. The stems of all these trees were clear of
branches to the height of one hundred and fifty feet from the ground,
and perfectly straight. In many cases it was impossible to see over
the fallen trees, even when on horseback, and on these, seedlings were
growing luxuriantly, forcing their roots through the bark and over the
body of the trunk till they reached the ground. Many spruces were seen
which had grown in this way; and these, though of considerable size,
still retained the form of an arch, showing where the old tree had
lain, and under which they occasionally rode. As may be supposed, they
could not advance very rapidly over such ground, and Lieutenant
Johnson remarks, that although he was frequently desirous of
shortening the road, by taking what seemed a more direct course, he
invariably found himself obliged to return to the Indian trail.
Daylight of the 24th brought with it its troubles: it was found that
the horses had strayed,--a disaster that the Indians took quite
coolly, hoping it would be the cause of their return. After a
diligent search, the horses were found in places where they had sought
better food, although it was scanty enough even there.
During the day, the route led along the Smalocho,[9] which runs nearly
east and west; and they only left its banks when they were obliged to
do so by various impassable barriers. This part of the country is
composed of conical hills, which are all thickly clothed with pine
trees of gigantic dimensions. They made nine miles this day, without
accident; but when they encamped, they had no food for the horses
except fern. The animals, in consequence, seemed much overcome, as did
also the Indians, who had travelled the whole day with heavy loads.
Lieutenant Johnson, by way of diverting the fatigue of the latter, got
up a shooting-match for a knife, the excitement of which had the
desired effect.
The trees hereabout were chiefly the cotton-wood, maple, spruce, pine,
and elder, and some undergrowth of raspberry, the young shoots of
which the natives eat with great relish.
On the 25th, they set out at an early hour, and found the travelling
less rough, so that they reached the foot of La Tête[10] before noon,
having accomplished eleven miles. Lieutenant Johnson with the sergeant
ascended La Tête, obtained the bearings, from its summit, of all the
objects around, and made its height by barometer, two thousand seven
hundred and ninety-eight feet: its latitude was fixed at 47° 08'
54'' N. This mountain was entirely destitute of wood; but, having
been burnt over, was found strewn with huge charred trunks, and the
whole ground covered with ashes. The inclination of its sides was
about fifty degrees.
The country around seemed one continued series of hills, and like La
Tête had suffered from the fire. According to the natives, although
the wood on the mountains was destroyed many years since, yet it was
still observed to be on fire, in some places, about two years ago.
Most of the tops of the distant peaks had snow on them. To the east
was seen the appearance of two valleys, through which the two branches
of the Smalocho[11] flow.
On descending from La Tête, the river was to be crossed: this was
found too deep to be forded, and it consequently became necessary to
form a bridge to transport the baggage, by cutting down trees. The
current was found to run 6·2 miles per hour. They had been in hopes of
reaching the Little Prairie before night, but in consequence of this
delay, were forced to encamp before arriving there.
The Indians complained much of the want of food: many of the horses
also were exhausted for the same cause, and exhibited their scanty
nourishment in their emaciated appearance.
On the 26th, they reached the Little Prairie at an early hour, where,
after consultation, it was determined to wait a day to recruit the
horses, as this was the only place they could obtain food. It was also
desirable to ascertain the practicability of passing the mountain with
the horses, and at the same time to carry forward some of the loads,
that the horses might have as little as possible to transport. Mr.
Waldron and Pierre Charles were therefore sent forward with the
Indians, having loads of fifty pounds each, to ascend the mountain,
while Lieutenant Johnson remained with the camp to get observations.
Dr. Pickering and Mr. Brackenridge accompanied the party of Mr.
Waldron to the snow-line. The prairie on which they had encamped was
about two and a half acres in extent, and another of the same size was
found half a mile farther east.
The 27th was employed by Lieutenant Johnson in determining the
positions of this prairie, which proved to be in latitude 47° 05'
51'' N., and longitude 120° 13' W.[12] The variation was 19° 39'
easterly. At sunset, messengers arrived from Mr. Waldron, who had
reached the summit at noon, and was to proceed down to the snow-line
to encamp. The snow was found to be about ten feet deep, and the party
crossing sank about ankle-deep, for which reason opinions varied as to
the possibility of getting the horses over; but it was determined to
make the trial. Lieutenant Johnson, therefore, set out, leaving a
supply of food with an old Indian and a horse, both of whom were worn
out, and unable to proceed.
By eleven o'clock, they were met by Pierre Charles and the Indians,
who gave some slight hopes of accomplishing the task of getting all
over. Lieutenant Johnson determined to take only the strongest horses
to the edge of the snow. At half-past 5 P.M., they reached the best
practicable encampment, being a mile beyond the place where Mr.
Waldron had encamped two days before. The snow having melted so
rapidly, Lieutenant Johnson, taking all things into consideration,
determined, notwithstanding the forebodings of failure held out by the
party that had gone before, to make the attempt. It now became
necessary to push on with as much haste as possible, on account of the
state of their provisions; for what with the loss sustained in fording
the river, and in consumption, they were obliged to adopt an
allowance.
On the 29th, they departed, at early dawn, in order to take advantage
of the firmness of the snow, occasioned by the last night's frost.
They ascended rapidly, and passed over the worst of the way, the
horses sinking no deeper than their fetlocks. They first passed over a
narrow ridge, and then a succession of small cones, until they reached
the summit.
Mount Rainier, from the top, bore south-southwest, apparently not more
than ten miles distant. A profile of the mountain indicates that it
has a terminal crater, as well as some on its flanks. The barometer
stood at 24·950 in.: five thousand and ninety-two feet. There was
another, to the north-northeast, covered with snow, and one to the
west appeared about two hundred feet higher than the place where the
observations were taken. This latter had suffered from fire in the
same way as La Tête, and showed only a few patches of snow. To the
eastward, a range of inferior height, running north and south, was in
view, without snow.
On the western ascent of this mountain, the pines were scrubby; but at
the summit, which was a plain, about a mile in length by half a mile
wide, they were straight and towering, about eighty feet in height,
without any limbs or foliage, except at the top. The distance
travelled over the top was about five miles. On descending the east
side, the snow was much deeper and softer, but the horses managed to
get along well, and without accident.
Lieutenant Johnson, in following the party, missed the trail, and lost
his way for three or four hours. On discovering the camp of those who
had gone before, on the opposite side of a stream, he attempted to
cross it on a log, in doing which his foot slipped, and he was
precipitated into the water. Although his first thought was to save
the chronometer from accident, it was too late, for the watch had
stopped; it was not, however, so far injured as not to be set a-going,
and it continued to go during the remainder of the journey: the only
use I have been able to make of his subsequent observations, was to
obtain the relative meridian distances between the points visited,
without the absolute longitude. It is needless to say, that I placed
little or no dependence on them, in constructing the map.
Although the horses had, with one or two exceptions, reached the
eastern side of the mountain, yet they, together with the Indians,
were very much exhausted. The time had now come when the Indians,
according to agreement, were to be paid off, and they had done much
more than they agreed to do, having crossed the mountain twice.
Finding the necessity of retaining all the blankets that had been
brought with them, in order to buy horses, Lieutenant Johnson proposed
to the Indians to receive an order on Nisqually, in lieu of the
immediate delivery of the blankets. This they readily assented to, and
also willingly gave up those that had already been paid them, on
receiving a similar order,--thus showing a spirit of accommodation
highly praiseworthy. Only two of them returned to Nisqually, to whom
were entrusted the botanical specimens, and the care of the horses
left upon the road.
The banks of the small streams on the eastern side of the mountain
were bordered with the greatest variety of trees and shrubs,
consisting of poplars, buckthorn fifty feet high, dogwood thirty to
forty feet high, several species of willow, alder, two species of
maple, and occasionally a yew. The undergrowth was composed of Hazel,
Vaccinium, Gaultheria, and a prickly species of Aralia. The herbaceous
shrubs were Goodyera, Neottia, Viola, Claytonia, Corallorrhiza. The
latter, however, were not in flower.
The party on foot, after leaving the Little Prairie about half a mile,
crossed the northern branch of the Smalocho,[13] which was found much
swollen and very rapid. Two trees were cut down to form a bridge.
After this, the walking through the forest became smooth and firm, and
they passed on at a rapid pace. The Indians, although loaded with
ninety pounds of baggage, kept up with the rest. At nightfall they
encamped at the margin of the snow.
On lighting their fires, they accidentally set fire to the
moss-covered trees, and in a few moments all around them was a
blazing mass of flame, which compelled them to change their quarters
farther to windward. They had made eighteen miles. But few plants were
found, the season being too early for collecting at so high an
elevation. The ground was covered with spruce-twigs, which had
apparently been broken off by the weight of the snow. The summit was
passed through an open space about twenty acres in extent. This glade
was surrounded with a dense forest of spruce trees. There was no
danger in walking except near the young trees, which had been bent
down by the snow, but on passing these they often broke through, and
experienced much difficulty in extricating themselves, particularly
the poor Indians, with their heavy burdens. The breadth of snow passed
over was about eight miles. At three o'clock they reached the
Spipen[14] River, where they encamped: this camp was found to be two
thousand five hundred and forty-one feet above the level of the sea.
The vegetation appeared to our botanical gentlemen farther advanced on
the east side than on the west, at the same height; the Pulmonarias
and several small annuals were more forward. There were only a few
pine trees, and those small, seen on the west side of the ridge; and
on the east side, there was a species of larch, the hackmatack of the
country. While they remained at this camp, they found a Pyrola, and
some new ferns.
The country about the Spipen[14] is mountainous and woody, with a
narrow strip of meadow-land along its banks. Mr. Waldron had, on
arriving at the camp, sent Lachemere, one of the Indians, down the
river to an Indian chief, in order to procure horses. Those that
remained after providing for the baggage, were consequently assigned
each to two or three individuals to ride and tye on their route.
On the 30th, they proceeded down the Spipen, making a journey of
eighteen miles, and passed another branch of the river, the junction
of which augmented its size very considerably. Its banks, too, became
perpendicular and rocky, with a current flowing between them at the
rate of six or seven miles an hour. After the junction, the stream was
about one hundred feet broad, and its course was east-southeast.
The vegetation on the east side of the mountains was decidedly more
advanced than that to the west, and several very interesting species
of plants were met with by the botanists, on the banks of the streams:
among them were Pæonia brownii, Cypripedium oregonium, Pentstemon,
Ipomopsis elegans, and several Compositæ, and a very handsome
flowering shrub, Purshia tridentata.
On the 31st, they continued their route over a rough country, in some
places almost impassable for a horse from its steepness, and in others
so marshy as to require much caution to prevent being mired.
During the morning, they met two Indians, who informed them that the
chief of the Yakima tribe was a short distance in advance, waiting to
meet them, and that he had several horses. At noon they reached a
small prairie on the banks of the river, where old Tidias, the chief,
was seen seated in state to receive Lieutenant Johnson; but this
ceremony was unavoidably broken in upon by the necessity of getting
the meridian observations. The chief, however, advanced towards him
with every mark of friendship, giving the party a hearty welcome. In
person he was tall, straight, and thin, a little bald, with long black
hair hanging down his back, carefully tied with a worsted rag. He was
grave, but dignified and graceful. When they had been seated, and
after smoking a couple of pipes in silence, he intimated that he was
ready for a talk, which then followed, relative to the rivers and face
of the country; but little information was obtained that could be
depended upon.
This tribe subsist chiefly upon salmon and the cammass-root: game is
very scarce, and the beaver have all disappeared. The cammass-root is
pounded and made into a sort of cake, which is not unpleasant, having
a sweetish taste, but it is very dry, although some of the party took
a fancy to it.
Tidias had with him an old man almost blind, who claimed much respect,
and two young men, whose dress of buckskin, profusely ornamented with
beads, was much admired by the party. During the talk, the old chief
expressed himself delighted to see the white men, and spoke of his own
importance, his immense territory, etc., in a style of boasting, to
which the Indians are very much addicted. He said that he was desirous
of affording all the accommodation he could to the party. But although
he had eight or ten fine horses with him, he would not agree to part
with them, as they were all his favourites. He was presented with a
variety of articles, in return for which he gave the party a few dried
salmon.
Towards evening, old Tidias took leave of them, saying that it was not
proper for an Indian to encamp in the same place with a white man, and
with a promise that he would have horses by ten o'clock the next day;
but he had a game to play by procrastinating, in which he thoroughly
succeeded.
In the morning they reached the Indian camp below, but no horses had
arrived. It was far, they said, to Tidias's house; a man could not go
thither and return in the same day; no horses or salmon could be
brought; no one could be permitted to go. Lieutenant Johnson was then
told that the road he had to follow was a "hungry" road. At last the
Indian was induced by high offers to exchange good horses for a great
number of bad ones, and finally consented to part with two more. On
quitting him they became thoroughly aware that all the difficulties
were owing, not to any indisposition to sell, but were created for the
purpose of inducing high prices to be given.
The party now branched off at right angles to their former route,
Lieutenant Johnson heartily sick and tired of his friend Tidias and
his people. Two more of the Indians here left them. The country they
entered, after passing a ridge about six hundred feet high, was quite
of a different aspect, forming long sloping hills, covered with a
scanty growth of pines. Many dry beds of rivulets were passed, and the
soil of the hills produced nothing but a long thin grass. There are,
however, some small valleys where the growth of grass is luxuriant,
the pines are larger, and the scenery assumed a park-like appearance.
From the summit of one of the hills, a sketch of Mount Rainier, and of
the intervening range, was obtained.
On the top of the ridge they fell in with a number of Spipen Indians,
who were engaged in digging the cammass and other roots. The latter
were those of an umbelliferous plant, oblong, tuberous, and in taste
resembling a parsnip. The process used to prepare them for bread, is
to bake them in a well-heated oven of stones; when they are taken out
they are dried, and then pounded between two stones till the mass
becomes as fine as corn meal, when it is kneaded into cakes and dried
in the sun. These roots are the principal vegetable food of the
Indians throughout Middle Oregon. The women are frequently seen, to
the number of twenty or thirty, with baskets suspended from the neck,
and a pointed stick in their hand, digging these roots, and so
intently engaged in the search for them, as to pay no attention
whatever to a passer-by. When these roots are properly dried, they are
stored away for the winter's consumption. This day they made only
fifteen miles, in a northern direction.
On the 2d of June, they reached the Yakima, after having crossed a
small stream. The Yakima was too deep for the horses to ford with
their packs, and they now for the first time used their balsas of
India-rubber cloth, which were found to answer the purpose of
floating the loads across the stream.
This river is one hundred and fifty feet wide, and pursues an
east-southeast course, with a velocity of more than four miles an
hour. At this place were found twenty migrating Indians, who have
their permanent residence on the banks lower down.
The chief, Kamaiyah, was the son-in-law of old Tidias, and one of the
most handsome and perfectly-formed Indians they had met with. He was
found to be gruff and surly in his manners, which was thought to be
owing to his wish to appear dignified. These Indians were living in
temporary huts, consisting of mats spread on poles. Among them was
seen quite a pretty girl, dressed in a shirt and trousers, with
moccasins of skin very much ornamented with fringe and beads. They had
a number of fine horses, but could not be induced to part with any of
them.
Lieutenant Johnson had now succeeded in purchasing venison and salmon,
and the party again had full allowance.
On the 3d, they continued their route to the northward, over gradually
rising ground, and Lieutenant Johnson having succeeded in purchasing
three more horses, only three of the party were now without them, so
that the riding and tye system was not quite so often resorted to as
before. On this plain was seen a number of curlews, some grouse, and a
large species of hare. They encamped again near the snow, and found
their altitude greater than any yet reached, the barometer standing at
24·750 in.: five thousand two hundred and three feet. They had again
reached the spruces and lost the pine, which was only found on the
hill-sides and plains.
At 4 A.M. on the morning of the 4th of June, the thermometer stood at
28°. They on that day continued their route up the mountain and across
its summit, which was here and there covered with patches of snow. I
regret to record another accident to the instruments. The sergeant, to
whom the barometer was intrusted by Lieutenant Johnson, in putting up
the instrument this morning, carelessly broke it; and thus ended the
barometrical experiments in the most interesting portion of the route.
It is difficult to account for the scarcity of snow on a much higher
elevation than they had before reached, and under circumstances which
would appear to have warranted a contrary expectation. Dr. Pickering
was induced to believe that this change in the climate is owing to the
open nature of the surrounding country; its being devoid of dense
forests, with but a few scattered trees and no under-brush; and the
vicinity to elevated plains, and the ridge being of a less broken
character.
The early part of the day was cold, with showers of sleet. On the
crest of the mountain they passed over swampy ground, with but a few
patches of spruces: after passing which, they began to descend very
regularly towards the Columbia, which they reached early in the
afternoon, about three miles below the Pischous River.[15] The
Columbia at this place is a rapid stream, but the scenery differs
entirely from that of other rivers: its banks are altogether devoid of
any fertile alluvial flats; destitute even of scattered trees; there
is no freshness in the little vegetation on its borders; the sterile
sands in fact reach to its very brink, and it is scarcely to be
believed until its banks are reached that a mighty river is rolling
its waters past these arid wastes.
[The record of the journey to Fort Colville is omitted, to be
resumed when the party returning draws near the environs of
Mount Rainier. The portion omitted extends from page 430 to
468 in the original publication.]
The party now pursued the route up the river, and in two hours reached
the Yakima, up whose valley they passed, encamping after making
twenty-five miles. The country was rolling, and might be termed sandy
and barren.
Mount St. Helen's,[16] with its snow-capped top, was seen at a great
distance to the west.
On the 5th, they continued their route, and at midday were overtaken
by an Indian, with a note informing them of the arrival of Mr. Drayton
at Wallawalla with the brigade. This was quick travelling for news in
Oregon; for so slow is it usually carried, that our party were the
first to bring the news of the arrival and operations of the squadron
in Oregon. This intelligence had not previously reached Wallawalla,
although it is considered to be on the direct post-route to the
interior, notwithstanding we had been in the country nearly two
months. The news of the murder of Mr. Black, in New Caledonia, was
nearly a year in reaching some points on the coast.
This was one of the warmest days they had experienced, and the
thermometer under the shade of a canopy stood at 108°. At a short
distance from the place where they stopped was a small hut, composed
of a few branches and reeds, which was thought to be barely sufficient
to contain a sheep; yet under it were four generations of human
beings, all females, seated in a posture, which, to whites, would have
been impracticable. They had just procured their subsistence for the
day, and their meal consisted of the berries of the dogwood. The scene
was not calculated to impress one very favourably with savage life.
The oldest of these had the cartilage of the nose pierced, but the
others had not; leading to the conclusion that the practice had been
discontinued for some years in the nation, who still, however, retain
the name.
The country exhibited little appearance of vegetation; the herbage
was quite dried up, and from appearances was likely to continue so
throughout the season. The prevailing vegetation consisted of bushes
of wormwood, stinted in growth, and unyielding.
After making thirty-three miles, they encamped among loose sand, one
hundred feet above the water of the river. Many rattlesnakes were
found in this vicinity.
Owing to the quantities of mosquitoes, combined with the fear of
snakes, the party obtained little or no rest, and were all glad to
mount their horses and proceed on their way.
In the early part of the day, they arrived at the junction of the
Spipen with the Yakima: previous to this they crossed another branch,
coming in from the southwest; the waters of the latter were very
turbid, of a dark-brown colour, and it was conjectured that it had its
source at or near Mount Rainier. Along its banks was seen a range of
basaltic columns. The Yakima was crossed during the day in canoes, the
river not being yet fordable.
The country, which had for some days exhibited the appearance of the
Tillandsia districts of Peru, had now begun to acquire a tinge of
green, and some scattered pine trees had become visible. Some small
oaks were passed, which appeared of a local character. This night they
again had a number of rattlesnakes in their camp.
On the 8th, the valley had narrowed, and the banks becoming more
perpendicular, they had a great many difficulties to encounter. They
stopped at the camp of old Tidias, whom, it will be recollected, they
had encountered after crossing the mountains, and from whom they
obtained some horses. They soon afterwards arrived at the path where
they had turned off to the north. The river had fallen very much
during their absence, and there was a marked difference in the season,
the vegetation being much more backward than in the parts they had
recently visited. The berries were just beginning to ripen, while in
the plains, not twenty miles distant, they were already over. Old
Tidias determined to accompany them to Nisqually, taking with him his
son, and lending them several horses. The Spipen, up which they
passed, was now hemmed in by mountain ridges, occasionally leaving
small portions of level ground. They encamped at the place they had
occupied on the 30th of May.
The vegetation, since they had passed this place, had so much advanced
that they had difficulty in recognising it again. The wet prairies
were overgrown with rank grass, from one to two feet in height. After
a short rest at the foot of the mountain, they began its ascent, and
reached the crest of the ridge in about three hours. On every side
they found a low growth of shrubs, which they had not suspected when
it was covered with snow, and causing the summit to differ essentially
from the broad ridge they had crossed between the Yakima and Pischous
rivers. They encamped for the night on the edge of a wet prairie,
which afforded pasturage for their horses.
The next day they passed through several similar prairies, and
descended the western slope of the mountain, where they found more
patches of snow than on the east side. This was just the reverse of
what they had found on their previous passage; the season, too, was
evidently much less advanced. This circumstance was supposed to be
owing to the denser forest on the west, as well as the absence of
elevated plains.
They encamped the same night at the little prairie before spoken of,
at the foot of the western slope. Before reaching it, they met a party
of men and women carrying a sick chief over the mountain, who was
evidently dying. It was affecting to see him stretching forth his hand
to them as they passed, as if desiring to be friends with all before
he died. He died the same night.
The two next days it rained almost constantly, but they found the road
much less difficult to travel than before, and the streams were
fordable, which enabled them to make more rapid progress.
On the 13th, they passed the Smalocho, and on the 15th reached
Nisqually, all well; having performed a journey of about one thousand
miles without any material accident, except those that have been
related as having occurred to the instruments. They traversed a route
which white men had never before taken, thus enabling us to become
acquainted with a portion of the country about which all had before
been conjecture. They had also made a large addition to our collection
of plants.
[Illustration: THEODORE WINTHROP.
From the Rowse crayon portrait.]
IV. TACOMA AND THE INDIAN LEGEND OF HAMITCHOU
BY THEODORE WINTHROP
Theodore Winthrop was a descendant of the famous Governor
John Winthrop, of Massachusetts. He was born at New Haven,
Connecticut, on September 22, 1828, and lost his life early
in the Civil War near Great Bethel, Virginia, on June 10,
1861. His death was deeply mourned as of one who had given
great promise of success in the field of literature.
His book, _The Canoe and the Saddle_, has appeared in many
editions. It tells of his visit to Puget Sound and across the
Cascade Mountains in 1853. In that volume he declares that
the Indians called the mountain, Tacoma. So far as is known
to the editor, that is the first place that that name for the
mountain appeared in print.
In addition to this interesting fact, the book is a charming
piece of literature, and will endure as one of the classics
on the Pacific Northwest. The portions here reproduced relate
to the mountain. They are taken from an early edition of the
book published by the John W. Lovell Company of New York. The
edition carries no date, but the copyright notice is by
Ticknor and Fields, 1862. The parts used are from pages
43-45, and 123-176.
The author's niece, Elizabeth Winthrop Johnson, of Pasadena,
California, kindly furnished a photograph of Rowse's portrait
of her famous uncle.
The large and beautiful glacier sweeping from the northeast
summit past the western slope of Steamboat Prow now bears the
name of Winthrop Glacier.
We had rounded a point, and opened Puyallop Bay, a breadth of
sheltered calmness, when I, lifting sleepy eyelids for a dreamy stare
about, was suddenly aware of a vast white shadow in the water. What
cloud, piled massive on the horizon, could cast an image so sharp in
outline, so full of vigorous detail of surface? No cloud, as my
stare, no longer dreamy, presently discovered,--no cloud, but a cloud
compeller. It was a giant mountain dome of snow, swelling and seeming
to fill the aërial spheres as its image displaced the blue deeps of
tranquil water. The smoky haze of an Oregon August hid all the length
of its lesser ridges, and left this mighty summit based upon uplifting
dimness. Only its splendid snows were visible, high in the unearthly
regions of clear blue noonday sky. The shore line drew a cincture of
pines across the broad base, where it faded unreal into the mist. The
same dark girth separated the peak from its reflection, over which my
canoe was now pressing, and sending wavering swells to shatter the
beautiful vision before it.
Kingly and alone stood this majesty, without any visible comrade or
consort, though far to the north and the south its brethren and
sisters dominated their realms, each in isolated sovereignty, rising
above the pine-darkened sierra of the Cascade Mountains,--above the
stern chasm where the Columbia, Achilles of rivers, sweeps,
short-lived and jubilant, to the sea,--above the lovely vales of the
Willamette and Umpqua. Of all the peaks from California to Frazer's
River, this one before me was royalest. Mount Regnier Christians have
dubbed it, in stupid nomenclature perpetuating the name of somebody or
nobody. More melodiously the siwashes call it Tacoma,--a generic term
also applied to all snow peaks. Whatever keen crests and crags there
may be in its rock anatomy of basalt, snow covers softly with its
bends and sweeping curves. Tacoma, under its ermine, is a crushed
volcanic dome, or an ancient volcano fallen in, and perhaps as yet not
wholly lifeless. The domes of snow are stateliest. There may be more
of feminine beauty in the cones, and more of masculine force and
hardihood in the rough pyramids, but the great domes are calmer and
more divine, and, even if they have failed to attain absolute
dignified grace of finish, and are riven and broken down, they still
demand our sympathy for giant power, if only partially victor. Each
form--the dome, the cone, and the pyramid--has its type among the
great snow peaks of the Cascades.
[Chapter VII, beginning at page 123 of the original
publication, is entitled "Tacoma."]
Up and down go the fortunes of men, now benignant, now malignant.
_Ante meridiem_ of our lives, we are rising characters. Our full noon
comes, and we are borne with plaudits on the shoulders of a grateful
populace. _Post meridiem_, we are ostracized, if not more rudely
mobbed. At twilight, we are perhaps recalled, and set on the throne of
Nestor.
Such slow changes in esteem are for men of some import and of settled
character. Loolowcan suffered under a more rapidly fluctuating public
opinion. At the camp of the road-makers, he had passed through a
period of neglect,--almost of ignominy. My hosts had prejudices
against redskins; they treated the son of Owhhigh with no
consideration; and he became depressed and slinking in manner under
the influence of their ostracism. No sooner had we disappeared from
the range of Boston eyes than Loolowcan resumed his leadership and his
control. I was very secondary now, and followed him humbly enough up
the heights we had reached. Here were all the old difficulties
increased, because they were no longer met on a level. We were to
climb the main ridge,--the mountain of La Tête,--abandoning the
valley, assaulting the summits. And here, as Owhhigh had prophesied in
his harangue at Nisqually, the horse's mane must be firmly grasped by
the climber. Poor, panting, weary nags! may it be true, the promise of
Loolowcan, that not far away is abundant fodder! But where can aught,
save firs with ostrich digestion, grow on these rough, forest-clad
shoulders?
So I clambered on till near noon.
I had been following thus for many hours the blind path, harsh,
darksome, and utterly lonely, urging on with no outlook, encountering
no landmark,--at last, as I stormed a ragged crest, gaining a height
that overtopped the firs, and, halting there for panting moments,
glanced to see if I had achieved mastery as well as position,--as I
looked somewhat wearily and drearily across the solemn surges of
forest, suddenly above their sombre green appeared Tacoma. Large and
neighbor it stood, so near that every jewel of its snow-fields seemed
to send me a separate ray; yet not so near but that I could with one
look take in its whole image, from clear-cut edge to edge.
All around it the dark evergreens rose like a ruff; above them the
mountain splendors swelled statelier for the contrast. Sunlight of
noon was so refulgent upon the crown, and lay so thick and dazzling in
nooks and chasms, that the eye sought repose of gentler lights, and
found it in shadowed nooks and clefts, where, sunlight entering not,
delicate mist, an emanation from the blue sky, had fallen, and lay
sheltered and tremulous, a mild substitute for the stronger glory. The
blue haze so wavered and trembled into sunlight, and sunbeams shot
glimmering over snowy brinks so like a constant avalanche, that I
might doubt whether this movement and waver and glimmer, this blending
of mist with noontide flame, were not a drifting smoke and cloud of
yellow sulphurous vapor floating over some slowly chilling crater far
down in the red crevices.
But if the giant fires had ever burned under that cold summit, they
had long since gone out. The dome that swelled up passionately had
crusted over and then fallen in upon itself, not vigorous enough with
internal life to bear up in smooth proportion. Where it broke into
ruin was no doubt a desolate waste, stern, craggy, and riven, but such
drear results of Titanic convulsion the gentle snows hid from view.
No foot of man had ever trampled those pure snows. It was a virginal
mountain, distant from the possibility of human approach and human
inquisitiveness as a marble goddess is from human love.
Yet there was nothing unsympathetic in its isolation, or despotic in
its distant majesty. But this serene loftiness was no home for any
deity of those that men create. Only the thought of eternal peace
arose from this heaven-upbearing monument like incense, and,
overflowing, filled the world with deep and holy calm.
Wherever the mountain turned its cheek toward the sun, many fair and
smiling dimples appeared, and along soft curves of snow, lines of
shadow drew tracery fair as the blue veins on a child's temple.
Without the infinite sweetness and charm of this kindly changefulness
of form and color, there might have been oppressive awe in the
presence of this transcendent glory against the solemn blue of noon.
Grace played over the surface of majesty, as a drift of rose-leaves
wavers in the air before a summer shower, or as a wreath of rosy mist
flits before the grandeur of a storm. Loveliness was sprinkled like a
boon of blossoms upon sublimity.
Our lives forever demand and need visual images that can be symbols to
us of the grandeur or the sweetness of repose. There are some faces
that arise dreamy in our memories, and look us into calmness in our
frantic moods. Fair and happy is a life that need not call upon its
vague memorial dreams for such attuning influence, but can turn to a
present reality, and ask tranquillity at the shrine of a household
goddess. The noble works of nature, and mountains most of all,
"have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal silence."
And, studying the light and the majesty of Tacoma, there passed from
it and entered into my being, to dwell there evermore by the side of
many such, a thought and an image of solemn beauty, which I could
thenceforth evoke whenever in the world I must have peace or die. For
such emotion years of pilgrimage were worthily spent. If mortal can
gain the thoughts of immortality, is not his earthly destiny achieved?
For, when we have so studied the visible poem, and so fixed it deep in
the very substance of our minds, there is forever with us not merely a
perpetual possession of delight, but a watchful monitor that will not
let our thoughts be long unfit for the pure companionship of beauty.
For whenever a man is false to the light that is in him, and accepts
meaner joys, or chooses the easy indulgence that meaner passions give,
then every fair landscape in all his horizon dims, and all its
grandeurs fade and dwindle away, the glory vanishes, and he looks,
like one lost, upon his world, late so lovely and sinless.
While I was studying Tacoma, and learning its fine lesson, it in turn
might contemplate its own image far away on the waters of Whulge,
where streams from its own snows, gushing seaward to buffet in the
boundless deep, might rejoice in a last look at their parent ere they
swept out of Puyallop Bay. Other large privilege of view it had. It
could see what I could not,--Tacoma the Less, Mt. Adams, meritorious
but clumsy; it could reflect sunbeams gracefully across a breadth of
forest to St. Helen's, the vestal virgin, who still kept her flame
kindled, and proved her watchfulness ever and anon. Continuing its
panoramic studies, Tacoma could trace the chasm of the Columbia by
silver circles here and there,--could see every peak, chimney, or
unopened vent, from Kulshan to Shasta Butte. The Blue Mountains
eastward were within its scope, and westward the faint-blue levels of
the Pacific. Another region, worthy of any mountain's beholding,
Tacoma sees, somewhat vague and dim in distance: it sees the sweet
Arcadian valley of the Willamette, charming with meadow, park, and
grove. In no older world where men have, in all their happiest moods,
recreated themselves for generations in taming earth to orderly
beauty, have they achieved a fairer garden than Nature's simple labor
of love has made there, giving to rough pioneers the blessings and the
possible education of refined and finished landscape, in the presence
of landscape strong, savage, and majestic.
All this Tacoma beholds, as I can but briefly hint; and as one who is
a seer himself becomes a tower of light and illumination to the world,
so Tacoma, so every brother seer of his among the lofty snow-peaks,
stands to educate, by his inevitable presence, every dweller
thereabouts. Our race has never yet come into contact with great
mountains as companions of daily life, nor felt that daily development
of the finer and more comprehensive senses which these signal facts of
nature compel. That is an influence of the future. The Oregon people,
in a climate where being is bliss,--where every breath is a draught of
vivid life,--these Oregon people, carrying to a new and grander New
England of the West a fuller growth of the American Idea, under whose
teaching the man of lowest ambitions must still have some little
indestructible respect for himself, and the brute of most tyrannical
aspirations some little respect for others; carrying the civilization
of history where it will not suffer by the example of Europe,--with
such material, that Western society, when it crystallizes, will
elaborate new systems of thought and life. It is unphilosophical to
suppose that a strong race, developing under the best, largest, and
calmest conditions of nature, will not achieve a destiny.
Up to Tacoma, or into some such solitude of nature, imaginative men
must go, as Moses went up to Sinai, that the divine afflatus may stir
within them. The siwashes appreciate, according to their capacity, the
inspiration of lonely grandeur, and go upon the mountains, starving
and alone, that they may become seers, enchanters, magicians,
diviners,--what in conventional lingo is called "big medicine." For
though the Indians here have not peopled these thrones of their world
with the creatures of an anthropomorphic mythology, they yet deem them
the abode of Tamanoüs. Tamanoüs is a vague and half-personified type
of the unknown, of the mysterious forces of nature; and there is also
an indefinite multitude of undefined emanations, each one a tamanoüs
with a small t, which are busy and impish in complicating existence,
or equally active and spritely in unravelling it. Each Indian of this
region patronizes his own personal tamanoüs, as men of the more
eastern tribes keep a private manitto, and as Socrates kept a daimôn.
To supply this want, Tamanoüs with a big T undergoes an avatar, and
incarnates himself into a salmon, a beaver, a clam, or into some
inanimate object, such as a canoe, a paddle, a fir-tree, a flint, or
into some elemental essence, as fire, water, sun, mist; and tamanoüs
thus individualized becomes the "guide, philosopher, and friend" of
every siwash, conscious that otherwise he might stray and be lost in
the unknown realms of Tamanoüs.
Hamitchou, a frowzy ancient of the Squallyamish, told to Dr. Tolmie
and me, at Nisqually, a legend of Tamanoüs and Tacoma, which, being
interpreted, runs as follows:--
Hamitchou's Legend
"Avarice, O Boston tyee," quoth Hamitchou, studying me with dusky
eyes, "is a mighty passion. Now, be it known unto thee that we Indians
anciently used not metals nor the money of you blanketeers. Our
circulating medium was shells,--wampum you would name it. Of all
wampum, the most precious is Hiaqua. Hiaqua comes from the far north.
It is a small, perforated shell, not unlike a very opaque quill
toothpick, tapering from the middle, and cut square at both ends. We
string it in many strands, and hang it around the neck of one we
love,--namely, each man his own neck. We also buy with it what our
hearts desire. He who has most hiaqua is best and wisest and happiest
of all the northern Haida and of all the people of Whulge. The
mountain horsemen value it; and braves of the terrible Blackfeet have
been known, in the good old days, to come over and offer a horse or a
wife for a bunch of fifty hiaqua.
"Now, once upon a time there dwelt where this fort of Nisqually now
stands a wise old man of the Squallyamish. He was a great fisherman
and a great hunter; and the wiser he grew, much the wiser he thought
himself. When he had grown very wise, he used to stay apart from every
other siwash. Companionable salmon-boilings round a common pot had no
charms for him. 'Feasting was wasteful,' he said, 'and revellers would
come to want.' And when they verified his prophecy, and were full of
hunger and empty of salmon, he came out of his hermitage, and had
salmon to sell.
"Hiaqua was the pay he always demanded; and as he was a very wise old
man, and knew all the tide-ways of Whulge, and all the enticing
ripples and placid spots of repose in every river where fish might
dash or delay, he was sure to have salmon when others wanted, and thus
bagged largely of its precious equivalent, hiaqua.
"Not only a mighty fisher was the sage, but a mighty hunter, and elk,
the greatest animal of the woods, was the game he loved. Well had he
studied every trail where elk leave the print of their hoofs, and
where, tossing their heads, they bend the tender twigs. Well had he
searched through the broad forest, and found the long-haired prairies
where elk feed luxuriously; and there, from behind palisade fir-trees,
he had launched the fatal arrow. Sometimes, also, he lay beside a pool
of sweetest water, revealed to him by gemmy reflections of sunshine
gleaming through the woods, until at noon the elk came down, to find
death awaiting him as he stooped and drank. Or beside the same
fountain the old man watched at night, drowsily starting at every
crackling branch, until, when the moon was high, and her illumination
declared the pearly water, elk dashed forth incautious into the glade,
and met their midnight destiny.
"Elk-meat, too, he sold to his tribe. This brought him pelf, but, alas
for his greed, the pelf came slowly. Waters and woods were rich in
game. All the Squallyamish were hunters and fishers, though none so
skilled as he. They were rarely in absolute want, and, when they came
to him for supplies, they were far too poor in hiaqua.
"So the old man thought deeply, and communed with his wisdom, and,
while he waited for fish or beast, he took advice within himself from
his demon,--he talked with Tamanoüs. And always the question was, 'How
may I put hiaqua in my purse?'
"Tamanoüs never revealed to him that far to the north, beyond the
waters of Whulge, are tribes with their under lip pierced with a
fishbone, among whom hiaqua is plenty as salmonberries are in the
woods what time in mid-summer salmon fin it along the reaches of
Whulge.
"But the more Tamanoüs did not reveal to him these mysteries of
nature, the more he kept dreamily prying into his own mind,
endeavoring to devise some scheme by which he might discover a
treasure-trove of the beloved shell. His life seemed wasted in the
patient, frugal industry, which only brought slow, meagre gains. He
wanted the splendid elation of vast wealth and the excitement of
sudden wealth. His own peculiar tamanoüs was the elk. Elk was also
his totem, the cognizance of his freemasonry with those of his own
family, and their family friends in other tribes. Elk, therefore, were
every way identified with his life; and he hunted them farther and
farther up through the forests on the flanks of Tacoma, hoping that
some day his tamanoüs would speak in the dying groan of one of them,
and gasp out the secret of the mines of hiaqua, his heart's desire.
"Tacoma was so white and glittering, that it seemed to stare at him
very terribly and mockingly, and to know his shameful avarice, and how
it led him to take from starving women their cherished lip and nose
jewels of hiaqua, and to give them in return only tough scraps of
dried elk-meat and salmon. When men are shabby, mean, and grasping,
they feel reproached for their grovelling lives by the unearthliness
of nature's beautiful objects, and they hate flowers, and sunsets,
mountains, and the quiet stars of heaven.
"Nevertheless," continued Hamitchou, "this wise old fool of my legend
went on stalking elk along the sides of Tacoma, ever dreaming of
wealth. And at last, as he was hunting near the snows one day, one
very clear and beautiful day of late summer, when sunlight was
magically disclosing far distances, and making all nature
supernaturally visible and proximate, Tamanoüs began to work in the
soul of the miser.
"'Are you brave,' whispered Tamanoüs in the strange, ringing, dull,
silent thunder-tones of a demon voice. 'Dare you go to the caves where
my treasures are hid?'
"'I dare,' said the miser.
"He did not know that his lips had syllabled a reply. He did not even
hear his own words. But all the place had become suddenly vocal with
echoes. The great rock against which he leaned crashed forth, 'I
dare.' Then all along through the forest, dashing from tree to tree
and lost at last among the murmuring of breeze-shaken leaves, went
careering his answer, taken up and repeated scornfully, 'I dare.' And
after a silence, while the daring one trembled and would gladly have
ventured to shout, for the companionship of his own voice, there came
across from the vast snow wall of Tacoma a tone like the muffled,
threatening plunge of an avalanche into a chasm, 'I dare.'
"'You dare,' said Tamanoüs, enveloping him with a dread sense of an
unseen, supernatural presence; 'you pray for wealth of hiaqua.
Listen!'
"This injunction was hardly needed; the miser was listening with dull
eyes kindled and starting. He was listening with every rusty hair
separating from its unkempt mattedness, and outstanding upright, a
caricature of an aureole.
"'Listen,' said Tamanoüs, in the noonday hush. And then Tamanoüs
vouchsafed at last the great secret of the hiaqua mines, while in
terror near to death the miser heard, and every word of guidance
toward the hidden treasure of the mountains seared itself into his
soul ineffaceably.
"Silence came again more terrible now than the voice of
Tamanoüs,--silence under the shadow of the great cliff,--silence
deepening down the forest vistas,--silence filling the void up to the
snows of Tacoma. All life and motion seemed paralyzed. At last
Skai-ki, the Blue-Jay, the wise bird, foe to magic, sang cheerily
overhead. Her song seemed to refresh again the honest laws of nature.
The buzz of life stirred everywhere again, and the inspired miser rose
and hastened home to prepare for his work.
"When Tamanoüs has put a great thought in a man's brain, has whispered
him a great discovery within his power, or hinted at a great crime,
that spiteful demon does not likewise suggest the means of
accomplishment.
"The miser, therefore, must call upon his own skill to devise proper
tools, and upon his own judgment to fix upon the most fitting time
for carrying out his quest. Sending his squaw out to the kamas
prairie, under pretence that now was the season for her to gather
their winter store of that sickish-sweet esculent root, and that she
might not have her squaw's curiosity aroused by seeing him at strange
work, he began his preparations. He took a pair of enormous elk-horns,
and fashioned from each horn a two-pronged pick or spade, by removing
all the antlers except the two topmost. He packed a good supply of
kippered salmon, and filled his pouch with kinni kinnick for smoking
in his black stone pipe. With his bow and arrows and his two elk-horn
picks wrapped in buckskin hung at his back, he started just before
sunset, as if for a long hunt. His old, faithful, maltreated,
blanketless, vermilionless squaw, returning with baskets full of
kamas, saw him disappearing moodily down the trail.
"All that night, all the day following, he moved on noiselessly by
paths he knew. He hastened on, unnoticing outward objects, as one with
a controlling purpose hastens. Elk and deer, bounding through the
trees, passed him, but he tarried not. At night he camped just below
the snows of Tacoma. He was weary, weary, and chill night-airs blowing
down from the summit almost froze him. He dared not take his
fire-sticks, and, placing one perpendicular upon a little hollow on
the flat side of the other, twirl the upright stick rapidly between
his palms until the charred spot kindled and lighted his 'tipsoo,' his
dry, tindery wool of inner bark. A fire, gleaming high upon the
mountain-side, might be a beacon to draw thither any night-wandering
savage to watch in ambush, and learn the path toward the mines of
hiaqua. So he drowsed chilly and fireless, awakened often by dread
sounds of crashing and rumbling among the chasms of Tacoma. He
desponded bitterly, almost ready to abandon his quest, almost doubting
whether he had in truth received a revelation, whether his interview
with Tamanoüs had not been a dream, and finally whether all the hiaqua
in the world was worth this toil and anxiety. Fortunate is the sage
who at such a point turns back and buys his experience without worse
befalling him.
"Past midnight he suddenly was startled from his drowse, and sat bolt
upright in terror. A light. Was there another searcher in the forest,
and a bolder than he? That flame just glimmering over the tree-tops,
was it a camp-fire of friend or foe? Had Tamanoüs been revealing to
another the great secret? No, smiled the miser, his eyes fairly open,
and discovering that the new light was the moon. He had been waiting
for her illumination of paths heretofore untrodden by mortal. She did
not show her full, round jolly face, but turned it askance as if she
hardly liked to be implicated in this night's transaction.
"However, it was light he wanted, not sympathy, and he started up at
once to climb over the dim snows. The surface was packed by the
night's frost, and his moccasins gave him firm hold; yet he travelled
but slowly, and could not always save himself from a _glissade_
backwards, and a bruise upon some projecting knob or crag. Sometimes,
upright fronts of ice diverted him for long circuits, or a broken wall
of cold cliff arose, which he must surmount painfully. Once or twice
he stuck fast in a crevice, and hardly drew himself out by placing his
bundle of picks across the crack. As he plodded and floundered thus
deviously and toilsomely upward, at last the wasted moon gan pale
overhead, and under foot the snow grew rosy with coming dawn. The dim
world about the mountain's base displayed something of its vast
detail. He could see, more positively than by moonlight, the
far-reaching arteries of mist marking the organism of Whulge beneath;
and what had been but a black chaos now revealed itself into the
Alpine forest whence he had come.
"But he troubled himself little with staring about; up he looked, for
the summit was at hand. To win that summit was wellnigh the attainment
of his hopes, if Tamanoüs were true; and that, with the flush of
morning ardor upon him, he could not doubt. There, in a spot Tamanoüs
had revealed to him, was hiaqua,--hiaqua that should make him the
richest and greatest of all the Squallyamish.
"The chill before sunrise was upon him as he reached the last curve of
the dome. Sunrise and he struck the summit together. Together sunrise
and he looked over the glacis. They saw within a great hollow all
covered with the whitest of snow, save at the centre, where a black
lake lay deep in a well of purple rock.
"At the eastern end of this lake was a small, irregular plain of snow,
marked by three stones like monuments. Towards these the miser sprang
rapidly, with full sunshine streaming after him over the snows.
"The first monument he examined with keen looks. It was tall as a
giant man, and its top was fashioned into the grotesque likeness of a
salmon's head. He turned from this to inspect the second. It was of
similar height, but bore at its apex an object in shape like the
regular flame of a torch. As he approached, he presently discovered
that this was an image of the kamas-bulb in stone. These two
semblances of prime necessities of Indian life delayed him but an
instant, and he hastened on to the third monument, which stood apart
on a perfect level. The third stone was capped by something he almost
feared to behold, lest it should prove other than his hopes. Every
word of Tamanoüs had thus far proved veritable; but might there not be
a bitter deceit at the last? The miser trembled.
"Yes, Tamanoüs was trustworthy. The third monument was as the old man
anticipated. It was a stone elk's head, such as it appears in earliest
summer, when the antlers are sprouting lustily under their rough
jacket of velvet.
"You remember, Boston tyee," continued Hamitchou, "that Elk was the
old man's tamanoüs, the incarnation for him of the universal Tamanoüs.
He therefore was right joyous at this good omen of protection; and his
heart grew big and swollen with hope, as the black salmon-berry swells
in a swamp in June. He threw down his 'ikta'; every impediment he laid
down upon the snow; and, unwrapping his two picks of elk-horn, he took
the stoutest, and began to dig in the frozen snow at the foot of the
elk-head monument.
"No sooner had he struck the first blow than he heard behind him a
sudden puff, such as a seal makes when it comes to the surface to
breathe. Turning round much startled, he saw a huge otter just
clambering up over the edge of the lake. The otter paused, and struck
on the snow with his tail, whereupon another otter and another
appeared, until, following their leader in slow and solemn file, were
twelve other otters, marching toward the miser. The twelve approached,
and drew up in a circle around him. Each was twice as large as any
otter ever seen. Their chief was four times as large as the most
gigantic otter ever seen in the regions of Whulge, and certainly was
as great as a seal. When the twelve were arranged, their leader
skipped to the top of the elk-head stone, and sat there between the
horns. Then the whole thirteen gave a mighty puff in chorus.
"The hunter of hiaqua was for a moment abashed at his uninvited ring
of spectators. But he had seen otter before, and bagged them. These he
could not waste time to shoot, even if a phalanx so numerous were not
formidable. Besides, they might be tamanoüs. He took to his pick and
began digging stoutly.
"He soon made way in the snow, and came to solid rock beneath. At
every thirteenth stroke of his pick, the fugleman otter tapped with
his tail on the monument. Then the choir of lesser otters tapped
together with theirs on the snow. This caudal action produced a dull,
muffled sound, as if there were a vast hollow below.
"Digging with all his force, by and by the seeker for treasure began
to tire, and laid down his elk-horn spade to wipe the sweat from his
brow. Straightway the fugleman otter turned, and, swinging his tail,
gave the weary man a mighty thump on the shoulder; and the whole band,
imitating, turned, and, backing inward, smote him with centripetal
tails, until he resumed his labors, much bruised.
"The rock lay first in plates, then in scales. These it was easy to
remove. Presently, however, as the miser pried carelessly at a larger
mass, he broke his elkhorn tool. Fugleman otter leaped down, and
seizing the supplemental pick between his teeth, mouthed it over to
the digger. Then the amphibious monster took in the same manner the
broken pick, and bore it round the circle of his suite, who inspected
it gravely with puffs.
"These strange, magical proceedings disconcerted and somewhat baffled
the miser; but he plucked up heart, for the prize was priceless, and
worked on more cautiously with his second pick. At last its blows and
the regular thumps of the otter's tails called forth a sound hollower
and hollower. His circle of spectators narrowed so that he could feel
their panting breath as they bent curiously over the little pit he had
dug.
"The crisis was evidently at hand.
"He lifted each scale of rock more delicately. Finally he raised a
scale so thin that it cracked into flakes as he turned it over.
Beneath was a large square cavity.
"It was filled to the brim with hiaqua.
"He was a millionnaire.
"The otters recognized him as the favorite of Tamanoüs, and retired to
a respectful distance.
"For some moments he gazed on his treasure, taking thought of his
future proud grandeur among the dwellers by Whulge. He plunged his arm
deep as he could go; there was still nothing but the precious shells.
He smiled to himself in triumph; he had wrung the secret from
Tamanoüs. Then, as he withdrew his arm, the rattle of the hiaqua
recalled him to the present. He saw that noon was long past, and he
must proceed to reduce his property to possession.
"The hiaqua was strung upon long, stout sinews of elk, in bunches of
fifty shells on each side. Four of these he wound about his waist;
three he hung across each shoulder; five he took in each hand;--twenty
strings of pure white hiaqua, every shell large, smooth, unbroken,
beautiful. He could carry no more; hardly even with this could he
stagger along. He put down his burden for a moment, while he covered
up the seemingly untouched wealth of the deposit carefully with the
scale stones, and brushed snow over the whole.
"The miser never dreamed of gratitude, never thought to hang a string
from the buried treasure about the salmon and kamas tamanoüs stones,
and two strings around the elk's head; no, all must be his own, all he
could carry now, and the rest for the future.
"He turned, and began his climb toward the crater's edge. At once the
otters, with a mighty puff in concert, took up their line of
procession, and, plunging into the black lake, began to beat the water
with their tails.
"The miser could hear the sound of splashing water as he struggled
upward through the snow, now melted and yielding. It was a long hour
of harsh toil and much backsliding before he reached the rim, and
turned to take one more view of this valley of good fortune.
"As he looked, a thick mist began to rise from the lake centre, where
the otters were splashing. Under the mist grew a cylinder of black
cloud, utterly hiding the water.
"Terrible are storms in the mountains; but in this looming mass was a
terror more dread than any hurricane of ruin ever bore within its wild
vortexes. Tamanoüs was in that black cylinder, and as it strode
forward, chasing in the very path of the miser, he shuddered, for his
wealth and his life were in danger.
"However, it might be but a common storm. Sunlight was bright as ever
overhead in heaven, and all the lovely world below lay dreamily fair,
in that afternoon of summer, at the feet of the rich man, who now was
hastening to be its king. He stepped from the crater edge and began
his descent.
"Instantly the storm overtook him. He was thrown down by its first
assault, flung over a rough bank of iciness, and lay at the foot torn
and bleeding, but clinging still to his precious burden. Each hand
still held its five strings of hiaqua. In each hand he bore a nation's
ransom. He staggered to his feet against the blast. Utter night was
around him,--night as if daylight had forever perished, had never come
into being from chaos. The roaring of the storm had also deafened and
bewildered him with its wild uproar.
"Present in every crash and thunder of the gale was a growing
undertone, which the miser well knew to be the voice of Tamanoüs. A
deadly shuddering shook him. Heretofore that potent Unseen had been
his friend and guide; there had been awe, but no terror, in his words.
Now the voice of Tamanoüs was inarticulate, but the miser could divine
in that sound an unspeakable threat of wrath and vengeance. Floating
upon this undertone were sharper tamanoüs voices, shouting and
screaming always sneeringly, 'Ha, ha, hiaqua!--ha, ha, ha!'
"Whenever the miser essayed to move and continue his descent, a
whirlwind caught him, and with much ado tossed him hither and thither,
leaving him at last flung and imprisoned in a pinching crevice, or
buried to the eyes in a snowdrift, or bedded upside down on a shaggy
boulder, or gnawed by lacerating lava jaws. Sharp torture the old man
was encountering, but he held fast to his hiaqua.
"The blackness grew ever deeper and more crowded with perdition; the
din more impish, demoniac, and devilish; the laughter more appalling;
and the miser more and more exhausted with vain buffeting. He
determined to propitiate exasperated Tamanoüs with a sacrifice. He
threw into the black cylinder storm his left-handful, five strings of
precious hiaqua."
"Somewhat long-winded is thy legend, Hamitchou, Great Medicine-Man of
the Squallyamish," quoth I. "Why didn't the old fool drop his
wampum,--shell out, as one might say,--and make tracks?"
"Well, well!" continued Hamitchou; "when the miser had thrown away his
first handful of hiaqua, there was a momentary lull in elemental war,
and he heard the otters puffing around him invisible. Then the storm
renewed, blacker, louder, harsher, crueller than before, and over the
dread undertone of the voice of Tamanoüs, tamanoüs voices again
screamed, 'Ha, ha, ha, hiaqua!' and it seemed as if tamanoüs hands, or
the paws of the demon otters, clutched at the miser's right-handful
and tore at his shoulder and waist belts.
"So, while darkness and tempest still buffeted the hapless old man,
and thrust him away from his path, and while the roaring was wickeder
than the roars of tens and tens of tens of bears when ahungered they
pounce upon a plain of kamas, gradually wounded and terrified he flung
away string after string of hiaqua, gaining never any notice of such
sacrifice, except an instant's lull of the cyclone and a puff from the
invisible otters.
"The last string he clung to long, and before he threw it to be caught
and whirled after its fellows, he tore off a single bunch of fifty
shells. But upon this, too, the storm laid its clutches. In the final
desperate struggle the old man was wounded so sternly that when he
had given up his last relic of the mighty treasure, when he had thrown
into the formless chaos, instinct with Tamanoüs, his last propitiatory
offering, he sank and became insensible.
"It seemed a long slumber to him, but at last he awoke. The jagged
moon was just paling overhead, and he heard Skai-ki, the Blue-Jay, foe
to magic, singing welcome to sunrise. It was the very spot whence he
started at morning.
"He was hungry, and felt for his bag of kamas and pouch of
smokeleaves. There, indeed, by his side were the elk-sinew strings of
the bag, and the black stone pipe-bowl,--but no bag, no kamas, no
kinni kinnik. The whole spot was thick with kamas plants, strangely
out of place on the mountain-side, and overhead grew a large
arbutus-tree, with glistening leaves, ripe for smoking. The old man
found his hardwood fire-sticks safe under the herbage, and soon
twirled a light, and, nurturing it in dry grass, kindled a cheery
fire. He plucked up kamas, set it to roast, and laid a store of the
arbutus-leaves to dry on a flat stone.
"After he had made a hearty breakfast of the chestnut-like
kamas-bulbs, and, smoking the thoughtful pipe, was reflecting on the
events of yesterday, he became aware of an odd change in his
condition. He was not bruised and wounded from head to foot, as he
expected, but very stiff only, and as he stirred, his joints creaked
like the creak of a lazy paddle upon the rim of a canoe. Skai-ki, the
Blue-Jay, was singularly familiar with him, hopping from her perch in
the arbutus, and alighting on his head. As he put his hand to dislodge
her, he touched his scratching-stick of bone, and attempted to pass
it, as usual, through his hair. The hair was matted and interlaced
into a network reaching fully two ells down his back. 'Tamanoüs,'
thought the old man.
"Chiefly he was conscious of a mental change. He was calm and
content. Hiaqua and wealth seemed to have lost their charms for him.
Tacoma, shining like gold and silver and precious stones of gayest
lustre, seemed a benign comrade and friend. All the outer world was
cheerful and satisfying. He thought he had never awakened to a fresher
morning. He was a young man again, except for that unusual stiffness
and unmelodious creaking joints. He felt no apprehension of any
presence of a deputy tamanoüs, sent by Tamanoüs to do malignities upon
him in the lonely wood. Great Nature had a kindly aspect, and made its
divinity perceived only by the sweet notes of birds and the hum of
forest life, and by a joy that clothed his being. And now he found in
his heart a sympathy for man, and a longing to meet his old
acquaintances down by the shores of Whulge.
"He rose, and started on the downward way, smiling, and sometimes
laughing heartily at the strange croaking, moaning, cracking, and
rasping of his joints. But soon motion set the lubricating valves at
work, and the sockets grew slippery again. He marched rapidly,
hastening out of loneliness into society. The world of wood, glade,
and stream seemed to him strangely altered. Old colossal trees, firs
behind which he had hidden when on the hunt, cedars under whose
drooping shade he had lurked, were down, and lay athwart his path,
transformed into immense mossy mounds, like barrows of giants, over
which he must clamber warily, lest he sink and be half stifled in the
dust of rotten wood. Had Tamanoüs been widely at work in that eventful
night?--or had the spiritual change the old man felt affected his
views of the outer world?
"Travelling downward, he advanced rapidly, and just before sunset came
to the prairies where his lodge should be. Everything had seemed to
him so totally altered, that he tarried a moment in the edge of the
woods to take an observation before approaching his home. There was a
lodge, indeed, in the old spot, but a newer and far handsomer one
than he had left on the fourth evening before.
"A very decrepit old squaw, ablaze with vermilion and decked with
countless strings of hiaqua and costly beads, was seated on the ground
near the door, tending a kettle of salmon, whose blue and fragrant
steam mingled pleasantly with the golden haze of sunset. She resembled
his own squaw in countenance, as an ancient smoked salmon is like a
newly-dried salmon. If she was indeed his spouse, she was many years
older than when he saw her last, and much better dressed than the
respectable lady had ever been during his miserly days.
"He drew near quietly. The bedizened dame was crooning a chant, very
dolorous,--like this:
'My old man has gone, gone, gone,--
My old man to Tacoma, has gone.
To hunt the elk, he went long ago.
When will he come down, down, down,
Down to the salmon-pot and me?'
'He has come from Tacoma down, down, down,--
Down to the salmon-pot and thee,'
shouted the reformed miser, rushing forward to supper and his faithful
wife."
"And how did Penelope explain the mystery?" I asked.
"If you mean the old lady," replied Hamitchou, "she was my
grandmother, and I'd thank you not to call names. She told my
grandfather that he had been gone many years;--she could not tell how
many, having dropped her tally-stick in the fire by accident that very
day. She also told him how, in despite of the entreaties of many a
chief who knew her economic virtues, and prayed her to become mistress
of his household, she had remained constant to the Absent, and forever
kept the hopeful salmon-pot boiling for his return. She had distracted
her mind from the bitterness of sorrow by trading in kamas and magic
herbs, and had thus acquired a genteel competence. The excellent dame
then exhibited with great complacency her gains, most of which she had
put in the portable and secure form of personal ornament, making
herself a resplendent magazine of valuable frippery.
"Little cared the repentant sage for such things. But he was rejoiced
to be again at home and at peace, and near his own early gains of
hiaqua and treasure, buried in a place of security. These, however, he
no longer over-esteemed and hoarded. He imparted whatever he
possessed, material treasures or stores of wisdom and experience,
freely to all the land. Every dweller by Whulge came to him for advice
how to chase the elk, how to troll or spear the salmon, and how to
propitiate Tamanoüs. He became the Great Medicine Man of the siwashes,
a benefactor to his tribe and his race.
"Within a year after he came down from his long nap on the side of
Tacoma, a child, my father, was born to him. The sage lived many
years, beloved and revered, and on his deathbed, long before the
Boston tilicum or any blanketeers were seen in the regions of Whulge,
he told this history to my father, as a lesson and a warning. My
father, dying, told it to me. But I, alas! have no son; I grow old,
and lest this wisdom perish from the earth, and Tamanoüs be again
obliged to interpose against avarice, I tell the tale to thee, O
Boston tyee. Mayest thou and thy nation not disdain this lesson of an
earlier age, but profit by it and be wise."
So far Hamitchou recounted his legend without the palisades of Fort
Nisqually, and motioning, in expressive pantomime, at the close, that
he was dry with big talk, and would gladly wet his whistle.
[Chapter VIII, beginning at page 155 of the original
publication, is entitled: "Sowee House--Loolowcan."]
I had not long, that noon of August, from the top of La Tête, to study
Tacoma, scene of Hamitchou's wild legend. Humanity forbade dalliance.
While I fed my soul with sublimity, Klale and his comrades were
wretched with starvation. But the summit of the pass is near. A few
struggles more, Klale the plucky, and thy empty sides shall echo less
drum-like. Up stoutly, my steeds; up a steep but little less than
perpendicular, paw over these last trunks of the barricades in our
trail, and ye have won!
So it was. The angle of our ascent suddenly broke down from ninety to
fifteen, then to nothing. We had reached the plateau. Here were the
first prairies. Nibble in these, my nags, for a few refreshing
moments, and then on to superlative dinners in lovelier spots just
beyond.
Let no one, exaggerating the joys of campaigning, with Horace's
"Militia potior est," deem that there is no compensating pang among
them. Is it a pleasant thing, O traveller only in dreams, envier of
the voyager in reality, to urge tired, reluctant, and unfed mustangs
up a mountain pass, even for their own good? In such a case a man, the
humanest and gentlest, must adopt the manners of a brute. He must ply
the whip, and that cruelly; otherwise, no go. At first, as he smites,
he winces, for he has struck his own sensibilities; by and by he
hardens himself, and thrashes without a tremor. When the cortege
arrives at an edible prairie, gastronomic satisfaction will put
Lethean freshness in the battered hide of every horse.
We presently turned just aside from the trail into an episode of
beautiful prairie, one of a succession along the plateau at the crest
of the range. At this height of about five thousand feet, the snows
remain until June. In this fair, oval, forest-circled prairie of my
nooning, the grass was long and succulent, as if it grew in the bed of
a drained lake. The horses, undressed, were allowed to plunge and
wallow in the deep herbage. Only horse heads soon could be seen,
moving about like their brother hippopotami, swimming in sedges.
To me it was luxury enough not to be a whip for a time. Over and above
this, I had the charm of a quiet nooning on a bank of emerald turf, by
a spring, at the edge of a clump of evergreens. I took my luncheon of
cold salt pork and doughy biscuit by a well of brightest water. I
called in no proxy of tin cup to aid me in saluting this sparkling
creature, but stooped and kissed the spring. When I had rendered my
first homage thus to the goddess of the fountain, Ægle herself,
perhaps, fairest of Naiads, I drank thirstily of the medium in which
she dwelt. A bubbling dash of water leaped up and splashed my visage
as I withdrew. Why so, sweet fountain, which I may name Hippocrene,
since hoofs of Klale have caused me thy discovery? Is this a rebuff?
If there ever was lover who little merited such treatment it is I.
"Not so, appreciative stranger," came up in other bubbling gushes the
responsive voice of Nature through sweet vibrations of the melodious
fount. "Never a Nymph of mine will thrust thee back. This sudden leap
of water was a movement of sympathy, and a gentle emotion of
hospitality. The Naiad there was offering thee her treasure liberally,
and saying that, drink as thou wilt, I, her mother Nature, have
commanded my winds and sun to distil thee fresh supplies, and my
craggy crevices are filtering it in the store-houses, that it may be
offered to every welcome guest, pure and cool as airs of dawn. Stoop
down," continued the voice, "thirsty wayfarer, and kiss again my
daughter of the fountain, nor be abashed if she meets thee half-way.
She knows that a true lover will never scorn his love's delicate
advances."
In response to such invitation, and the more for my thirsty slices of
pork, I lapped the aerated tipple in its goblet, whose stem reaches
deep into the bubble laboratories. I lapped,--an excellent test of
pluck in the days of Gideon son of Barak;--and why? For many reasons,
but among them for this;--he who lying prone can with stout muscular
gullet swallow water, will be also able to swallow back into position
his heart, when in moments of tremor it leaps into his throat.
When I had lapped plenteously, I lay and let the breeze-shaken shadows
smooth me into smiling mood, while my sympathies overflowed to enjoy
with my horses their dinner. They fed like school-boys home for
Thanksgiving, in haste lest the present banquet, too good to be true,
prove Barmecide. A feast of colossal grasses placed itself at the lips
of the breakfastless stud. They champed as their nature was;--Klale
like a hungry gentleman,--Gubbins like a hungry clodhopper,--Antipodes
like a lubberly oaf. They were laying in, according to the Hudson's
Bay Company's rule, supply at this meal for five days; without such
power, neither man nor horse is fit to tramp the Northwest.
I lay on the beautiful verdant bank, plucking now dextrously and now
sinistrously of strawberries, that summer, climbing late to these
snowy heights, had just ripened. Medical men command us to swallow
twice a day one bitter pill confectioned of all disgust. Nature doses
us, by no means against our will, with many sweet boluses of delight,
berries compacted of acidulated, sugary spiciness. Nature, tenderest
of leeches,--no bolus of hers is pleasanter medicament than her ruddy
strawberries. She shaped them like Minié-balls, that they might
traverse unerringly to the cell of most dulcet digestion. Over their
glistening surfaces she peppered little golden dots to act as
obstacles lest they should glide too fleetly over the surfaces of
taste, and also to gently rasp them into keener sensitiveness. Mongers
of pestled poisons may punch their pills in malodorous mortars, roll
them in floury palms, pack them in pink boxes, and send them forth to
distress a world of patients:--but Nature, who if she even feels one's
pulse does it by a gentle pressure of atmosphere,--Nature, knowing
that her children in their travels always need lively tonics, tells
wind, sun, and dew, servitors of hers, clean and fine of touch, to
manipulate gay strawberries, and dispose them attractively on fair
green terraces, shaded at parching noon. Of these lovely fabrics of
pithy pulpiness, no limit to the dose, if the invalid does as Nature
intended, and plucks for himself, with fingers rosy and fragrant. I
plucked of them, as far as I could reach on either side of me, and
then lay drowsily reposing on my couch at the summit of the Cascade
Pass, under the shade of a fir, which, outstanding from the forest,
had changed its columnar structure into a pyramidal, and had branches
all along its stalwart trunk, instead of a mere tuft at the top.
In this shade I should have known the tree which gave it, without
looking up,--not because the sharp little spicular leaves of the fir,
miniatures of that sword Rome used to open the world, its oyster,
would drop and plunge themselves into my eyes, or would insert their
blades down my back and scarify,--but because there is an influence
and sentiment in umbrages, and under every tree its own atmosphere.
Elms refine and have a graceful elegiac effect upon those they
shelter. Oaks drop robustness. Mimosas will presently make a
sensitive-plant of him who hangs his hammock beneath their shade.
Cocoa-palms will infect him with such tropical indolence, that he will
not stir until frowzy monkeys climb the tree and pelt him away to the
next one. The shade of pine-trees, as any one can prove by a journey
in Maine, makes those who undergo it wiry, keen, trenchant,
inexhaustible, and tough.
When I had felt the influence of my fir shelter, on the edge of the
wayside prairie, long enough, I became of course keen as a blade. I
sprang up and called to Loolowcan, in a resinous voice, "Mamook chaco
cuitan; make come horse."
Loolowcan, in more genial mood than I had known him, drove the trio
out from the long grass. They came forth not with backward hankerings,
but far happier quadrupeds than when they climbed the pass at noon. It
was a pleasure now to compress with the knees Klale, transformed from
an empty barrel with protuberant hoops, into a full elastic cylinder,
smooth as the boiler of a locomotive.
"Loolowcan, my lad, my experienced guide, cur nesika moosum; where
sleep we?" said I.
"Copa Sowee house,--kicuali. Sowee, olyman tyee,--memloose. Sia-a-ah
mitlite;--At Sowee's camp--below. Sowee, oldman chief,--dead. It is
far, far away," replied the son of Owhhigh.
Far is near, distance is annihilated this brilliant day of summer, for
us recreated with Hippocrene, strawberries, shade of fir and tall
snow-fed grass. Down the mountain range seems nothing after our long
laborious up; "the half is more than the whole." "Lead on, Loolowcan,
intelligent brave, toward the residence of the late Sowee."
More fair prairies linked themselves along the trail. From these
alpine pastures the future will draw butter and cheese, pasturing
migratory cattle there, when summer dries the scanty grass upon the
macadamized prairies of Whulge. It is well to remind ourselves
sometimes that the world is not wholly squatted over. The plateau soon
began to ebb toward the downward slope. Descent was like ascent, a way
shaggy and abrupt. Again the Boston hooihut intruded. My friends the
woodsmen had constructed an elaborate inclined plane of very knobby
corduroy. Klale sniffed at this novel road, and turned up his nose at
it. He was competent to protect that feature against all the perils of
stumble and fall on the trails he had been educated to travel, but
dreaded grinding it on the rough bark of this unaccustomed highway.
Slow-footed oxen, leaning inward and sustaining each other, like two
roysterers unsteady after wassail, might clumsily toil up such a road
as this, hauling up stout, white-cotton-roofed wagons, filled with the
babies and Lares of emigrants; but quick-footed ponies, descending and
carrying light loads of a wild Indian and an untamed blanketeer, chose
rather to whisk along the aboriginal paths.
As we came to the irregular terraces after the first pitch, and
scampered on gayly, I by and by heard a welcome whiz, and a dusky
grouse (_Tetrao obscurus_) lifted himself out of the trail into the
lower branches of a giant fir. I had lugged my double-barrel thus far,
a futile burden, unless when it served a minatory purpose among the
drunken Klalams. Now it became an animated machine, and uttered a
sharp exclamation of relief after long patient silence. Down came
tetrao,--down he came with satisfactory thud, signifying pounds of
something not pork for supper. We bagged him joyously and dashed on.
"Kopet," whispered Loolowcan turning, with a hushing gesture, "hiu
kullakullie nika nanitch;--halt, plenty birds I see." He was so eager
that from under his low brows and unkempt hair his dusky eyes glared
like the eyes of wild beast, studying his prey from a shadowy lair.
Dismounting, I stole forward with assassin intent, and birds, grouse,
five noble ones I saw, engaged in fattening their bodies for human
solace and support. I sent a shot among them. There was a flutter
among the choir,--one fluttered not. At the sound of my right barrel
one bird fell without rising; another rose and fell at a hint from the
sinister tube. The surviving trio were distracted by mortal terror.
They flew no farther than a dwarf tree hard by. I drew my revolver,
thinking that there might not be time to load, and fired in a hurry at
the lowermost.
"Hyas tamanoüs!" whispered Loolowcan, when no bird fell or flew,--"big
magic," it seemed to the superstitious youth. Often when sportsmen
miss, they claim that their gun is bewitched, and avail themselves of
the sure silver bullet.
A second ball, passing with keener aim through the barrel, attained
its mark. Grouse third shook off his mortal remains, and sped to
heaven. The two others, contrary to rule, for I had shot the lower,
fled, cowardly carrying their heavy bodies to die of cold, starvation,
or old age. "The good die first,"--ay, Wordsworth! among birds this is
verity; for the good are the fat, who, because of their avoirdupois,
lag in flight, or alight upon lower branches and are easiest shot.
Loolowcan bagged my three trophies and added them to the first.
Henceforth the thought of a grouse supper became a fixed idea with me.
I dwelt upon it with even a morbid appetite. I rehearsed, in prophetic
mood, the scene of plucking, the scene of roasting, that happy festal
scene of eating. So immersed did I become in gastronomic revery, that
I did not mind my lookout, as I dashed after Loolowcan, fearless and
agile cavalier. A thrust awoke me to a sense of passing objects, a
very fierce, lance-like thrust, full at my life. A wrecking snag of
harsh dead wood, that projected up in the trail, struck me, and tore
me half off my horse, leaving me jerked, scratched, disjointed, and
shuddering. Pachydermatous leggins of buckskin, at cost of their own
unity, had saved me from impalement. Some such warning is always
preparing for the careless.
I soon had an opportunity to propitiate Nemesis by a humane action. A
monstrous trunk lay across the trail. Loolowcan, reckless
steeplechaser, put his horse at it, full speed. Gubbins, instead of
going over neatly, or scrambling over cat-like, reared rampant and
shied back, volte face. I rode forward to see what fresh interference
of Tamanoüs was here,--nothing tamanoüs but an unexpected sorry
object of a horse. A wretched castaway, probably abandoned by the
exploring party, or astray from them, essaying to leap the tree, had
fallen back beneath the trunk and branches, and lay there entangled
and perfectly helpless. We struggled to release him. In vain. At last
a thought struck me. We seized the poor beast by his tail, fortunately
a tenacious member, and, heaving vigorously, towed him out of prison.
He tottered forlornly to his feet, looking about him like one risen
from the dead. "How now, Caudal?" said I, baptizing him by the name of
the part that saved his life; "canst thou follow toward fodder?" He
debated the question with himself awhile. Solitary confinement of
indefinite length, in a cramped posture, had given the poor skeleton
time to consider that safety from starvation is worth one effort more.
He found that there was still a modicum of life and its energy within
his baggy hide. My horses seemed to impart to him some of their
electricity, and he staggered on droopingly. Lucky Caudal, if life is
worth having, that on that day, of all days, I should have arrived to
rescue him. Strange deliverances for body and soul come to the dying.
Fate sends unlooked-for succor, when horses or men despair.
Luckily for Caudal, the weak-kneed and utterly dejected, Sowee's
prairie was near,--near was the prairie of Sowee, mighty hunter of
deer and elk, terror of bears. There at weird night Sowee's ghost was
often seen to stalk. Dyspeptics from feather-beds behold ghosts, and
are terrified, but nightwalkers are but bugbears to men who have
ridden from dawn to dusk of a long summer's day over an Indian trail
in the mountains. I felt no fear that any incubus in the shape of a
brassy-hued Indian chief would sit upon my breast that night, and
murder wholesome sleep.
Nightfall was tumbling down from the zenith before we reached camp.
The sweet glimmers of twilight were ousted from the forest, sternly
as mercy is thrust from a darkening heart. Night is really only
beautiful so far as it is not night,--that is, for its stars, which
are sources of resolute daylight in other spheres, and for its moon,
which is daylight's memory, realized, softened, and refined.
Night, however, had not drawn the pall of brief death over the world
so thick but that I could see enough to respect the taste of the late
Sowee. When he voted himself this farm, and became seized of it in the
days of unwritten agrarian laws, and before patents were in vogue, he
proved his intelligent right to suffrage and seizure. Here in
admirable quality were the three first requisites of a home in the
wilderness, water, wood, and grass. A musical rustle, as we galloped
through, proved the long grass. All around was the unshorn forest.
There were columnar firs making the Sowee house a hypæthral temple on
a grand scale.
There had been here a lodge. A few saplings of its framework still
stood, but Sowee had moved elsewhere not long ago. Wake siah
memloose,--not long dead was the builder, and viator might camp here
unquestioned.
Caudal had followed us in an inane, irresponsible way. Patiently now
he stood, apparently waiting for farther commands from his preservers.
We unpacked and unsaddled the other animals. They knew their business,
namely, to bolt instantly for their pasture. Then a busy uproar of
nipping and crunching was heard. Poor Caudal would not take the hint.
We were obliged to drive that bony estray with blows out to the
supper-field, where he stood aghast at the appetites of his new
comrades. Repose and good example, however, soon had their effect, and
eight equine jaws instead of six made play in the herbage.
"Alki mika mamook pire, pe nesika klatawah copa klap tsuk; now light
thou a fire, and we will go find water," said Loolowcan. I struck
fire,--fire smote tinder,--tinder sent the flame on, until a pyre from
the world's free wood-pile was kindled. This boon of fire,--what wonder
that men devised a Prometheus greatest of demigods as its discoverer?
Mortals, shrinking from the responsibility of a high destiny and
dreading to know how divine the Divine would have them, always imagine
an avatar of some one not lower than a half-god when a gift of great
price comes to the world. And fire is a very priceless and beautiful
boon,--not, as most know it, in imprisonment, barred with iron, or in
sooty chimneys, or in mad revolt of conflagration,--but as it grows in
a flashing pyramid out in camp in the free woods, with eager air
hurrying in on every side to feed its glory. In the gloom I strike
metal of steel against metallic flint. From this union a child is born.
I receive the young spark tenderly in warm "tipsoo," in a soft woolly
nest of bark or grass tinder. Swaddled in this he thrives. He smiles;
he chuckles; he laughs; he dances about, does my agile nursling. He
will soon wear out his first infantile garb, so I cover him up in
shelter. I feed him with digestible viands, according to his years. I
give him presently stouter fare, and offer exhilarating morsels of
fatness. All these the hearty youth assimilates, and grows healthily.
And now I educate him to manliness, training him on great joints,
shoulders, and marrowy portions. He becomes erelong a power and a
friend able to requite me generously for my care. He aids me in
preparing my feast, and we feast together. Afterward we talk,--Flame
and I,--we think together strong and passionate thoughts of purpose and
achievement. These emotions of manhood die away, and we share pensive
memories of happiness missed, or disdained, or feebly grasped and torn
away; regrets cover these like embers, and slowly over dead fieriness
comes a robe of ashy gray.
Fire in the forest is light, heat, and cheer. When ours was nurtured
to the self-sustaining point, we searched to find where the sage Sowee
kept his potables. Carefully covered up in sedges was a slender supply
of water, worth concealing from vulgar dabblers. Its diamond drops
were hidden away so thoroughly that we must mine for them by
torchlight. I held a flaring torch, while Loolowcan lay in wait for
the trickle, and captured it in a tin pot. How wild he looked, that
youth so frowzy by daylight, as, stooping under the tall sedges, he
clutched those priceless sparkles.
Upon the _carte du jour_ at Restaurant Sowee was written Grouse. "How
shall we have them?" said I, cook and convive, to Loolowcan, marmiton
and convive. "One of these cocks of the mountain shall be fried, since
gridiron is not," said I to myself, after meditation. "Two shall be
spitted, and roasted; and, as Azrael may not want us before breakfast
to-morrow, the fourth shall go on the _carte de dejeuner_."
"O Pork! what a creature thou art!" continued I, in monologue, cutting
neat slices of that viand with my bowie-knife, and laying them
fraternally, three in a bed, in the frying-pan. "Blessed be Moses! who
forbade thee to the Jews, whereby we, of freer dispensations, heirs of
all the ages, inherit also pigs more numerous and bacon cheaper. O
Pork! what could campaigners do without thy fatness, thy leanness, thy
saltness, thy portableness?"
Here Loolowcan presented me the three birds plucked featherless as
Plato's man. The two roasters we planted carefully on spits before a
sultry spot of the fire. From a horizontal stick, supported on forked
stakes, we suspended by a twig over each roaster an automatic baster,
an inverted cone of pork, ordained to yield its spicy juices to the
wooing flame, and drip bedewing on each bosom beneath. The roasters
ripened deliberately, while keen and quick fire told upon the fryer,
the first course of our feast. Meanwhile I brewed a pot of tea,
blessing Confucius for that restorative weed, as I had blessed Moses
for his abstinence from porkers.
Need I say that the grouse was admirable, that everything was
delicious, and the Confucian weed first chop? Even a scouse of mouldy
biscuit met the approval of Loolowcan. Feasts cooked under the
greenwood tree, and eaten by their cooks after a triumphant day of
progress, are sweeter than the conventional banquets of languid
Christendom. After we had paid our duty to the brisk fryer and the
rotund roaster grouse, nothing remained but bones to propitiate Sowee,
should he find short commons in Elysium, and wander back to his lodge,
seeking what he might devour.
All along the journey I had been quietly probing the nature of
Loolowcan, my most intimate associate thus far among the unalloyed
copper-skins. Chinook jargon was indeed but a blunt probe, yet perhaps
delicate enough to follow up such rough bits of conglomerate as served
him for ideas. An inductive philosopher, tracing the laws of
developing human thought _in corpore viti_ of a frowzy savage, finds
his work simple,--the nuggets are on the surface. Those tough pebbles
known to some metaphysicians as innate ideas, can be studied in
Loolowcan in their process of formation out of instincts.
Number one is the prize number in Loolowcan's lottery of life. He
thinks of that number; he dreams of it alone. When he lies down to
sleep, he plots what he will do in the morning with his prize and his
possession; when he wakes, he at once proceeds to execute his plots.
Loolowcan knows that there are powers out of himself; rights out of
himself he does not comprehend, or even conceive. I have thus far been
very indulgent to him, and treated him republicanly, mindful of the
heavy mesne profits for the occupation of a continent, and the
uncounted arrears of blood-money owed by my race to his; yet I find
no trace of gratitude in my analysis of his character. He seems to be
composed, selfishness, five hundred parts;--_nil admirari_ coolness,
five hundred parts;--a well-balanced character, and perhaps one not
likely to excite enthusiasm in others. I am a steward to him; I purvey
him also a horse; when we reach the Dalles, I am to pay him for his
services;--but he is bound to me by no tie of comradery. He has
caution more highly developed than any quadruped I have met, and will
not offend me lest I should resign my stewardship, retract Gubbins,
refuse payment, discharge my guide, and fight through the woods, where
he sees I am no stranger, alone. He certainly merits a "teapot" for
his ability in guidance. He has memory and observation unerring; not
once in all our intricate journey have I found him at fault in any
fact of space or time. He knows "each lane and every ally green" here,
accurately as Comus knew his "wild wood."
Moral conceptions exist only in a very limited degree for this type of
his race. Of God he knows somewhat less than the theologians; that is,
he is in the primary condition of uninquisitive ignorance, not in the
secondary, of inquisitive muddle. He has the advantage of no elaborate
system of human inventions to unlearn. He has no distinct fetichism.
None of the North American Indians have, in the accurate sense of the
term; their nomad life and tough struggle with instructive Nature in
her roughness save them from such elaborate fetichism as may exist in
more indolent climes and countries.
Loolowcan has his tamanoüs. It is Talipus, the Wolf, a "hyas skookoom
tamanoüs, a very mighty demon," he informs me. He does not worship it;
that would interfere with his devotions to his real deity, Number One.
It, in return, does him little service. If he met Talipus, object of
his superstition, on a fair morning, he would think it a good omen;
if on a sulky morning, he might be somewhat depressed, but would not
on that account turn back, as a Roman brave would have done on meeting
the matinal wolf. In fact, he keeps Talipus, his tamanoüs, as a kind
of ideal hobby, very much as a savage civilized man entertains a pet
bulldog or a tame bear, a link between himself and the rude, dangerous
forces of nature. Loolowcan has either chosen his protector according
to the law of likeness, or, choosing it by chance, has become
assimilated to its characteristics. A wolfish youth is the _protégé_
of Talipus,--an unfaithful, sinister, cannibal-looking son of a
horse-thief. Wolfish likewise is his appetite; when he asks me for
more dinner, and this without stint or decorum he does, he glares as
if, grouse failing, pork and hard-tack gone, he could call to Talipus
to send in a pack of wolves incarnate, and pounce with them upon me. A
pleasant companion this for lamb-like me to lie down beside in the den
of the late Sowee. Yet I do presently, after supper and a pipe, and a
little jargoning in Chinook with my Wolf, roll into my blankets, and
sleep vigorously, lulled by the gratifying noise of my graminivorous
horses cramming themselves with material for leagues of lope
to-morrow.
No shade of Sowee came to my slumbers with warning against the wolf in
guise of a Klickatat brave. I had no ghostly incubus to shake off, but
sprang up recreate in body and soul. Life is vivid when it thus
awakes. To be is to do.
And to-day much is to be done. Long leagues away, beyond a gorge of
difficulty, is the open rolling hill country, and again far beyond are
the lodges of the people of Owhhigh. "To-day," said Loolowcan, "we
must go copa nika ilihee, to my home, to Weenas."
Forlorn Caudal is hardly yet a frisky quadruped. Yet he is of better
cheer, perhaps up to the family-nag degree of vivacity. As to the
others, they have waxed fat, and kick. Klale, the Humorous, kicks
playfully, elongating in preparatory gymnastics. Gubbins, the average
horse, kicks calmly at his saddler, merely as a protest. Antipodes,
the spiteful Blunderer, kicks in a revolutionary manner, rolls under
his pack-saddle, and will not budge without maltreatment. Ill-educated
Antipodes views mankind only as excoriators of his back, and general
flagellants. Klickitats kept him raw in flesh and temper; under me his
physical condition improves; his character is not yet affected.
Before sunrise we quitted the house of Sowee.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Captain William Henry McNeill and Alexander Caulfield Anderson,
Hudson's Bay Company men, then at Nisqually House. Captain McNeill was
master of the famous old steamer _Beaver_. Mr. Anderson was in charge
of Nisqually House. Both men were honored by having their names given
to islands in Puget Sound.
[2] Pierre Charles, French Canadian, had been an employee of the
Hudson's Bay Company.
[3] Simon Plomondon was an employee of the Hudson's Bay Company, who
retired and settled in the Cowlitz Valley.
[4] Probably the Stone Creek of present usage.
[5] Carbon River.
[6] Meaning up the Carbon River and its branch called South Prairie
Creek.
[7] Chehalis River.
[8] White River.
[9] White River.
[10] Lieutenant Richard Arnold, in Pacific Railway Reports, Volume
XII, Part I, page 191, says: "Near the junction of Whitewater and
Green rivers there is a remarkable peak called La Tête, from a large
rock on its slope resembling the head and neck of a man. This is an
important point, as it forms the gate of the mountains on the west."
Modern maps shift the "water" part of the names. They are now White
and Greenwater rivers.
[11] White and Greenwater rivers.
[12] This is an error and should read 121° 25' W. as Naches Pass is
known to be 121° 21' and Lieutenant Johnson's "Little Prairie" was a
little west of the Pass.
[13] Greenwater branch of White River.
[14] Naches River.
[15] Wenatchee River.
[16] Mount Adams. The two peaks were frequently confused in early
writings.
[Illustration: GENERAL AUGUST VALENTINE KAUTZ.
United States Army.]
V. FIRST ATTEMPTED ASCENT, 1857
BY LIEUTENANT A. V. KAUTZ, U.S.A.
August Valentine Kautz was born at Ispringen, Baden, Germany,
on January 5, 1828. In that same year his parents came to
America. On attaining manhood the son entered the army and
served as a private soldier in the Mexican War. At its
conclusion he was appointed to the Military Academy at West
Point. Graduating in 1852, he was assigned to the Fourth
Infantry and soon found himself in the Pacific Northwest.
After going through the Indian wars here he achieved a
brilliant record in the Civil War. Continuing in the army, he
reached the rank of brigadier-general and was for a time in
command of the Department of the Columbia. He died at Seattle
on September 4, 1895.
It was while, as a lieutenant, he was stationed at Fort
Steilacoom that he attempted to ascend Mount Rainier. His
account of the trip was published in the Overland Monthly,
May, 1875. It is here republished by permission of the
editor. While the ascent was claimed to be complete the
climber says there was still higher land above him, and it is
now difficult to fix the exact altitude attained.
Professor I. C. Russell declares that Professor George
Davidson made a statement before the California Academy of
Sciences, on March 6, 1871, to the effect that when
Lieutenant Kautz "attempted the ascent of Mount Rainier in
1857" he found his way barred by a great glacier. From this,
says Professor Russell, it "seems that he first reported the
existence of living glaciers in the United States." (See:
Israel C. Russell: Glaciers of North America; Boston, Ginn &
Company, 1897, p. 62). The portrait of General Kautz was
furnished by his daughter, Mrs. Navana Kautz Simpson, of
Cincinnati, Ohio.
In the summer of 1857 I was stationed at Fort Steilacoom, Washington
Territory. This post was located near the village of Steilacoom, on
the waters of Puget Sound. The post and the village took their names
from a little stream near by, which is the outlet of a number of
small lakes and ponds emptying into the sound. Quite a family of
Indians made their permanent home in the vicinity of this creek in
former years, and were known as "_Steilacoom Tillicum_." According to
the Indian pronunciation of the name it should have been spelled
"Steelacoom," dwelling long on the first syllable.
I was at that time a first-lieutenant, young, and fond of visiting
unexplored sections of the country, and possessed of a very prevailing
passion for going to the tops of high places. My quarters fronted
Mount Rainier, which is about sixty miles nearly east of Fort
Steilacoom in an air line. On a clear day it does not look more than
ten miles off, and looms up against the eastern sky white as the snow
with which it is covered, with a perfectly pyramidal outline, except
at the top, which is slightly rounded and broken. It is a grand and
inspiring view, and I had expressed so often my determination to make
the ascent, without doing it, that my fellow-officers finally became
incredulous, and gave to all improbable and doubtful events a date of
occurrence when I should ascend Mount Rainier.
My resolution, however, took shape and form about the first of July.
Nearly all the officers had been very free to volunteer to go with me
as long as they felt certain I was not going; but when I was ready to
go, I should have been compelled to go alone but for the doctor, who
was on a visit to the post from Fort Bellingham.
I made preparations after the best authorities I could find, from
reading accounts of the ascent of Mont Blanc and other snow mountains.
We made for each member of the party an _alpenstock_ of dry ash with
an iron point. We sewed upon our shoes an extra sole, through which
were first driven four-penny nails with the points broken off and the
heads inside. We took with us a rope about fifty feet long, a hatchet,
a thermometer, plenty of hard biscuit, and dried beef such as the
Indians prepare.
Information relating to the mountain was exceedingly meagre; no white
man had ever been near it, and Indians were very superstitious and
afraid of it. The southern slope seemed the least abrupt, and in that
direction I proposed to reach the mountain; but whether to keep the
high ground, or follow some stream to its source, was a question.
Leshi, the chief of the Nesquallies, was at that time in the
guard-house, awaiting his execution, and as I had greatly interested
myself to save him from his fate, he volunteered the information that
the valley of the Nesqually River was the best approach after getting
above the falls. He had some hope that I would take him as a guide;
but finding that out of the question he suggested Wah-pow-e-ty,[17] an
old Indian of the Nesqually tribe, as knowing more about the Nesqually
than any other of his people.
Mount Rainier is situated on the western side of the Cascade Range,
near the forty-seventh parallel. The range to which it belongs
averages about 7,000 to 8,000 feet in height, and snow may be seen
along its summit-level the year round, while Rainier, with its immense
covering of snow, towers as high again above the range. In various
travels and expeditions in the territory, I had viewed the snow-peaks
of this range from all points of the compass, and since that time
having visited the mountain regions of Europe, and most of those of
North America, I assert that Washington Territory contains mountain
scenery in quantity and quality sufficient to make half a dozen
Switzerlands, while there is on the continent none more grand and
imposing than is presented in the Cascade Range north of the Columbia
River.
About noon on the 8th of July [1857] we finally started. The party
consisted of four soldiers--two of them equipped to ascend the
mountain, and the other two to take care of our horses when we should
be compelled to leave them. We started the soldiers on the direct
route, with orders to stop at Mr. Wren's, on the eastern limit of the
Nesqually plains, ten or twelve miles distant, and wait for us, while
the doctor and I went by the Nesqually Reservation in order to pick up
old Wah-pow-e-ty, the Indian guide.
We remained all night at Wren's, and the next morning entered that
immense belt of timber with which the western slope of the Cascade
Range is covered throughout its entire length. I had become familiar
with the Indian trail that we followed, the year previous, in our
pursuit of Indians. The little patches of prairie are so rare that
they constitute in that immense forest landmarks for the guidance of
the traveler. Six miles from Wren's we came to Pawhtummi, a little
_camas_ prairie about 500 yards long, and 100 in breadth, a resort for
the Indians in the proper season to gather the _camas_-root. Six miles
farther we came to a similar prairie, circular in form, not more than
400 yards in diameter, called Koaptil. Another six or seven miles took
us to the Tanwut, a small stream with a patch of prairie bordering it,
where the trail crossed. Ten or twelve miles more brought us to the
Mishawl Prairie, where we camped for the night, this being the end of
the journey for our horses, and the limit of our knowledge of the
country.
This prairie takes its name from the stream near by, and is situated
between it and the Owhap on a high table-land or bluff, not more than
one or two miles from where these enter the Nesqually. It is perhaps
half a mile long, and 200 or 300 yards wide at the widest point. The
grass was abundant, and it was an excellent place to leave our horses.
Fifteen months before, I had visited this spot, and camped near by
with a small detachment of troops, searching for Indians who had
hidden away in these forests, completely demoralized and nearly
starving. A family of two or three men, and quite a number of women
and children, had camped in the fork of the Mishawl and Nesqually,
about two miles from this prairie, and were making fishtraps to catch
salmon. When we fell in with them we learned that the Washington
Territory volunteers had been before us, and with their immensely
superior force had killed the most of them without regard to age or
sex. Our own little command in that expedition captured about thirty
of these poor, half-starved, ignorant creatures, and no act of
barbarity was perpetrated by us to mar the memory of that success.
We accordingly camped in the Mishawl Prairie. When I was here before
it was in March, and the rainy season was still prevailing; the
topographical engineer of the expedition and I slept under the same
blankets on a wet drizzly night, and next morning treated each other
to bitter reproaches for having each had more than his share of the
covering. Now the weather was clear and beautiful, and the scene
lovely in comparison. I can imagine nothing more gloomy and cheerless
than a fir-forest in Washington Territory on a rainy winter day. The
misty clouds hang down below the tops of the tallest trees, and
although it does not rain, but drizzles, yet it is very wet and cold,
and penetrates every thread of clothing to the skin. The summers of
this region are in extraordinary contrast with the winters. Clear,
beautiful, and dry, they begin in May and last till November; while in
the winter, although in latitude 47° and 48°, it rarely freezes or
snows--often, however, raining two weeks without stopping a permeating
drizzle.
On this 9th of July, 1857, the weather was beautiful; it had not
rained for weeks. The Mishawl--a raging mountain torrent, when last I
saw it--was now a sluggish rivulet of clear mountain-spring water. We
started early on our journey, having made our preparations the
evening before. We calculated to be gone about six days. Each member
of the party had to carry his own provisions and bedding; everything
was therefore reduced to the minimum. Each took a blanket, twenty-four
crackers of hard bread, and about two pounds of dried beef. We took
Dogue (a German) and Carroll (an Irishman) with us; they were both
volunteers for the trip; one carried the hatchet and the other the
rope. I carried a field-glass, thermometer, and a large-sized
revolver. Wah-pow-e-ty carried his rifle, with which we hoped to
procure some game. The soldiers carried no arms. Bell and Doneheh were
left behind to take care of the horses and extra provisions, until our
return.
We each had a haversack for our provisions, and a tin canteen for
water. The doctor very unwisely filled his with whisky instead of
water. Having sounded Wah-pow-e-ty as to the route, we learned he had
once been on the upper Nesqually when a boy, with his father, and that
his knowledge of the country was very limited. We ascertained,
however, that we could not follow the Nesqually at first; that there
was a fall in the river a short distance above the mouth of the
Mishawl, and that the mountains came down so abrupt and precipitous
that we could not follow the stream, and that the mountain must be
crossed first and a descent made to the river above the fall.
That mountain proved a severer task than we anticipated. There was no
path and no open country--only a dense forest, obstructed with
undergrowth and fallen timber. The sun was very hot when it could
reach us through the foliage; not a breath of air stirred, and after
we crossed the Mishawl, not a drop of water was to be had until we got
down to low ground again. We toiled from early morning until three
o'clock in the afternoon before we reached the summit. As the doctor
had taken whisky instead of water in his canteen, he found it
necessary to apply to the other members of the party to quench his
thirst, and our canteens were speedily empty. The doctor sought relief
in whisky, but it only aggravated his thirst, and he poured out the
contents of his canteen. The severe exertion required for the ascent
brought on painful cramps in his legs, and at one time, about the
middle of the day, I concluded that we should be obliged to leave him
to find his way back to camp while we went on without him; but he made
an agreement with Wah-pow-e-ty to carry his pack for him in addition
to his own, for ten dollars, and the doctor was thus enabled to go on.
Here was an illustration of the advantage of training. The doctor was
large, raw-boned, and at least six feet high, looking as if he could
have crushed with a single blow the insignificant old Indian, who was
not much over five feet, and did not weigh more than half as much as
the doctor; but, inured to this kind of toil, he carried double the
load that any of the party did, while the doctor, who was habituated
to a sedentary life, had all he could do, carrying no load whatever,
to keep up with the Indian.
Early in the afternoon we reached the summit of the first ascent,
where we enjoyed, in addition to a good rest, a magnificent view of
the Puget Sound Valley, with Mount Olympus and the Coast Range for a
background. Here on this summit, too, munching our biscuit of hard
bread and our dried beef, we enjoyed a refreshing breeze as we looked
down on the beautiful plains of the Nesqually, with its numerous clear
and beautiful little lakes. There was nothing definite except
forest--of which there was a great excess--lakes, and plains of
limited area, the sound, and a great background of mountains. No
habitations, farms, or villages were to be seen; not a sign of
civilization or human life.
After a good rest we pushed on, taking an easterly course, and
keeping, or trying to keep, on the spur of the mountain; the forest
was so thick, however, that this was next to an impossibility. We were
not loth to go down into ravines in the hope of finding some water,
for we needed it greatly. It was a long time, and we met with many
disappointments, before we could find enough to quench our thirst. Our
progress was exceedingly slow on account of the undergrowth. At
sundown we camped in the grand old forest, the location being chosen
on account of some water in a partially dry ravine. The distance
passed over from Mishawl Prairie we estimated at about ten or eleven
miles. On good roads thirty miles would have wearied us much less.
We started early the next morning, and for a time tried to keep the
high ground, but found it so difficult that we finally turned down to
the right, and came upon the Nesqually River about the middle of the
afternoon. There was no material difference in the undergrowth, but
there was an advantage gained in having plenty of water to quench our
thirst. We made about ten miles this day, and camped about sundown.
There seemed nothing but forest before us; dark, gloomy forest,
remarkable for large trees, and its terrible solitude. But few living
things were to be seen. The Nesqually is a very wide muddy torrent,
fordable in places where the stream is much divided by islands.
We already here began to suffer from the loss of appetite, which was
to us such a difficulty throughout the entire trip. Even the four
crackers and two ounces of dried beef, which was our daily limit, we
found ourselves unable to master, and yet so much was necessary to
keep up our strength. I have never been able to settle in my mind
whether this was due to the sameness of the food or the great fatigue
we underwent.
The third morning we made an early start, and followed up the stream
in almost a due east direction all day until about five o'clock, when
the doctor broke down, having been unable to eat anything during the
day. With considerable cramming I managed to dispose of the most of my
rations. We kept the north side of the river, and had no streams to
cross; in fact, there did not appear to be any streams on either side
putting into the river. The valley seemed several miles in width,
densely timbered, and the undergrowth a complete thicket. Not more
than ten miles were made by us. Just before we stopped for the night,
we passed through a patch of dead timber of perhaps 100 acres, with an
abundance of blackberries. Opposite our camp, on the south side of the
river, there was the appearance of quite a tributary coming in from
the southeast.
We did not get started until about eleven o'clock on the fourth
morning. After cutting up a deer which Wah-pow-e-ty brought in early
in the morning, we dried quite a quantity of it by the fire. As we
anticipated, it proved of much assistance, for we already saw that six
days would be a very short time in which to make the trip. By night we
reached a muddy tributary coming in from the north, and evidently
having its source in the melting snows of Rainier. The summit of the
mountain was visible from our camp, and seemed close at hand; but
night set in with promise of bad weather. The valley had become quite
narrow. Our camp was at the foot of a mountain spur several thousand
feet high, and the river close at hand. The gloomy forest, the wild
mountain scenery, the roaring of the river, and the dark overhanging
clouds, with the peculiar melancholy sighing which the wind makes
through a fir forest, gave to our camp at this point an awful
grandeur.
On the fifth morning the clouds were so threatening, and came down so
low on the surrounding mountains, that we were at a loss what course
to pursue--whether to follow up the main stream or the tributary at
our camp, which evidently came from the nearest snow. We finally
followed the main stream, which very soon turned in toward the
mountain, the valley growing narrower, the torrent more and more
rapid, and our progress slower and slower, especially when we were
compelled to take to the timber. We often crossed the torrent, of
which the water was intensely cold, in order to avoid the obstructions
of the forest. Sometimes, however, the stream was impassable, and then
we often became so entangled in the thickets as almost to despair of
farther advance. Early in the evening we reached the foot of an
immense glacier and camped. For several miles before camping the bed
of the stream was paved with white granite bowlders, and the mountain
gorge became narrower and narrower. The walls were in many places
perpendicular precipices, thousands of feet high, their summits hid in
the clouds. Vast piles of snow were to be seen along the stream--the
remains of avalanches--for earth, trees, and rocks were intermingled
with the snow.
As it was near night we camped, thinking it best to begin the ascent
in the early morning; besides, the weather promised to become worse.
The foliage of the pine-trees here was very dense, and on such a
cloudy day it was dark as night in the forest. The limbs of the trees
drooped upon the ground, a disposition evidently given to them by the
snow, which must be late in disappearing in this region.
We followed thus far the main branch of the Nesqually, and here it
emerged from an icy cavern at the foot of an immense glacier. The ice
itself was of a dark-blue tinge. The water was white, and whenever I
waded the torrent my shoes filled with gravel and sand. The walls of
this immense mountain gorge were white granite, and, just where the
glacier terminated, the immense vein of granite that was visible on
both sides seemed to form a narrow throat to the great ravine, which
is much wider both above and below. The water seems to derive its
color from the disintegration of this granite.[18]
We made our camp under a pine of dense foliage, whose limbs at the
outer end drooped near the ground. We made our cup of tea, and found
the water boil at 202° Fahrenheit. Night set in with a drizzling rain,
and a more solitary, gloomy picture than we presented at that camp it
is impossible to conceive. Tired, hungry, dirty, clothes all in
rags--the effects of our struggles with the brush--we were not the
least happy; the solitude was oppressive. The entire party, except
myself, dropped down and did not move unless obliged to. I went up to
the foot of the glacier, and explored a little before night set in. I
also tried to make a sketch of the view looking up the glacier; but I
have never looked at it since without being forcibly reminded what a
failure it is as a sketch.
On the morning of the sixth day we set out again up the glacier. A
drizzling rain prevailed through the night, and continued this
morning. We had a little trouble in getting upon the glacier, as it
terminated everywhere in steep faces that were very difficult to
climb. Once up, we did not meet with any obstructions or interruptions
for several hours, although the slippery surface of the glacier, which
formed inclined planes of about twenty degrees, made it very fatiguing
with our packs. About noon the weather thickened; snow, sleet, and
rain prevailed, and strong winds, blowing hither and thither, almost
blinded us. The surface of the glacier, becoming steeper, began to be
intersected by immense crevasses crossing our path, often compelling
us to travel several hundred yards to gain a few feet. We finally
resolved to find a camp. But getting off the glacier was no easy task.
We found that the face of the lateral moraine was almost
perpendicular, and composed of loose stones, sand, and gravel,
furnishing a very uncertain foothold, besides being about fifty feet
high. Wah-pow-e-ty and I finally succeeded in getting up, and with the
aid of the rope we assisted our companions to do the same. When we
reached the top we were a little surprised to find that we had to go
down-hill again to reach the mountain side. Here a few stunted pines
furnished us fuel and shelter, and we rested for the remainder of the
day. I explored a little in the evening by ascending the ridge from
the glacier, and discovered that it would be much the best route to
pursue in ascending to the summit.
When night set in, the solitude of our camp was very oppressive. We
were near the limit of perpetual snow. The water for our tea we
obtained from the melting of the ice near by. The atmosphere was very
different from what it was below, and singularly clear when not
obstructed by fog, rain, or snow. There were no familiar objects to
enable one to estimate distance. When I caught a glimpse of the top of
Rainier through the clouds, I felt certain that we could reach it in
three hours. The only living things to be seen were some animals, with
regard to which we still labor under an error. These little creatures
would make their appearance on the side of the mountain in sight of
our camp, and feed upon herbage that grew on the soil where the snow
left it bare. The moment anyone stirred from camp, a sound between a
whistle and scream would break unexpectedly and from some unknown
quarter, and immediately all the animals that were in sight would
vanish in the earth. Upon visiting the spot where they disappeared, we
would find a burrow which was evidently the creatures' home.
Everywhere round the entrance we found great numbers of tracks, such
as a lamb or kid would make. The animals that we saw were about the
size of kids, and grazed and moved about so much like them, that,
taken in connection with the tracks we saw, we jumped at once to the
conclusion that they were mountain sheep, of which we all had heard a
great deal, but none of our party had ever seen any. My report of
these animals, which was published in the _Washington Republican_ on
our return, was severely ridiculed by some of the naturalists who were
hunting for undescribed insects and animals in that country at the
time. We are still at a loss to understand the habits of the
creatures, and to reconcile the split hoofs which the tracks indicated
with their burrow in the earth.[19]
On the following morning--the seventh day from our camp on the
Mishawl--the sky showed signs of clear weather, and we began the
ascent of the main peak. Until about noon we were enveloped in clouds,
and only occasionally did we get a glimpse of the peak. Soon after
midday we reached suddenly a colder atmosphere, and found ourselves
all at once above the clouds, which were spread out smooth and even as
a sea, above which appeared the snowy peaks of St. Helens, Mount
Adams, and Mount Hood, looking like pyramidal icebergs above an ocean.
At first we could not see down through the clouds into the valleys.
Above, the atmosphere was singularly clear, and the reflection of the
sun upon the snow very powerful. The summit of Rainier seemed very
close at hand.
About two o'clock in the afternoon the clouds rolled away like a
scroll; in a very short time they had disappeared, and the Cascade
Range lay before us in all its greatness. The view was too grand and
extensive to be taken in at once, or in the short time we had to
observe. The entire scene, with few exceptions, was covered with
forests, with here and there barren rocky peaks that rose up out of
the ridges; now and then a mountain lake, much more blue than the sky,
and the Nesqually, winding like a thread of silver through the dark
forests. From the foot of the glacier for several miles the bed of the
river was very white, from the granite bowlders that covered the bed
of the stream. The water, too, was of a decidedly chalkier color near
its source.
We had no time, however, to study the beauties that lay before us. We
had already discovered that there was no telling from appearances how
far we had to go. The travel was very difficult; the surface of the
snow was porous in some places, and at each step we sunk to our knees.
Carroll and the Indian gave out early in the afternoon, and returned
to camp. The doctor began to lag behind. Dogue stuck close to me.
Between four and five o'clock we reached a very difficult point. It
proved to be the crest of the mountain, where the comparatively smooth
surface was much broken up, and inaccessible pinnacles of ice and deep
crevasses interrupted our progress. It was not only difficult to go
ahead, but exceedingly dangerous; a false step, or the loss of a
foot-hold, would have been certain destruction. Dogue was evidently
alarmed, for every time that I was unable to proceed, and turned back
to find another passage, he would say, "_I guess, Lieutenant, we
petter go pack._"
Finally we reached what may be called the top, for although there were
points higher yet,[20] the mountain spread out comparatively flat, and
it was much easier to get along. The soldier threw himself down
exhausted, and said he could go no farther. The doctor was not in
sight. I went on to explore by myself, but I returned in a quarter of
an hour without my hat, fully satisfied that nothing more could be
done. It was after six o'clock, the air was very cold, and the wind
blew fiercely, so that in a second my hat which it carried away was
far beyond recovery. The ice was forming in my canteen, and to stay on
the mountain at such a temperature was to freeze to death, for we
brought no blankets with us, and we could not delay, as it would be
impossible to return along the crest of the mountain after dark. When
I returned to where I had left the soldier, I found the doctor there
also, and after a short consultation we decided to return.
Returning was far easier and more rapid than going. The snow was much
harder and firmer, and we passed over in three hours, coming down,
what required ten in going up. We were greatly fatigued by the day's
toil, and the descent was not accomplished without an occasional rest
of our weary limbs. In one place the snow was crusted over, and for a
short distance the mountain was very steep, and required the skillful
use of the stick to prevent our going much faster than we desired. The
soldier lost his footing, and rolled helplessly to the foot of the
declivity, thirty or forty yards distant, and his face bore the traces
of the scratching for many a day after, as if he had been through a
bramble-bush.
We found the Indian and Carroll in the camp. The latter had a long
story to tell of his wanderings to find camp, and both stated that the
fatigue was too much for them. There was no complaint on the part of
any of us about the rarity of the atmosphere. The doctor attributed to
this cause the fact that he could not go but a few yards at a time,
near the summit, without resting; but I am inclined to think this was
due to our exhaustion. My breathing did not seem to be in the least
affected.
We were much disappointed not to have had more time to explore the
summit of the mountain. We had, however, demonstrated the feasibility
of making the ascent. Had we started at dawn of day we should have had
plenty of time for the journey. From what I saw I should say the
mountain top was a ridge perhaps two miles in length and nearly half a
mile in width, with an angle about half-way, and depressions between
the angle and each end of the ridge which give to the summit the
appearance of three small peaks as seen from the east or west. When
viewed from north or south, a rounded summit is all that can be seen;
while viewed from positions between the cardinal points of the
compass, the mountain generally has the appearance of two peaks.
The night was very cold and clear after our return. We had some idea
of making another ascent; but an investigation into the state of our
provisions, together with the condition of the party generally,
determined us to begin our return on the morning of the eighth day.
The two soldiers had eaten all their bread but one cracker each. The
doctor and I had enough left, so that by a redistribution we had four
crackers each, with which to return over a space that had required
seven days of travel coming. We, of course, expected to be a shorter
time getting back; but let it be ever so short, our prospect for
something to eat was proportionately much more limited. We had more
meat than bread, thanks to the deer the Indian had killed, and we
depended greatly on his killing more game for us going back: but this
dependence, too, was cut off; the Indian was snow-blind, and needed
our help to guide him. His groans disturbed us during the night, and
what was our astonishment in the morning to find his eyelids closed
with inflammation, and so swollen that he looked as if he had been in
a free fight and got the worst of it. He could not have told a deer
from a stump the length of his little old rifle.
Our camp was about 1,000 or 1,500 feet below the last visible shrub;
water boiled at 199°, and, according to an approximate scale we had
with us, this indicated an elevation of 7,000 feet. We estimated the
highest peak to be over 12,000 feet high. I greatly regretted not
being able to get the boiling-point on the top, but it was impossible
to have had a fire in such a wind as prevailed round the summit.
As we returned we had more leisure to examine and clearer weather to
see the glacier than we had coming up. There was no medial moraine;
but an icy ridge parallel to the lateral moraines, and about midway
between them, extending as far as we ascended the glacier. The lateral
moraines were not continuous, but were interrupted by the walls of the
spurs where they projected into the glacier; between these points the
lateral moraines existed. The glacier sloped away from the ridge to
the moraines, more or less sharply, and it was no easy matter to get
off the ice, owing to the steepness of the moraine. The ice melted by
reflection from the face of the moraine, and formed a difficult
crevasse between it and the glacier. Bowlders of every shape and size
were scattered over the face of the glacier. Large ones were propped
up on pinnacles of ice; these were evidently too thick for the sun to
heat through. The small bowlders were sunk more or less deeply, and
surrounded by water in the hot sun; but they evidently froze fast
again at night.
The noise produced by the glacier was startling and strange. One might
suppose the mountain was breaking loose, particularly at night.
Although, so far as stillness was concerned, there was no difference
between day and night, at night the noise seemed more terrible. It was
a fearful crashing and grinding that was going on, where the granite
was powdered that whitened the river below, and where the bowlders
were polished and partially rounded.
The great stillness and solitude were also very oppressive; no
familiar sounds; nothing except the whistle of the animal before
mentioned and the noise of the glacier's motion was to be heard, and
if these had not occurred at intervals the solitude would have been
still more oppressive. We were glad to get down again to the
Nesqually, where we could hear its roar and see its rushing waters.
The other members of the party were so tired and worn, however, that
they seemed to observe but little, and as we were now on our homeward
way, their thoughts were set only on our camp on the Mishawl, with its
provisions and promise of rest.
The first day we passed two of the camps we had made coming up, and
reached a point where we remembered to have seen a great quantity of
blackberries. It was quite dark by the time we reached the little spot
of dead timber--which seems to be the favorite haunt of the creeping
bramble in this country--and to gather our supper of berries we built
a fire at the foot of a large dead tree. Speedily the flames were
climbing to the top of the withered branches, and casting a cheerful
light for a hundred yards round. But what we found very convenient for
gathering berries proved to be a great annoyance when we wanted to
sleep. During the night we were constantly moving our place of rest,
at first on account of the falling embers, and finally for fear of the
tree itself.
Blackberries are refreshing so far as the palate is concerned; but
they are not very nourishing. We took our breakfast on them, and
continued down the Nesqually from six in the morning until six in the
evening, traveling slowly because of the difficult undergrowth and our
worn-out and exhausted condition. We passed another of our camps, and
finally stopped at what evidently had been an Indian camp. The cedar
bark, always to be found in such places, we anticipated would make a
shelter for us in case of rain, which the clouds promised us.
No rain fell, however, and we resumed our march, continuing down the
river five or six miles farther than where we first struck it, to a
point where the hills came close up and overhung the water. There we
camped, expecting that an easy march on the morrow would enable us to
reach our camp on the Mishawl. We ate our last morsel, and the next
morning I was awakened by the conversation of the two soldiers. They
were evidently discussing the subject of hunger, for the Irishman
said: "I've often seen the squaws coming about the cook-house picking
the pitaties out of the slop-barrel, an' I thought it was awful; but I
giss I'd do it mesilf this mornin'."
The morning of the eleventh day we left the Nesqually to cross over to
the Mishawl, and traveled on the mountain all day, until we reached
the stream at night completely exhausted. We should have stopped
sooner than we did, but we were almost perishing with thirst, not
having had any water since we left the Nesqually in the morning. What
we took along in our canteens was exhausted in the early part of the
day. We were not more than two miles from the camp in the prairie, and
notwithstanding that we had had nothing to eat all day, except a few
berries we had picked by the way, we were so exhausted that we lay
down to sleep as soon as we had quenched our thirst.
We started up-stream the next morning, thinking we had reached the
Mishawl below our camp; but soon discovering our mistake, we turned
down. At this point the Irishman's heart sunk within him, he was so
exhausted. Thinking we were lost, he wanted to lie down in the stream
and "drownd" himself. He was assured that we should soon be in camp,
and we arrived there very soon after, before the men left in charge of
the horses were up.
Our first thought was of something to eat. I cautioned all about
eating much at first; but from subsequent results am inclined to think
my advice was not heeded. I contented myself with a half cracker, a
little butter, and weak coffee; and an hour after, when I began to
feel the beneficial effects of what I had eaten, I took a little more
substantial meal, but refrained from eating heartily.
After a short rest we caught our horses, and the doctor and I rode
into Steilacoom, where we arrived after a hard ride late in the
afternoon. As we approached the post, we met on the road a number of
the inhabitants with whom we were well acquainted, and who did not
recognize us. Nor were we surprised when we got a glimpse of our faces
in a glass. Haggard and sunburnt, nearly every familiar feature had
disappeared. Since the loss of my hat, my head-dress was the sleeve of
a red flannel shirt, tied into a knot at the elbow, with the point at
the arm-pit for a visor. Our clothes were in rags; one of the doctor's
pantaloon-legs had entirely disappeared, and he had improvised a
substitute out of a coffee-sack. In our generally dilapidated
condition none of our acquaintances recognized us until we got to the
post. We passed for Indians until we arrived there, where we were
received by the officers with a shout at our ludicrous appearance.
They were all sitting under the oak-trees in front of quarters,
discussing what had probably become of us, and proposing means for our
rescue, when we came up.
I felt the effects of the trip for many days, and did not recover my
natural condition for some weeks. The doctor and I went to the village
next morning, where the people were startled at our emaciated
appearance. We found that the doctor had lost twenty-one pounds in
weight in fourteen days, and I had lost fourteen pounds in the same
time. The doctor, while we were in the village, was taken with violent
pains in his stomach, and returned to his post quite sick. He did not
recover his health again for three months.
The two soldiers went into the hospital immediately on their return,
and I learned that for the remainder of their service they were in the
hospital nearly all the time. Four or five years after, Carroll
applied to me for a certificate on which to file an application for a
pension, stating that he had not been well since his trip to the
mountain. The Indian had an attack of gastritis, and barely escaped
with his life after a protracted sickness. I attribute my own escape
from a lingering illness to the precautions I took in eating when
satisfying the first cravings of hunger, on our return to camp.
We are not likely to have any competitors in this attempt to explore
the summit of Mount Rainier. Packwood and McAllister, two citizens of
Pierce County, Washington Territory, explored up the Nesqually, and
crossed over to the head of the Cowlitz River, and thence by what was
called Cowlitz Pass (since called Packwood Pass), to the east side of
the mountains, searching for a trail to the mining regions of the
upper Columbia. More recently, surveyors in the employ of the Pacific
Railroad Company have been surveying through the same route for a
railway passage.
When the locomotive is heard in that region some day, when American
enterprise has established an ice-cream saloon at the foot of the
glacier, and sherry-cobblers may be had at twenty-five cents half-way
up to the top of the mountain, attempts to ascend that magnificent
snow-peak will be quite frequent. But many a long year will pass away
before roads are sufficiently good to induce any one to do what we did
in the summer of 1857.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] His name is honored in Wapowety Cleaver overlooking the Kautz
Glacier.
[18] I have no doubt that the south branch of the Nachess, which flows
to the east into the Columbia, and that the Puyallup and White rivers,
which flow west into Puget Sound, have similar sources in glaciers,
from the fact that in July they are all of a similar character with
the Nesqually, muddy, white torrents, at a time when little rain has
fallen for months.--Kautz.
[19] The burrow was made by the marmot and the split-hoof tracks in
the loose earth were made by mountain goats.
[20] He here gives evidence that he had not reached the summit.
[Illustration: GENERAL HAZARD STEVENS.]
VI. FIRST SUCCESSFUL ASCENT, 1870
BY GENERAL HAZARD STEVENS
General Hazard Stevens was born at Newport, Rhode Island, on
June 9, 1842. His father was Major General Isaac I. Stevens,
and his mother, Margaret (Hazard) Stevens, was a
granddaughter of Colonel Daniel Lyman of the Revolution. In
1854 and 1855, while the son was only thirteen years of age,
he accompanied his father, then the first governor of
Washington Territory, on treaty-making expeditions among the
Indian tribes. Later he accompanied his father into the Union
Army as an officer on his father's staff. He was severely
wounded in the same battle where his father was killed while
leading the charge at Chantilly, September 1, 1862.
Hazard Stevens continued in the army, and at the end of the
war he was mustered out as a brigadier general of volunteers.
He then returned to Washington Territory and went to work to
support his mother and sisters. On August 17, 1870, he and P.
B. Van Trump made the first successful ascent of Mount
Rainier.
In 1874, he followed the other members of the family back to
Boston where he remained until his mother's death, a few
months ago. He then returned to Puget Sound, and is now a
successful farmer near Olympia.
His companion on the ascent, P. B. Van Trump, remained in
Washington. For a number of years he was a ranger at Indian
Henry's Hunting Ground in the Mount Rainier National Park.
There he was a quaint and attractive figure to all visitors.
In 1915, he returned East to live among kinsfolk in New York
State.
The names of both Stevens and Van Trump have been generously
bestowed upon glaciers, creeks, ridges, and cañons within the
Mount Rainier National Park.
General Stevens prefers to call the mountain Takhoma. The
full account of the ascent was published by him under the
title of "The Ascent of Mount Takhoma" in the Atlantic
Monthly for November, 1876. It is here reproduced by
permission of the editor of that magazine.
Mr. Van Trump made several ascents after that first one, and
in 1905 General Stevens also made a second ascent. He
searched in vain for the relics he had deposited at the
summit thirty-five years earlier. The rocks that were bare in
1870 were under snow and ice in 1905.
When Vancouver, in 1792, penetrated the Straits of Fuca and explored
the unknown waters of the Mediterranean of the Pacific, wherever he
sailed, from the Gulf of Georgia to the farthest inlet of Puget Sound,
he beheld the lofty, snow-clad barrier range of the Cascades
stretching north and south and bounding the eastern horizon. Towering
at twice the altitude of all others, at intervals of a hundred miles
there loomed up above the range three majestic, snowy peaks that
"Like giants stand
To sentinel enchanted land."
In the matter-of-fact spirit of a British sailor of his time, he named
these sublime monuments of nature in honor of three lords of the
English admiralty, Hood, Rainier, and Baker. Of these Rainier is the
central, situated about half-way between the Columbia River and the
line of British Columbia, and is by far the loftiest and largest. Its
altitude is 14,444 feet, while Hood is 11,025 feet, and Baker is
10,810 feet high. The others, too, are single cones, while Rainier, or
Takhoma,[21] is an immense mountain-mass with three distinct peaks, an
eastern, a northern, and a southern; the two last extending out and up
from the main central dome, from the summit of which they stand over a
mile distant, while they are nearly two miles apart from each other.
Takhoma overlooks Puget Sound from Olympia to Victoria, one hundred
and sixty miles. Its snow-clad dome is visible from Portland on the
Willamette, one hundred and twenty miles south, and from the
table-land of Walla Walla, one hundred and fifty miles east. A region
two hundred and fifty miles across, including nearly all of Washington
Territory, part of Oregon, and part of Idaho, is commanded in one
field of vision by this colossus among mountains.
Takhoma had never been ascended. It was a virgin peak. The
superstitious fears and traditions of the Indians, as well as the
dangers of the ascent, had prevented their attempting to reach the
summit, and the failure of a gallant and energetic officer, whose
courage and hardihood were abundantly shown during the rebellion, had
in general estimation proved it insurmountable.
For two years I had resolved to ascend Takhoma, but both seasons the
dense smoke overspreading the whole country had prevented the attempt.
Mr. Philomon Beecher Van Trump, humorous, generous, whole-souled, with
endurance and experience withal, for he had roughed it in the mines,
and a poetic appreciation of the picturesque and the sublime, was
equally eager to scale the summit. Mr. Edward T. Coleman, an English
gentleman of Victoria, a landscape artist and an Alpine tourist, whose
reputed experience in Switzerland had raised a high opinion of his
ability above the snow-line, completed the party.
Olympia, the capital of Washington Territory, is a beautiful,
maple-embowered town of some two thousand inhabitants, situated at the
southernmost extremity of Puget Sound, and west of Takhoma, distant in
an air line seventy-five miles. The intervening country is covered
with dense fir forests, almost impenetrable to the midday sun, and
obstructed with fallen trees, upturned roots and stumps, and a perfect
jungle of undergrowth, through which the most energetic traveler can
accomplish but eight or nine miles a day. It was advisible to gain the
nearest possible point by some trail, before plunging into the
unbroken forest. The Nisqually River, which rises on the southern and
western slopes of Takhoma, and empties into the sound a few miles
north of Olympia, offered the most direct and natural approach. Ten
years before, moreover, a few enterprising settlers had blazed out a
trail across the Cascade Range, which followed the Nisqually nearly up
to its source, thence deflected south to the Cowlitz River, and
pursued this stream in a northeastern course to the summit of the
range, thus turning the great mountain by a wide circuit. The
best-informed mountain men represented the approaches on the south and
southeast as by far the most favorable. The Nisqually-Cowlitz trail,
then, seemed much the best, for the Nisqually, heading in the south
and southwest slopes, and the Cowlitz, in the southeastern, afforded
two lines of approach, by either of which the distance to the
mountain, after leaving the trail, could not exceed thirty miles.
One August afternoon, Van Trump and I drove out to Yelm Prairie,
thirty miles east of Olympia, and on the Nisqually River. We dashed
rapidly on over a smooth, hard, level road, traversing wide reaches of
prairie, passing under open groves of oaks and firs, and plunging
through masses of black, dense forest in ever-changing variety. The
moon had risen as we emerged upon Yelm Prairie; Takhoma, bathed in
cold, white, spectral light from summit to base, appeared startlingly
near and distinct. Our admiration was not so noisy as usual. Perhaps a
little of dread mingled with it. In another hour we drove nearly
across the plain and turned into a lane which conducted us up a
beautiful rising plateau, crowned with a noble grove of oaks and
overlooking the whole prairie. A comfortable, roomy house with a wide
porch nestled among the trees, and its hospitable owner, Mr. James
Longmire, appeared at the door and bade us enter.
The next morning we applied to Mr. Longmire for a guide, and for his
advice as to our proposed trip. He was one of the few who marked out
the Nisqually-Cowlitz trail years ago. He had explored the mountains
about Takhoma as thoroughly, perhaps, as any other white man. One of
the earliest settlers, quiet, self-reliant, sensible, and kindly, a
better counselor than he could not have been found. The trail, he
said, had not been traveled for four years, and was entirely illegible
to eyes not well versed in woodcraft, and it would be folly for any
one to attempt to follow it who was not thoroughly acquainted with the
country. He could not leave his harvest, and moreover in three weeks
he was to cross the mountains for a drove of cattle. His wife, too,
quietly discouraged his going. She described his appearance on his
return from previous mountain trips, looking as haggard and thin as
though he had just risen from a sick-bed. She threw out effective
little sketches of toil, discomfort, and hardship incident to mountain
travel, and dwelt upon the hard fare. The bountiful country breakfast
heaped before us, the rich cream, fresh butter and eggs, snowy,
melting biscuits, and broiled chicken, with rich, white gravy,
heightened the effect of her words.
But at length, when it appeared that no one else who knew the trail
could be found, Mr. Longmire yielded to our persuasions, and consented
to conduct us as far as the trail led, and to procure an Indian guide
before leaving us to our own resources. As soon as we returned home we
went with Mr. Coleman to his room to see a few indispensable
equipments he had provided, in order that we might procure similar
ones. The floor was literally covered with his traps, and he exhibited
them one by one, expatiating upon their various uses. There was his
ground-sheet, a large gum blanket equally serviceable to Mr. Coleman
as a tent in camp and a bathtub at the hotel. There was a strong rope
to which we were all to be tied when climbing the snow-fields, so that
if one fell into a chasm the others could hold him up. The "creepers"
were a clumsy, heavy arrangement of iron spikes made to fasten on the
foot with chains and straps, in order to prevent slipping on the ice.
He had an ice-axe for cutting steps, a spirit-lamp for making tea on
the mountains, green goggles for snow-blindness, deer's fat for the
face, Alpine staffs, needles and thread, twine, tacks, screws,
screwdriver, gimlet, file, several medical prescriptions, two boards
for pressing flowers, sketching materials, and in fact every article
that Mr. Coleman in his extensive reading had found used or
recommended by travelers. Every one of these he regarded as
indispensable. The Alpine staff was, he declared, most important of
all, a great assistance in traveling through the woods as well as on
the ice; and he illustrated on his hands and knees how to cross a
crevasse in the ice on two staffs. This interview naturally brought to
mind the characteristic incident related of Packwood, the mountain man
who, as hunter and prospector, had explored the deepest recesses of
the Cascades. He had been engaged to guide a railroad surveying party
across the mountains, and just as the party was about to start he
approached the chief and demanded an advance to enable him to buy his
outfit for the trip. "How much do you want?" asked the chief, rather
anxiously, lest Packwood should overdraw his prospective wages. "Well,
about two dollars and a half," was the reply; and at the camp-fire
that evening, being asked if he had bought his outfit, Packwood,
thrusting his hand into his pocket, drew forth and exhibited with
perfect seriousness and complacency his entire outfit,--a jack-knife
and a plug of tobacco.
Half a dozen carriages rattled gayly out of Olympia in the cool of the
morning, filled with a laughing, singing, frolicking bevy of young
ladies and gentlemen. They were the Takhoma party starting on their
adventurous trip, with a chosen escort accompanying them to their
first camp. They rested several hours at Longmire's during the heat
of the day, and the drive was then continued seven miles farther, to
the Lacamas, an irregular-shaped prairie two miles in length by half a
mile in breadth. Here live two of Mr. Longmire's sons. Their farms
form the last settlement, and at the gate of Mr. Elkane Longmire's
house the road ends. A wooded knoll overlooking the prairie, with a
spring of water at its foot, was selected as the camp-ground. Some of
the party stretched a large sail between the trees as a tent, others
watered and fed the horses, and others busied themselves with the
supper. Two eager sportsmen started after grouse, while their more
practical companions bought half a dozen chickens, and had them soon
dressed and sputtering over the fire. The shades of night were falling
as the party sat down on the ground and partook of a repast fit for
the Olympians, and with a relish sharpened by the long journey and a
whole day's fast.
Early in the morning Mr. Longmire arrived in camp with two mules and a
pack-horse, and our mountain outfit was rapidly made up into suitable
bales and packed upon the horse and one of the mules, the other mule
being reserved for Longmire's own riding. We assembled around the
breakfast with spirits as gay and appetites as sharp as ever. Then,
with many good-bys and much waving of handkerchiefs, the party broke
up. Four roughly clad pedestrians moved off in single file, leading
their pack animals, and looking back at every step to catch the last
glimpse of the bright garments and fluttering cambrics, while the
carriages drove rapidly down the road and disappeared in the dark,
sullen forest.
We stepped off briskly, following a dim trail in an easterly course,
and crossing the little prairie entered the timber. After winding over
hilly ground for about three miles, we descended into the Nisqually
bottom and forded a fine brook at the foot of the hill. For the next
ten miles our route lay across the bottom, and along the bank of the
river, passing around logs, following old, dry beds of the river and
its lateral sloughs, ankle-deep in loose sand, and forcing our way
through dense jungles of vine-maple. The trail was scarcely visible,
and much obstructed by fallen trees and underbrush, and its
difficulties were aggravated by the bewildering tracks of Indians who
had lately wandered about the bottom in search of berries or rushes.
We repeatedly missed the trail, and lost hours in retracing our steps
and searching for the right course. The weather was hot and sultry,
and rendered more oppressive by the dense foliage; myriads of gnats
and mosquitoes tormented us and drove our poor animals almost frantic;
and our thirst, aggravated by the severe and unaccustomed toil, seemed
quenchless. At length we reached the ford of the Nisqually. Directly
opposite, a perpendicular bluff of sand and gravel in alternate strata
rose to the height of two hundred and fifty feet, its base washed by
the river and its top crowned with firs. The stream was a hundred
yards wide, waist-deep, and very rapid. Its waters were icy cold, and
of a milk-white hue. This color is the characteristic of glacial
rivers. The impalpable powder of thousands of tons of solid rocks
ground up beneath the vast weight and resistless though imperceptible
flow of huge glaciers, remains in solution in these streams, and
colors them milk-white to the sea. Leading the animals down the bank
and over a wide, dry bar of cobblestones, we stood at the brink of the
swift, turbulent river, and prepared to essay its passage. Coleman
mounted behind Van Trump on the little saddle-mule, his long legs
dangling nearly to the ground, one hand grasping his Alpine staff, the
other the neck-rope of the pack-mule, which Longmire bestrode.
Longmire led in turn the pack-horse, behind whose bulky load was
perched the other member of the party. The cavalcade, linked together
in this order, had but just entered the stream when Coleman dropped
the neckrope he was holding. The mule, bewildered by the rush and
roar of the waters, turned directly down-stream, and in another
instant our two pack animals, with their riders, would have been swept
away in the furious rapids, had not Longmire with great presence of
mind turned their erratic course in the right direction and safely
brought them to the opposite shore. Following the bottom along the
river for some distance, we climbed up the end of the bluff already
mentioned, by a steep zigzag trail, and skirted along its brink for a
mile. Far below us on the right rushed the Nisqually. On the left the
bluff fell off in a steep hillside thickly clothed with woods and
underbrush, and at its foot plowed the Owhap, a large stream emptying
into the Nisqually just below our ford. Another mile through the woods
brought us out upon the Mishell Prairie, a beautiful, oval meadow of a
hundred acres, embowered in the tall, dense fir forest, with a grove
of lofty, branching oaks at its farther extremity, and covered with
green grass and bright flowers. It takes its name from the Mishell
River, which empties into the Nisqually a mile above the prairie.
We had marched sixteen miles. The packs were gladly thrown off beneath
a lofty fir; the animals were staked out to graze. A spring in the
edge of the woods afforded water, and while Mr. Coleman busied himself
with his pipe, his flask, his note-book, his sketch-book, and his
pouch of multifarious odds and ends, the other members of the party
performed the duties incident to camp-life: made the fire, brought
water, spread the blankets, and prepared supper. The flags attached to
our Alpine staffs waved gayly overhead, and the sight of their bright
folds fluttering in the breeze deepened the fixed resolve to plant
them on Takhoma's hoary head, and made failure seem impossible. Mr.
Coleman announced the altitude of Mishell Prairie as eight hundred
feet by barometer. By an unlucky fall the thermometer was broken.
The march was resumed early next morning. As we passed the lofty oaks
at the end of the little prairie, "On that tree," said Longmire,
pointing out one of the noblest, "Maxon's company hanged two Indians
in the war of '56. Ski-hi and his band, after many depredations upon
the settlements, were encamped on the Mishell, a mile distant, in
fancied security, when Maxon and his men surprised them and cut off
every soul except the two prisoners whom they hanged here."
For eight miles the trail led through thick woods, and then, after
crossing a wide "burn," past a number of deserted Indian wigwams,
where another trail from the Nisqually plains joined ours, it
descended a gradual slope, traversed a swampy thicket and another mile
of heavy timber, and debouched on the Mishell River. This is a fine,
rapid, sparkling stream, knee-deep and forty feet wide, rippling and
dashing over a gravelly bed with clear, cold, transparent water. The
purity of the clear water, so unlike the yeasty Nisqually, proves that
the Mishell is no glacial river. Rising in an outlying range to the
northwest of Takhoma, it flows in a southwest course to its confluence
with the Nisqually near our previous night's camp. We unsaddled for
the noon-rest. Van Trump went up the stream, fishing; Longmire crossed
to look out the trail ahead, and Coleman made tea solitaire.
An hour passed, and Longmire returned. "The trail is blind," said he,
"and we have no time to lose." Just then Van Trump returned; and the
little train was soon in readiness to resume the tramp. Longmire rode
his mule across the stream, telling us to drive the pack-animals after
him and follow by a convenient log near by. As the mule attempted to
climb a low place in the opposite bank, which offered an apparently
easy exit from the river, his hind legs sank in a quicksand, he sat
down quickly, if not gracefully, and, not fancying that posture, threw
himself clear under water. His dripping rider rose to his feet, flung
the bridle-rein over his arm, and, springing up the bank at a more
practicable point, strode along the trail with as little delay and as
perfect unconcern as though an involuntary ducking was of no more
moment than climbing over a log.
The trail was blind. Longmire scented it through thickets of salal,
fern, and underbrush, stumbling over roots, vines, and hollows hidden
in the rank vegetation, now climbing huge trunks that the animals
could barely scramble over, and now laboriously working his way around
some fallen giant and traveling two hundred yards in order to gain a
dozen yards on the course. The packs, continually jammed against trees
and shaken loose by this rough traveling, required frequent
repacking--no small task. At the very top of a high, steep hill, up
which we had laboriously zigzagged shortly after crossing the Mishell,
the little packhorse, unable to sustain the weight of the pack, which
had shifted all to one side, fell and rolled over and over to the
bottom. Bringing up the goods and chattels one by one on our own
shoulders to the top of the hill, we replaced the load and started
again. The course was in a southerly direction, over high rolling
ground of good clay soil, heavily timbered, with marshy swales at
intervals, to the Nisqually River again, a distance of twelve miles.
We encamped on a narrow flat between the high hill just descended and
the wide and noisy river, near an old ruined log-hut, the former
residence of a once famed Indian medicine man, who, after the laudable
custom of his race, had expiated with his life his failure to cure a
patient.
Early next morning we continued our laborious march along the right
bank of the Nisqually. Towards noon we left the river, and after
thridding in an easterly course a perfect labyrinth of fallen timber
for six miles, and forcing our way with much difficulty through the
tangled jungle of an extensive vine-maple swamp, at length crossed
Silver Creek and gladly threw off the packs for an hour's rest.
A short distance after crossing Silver Creek the trail emerged upon
more open ground, and for the first time the Nisqually Valley lay
spread out in view before us. On the left stretched a wall of steep,
rocky mountains, standing parallel to the course of the river and
extending far eastward, growing higher and steeper and more rugged as
it receded from view. At the very extremity of this range Takhoma
loomed aloft, its dome high above all others and its flanks extending
far down into the valley, and all covered, dome and flanks, with snow
of dazzling white, in striking contrast with the black basaltic
mountains about it. Startlingly near it looked to our eyes, accustomed
to the restricted views and gloom of the forest.
After our noon rest we continued our journey up the valley, twisting
in and out among the numerous trunks of trees that encumbered the
ground, and after several hours of tedious trudging struck our third
camp on Copper Creek, the twin brother to Silver Creek, just at dusk.
We were thoroughly tired, having made twenty miles in thirteen hours
of hard traveling.
Starting at daylight next morning, we walked two miles over rough
ground much broken by ravines, and then descended into the bed of the
Nisqually at the mouth of Goat Creek, another fine stream which
empties here. We continued our course along the river bed, stumbling
over rocky bars and forcing our way through dense thickets of willow,
for some distance, then ascended the steep bank, went around a high
hill over four miles of execrable trail, and descended to the river
again, only two miles above Goat Creek. At this point the Takhoma
branch or North Fork joins the Nisqually. This stream rises on the
west side of Takhoma, is nearly as large as the main river, and like
it shows its glacial origin by its milk-white water and by its icy
cold, terribly swift and furious torrent. Crossing the Takhoma branch,
here thirty yards wide, we kept up the main river, crossing and
recrossing the stream frequently, and toiling over rocky bars for four
miles, a distance which consumed five hours, owing to the difficulties
of the way. We then left the Nisqually, turning to the right and
traveling in a southerly course, and followed up the bed of a swampy
creek for half a mile, then crossed a level tract much obstructed with
fallen timber, then ascended a burnt ridge, and followed it for two
miles to a small, marshy prairie in a wide canyon or defile closed in
by rugged mountains on either side, and camped beside a little rivulet
on the east side of the prairie. This was Bear Prairie, the altitude
of which by the barometer was 2630 feet. The canyon formed a low pass
between the Nisqually and Cowlitz rivers, and the little rivulet near
which we camped flowed into the latter stream. The whole region had
been swept by fire: thousands of giant trunks stood blackened and
lifeless, the picture of desolation.
As we were reclining on the ground around the campfire, enjoying the
calm and beatific repose which comes to the toil-worn mountaineer
after his hearty supper, one of these huge trunks, after several
warning creaks, came toppling and falling directly over our camp. All
rushed to one side or another to avoid the impending crash. As one
member of the party, hastily catching up in one hand a frying-pan
laden with tin plates and cups, and in the other the camp kettle half
full of boiling water, was scrambling away, his foot tripped in a
blackberry vine and he fell outstretched at full length, the
much-prized utensils scattering far and wide, while the falling tree
came thundering down in the rear, doing no other damage, however, than
burying a pair of blankets.
The following day Longmire and the writer went down the canyon to its
junction with the Cowlitz River, in search of a band of Indians who
usually made their headquarters at this point, and among whom Longmire
hoped to find some hunter familiar with the mountains who might guide
us to the base of Takhoma. The tiny rivulet as we descended soon
swelled to a large and furious torrent, and its bed filled nearly the
whole bottom of the gorge. The mountains rose on both sides
precipitously, and the traces of land-slides which had gouged vast
furrows down their sides were frequent. With extreme toil and
difficulty we made our way, continually wading the torrent, clambering
over broken masses of rock which filled its bed, or clinging to the
steep hillsides, and reached the Cowlitz at length after twelve miles
of this fatiguing work, but only to find the Indian camp deserted.
Further search, however, was rewarded by the discovery of a rude
shelter formed of a few skins thrown over a framework of poles,
beneath which sat a squaw at work upon a half-dressed deerskin. An
infant and a naked child of perhaps four years lay on the ground near
the fire in front. Beside the lodge and quietly watching our approach,
of which he alone seemed aware, stood a tall, slender Indian clad in
buckskin shirt and leggings, with a striped woolen breech-clout, and a
singular head garniture which gave him a fierce and martial
appearance. This consisted of an old military cap, the visor thickly
studded with brassheaded nails, while a large circular brass article,
which might have been the top of an oil-lamp, was fastened upon the
crown. Several eagle feathers stuck in the crown and strips of fur
sewed upon the sides completed the edifice, which, notwithstanding its
components, appeared imposing rather than ridiculous. A long Hudson
Bay gun, the stock also ornamented with brass-headed tacks, lay in the
hollow of the Indian's shoulder.
He received us with great friendliness, yet not without dignity,
shaking hands and motioning us to a seat beneath the rude shelter,
while his squaw hastened to place before us suspicious-looking cakes
of dried berries, apparently their only food. After a moderate
indulgence in this delicacy, Longmire made known our wants. The
Indian spoke fluently the Chinook jargon, that high-bred lingo
invented by the old fur-traders. He called himself "Sluiskin," and
readily agreed to guide us to Rainier, known to him only as Takhoma,
and promised to report at Bear Prairie the next day. It was after
seven in the evening when we reached camp, thoroughly fagged.
Punctual to promise, Sluiskin rode up at noon mounted upon a stunted
Indian pony, while his squaw and pappooses followed upon another even
more puny and forlorn. After devouring an enormous dinner, evidently
compensating for the rigors of a long fast, in reply to our inquiries
he described the route he proposed to take to Takhoma. Pointing to the
almost perpendicular height immediately back or east of our camp,
towering three thousand feet or more overhead, the loftiest mountain
in sight, "We go to the top of that mountain to-day," said he, "and
to-morrow we follow along the high, backbone ridge of the mountains,
now up, now down, first on one side and then on the other, a long
day's journey, and at last, descending far down from the mountains
into a deep valley, reach the base of Takhoma." Sluiskin illustrated
his Chinook with speaking signs and pantomime. He had frequently
hunted the mountain sheep upon the snow-fields of Takhoma, but had
never ascended to the summit. It was impossible to do so, and he put
aside as idle talk our expressed intention of making the ascent.
We had already selected the indispensable articles for a week's tramp,
a blanket apiece, the smallest coffee-pot and frying-pan, a scanty
supply of bacon, flour, coffee, etc., and had made them up into
suitable packs of forty pounds each, provided with slings like a
knapsack, and had piled together under the lee of a huge fallen trunk
our remaining goods. Longmire, who although impatient to return home,
where his presence was urgently needed, had watched and directed our
preparations during the forenoon with kindly solicitude, now bade us
good-by: mounted on one mule and leading the other, he soon
disappeared down the trail on his lonely, homeward way. He left us the
little pack-horse, thinking it would be quite capable of carrying our
diminished outfit after our return from Takhoma.
Sluiskin led the way. The load upon his shoulders was sustained by a
broad band, passing over his head, upon which his heavy, brass-studded
rifle, clasped in both hands, was poised and balanced. Leaving behind
the last vestige of trail, we toiled in single file slowly and
laboriously up the mountain all the afternoon. The steepness of the
ascent in many places required the use of both hand and foot in
climbing, and the exercise of great caution to keep the heavy packs
from dragging us over backwards. Coleman lagged behind from the start,
and at intervals his voice could be heard hallooing and calling upon
us to wait. Towards sunset we reached a level terrace, or bench, near
the summit, gladly threw off our packs, and waited for Coleman, who,
we supposed, could not be far below. He not appearing, we hallooed
again and again. No answer! We then sent Sluiskin down the mountain to
his aid. After an hour's absence the Indian returned. He had
descended, he said, a long distance, and at last caught sight of
Coleman. He was near the foot of the mountain, had thrown away his
pack, blankets and all, and was evidently returning to camp. And
Sluiskin finished his account with expressions of contempt for the
"cultus King George man." What was to be done? Coleman carried in his
pack all our bacon, our only supply of meat, except a few pounds of
dried beef. He also had the barometer, the only instrument that had
survived the jolts and tumbles of our rough trip. But, on the other
hand, he had been a clog upon our march from the outset. He was
evidently too infirm to endure the toil before us, and would not only
be unable to reach, still less ascend Takhoma, but might even impede
and frustrate our own efforts. Knowing that he would be safe in camp
until our return, we hastily concluded to proceed without him,
trusting to our rifles for a supply of meat.
Sluiskin led us along the side of the ridge in a southerly direction
for two miles farther, to a well-sheltered, grassy hollow in the
mountain-top, where he had often previously encamped. It was after
dark when we reached this place. The usual spring had gone dry, and,
parched with thirst we searched the gulches of the mountain-side for
water an hour, but without success. At length the writer, recalling a
scanty rill which trickled across their path a mile back, taking the
coffee-pot and large canteen, retraced his steps, succeeded in filling
these utensils after much fumbling in the dark and consequent delay,
and returned to camp. He found Van Trump and the Indian, anxious at
the long delay, mounted on the crest of the ridge some two hundred
yards from camp, waving torches and shouting lustily to direct his
steps. The mosquitoes and flies came in clouds, and were terribly
annoying. After supper of coffee and bread, we drank up the water,
rolled ourselves in our blankets, and lay down under a tree with our
flags floating from under the boughs overhead. Hot as had been the
day, the night was cold and frosty, owing, doubtless, to the altitude
of our camp.
At the earliest dawn next morning we were moving on without breakfast,
and parched with thirst. Sluiskin led us in a general course about
north-northeast, but twisting to nearly every point of the compass,
and climbing up and down thousands of feet from mountain to mountain,
yet keeping on the highest backbone between the headwaters of the
Nisqually and Cowlitz rivers. After several hours of this work we came
to a well-sheltered hollow, one side filled with a broad bed of snow,
at the foot of which nestled a tiny, tranquil lakelet, and gladly
threw off our heavy packs, assuaged our thirst, and took
breakfast,--bread and coffee again. Early as it was, the chill of the
frosty night still in the air, the mosquitoes renewed their attacks,
and proved as innumerable and vexatious as ever.
Continuing our march, we crossed many beds of snow, and drank again
and again from the icy rills which flowed out of them. The mountains
were covered with stunted mountain-ash and low, stubby firs with
short, bushy branches, and occasionally a few pines. Many slopes were
destitute of trees but covered with luxuriant grass and the greatest
profusion of beautiful flowers of vivid hues. This was especially the
case with the southern slopes, while the northern sides of the
mountains were generally wooded. We repeatedly ate berries, and an
hour afterwards ascended to where berries of the same kind were found
scarcely yet formed. The country was much obscured with smoke from
heavy fires which had been raging on the Cowlitz the last two days.
But when at length, after climbing for hours an almost perpendicular
peak,--creeping on hands and knees over loose rocks, and clinging to
scanty tufts of grass where a single slip would have sent us rolling a
thousand feet down to destruction,--we reached the highest crest and
looked over, we exclaimed that we were already well repaid for all our
toil. Nothing can convey an idea of the grandeur and ruggedness of the
mountains. Directly in front, and apparently not over two miles
distant, although really twenty, old Takhoma loomed up more gigantic
than ever. We were far above the level of the lower snow-line on
Takhoma. The high peak upon which we clung seemed the central core or
focus of all the mountains around, and on every side we looked down
vertically thousands of feet, deep down into vast, terrible defiles,
black and fir-clothed, which stretched away until lost in the distance
and smoke. Between them, separating one from another, the
mountain-walls rose precipitously and terminated in bare, columnar
peaks of black basaltic or volcanic rock, as sharp as needles. It
seemed incredible that any human foot could have followed out the
course we came, as we looked back upon it.
After a few hours more of this climbing, we stood upon the summit of
the last mountain-ridge that separated us from Takhoma. We were in a
saddle of the ridge; a lofty peak rose on either side. Below us
extended a long, steep hollow or gulch filled with snow, the farther
extremity of which seemed to drop off perpendicularly into a deep
valley or basin. Across this valley, directly in front, filling up the
whole horizon and view with an indescribable aspect of magnitude and
grandeur, stood the old leviathan of mountains. The broad, snowy dome
rose far among and above the clouds. The sides fell off in vertical
steeps and fearful black walls of rock for a third of its altitude;
lower down, vast, broad, gently sloping snow-fields surrounded the
mountain, and were broken here and there by ledges or masses of the
dark basaltic rock protruding above them. Long, green ridges projected
from this snow-belt at intervals, radiating from the mountain and
extending many miles until lost in the distant forests. Deep valleys
lay between these ridges. Each at its upper end formed the bed of a
glacier, which closed and filled it up with solid ice. Below the
snow-line bright green grass with countless flowers, whose vivid
scarlet, blue, and purple formed bodies of color in the distance,
clothed the whole region of ridges and valleys, for a breadth of five
miles. The beautiful balsam firs, about thirty feet in height, and of
a purple, dark-green color, stood scattered over the landscape, now
singly, now in groves, and now in long lines, as though planted in
some well-kept park. Farther down an unbroken fir forest surrounded
the mountain and clad the lower portions of the ridges and valleys. In
every sheltered depression or hollow lay beds of snow with tiny brooks
and rivulets flowing from them. The glaciers terminated not gradually,
but abruptly, with a wall of ice from one to five hundred feet high,
from beneath which yeasty torrents burst forth and rushed roaring and
tumbling down the valleys. The principal of these, far away on our
left front, could be seen plunging over two considerable falls, half
hidden in the forest, while the roar of waters was distinctly audible.
At length we cautiously descended the snow-bed, and, climbing at least
fifteen hundred feet down a steep but ancient land-slide by means of
the bushes growing among the loose rocks, reached the valley, and
encountered a beautiful, peaceful, limpid creek. Van Trump could not
resist the temptation of unpacking his bundle, selecting one of his
carefully preserved flies, and trying the stream for trout, but
without a single rise. After an hour's rest and a hearty repast we
resumed our packs, despite Sluiskin's protests, who seemed tired out
with his arduous day's toil and pleaded hard against traveling
farther. Crossing the stream, we walked through several grassy glades,
or meadows, alternating with open woods. We soon came to the foot of
one of the long ridges already described, and ascending it followed it
for several miles through open woods, until we emerged upon the
enchanting emerald and flowery meads which clothe these upper regions.
Halting upon a rising eminence in our course, and looking back, we
beheld the ridge of mountains we had just descended stretching from
east to west in a steep, rocky wall; a little to the left, a beautiful
lake, evidently the source of the stream just crossed, which we called
Clear Creek, and glimpses of which could be seen among the trees as it
flowed away to the right, down a rapidly descending valley along the
foot of the lofty mountain-wall. Beyond the lake again, still farther
to the left, the land also subsided quickly. It was at once evident
that the lake was upon a summit, or divide, between the waters of the
Nisqually and Cowlitz rivers. The ridge which we were ascending lay
north and south, and led directly up to the mountain.
We camped, as the twilight fell upon us, in an aromatic grove of
balsam firs. A grouse, the fruit of Sluiskin's rifle, broiled before
the fire, and impartially divided gave a relish to the dry bread and
coffee. After supper we reclined upon our blankets in front of the
bright, blazing fire, well satisfied. The Indian, when starting from
Bear Prairie, had evidently deemed our intention of ascending Takhoma
too absurd to deserve notice. The turning back of Mr. Coleman only
deepened his contempt for our prowess. But his views had undergone a
change with the day's march. The affair began to look serious to him,
and now in Chinook, interspersed with a few words of broken English
and many signs and gesticulations, he began a solemn exhortation and
warning against our rash project.
Takhoma, he said, was an enchanted mountain, inhabited by an evil
spirit, who dwelt in a fiery lake on its summit. No human being could
ascend it or even attempt its ascent, and survive. At first, indeed,
the way was easy. The broad snow-fields, over which he had so often
hunted the mountain goat, interposed no obstacle, but above them the
rash adventurer would be compelled to climb up steeps of loose,
rolling rocks, which would turn beneath his feet and cast him
head-long into the deep abyss below. The upper snow-slopes, too, were
so steep that not even a goat, far less a man, could get over them.
And he would have to pass below lofty walls and precipices whence
avalanches of snow and vast masses of rocks were continually falling;
and these would inevitably bury the intruder beneath their ruins.
Moreover, a furious tempest continually swept the crown of the
mountain, and the luckless adventurer, even if he wonderfully escaped
the perils below, would be torn from the mountain and whirled through
the air by this fearful blast. And the awful being upon the summit,
who would surely punish the sacrilegious attempt to invade his
sanctuary,--who could hope to escape his vengeance? Many years ago, he
continued, his grandfather, a great chief and warrior, and a mighty
hunter, had ascended part way up the mountain, and had encountered
some of these dangers, but he fortunately turned back in time to
escape destruction; and no other Indian had ever gone so far.
Finding that his words did not produce the desired effect, he assured
us that, if we persisted in attempting the ascent, he would wait three
days for our return, and would then proceed to Olympia and inform our
friends of our death; and he begged us to give him a paper (a written
note) to take to them, so that they might believe his story.
Sluiskin's manner during this harangue was earnest in the extreme, and
he was undoubtedly sincere in his forebodings. After we had retired to
rest, he kept up a most dismal chant, or dirge, until late in the
night. The dim, white, spectral mass towering so near, the roar of the
torrents below us, and the occasional thunder of avalanches, several
of which fell during the night, added to the weird effect of
Sluiskin's song.
The next morning we moved two miles farther up the ridge and made camp
in the last clump of trees, quite within the limit of perpetual snow.
Thence, with snow-spikes upon our feet and Alpine staff in hand, we
went up the snow-fields to reconnoiter the best line of ascent. We
spent four hours, walking fast, in reaching the foot of the steep,
abrupt part of the mountain. After carefully scanning the southern
approaches, we decided to ascend on the morrow by a steep, rocky ridge
that seemed to lead up to the snowy crown.
Our camp was pitched on a high knoll crowned by a grove of balsam
firs, near a turbulent glacial torrent. About nine o'clock, after we
had lain down for the night, the firs round our camp took fire and
suddenly burst out in a vivid conflagration. The night was dark and
windy, and the scene--the vast, dim outlines of Takhoma, the white
snow-fields, the roaring torrent, the crackling blaze of the burning
trees--was strikingly wild and picturesque.
In honor of our guide we named the cascade at our feet Sluiskin's
Falls; the stream we named Glacier Creek, and the mass of ice whence
it derives its source we styled the Little Nisqually Glacier.
Before daylight the next morning, Wednesday, August 17, 1870, we were
up and had breakfasted, and at six o'clock we started to ascend
Takhoma. Besides our Alpine staffs and creepers, we carried a long
rope, an ice-axe, a brass plate inscribed with our names, our flags, a
large canteen, and some luncheon. We were also provided with gloves,
and green goggles for snow-blindness, but found no occasion to use the
latter. Having suffered much from the heat of the sun since leaving
Bear Prairie, and being satisfied from our late reconnoissance that we
could reach the summit and return on the same day, we left behind our
coats and blankets. In three hours of fast walking we reached the
highest point of the preceding day's trip, and commenced the ascent by
the steep, rocky ridge already described as reaching up to the snowy
dome. We found it to be a very narrow, steep, irregular backbone,
being solid rock, while the sides were composed of loose broken rocks
and débris. Up this ridge, keeping upon the spine when possible, and
sometimes forced to pick our way over the loose and broken rocks at
the sides, around columnar masses which we could not directly climb
over, we toiled for five hundred yards, ascending at an angle of
nearly forty-five degrees. Here the ridge connected, by a narrow neck
or saddle, with a vast square rock, whose huge and distinct outline
can be clearly perceived from a distance of twenty-five miles. This,
like the ridge, is a conglomerate of basalt and trap, in well-defined
strata, and is rapidly disintegrating and continually falling in
showers and even masses of rocks and rubbish, under the action of
frost by night and melting snow by day. It lies imbedded in the side
of the mountain, with one side and end projected and overhanging deep,
terrible gorges, and it is at the corner or junction of these two
faces that the ridge joined it at a point about a thousand feet below
its top. On the southern face the strata were inclined at an angle of
thirty degrees. Crossing by the saddle from the ridge, despite a
strong wind which swept across it, we gained a narrow ledge formed by
a stratum more solid than its fellows, and creeping along it, hugging
close to the main rock on our right, laboriously and cautiously
continued the ascent. The wind was blowing violently. We were now
crawling along the face of the precipice almost in mid-air. On the
right the rock towered far above us perpendicularly. On the left it
fell sheer off, two thousand feet, into a vast abyss. A great glacier
filled its bed and stretched away for several miles, all seamed or
wrinkled across with countless crevasses. We crept up and along a
ledge, not of solid, sure rock, but one obstructed with the loose
stones and débris which were continually falling from above, and we
trod on the upper edge of a steep slope of this rubbish, sending the
stones at every step rolling and bounding into the depth below.
Several times during our progress showers of rocks fell from the
precipice above across our path, and rolled into the abyss, but
fortunately none struck us.
Four hundred yards of this progress brought us to where the rock
joined the overhanging edge of the vast névé or snow-field that
descended from the dome of the mountain and was from time to time, as
pressed forward and downward, breaking off in immense masses, which
fell with a noise as of thunder into the great canyon on our left. The
junction of rock and ice afforded our only line of ascent. It was an
almost perpendicular gutter, but here our ice-axe came into play, and
by cutting steps in the ice and availing ourselves of every crevice or
projecting point of the rock, we slowly worked our way up two hundred
yards higher. Falling stones were continually coming down, both from
the rock on our right and from the ice in front, as it melted and
relaxed its hold upon them. Mr. Van Trump was hit by a small one, and
another struck his staff from his hands. Abandoning the rock, then, at
the earliest practicable point, we ascended directly up the ice,
cutting steps for a short distance, until we reached ice so
corrugated, or drawn up in sharp pinnacles, as to afford a foothold.
These folds or pinnacles were about two or three feet high, and half
as thick, and stood close together. It was like a very violent chop
sea, only the waves were sharper. Up this safe footing we climbed
rapidly, the side of the mountain becoming less and less steep, and
the ice waves smaller and more regular, and, after ascending about
three hundred yards, stood fairly upon the broad dome of mighty
Takhoma. It rose before us like a broad, gently swelling headland of
dazzling white, topped with black, where the rocky summit projected
above the névé. Ascending diagonally towards the left, we continued
our course. The snow was hard and firm under foot, crisp and light for
an inch or two, but solidified into ice a foot or less beneath the
surface. The whole field was covered with the ice-waves already
described, and intersected by a number of crevasses which we crossed
at narrow places without difficulty. About half-way up the slope, we
encountered one from eight to twenty feet wide and of profound depth.
The most beautiful vivid emerald-green color seemed to fill the abyss,
the reflection of the bright sunlight from side to side of its pure
ice walls. The upper side or wall of the crevasse was some twelve feet
above the lower, and in places overhung it, as though the snow-field
on the lower side had bodily settled down a dozen feet. Throwing a
bight of the rope around a projecting pinnacle on the upper side, we
climbed up, hand over hand, and thus effected a crossing. We were now
obliged to travel slowly, with frequent rests. In that rare
atmosphere, after taking seventy or eighty steps, our breath would be
gone, our muscles grew tired and strained, and we experienced all the
sensations of extreme fatigue. An instant's pause, however, was
sufficient to recover strength and breath, and we would start again.
The wind, which we had not felt while climbing the steepest part of
the mountain, now again blew furiously, and we began to suffer from
the cold. Our course,--directed still diagonally towards the left,
thus shunning the severe exertion of climbing straight up the dome,
although at an ordinary altitude the slope would be deemed
easy,--brought us first to the southwest peak. This is a long,
exceedingly sharp, narrow ridge, springing out from the main dome for
a mile into mid-air. The ridge affords not over ten or twelve feet of
foothold on top, and the sides descend almost vertically. On the right
side the snow lay firm and smooth for a few feet on top, and then
descended in a steep, unbroken sheet, like an immense, flowing
curtain, into the tremendous basin which lies on the west side of the
mountain between the southern and northern peaks, and which is
inclosed by them as by two mighty arms. The snow on the top and left
crest of the ridge was broken into high, sharp pinnacles, with cracks
and fissures extending to the rocks a few feet below. The left side,
too steep for the snow to lie on, was vertical, bare rock. The wind
blew so violently that we were obliged to brace ourselves with our
Alpine staffs and use great caution to guard against being swept off
the ridge. We threw ourselves behind the pinnacles or into the cracks
every seventy steps, for rest and shelter against the bitter, piercing
wind. Hastening forward in this way along the dizzy, narrow, and
precarious ridge, we reached at length the highest point. Sheltered
behind a pinnacle of ice we rested a moment, took out our flags and
fastened them upon the Alpine staffs, and then, standing erect in the
furious blast, waved them in triumph with three cheers. We stood a
moment upon that narrow summit, bracing ourselves against the tempest
to view the prospect. The whole country was shrouded in a dense sea
of smoke, above which the mountain towered two thousand feet in the
clear, cloudless ether. A solitary peak far to the southeast,
doubtless Mount Adams, and one or two others in the extreme northern
horizon, alone protruded above the pall. On every side of the mountain
were deep gorges falling off precipitously thousands of feet, and from
these the thunderous sound of avalanches would rise occasionally. Far
below were the wide-extended glaciers already described. The wind was
now a perfect tempest, and bitterly cold; smoke and mist were flying
about the base of the mountain, half hiding, half revealing its
gigantic outlines; and the whole scene was sublimely awful.
It was now five P.M. We had spent eleven hours of unremitted toil in
making the ascent, and, thoroughly fatigued, and chilled by the cold,
bitter gale, we saw ourselves obliged to pass the night on the summit
without shelter or food, except our meagre lunch. It would have been
impossible to descend the mountain before nightfall, and sure
destruction to attempt it in darkness. We concluded to return to a
mass of rocks not far below, and there pass the night as best we
could, burrowing in the loose débris.
The middle peak of the mountain, however, was evidently the highest,
and we determined to first visit it. Retracing our steps along the
narrow crest of Peak Success, as we named the scene of our triumph, we
crossed an intervening depression in the dome, and ascended the middle
peak, about a mile distant and two hundred feet higher than Peak
Success. Climbing over a rocky ridge which crowns the summit, we found
ourselves within a circular crater two hundred yards in diameter,
filled with a solid bed of snow, and inclosed with a rim of rocks
projecting above the snow all around. As we were crossing the crater
on the snow, Van Trump detected the odor of sulphur, and the next
instant numerous jets of steam and smoke were observed issuing from
the crevices of the rocks which formed the rim on the northern side.
Never was a discovery more welcome! Hastening forward, we both
exclaimed, as we warmed our chilled and benumbed extremities over one
of Pluto's fires, that here we would pass the night, secure against
freezing to death, at least. These jets were from the size of that of
a large steampipe to a faint, scarcely perceptible emission, and
issued all along the rim among the loose rocks on the northern side
for more than half the circumference of the crater. At intervals they
would puff up more strongly, and the smoke would collect in a cloud
until blown aside and scattered by the wind, and then their force
would abate for a time.
A deep cavern, extending into and under the ice, and formed by the
action of heat, was found. Its roof was a dome of brilliant green ice
with long icicles pendent from it, while its floor, composed of the
rocks and débris which formed the side of the crater, descended at an
angle of thirty degrees. Forty feet within its mouth we built a wall
of stones, inclosing a space five by six feet around a strong jet of
steam and heat. Unlike the angular, broken rocks met with elsewhere,
within the crater we found well-rounded bowlders and stones of all
sizes worn as smooth by the trituration of the crater as by the action
of water. Nowhere, however, did we observe any new lava or other
evidences of recent volcanic action excepting these issues of steam
and smoke. Inclosed within the rude shelter thus hastily constructed,
we discussed our future prospects while we ate our lunch and warmed
ourselves at our natural register. The heat at the orifice was too
great to bear for more than an instant, but the steam wet us, the
smell of sulphur was nauseating, and the cold was so severe that our
clothes, saturated with the steam, froze stiff when turned away from
the heated jet. The wind outside roared and whistled, but it did not
much affect us, secure within our cavern, except when an occasional
gust came down perpendicularly. However, we passed a most miserable
night, freezing on one side, and in a hot steam-sulphur-bath on the
other.
The dawn at last slowly broke, cold and gray. The tempest howled still
wilder. As it grew light, dense masses of driven mist went sweeping by
overhead and completely hid the sun, and enveloped the mountain so as
to conceal objects scarce a hundred feet distant. We watched and
waited with great anxiety, fearing a storm which might detain us there
for days without food or shelter, or, worse yet, snow, which would
render the descent more perilous, or most likely impossible. And when,
at nine A.M., an occasional rift in the driving mist gave a glimpse of
blue sky, we made haste to descend. First, however, I deposited the
brass plate inscribed with our names in a cleft in a large bowlder on
the highest summit,--a huge mount of rocks on the east side of our
crater of refuge, which we named Crater Peak,--placed the canteen
alongside, and covered it with a large stone. I was then literally
freezing in the cold, piercing blast, and was glad to hurry back to
the crater, breathless and benumbed.
We left our den of refuge at length, after exercising violently to
start the blood through our limbs, and, in attempting to pass around
the rocky summit, discovered a second crater, larger than the first,
perhaps three hundred yards in diameter. It is circular, filled with a
bed of snow, with a rocky rim all around and numerous jets of steam
issuing from the rocks on the northern side. Both craters are
inclined--the first to the west, and the latter to the east with a
much steeper inclination, about thirty degrees. The rim of the second
crater is higher, or the snow-field inside lower, than that of the
first, and upon the east side rises in a rocky wall thirty feet above
the snow within. From the summit we obtained a view of the northern
peak, still partially enveloped in the driving mist. It appeared about
a mile distant, several hundred feet lower than the center peak, and
separated from it by a deeper, more abrupt depression or gap than
that separating Crater and Success peaks. Like the latter, too, it is
a sharp, narrow ridge springing out from the main mountain, and swept
bare of snow on its summit by the wind. The weather was still too
threatening, the glimpses of the sun and sky through the thick, flying
scud were too few and fugitive, to warrant us in visiting this peak,
which we named Peak Takhoma, to perpetuate the Indian name of the
mountain.
Our route back was the same as on the ascent. At the steepest and most
perilous point in descending the steep gutter where we had been forced
to cut steps in the ice, we fastened one end of the rope as securely
as possible to a projecting rock, and lowered ourselves down by it as
far as it reached, thereby passing the place with comparative safety.
We were forced to abandon the rope here, having no means of
unfastening it from the rock above. We reached the foot of the rocky
ledge or ridge, where the real difficulties and dangers of the ascent
commenced, at 1.30 P.M., four and a half hours after leaving the
crater. We had been seven and a half hours in ascending from this
point to the summit of Peak Success, and in both cases we toiled hard
and lost no time.
We now struck out rapidly and joyfully for camp. When nearly there Van
Trump, in attempting to descend a snowbank without his creepers, which
he had taken off for greater ease in walking, fell, shot like
lightning forty feet down the steep incline, and struck among some
loose rocks at its foot with such force as to rebound several feet
into the air; his face and hands were badly skinned, and he received
some severe bruises and a deep, wide gash upon his thigh. Fortunately
the camp was not far distant, and thither with great pain and very
slowly he managed to hobble. Once there I soon started a blazing fire,
made coffee, and roasted choice morsels of a marmot, Sluiskin having
killed and dressed four of these animals during our absence. Their
flesh, like the badger's, is extremely muscular and tough, and has a
strong, disagreeable, doggy odor.
Towards the close of our repast, we observed the Indian approaching
with his head down, and walking slowly and wearily as though tired by
a long tramp. He raised his head as he came nearer, and, seeing us for
the first time, stopped short, gazed long and fixedly, and then slowly
drew near, eying us closely the while, as if to see whether we were
real flesh and blood or disembodied ghosts fresh from the evil demon
of Takhoma. He seemed both astonished and delighted to find us safe
back, and kept repeating that we were strong men and had brave hearts:
"Skookum tilicum, skookum tumtum." He expected never to see us again,
he said, and had resolved to start the next morning for Olympia to
report our destruction.
The weather was still raw and cold. A dense cloud overhung and
shrouded the triple crown of Takhoma and made us rejoice at our timely
descent. The scanty shelter afforded by the few balsam firs about our
camp had been destroyed by the fire, and the situation was terribly
exposed to the chilly and piercing wind that blew from the great
ice-fields. Van Trump, however, was too badly hurt to think of moving
that night. Heating some large stones we placed them at our feet, and
closely wrapped in our blankets slept soundly upon the open ground,
although we awoke in the morning benumbed and chilled.
We found many fresh tracks and signs of the mountain-sheep upon the
snowfields, and hair and wool rubbed off upon rocks, and places where
they had lain at night. The mountain-sheep of Takhoma is much larger
than the common goat, and is found only upon the loftiest and most
secluded peaks of the Cascade Range. Even Sluiskin, a skillful hunter
and accustomed to the pursuit of this animal for years, failed to kill
one, notwithstanding he hunted assiduously during our entire stay
upon the mountain, three days. Sluiskin was greatly chagrined at his
failure, and promised to bring each of us a sheep-skin the following
summer, a promise which he faithfully fulfilled.
The glacial system of Takhoma is stupendous. The mountain is really
the focal centre and summit of a region larger than Massachusetts, and
the five large rivers which water this region all find their sources
in its vast glaciers. They are the Cowlitz, which empties into the
Columbia; the White, Puyallup, and Nisqually rivers, which empty into
Puget Sound sixty, forty, and twelve miles respectively north of
Olympia; and the Wenass, which flows eastward through the range and
empties into the Yakima, which joins the Columbia four hundred miles
above its mouth. These are all large streams from seventy to a hundred
miles in length. The White, Puyallup, and Cowlitz rivers are each
navigable for steamboats for some thirty miles, and like the Nisqually
show their glacial origin by their white and turgid water, which
indeed gives the former its name.
The southwestern sides of the mountain furnish the glaciers which form
the sources of the Nisqually, and one of these, at Sluiskin's Falls,
has been already described. The main Nisqually glacier issues from the
deep abyss overhung by the vast rock along the face of which our route
of ascent lay, and extends in a narrow and somewhat crooked canyon for
two miles. The ice at its extremity rises in an abrupt wall five
hundred feet high, and a noisy torrent pours out with great force from
beneath. This feature is characteristic of every glacier. The main
Cowlitz glacier issues from the southeast side, just to the right of
our ridge of ascent. Its head fills a deep gorge at the foot of the
eastern front or face of the great mass of rock just referred to, and
the southern face of which overhangs the main Nisqually glacier. Thus
the heads of these glaciers are separated only by this great rock, and
are probably not more than half a mile apart, while their mouths are
three miles apart. Several smaller glaciers serve to swell the waters
of the Cowlitz. In like manner the glaciers from the western side form
the Puyallup, and those from the northern and northwestern sides the
White River. The principal White River glacier is nearly ten miles
long, and its width is from two to four miles. Its depth, or the
thickness of its ice, must be thousands of feet. Streams and rivulets
under the heat of the sun flow down its surface until swallowed by the
crevasses, and a lakelet of deep blue water an eighth of a mile in
diameter has been observed upon the solid ice. Pouring down from the
mountain, the ice by its immense weight and force has gouged out a
mass upon the northeastern side a mile in thickness. The geological
formation of Takhoma poorly resists the eroding power of these mighty
glaciers, for it seems to be composed not of solid rock, but of a
basaltic conglomerate in strata, as though the volcanic force had
burst through and rent in pieces some earlier basaltic outflow, and
had heaped up this vast pile from the fragments in successive strata.
On every side the mountain is slowly disintegrating.
What other peak can offer to scientific examination or to the
admiration of tourists fourteen living glaciers of such magnitude,
issuing from every side, or such grandeur, beauty, and variety of
scenery?
At daylight we broke up our camp at Sluiskin's Falls, and moved
slowly, on account of Van Trump's hurt, down the ridge about five
miles to Clear Creek, where we again regaled ourselves upon a hearty
repast of marmots, or "raw dog," as Van Trump styled them in derision
both of the viand and of the cookery. I was convinced from the lay of
the country that Clear Creek flowed into the Nisqually, or was,
perhaps, the main stream itself, and that the most direct and feasible
route back to Bear Prairie would be found by following down the valley
of these streams to the trail leading from the Nisqually to Bear
Prairie. Besides, it was evidently impossible for Van Trump, in his
bruised and injured state, to retrace our rough route over the
mountains. Leaving him as comfortable as possible, with all our scanty
stock of flour and marmots, sufficient to last him nearly a week in
case of need, I started immediately after dinner, with Sluiskin
leading the way, to explore this new route. The Indian had opposed the
attempt strenuously, insisting with much urgency that the stream
flowed through canyons impossible for us to traverse. He now gradually
veered away from the course of the stream, until ere-long he was
leading directly up the steep mountain range upon our former route,
when I called him back peremptorily, and kept him in the rear for a
little distance. Traveling through open timber, over ground rapidly
descending, we came at the end of two miles to where the stream is
hemmed in between one of the long ridges or spurs from Takhoma and the
high mountain-chain on the south. The stream, receiving many affluents
on both sides, its clear waters soon discolored by the yeasty glacial
torrents, here loses its peaceful flow, and for upwards of three miles
rushes furiously down a narrow, broken, and rocky bed in a succession
of falls and cascades of great picturesque beauty. With much toil and
difficulty we picked our way over a wide "talus" of huge, broken
granite blocks and bowlders, along the foot of a vast mountain of
solid granite on the south side of the river, until near the end of
the defile, then crossed the stream, and soon after encountered a
still larger branch coming from the north, direct from Takhoma, the
product, doubtless, of the glaciers on the southern and southwestern
sides. Fording this branch just above its confluence with the other,
we followed the general course of the river, now unmistakably the
Nisqually, for about four miles; then, leaving it, we struck off
nearly south through the forest for three miles, and emerged upon the
Bear Prairie. The distance was about thirteen miles from where we
left Van Trump, and we were only some six hours in traveling it, while
it took seventeen hours of terribly severe work to make the
mountain-route under Sluiskin's guidance.
Without his help on the shorter route, too, it would have taken me
more than twice the time it did. For the manner in which, after
entering the defile of the Nisqually, Sluiskin again took the lead and
proceeded in a direct and unhesitating course, securing every
advantage of the ground, availing himself of the wide, rocky bars
along the river, crossing and recrossing the milky flood which rushed
along with terrific swiftness and fury, and occasionally forcing his
way through the thick timber and underbrush in order to cut off wide
bends of the river, and at length leaving it and striking boldly
through the forest to Bear Prairie, proved him familiar with every
foot of the country. His objections to the route evidently arose from
the jealousy so common with his people of further exploration of the
country by the whites. As long as they keep within the limits already
known and explored, they are faithful and indefatigable guides, but
they invariably interpose every obstacle their ingenuity can suggest
to deter the adventurous mountaineer from exposing the few last hidden
recesses that remain unexplored.
Mr. Coleman was found safe in camp, and seemed too glad to see us to
think of reproaching us for our summary abandonment. He said that in
attempting to follow us he climbed up so precipitous a place that,
encumbered with his heavy pack, he could neither advance nor recede.
He was compelled, therefore, to throw off the pack, which rolled to
the very bottom of the mountain, and being thus delivered of his
necessary outfit, he was forced to return to camp. He had been unable
to find his pack, but having come across some cricketer's spikes among
his remaining effects, he was resolved to continue his trip to, and
make the ascent of, Rainier by himself; he had just completed his
preparations, and especially had deposited on top of the lofty
mountain which overlooked the prairie two caches, or stores, of
provisions.
At daylight next morning, Sluiskin, with his little boy riding one of
his own ponies, himself riding our little calico-colored pack-horse,
now well rested and saucy, started back for Van Trump, with directions
to meet us at the trail on the Nisqually. A heavy, drizzling rain set
in soon afterwards; Mr. Coleman, who had gone early to bring in the
contents of his mountain-top caches, returned about noon with a very
small bundle, and, packing our traps upon Sluiskin's other pony, we
moved over to the rendezvous, pitched Coleman's large gum-sheet as a
partial shelter, made a rousing fire, and tried to be comfortable.
Late in the afternoon the pony set up a violent neighing, and in a few
minutes Van Trump, and Sluiskin with his little boy behind him, rode
up, drenched to the skin. By following the bed of the river,
frequently crossing and recrossing, the Indian had managed to ride to
the very foot of the Nisqually defile, when, leaving the horses in
this boy's care, he hastened to Van Trump and carefully led and
assisted him down. Despite the pain of his severe hurts, the latter
was much amused at Sluiskin's account of our trip, and of finding Mr.
Coleman safe in camp making tea, and for long after would repeat as an
excellent joke Sluiskin's remark on passing the point where he had
attempted to mislead me, "Skookum tenas man hiyu goddam."
We sent the horses back by the Indian to Bear Prairie for grass, there
being no indications of the rain ceasing. The storm indeed lasted
three days, during which we remained sheltered beneath the gum-sheet
as far as possible, and endeavored to counteract the rain by heaping
up our fire in front. About eight o'clock on the second morning,
Sluiskin reported himself with our horse, which he returned, he said,
because he was about to return to his lodge on the Cowlitz, being
destitute of shelter and food for his family on Bear Prairie. He
vigorously replenished the fire, declined breakfast, jeered Coleman
for turning back, although probably the latter did not comprehend his
broken lingo, and departed.
Sluiskin was an original and striking character. Leading a solitary
life of hardships amidst these wilds, yet of unusual native
intelligence, he had contrived, during rare visits to the settlements,
to acquire the Chinook jargon, besides a considerable stock of English
words, while his fund of general information was really wonderful. He
was possessed of a shrewd, sarcastic wit, and, making no pretense to
the traditional gravity of his race, did not scruple to use it freely.
Yet beneath this he cherished a high sense of pride and personal
independence. Although of the blood of the numerous and powerful
Yakimas, who occupied the country just east of the Cascades, he
disdained to render allegiance to them or any tribe, and undoubtedly
regarded the superintendent of Indian affairs, or even the great
father at Washington himself, with equally contemptuous indifference.
As the last rays of the sun, one warm, drowsy summer afternoon, were
falling aslant the shady streets of Olympia, Mr. Longmire's well-worn
family carry-all, drawn by two fat, grass-fed horses, came rattling
down the main street at a most unusual pace for them; two bright flags
attached to Alpine staffs, one projecting from each door, fluttered
gayly overhead, while the occupants of the carriage looked eagerly
forth to catch the first glimpse of welcoming friends. We returned
after our tramp of two hundred and forty miles with visages tanned and
sun-scorched, and with forms as lean and gaunt as greyhounds, and were
received and lionized to the full, like veterans returning from an
arduous and glorious campaign. For days afterward, in walking along
the smooth and level pavements, we felt a strong impulse to step high,
as though still striding over the innumerable fallen logs and boughs
of the forest, and for weeks our appetites were a source of
astonishment to our friends and somewhat mortifying to ourselves. More
than two months had elapsed before Mr. Van Trump fully recovered from
his hurts. We published at the time short newspaper accounts of the
ascent, and, although an occasional old Puget Sounder will still
growl, "They say they went on top of Mount Rainier, but I'd like to
see them prove it," we were justly regarded as the first, and as I
believe the only ones up to the present time, who have ever achieved
the summit of Takhoma.
FOOTNOTE:
[21] Tak-ho'ma or Ta-ho'ma among the Yakimas, Klickitats, Puyallups,
Nisquallys, and allied tribes of Indians, is the generic term for
mountain, used precisely as we use the word "mount," as Takhoma
Wynatchie, or Mount Wynatchie. But they all designate Rainier simply
as Takhoma, or The Mountain, just as the mountain men used to call it
the "Old He." (Note in the original article.)
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.
[Illustration: SAMUEL FRANKLIN EMMONS.]
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.
FOOTNOTE:
[22] It is a pleasure to note that this fine glacier now bears the
name of Emmons.
[Illustration: BAILEY WILLIS.
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.
FOOTNOTES:
[23] The terraces to which reference is here made are not the work of
the sea, but of lakes whose waters gathered between the mountain
slopes and retreating glaciers of the ice period. See the article by
H. I. Bretz. Geol. Survey of Wash., Bull. 8, 1912.
[24] The amphitheaters which the young geologist mistook for craters
are now known to be glacier basins eroded by ice.
[Illustration: MAJOR EDWARD STURGIS INGRAHAM.]
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.
[Illustration: PROFESSOR ISRAEL COOK RUSSELL.]
XI. EXPLORING THE MOUNTAIN AND ITS GLACIERS, 1896
BY PROFESSOR I. C. RUSSELL
The name of Professor Israel Cook Russell is permanently
associated with Mount Rainier. He was one of America's noted
geologists. He was born near Garrattsville, New York, on
December 10, 1852. Graduating from the University of the City
of New York in 1872, he at once began his career in science.
In 1874, he was a member of the United States party at
Queenstown, New Zealand, to observe the transit of Venus.
From 1878 to 1892, he wrought valuable work in geology for
the United States Geological Survey. This took him to Alaska
and various other parts of the country. He succeeded
Alexander Winchell as Professor of Geology in the University
of Michigan in 1892 and continued to spend his summers in
field work. One of his trips was to the West Indies during
the eruption of Mount Pelee.
Most of his summer trips were devoted to the mountains and
valleys of Oregon and Washington. It was during one of these
trips, in the summer of 1896, that he made the explorations
of Mount Rainier the extensive record of which, fully
illustrated, appeared in the Eighteenth Annual Report of the
United States Geological Survey for 1896-1897. The essential
portions of that record are here reproduced by permission of
Director George Otis Smith of the Survey, who also kindly
furnished a portrait of his former colleague.
Professor Russell was honored with the Doctor of Laws degree
by his alma mater and by the University of Wisconsin. He died
suddenly at the zenith of his power in 1906, leaving a widow,
Mrs. J. Augusta (Olmstead) Russell and three daughters. An
earnest appreciation of his character and work by G. K.
Gilbert was published in The Journal of Geology, Volume XIV,
number 8, November-December, 1906. When The Mountaineers Club
ascended the mountain in 1909 they named in his honor Russell
Cliff, a majestic crest near the summit and overlooking the
Winthrop and Emmons glaciers, and later a glacier on the
northern slope, near Carbon Glacier, was named Russell
Glacier.
The reconnaissance during which the notes for this essay were obtained
began [1896] at Carbonado, a small coal-mining town about 20 miles
southeast of Tacoma, with which it is connected by a branch of the
Union [Northern] Pacific Railroad. Carbonado is situated on the border
of the unbroken forest. Eastward to beyond the crest of the Cascade
Mountains is a primeval forest, the density and magnificence of which
it is impossible adequately to describe to one who is not somewhat
familiar with the Puget Sound region. From Carbonado a trail, cut
through the forest under the direction of Willis in 1881, leads to
Carbon River, a stream flowing from Mount Rainier, which it formerly
crossed by a bridge that is now destroyed, and thence continues to the
west of the mountain to Busywild. A branch of this trail leads
eastward to the north side of the mountain, making accessible a
beautiful region near the timber line, known as Spray Park.
Our party consisted of Bailey Willis, geologist in charge, George Otis
Smith and myself, assistants, and F. H. Ainsworth, Fred Koch, William
B. Williams, and Michael Autier, camp hands.
From Carbonado we proceeded with pack animals along the Willis trail,
already mentioned, to the crossing of Carbon River. We then left the
main trail and went up the right bank of the river by a trail recently
cut as far as the mouth of Chenuis Creek. At that locality our party
was divided; Willis and myself, taking blankets, rations, etc., and
crossing the river, proceeded up its bowlder-strewn left bank to the
foot of Carbon Glacier. The remainder of the party cut a trail along
the right bank, and in the course of a few days succeeded in making a
depot of supplies near where the river emerges from beneath the
extremity of the glacier. The pack train was then taken back to near
Carbonado for pasture.
The tramp from Carbonado to the foot of the Carbon Glacier was full
of interest, as it revealed the characteristics of a great region,
covered with a dense forest, which is a part of the deeply dissected
Tertiary peneplain surrounding Mount Rainier. The rocks from Carbonado
to Carbon River crossing are coal bearing. Extensive mines are worked
at Carbonado, and test shafts have been opened at a few localities
near the trail which we followed. At Carbonado the river flows through
a steep-sided canyon about 300 feet deep. Near where the Willis trail
crosses the stream the canyon broadens, is deeply filled with
bowlders, and is bordered by forest-covered mountains fully 3,000 feet
in elevation. On account of the dense forests, the scenery throughout
the region traversed is wild and picturesque. At a few localities
glimpses were obtained of the great snow-clad dome of Mount Rainier,
rising far over the intervening tree-covered foothills.
The forests of the Puget Sound region are the most magnificent on the
continent. The moist atmosphere and genial climate have led to a
wonderfully luxuriant growth, especially of evergreens. Huge fir trees
and cedars stand in close-set ranks and shoot upward straight and
massive to heights which frequently exceed 250 feet, and sometimes are
even in excess of 300 feet. The trees are frequently 10 to 12 feet or
more in diameter at the height of one's head and rise in massive
columns without a blemish to the first branches, which are in many
instances 150 feet from the ground. The soil beneath the mighty trees
is deeply covered with mosses of many harmonious tints, and decked
with rank ferns, whose gracefully bending fronds attain a length of 6
to 8 feet. Lithe, slender maples, termed vine-maples from their habit
of growth, are plentiful, especially along the small water courses. In
many places the broad leaves of the devil's club (_Fatsia horrida_)
give an almost tropical luxuriance to the shadowy realm beneath the
lofty canopies formed by the firs and cedars.
[A quotation from Bailey Willis is omitted, as the whole
article is published in this work--Chapter IX.]
The mighty forest through which we traveled from Carbonado to the
crossing of Carbon River extends over the country all about Mount
Rainier and clothes the sides of the mountain to a height of about
6,000 feet. From distant points of view it appears as an unbroken
emerald setting for the gleaming, jewel-like summit of the
snow-covered peak.
In spite of the many attractions of the forest, it was with a sense of
relief that we entered the canyon of Carbon River and had space to see
about us. The river presents features of geographical interest,
especially in the fact that it is filling in its valley. The load of
stone contributed by the glaciers, from which the stream comes as a
roaring turbid flood, is greater than it can sweep along, and much of
its freight is dropped by the way. The bottom of the canyon is a
desolate, flood-swept area of rounded bowlders, from 100 to 200 yards
broad. The stream channel is continually shifting, and is frequently
divided by islands of bowlders, heaped high during some period of
flood. Many of the stream channels leading away from Mount Rainier are
known to have the characteristics of the one we ascended, and show
that the canyons were carved under different conditions from those now
prevailing. The principal amount of canyon cutting must have been done
before the streams were overloaded with débris contributed by
glaciers--that is, the deep dissection of the lower slope of Mount
Rainier and of the platform on which it stands must have preceded the
Glacial epoch.
After a night's rest in the shelter of the forest, lulled to sleep by
the roar of Carbon River in its tumultuous course after its escape
from the ice caverns, we climbed the heavily moraine-covered extremity
of Carbon Glacier. At night, weary with carrying heavy packs over the
chaos of stones that cover the glaciers, we slept on a couch of moss
beautified with lovely blossoms, almost within the spray of Philo
Falls, a cataract of clear icy water that pours into the canyon of
Carbon Glacier from snow fields high up on the western wall of the
canyon.
I will ask the reader to defer the study of the glaciers until we have
made a reconnaissance of the mountain and climbed to its summit, as he
will then be better prepared to understand the relation of the
glaciers, névés, and other features with which it will be necessary to
deal. In this portion of our fireside explorations let us enjoy a
summer outing, deferring until later the more serious task of
questioning the glaciers.
From Philo Falls we ascended still higher, by following partially
snow-filled lanes between the long lateral moraines that have been
left by the shrinking of Carbon Glacier, and found three parallel,
sharp-crested ridges about a mile long and from 100 to 150 feet high,
made of bowlders and stones of all shapes, which record the former
positions of the glacier. Along the western border of the oldest and
most westerly of these ridges there is a valley, perhaps 100 yards
wide, intervening between the abandoned lateral moraine and the
western side of the valley, which rises in precipices to
forest-covered heights at least 1,000 feet above. Between the morainal
ridges there are similar narrow valleys, each of which at the time of
our visit, July 15, was deeply snow-covered. The ridges are clothed
with spruce and cedar trees, together with a variety of shrubs and
flowering annuals. The knolls rising through the snow are gorgeous
with flowers. A wealth of purple Bryanthus, resembling purple heather,
and of its constant companion, if not near relative, the Cassiope,
with white, waxy bells, closely simulating the white heather, make
glorious the mossy banks from which the lingering snow has but just
departed. Acres of meadow land, still soft with snow water and musical
with rills and brooks flowing in uncertain courses over the deep, rich
turf, are beautiful with lilies, which seemed woven in a cloth of gold
about the borders of the lingering snow banks. We are near the upper
limit of timber growth, where park-like openings, with thickets of
evergreens, give a special charm to the mountain side. The morainal
ridge nearest the glacier is forest-covered on its outer slope, while
the descent to the glacier is a rough, desolate bank of stones and
dirt. The glacier has evidently but recently shrunk away from this
ridge, which was formed along its border by stones brought from a bold
cliff that rises sheer from the ice a mile upstream. Standing on the
morainal ridge overlooking the glacier, one has to the eastward an
unobstructed view of the desolate and mostly stone and dirt covered
ice. Across the glacier another embankment can be seen, similar to the
one on the west, and, like it, recording a recent lowering of the
surface of the glacier of about 150 feet. Beyond the glacier are
extremely bold and rugged mountains, scantily clothed with forests
nearly to their summits. The position of the timber line shows that
the bare peaks above are between 8,000 and 9,000 feet high. Looking
southward, up the glacier, we have a glimpse into the wild
amphitheater in which it has its source. The walls of the great hollow
in the mountain side rise in seemingly vertical precipices about 4,000
feet high. Far above is a shining, snow-covered peak, which Willis
named the Liberty Cap. It is one of the culminating points of Mount
Rainier, but not the actual summit. Its elevation is about 14,300 feet
above the sea. Toward the west the view is limited by the
forest-covered morainal ridges near at hand and by the precipitous
slopes beyond, which lead to a northward-projecting spur of Mount
Rainier, known as the Mother Mountains. This, our first view of Mount
Rainier near at hand, has shown that the valley down which Carbon
Glacier flows, as well as the vast amphitheater in which it has its
source, is sunk in the flanks of the mountain. To restore the northern
slope of the ancient volcano as it existed when the mountain was young
we should have to fill the depression in which the glacier lies at
least to the height of its bordering ridges. On looking down the
glacier we see it descending into a vast gulf bordered by steep
mountains, which rise at least 3,000 feet above its bottom. This is
the canyon through which the water formed by the melting of the
glacier escapes. To restore the mountain this great gulf would also
have to be filled. Clearly the traveler in this region is surrounded
by the records of mighty changes. Not only does he inquire how the
volcanic mountain was formed, but how it is being destroyed. The study
of the glaciers will do much toward making clear the manner in which
the once smooth slopes have been trenched by radiating valleys,
leaving mountain-like ridges between.
Another line of inquiry which we shall find of interest as we advance
is suggested by the recent shrinkage of Carbon Glacier. Are all of the
glaciers that flow from the mountain wasting away? If we find this to
be the case, what climatic changes does it indicate?
From our camp among the morainal ridges by the side of Carbon Glacier
we made several side trips, each of which was crowded with
observations of interest. One of these excursions, made by Mr. Smith
and myself, was up the snow fields near camp; past the prominent
outstanding pinnacles known as the Guardian Rocks, one red and the
other black; and through Spray Park, with its thousands of groves of
spire-like evergreens, with flower-enameled glades between. On the
bare, rocky shoulder of the mountain, where the trees now grow, we
found the unmistakable grooves and striations left by former glaciers.
The lines engraved in the rock lead away from the mountain, showing
that even the boldest ridges were formerly ice-covered. Our route took
us around the head of the deep canyon through which flows Cataract
Creek. In making this circuit we followed a rugged saw-tooth crest,
and had some interesting rock-climbing. Finally, the sharp divide
between Cataract Creek and a small stream flowing westward to Crater
Lake was reached, and a slide on a steep snow slope took us quickly
down to where the flowers made a border of purple and gold about the
margins of the snow. Soon we were in the forest, and gaining a rocky
ledge among the trees, could look down on Crater Lake, deeply sunk in
shaggy mountains which still preserve all of their primitive freshness
and beauty. Snow lay in deep drifts beneath the shelter of the forest,
and the lake was ice-covered except for a few feet near the margin.
This was on July 20. I have been informed that the lake is usually
free of ice before this date, but the winter preceding our visit was
of more than usual severity, the snowfall being heavy, and the coming
of summer was therefore much delayed.
The name Crater Lake implies that its waters occupy a volcanic crater.
Willis states that Nature has here placed an emerald seal on one of
Pluto's sally ports; but that the great depression now water-filled is
a volcanic crater is not so apparent as we might expect. The basin is
in volcanic rock, but none of the characteristics of a crater due to
volcanic explosions can be recognized. The rocks, so far as I saw
them, are massive lavas, and not fragmental scoriæ or other products
of explosive eruptions. On the bold, rounded rock ledges down which we
climbed in order to reach the shore, there were deep glacial scorings,
showing that the basin was once deeply filled with moving ice. My
observations were not sufficiently extended to enable me to form an
opinion as to the origin of the remarkable depression, but whatever
may have been its earlier history, it has certainly been profoundly
modified by ice erosion.
Following the lake shore southward, groping our way beneath the thick,
drooping branches which dip in the lake, we reached the notch in the
rim of the basin through which the waters escape and start on their
journey to Mowich River and thence to the sea. We there found the
branch of the Willis trail leading to Spray Park, and turned toward
camp. Again we enjoyed the luxury of following a winding pathway
through silent colonnades formed by the moss-grown trunks of noble
trees. On either side of the trail worn in the brown soil the ferns
and flowering shrubs were bent over in graceful curves, and at times
filled the little-used lane, first traversed fifteen years before.
The trail led us to Eagle Cliff, a bold, rocky promontory rising as
does El Capitan from the Yosemite, 1,800 feet from the forest-lined
canyon of Mowich River. From Eagle Cliff one beholds the most
magnificent view that is to be had in all the wonderful region about
Mount Rainier. The scene beheld on looking eastward toward the mighty
mountain is remarkable alike for its magnificence and for the artistic
grouping of the various features of the sublime picture. In the vast
depths at one's feet the tree-tops, through which the mists from
neighboring cataracts are drifting, impart a somber tone and make the
valley's bottom seem far more remote than it is. The sides of the
canyon are formed by prominent serrate ridges, leading upward to the
shining snow fields of the mighty dome that heads the valley. Nine
thousand feet above our station rose the pure white Liberty Cap, the
crowning glory of the mountain as seen from the northward. The snow
descending the northwest side of the great central dome is gathered
between the ridges forming the sides of the valley, and forms a white
névé from which flows Willis Glacier. In looking up the valley from
Eagle Cliff the entire extent of the snow fields and of the
river-like stream of ice flowing from them is in full view. The ice
ends in a dirt-covered and rock-strewn terminus, just above a huge
rounded dome that rises in its path. In 1881 the ice reached nearly to
the top of the dome and broke off in an ice cliff, the detached blocks
falling into the gulf below. The glacier has now withdrawn its
terminus well above the precipice where it formerly fell as an ice
cascade, and its surface has shrunk away from well-defined moraines in
much the same manner as has already been noted in the case of Carbon
Glacier. A more detailed account of the retreat of the extremity of
Willis Glacier[25] will be given later.
From Eagle Cliff we continued our tramp eastward along the trail
leading to Spray Park, climbed the zigzag pathway up the face of a
cliff in front of Spray Falls, and gained the picturesque and
beautiful parklike region above. An hour's tramp brought us again near
the Guardian Rocks. A swift descent down the even snow fields enabled
us to reach camp just as the shadows of evening were gathering in the
deeper canyons, leaving the silent snow fields above all aglow with
reflected sunset tints.
Taking heavy packs on our backs on the morning of July 21, we
descended the steep broken surface of the most recent moraine
bordering Carbon Glacier in its middle course, and reached the solid
blue ice below. Our course led us directly across the glacier, along
the lower border of the rapidly melting covering of winter snow. The
glacier is there about a mile across. Its central part is higher than
its border, and for the most part the ice is concealed by dirt and
stones. Just below the névé, however, we found a space about half a
mile long in which melting had not led to the concentration of
sufficient débris to make traveling difficult. Farther down the
glacier, where surface melting was more advanced, the entire glacier,
with the exception of a few lanes of clear ice between the
ill-defined medial moraines, was completely concealed beneath a
desolate sheet of angular stones. On reaching the east side of the
glacier we were confronted with a wall of clay and stones, the inner
slope of a moraine similar in all respects to the one we had descended
to reach the west border of the glacier. A little search revealed a
locality where a tongue of ice in a slight embayment projected some
distance up the wall of morainal material, and a steep climb of 50 or
60 feet brought us to the summit. The glacier has recently
shrunk--that is, its surface has been lowered from 80 to 100 feet by
melting.
On the east side of the glacier we found several steep, sharp-crested
ridges, clothed with forest trees, with narrow, grassy, and
flower-strewn dells between, in which banks of snow still lingered.
The ridges are composed of bowlders and angular stones of a great
variety of sizes and shapes, and are plainly lateral moraines
abandoned by the shrinking of the glacier. Choosing a way up one of
the narrow lanes, bordered on each side by steep slopes densely
covered with trees and shrubs, we found secure footing in the hard
granular snow, and soon reached a more open, parklike area, covered
with mossy bosses of turf, on which grew a great profusion of
brilliant flowers. Before us rose the great cliffs which partially
inclose the amphitheater in which Carbon Glacier has its source. These
precipices, as already stated, have a height of about 4,000 feet, and
are so steep that the snow does not cling to them, but descends in
avalanches. Above the cliffs, where the inclination is less
precipitous, the snow lies in thick layers, the edges of which are
exposed in a vertical precipice rising above the avalanche-swept
rock-slope below. Far above, and always the central object in the wild
scenery surrounding us, rose the brilliant white Liberty Cap, one of
the pinnacles on the rim of the great summit crater. Our way then
turned eastward, following the side of the mountain, and led us
through a region just above the timber line, which commands far
reaching views to the wild and rugged mountains to the northeast. This
open tract, leading down to groves of spruce trees and diversified by
charming lakelets, bears abundant evidence of having formerly been
ice-covered, and is known as Moraine Park.
In order to retain our elevation we crossed diagonally the steep snow
slopes in the upper portion of the Moraine Park. Midway over the snow
we rested at a sharp crest of rock, and found that it is composed of
light-colored granite. Later we found that much of the area between
the Carbon and Winthrop glaciers is composed of this same kind of
rock. Granite forms a portion of the border of the valley through
which flow the glaciers just named, and furnished them with much
granitic débris, which is carried away as moraines and later worked
over into well-rounded bowlders by the streams flowing from the ice.
The presence of granite pebbles in the course of Carbon and White
rivers, far below the glaciers, is thus accounted for.
A weary tramp of about 4 miles from the camp we had left brought us to
the border of Winthrop Glacier. In the highest grove of trees, which
are bent down and frequently lie prone on the ground, although still
living, we selected a well-sheltered camping-place. Balsam boughs
furnished luxuriant beds, and the trees killed by winter storms
enabled us to have a roaring camp fire. Fresh trail of mountain goats
and their but recently abandoned bed showed that this is a favorite
resort for those hardy animals. Marmots were also abundant, and
frequently awakened the echoes with their shrill, whistling cries. The
elevation of our camp was about 8,000 feet.
From our camp on the cliffs above the west border of Winthrop Glacier
we made excursions across that glacier and to its heavily
moraine-covered extremity. The snow mantle that is spread over the
region about Mount Rainier each winter melts first on the rugged
plateau surrounding the base of the mountain, and, as the summer's
heat increases, gradually withdraws up the mountain sides, but never
so as to uncover the more elevated region. The snow line--that is, the
position to which the lower border of the mantle of perennial snow
withdraws late in summer--has an elevation of about 9,000 feet. The
lower margin of the wintry covering is always irregular, however,
extending farthest down on the glaciers and retreating highest on the
rocks. At the time of our visit the snow had melted off of nearly all
the region below our camp, leaving only dirt-stained snow banks in the
more completely sheltered recesses and in deeply shaded dells in the
adjacent forests. On the glaciers all the region at a greater
elevation than our camp was white and free from dirt and stones, while
the hard glacial ice was abundantly exposed at lower altitudes and
ended in a completely moraine-covered terminus. Above us all was
barren, white, and wintry; below lay the flowery vales and grass
parks, warm and inviting, leading to the welcome shade of noble
forests. Our course led upward into the frozen region.
On leaving the camp on the border of Winthrop Glacier we began our
alpine work. There were five in the party selected for the difficult
task of scaling Mount Rainier; namely: Willis, Smith, Ainsworth,
Williams, and myself. Taking our blankets, a small supply of rations,
an alcohol lamp, alpenstocks, a rope 100 feet long to serve as a life
line, and a few other articles necessary for traveling above timber
line, we began the ascent of Winthrop Glacier early on the morning of
July 23. Our route was comparatively easy at the start, but became
steeper and steeper as we advanced. The snow was firm and, except for
the numerous crevasses, presented no great difficulties to be
overcome. In several places the névé rises in domes as if forced up
from beneath, but caused in reality by bosses of rock over which the
glacier flows. These domes are broken by radiating crevasses which
intersect in their central portions, leaving pillars and castle-like
masses of snow with vertical sides. At one locality, in attempting to
pass between two of these shattered domes, we found our way blocked by
an impassable crevasse. Considerable time was lost in searching for a
practicable upward route, but at length, by making a detour to the
right, we found a way which, although steep, allowed us to pass the
much crevassed area and gain the sharp ridge of rock which divides the
névé snow flowing from the central dome of the mountain, and marks the
separation between Winthrop and Emmons glaciers. This prow-like
promontory, rising some 500 feet above the glaciers on either hand, we
named The Wedge. This is the upward pointing, acute angle of a great
V-shaped portion of the lower slope of the mountain, left in bold
relief by the erosion of the valleys on either side. As will be
described later, there are several of these remnants about the sides
of the mountain at the same general horizon, which record a somewhat
definite stage in the destruction of the mountain by ice erosion.
On reaching The Wedge we found it an utterly desolate rocky cape in a
sea of snow. We were at an altitude of about 10,000 feet, and far
above timber. Water was obtained by spreading snow on smooth rocks or
on rubber sheets, and allowing it to melt by the heat of the afternoon
sun. Coffee was prepared over the alcohol lamp, sheltered from the
wind by a bed sheet supported by alpenstocks. After a frugal lunch, we
made shelf-like ledges in a steep slope of earth and stones and laid
down our blankets for the night. From sheltered nooks amid the rocks,
exposed to the full warmth of the declining sun, we had the icy slopes
of the main central dome of the mountain in full view and chose what
seemed the most favorable route for the morrow's climb.
Surrounded as we were by the desolation and solitude of barren rocks,
on which not even a lichen had taken root, and pure white snow fields,
we were much surprised to receive passing visits from several
humming-birds which shot past us like winged jewels. They came up the
valley occupied by the Emmons Glacier, turned sharply at The Wedge,
and went down the way of the Winthrop Glacier. What tempts these
children of the sunlight and the flowers into the frozen regions seems
a mystery. That the humming-birds are bold explorers was not new to
me, for the reason that on several occasions in previous years, while
on the snow-covered slopes of Mount St. Elias, far above all vestiges
of vegetation, my heart had been gladdened by glimpses of their
brilliant plumage.
When the sun declined beyond the great snow-covered dome that towered
above us, and the blue shadows crept down the previously dazzling
cliffs, the air became cold and a strong wind made our perch on the
rocks uncomfortable. Wrapping ourselves in our blankets we slept until
the eastern sky began to glow with sunrise tints.
Early on the morning of July 24 [1896] we began the climb of the steep
snow slopes leading to the summit of the mountain. Roped together as
we had been on the previous day, we slowly worked our way upward, in a
tortuous course, in order to avoid the many yawning crevasses. The way
was steep and difficult. Some members of the party felt the effects of
the rarefied air, and as we lacked experience in true alpine work our
progress was slow and laborious. Many of the crevasses that our course
crossed were of the nature of faults. Their upper rims stood several
feet above their lower margins, and thus added to the difficulty of
passing them. Our aim at first was to traverse the névé of Emmons
Glacier and gain the less rugged slope bordering it on the south, but
the intervening region was greatly broken and, as we found after
several approaches to it, utterly impassable. The climb presented no
special difficulties other than the extreme fatigue incident to
climbing steep snow slopes, especially while attached to a life line,
and the delays necessitated by frequently turning and retracing our
steps in order to get around wide crevasses.
Once while crossing a steep snow slope diagonally, and having a wide
crevasse below us, Ainsworth, who was next to the rear of the line,
lost his footing and slid down the slope on his back. Unfortunately,
at that instant, Williams, who was at the rear of the line, removed
his alpenstock from the snow, was overturned by the pull on the line,
and shot headfirst down the slope and disappeared over the brink of
the crevasse. A strong pull came on the members of the party who were
in advance, but our alpenstocks held fast, and before assistance could
be extended to the man dangling in midair, he climbed the taut rope
and stood unhurt among us once more. The only serious result of the
accident was the loss of an alpenstock.
Pressing on toward the dark rim of rock that we could now and then
catch glimpses of at the head of the snow slopes and which we knew to
be the outer portion of the summit crater, we crossed many frail snow
bridges and climbed precipitous slopes, in some of which steps had to
be cut. As we neared the summit we met a strong westerly gale that
chilled us and benumbed our fingers. At length, weary and faint on
account of the rarity of the air, we gained the lower portion of the
rim of stones marking the position of the crater. While my companions
rested for a few moments in the shelter of the rocks, I pressed on up
the rugged slope and gained the top of the rim.
The stones exposed at the summit are bare of snow, possibly on account
of the heat from below, and are rounded and their exposed surfaces
polished. The smooth, black bowlders shine in the sunlight much the
same as the sand-burnished stones in desert regions. Here on the
mountain's brow, exposed to an almost continuous gale, the rocks have
been polished by drifting snow crystals. The prevailing rounded form
that the stones present may be the result of weathering, or possibly
is due to the manner in which the fragments were ejected from the
volcano. My hasty examinations suggested the former explanation.
Descending into the crater, I discovered crevices from which steam was
escaping, and on placing my hands on the rocks was rejoiced to find
them hot. My companions soon joined me, and we began the exploration
of the crater, our aim being to find the least uncomfortable place in
which to take refuge from the freezing blast rather than to make
scientific discoveries.
The crater that we had entered is one of the smaller and more recent
ones in the truncated summit of the peak, and is deeply filled with
snow, but the rim is bare and well defined. The steam and heat from
the rocks have melted out many caverns beneath the snow. In one of
these we found shelter.
The cavern we chose in which to pass the night, although irregular,
was about 60 feet long by 40 wide, and had an arched ceiling some 20
feet high. The snow had been melted out from beneath, leaving a roof
so thin that a diffused blue light penetrated the chamber. The floor
sloped steeply, and on the side toward the center of the crater there
was a narrow space between the rocks and the descending roof which led
to unexplored depths. As a slide into this forbidding gulf would have
been exceedingly uncomfortable, if not serious, our life line was
stretched from crag to crag so as to furnish a support and allow us to
walk back and forth during the night without danger of slipping. Three
arched openings or doorways communicated with other chambers, and
through these drafts of cold air were continually blowing. The icy air
chilled the vapor rising from the warm rocks and filled the chamber
with steam which took on grotesque forms in the uncertain, fading
light. In the central part of the icy chamber was a pinnacle of rock,
from the crevices of which steam was issuing with a low hissing sound.
Some of the steam jets were too hot to be comfortable to the ungloved
hand. In this uninviting chamber we passed the night. The muffled roar
of the gale as it swept over the mountain could be heard in our
retreat and made us thankful for the shelter the cavern afforded.
The floor of our cell was too uneven and too steeply inclined to admit
of lying down. Throughout the night we leaned against the hot rocks or
tramped wearily up and down holding the life line. Cold blasts from
the branching ice chambers swept over us. Our clothes were saturated
with condensed steam. While one side of the body resting against the
rocks would be hot, the strong drafts of air with a freezing
temperature chilled the other side. After long hours of intense
darkness the dome of snow above us became faintly illuminated, telling
that the sun was again shining. After a light breakfast and a cup of
tea, prepared over our alcohol lamp, we resumed our exploration, none
the worse for the exposures of the night.
Following the inner rim of the crater so as to be sheltered from the
gale still blowing steadily from the west, we gained its northern
border and climbed to the topmost pinnacle, known as Columbia's Crest.
This pinnacle rises about 50 feet above the general level of the
irregular rim of the crater, and is the highest point on the mountain.
Its elevation, as previously stated, is 14,526 feet.[26]
The magnificent view described by former visitors to this commanding
station, which we had hoped would reward our efforts, was concealed
beneath a canopy of smoke that covered all of the region about the
mountain to a depth of about 10,000 feet. The surface of the layer of
smoke was sharply defined, and appeared like an undulating sea
surrounding the island on which we stood. Far to the northward rose
the regular conical summit of Mount Baker, like an isolated sea-girt
island. A few of the rugged and more elevated summits, marking the
course of the Cascade Mountains, could be discerned to the eastward.
The summits of Mount Adams and Mount St. Helens were in plain view and
seemingly near at hand. All of the forest-covered region between these
elevated summits was blotted out by the dense, heavy layer of smoke,
which rose until it met the westerly gale of the upper regions.
During the ascent of Mount Rainier by Emmons and Wilson, previously
referred to, more favorable atmospheric conditions prevailed than at
the time of my visit, and the region about the base of the mountain
was clearly revealed. In describing the view from the summit Emmons
says:
From the northeastern rim of the crater we could look down an
unbroken slope of nearly 10,000 feet to the head of the White
River, the upper half or two-thirds of which was so steep
that one had the feeling of looking over a perpendicular
wall. [It was up this slope that the climb briefly described
above was made.] The systems of glaciers and the streams
which flowed from them lay spread out as on a map at our
feet; radiating out in every direction from the central mass,
they all with one accord curve to the westward to send their
waters down toward Puget Sound or the Lower Columbia.
[Attention has already been directed to the westward
curvature of the streams from Mount Rainier on reaching the
tilted peneplain on which the mountain stands, and the
explanation has been suggested that they are consequent
streams the direction of which was determined by the original
slope of the now deeply dissected plateau.]
Looking to the more distant country, the whole stretch of
Puget Sound, seeming like a pretty little lake embowered in
green, could be seen in the northwest, beyond which the
Olympic Mountains extend out into the Pacific Ocean. The
Cascade Mountains, lying dwarfed at our feet, could be traced
northward into British Columbia, and southward into Oregon,
while above them, at comparatively regular intervals, rose
the ghost-like forms of our companion volcanoes. To the
eastward the eye ranged for hundreds of miles over chain on
chain of mountain ridges, which gradually disappeared in the
dim, blue distance.
In the truncated summit of Mount Rainier there are three craters. The
largest one, partially filled by the building of the two others, is
the oldest, and has suffered so greatly from subsequent volcanic
explosions and erosion that no more than its general outline can be
traced. Peak Success and Liberty Cap are prominent points on the rim
of what remains of this huge crater. Its diameter, as nearly as can be
judged, is about 2-1/2 miles. Within the great crater, in the
formation of which the mountain was truncated and, as previously
stated, lost fully 2,000 feet of its summit, there are two much
smaller and much more recent craters. The larger of these, the one in
which we took refuge, is about 300 yards in diameter, and the second,
which is an incomplete circle, its rim having been broken by the
formation of its more recent companion, is perhaps 200 yards across.
The rim of each now partially snow-filled bowl is well defined, and
rises steeply from within to a sharp crest. The character of the inner
slopes shows that much rocky material has been detached and has fallen
into the cavities from which it was ejected. The rock in the crater
walls is in fragments and masses, some of them well rounded and
probably of the nature of volcanic bombs. In each of the smaller
craters there are numerous steam jets. These show that the rock below
is still hot, and that water percolating downward is changed to steam.
These steam jets evidently indicate the presence of residual heat and
not an actual connection with a volcanic center deep below the
surface. All the evidence available tends to show that Rainier is an
extinct volcano. It belongs, however, to the explosive type of
volcanoes, of which Vesuvius is the best-known example, and there is
no assurance that its energies may not be reawakened.
In descending we chose the south side of the mountain, knowing from
the reports of many excursionists who had ascended the peak from that
direction that a practicable route could probably be found. Threading
our way between numerous crevasses we soon came in sight of a bold,
outstanding rock mass, which we judged to be Gibraltar, and succeeded
in reaching it with but little difficulty. On gaining the junction of
the rock with the snow fields rising above it, we found evidences of a
trail, which was soon lost, however, and only served to show that our
general course was the right one. A deep, narrow space between the
border of Nisqually Glacier and the precipitous side of Gibraltar,
from which the snow and ice had been melted by the heat reflected from
the cliffs on our left, led us down to a shelf on the lower side of
the promontory, which proved a safe and easy way to the crest of a
rocky rib on the mountain side which extended far down toward the dark
forests in view below.
Gibraltar is a portion of the cone of Rainier built before the
explosion which truncated the mountain. It is an outstanding and very
prominent rock mass, left in bold relief by the ice excavation which
has carved deep valleys on each side. The rock divides the descending
névé in the same manner as does The Wedge, and causes a part of the
snow drainage to flow to the Cowlitz and the other part to be
tributary to the Nisqually Glacier. The rocks forming Gibraltar
consist largely of fragments ejected from the crater above, but
present a rude stratification due to the presence of lava flows. When
seen from the side and at a convenient distance, it is evident that
the planes of bedding, if continued upward at the same angle, would
reach above the present summit of the mountain. Gibraltar, like The
Wedge, and several other secondary peaks on the sides of Mount
Rainier, are, as previously explained, the sharp, upward-pointing
angles of large V-shaped masses of the original volcanic cone, left in
bold relief by the excavation of deep valleys radiating from the
central peak. On the backs, so to speak, of these great V-shaped
portions of the mountain which now seem to rest against the central
dome, secondary glaciers, or interglaciers as they may be termed, have
excavated valleys and amphitheaters. In the V-shaped mass of which
Gibraltar is the apex, a broad amphitheater-like depression has been
cut out, leaving a bold cliff above it. The excavation of the
amphitheater did not progress far enough up the mountain to cut away
the apex of the V-shaped mass, but left it with a precipice on its
lower side. This remnant is Gibraltar. An attempt will be made later
to describe more fully the process of glacial erosion of a conical
mountain, and to show that the secondary topographic features of Mount
Rainier are not without system, as they appear at first view, but
really result from a process which may be said to have a definite end
in view.
Below Gibraltar the descent was easy. Our life line was no longer
needed. Tramping in single file over the hard surfaces of the snow
field, remnants of the previous winter's snow, we made rapid progress,
and about noon gained the scattered groves of spruce trees which form
such an attractive feature of Paradise Park.
Fortunately, we found Prof. E. S. Ingraham, of Seattle, and a party of
friends, including several ladies, encamped in Paradise Park, and the
hospitality of the camp was extended to us. During the afternoon we
basked in the warm sunshine, and in the evening gathered about a
roaring campfire and enjoyed the society of our companions, who were
enthusiastic in their praise of the wonderful scenes about their camp.
The southern side of Mount Rainier is much less precipitous than its
northern face, and the open park-like region near timber line is
broader, more diversified, and much more easy of access. The general
elevation of the park is between 5,000 and 7,000 feet, and it is
several thousand acres in extent. Its boundaries are indefinite. It
merges into the heavily forested region to the south, and into more
alpine regions on the side toward the mountain, which towers above it
on the north. To the east it is bordered by Cowlitz Glacier, and on
the west by Nisqually Glacier. Each of these fine ice rivers descends
far below timber line. The small interglacier, known as the Paradise
Glacier, may be considered as lying within the limits of the park.
Paradise Park presents many and varied charms. It is a somewhat rugged
land, with a deep picturesque valley winding through it. The trees
grow in isolated groves. Each bunch of dark-green firs and balsams is
a cluster of gracefully tapering spires. The undulating meadows
between the shady groves are brilliant in summer with a veritable
carpet of gorgeous blossoms. In contrast to the exquisite charms of
the groves and flower-decked rolling meadows are desolate ice fields
and rugged glaciers which vary, through many tints and shades, from
silvery whiteness to intense blue. Added to these minor charms, and
towering far above them, is the massive summit of Rainier. At times
the sublime mountain appears steel blue in the unclouded sky, or rosy
with the afterglow at sunset, or all aflame with the glories of the
newborn day. Clouds gather about the lofty summit and transform it
into a storm king. Avalanches rushing down its side awaken the echoes
in the neighboring forest. The appearance of the mountain is never the
same on different days; indeed, it changes its mood and exerts a
varying influence on the beholder from hour to hour.
While the central attraction to the lover of mountain scenery in
Paradise Park is the vast snow-covered dome of Mount Rainier, there
are other mountains in view that merit attention. To the east rises
the serrate and rugged Tattoosh range, which is remarkable for the
boldness with which its bordering slopes rise from the forested region
about it and the angularity of its many serrate summits. This range
has never been explored except by miners and hunters, who have made
no record of their discoveries. It is virgin ground to the geologist
and geographer. Distant views suggest that the Tattoosh Mountains have
been sculptured from a plateau, probably an upraised peneplain in
which there existed a great mass of igneous rock rounded by less
resistant Tertiary sediments. The softer rocks have been removed,
leaving the harder and more resistant ones in bold relief, to become
sculptured by rain and frost into a multitude of angular peaks. This
attractive, and as yet unstudied, group of peaks is in plain view from
Paradise Park, and may be easily reached from there by a single day's
tramp. Many other delightful excursions are open to one who pitches
his tent in the alpine meadows on the south side of Mount Rainier.
FOOTNOTES:
[25] Called the North Mowich Glacier on the present map.
[26] Since shown to be 14,408 feet.
[Illustration: PROFESSOR EDGAR MCCLURE.]
XII. McCLURE'S ACHIEVEMENT AND TRAGIC DEATH, 1897
BY HERBERT L. BRUCE AND PROFESSOR H. H. McALISTER
Visitors to Paradise Valley, who climb above the Camp of the
Clouds to the snowfields, are sure to be attracted to McClure
Rock. It is the scene of one of the mountain's earliest
tragedies, in which Professor Edgar McClure of the University
of Oregon lost his life. He was trying to measure accurately
the height of the great mountain as he had already done for
Mount Adams and other peaks.
The record of his extensive observations was computed with
the greatest care by his colleague, Professor H. H. McAlister
of the University of Oregon. An account of the work so
tragically ended was prepared by Herbert L. Bruce. Both
articles were published in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer for
November 7, 1897, from which paper they are here reproduced.
The portrait of Professor McClure is furnished by his
brother, Horace McClure, editorial writer for the Seattle
Daily Times.
The height of the mountain, 14,528 feet, thus obtained,
remained in use until 1914, when the United States Geological
Survey announced its new and latest findings to be 14,408
feet.
One of the most tragic incidents in modern science was the death of
Professor Edgar McClure, who lost his life on Mount Rainier July 27,
1897. Occupying, as he did, the chair of chemistry in the University
of Oregon, his personal tastes, instincts and ambitions were
essentially scientific. In addition to this he was a member of the
Mazamas, whose purposes in the line of scientific exploration have
lent a romantic interest and a cumulative value to the geography of
the northwest. The particular expedition with which Professor McClure
was associated when he met his untimely death, left Portland with the
distinct object of making the ascent of Mount Rainier, recording such
geographical and topographical observations as might be feasible. As a
member of the expedition Professor McClure was placed in charge of the
elevation department and set before himself a somewhat more distinct
and definite purpose, viz., to ascertain by the most approved methods
and with the most accurately graduated instruments the precise height
of the famous and beautiful mountain. How well he accomplished this
purpose will best appear in the subjoined letter from Professor E. H.
McAlister, his friend and colleague, who with infinite care and
sympathetic zeal has worked out the data, which would otherwise have
been undecipherable not only to the general public but to the average
scholar. As he himself said when he had completed his arduous task: "I
have done everything possible to wring the truth from the
observations. In my judgment they should become historic on account of
the probability of their great accuracy."
To the accomplishment of this object Professor McClure brought all the
varied resources of a ripe culture and an ardent, vigorous young
manhood. His plans were all laid with the greatest care. To him their
fulfillment meant not so much a personal or selfish triumph as a
victory for science. The very instrument on which he most relied for
accurate determinations, as will be seen from Professor McAlister's
statement, was not only hallowed by scientific associations, but was
prepared for its high mission more lovingly and assiduously than a
favorite racer would be groomed for the course. Twice had it looked
upon the beauties of the Columbia river from the summit of Mount Hood,
and on three other lofty peaks it had served its silent but efficient
ministry to the cause of science. On one of these, Mount Adams, the
altitude determined with this instrument was accepted by the United
States government, yet a new tube was filled for it, Professor McClure
himself preparing the mercury by distillation, and seeing to it that
the vacuum was exceptionally perfect. That the barometer was most
carefully handled at the time of observation will fully appear from
the record below. It was suspended by a ring and allowed to hang until
it had assumed the temperature of the surrounding air before being
read. Not only this, but all the subsidiary phenomena which could have
the slightest bearing on the result were laboriously determined.
Concurrent observations were made at all salient surrounding stations,
while for a week before the date of actual observation Professor
McClure himself had made numerous observations both of pressure and of
temperature at various sub-stations in the vicinity of Mount Rainier,
and his collaborateur has secured simultaneous observations from
Seattle and Portland. Uniting as he did the fervor of the pioneer
explorer with the accuracy of the laboratory chemist, Professor
McClure was peculiarly fitted to obtain a result which bids fair to
become historic.
The broken barometer will appeal powerfully to every lover of science.
If, as has been suggested, a monument be reared to mark the spot where
the young scientist gave up his life, no fitter design could be
adopted than a stone shaft bearing on its face a bas-relief of the
historic instrument which he bore on his back with sacred care. It is
entirely probable that this barometer, coupled with his unselfish
solicitude for the safety of other members of the expedition, was the
immediate cause of his death. He carried it in a double case; a wooden
one which his own hands had constructed, and outside of this a strong
leather tube. From the latter stout thongs enabled him to strap the
instrument on his back, much as a pioneer huntsman would wear his
trusty rifle. While standing on the perilous ledge whence he took the
fatal plunge, he turned to sound warning to his companions whom he was
leading in a search for the lost pathway down the mountain. "Don't
come down here; it is too steep," he called, turning so as to make
his voice more audible. These were his last words. He vanished in the
night and the abyss. It is likely that the tube, three and a half feet
in length, caught as he turned and helped to hurl him from his
precarious footing. Like his own high strung frame, the delicate
instrument was shattered; but neither of the twain went away from the
world without leaving an imperishable record.
It is interesting to note the close correspondence of his independent
observations with those made by others. The height of the mountain had
been measured many times before he essayed to measure it. Some
observers had measured it by triangulation, and others, notably Major
E. S. Ingraham, of Seattle, had given its altitude from the readings
of mercurial barometers. Major Ingraham gave the height at 14,524
feet. It will be noticed that the result obtained by Professor McClure
was just four feet greater, a remarkable coincidence at that vast
altitude and among conditions of hardship, exposure and uncertainty.
Prior to Professor McClure's record, the latest measurement of Rainier
had been made by George F. Hyde, of the United States Geological
Survey, in 1896. He pursued the method of triangulation, and, taking
as his base a line at Ellensburg, in connection with the sea level
gauge at Tacoma, he figured out the extreme height of Rainier at
14,519 feet.
The value of Professor McClure's determination will be heightened
rather than lessened by the peculiar difficulty and rareness of
scientific work in an unexplored territory and from a base which has
not all the appurtenances and advantages of the older scientific
stations of the East and of Europe. In this respect his work is like
that of Agassiz and of Audubon. Not unlike those great masters was he
in his intense and lofty devotion to science. Not unlike them he
wrought with rigid accuracy where others had worked almost at random.
Not unlike them he aroused among his friends and students the
conviction that he was a born high priest of nature, whose chief
mission in the world was to reveal her secrets to mankind. He offered
up his life virtually a sacrifice to the cause of popular and
practical science, and in as lofty a sense as ever dignified a Roman
arena he was a martyr to the cause of truth. To use the matchless
figure employed by Byron in describing the death of Henry Kirk White,
who died a victim to his own passionate devotion to literary art, he
was like the struck eagle whose own feather "winged the shaft that
quivered in his heart."
Just in harmony with this thought came countless expressions of
sympathy and condolence to the members of Professor McClure's family
when the sad news of his death went abroad. One of the most touching,
and, to my mind, one of the most typical of all these came from an
obscure man in an obscure corner of Kentucky. He was not a great man
himself, as the world counts greatness, this man in Kentucky; but he
knew a great man when he saw him. He had known Edgar McClure; and when
he heard the circumstances of his death he sat down and wrote a brief
note. One sentence in it was worthy of Whittier or Emerson. It was
this: "Edgar McClure died as he had always lived--on the mountain
top."
In transmitting his results to Horace McClure, brother of the deceased
scientist, Professor McAlister brings to a proper close a labor of
love, one that is as creditable to his scholarly culture as it is to
his unselfish and devoted friendship.
HERBERT L. BRUCE.
LETTER OF TRANSMISSION
University of Oregon,
Eugene, Or., October 28, 1897.
MR. HORACE MCCLURE--Dear Sir: I herewith transmit to you for
publication my report upon the observations of your late brother,
Professor Edgar McClure, relative to the altitude of Mount Rainier,
the data having been referred to me for reduction and computation by
yourself and by the officials of the Mazama Club.
It is but just to myself to say that the long delay in the appearance
of this report has been caused by unavoidable difficulties in the
collection of subsidiary data; in particular, the comparison sheet
showing the instrumental error of Professor McClure's barometer could
not be found until the 9th of this month, when it was discovered among
some effects left by him in Portland. A further delay has been
occasioned in obtaining a few other important data. A report
approximately correct could have been made some time ago, but I felt
it was due to the memory of Professor McClure's reputation for extreme
accuracy that no report whatever should be published until I was able
to state a result for which I could vouch as being the very best that
the observations were capable of affording.
The thanks of all concerned are due to Mr. B. S. Pague, Director of
the Oregon Weather Bureau, for numerous courtesies and for his
efficient aid in the collection of data.
Very respectfully,
E. H. MCALISTER,
Professor of Applied Mathematics.
THE RESULT
For the benefit of those not interested in the scientific details of
this report, it may be stated at once that the summit of Mount
Rainier, according to Professor McClure's observations, is 14,528 feet
above sea level. The altitudes of various sub-stations occupied en
route will be found further on. An account of the data, with
description of the methods employed in reduction and computation, is
given, to indicate the degree of reliance to be placed upon the
result.
The principal observation to which this report refers was made by
Professor Edgar McClure, of the University of Oregon, on the summit of
Mount Rainier, Washington, July 27, 1897, at 4:30 P.M., Pacific
standard time. The observation consists of a reading of Green's
standard mercurial barometer, No. 1612, together with readings of
attached and detached thermometers. It appears that the barometer,
which was suspended by a ring at the top, was allowed so to hang until
it had assumed the temperature of the surrounding air, before being
read; that the sky was clear at the time; and that the place of
observation, the highest on the mountain, is designated as Columbia
Crest.
The barometric reading, corrected for instrumental error and
temperature, was 17.708 inches; the air temperature was 29 degrees
Fahrenheit.
Concurrent observations were made at 9:30 A.M. and hourly during the
afternoon by the regular observers at Seattle, Portland, Fort Canby,
the University of Oregon at Eugene, Roseburg, and one observation at
Walla Walla at 5 P.M.
In addition to these, during the week preceding the 27th Professor
McClure made numerous observations both of pressure and temperature at
various sub-stations in the vicinity of Mount Rainier, and
simultaneous observations are furnished from Seattle and Portland.
At the very outset of the work of reduction it was evident that Eugene
and Roseburg were under an area of relatively low barometric pressure
on the 27th, representing atmospheric conditions that did not prevail
in the region of Mount Rainier. I therefore rejected the observations
at both these places, using only those at Seattle, Portland, Fort
Canby and Walla Walla. The strategic position of these four points
will be seen at once by a glance at the map.
The method followed in making the reduction was, in brief, to deduce
from the observations at the four base stations surrounding the
mountain the actual atmospheric conditions prevailing in the
immediate region of the mountain. More specifically, the process
consisted in determining the atmospheric pressure and temperature at
an imaginary sea level vertically under the mountain, which level I
shall subsequently call the "mean base."
In this I was greatly assisted by a careful study of the daily weather
charts issued by the government, Mr. Pague having kindly loaned me his
official file for July. I thus practically had at my disposal
observations from all the important points on the Coast, both before
and after the principal observation. With due regard to the position
and direction of the isobars, and giving proper weight to the
observations at each of the four base stations, I finally deduced
30.130 inches as the value of the pressure at the mean base which best
satisfied all the data. It ought to be said, perhaps, that this result
does not depend upon my judgment to any appreciable extent, but was
legitimately worked out from the observations and isobaric lines.
In determining the mean temperature of the air column extending from
the mean base to the summit of the mountain, the observations made by
Professor McClure during the previous week in the vicinity were so
numerous and well timed as to leave far less than the usual amount of
uncertainty. Making due allowance for the moderate elevations of the
stations, these observations show clearly that the temperature about
the mountain at that time followed that of Seattle very closely, and
was also not much different from that of Portland, but departed
notably from both the heat of Walla Walla and the low temperature of
Fort Canby. Allowing proper weight to these facts, the observations at
the base stations, with that of Professor McClure at the summit, gave
49 degrees Fahrenheit as the mean temperature of the air column.
I regard the method of reduction outlined above as possessing decided
advantages over any other that could be applied to the problem in
hand; especially because it admits of using the isobaric charts with
great freedom and effectiveness, thereby increasing the reliability of
the result to a marked extent.
The reduction made, there remained for the final calculation the
following data:
Barometric pressure at the summit of Rainier 17.708 inches
Barometric pressure at mean base 30.130 inches
Mean temperature of air column 49 deg. F.
Latitude of Mount Rainer 46 deg. 48 min.
In making the calculation I used the amplified form of Laplace's
formula given in the recent publications of the Smithsonian
Institution, with the constants there adopted. Perhaps for the general
reader it may be important to remark that this formula, besides the
barometric pressures, contains corrections for the temperature of the
air column; for latitude, and for the variation of gravity with
altitude in its effect on the weight of the mercury in the barometer;
for the average humidity of the air; and for the variation of gravity
with altitude in its effect on the weight of the air. I used the
latest edition of the Smithsonian tables, but afterward verified the
result by a numerical solution of the formula--the altitude being, as
stated at the beginning, 14,528 feet above sea level.
It should be noted as an evidence of the great care and foresight with
which Professor McClure planned his work and the success with which he
carried it out, that the result of his observations agrees within nine
feet with that obtained by the United States Geological Survey in
1895, using, as we may suppose, the most refined methods of
triangulation--the latter estimate being 14,519 feet. In connection
with so great an altitude, nine feet is an insignificant quantity, and
the close correspondence in the results of the two methods of
measurement is truly remarkable. I am not inclined to regard it as
accidental, but as due to the most careful work in both cases.
Having a full knowledge of all the available data, I am perhaps better
prepared than anyone else to pass judgment upon the result set forth;
and while it would be folly to give a numerical estimate of the
probable error, I feel justified in saying that no single barometric
determination is ever likely to prove more accurate than this one of
Professor McClure's. At any rate, the outstanding error is now too
small to justify the hazard of any future attempts.
From the observations made by Professor McClure while en route to the
summit, together with simultaneous records from Seattle and Portland,
the following altitudes are obtained:
FEET ABOVE SEA LEVEL
Eatonville 870
Kernahan's ranch 1,880
Longmire springs 2,850
Mazama camp 5,932
Camp-No-Camp 12,700
South side Crater Rainier 14,275
The data in these cases were not sufficient to admit an elaborate
working-out of the altitude, so that the figures given are to be
regarded as rather close approximations, except in the case of Mazama
camp, the altitude of which rests upon four observations and is
correspondingly reliable.
Professor McClure's barometer had a notable history in mountaineering.
To quote the professor's own words:
"It has twice looked upon the beauties of the Columbia river from the
summit of Mount Hood. It was the first barometer taken to the top of
Mount Hood, and gave the true elevation, 11,225 feet, in place of
17,000 or 18,000 feet previously claimed. This barometric measurement
of Mount Hood was made in August, 1867, by a government party under
the direction of Lieutenant R. S. Williamson. The second barometric
measurement of Mount Hood was made with the same instrument in
August, 1870, by Professor George H. Collier."
In August, 1891, the barometer was carried by Professor McClure to the
summit of Diamond Peak; in August, 1894, by the writer, to the summit
of the middle peak of the Three Sisters, in Oregon, giving an altitude
of 10,080 feet, not hitherto published; in July, 1895, Professor
McClure took it with the Mazamas to Mount Adams, and in July, 1897, to
the summit of Mount Rainier.
A new tube was filled and inserted about two years ago, Professor
McClure preparing the mercury by distillation and the writer boiling
it in the tube. The vacuum was exceptionally perfect. The comparison
sheet previously mentioned showed that the instrument on the occasion
of its last trip read .005 inch above standard.
In thus completing the labors of Professor McClure, with whom I was so
long and so intimately associated, I feel a very melancholy
satisfaction. For his sake, I have spared no pains in collecting all
the useful data that could be obtained, to make the result reliable to
the last degree possible in such a case. I leave that result as a
sufficient guarantee of the accuracy of the whole work from beginning
to end.
[Illustration: PROFESSOR HENRY LANDES.]
XIII. FIELD NOTES ON MOUNT RAINIER, 1905
BY PROFESSOR HENRY LANDES
Henry Landes is Professor of Geology and Dean of the College
of Science, University of Washington, and he has also served
as State Geologist of Washington, since 1895. He was born at
Carroll, Indiana, on December 22, 1867. He graduated from the
University of Indiana in 1892 and obtained the Master of Arts
degree at Harvard University in 1893. He was assistant to the
State Geologist of New Jersey and Principal of the High
School at Rockland, Maine, before being elected to his
present professorship at the University of Washington in
1895. For a year and a half, 1914-1915, he was Acting
President of the University of Washington.
He has published many articles and pamphlets on geological
subjects. The one here given appeared in Mazama, published in
December, 1905, by the Mazamas in Portland, Oregon. It is
reproduced here with the permission of the author and of the
mountaineering club.
The Columbia River afforded to the first people who came to Washington
and Oregon the easiest and most feasible route across the Cascade
Mountains. It was through this gateway that travel passed from one
side of the range to the other until the advent of the railways in
comparatively recent years. The early travelers along the river who
were of an observing or scientific bent, noted that the rocks were, in
general, dark, heavy and massive and of the class commonly known as
basalt. Here and there a sort of pudding stone or agglomerate was
observed, which in some instances might represent a sedimentary
deposit, but which here had clearly an igneous origin.
The observations of the early travelers were supplemented later by the
further studies of geologists; and from the facts noted along the
Columbia River, the generalization holds good to a great extent on
the Oregon side, but it is by no means true on the Washington side, as
has been shown by later studies. Granite rocks are encountered within
a few miles of the Columbia River as one travels north along the
Cascade Range. Associated with these granite rocks are found rocks of
a metamorphic type, such as gneiss, schists, quartzites, crystalline
limestone, slate, etc. Such rocks exist south of Mount Rainier, but
are not conspicuous. North of this point, however, and throughout all
of the northern Cascades they form the great bulk of the rock.
In other words, in the Cascades of Washington, igneous activity has
been much more common in the region south of Rainier than in that
north of the mountain. When the first observations were made upon the
great lava flows of southeastern Washington, which form a part of the
greatest lava plain in the world, it was supposed that the lava had
its origin in the volcanoes of the Cascades. Later investigations have
shown this view to be erroneous. The lava of the plain has come
directly from below through great longitudinal fissures instead of
through circular openings such as one finds in volcanoes.
It is probable that the Cascades, like most other mountains, have had
several different periods of uplift. We have several notable examples
of mountains which have had an initial uplift and then have been
reduced to base by erosion. By a second upheaval the plain has been
converted into a plateau, and this in time assumes a very rugged,
mountainous character as a result of the combined forces of air and
water. Eventually these same forces would reduce the region to a plain
again. Just how many times this thing has happened in the Cascades we
do not know. Bailey Willis has shown that in the northern Cascades, at
least, the whole country was reduced to a plain prior to the last
uplift, which took place in comparatively recent times. Out of this
plateau, formed by the uplifting of the plain, has arisen through the
active attack of erosive forces the truly mountainous character of the
district. Erosion has been at the maximum in the mountains because of
the heavy precipitation. Precipitation in the high mountains being
chiefly in the form of snow has led to the formation of glaciers,
producing thereby a rapidity of erosion of the first order. The active
work of ice and running water has given to the mountains an extremely
rugged appearance, characterized by valleys of great depth extending
into the very heart of the mountains and with precipitous divides.
It must be understood that the time consumed in the uplifting of the
Cascades, and the conversion from plain to plateau, was of
considerable duration. With the beginning of the uplift, the sluggish
streams of the plain became rejuvenated, and took up actively once
more the work of erosion. By the time the maximum uplift was reached,
the plateau had lost to a certain degree its character of extreme
levelness. The streams had already entrenched themselves in rather
conspicuous valleys. It is believed that the great volcanoes of
Washington--Rainier and its associates--began their activities about
the time the uplift described above reached its maximum height. In the
vicinity of Rainier the rock of the old plateau is granite; and the
volcano may be said to be built upon a platform of that material. On
the north side of the mountain granite appears conspicuously at a
height of about 7,000 feet; while on the south side it appears at
points varying from 5,000 to 6,000 feet above the sea.
That the surface of the granite platform was irregular and uneven may
be seen in the walls of the Nisqually canyon, near the lower terminus
of the glacier. As one ascends the canyon to the glacier, the contact
between the lava rock and the granite shows quite plainly on both the
right and the left side. On the left the contact is at least 1,000
feet above that on the right side. A little way above the lower end of
the glacier, on each side of the canyon, a good opportunity presents
itself to study the contact of the lava and granite. The granite at
this place shows clearly that it was once a land surface; and one may
note weathering for a distance downward of seventy-five or one hundred
feet. The upper portion of the granite shows the usual characteristics
of weathering, namely, the conversion of feldspar into kaolin, the
oxidation of iron, etc. At this point the lava overlying the granite
is quite basic and massive. The first flow reached a thickness here of
fully three hundred feet, and exhibits a fine development of basaltic
structure.
In following up the canyon walls one observes that the activity of the
volcano for some time was characterized almost exclusively by lava
flows. In the main the lava is an andesite, and is very generally of a
porphyritic structure. Some of the lava flows were of great extent,
and reached points many miles distant from the center of the mountain.
While the earlier stages of the activity of the volcano were
characterized by lava flows of great thickness, by and by explosive
products began to appear, and interbedded with the sheets of lava one
finds bombs, lapilli, cinders, etc.
It may be said in general that as the volcano grew in years it changed
more and more from eruptions of the quiet type to those of the
explosive character. It is plain that a long period of time was
consumed in the making of that great volcanic pile, and that the
eruptions were by no means continuous. It is clearly shown that after
certain outflows of lava, quietude reigned for a time; that at last
the surface of the rock became cool and that erosive agents broke it
up into great masses of loose stones. In later flows of lava these
stones were picked up and cemented into layers of pudding stone, which
are styled agglomerates.
Rocks of an agglomerate type are well shown in the walls of
Gibraltar. This massive pile is largely made up of boulders, great and
small, rather loosely held together by a lava cement. The work of
frost and ice, expansion and contraction, loosens the boulders
readily, and their constant falling from the cliffs gives to this part
of the mountain's ascent its dangerous character. While this volcano
belongs to a very late period in the history of the earth, it is very
clear that there has been no marked activity for many thousands of
years. The presence of steam, which is emitted from the hundreds of
small openings about the crater, undoubtedly shows the presence of
heated rock at no great distance below the surface. Rock is a poor
conductor, however, and cooling takes place with very great slowness
after a depth of comparatively few feet is reached.
Like most volcanoes, the composite character of the cone is shown on
Mount Rainier. After a certain height is reached in the building up of
a cone, the rising lava in the throat, or the explosive activities
within, sometimes produce an opening through the walls of the cone,
and a new outlet to the surface is formed. This often gives the
volcano a sort of hummocky or warty appearance, and produces a
departure from the symmetrical character. In the case of Rainier it
seems to the writer that upon the summit four distinct craters, or
outlets, are distinguishable. The first crater reached by the usual
route of ascent is the largest one, and may be styled the East crater.
It is nearly circular in outline, with a diameter of about one-half
mile. Its walls are bare of snow for nearly the whole of its
circumference, but the pit is filled with snow and ice. Going across
the crater to the westward, one passes over what is really the highest
point on the mountain, and then goes down into a smaller crater, or
the West crater. This is similar in character and outline to its
neighbor, but here the many jets of issuing steam are much more
prominent. At a point a few hundred feet lower on the mountain-side
there is a peak known as Liberty Cap. A cross-section of the cap is
in plain view and shows very clearly that this is a minor cone or
local point of eruption. It is made up of rock very similar to the
main mass of the mountain; and it is likely that the volcanic activity
of the mountain was centered here for some time. Looking directly
south from the West crater one sees at a distance of less than a mile
another peak which is entirely snow-covered; but which may represent
an instance parallel with that of the peak on the north side.
Mount Rainier is so deeply covered with ice and snow that the glacial
aspects of the mountain are far more conspicuous than the volcanic
ones. The facts about the vulcanism and the history of the growth of
the mountain are very difficult to study; and it will be a long time
before they are fully known. The glaciers, on the other hand, are very
conspicuous, comparatively easy of access, and the many facts
concerning their extent, rate of motion, recession, or advance, may be
quite readily determined. The glaciers, while very prominent at the
present time, were at one time much larger than now. There are many
things which go to prove that they formerly reached much farther down
the valleys.
From the top of the mountain one may see off to the westward for many
miles south of Puget Sound prairies of large size, covering a great
many square miles. These prairies represent the plains of gravel
derived from the melting glaciers, when these stood in their vicinity.
From these points of maximum extension the glaciers have slowly
receded to their present position.
That the glaciers are receding at the present time is a matter of
common observation. At the lower end of the Nisqually glacier the
advancing line of vegetation is about one-fourth mile below the
present limit of the ice. It is the opinion of Mr. Longmire that the
glacier has retreated about that far since he first came to the
valley, twenty-five years ago. General Stevens was able to point out
several instances of notable shrinkages in the glaciers, especially in
the Paradise glacier, since his ascent of the mountain in 1870. It
will interest students of glaciers to know that some permanent
monuments have been set up at the lower end of the Nisqually glacier;
and that arrangements have been made whereby the retreat of the ice
may be accurately measured from year to year.
[Illustration: FRANÇOIS ÉMILE MATTHES.]
XIV. GLACIERS OF MOUNT RAINIER
BY F. E. MATTHES
François Émile Matthes was born at Amsterdam, Holland, on
March 16, 1874. After pursuing studies in Holland,
Switzerland and Germany, he came to the United States in 1891
and graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology
in 1895. Since 1896 he has been at work with the United
States Geological Survey, mostly in the field of topography.
He has been honored by and is a member of many scientific
societies.
His topographic work on the maps of Yosemite and Mount
Rainier National Parks made for him many appreciative friends
on the Pacific Coast. His pamphlet on "Mount Rainier and Its
Glaciers" was published by the United States Department of
the Interior in 1914. He secured consent for its
republication in the present work.
The impression still prevails in many quarters that true glaciers,
such as are found in the Swiss Alps, do not exist within the confines
of the United States, and that to behold one of these rare scenic
features one must go to Switzerland, or else to the less accessible
Canadian Rockies or the inhospitable Alaskan coast. As a matter of
fact, permanent bodies of snow and ice, large enough to deserve the
name of glaciers, occur on many of our western mountain chains,
notably in the Rocky Mountains, where only recently a national
reservation--Glacier National Park--was named for its ice fields; in
the Sierra Nevada of California, and farther north, in the Cascade
Range. It is on the last-named mountain chain that glaciers especially
abound, clustering as a rule in groups about the higher summits of the
crest. But this range also supports a series of huge, extinct
volcanoes that tower high above its sky line in the form of isolated
cones. On these the snows lie deepest and the glaciers reach their
grandest development. Ice clad from head to foot the year round, these
giant peaks have become known the country over as the noblest
landmarks of the Pacific Northwest. Foremost among them are Mount
Shasta, in California (14,162 feet); Mount Hood, in Oregon (11,225
feet); Mount St. Helens (9,697 feet), Mount Adams (12,307 feet), Mount
Rainier (14,408 feet), and Mount Baker (10,730 feet), in the State of
Washington.
Easily king of all is Mount Rainier. Almost 250 feet higher than Mount
Shasta, its nearest rival in grandeur and in mass, it is
overwhelmingly impressive, both by the vastness of its glacial mantle
and by the striking sculpture of its cliffs. The total area of its
glaciers amounts to no less than 45 square miles, an expanse of ice
far exceeding that of any other single peak in the United States. Many
of its individual ice streams are between 4 and 6 miles long and vie
in magnitude and in splendor with the most boasted glaciers of the
Alps. Cascading from the summit in all directions, they radiate like
the arms of a great starfish. All reach down to the foot of the
mountain and some advance considerably beyond.
As for the plea that these glaciers lie in a scarcely opened,
out-of-the-way region, a forbidding wilderness as compared with
maturely civilized Switzerland, it no longer has the force it once
possessed. Rainier's ice fields can now be reached from Seattle or
Tacoma, the two principal cities of western Washington, in a
comfortable day's journeying, either by rail or by automobile. The
cooling sight of crevassed glaciers and the exhilarating
flower-scented air of alpine meadows need no longer be exclusive
pleasures, to be gained only by a trip abroad.
Mount Rainier stands on the west edge of the Cascade Range,
overlooking the lowlands that stretch to Puget Sound. Seen from
Seattle or Tacoma, 60 and 50 miles distant, respectively, it appears
to rise directly from sea level, so insignificant seem the ridges
about its base. Yet these ridges themselves are of no mean height.
They rise 3,000 to 4,000 feet above the valleys that cut through them,
and their crests average 6,000 feet in altitude. Thus at the southwest
entrance of the park, in the Nisqually Valley, the elevation above sea
level, as determined by accurate spirit leveling, is 2,003 feet, while
Mount Wow (Goat Mountain), immediately to the north, rises to an
altitude of 6,045 feet. But so colossal are the proportions of the
great volcano that they dwarf even mountains of this size and give
them the appearance of mere foothills. In the Tatoosh Range Pinnacle
Peak is one of the higher summits, 6,562 feet in altitude. That peak
rises nearly 4,000 feet above the Nisqually River, which at Longmire
has an elevation of 2,700 feet, yet it will be seen that Mount Rainier
towers still 7,846 feet higher than Pinnacle Peak.
From the top of the volcano one fairly looks down upon the Tatoosh
Range, to the south; upon Mount Wow, to the southwest; upon the Mother
Mountains, to the northwest, indeed, upon all the ridges of the
Cascade Range. Only Mount Adams, Mount St. Helens, and Mount Hood loom
like solitary peaks above the even sky line, while the ridges below
this line seem to melt together in one vast, continuous mountain
platform. And such a platform, indeed, one should conceive the Cascade
Range once to have been. Only it is now thoroughly dissected by
profound, ramifying valleys, and has been resolved into a sea of
wavelike crests and peaks.
Mount Rainier stands, in round numbers, 10,000 feet high above its
immediate base, and covers 100 square miles of territory, or one-third
of the area of Mount Rainier National Park. In shape it is not a
simple cone tapering to a slender, pointed summit like Fuji Yama, the
great volcano of Japan. It is, rather, a broadly truncated mass
resembling an enormous tree stump with spreading base and irregularly
broken top. Its life history has been a varied one. Like all
volcanoes, Rainier has built up its cone with the material ejected by
its own eruptions--with cinders and bombs (steam-shredded particles
and lumps of lava), and with occasional flows of liquid lava that have
solidified into layers of hard, basaltic rock. At one time it attained
an altitude of not less than 16,000 feet, if one may judge by the
steep inclination of the lava and cinder layers visible in its flanks.
Then a great explosion followed that destroyed the top part of the
mountain, and reduced its height by some 2,000 feet. The volcano was
left beheaded, and with a capacious hollow crater, surrounded by a
jagged rim.
Later on this great cavity, which measured nearly 3 miles across, from
south to north, was filled by two small cinder cones. Successive
feeble eruptions added to their height until at last they formed
together a low, rounded dome--the eminence that now constitutes the
mountain's summit. It rises only about 400 feet above the rim of the
old crater, and is an inconspicuous feature, not readily identifiable
from all sides as the highest point. In fact, so broad is the
mountain's crown that from no point at its base can one see the top.
The higher portions of the old crater rim, moreover, rise to
elevations within a few hundred feet of the summit, and, especially
when viewed from below, stand out boldly as separate peaks that mask
and seem to overshadow the central dome. Especially prominent are Peak
Success (14,150 feet) on the southwest side, and Liberty Cap (14,112
feet) on the northwest side.
The altitude of the main summit has for many years been in doubt.
Several figures have been announced from time to time, no two of them
in agreement with each other; but all of these, it is to be observed,
were obtained by more or less approximate methods. In 1913 the United
States Geological Survey, in connection with its topographic surveys
of the Mount Rainier National Park, was able to make a new series of
measurements by triangulation methods at close range. These give the
peak an elevation of 14,408 feet, thus placing it near the top of the
list of high summits of the United States. This last figure, it should
be added, is not likely to be in error by more than a foot or two and
may with some confidence be regarded as final. Greater exactness of
determination is scarcely practicable in the case of Mount Rainier, as
its highest summit consists actually of a mound of snow the height of
which naturally varies somewhat with the seasons and from year to
year.
This crowning snow mound, which was once supposed to be the highest
point in the United States, still bears the proud name of Columbia
Crest. It is essentially a huge snowdrift or snow dune, heaped up by
the westerly winds. Driving furiously up through the great breach in
the west flank of the mountain, between Peak Success and Liberty Cap,
they eddy lightly as they shoot over the summit and there deposit
their load of snow.
The drift is situated at the point where the rims of the two summit
craters touch, and represents the only permanent snow mass on these
rims, for some of the internal heat of the volcano still remains and
suffices to keep these rock-crowned curving ridges bare of snow the
better part of the year. It is intense enough, even, to produce
numerous steam jets along the inner face of the rim of the east
crater, which appears to be the most recently formed of the two. The
center of this depression, however, is filled with snow, so that it
has the appearance of a shallow, white-floored bowl some 1,200 feet in
diameter. Great caverns are melted out by the steam jets under the
edges of the snow mass, and these caverns afford shelters which,
though uninviting, are not to be despised. They have proved a
blessing to more than one party that has found itself compelled to
remain overnight on the summit, saving them from death in the icy
gales.
That Mount Rainier should still retain so much of its internal heat is
not surprising in view of the recency of its eruptions. It is known to
have been active at intervals during the last century, and actual
record exists of slight eruptions in 1843, 1854, 1858, and 1870.
Indian legends mention a great cataclysmal outburst at an earlier
period.
At present the volcano may be regarded as dormant and no apprehension
need be felt as to the possibility of an early renewal of its
activity. The steam jets in the summit crater, it is true, as well as
the hot springs at the mountain's foot (Longmire Springs), attest the
continued presence of subterranean fires, but they are only feeble
evidences as compared with the geysers, the steam jets, and the hot
springs of the Yellowstone National Park. Yet that region is not
considered any less safe to visit because of the presence of these
thermal phenomena.
In spite of Mount Rainier's continued activity until within the memory
of man its sides appear to have been snow clad for a considerable
length of time. Indeed, so intense and so long-continued has been the
eroding action of the ice that the cone is now deeply ice-scarred and
furrowed. Most of its outer layers, in fact, appear already to have
been stripped away. Here and there portions of them remain standing on
the mountain's flanks in the form of sharp-crested crags and ridges,
and from these one may roughly surmise the original dimensions of the
cone. Mere details in the volcano's sculpture, these residual masses
are, some of them, so tall that, were they standing among ordinary
mountains, they would be reckoned as great peaks. Particularly
noteworthy is Little Tahoma, a sharp, triangular tooth on the east
flank, that rises to an elevation of 11,117 feet. In its steep,
ice-carved walls one may trace ascending volcanic strata aggregating
2,000 feet in thickness that point upward to the place of their
origin, the former summit of the mountain, which rose almost half a
mile higher than the present top.
Nor is the great crater rim left by the explosion that carried off the
original summit preserved in its entirety. Peak Success and Liberty
Cap are the only two promontories that give trustworthy indication of
its former height and strength. Probably they represent the more
massive portions on the southwest and northwest sides, respectively,
while the weaker portions to the east and south have long since
crumbled away under the heavy ice cascades that have been overriding
them for ages. Only a few small rocky points remain upon which the
snows split in their descent. The most prominent, as well as the most
interesting, is the one on the southeast side, popularly known as
Gibraltar Rock. Really a narrow, wedge-shaped mass, it appears in
profile like a massive, square-cut promontory. The trail to the summit
of the mountain passes along its overhanging south face and then
ascends by a precipitous chute between ice and rock. It is this part
of the ascent that is reputed as the most precarious and hazardous.
From the rim points downward the ice cover of the cone divides into a
number of distinct stream-like tongues or glaciers, each sunk in a
great hollow pathway of its own. Between these ice-worn trenches the
uneroded portions of the cone stand out in high relief, forming as a
rule huge triangular "wedges," heading at the sharp rim points and
spreading thence downward to the mountain's base. There they assume
the aspect of more gently sloping, grassy table-lands, the charming
alpine meadows of which Paradise Park and Spray Park are the most
famous. Separating these upland parks are the profound ice-cut
canyons which, beyond the glacier ends, widen out into densely
forested valleys, each containing a swift-flowing river. No less than
a dozen of these ice-fed torrents radiate from the volcano in all
directions, while numerous lesser streams course from the snow fields
between the glaciers.
Thus the cone of Mount Rainier is seen to be dissected from its summit
to its foot. Sculptured by its own glacier mantle, its slopes have
become diversified with a fretwork of ridges, peaks, and canyons.
The first ice one meets on approaching the mountain from Longmire
Springs lies in the upper end of the Nisqually Valley. The wagon road,
which up to this point follows the west side of the valley, winding in
loops and curves along the heavily wooded mountain flank, here
ventures out upon the rough bowlder bed of the Nisqually River and
crosses the foaming torrent on a picturesque wooden bridge. A scant
thousand feet above this structure, blocking the valley to a height of
some 400 feet, looms a huge shapeless pile of what seems at first
sight only rock débris, gray and chocolate in color. It is the
dirt-stained end of one of the largest glaciers--the Nisqually. From a
yawning cave in its front issues the Nisqually stream, a river full
fledged from the start.
The altitude here, it should be noted, is a trifle under 4,000 feet
(elevation of bridge is 3,960 feet); hence the ice in view lies more
than 10,000 feet below the summit of the mountain, the place of its
origin. And in this statement is strikingly summed up the whole nature
and economy of a glacier such as the Nisqually.
A glacier is not a mere stationary blanket of snow and ice clinging
inert to the mountain flank. It is a slowly moving streamlike body
that descends by virtue of its own weight. The upper parts are
continually being replenished by fresh snowfalls, which at those high
altitudes do not entirely melt away in summer; while the lower end,
projecting as it does below the snow line, loses annually more by
melting than it receives by precipitation, and is maintained only by
the continued accession of masses from above. The rate at which the
ice advances has been determined by Prof. J. N. Le Conte, of the
University of California. In 1903 he placed a row of stakes across the
glacier, and with the aid of surveying instruments obtained accurate
measurements of the distances through which they moved from day to
day. He found that in summer, when the movement is greatest, it
averages 16 inches per day. This figure, however, applies only to the
central portion of the glacier--the main current, so to speak--for the
margins necessarily move more slowly, being retarded by friction
against the channel sides.
The snout of the Nisqually Glacier, accordingly, is really composed of
slowly advancing ice, but so rapid is the melting at this low altitude
that it effectually counterbalances the advance, and thus the ice
front remains essentially stationary and apparently fixed in place.
Actually, it is subject to slight back and forward movements,
amounting to a foot or more per day; for, as one may readily imagine,
fluctuations in snowfall and in temperature, above or below the
normal, are ever likely to throw the balance one way or another.
A glacier may also make periodic advances or retreats on a larger
scale in obedience to climatic changes extending over many years. Thus
all the glaciers on Mount Rainier, as well as many in other parts of
the world, are at present, and have been for some time, steadily
retreating as the result of milder climate or of a lessening in snow
supply. Only so recently as 1885 the Nisqually Glacier reached down to
the place now occupied by the bridge, and it is safe to say that at
that time no engineer would have had the daring to plan the road as it
is now laid. In the last 25 years, however, the Nisqually Glacier has
retreated fully 1,000 feet.
Evidences of similar wholesale recession are to be observed at the
ends of the other glaciers of Mount Rainier, but the measure of their
retreat is not recorded with the precision that was possible in the
case of the Nisqually Glacier. Eyewitnesses still live at Longmire
Springs who can testify to the former extension of the Nisqually
Glacier down to the site of the wagon bridge.
As one continues the ascent by the wagon road a partial view of the
glacier's lower course is obtained, and there is gained some idea of
its stream-like character. More satisfying are the views from Paradise
Park. Here several miles of the ice stream (its total length is nearly
5 miles) lie stretched out at one's feet, while looking up toward the
mountain one beholds the tributary ice fields and ice streams,
pouring, as it were, from above, from right and left, rent by
innumerable crevasses and resembling foaming cascades suddenly
crystallized in place. The turmoil of these upper branches may be too
confusing to be studied with profit, but the more placid lower course
presents a favorable field for observation, and a readily accessible
one at that.
A veritable frozen river it seems, flowing between smooth, parallel
banks, half a mile apart. Its surface, in contrast to the glistening
ice cascades above, has the prevailingly somber tint of old ice,
relieved here and there by bright patches of last winter's snow. These
lie for the most part in gaping fissures or crevasses that run athwart
the glacier at short intervals and divide its body into narrow slices.
In the upper course, where the glacier overrides obstacles in its bed,
the crevasses are particularly numerous and irregularly spaced,
sometimes occurring in two sets intersecting at right angles, and
producing square-cut prisms. Farther down the ice stream's current is
more sluggish and the crevasses heal up by degrees, providing a united
surface, over which one may travel freely.
Gradually, also, the glacier covers itself with débris. Angular rock
fragments, large and small, and quantities of dust, derived from the
rock walls bordering the ice stream higher up, litter its surface and
hide the color of the ice. At first only a narrow ridge of such
material--a moraine, as it is called--accompanies the ice river on
each side, resembling a sharp-crested embankment built by human hands
to restrain its floods; but toward the lower end of the glacier, as
the ice wastes away, the débris contained in it is released in masses,
and forms brown marginal bands, fringing the moraines. In fact, from
here on down it becomes difficult to tell where the ice of the glacier
ends at the sides and where the moraines begin.
The lower part of the glacier also possesses a peculiar feature in the
form of a débris ridge about midway on its back--a medial moraine.
Most of the way it stretches like a slender, dark ribbon, gradually
narrowing upstream. One may trace it with the eye up to its point of
origin, the junction of the two main branches of the glacier, at the
foot of a sharp rock spur on the mountain's flank.
In the last mile of the Nisqually's course, this medial moraine
develops from a mere dirt band to a conspicuous embankment, projecting
40 feet above the ice. Not the entire body of the ridge, however, is
made up of rock débris. The feature owes its elevation chiefly to the
protective influence of the débris layer on its surface, which is
thick enough to shield the ice beneath from the hot rays of the sun,
and greatly retards melting, while the adjoining unprotected ice
surfaces are rapidly reduced.
A short distance above the glacier's terminus the medial moraine and
the ever-broadening marginal bands come together. No more clear ice
remains exposed, irregular mounds and ridges of débris cover the
entire surface of the glacier, and the moraine-smothered mass assumes
the peculiar inchoate appearance that is so striking upon first view.
In utter contrast with the glacier's dying lower end are the bright
snow fields on the summit in which it commences its career. Hard by
the rock rim of the east summit crater the snows begin, enwrapping in
an even, immaculate layer the smooth sides of the cinder cone. Only a
few feet deep at first, they thicken downward by degrees, until, a
thousand feet below the crater, they possess sufficient depth and
weight to acquire movement. Occasional angular crevasses here
interrupt the slope and force the summit-bound traveler to make
wearying detours.
Looking down into a gash of this sort one beholds nothing but clean
snow, piled in many layers. Only a faint blue tinges the crevasse
walls, darkening but slowly with the depth, in contrast to the intense
indigo hue characteristic of the partings in the lower course of the
glacier. There the material is a dense ice, more or less crystalline
in texture; here it is scarcely more than snow, but slightly compacted
and loosely granular--what is generally designated by the Swiss term
"névé."
For several thousand feet down, as far as the 10,000-foot level, in
fact, does the snow retain this granular consistency. One reason for
the slowness with which it compacts is found in the low temperatures
that prevail at high altitudes and preclude any considerable melting.
The air itself seldom rises above the freezing point, even in the
middle of the day, and as a consequence the snow never becomes soft
and mushy, as it does at lower levels.
When snow assumes the mushy, "wet-sugar" state, it is melting
internally as well as at its outer surface, owing both to the water
that soaks into it and to the warming of the air inclosed within its
innumerable tiny pores (which tiny air spaces, by the way, give the
snow its brilliant whiteness). Snow in this condition has, paradoxical
though it may sound, a temperature a few tenths of a degree higher
than the melting point--a fact recently established by delicate
temperature measurements made on European glaciers. It is this
singular fact, no doubt, that explains how so many minute organisms
are able to flourish and propagate in summer on the lower portions of
many glaciers. It may be of interest to digress here briefly in order
to speak of these little known though common forms of life.
Several species of insects are among the regular inhabitants of
glaciers. Most of them belong to a very low order--the Springtails, or
_Thysanura_--and are so minute that in spite of their dark color they
escape the attention of most passers-by. If one looks closely,
however, they may readily be observed hopping about like miniature
fleas or wriggling deftly into the cavities of the snow. It seems to
incommode them but little if in their acrobatic jumps they
occasionally alight in a puddle or in a rill, for they are thickly
clad with furry scales that prevent them from getting wet--just as a
duck is kept dry by its greasy feathers.
Especially plentiful on the lower parts of the Rainier glaciers, and
more readily recognized, are slender dark-brown worms of the genus
_Mesenchytraeus_, about 1 inch in length. Millions and millions of
them may be seen on favorable days in July and August writhing on the
surface of the ice, evidently breeding there and feeding on organic
matter blown upon the glacier in the form of dust. So essential to
their existence is the chill of the ice that they enter several
inches, and sometimes many feet below the surface on days when the sun
is particularly hot, reappearing late in the afternoon.
Mention also deserves to be made of that microscopic plant
_Protococcus nivalis_, which is responsible for the mysterious pink or
light, rose-colored patches so often met with on glaciers--the "red
snow" of a former superstition. Each patch represents a colony or
culture comprising billions of individuals. It is probable that they
represent but a small fraction of the total microflora thriving on
the snow, the other species remaining invisible for lack of a
conspicuous color.
To return to the frigid upper névés, it is not to be supposed that
they suffer no loss whatever by melting. The heat radiated directly to
them by the sun is alone capable of doing considerable damage, even
while the air remains below the freezing point. At these high
altitudes the sun heat is astonishingly intense, as more than one
uninitiated mountain climber has learned to his sorrow by neglecting
to take the customary precaution of blacking his face before making
the ascent. In a few hours the skin is literally scorched and begins
to blister painfully.
At the foot of the mountain the sun heat is relatively feeble, for
much of it is absorbed by the dust and vapor in the lower layers of
the atmosphere, but on the summit, which projects 2 miles higher, the
air is thin and pure, and lets the rays pass through but little
diminished in strength.
The manner in which the sun affects the snow is peculiar and
distinctive. Instead of reducing the surface evenly, it melts out many
close-set cups and hollows, a foot or more in diameter and separated
by sharp spires and crests. No water is visible anywhere, either in
rills or in pools, evaporation keeping pace with the reduction. If the
sun's action is permitted to continue uninterrupted for many days, as
may happen in a hot, dry summer, these snow cups deepen by degrees,
until at length they assume the aspect of gigantic bee cells, several
feet in depth. Snow fields thus honeycombed may be met with on the
slopes above Gibraltar Rock. They are wearisome to traverse, for the
ridges and spines are fairly resistant, so that one must laboriously
clamber over them. Most exasperating, however, is the going after a
snowstorm has filled the honeycombs. Then the traveler, waist deep in
mealy snow, is left to flounder haphazard through a hidden labyrinth.
Of interest in this connection is the great snow cliff immediately
west of Gibraltar Rock. Viewed from the foot of that promontory, the
sky line of the snow castle fairly bristles with honeycomb spines;
while below, in the face of the snow cliff, dark, wavy lines, roughly
parallel to the upper surface, repeat its pattern in subdued form.
They represent the honeycombs of previous seasons, now buried under
many feet of snow, but still traceable by the dust that was imprisoned
with them.
The snow cliff west of Gibraltar Rock is of interest also for other
reasons. It is the end of a great snow cascade that descends from the
rim of the old crater. Several such cascades may be seen on the south
side of the mountain, separated by craggy remnants of the crater rim.
Above them the summit névés stretch in continuous fields, but from the
rim on down, the volcano's slopes are too precipitous to permit a
gradual descent, and the névés break into wild cascades and falls.
Fully two to three thousand feet they tumble, assembling again in
compact, sluggish ice fields on the gentler slopes below.
Of the three cascades that feed the Nisqually Glacier only the central
one, it is to be observed, forms a continuous connection between the
summit névés and the lower ice fields. The two others, viz. the one
next to Gibraltar and the westernmost of the three, terminate in
vertical cliffs, over great precipices of rock. From them snow masses
detach at intervals and produce thundering avalanches that bound far
out over the inclined ice fields below. Especially frequent are the
falls from the cliff near Gibraltar. They occur hourly at certain
times, but as a rule at periods of one or more days.
From the westernmost cascade avalanches are small and rare. Indeed, as
one watches them take place at long intervals throughout a summer one
can not but begin to doubt whether they are in themselves really
sufficient to feed and maintain so extensive an ice field as lies
stretched out under them. Surely much more snow must annually melt
away from the broad surface of that field, exposed as it lies to the
midday sun, than the insignificant avalanches can replace. Were they
its only source of supply, the ice field, one feels confident, would
soon cease to exist.
The fact is that the ice field in question is not dependent for its
support on the avalanches from above. It may receive some
contributions to its volume through them, but in reality it is an
independent ice body, nourished chiefly by direct snow precipitation
from the clouds. And this is true, in large measure, of all the ice
fields lying under the ice cascades. The Nisqually Glacier,
accordingly, is not to be regarded as composed merely of the cascading
névés, reunited and cemented together, but as taking a fresh start at
these lower levels. Improbable though this may seem at first, it is
nevertheless a fact that is readily explained.
The winter snows on Mount Rainier are heaviest in the vicinity of its
base; indeed, the snowfall at those low levels is several times
greater than that on the summit. This in itself may seem anomalous. So
accustomed is one to think that the snowfall on high mountains
increases with the altitude that it seems strange to find a case in
which the opposite is true. Yet Mount Rainier stands by no means alone
in this regard. The Sierra Nevada and the Andes, the Himalayas and the
Alps, all show closely analogous conditions.
In each of these lofty mountain regions the precipitation is known to
be heaviest at moderate altitudes, while higher up it decreases
markedly. The reason is that the storm clouds--the clouds that carry
most of the rain and snow--hang in a zone of only moderate elevation,
while higher up the atmosphere contains but little moisture and seldom
forms clouds of any great density.
In the Rainier region the height of the storm clouds is in large
measure regulated by the relief of the Cascade Range; for it is really
this cooling mountain barrier that compels the moisture-laden winds
from the Pacific Ocean to condense and to discharge. It follows that
the storm clouds are seldom much elevated above the sky line of the
Cascade Mountains; they cling, so to speak, to its crest and ridges,
while the cone of Mount Rainier towers high above them into serener
skies. Many a day may one look down from the summit, or even from a
halfway point, such as Camp Muir (10,062 feet), upon the upper surface
of the clouds. Like a layer of fleecy cotton they appear, smothering
the lower mountains and enveloping the volcano's base.
Clouds, it is true, are frequently seen gathering about the mountain's
crown, usually in the form of a circular cap or hood, precursor of a
general storm, but such clouds yield but very little snow.
No accurate measurements have been made of the snowfall at the
mountain's foot, but in the Nisqually Valley, at Longmire Springs, the
winter snows are known often to exceed 20 feet in depth. The summer
heat at this low level (2,762 feet) is, of course, abundantly able to
remove all of it, at least by the end of May. But higher up every
thousand feet of elevation suffices to prolong appreciably the life of
the snowy cover. In Paradise Park, for instance, at altitudes between
5,000 and 6,000 feet, huge snowdrifts encumber the flowering meadows
until far into July. Above an altitude of 6,000 feet permanent drifts
and snow fields survive in certain favored spots, while at the
7,000-foot level the snow line, properly speaking, is reached. Above
this line considerable snow remains regularly from one winter to the
next, and extensive ice fields and glaciers exist even without
protection from the sun.
It is between the 8,000 and 10,000 foot levels, however, that one
meets with the conditions most favorable for the development of
glaciers. Below this zone the summer heat largely offsets the heavy
precipitation, while above it the snowfall itself is relatively scant.
Within the belt the annual addition of snow to the ice fields is
greater than anywhere else on Mount Rainier. The result is manifest in
the arrangement and distribution of the glaciers on the cone. By far
the greater number originate in the vicinity of the 10,000-foot level,
while those ice streams which cascade from the summit, such as the
Nisqually, are in a sense reborn some 4,000 feet lower down.
A striking example of an ice body nourished wholly by the snows
falling on the lower slope of Mount Rainier is the Paradise Glacier.
In no wise connected with the summit névés, it makes its start at an
elevation of less than 9,000 feet. Situated on the spreading slope
between the diverging canyons of the Nisqually on the west and of the
Cowlitz on the northeast, it constitutes a typical "interglacier," as
intermediate ice bodies of this kind are termed.
Its appearance is that of a gently undulating ice field, crevassed
only toward its lower edge and remarkably clean throughout. No
débris-shedding cliffs rise anywhere along its borders, and this fact,
no doubt, largely explains its freedom from morainal accumulations.
The absence of cliffs also implies a lack of protecting shade.
Practically the entire expanse of the glacier lies exposed to the full
glare of the sun. As a consequence its losses by melting are very
heavy, and a single hot summer may visibly diminish the glacier's
bulk. Nevertheless it seems to hold its own as well as any other
glacier on Mount Rainier, and this ability to recuperate finds its
explanation in the exceeding abundance of fresh snows that replenish
it every winter.
The Paradise Glacier, however, is not the product wholly of direct
precipitation from the clouds. Much of its mass is supplied by the
wind, and accumulates in the lee of the high ridge to the west, over
which the route to Camp Muir and Gibraltar Rock is laid. The westerly
gales keep this ridge almost bare of snow, permitting only a few
drifts to lodge in sheltered depressions. But east of the ridge there
are great eddies in which the snow forms long, smooth slopes that
descend several hundred feet to the main body of the glacier. These
slopes are particularly inviting to tourists for the delightful
"glissades" which they afford. Sitting down on the hard snow at the
head of such a slope, one may indulge in an exhilarating glide of
amazing swiftness, landing at last safely on the level snows beneath.
The generally smooth and united surface of the Paradise Glacier, it
may be added, contributes not a little to its attractiveness as a
field for alpine sports. On it one may roam at will without
apprehension of lurking peril; indeed one can journey across its
entire width, from Paradise Park to the Cowlitz Rocks, without
encountering a single dangerous fissure. This general absence of
crevasses is accounted for largely by the evenness of the glacier's
bed and by its hollow shape, owing to which the snows on all sides
press inward and compact the mass in the center. Only toward its
frontal margin, where the glacier plunges over an abrupt rock step, as
well as in the hump of that part known as Stevens Glacier, is the ice
rent by long crevasses and broken into narrow blades. Here it may be
wise for the inexperienced not to venture without a competent guide,
for the footing is apt to be treacherous, and jumping over crevasses
or crossing them by frail snow bridges are feats never accomplished
without risk.
In the early part of summer the Paradise Glacier has the appearance of
a vast, unbroken snow field, blazing, immaculate, in the sun. But
later, as the fresh snows melt away from its surface, grayish patches
of old crystalline ice develop in places, more especially toward the
glacier's lower margin. Day by day these patches expand until, by the
end of August, most of the lower ice field has been stripped of its
brilliant mantle. Its countenance, once bright and serene, now assumes
a grim expression and becomes crisscrossed by a thousand seams, like
the visage of an aged man.
Over this roughened surface trickle countless tiny rills which,
uniting, form swift rivulets and torrents, indeed veritable river
systems on a miniature scale that testify with eloquence to the
rapidity with which the sun consumes the snow. Strangely capricious in
course are these streamlets, for, while in the main gravitating with
the glacier's slope, they are ever likely to be caught and deflected
by the numerous seams in the ice. These seams, it should be explained,
are lines of former crevasses that have healed again under pressure in
the course of the glacier's slow descent. As a rule they inclose a
small amount of dirt, and owing to its presence are particularly
vulnerable to erosion. Along them the streamlets rapidly intrench
themselves--perhaps by virtue of their warmth, what little there is of
it, as much as by actual abrasion--and hollow out channels of a
freakish sort, here straight and canal-like, there making sharp zigzag
turns; again broadening into profound, canoe-shaped pools, or emptying
into deeper trenches by little sparkling cataracts, or passing under
tiny bridges and tunnels--a veritable toy land carved in ice.
But unfortunately these pretty features are ephemeral, many of them
changing from day to day; for, evenings, as the lowering sun withdraws
its heat, the melting gradually comes to a halt, and the little
streams cease to flow. The soft babbling and gurgling and the often
exquisitely melodious tinkle of dripping water in hidden glacial wells
are hushed, and the silent frost proceeds to choke up passages and
channels, so that next day's waters have to seek new avenues.
In the region where the new crevasses open the surface drainage comes
abruptly to an end. Here gaping chutes of deepest azure entrap the
torrents and the waters rush with musical thunder to the interior of
the glacier and finally down to its bed.
At its lower border the Paradise Glacier splits into several lobes.
The westernmost sends forth the Paradise River, which, turning
southwestward, plunges over the Sluiskin Fall (named for the Klickitat
Indian who guided Van Trump and Hazard Stevens to the mountain in
1870, when they made the first successful ascent) and runs the length
of Paradise Valley. The middle lobe has become known as Stevens
Glacier (named for Hazard Stevens) and ends in Stevens Creek, a stream
which almost immediately drops over a precipice of some 600 feet--the
Fairy Falls--and winds southeastward through rugged Stevens Canyon.
The easternmost lobes, known collectively as Williwakas Glacier, send
forth two little cascades, which, uniting, form Williwakas Creek. This
stream is a tributary of the Cowlitz River, as is Stevens Creek.
Immediately adjoining the Paradise Glacier on the northeast, and not
separated from it by any definite barrier, lies the Cowlitz Glacier,
one of the stateliest ice streams of Mount Rainier. It flows in a
southeasterly direction, and burrows its nose deeply into the
forest-covered hills at the mountain's foot. Its upper course consists
of two parallel-flowing ice streams, intrenched in profound troughs,
which they have enlarged laterally until now only a narrow, ragged
crest of rock remains between them, resembling a partition a thousand
feet in height. At the upper end of this crest stands Gibraltar Rock.
At the point of confluence of the two branches there begins a long
medial moraine that stretches like a black tape the whole length of
the lower course. To judge by its position midway on the glacier's
back, the two tributaries must be very nearly equal in strength, yet,
when traced to their sources, they are found to originate in widely
different ways. The north branch, named Ingraham Glacier (after Maj.
E. S. Ingraham, one of Rainier's foremost pioneers), comes from the
névés on the summit; while the south branch heads in a pocket
immediately under Gibraltar. No snow comes to it from the summit;
hence we can not escape the conclusion that it receives through direct
precipitation and through wind drifting about as much snow as its
sister branch receives from the summit regions. Like the glacier
troughs below, the pocket appears to have widened laterally under the
influence of the ice, and is now separated from the Nisqually ice
fields to the west by only a narrow rock partition, the Cowlitz
Cleaver, as it is locally called. Up this narrow crest the route to
Gibraltar Rock ascends. The name "cleaver," it may be said in passing,
is most apt for the designation of a narrow rock crest of this sort,
and well deserves to be more generally used in the place of awkward
foreign terms, such as arrete and grat.
Both branches of the Cowlitz Glacier cascade steeply immediately above
their confluence, but the lower glacier has a gentle gradient and a
fairly uneventful course. Like the lower Nisqually, it is bordered by
long morainal ridges, and toward its end acquires broad marginal dirt
bands. For nearly a mile these continue, leaving a gradually narrowing
lane of clear ice between them. Then they coalesce and the whole ice
body becomes strewn with rock débris.
The Cowlitz Glacier, including its north branch, the Ingraham Glacier,
measures slightly over 6 miles in length. Throughout that distance the
ice stream lies sunk in a steep-walled canyon of its own carving.
Imposing cliffs of columnar basalt, ribbed as if draped in corduroy,
overlook its lower course. Slender waterfalls glide down their
precipitous fronts, like silver threads, guided by the basalt
flutings.
From the end of the glacier issues the Muddy Fork of the Cowlitz
River, which, joining the Ohanapecosh, forms the Cowlitz River proper,
one of the largest streams of the Cascade Range. For nearly a hundred
miles the Cowlitz River follows a southwesterly course, finally
emptying in the Columbia River a short distance below Portland,
Oregon.
The name Muddy Fork is a most apt one, for the stream leaves the
glacier heavily charged with débris and mud, and while it gradually
clears itself as it proceeds over its gravelly bed, it is still turbid
when it reaches the Ohanapecosh. That stream is relatively clear, for
it heads in a glacier of small extent and little eroding power, and
consequently begins its career with but a moderate load; furthermore
it receives on its long circuitous course a number of tributaries from
the Cascade Range, all of them containing clear water.
The name Muddy, however, might with equal appropriateness be given to
every one of the streams flowing from the ice fields of Mount Rainier.
So easily disintegrated are the volcanic materials of which that peak
is composed, that the glaciers are enabled to erode with great
rapidity, even in their present shrunken state. They consequently
deliver to the streams vast quantities of débris, much of it in the
form of cobbles and bowlders, but much of it also in the form of "rock
flour."
A considerable proportion of a glacier's erosional work is performed
by abrasion or grinding, its bed being scoured and grooved by the rock
blocks and smaller débris held by the passing ice. As a result glacier
streams ordinarily carry much finely comminuted rock, or rock flour,
and this, because of its fineness, remains long in suspension and
imparts to the water a distinctive color. In regions of light-colored
rocks the glacier streams have a characteristic milky hue, which, as
it fades out, passes over into a delicate turquoise tint. But the
lavas of Mount Rainier produce for the most part dark-hued flour, and
as a consequence the rivers coming from that peak are dyed a somber
chocolate brown.
A word may not be out of place here about the sharp daily fluctuations
of the ice-fed rivers of the Mount Rainier National Park, especially
in view of the difficulties these streams present to crossing. There
are fully a score of turbulent rivers radiating from the peak, and as
a consequence one can not journey far through the park without being
obliged to cross one of them. On all the permanent trails substantial
bridges obviate the difficulty, but in the less developed portions of
the park, fording is still the only method available. It is well to
bear in mind that these rivers, being nourished by melting snow,
differ greatly in habit from streams in countries where glaciers are
absent. Generally speaking, they are highest in summer and lowest in
winter; also, since their flow is intimately dependent upon the
quantity of snow being melted at a given time, it follows that in
summer when the sun reaches its greatest power they swell daily to a
prodigious volume, reaching a maximum in the afternoon, while during
the night and early morning hours they again ebb to a relatively
moderate size. In the forenoon of a warm summer day one may watch them
grow hourly in volume and in violence, until toward the middle of the
day they become raging torrents of liquid mud in which heavy cobbles
and even bowlders may be heard booming as they roll before the
current. It would be nothing short of folly to attempt to ford under
these conditions, whether on horseback or on foot. In the evening,
however, and still better, in the early morning, one may cross with
safety; the streams then have the appearance of mere mountain brooks
wandering harmlessly over broad bowlder beds.
High above the Ingraham Glacier towers that sharp, residual mass of
lava strata known as Little Tahoma (11,117 feet), the highest
outstanding eminence on the flank of Mount Rainier. It forms a
gigantic "wedge" that divides the Ingraham from the Emmons Glacier to
the north. So extensive is this wedge that it carries on its back
several large ice fields and interglaciers, some of which, lying far
from the beaten path of the tourist, are as yet unnamed. Separating
them from each other are various attenuated, pinnacled crests, all of
them subordinate to a main backbone that runs eastward some 6 miles
and terminates in the Cowlitz Chimneys (7,607 feet), a group of tall
rock towers that dominate the landscape on the east side of Mount
Rainier.
Most of the ice fields, naturally, lie on the shady north slope of the
main backbone; in fact, a series of them extends as far east as the
Cowlitz Chimneys. One of the lesser crests, however, that running
southeastward to the upland region known as Cowlitz Park, also gives
protection to an ice body of some magnitude, the Ohanapecosh Glacier.
Considerably broader than it is long in the direction of its flow,
this glacier lies on a high shelf a mile and a half across, whence it
cascades down into the head of a walled-in canyon. Formerly, no doubt,
it more than filled this canyon, but now it sends down only a shrunken
lobe. The stream that issues from it, the Ohanapecosh River, is really
the main prong and head of the Cowlitz River.
The largest and most elevated of the ice fields east of Little Tahoma
is known for its peculiar shape as Fryingpan Glacier. It covers fully
3 square miles of ground and constitutes the most extensive and most
beautiful interglacier on Mount Rainier. It originates in the hollow
east side of Little Tahoma itself and descends rapidly northward,
overlooking the great Emmons Glacier and finally reaching down almost
to its level. It is not a long time since the two ice bodies were
confluent.
The eastern portion of the Fryingpan Glacier drains northeastward and
sends forth several cascading torrents which, uniting with others
coming from the lesser ice fields to the east, form the Fryingpan
River, a brisk stream that joins White River several miles farther
north.
Below the Fryingpan Glacier there lies a region of charming
flower-dotted meadows named Summerland, a most attractive spot for
camping.
Cloaking almost the entire east side of Mount Rainier is the Emmons
Glacier, the most extensive ice stream on the peak (named after Samuel
F. Emmons, the geologist and mountaineer who was the second to conquer
the peak in 1870). About 5-1/2 miles long and 1-3/4 miles wide in its
upper half, it covers almost 8 square miles of territory. It makes a
continuous descent from the summit to the base, the rim of the old
crater having almost completely broken down under its heavy névé
cascades. But two small remnants of the rim still protrude through the
ice and divide it into three cascades. From each of these dark rock
islands trails a long medial moraine that extends in an
ever-broadening band down to the foot of the glacier.
Conspicuous lateral moraines accompany the ice stream on each side.
There are several parallel ridges of this sort, disposed in successive
tiers above each other on the valley sides. Most impressively do they
attest the extent of the Emmons Glacier's recent shrinking. The
youngest moraine, fresh looking as if deposited only yesterday, lies
but 50 feet above the glacier's surface and a scant 100 feet distant
from its edge; the older ridges, subdued in outline, and already
tinged with verdure, lie several hundred feet higher on the slope.
The Emmons Glacier, like the Nisqually and the Cowlitz, becomes
densely littered with morainal débris at its lower end, maintaining,
however, for a considerable distance a central lane of clear ice. The
stream which it sends forth, White River, is the largest of all the
ice-fed streams radiating from the peak. It flows northward and then
turns in a northwesterly direction, emptying finally in Puget Sound
at the city of Seattle.
On the northeast side of the mountain, descending from the same high
névés as the Emmons Glacier, is the Winthrop Glacier. Not until
halfway down, at an elevation of about 10,000 feet, does it detach
itself as a separate ice stream. The division takes place at the apex
of that great triangular interspace so aptly named "the Wedge." Upon
its sharp cliff edge, Steamboat Prow, the descending névés part, it
has been said, like swift-flowing waters upon the dividing bow of a
ship at anchor. The simile is an excellent one; even the long foam
crest, rising along the ship's side, is represented by a wave of ice.
Undoubtedly the Wedge formerly headed much higher up on the mountain's
flank. Perhaps it extended upward in the form of a long, attenuated
"cleaver." It is easy to see how the ice masses impinging upon it have
reduced it to successively lower levels. They are still unrelentingly
at work. It is on the back of the Wedge, it may be added here, that is
situated that small ice body which Maj. Ingraham named the
"Interglacier." That name has since been applied in a generic sense to
all similar ice bodies lying on the backs of "wedges."
Of greatest interest on the Winthrop Glacier are the ice cascades and
domes. Evidently the glacier's bed is a very uneven one, giving rise
to falls and pools, such as one observes in a turbulent trout stream.
The cascades explain themselves readily enough, but the domes require
a word of interpretation. They are underlain by rounded bosses of
especially resistant rock. Over these the ice is lifted, much as is
the water of a swift mountain torrent over submerged bowlders.
Immediately above each obstruction the ice appears compact and free
from crevasses, but as it reaches the top and begins to pour over it
breaks, and a network of intersecting cracks divides it into erect,
angular blocks and fantastic obelisks. Below each dome there is, as a
rule, a deep hollow partly inclosed by trailing ice ridges, analogous
to the whirling eddy that occurs normally below a bowlder in a brook.
Thus does a glacier simulate a stream of water even in its minor
details.
The domes of the Winthrop Glacier measure 50 to 60 feet in height. A
sample of the kind of obstruction that produces them appears, as if
specially provided to satisfy human curiosity, near the terminus of
the glacier. There one may see, close to the west wall of the
troughlike bed, a projecting rock mass, rounded and smoothly polished,
over which the glacier rode but a short time ago.
Another feature of interest sometimes met with on the Winthrop
Glacier, and for that matter also on the other ice streams of Mount
Rainier, are the "glacier tables." These consist of slabs of rock
mounted each on a pedestal of snow and producing the effect of huge
toadstools. The slabs are always of large size, while the pedestals
vary from a few inches to several feet in height.
The origin of the rocks may be traced to cliffs of incoherent volcanic
materials that disintegrate under the frequent alternations of frost
and thaw and send down periodic rock avalanches, the larger fragments
of which bound out far upon the glacier's surface.
The snow immediately under these large fragments is effectually
protected from the sun and does not melt, while the surrounding snow,
being unprotected, is constantly wasting away, often at the rate of
several inches per day. Thus in time each rock is left poised on a
column of its own conserving. There is, however, a limit to the height
which such a column can attain, for as soon as it begins to exceed a
certain height the protecting shadow of the capping stone no longer
reaches down to the base of the pedestal and the slanting rays of the
sun soon undermine it. More commonly, however, the south side of the
column becomes softened both by heat transmitted from the sun-warmed
south edge of the stone, as well as by heat reflected from the
surrounding glacier surface, and as a consequence the table begins to
tilt. On very hot days, in fact, the inclination of the table keeps
pace with the progress of the sun, much after the manner of a
sun-loving flower, the slant being to the southeast in the forenoon
and to the southwest in the afternoon. As the snow pillar increases in
height it becomes more and more exposed and the tilting is
accentuated, until at last the rock slides down.
In its new position the slab at once begins to generate a new
pedestal, from which in due time it again slides down, and so the
process may be repeated several times in the course of a single
summer, the rock shifting its location by successive slips an
appreciable distance across the glacier in a southerly direction.
As has been stated, the slabs on glacier tables are always of large
size. This is not a fortuitous circumstance; rocks under a certain
size, and especially fragments of little thickness, cannot produce
pedestals; in fact, far from conserving the snow under them, they
accelerate its melting and sink below the surface. This is especially
true of dark-colored rocks. Objects of dark color, as is well known to
physicists, have a faculty for absorbing heat, whereas light-colored
objects, especially white ones, reflect it best. Dark-colored
fragments of rock lying on a glacier, accordingly, warm rapidly at
their upper surface and, if thin, forthwith transmit their heat to the
snow under them, causing it to melt much faster than the surrounding
clean snow, which, because of its very whiteness, reflects a large
percentage of the heat it receives from the sun. As a consequence each
small rock fragment and even each separate dust particle on a glacier
melts out a tiny well of its own, as a rule not vertically downward
but at a slight inclination in the direction of the noonday sun. And
thus, in some localities, one may behold the apparently incongruous
spectacle of large and heavy rocks supported on snow pillars alongside
of little fragments that have sunk into the ice.
There is also a limit to the depth which the little wells may attain;
as they deepen, the rock fragment at the bottom receives the sun heat
each day for a progressively shorter period, until at last it receives
so little that its rate of sinking becomes less than that of the
melting glacier surface. Nevertheless it will be clear that the
presence of scattered rock débris on a glacier must greatly augment
the rate of melting, as it fairly honeycombs the ice and increases the
number of melting surfaces. Wherever the débris is dense, on the other
hand, and accumulates on the glacier in a heavy layer, its effect
becomes a protective one and surface melting is retarded instead of
accelerated. The dirt-covered lower ends of the glaciers of Mount
Rainier are thus to be regarded as in a measure preserved by the
débris that cloaks them; their life is greatly prolonged by the
unsightly garment.
In many ways the most interesting of all the ice streams on Mount
Rainier is the Carbon Glacier, the great ice river on the north side,
which flows between those two charming natural gardens, Moraine Park
and Spray Park. The third glacier in point of length, it heads,
curiously, not on the summit, but in a profound, walled-in
amphitheater, inset low into the mountain's flank. This amphitheater
is what is technically known as a glacial cirque, a horseshoe-shaped
basin elaborated by the ice from a deep gash that existed originally
in the volcano's side. It has the distinction of being the largest of
all the ice-sculptured cirques on Mount Rainier, and one of the
grandest in the world. It measures more than a mile and a half in
diameter, while its head wall towers a sheer 3,600 feet. So well
proportioned is the great hollow, however, and so simple are its
outlines that the eye finds difficulty in correctly estimating the
dimensions. Not until an avalanche breaks from the 300-foot névé cliff
above and hurls itself over the precipice with crashing thunder, does
one begin to realize the depth of the colossal recess. The falling
snow mass is several seconds in descending, and though weighing
hundreds of tons, seemingly floats down with the leisureliness of a
feather.
These avalanches were once believed to be the authors of the cirque.
They were thought to have worn back the head wall little by little,
even as a waterfall causes the cliff under it to recede. But the real
manner in which glacial cirques evolve is better understood to-day. It
is now known that cirques are produced primarily by the eroding action
of the ice masses embedded in them. Slowly creeping forward, these ice
masses, shod as they are with débris derived from the encircling
cliffs, scour and scoop out their hollow sites, and enlarge and deepen
them by degrees. Seconding this work is the rock-splitting action of
water freezing in the interstices of the rock walls. This process is
particularly effective in the great cleft at the glacier's head,
between ice and cliff. This abyss is periodically filled with fresh
snows, which freeze to the rock; then, as the glacier moves away, it
tears or plucks out the frost-split fragments from the wall. Thus the
latter is continually being undercut. The overhanging portions fall
down, as decomposition lessens their cohesion, and so the entire cliff
recedes.
A glacier, accordingly, may be said, literally, to gnaw headward into
the mountain. But, as it does so, it also attacks the cliffs that
flank it, and as a consequence, the depression in which it lies tends
to widen and to become semicircular in plan. In its greatest
perfection a glacial cirque is horseshoe-shaped in outline. The Carbon
Glacier's amphitheater, it will be noticed, consists really of two
twin cirques, separated by an angular buttress. But this projection,
which is the remnant of a formerly long spur dividing the original
cavity, is fast being eliminated by the undermining process, so that
in time the head wall will describe a smooth, uninterrupted horseshoe
curve.
In its headward growth the Carbon Glacier, as one may readily observe
on the map, has encroached considerably upon the summit platform of
the mountain, the massive northwest portion of the crater rim of which
Liberty Cap is the highest point. In so doing it has made great
inroads upon the névé fields that send down the avalanches, and has
reduced this source of supply. On the other hand, by deploying
laterally, the glacier has succeeded in capturing part of the névés
formerly tributary to the ice fields to the west, and has made good
some of the losses due to its headward cutting. But, after all, these
are events of relatively slight importance in the glacier's career;
for like the lower ice fields of the Nisqually, and like most glaciers
on the lower slopes of the mountain, the Carbon Glacier is not wholly
dependent upon the summit névés for its supply of ice. The avalanches,
imposing though they are, contribute but a minor portion of its total
bulk. Most of its mass is derived directly from the low hanging snow
clouds, or is blown into the cirque by eddying winds. How abundantly
capable these agents are to create large ice bodies at low altitudes
is convincingly demonstrated by the extensive névé fields immediately
west of the Carbon Glacier, for which the name Russell Glacier has
recently been proposed. It is to be noted, however, that these ice
fields lie spread out on shelves fairly exposed to sun and wind. How
much better adapted for the accumulation of snow is the Carbon
Glacier's amphitheater! Not only does it constitute an admirably
designed catchment basin for wind-blown snow, but an effective
conserver of the névés collecting in it. Opening to the north only,
its encircling cliffs thoroughly shield the contained ice mass from
the sun. By its very form, moreover, it tends to prolong the
glacier's life, for the latter lies compactly in the hollow with a
relatively small surface exposed to melting. The cirque, therefore, is
at once the product of the glacier and its generator and conserver.
Of the lower course of the Carbon Glacier little need here be said, as
it does not differ materially from the lower courses of the glaciers
already described. It may be mentioned, however, that toward its
terminus the glacier makes a steep descent and develops a series of
parallel medial moraines and that it reaches down to an elevation of
3,365 feet, almost 600 feet lower than any other ice stream on Mount
Rainier. A beautiful cave usually forms at the point of exit of the
Carbon River.
West of the profound canyon of the Carbon River, there rises a craggy
range which the Indians have named the Mother Mountains. From its
narrow backbone one looks down on either side into broadly open,
semicircular valley heads. Some drain northward to the Carbon River,
some southward to the Mowich River. Encircling them run attenuated
rock partitions, surmounted by low, angular peaks; while cutting
across their stairwise descending floors are precipitous steps of
rock, a hundred feet in height. On the treads lie scattered shallow
lakelets, strung together by little silvery brooks trickling in
capricious courses.
Most impressive is the basin that lies immediately under the west end
of the range. Smoothly rounded like a bowl, it holds in its center an
almost circular lake of vivid emerald hue--that mysterious body of
water known as Crater Lake. Let it be said at once that this
appellation is an unfortunate misnomer. The basin is not of volcanic
origin. It lies in lava and other volcanic rocks, to be sure, but
these are merely spreading layers of the cone of Mount Rainier. Ice is
the agent responsible for the carving of the hollow. It was once the
cradle of a glacier, and that ice mass, gnawing headward and deploying
even as the Carbon Glacier does to-day, enlarged its site into a
horseshoe basin, a typical glacial cirque. The lake in the center is a
strictly normal feature; many glacial cirques possess such bowls,
scooped out by the eroding ice masses from the weaker portions of the
rock floor; only it is seldom that such features acquire the symmetry
of form exhibited by Crater Lake. The lakelets observed in the
neighboring valley heads--all of which are abandoned cirques--are of
similar origin.
As for the skeleton character of the dividing crests, it will be
readily seen to be the outcome of the headward gnawing of opposing
cirques. In some places, even, the deploying process has attenuated
the ridges sufficiently to break them through. West of Crater Lake is
an instance of a crest that has thus been breached.
It is a significant fact that the empty cirques about the Mother
Mountains lie at elevations ranging between 4,500 and 6,000 feet; that
is, on an average 5,000 feet lower than the cirques on Mount Rainier
which now produce glaciers. Evidently the snow line in glacial times
lay at a much lower level than it does to-day, and the ice mantle of
Mount Rainier expanded not merely by the forward lengthening of its
ice tongues but by the birth of numerous new glaciers about the
mountain's foot. The large size of the empty cirques and canyons,
moreover, leads one to infer that many of these new glaciers far
exceeded in volume the ice streams descending the volcano's sides. The
latter, it is true, increased considerably in thickness during glacial
times, but not in proportion to the growth of the low-level glaciers.
Nor is this surprising in view of the heavy snow falls occurring on
the mountain's lower slopes. There is good reason to believe,
moreover, that the cool glacial climate resulted in a general lowering
of the zone of heaviest snowfall. It probably was depressed to levels
between 4,000 and 6,000 feet. Not only the cirque glaciers about the
Mother Mountains, but all the neighboring ice streams of the glacial
epoch originated within this zone, as is indicated by the altitudes of
the cirques throughout the adjoining portions of the Cascade Range. By
their confluence these ice bodies produced a great system of glaciers
that filled all the valleys of this mountain belt and even protruded
beyond its western front.
To these extensive valley glaciers the ice flows of Mount Rainier
stood in the relation of mere tributaries. They descended from regions
of rather scant snowfall, for the peak in those days of frigid climate
rose some 10,000 feet above the zone of heaviest snowfall, into
atmospheric strata of relative dryness. It may well be, indeed, that
it carried then but little more snow upon its summit than it does
to-day.
The North Mowich Glacier is the northernmost of the series of ice
bodies on the west flank of Mount Rainier. Like the Carbon Glacier, it
heads in a cirque at the base of the Liberty Cap massif, fed by direct
snow precipitation, by wind drifting, and by avalanches. The cirque is
small and shallow, not as capacious even as either of the twin
recesses in the Carbon Glacier's amphitheater. As a consequence the
ice stream issuing from it is of only moderate volume; nevertheless it
attains a length of 3-3/4 miles. This is due in part to the heavy
snows that reënforce it throughout its middle course and in part to
overflows from the ice fields bordering it on the south. These ice
fields, almost extensive enough to be considered a distinct glacier,
are separated from the North Mowich Glacier only by a row of
pinnacles, the remnants evidently of a narrow rock partition or
"cleaver," now demolished by the ice. The lowest and most prominent of
the rock spires bears the appropriate name of "The Needle" (7,587
feet).
The débris-covered lower end of the glacier splits into two short
lobes on a rounded boss in the middle of the channel. This boss, but a
short time ago, was overridden by the glacier and then undoubtedly
gave rise to an ice dome of the kind so numerous farther up on the
North Mowich Glacier and also characteristic of the Winthrop Glacier.
Separated from the ice fields of the North Mowich Glacier by a great
triangular ice field (named Edmunds Glacier) lies the South Mowich
Glacier, also a cirque-born ice stream, heading against the base of
the Liberty Cap massif. It is the shortest of the western glaciers,
measuring only a scant 3 miles. Aside from the snows accumulating in
its ill-shaped cirque it receives strong reënforcements from its
neighbor to the south--the Puyallup Glacier.
Toward its lower end it splits into two unequal lobes, the
southernmost of which is by far the longer. Sharp cut rock wedges
beyond its front show that when the glacier extended farther down it
split again and again.
The north lobe is of interest because the stream that cascades from
the Edmunds Glacier runs for a considerable distance under it. In the
near future the lobe is likely to recede sufficiently to enable the
torrent to pass unhindered by its front.
What especially distinguishes the Puyallup Glacier from its neighbors
to the north is the great elevation of its cirque. The Carbon, North
Mowich, and South Mowich Glaciers all head at levels of about 10,000
feet. The amphitheater of the Puyallup Glacier, on the contrary, opens
a full 2,000 feet higher up. Encircled by a great vertical wall that
cuts into the Liberty Cap platform from the south, it has evidently
developed through glacial sapping from a hollow of volcanic origin.
From this great reservoir the Puyallup Glacier descends by a rather
narrow chute. Then it expands again to a width of three-fourths of a
mile and sends a portion of its volume to the South Mowich Glacier. In
spite of this loss it continues to expand, reaching a maximum width
of a mile and a total length of 4 miles. No doubt this is accounted
for by the heavy snowfalls that replenish it throughout its course.
Its lower end consists of a tortuous ice lobe that describes a
beautiful curve, flanked on the north by a vertical lava cliff. A
lesser lobe splits off to the south on a wedge of rock.
Immediately south of the elevated amphitheater of the Puyallup Glacier
the crater rim of the volcano is breached for a distance of half a
mile. Through this gap tumbles a voluminous cascade from the névé
fields about the summit, and this cascade, reënforced by a flow from
the Puyallup cirque, forms the great Tahoma Glacier, the most
impressive ice stream on the southwest side. Separated from its
northern neighbor by a rock cleaver of remarkable length and
straightness, it flows in a direct course for a distance of 5 miles.
Its surface, more than a mile broad in places, is diversified by
countless ice falls and cataracts.
A mere row of isolated pinnacles indicates its eastern border, and
across the gaps in this row its névés coalesce with those of the South
Tahoma Glacier. Farther down the two ice streams abruptly part company
and flow in wide detours around a cliff-girt, castellated rock
mass--Glacier Island it has been named. The Tahoma Glacier, about a
mile above its terminus, spits upon a low, verdant wedge and sends a
lobe southward which skirts the walls of this island rock, and at its
base meets again the South Tahoma Glacier. From here on the two ice
streams merge and form a single densely débris-laden mass, so chaotic
in appearance that one would scarcely take it for a glacier. Numerous
rivulets course over its dark surface only to disappear in mysterious
holes and clefts. Profound, circular kettles filled with muddy water
often develop on it during the summer months, and after a brief
existence empty themselves again by subglacial passages or by a newly
formed crevasse. So abundant is the rock débris released by melting
that the wind at times whips it up into veritable dust storms.
Beautifully regular moraines accompany the ice mass on both sides,
giving clear evidence of its recent shrinking.
The partner of the Tahoma Glacier, known as the South Tahoma Glacier,
heads in a profound cirque sculptured in the flanks of the great
buttress that culminates in Peak Success (14,150 feet). It is
interesting chiefly as an example of a cirque-born glacier, nourished
almost exclusively by direct snowfalls from the clouds and by eddying
winds. In spite of its position, exposed to the midday sun, it attains
a length of nearly 4 miles, a fact which impressively attests the
ampleness of its ice supply.
In glacial times the glacier had a much greater volume and rose high
enough to override the south half of Glacier Island, as is clearly
shown by the glacial grooves and the scattered ice-worn bowlders on
that eminence. As the glacier shrank it continued for some time to
send a lobe through the gulch in the middle of the island. Even now a
portion of this lobe remains, but it no longer connects with the
Tahoma Glacier.
An excellent nearby view of the lower cascades of the South Tahoma
Glacier may be had from the ice-scarred rock platform west of Pyramid
Rock. From that point, as well as from the other heights of [Indian]
Henrys Hunting Ground, one may enjoy a panorama of ice and rock such
as is seen in only few places on this continent.
East of the South Tahoma Glacier, heading against a great cleaver that
descends from Peak Success, lies a triangular ice field, or
interglacier, named Pyramid Glacier. It covers a fairly smooth, gently
sloping platform underlain by a heavy lava bed, and breaking off at
its lower edge in precipitous, columnar cliffs. Into this platform a
profound but narrow box canyon has been incised by an ice stream
descending from the summit névés east of Peak Success. This is the
Kautz Glacier, an ice stream peculiar for its exceeding slenderness.
On the map it presents almost a worm-like appearance, heightened
perhaps by its strongly sinuous course. In spite of its meager width,
which averages about 1,000 feet, the ice stream attains a length of
almost 4 miles and descends to an altitude of 4,800 feet. This no
doubt is to be attributed in large measure to the protecting influence
of the box canyon.
It receives one tributary of importance, the Success Glacier, which
heads in a cirque against the flanks of Peak Success. This ice stream
supplies probably one-third of the total bulk of the Kautz Glacier, as
one may infer from the position of the medial moraine that develops at
the point of confluence. In the lower course of the glacier this
medial moraine grows in width and height until it assumes the
proportions of a massive ridge, occupying about one-third of the
breadth of the ice stream's surface.
A singularly fascinating spectacle is that which the moraine-covered
lower end of the glacier presents from the heights of Van Trump Park.
A full 1,000 feet down one looks upon the ice stream as it curves
around a sharp bend in its canyon.
A short distance below the glacier's terminus, the canyon contracts
abruptly to a gorge only 300 feet in width. So resistant is the
columnar basalt in this locality that the ice has been unable to hew
out a wider passage. Not its entire volume, however, was squeezed
through the narrow portal; there is abundant evidence showing that in
glacial times when the ice stream was more voluminous it overrode the
rock buttresses on the west side of the gorge.
The name of P. B. Van Trump, the hardy pioneer climber of Mount
Rainier, has been attached to the interglacier situated between the
Kautz and the Nisqually Glaciers. This ice body lies on the uneven
surface of an extensive wedge that tapers upward to a sharp point--one
of the remnants of the old crater rim. A number of small ice fields
are distributed on this wedge, each ensconced in a hollow inclosed
more or less completely by low ridges. By gradually deploying each of
these ice bodies has enlarged its site, and thus the dividing ridges
have been converted into slender rock walls or cleavers. In many
places they have even been completely consumed and the ice fields
coalesce. The Van Trump Glacier is the most extensive of these
composite ice fields. The rapid melting which it has suffered in the
last decades, however, has gone far toward dismembering it; already
several small ice strips are threatening to become separated from the
main body.
In glacial times the Van Trump Glacier sent forth at least six lobes,
most of which converged farther down in the narrow valleys traversing
the attractive alpine region now known as Van Trump Park. This upland
park owes its scenic charm largely to its manifold glacial features
and is diversified by cirques, canyons, lakelets, moraines, and
waterfalls.
In the foregoing descriptions the endeavor has been to make clear how
widely the glaciers of Mount Rainier differ in character, in
situation, and in size. They are not to be conceived as mere ice
tongues radiating down the slopes of the volcano from an ice cap on
its crown. There is no ice cap, properly speaking, and there has
perhaps never been one at any time in the mountain's history, not even
during the glacial epochs.
Several of the main ice streams head in the névés gathering about the
summit craters, but a larger number originate in profound
amphitheaters carved in the mountain's flanks, at levels fully 4,000
feet below the summit. In the general distribution of the glaciers the
low temperatures prevailing at high altitudes have, of course, been a
controlling factor; nevertheless in many instances their influence has
been outbalanced by topographic features favoring local snow
accumulation and by the heavy snowfalls occurring on the lower
slopes.
[Illustration: GEORGE OTIS SMITH.]
XV. THE ROCKS OF MOUNT RAINIER
BY GEORGE OTIS SMITH
Director George Otis Smith of the United States Geological
Survey was born at Hodgdon, Maine, on February 22, 1871. He
graduated from Colby College in 1893 and obtained his Doctor
of Philosophy degree from Johns Hopkins University in 1896.
He had begun his geological work in 1893 and from 1896 to
1907 he was assistant geologist and geologist of the United
States Geological Survey. Since 1907 he has been director of
that important branch of the Government work.
He had been studying the rocks of Mount Rainier before he
joined Professor Russell in the explorations of 1896. The
record of those studies was published at the same time as
Professor Russell's report in the Eighteenth Annual Report of
the United States Geological Survey for 1896-1897. With his
permission the record is here reproduced in full. So far as
is known to the present editor it is the most complete study
yet published on the rocks of Mount Rainier.
The earliest geological observations on the structure of Mount Rainier
were made in 1870 by S. F. Emmons, of the Geological Exploration of
the Fortieth Parallel. The rock specimens collected at this time were
studied later by Messrs. Hague and Iddings, of the United States
Geological Survey.[27] This petrographical study showed that "Mount
Rainier is formed almost wholly of hypersthene andesite, with
different conditions of groundmass and accompanied by hornblende and
olivine in places." The only other petrographical study of these
volcanics is that of Mr. K. Oebbeke, of Munich,[28] upon a small
collection made on Mount Rainier by Professor Zittel in 1883.
On the reconnaissance trips on the northern and eastern slopes of
Mount Rainier, during the seasons of 1895 and 1896, the writer had
opportunity to make some general observations on the rocks of this
mountain, and the petrographical material then collected has since
been studied. The observations and collections were of necessity
limited, both by the reconnaissance character of the examination and
by the mantle of snow and ice which covers so large a part of this
volcanic cone.
Two classes of rock are to be discussed as occurring on Mount Rainier:
the lavas and pyroclastics which compose the volcanic cone and the
granitic rocks forming the platform upon which the volcano was built
up.
VOLCANIC ROCKS
GEOLOGIC RELATIONS
On Crater Peak a dark line of rock appears above the snow, and here
the outer slope of the crater rim is found to be covered with blocks
of lava. A black, loose-textured andesite is most abundant, and from
its occurrence on the edge of this well-defined crater may be regarded
as representing the later eruptions of Rainier. Lower down on the
slopes of the mountain opportunities for the study of the structure of
the volcanic cone are found in the bold rock masses that mark the
apexes of the interglacial areas. Examples of these are Little Tahoma,
Gibraltar, Cathedral Rock, the Wedge, and the Guardian Rocks. These
remnants of the old surface of the cone, together with the cliffs that
bound the lower courses of the glaciers, exhibit the structural
relations very well.
Even when viewed from a distance these cliffs and peaks are seen to be
composed of bedded material. Projecting ledges interrupt the talus
slopes and express differences of hardness in the several beds, while
variations in color also indicate separate lava flows and agglomeratic
deposits. Gibraltar is thus seen to be composed of interbedded lavas
and pyroclastics, and on the Wedge a similar alternation is several
times repeated, a pink agglomerate being exceptionally striking in
appearance.
These lava flows and beds of volcanic ejectamenta thus exposed dip
away from the summit at a low angle. The steepest dip observed was in
the amphitheater at the head of Carbon Glacier, where in the dividing
spur the dip to the northeast is about 30°. Some exceptions in the
inclination of the beds were noted on the southeastern slope, where in
a few cases the layers are horizontal, or even dip toward the central
axis of the cone. In general, however, the volcanics composing Mount
Rainier may be said to dip away from the summit at an angle somewhat
lower than that of the slopes of the present cone. In the outlying
ridges to the north, the Mother Range, Crescent Mountain, and the
Sluiskin Mountains, the structure seems to be that of interbedded
volcanics approximately horizontal. The extent of the volcanics from
the center of eruption has not been determined. Similar lava extends
to the south, beyond the Tattoosh Range, and volcanics of similar
composition occur to the north, in the Tacoma quadrangle. The latter
lavas and tuffs may have originated from smaller and less important
cones, now destroyed by erosion.
A radial dike was observed at only one locality, near the base of
Little Tahoma. In several cases the lava masses, as seen in cross
section, are lens-shaped, and where associated with fragmental beds
have unconformable relations. This shows that some of the lava flows
took the form of streams, relatively narrow, rather than of broad
sheets. Such a feature is in accord with the distribution of rock
types. Thus along Ptarmigan Ridge for considerable vertical and
horizontal range the rock shows only slight variation. The
distribution of rock types will be more fully discussed in a later
paragraph.
Of how large a part of the lava flows the crater still remaining was
the point of origin is a question to be answered only after more
detailed observation has been made. The best section for the study of
the succession of flows and ejectamenta is the amphitheater at the
head of the Carbon Glacier. The 4,000 feet of rock in this bold wall
would afford an excellent opportunity for this were it not that
frequent avalanches preclude the possibility of geologic study except
at long range.
MEGASCOPIC CHARACTERS
The volcanic rocks of Rainier are of varying color and texture. Dense
black rocks with abundant phenocrysts of glassy feldspars, rough and
coarse lavas of different tints of pink, red, and purple, and compact
light-gray rocks are some of the types represented upon the slopes of
this volcanic cone. In color, the majority of the rocks may be grouped
together as light gray to dark gray. The black and red lavas are less
common. In texture, the Rainier lavas are, for the most part, compact.
Slaggy and scoriaceous phases are common, but probably represent only
a small part of the different flows. Near the Guardian Rocks large
masses of ropy lava are found which suggest ejected bombs.
Agglomeratic and tuffaceous rocks are of quite common occurrence,
although less important than the lavas. Vesicular lavas occur at
several localities, and fragments of a light-olive pumice, many as
large as a foot in diameter, wholly cover some of the long, gentle
slopes southeast of Little Tahoma and in Moraine Park.
Contraction parting or jointing is often observed, being especially
characteristic of the basaltic types. The platy parting is the more
common, but the columnar or prismatic parting is well exhibited at
several localities. The black basaltic lava east of Cowlitz Glacier
shows the latter structure in a striking manner. The blocks resemble
pigs of iron in size and shape, and where exposed in a vertical cliff
these seem to be piled in various positions.
The rocks on the higher slopes of Mount Rainier are in general very
fresh in appearance. An exception may be noted in the case of the
rocks at the base of Little Tahoma, where some alteration is evident.
The bright coloring of the surfaces of the lava blocks and the general
appearance of the face of the cliff may indicate fumarole action at
this point. There is also some decomposition along the inner edge of
the crater rim, near the steam vents. On the lower slopes, some
distance below the snow line, the freshness of the rock is not a
noticeable feature, and it is seen that here weathering is of the
nature of chemical decomposition as well as of mechanical
disintegration.
MICROSCOPIC CHARACTERS
Microscopically these lavas show more uniformity than is apparent
megascopically. Rocks which in color and texture appear quite diverse
are found to be mineralogical equivalents. The majority of these rocks
are andesites, the hypersthene-andesites predominating, as was shown
by Hague and Iddings; but over large areas the andesites are decidedly
basaltic, and, indeed, many of the lavas are basalts. The megascopic
differences are mostly referable to groundmass characters, the color
of the rock being dependent upon the color and proportion of glassy
base present. Therefore the degree of crystallization of groundmass
constituents is of more importance in determining the megascopic
appearance than is the mineralogical composition, and the basaltic
lavas are for the most part light gray in color, while the more acid
hypersthene-andesites are often black or red.
In petrographic character the lavas range from hypersthene-andesite to
basalt. This variation is dependent upon the ferromagnesian
silicates, and four rock types are represented--hypersthene-andesite,
pyroxene-andesite, augite-andesite, and basalt--any of which may carry
small amounts of hornblende. A rigid separation of these rock types,
however, is impossible, since insensible gradations connect the most
acid with the most basic. In the same flow hypersthene-andesite may
occur in one portion, while in close proximity the lava is an
augite-andesite.
These lavas have groundmass textures that vary from almost
holo-crystalline to glassy. The felted or hyalopilitic texture is the
most common, and plagioclase is the principal groundmass constituent.
The feldspars are lath-shaped, often with castellated terminations. In
the more basic phases anhedrons of augite and of olivine appear, and
magnetite grains are usually present. Flowage is often beautifully
expressed by the arrangement of the slender laths of feldspar.
Among the phenocrysts feldspar is the most prominent. It has the usual
twinning characteristic of plagioclase and belongs to the
andesine-labradorite series, extinction angles proving basic andesine
and acid labradorite to be the most common. Zonal structure is
characteristic, being noticeable even without the use of polarized
light. Zonal arrangement of glass inclusions testifies to the
vicissitudes of crystallization, and often the core of a feldspar
phenocryst is seen to have suffered corrosion by the magma and
subsequently to have been repaired with a zone of feldspar more acid
in composition.
Of the darker phenocrysts, the pyroxenes are more abundant than the
olivine or hornblende. Hypersthene and augite occur alone or together,
and are readily distinguished by their different crystallographic
habits as well as by their optical properties. The hypersthene is
usually more perfectly idiomorphic and occurs in long prisms, with the
pinacoidal planes best developed, while the augite is in stout
prisms, usually twinned. Both are light colored, and the pleochroism
of the hypersthene is sometimes quite faint. According to the relative
importance of these two pyroxenes, the lavas belong to different
types, hypersthene-andesite, pyroxene-andesite, or augite-andesite.
Olivine occurs in certain of the Rainier lavas, in stout prisms
somewhat rounded and often with reddened borders. The usual
association with apatite and magnetite crystals is noted. The olivine
varies much in relative abundance, so as to be considered now an
accessory and now an essential constituent, and in the latter case the
rock is a basalt.
Hornblende is not abundant in any of the rocks studied, although
typical hornblende-andesite has been described among the specimens
collected by Professor Zittel. Where it occurs it is in brown
crystals, which have usually suffered magmatic alteration. In one
case, where this alteration is less marked, the idiomorphic hornblende
is found to inclose a crystal of labradorite, and thus must have been
one of the latest phenocrysts to crystallize. It also surrounds
olivine in this same rock,[29] which is a hypersthene-andesite, the
hornblende and olivine being only accessory.
The different textures of these lavas are doubtless expressive
primarily of diversity in the physical conditions of consolidation,
but also in part of variations in chemical composition. The variations
in mineralogical composition are likewise referable to these two
factors, but here the latter is the more important. The
hypersthene-augite olivine variation, already referred to, doubtless
well expresses the chemical composition of the magma, and deserves to
be taken as the chief criterion in the classification of the lavas. As
was noted by Hague and Iddings, the hypersthene and olivine play a
like rôle, the former occurring when the silica percentage is somewhat
higher than in basalt. It is exceptional to find the two in the same
specimen, the one being absent whenever the other is present. The
following analysis[30] of the typical hypersthene-andesite from Crater
Peak shows the lava to be a comparatively acid andesite:
ANALYSIS OF HYPERSTHENE-ANDESITE FROM CRATER PEAK, MOUNT RAINIER
PER CENT.
SiO_{2} 61.62
Al_{2}O_{3} 16.86
FeO 6.61
CaO 6.57
MgO 2.17
Na_{2}O 3.93
K_{2}O 1.66
-----
99.42
An analysis[31] of one of the light-gray, olivine-bearing rocks on the
northern slope of the mountain gives a silica percentage of 54.86, and
is doubtless representative of the more basic of the Rainier lavas.
The sporadic occurrence of hornblende in these andesites is
principally the result of physical conditions rather than of chemical
composition. The magmatic alteration of the phenocrysts of hornblende
affords evidence of this variation in consolidation conditions, a
diminution of pressure with continuance of slow cooling giving rise to
the magmatic alteration of the hornblende. That this change took place
during the later stages of consolidation is shown by the relative age
of the hornblende, noted above, and also by the fact that in one case
a phenocryst of augite, where it abuts against the hornblende, has
protected the latter from this alteration. The alteration is in part
pseudomorphic, the hornblende retaining its characteristic outlines,
but often there has been resorption. In one andesite the abundance of
these remnants of hornblende and also of augite anhedrons in the
groundmass may justify the conclusion that this augite andesite is of
derivative origin, of the class described by Washington.[32] It may be
noted also that hypersthene shows a tendency to magmatic alteration,
although only rarely.
In a basal flow in Moraine Park, the slaggy and compact phases show
differences in phenocrysts as well as in groundmass. The glassy rock
has hypersthene as the predominant phenocryst, while feldspar is the
more important in the compact and more crystalline andesite.
The distribution of the rock types described above is of interest. On
the northern slope of the mountain, between Willis and Carbon
glaciers, the characteristic lava is a gray andesite, smooth to rough
in texture, and showing platy and columnar parting. Hypersthene is not
the prevailing pyroxene, and olivine is usually present, often in such
abundance as to make the rock a basalt.
In Moraine Park gray andesites also predominate, with both pyroxenes
as phenocrysts, but here hypersthene is the more important. On the
eastern slope on the Wedge, between Winthrop and Emmons glaciers, the
lavas are pyroxene-andesites and vary much in megascopic appearance,
although little in microscopic characters. These rocks are quite
distinct from any seen to the north. The nunatak in Emmons Glacier is
composed of hypersthene-andesite, but on Little Tahoma the lava shows
more variety. Both augite-andesite and hypersthene-andesite occur,
while at the southern end of this interglacial rock mass, just east of
Cowlitz Glacier, the cliffs are composed of the prismatic black
basalt. On Crater Peak, and below on Gibraltar, hypersthene andesite
occurs with considerable variation of color and texture. On the spurs
west of Nisqually Glacier the andesites contain both pyroxenes, the
augite being somewhat the more important.
The distribution of the volcanic rocks, as determined in the study of
reconnaissance collections, indicates that the cone has been built up
by eruptions of lava and of fragmental material. The successive lava
streams were doubtless of considerable thickness, but were limited in
lateral extent. The beds of fragmental material are of the nature of
flow breccias and of coarse agglomerates on the higher slopes, while
tuffs occur at a greater distance from the center of eruption. This
composite cone appears to be remarkably free from radial dikes, which
may indicate that the volcanic energy was expended chiefly at the
crater. The variation in rock types on different sides of the volcanic
cone may be evidence of changes in position of the center of eruption.
The destruction of an earlier crater and the eccentric position of a
later would give rise to such a radial distribution of lavas as has
been described above.
GRANITE
OCCURRENCE
The presence of an acid holocrystalline rock on the slopes of Mount
Rainier was first reported by Lieutenant Kautz in 1857, from whose
accounts Dr. George Gibbs was led to announce the occurrence of
granite as a dike in recent lavas.[33] Emmons in 1870 observed a cliff
of "beautiful white syenitic granite" rising above the foot of
Nisqually Glacier and correctly interpreted the geologic relations. In
1895, on a reconnaissance trip, the writer identified granite among
the bowlders composing the lateral moraines of Carbon Glacier, as
well as on the surface of the glacier itself, and in the following
season bowlders of granite were found to be plentiful in the river bed
at the foot of this glacier. This anomaly of granite bowlders coming
from a volcanic peak was also noted in the canyon of the Nisqually by
Emmons.
In the somewhat more careful study of the Mount Rainier rocks, search
was made and the granite was found in place at several points on the
northeastern slope. A biotite-hornblende-granite was observed on
Carbon River at the mouth of Canada Creek, about 12 miles from the
summit of Mount Rainier, and at Chenuis Falls, 2 miles up the river, a
finer grained holocrystalline rock occurs, apparently an aplitic phase
of the granite. In the lower portion of Carbon Glacier, near its
eastern edge, a nunatak of granite can be seen, while the same rock
occurs farther to the east, beyond the older of the lateral moraines.
Higher on the slopes of Rainier a more marked ridge of granite was
traced. A knob rises above the eastern moraine of Carbon Glacier at an
altitude of between 7,000 and 8,000 feet, and the more prominent
features to the east in Moraine Park also owe their survival to the
greater erosion-resisting power of the granite.
PETROGRAPHIC DESCRIPTION
These granites have few features worthy of special mention. Hornblende
and biotite are the ferromagnesian constituents and vary much in
relative importance. The variations from hornblende-granite to
biotite-granite occur in the same knob or ridge, and considering all
occurrences the two varieties seem to be of equal development. There
is also some variation in the amount of quartz present, and in the
relative importance of the orthoclase and plagioclase. All of these
characters are also found in the granites of the Northern Cascades.
RELATION TO THE VOLCANIC ROCKS
Along the side of the knob overlooking Carbon Glacier the granite as
seen from a distance appears to be intrusive. Blocks of andesite cover
the slope, deposited there by the glacier at a time when it possessed
greater lateral extent, and the granite talus from above crosses this
same slope in a narrow band. The relations prove less deceptive on
close examination, and the granite is seen to constitute an older
ridge. Farther along this ridge, at the cliffs on the north-eastern
edge of Moraine Park, the granitic rock is found over-lain by the
lava. The actual contact of the two rocks is concealed by soil filling
the crevice left by disintegration along the contact plane. The
granite, however, exhibits no intrusive characters, while the
overlying andesite becomes scoriaceous in its lower portion, although
compact immediately above. This contact is on the southern side of the
granite ridge, the crest of which is approximately east-west. This
position of the lava contact considerably below the highest occurrence
of the granite indicates that the topographic features of this old
granite ridge were even more marked at the time of the eruption of the
lavas and the building of the volcanic cone. Above this ridge of
granite on the one side tower the cliffs of bedded volcanics which
compose the Sluiskin Mountains, and on the other is the andesite ridge
bounding the canyon of Winthrop Glacier. Thus Mount Rainier, although
a volcanic peak, rests upon an elevated platform of granite which is
exposed by erosion at a few points on the slopes of the mountain.
SUMMARY
The volcanic rocks of Mount Rainier include both lavas and
pyroclastics. The breccias, agglomerates, and tuffs, although of
striking appearance, are, perhaps, less important elements in the
construction of the composite cone.
The lavas vary much in color and texture, but these megascopic
differences are referable rather to the degree of crystallization of
the magma than to its chemical character. The variation in the chemical
composition of the lavas expresses itself in mineralogical differences,
and thus four rock types are distinguished--hypersthene-andesite,
pyroxene-andesite, augite-andesite, and basalt. The distribution of
these types indicates a radial arrangement of lava streams, and
hypersthene-andesite is the more abundant variety of lava.
Granite is exposed on the slopes of Rainier where erosion has cut away
the overlying lava, and it is plain that the volcanic cone rests upon
an elevated platform of older rock, approximately 8,000 feet above sea
level.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Harris & Ewing, Washington, D. C._
PROFESSOR CHARLES VANCOUVER PIPER]
XVI. THE FLORA OF MOUNT RAINIER
BY PROFESSOR CHARLES V. PIPER
Charles Vancouver Piper was born on Vancouver Island, at
Victoria, British Columbia, on June 16, 1867. He graduated
from the University of Washington in 1885 and since then has
received degrees and honors from other institutions and
learned societies. He was professor of botany and zoölogy at
the Washington Agricultural College (now State College of
Washington) from 1892 to 1903. He has been agrostologist in
charge of forage crop investigations for the Bureau of Plant
Industry, United States Department of Agriculture, since
1903.
He has discovered many new forms of plant life and has
published many monographs and books in the field of botany.
This account of the flora of Mount Rainier was first
published in The Mazama (Portland, Oregon) in two articles,
one in Volume II, Number 2 (April, 1901), and the other in
Volume II, Number 4 (December, 1905). They are reproduced
with the consent of the editor of The Mazama, and Professor
Piper has revised and amplified them for this purpose.
Up to an elevation of 4,000 feet or more the flanks of Mount Rainier
are clothed in a continuous belt of somber forest, broken only where
glaciers and their nascent streams have hewn pathways, or where, alas,
fire has left desolate slopes marked here and there by the whitened,
weather-worn shaft of some old tree, a dreary monument to its
destroyed fellows. This forest is composed in its lower reaches
largely of Douglas spruce. Scattered through it in smaller quantities
one finds Lovely fir, Western white pine, Western hemlock, a few
Engelmann spruces, and on the stream banks cedar and yew, and now and
then a little cottonwood.
At about the 3,500-foot level the character of the forest changes. The
Western hemlock gives way to the larger-coned Black hemlock; the
Douglas spruce and Lovely fir are replaced by the Noble fir; and the
ragged-barked Alaska cedar greets the eye. Another thousand feet and
the Subalpine fir replaces its two near relatives. From this point
upward, the forest, now composed only of Black hemlock, Alaska cedar
and Subalpine fir, to which in some places the White-bark pine must be
added, is confined largely to the crests of ridges and straggles up
the mountain in irregular broken lines. Between these timbered ridges
extensive grassy slopes appear, veritable flower gardens when in their
glory.
At 6,500 feet elevation the timber ceases to be. Scraggly prostrate
firs and hemlocks, sprawling as it were on the earth for shelter, mark
sharply the limit of their endurance. Here, too, the continuous carpet
of grass and flowers ceases--and a soil of volcanic sand or powdered
pumice supports a very different vegetation. At 10,000 feet the
toughest mountaineer of all the flowering plants, _Smelowskia ovalis_,
still appears. Far above this, however, even to the crater's rim,
lichens trace their hieroglyphics on the rocks; and on the
steam-warmed rocks of the crater two mosses find lodgment, _Hypnum
elegans_ Hooker?, and _Philonotis fontana_ Bridel, the latter even in
fruit.
Few plants grow in the dense shades of the lower forests, and these
are mainly ericaceous. Most plentiful are _Vaccinium ovalifolium_, _V.
macrophyllum_, _Gaultheria ovatifolia_, _Menziesia ferruginea_,
_Pachystima myrsinites_, _Cornus canadensis_ and _Clintonia uniflora_.
Here, too, occur several weird-looking whitish or reddish saprophytes,
_Monotropa hypopitys_, _Pterospora andromedea_, and _Corallorhiza
mertensiana_.
On the drier portions of the grassy slopes _Lupinus subalpinus_,
_Castilleja oreopola_, _Potentilla flabellifolia_, _Pulsatilla
occidentalis_, _Erigeron salsuginosus_, _Polygonum bistortoides_,
_Phyllodoce empetriformis_, _Cassiope mertensiana_ and _Vaccinium
deliciosum_ are the most attractive plants. Where the ground is
springy _Veratrum viride_ occurs in great clumps and _Dodecatheon
jeffreyi_, _Caltha leptosepala_ and _Ranunculus suksdorfii_ are
plentiful.
In the shelter of the Alpine trees _Rhododendron albiflorum_, _Ribes
howellii_ and _Arnica latifolia_ flourish. Along the rills _Gentiana
calycosa_, _Arnica chamissonis_ and _Mimulus lewisii_ form banks of
color. On the cliffs _Chelone nemorosa_, _Spiraea densiflora_,
_Polemonium humile_ and _Castilleja rupicola_ are perhaps most
conspicuous.
Above the limit of trees, in what have been called "pumice fields," a
characteristic series of plants appears. This belt ranges in altitude
from 6,500 to 10,000 feet. It is best developed on the east side of
the mountain, where the avalanches from Little Tahoma have covered
great areas with more or less finely divided basalt. Conspicuous
plants of this region are _Lupinus lyallii_, _Spraguea multiceps_,
_Polemonium elegans_, _Hulsea nana_, _Erigeron aureus_, _Oreostemma
alpigena_, _Polygonum newberryi_, _Poa suksdorfii_, _Draba aureola_
and _Smelowskia ovalis_. The last three ascend to above Camp Muir,
altitude 10,000 feet.
The first botanist to visit Mount Rainier was Dr. William F. Tolmie,
surgeon of the Hudson's Bay Company, who reached the mountain in 1833.
He made considerable collections, which were sent to Sir William
Hooker. Among Tolmie's plants were several not previously known.
The writer collected on the mountain in 1888 and again in 1889 and
1895. Since then the following botanists have made collections on
Mount Rainier: Rev. E. C. Smith, in 1889 and 1890; Dr. E. L. Greene,
in 1889; Mr. J. B. Flett in 1895, 1896 and since; Mr. M. W. Gorman in
1897; and Mr. O. D. Allen from 1895 to about 1905.
Most of the work done thus far has been in Paradise Park and its
immediate vicinity. Next to this, the flora of Spray Park is best
known. The east slopes of the peak have been partially explored, but
to the knowledge of the writer no botanist has ever yet collected on
the west slopes.
The list of plants here given numbers 315 species. In preparing it,
Longmire Springs, altitude 2,850 feet, has been selected as the
lowermost limit on the south side of the mountain, and Crater Lake,
altitude about 3,500 feet, as the limit on the north side. It is quite
certain that a considerable number of lowland plants will have to be
added to the list here given, and it is possible that a few have been
included that will have to be dropped, as the exact place of
collection of some species is not clearly indicated on the labels of
the specimens. Unless otherwise stated, the notes are based on the
writer's observations and specimens, and refer mainly to the Paradise
Park region.
There yet remains much to be done in the study of the Mount Rainier
flora. A particularly interesting phase of it lies in the matter of
altitudinal distribution of the various species.
No attempt is here made to list the plants lower than the ferns. The
writer has made considerable collections of the fungi, liverworts and
mosses; and Mr. O. D. Allen has also collected the mosses. These
plants should receive a larger amount of attention from botanists who
visit the mountain in the future.
The following plants were first described from specimens obtained on
Mount Rainier:
=Petasites nivalis= Greene.
=Luina piperi= Robinson.
=Prenanthes stricta= Greene.
=Oreostemma alpigena= (Torrey & Gray) Greene.
=Aster amplifolius= Greene.
=Arnica aspera= Greene.
=Castilleja rupicola= Piper.
=Mimulus caespitosus= Greene.
=Veronica allenii= Greenman.
=Pedicularis ornithorhyncha= Bentham.
=Pedicularis contorta= Bentham.
=Pentstemon tolmiei= Hooker.
=Pentstemon newberryi rupicola= Piper.
=Gentiana calycosa= Grisebach.
=Gentiana calycosa stricta= Grisebach.
=Hydrophyllum congestum= Wiegand.
=Polemonium elegans= Greene.
=Polemonium bicolor= Greenman.
=Dodecatheon crenatum= Greene.
=Vaccinium deliciosum= Piper.
=Ligusticum purpureum= Coulter & Rose.
=Hesperogenia stricklandi= Coulter & Rose.
=Lupinus volcanicus= Greene.
=Stellaria washingtoniana= Robinson.
=Potentilla flabellifolia= Hooker.
=Luzula arcuata major= Hooker.
=Sitanion rigidum= J. G. Smith.
=Sitanion rubescens= Piper.
=Poa saxatilis= Scribner & Williams.
The type specimens of _Saxifraga tolmiei_ were collected by Tolmie on
the "N. W. Coast." It is altogether probable that he got them on Mount
Rainier, where the plant is so abundant.
LIST OF SPECIES
=COMPOSITAE.= (Aster Family.)
=Scorzonella borealis= (Bongard) Greene.
A plant much resembling a dandelion, occurring on the north side of
the mountain.
=Troximon alpestre= Gray.
A plant much resembling the dandelion, frequent on the grassy slopes
at 5,500 feet altitude.
=Troximon aurantiacum= Hooker.
This species has entire mostly basal leaves, and bears a single head
of orange or purple flowers. Common at 5,000 to 6,000 feet.
=Troximon glaucum asperum= (Rydberg) Piper. (_Agoseris leontodon
asperum_ Rydberg.)
A species with large lemon-yellow flowers and hoary pubescent leaves.
It occurs in the pumice and lava at 7,500 feet altitude and is quite
abundant near the base of Little Tahoma.
=Hieracium albiflorum= Hooker.
A tall plant with hairy entire leaves and a rather ample corymb of
white flowers. Essentially a lowland plant, but occurring up to 5,500
feet altitude, especially in burnt ground.
=Hieracium gracile= Hooker.
A small hawkweed with yellow flowers in black hairy involucres. A
common plant at 5,500 to 6,500 feet altitude.
=Cirsium edule= Nuttall.
Plentiful on the ridges of Moraine Park at the limit of trees. Also
reported by Gorman as occurring in open woods near the timber line in
Cowlitz canyon. This thistle is abundant at the sea level, and the
roots were formerly a favorite food of the Indians.
=Saussurea americana= D. C. Eaton.
A peculiar plant with leafy stems, two to four feet high, bearing a
dense cluster of elongate rayless heads of purple flowers. Found only
on the high ridge north of the foot of Cowlitz Glacier.
=Senecio ochraceus= Piper.
Goat Mountains, Allen, No. 230.
=Senecio triangularis= Hooker.
A tall species with triangular coarsely dentate leaves and numerous
rather small heads of yellow flowers. Abundant in the marsh at
Longmire Springs and in wet places on the mountain slopes up to 6,000
feet altitude.
=Senecio ductoris= Piper.
A low species with thickish crenate leaves and deep yellow heads.
Found only on the moraine on the south side of Cowlitz Glacier.
=Senecio flettii= Wiegand.
Found near Cowlitz Chimneys by Miss Winona Bailey, in 1915; previously
known only from the Olympic Mountains.
=Arnica latifolia= Bongard.
A smooth cordate leaved plant with one to five heads, resembling small
sunflowers. Not uncommon up to 6,000 feet altitude, especially in the
shelter of timber.
=Arnica mollis= Hooker.
Similar to the preceding, but the leaves oblong, nearly entire, and
viscid glandular. Abundant along the rivulets, 4,000 to 6,000 feet
altitude.
=Arnica aspera= Greene.
Described from specimens collected in Spray Park. It is very similar
to _A. mollis_ Hooker, but the pubescence is coarser.
=Arnica eradiata= (Gray) Heller.
Closely related to the preceding but easily recognized by its rayless
heads. It occurs on the steep slopes above Sluiskin Falls.
=Luina hypoleuca= Bentham.
A beautiful suffruticose plant, six to twelve inches high, with
entire oval leaves shining green above and white tomentose beneath. It
was originally discovered by Dr. Lyall, of the International Boundary
Survey, in the Cascade Mountains at the 49th parallel. It is not
uncommon about Mount Rainier, occurring on perpendicular cliffs along
the Cowlitz Glacier; in similar places on the banks of the Nisqually
at Longmire Springs; and on the gravel bars of the same river. The
flowers are cream-colored.
=Rainiera stricta= Greene.
(_Prenanthes stricta_ Greene.)
(_Luina piperi_ Robinson.)
(_Luina stricta_ Robinson.)
A tall plant with large oblong entire leaves and a long raceme of
yellowish, rayless heads. Professor Greene makes it the type of a new
genus _Rainiera_, while Dr. Robinson refers it to _Luina_. The plant
has been collected in Spray Park by Professor Greene; on the Goat
Mountains, Allen; near Mount Adams, Henderson; head of Naches River,
Vasey; and on the high ridge northeast of the foot of Cowlitz Glacier
by the writer. The statement that the plant has milky juice is an
error.
=Petasites speciosa= (Nuttall) Piper.
(_Nardosmia speciosa_ Nuttall.)
Abundant along streams up to 3,000 feet altitude. Easily recognized by
its large palmate leaves, which frequently measure a foot or more in
diameter. The flowers appear very early in spring with the leaves and
have an odor suggesting violets. This species is clearly distinct from
the Eastern _P. palmata_ (Aiton) Gray and was long ago well
characterized by Nuttall.
=Petasites frigida= (Linnaeus) Fries.
(_Petasites nivalis_ Greene).
Common along rivulets 4,000 to 5,000 feet altitude. Resembling the
preceding species, but much smaller and with quite different leaves.
=Achillea lanulosa= Nuttall.
An Alpine form of the common Western yarrow. Not rare in the decayed
lava at 6,000 to 7,000 feet altitude.
=Hulsea nana= Gray.
A sticky plant with pinnatifid leaves and large yellow heads.
Plentiful on the east side of the mountain near the base of Little
Tahoma in the pumice fields. This seems to be the northernmost limit
of the plant.
=Anaphalis margaritacea occidentalis= Greene.
The well-known "Everlasting Flower," which occurs in dry or burnt
woods up to 4,000 feet altitude.
=Antennaria media= Greene.
A small depressed cudweed, only an inch or two high. Common at 6,000
feet altitude.
=Antennaria lanata= (Hooker) Greene.
Like the preceding but larger and more hairy. Grassy slopes at 6,000
feet. Common.
=Antennaria racemosa= Hooker.
Collected by Allen in the "upper valley of the Nisqually." A much
larger and greener plant than the preceding species.
=Erigeron salsuginosus= (Richardson) Gray.
The common pink aster or "daisy" of the grassy slopes. One of the most
conspicuous plants at 4,000 to 6,000 feet altitude, but even ascending
to 7,000 feet in a much dwarfed form.
=Erigeron acris debilis= Gray.
An insignificant white-flowered species, rare at about 7,500 feet
altitude.
=Erigeron compositus trifidus= (Hooker) Gray.
A small pinkish aster, with the leaves cut into linear lobes. Growing
in decayed lava at 7,500 feet altitude.
=Erigeron speciosus= De Candolle.
A handsome species with entire ciliate leaves and rather numerous
heads, with deep violet rays. Collected by Allen in the Goat
Mountains, No. 222.
=Erigeron aureus= Greene.
(_Aplopappus brandegei_ Gray.)
A beautiful little aster with bright golden rays, the solitary heads
on scapes two or three inches tall. Abundant in the pumice,
7,500-8,000 feet altitude.
=Aster ledophyllus= Gray.
A tall species with leafy stems, and numerous middle-sized heads with
pink-purple rays. The leaves are entire, pubescent on the under side.
Not uncommon on the grassy slopes at 5,000 feet altitude.
=Aster foliaceus frondeus= Gray.
(_Aster amplifolius_ Greene.)
A species with broad half-clasping leaves and deep-violet-colored
rays. Professor Greene's type came from Mount Rainier, but his species
seems not to differ from the plant earlier described by Dr. Gray.
=Oreostemma alpigena= (Torrey & Gray) Greene.
(_Aster pulchellus_ D. C. Eaton.)
A low plant with narrow tufted leaves, the scapes bearing one or
rarely two large heads. The rays are deep violet. The plant is common
in the pumice fields at 7,000-8,000 feet altitude, but, strange to
say, also occurs on the borders of small lakes at the foot of Pinnacle
Peak at 4,500 feet elevation. In exposed places at high altitudes the
leaves are often curiously twisted. It was originally described from
the specimen collected on Mount Rainier by Tolmie.
=Solidago algida= Piper.
A small goldenrod, two to twelve inches tall, occurring ordinarily on
the faces of perpendicular cliffs at 5,000 to 6,000 feet elevation.
=Artemisia borealis wormskioldii= Besser.
A silky canescent wormwood about one foot high, its leaves pinnate;
found on the north side of the mountain by Flett.
=Artemisia richardsoniana= Besser.
In the Synoptical Flora, Vol. II, p. 371, this species is stated to
have been collected on Mount Rainier by Tolmie. On the sheet in the
Gray Herbarium Dr. Gray has indicated that this is an error, the
specimens having really been collected in the Rocky Mountains by
Burke.
=CAMPANULACEAE.= (Bellflower Family.)
=Campanula rotundifolia= Linnaeus.
This charming and familiar blue bell is abundant on the cliffs near
the foot of Cowlitz Glacier.
=VALERIANACEAE.= (Valerian Family.)
=Valeriana sitchensis= Bongard.
An abundant plant at 4,000 to 6,000 feet altitude. The leaves are
pinnately compound, the rather large leaflets repandly dentate. The
flowers are whitish, usually pink tinged. Like other species, this
valerian has a decidedly unpleasant odor, that is difficult to compare
with any other. To the writer the odor is always associated with
mountain meadows, doubtless because it so frequently predominates in
such places.
=RUBIACEAE.= (Madder Family.)
=Galium triflorum= Michaux.
A very common species of bedstraw which ascends on the lower slopes of
the mountain.
=Galium oreganum= Britton.
Goat Mountains, Allen, No. 296.
=SCROPHULARIACEAE.= (Figwort Family.)
=Chelone nemorosa= Douglas.
A handsome plant with opposite serrate leaves and corymbs of
purple-red flowers somewhat like those of the foxglove. Dry cliffs and
slopes at 5,000 feet altitude. Also reported by Gorman as occurring at
Longmire Springs.
=Pentstemon confertus= Douglas.
A species with entire leaves and dense clusters of small pale yellow
flowers. In its typical form the species is one to two feet tall, but
on Mount Rainier, where it occurs at from 7,000 to 8,000 feet
elevation, it is reduced to two to four inches high, but otherwise not
differing from the type.
=Pentstemon procerus= Douglas.
Like the above, but blue flowered. It occurs at 8,000 feet and on
Rainier is scarcely two inches tall, while at lower altitudes it is
frequently as many feet high. This dwarf Alpine form has been
described by Professor Greene as a new species under the name of
_Pentstemon pulchellus_. It is an interesting fact that Tolmie long
ago collected on Mount Rainier a dwarf species which Hooker named
_Pentstemon tolmiei_. But alas, the specimens are in fruit, and it is
past finding out now whether his plant was the yellow-flowered or the
blue-flowered form. Most likely, however, it was the latter, as that
is far more frequent than the yellow-flowered form.
=Pentstemon diffusus= Douglas.
A handsome species with serrate leaves and blue-purple flowers. Mount
Rainier, Piper 2068. Goat Mountains, Allen 129.
=Pentstemon ovatus= Douglas.
Much like the preceding plant, differing essentially in the anthers.
Collected by Allen "mountains near the upper valley of the Nisqually,"
and by the writer on the slopes of Mount Rainier.
=Pentstemon menziesii= Hooker.
A dwarf prostrate plant with thickish evergreen toothed leaves and
dull purple flowers, abundant on the rocks at 8,000 feet elevation. A
variety with the leaves entire instead of denticulate, _P. davidsonii_
Greene, also occurs on the mountain.
=Pentstemon rupicola= (Piper) Howell.
Much like the preceding, but with glaucous leaves and rose-colored
larger flowers. The writer found it originally on the perpendicular
cliffs, at the limit of trees above "Camp of the Clouds."
=Collinsia tenella= (Pursh) Piper.
Collected by Flett on an old moraine along the Carbon Glacier.
=Mimulus lewisii= Pursh.
Abundant along rills, 4,000 to 5,000 feet altitude. Easily known by
its opposite dentate leaves, viscid pubescence and rose-purple
corollas. The original specimens were collected in Idaho by the Lewis
and Clark expedition.
=Mimulus breweri= (Greene) Rydberg.
(_Eunanus breweri_ Greene.)
A minute species with pale purple flowers, abundant on dry cliffs near
"Camp of the Clouds."
=Mimulus alpinus= (Gray) Piper.
(_M. luteus alpinus_ Gray.)
(_M. scouleri caespitosus_ Greene.)
A dwarf plant with matted stolons, the bright yellow flowers painting
the cliffs wherever there is dripping water. The Mount Rainier plants
match closely the original types collected by Dr. Parry in Wyoming, so
that Professor Greene's name is clearly a synonym of the earlier one
of Gray.
=Veronica alpina= Linnaeus.
A small plant two or three inches high, with several pairs of small,
ovate, pubescent leaves, and a terminal raceme of small blue flowers.
Common at 4,500 to 5,500 feet altitude.
=Veronica cusickii= Gray.
A very similar plant to the above, but with larger blue flowers and
smooth leaves. Abundant just above "Camp of the Clouds."
=Veronica allenii= Greenman.
Much like the preceding species, but with smaller white flowers. A new
species discovered by Allen "near Paradise River at 5,400 feet
elevation."
=Castilleja miniata= Douglas.
This vivid scarlet "Painted Cup" or "Indian Pink" is easily known by
its entire leaves. Not infrequent at 5,000 to 6,000 feet; also
occurring at lower altitudes down to sea-level.
=Castilleja angustifolia hispida= (Bentham) Fernald.
Very similar to the last, but the flower spikes shorter and the leaves
cut-lobed. Bear Prairie, Allen.
=Castilleja rupicola= Piper.
Like the last, but smaller, the leaves usually purplish and deeply
cut, the flowers intensely scarlet and with very long beaks. On the
cliffs on both sides of Sluiskin Falls, whence the original specimens
were obtained.
=Castilleja oreopola= Greenman.
The common species of the grassy slopes, the flowers reddish-purple or
occasionally white.
=Pedicularis bracteosa= Bentham.
A tall "lousewort," with fern-like leaves and a long terminal spike of
greenish-white flowers. Frequent in wet places up to 5,500 feet
altitude.
=Pedicularis contorta= Douglas.
A yellow-flowered species not rare at 7,000 feet elevation along the
Nisqually Glacier. First found by Tolmie on Mount Rainier.
=Pedicularis surrecta= Bentham.
The reddish flowers with long, coiled beaks easily distinguish this
plant. Common in wet meadows at 4,000 feet altitude.
=Pedicularis ornithorhyncha= Bentham.
Much like the preceding but with beakless flowers. Originally
described from Mount Rainier specimens collected by Tolmie in 1833,
and not again seen until the writer collected them in the same place
in 1888. The plant has since been found at two or three places north
of Mount Rainier, but all in Washington.
=Pedicularis racemosa= Douglas.
The commonest species, easily known by its half prostrate habit,
lanceolate leaves, and short clusters of white or pinkish twisted
flowers. Ranges from 3,000 to 5,000 feet elevation.
=PINGUICULACEAE.= (Butterwort Family.)
=Pinguicula vulgaris= Linnaeus.
The butterwort, with its greasy entire leaves in a rosette and
solitary violet flowers is not rare on moist cliffs.
=LABIATAE.= (Mint Family.)
=Madronella discolor= Greene.
A very sweet-smelling plant, the only mint as yet found on the
mountain. Occurs on the talus of the high cliffs on the north side of
Cowlitz Glacier.
=BORAGINACEAE.= (Borage Family.)
=Mertensia laevigata= Piper.
A handsome branched herb, two feet high or more. The large entire
leaves and the cluster of small blue tubular flowers make it readily
recognizable. Frequent at 4,000 to 5,000 feet altitude.
=Cryptantha muriculata= (A. De Candolle) Greene.
Goat Mountains, Flett; a small common lowland plant with white
flowers.
=HYDROPHYLLACEAE.= (Waterleaf Family.)
=Hydrophyllum albifrons= Heller.
(_Hydrophyllum congestum_ Wiegand.)
On the meadows near Van Trump Glacier.
=Romanzoffia sitchensis= Bongard.
A handsome little plant with orbicular coarsely dentate leaves and a
loose cluster of small white flowers. In habit much like some
saxifrages. Rare on wet cliffs near Sluiskin Falls.
=Phacelia nemoralis= Greene.
This plant occurs on rock talus along the north side of Cowlitz
Glacier.
=Phacelia sericea= Gray.
A handsome species with silvery leaves and dense clusters of purple
flowers. Collected somewhere on the mountain by Rev. E. C. Smith in
1890.
=POLEMONIACEAE.= (Phlox Family.)
=Phlox diffusa= Bentham.
A prostrate plant with acerose leaves, when in bloom forming dense
masses of pale blue. Common at 5,500 to 6,500 feet altitude, in rocky
soil.
=Gilia gracilis= (Douglas) Hooker.
Growing on an old moraine along Carbon Glacier, Flett.
=Gilia nuttallii= Gray.
A white-flowered species found by Rev. E. C. Smith in 1890 somewhere
on the southwest slopes of the mountain.
=Collomia debilis= (Watson) Greene.
Not rare in talus at the base of basalt cliffs on the east side of the
mountain at 7,000 feet altitude.
=Collomia heterophylla= Hooker.
Found by Mr. Gorman on the gravelly banks of the Nisqually at Longmire
Springs; also by Flett; a common lowland plant.
=Polemonium humile= Roemer & Schultes.
A handsome plant with pinnate leaves and corymbs of pale blue flowers.
Common on the rocks at 5,000 to 6,000 feet altitude.
=Polemonium elegans= Greene.
(_P. bicolor_ Greenman.)
Similar to the preceding, but smaller and very glandular, the blue
flowers having a large yellow center. Rather rare in pumice at 7,500
feet elevation.
=Polemonium viscosum pilosum= Greenman.
Very much like the preceding plant. Discovered by Allen on the Goat
Mountains, No. 261.
=GENTIANACEAE.= (Gentian Family.)
=Gentiana calycosa= Grisebach.
An elegant plant with deep blue bell-shaped flowers. Abundant along
the rills at 5,000 feet. The species was described from Mount Rainier
specimens collected by Tolmie in 1833. Grisebach also described a
variety _stricta_, based on very trivial characters.
=PRIMULACEAE.= (Primrose Family.)
=Dodecatheon jeffreyi= Van Houtte.
(_D. crenatum_ Greene.)
(_D. viviparum_ Greene.)
Plentiful in wet places at 4,500 to 5,500 feet elevation. Professor
Greene's types came from Spray Park.
=Douglasia laevigata= Gray.
A handsome little plant forming broad mats and bearing blood-red
flowers in corymbs. Goat Mountains, Allen.
=Trientalis latifolia= Hooker.
Gorman reports this plant as occurring in coniferous woods between
Longmire Springs and Paradise Park.
=PYROLACEAE.= (Indian Pipe Family.)
=Chimaphila umbellata= (Linnaeus) Nuttall.
Reported by Gorman "on the trail above Longmire Springs, in coniferous
woods."
=Chimaphila menziesii= (R. Brown) Sprengel.
In deep coniferous woods, 2,000 to 4,000 feet elevation.
=Pyrola secunda= Linnaeus.
Growing with the preceding.
=Pyrola bracteata= Hooker.
Reported by Gorman "in coniferous woods along the Nisqually River at
2,850 feet."
=Moneses uniflora= (Linnaeus) Gray.
In woods near the base of the mountain.
=Monotropa hypopitys= Linnaeus.
Common in the dense shade of conifers along the trail above
Longmire's.
=Pterospora andromedea= Nuttall.
This peculiar plant occurs along the Nisqually trail at about 3,000
feet altitude.
=Allotropa virgata= Torrey & Gray.
This queer plant is abundant in coniferous woods on the north side of
the mountain, but it is doubtful whether it comes within our limits.
=ERICACEAE.= (Heath Family.)
=Menziesia glabella= Gray.
A shrub four to eight feet high, much resembling a huckleberry, but
the fruit is dry.
=Kalmia polifolia microphylla= (Hooker) Piper.
In wet places at 7,000 feet altitude near Nisqually Glacier.
=Phyllodoce empetriformis= (Smith) D. Don.
The common red-flowered heather, abundant on dryish slopes at 5,000 to
6,000 feet elevation.
=Phyllodoce glanduliflora= (Hooker) Coville.
Much like the preceding, but the flowers yellowish-white and
glandular. Frequent at 6,500 to 7,500 feet elevation.
=Cassiope mertensiana= (Bongard) Donn.
A low shrub growing with _Phyllodoce empetriformis_, and having small
pendent, bell-shaped white flowers.
=Harrimanella stelleriana= (Pallas) Coville.
On the moist cliffs overlooking the Nisqually Glacier, at 5,500 feet
elevation. This is the southernmost known station for the plant.
=Gaultheria shallon= Pursh.
The salal-berry is reported by Gorman to occur in coniferous woods
between Longmire Springs and Paradise Park.
=Gaultheria ovatifolia= Gray.
This species resembles a diminutive plant of the preceding, but the
berries are red and spicy, and borne singly in the axils of the
leaves. Abundant in the coniferous woods at 3,000 to 3,500 feet
elevation.
=Gaultheria humifusa= (Graham) Rydberg.
Much like a small plant of the preceding species, and only an inch or
two high. Not rare on the slopes near Sluiskin Falls.
=Rhododendron albiflorum= Hooker.
(_Cladothamnus campanulatus_ Greene).
The white-flowered azalea so common in the shelter of trees at 5,000
to 5,500 feet elevation.
=Arctostaphylos uva-ursi= Linnaeus.
The kinnikinnik, essentially a lowland plant, covers the rocks at
8,000 feet altitude near Nisqually Glacier.
=Arctostaphylos nevadensis= Gray.
On the gravel bars of the Nisqually at Longmire Springs.
=Vaccinium macrophyllum= (Hooker) Piper.
The most valuable of all the native huckleberries. Easily recognized
by the nearly black, not glaucous berries, and finely serrate leaves.
Plentiful at 3,000 to 4,000 feet altitude.
=Vaccinium ovalifolium= Smith.
Much like the preceding, but taller, the leaves entire, and the
glaucous black berries not nearly so sweet.
=Vaccinium myrtillus microphyllum= Hooker.
(_V. scoparium_ Leiberg.)
A low, broom-like species, with small leaves and red or wine-colored
berries. On dry ridges, 4,000 to 5,000 feet altitude.
=Vaccinium deliciosum= Piper.
This is the common bilberry of the alpine meadows of the Cascade and
Olympic Mountains in Washington, where it is abundant at 4,500 to
5,500 feet altitude. In habit and fruit it resembles _V. caespitosum_,
but in floral characters _V. ovalifolium_, to which Dr. Gray rather
hesitatingly referred it. From this last it may readily be
distinguished by its serrulate leaves and low habit, its relatively
longer filaments, which in _V. ovalifolium_ are only one half as long
as the anthers, and its small-seeded fruit of very different flavor.
Very young leaves have the serrulations tipped with small glandular
appendages.
=UMBELLIFERAE.= (Parsley Family.)
=Ligusticum purpureum= Coulter & Rose.
A tall "wild parsnip," with fern-like leaves and small whitish or
purple-tinged flowers. Everywhere on the slopes, 4,000 to 6,000 feet
elevation.
=Lomatium angustatum= Coulter & Rose.
In rock talus near Sluiskin Falls.
=Lomatium triternatum= Coulter & Rose.
A form of this variable species was found on the Goat Mountains by
Allen, No. 257.
=Angelica lyallii= Watson.
Paradise Park, 5,000 feet elevation. Also common near the foot of
Cowlitz Glacier.
=Sanicula septentrionalis= Greene.
Goat Mountains, Allen, No. 254.
=Osmorhiza ambigua= (Gray) Coulter & Rose.
Goat Mountains, Allen, No. 256.
=Heracleum lanatum= Michaux.
Common at 4,000 feet elevation.
=Hesperogenia stricklandi= Coulter & Rose.
An interesting plant, the type of a new genus, found in Paradise Park
by Allen and by Strickland. Also collected on the mountain by Flett.
Occurs at 6,500 feet elevation.
=HALORAGIDACEAE.= (Water Milfoil Family.)
=Hippuris vulgaris= Linnaeus.
Found by Allen at Longmire Springs.
=Hippuris montana= Ledebour.
An interesting little species much resembling some mosses. It
frequently mats the ground in wet places at 4,500 feet elevation.
=ONAGRACEAE.= (Evening Primrose Family.)
=Epilobium spicatum= Lamarck.
The common "fireweed," reported by Gorman on the "grassy slopes, 5,000
to 6,000 feet altitude."
=Epilobium latifolium= Linnaeus.
A species with flowers like the preceding, but only four to six inches
tall. Found by Rev. E. C. Smith near the Cowlitz Glacier.
=Epilobium luteum= Pursh.
A yellow-flowered species common along streams, 3,000 to 5,000 feet
elevation.
=Epilobium alpinum= Linnaeus.
(_E. hornemanni_ Reichenbach.)
Common at 4,000 to 6,000 feet altitude.
=Epilobium anagallidifolium= Lamarck.
A minute species found on the Tatoosh Mountains by Allen.
=Epilobium clavatum= Trelease.
Gravelly slopes at 5,000 feet. Plentiful along the Cowlitz Glacier.
=Epilobium fastigiatum= (Nuttall) Piper.
A glaucous-leaved small species, on the gravel bars of the Nisqually,
and up to 4,500 feet elevation.
=Gayophytum ramosissimum= Torrey & Gray.
On gravelly slopes near the foot of Cowlitz Glacier.
=VIOLACEAE.= (Violet Family.)
=Viola palustris= Linnaeus.
The common swamp violet was found at Narada Falls by Flett.
=Viola adunca= Smith.
Rare in rock crevices near Sluiskin Falls. Flowers deep violet.
=Viola montanensis= Rydberg.
Like the preceding, but the leaves puberulent. Near Van Trump Glacier,
at 6,000 feet altitude.
=Viola glabella= Nuttall.
A yellow-flowered species common along streams and in rich woods up to
3,000 feet altitude.
=HYPERICACEAE.= (St. Johnswort Family.)
=Hypericum bryophytum= Elmer.
A diminutive plant along rills at 5,000 feet elevation.
=ACERACEAE.= (Maple Family.)
=Acer douglasii= Hooker.
The smooth maple is common on the headwaters of the Nisqually.
=CELASTRACEAE.= (Staff Tree Family.)
=Pachystima myrsinites= (Pursh) Rafinesque.
An evergreen shrub two or three feet high, having considerable
resemblance to a huckleberry. Common in coniferous woods at 3,000 to
4,000 feet elevation.
=EMPETRACEAE.= (Crowberry Family.)
=Empetrum nigrum= Linnaeus.
A prostrate cespitose shrub with yew-like leaves and black berries.
Common on the rocks at 7,500 feet altitude.
=OXALIDACEAE.= (Oxalis Family.)
=Oxalis oregana= Nuttall.
Common in rich, moist woods up to 3,000 feet altitude.
=Oxalis trilliifolia= Hooker.
With the preceding, which it resembles. It may be distinguished by its
scapes bearing several flowers, instead of only one, and by its narrow
pods.
=LEGUMINOSAE.= (Pea Family.)
=Lupinus subalpinus= Piper & Robinson.
The common lupine of the grassy slopes, 4,000 to 6,000 feet altitude.
=Lupinus volcanicus= Greene.
A small species, with hairy pubescence, growing above the limit of the
preceding and below that of the following.
=Lupinus lyallii= Watson.
A lovely little plant with silvery foliage. Abundant in the pumice
fields at 7,000 to 8,000 feet altitude.
=Lathyrus pauciflorus= Fernald.
A wild pea with purple flowers collected by Allen in the Goat
Mountains.
=Lathyrus nevadensis= Watson.
Very like the preceding but with white flowers. Collected by Allen,
No. 297, on mountains near the upper valley of the Nisqually.
=Oxytropis cusickii= Greenman.
Goat Mountains, Allen, No. 245.
=ROSACEAE.= (Rose Family.)
=Spiraea densiflora= Nuttall.
A low shrub with dense corymbs of rose-colored flowers. Common in bogs
at 4,500 feet, and on rock cliffs up to 6,000 feet elevation.
=Eriogynia pectinata= (Pursh) Hooker.
A little shrub only two or three inches tall, forming dense mats. The
plant should easily be recognized by its sharply cleft leaves and
dense erect racemes of white flowers. Abundant at 5,000 to 6,000 feet
elevation. Gorman reports it from near the "Sphinx," 8,500 feet.
=Rubus nivalis= Douglas.
A trailing vine, with glossy, green, simple leaves. Common in the
coniferous forests at 3,000 feet altitude, where it seldom blooms. On
exposed rocks and banks one rarely finds its dull red flowers or
bright red, raspberry-like, sour fruit.
=Rubus pedatus= Smith.
A trailing herbaceous plant, with palmately compound leaves and
strawberry-like blossoms. The smooth red fruit is sour, and consists
of only a few large drupelets. Common in the woods up to 4,000 feet
altitude.
=Rubus lasiococcus= Gray.
Much like the preceding, but with simple leaves and pubescent fruit.
Grows with the preceding, and up to 5,000 feet or more.
=Potentilla flabellifolia= Hooker.
The common cinquefoil of the meadows, with bright yellow
buttercup-like flowers. Plentiful at 5,000 feet elevation.
=Potentilla dissecta= Pursh.
This has been collected by Allen on the Goat Mountains, No. 251.
=Potentilla glaucophylla= Lehmann.
Near the foot of Gibraltar, at 8,500 feet altitude.
=Potentilla villosa= Pallas.
A species with silvery strawberry-like leaves and bright yellow
flowers. On the cliffs near the foot of Little Tahoma, at 7,500 feet
elevation.
=Potentilla fruticosa tenuifolia= (Willdenow) Lehmann.
This shrubby cinquefoil occurs along White River Glacier.
=Sibbaldia procumbens= Linnaeus.
Abundant on the ridge near Sluiskin Falls.
=Dryas octopetala= Linnaeus.
Found in talus between Urania and White Glaciers by Professor Flett.
This is the southernmost known station in the Cascade Mountains.
=Pyrus occidentalis= Watson.
This mountain ash occurs at 4,500 to 5,000 feet altitude, usually
forming dense clumps. It is seldom over four feet high. From related
species its dull purple glaucous fruit and dull green leaves, serrate
only near the apex, easily distinguish it.
=Pyrus sitchensis= (Roemer) Piper.
(_Sorbus sitchensis_ Roemer.)
This species grows from four to fifteen feet high, and is easily known
by its intense scarlet fruit and shining leaflets, which are sharply
serrate to the base. The plant of the Cascade Mountains matches
exactly with the type from Sitka, and we can detect no differences in
the shrub common in the Blue Mountains and in Western Idaho. This
shrub has heretofore been known as _Pyrus sambucifolia_ Chamisso &
Schlechtendahl, but authentic Kamtschatka specimens of this last are
clearly different from our plant.
=Rosa nutkana= Presl.
This common wild rose has been collected by Allen on the Goat
Mountains, at 4,500 feet elevation.
=SAXIFRAGACEAE.= (Saxifrage Family.)
=Ribes howellii= Greene.
(_Ribes acerifolium_ Howell.)
A small currant, two to four feet high, with pendent racemes of
flowers and glaucous black fruit. Common in the shelter of trees up to
their limit.
=Ribes bracteosum= Douglas.
A currant with very large leaves and long, erect racemes of greenish
flowers; fruit black. It is common along streams at low altitudes, and
is locally known as "stink currant." Gorman reports it from Cowlitz
Canyon, near the timber line.
=Ribes lacustre= (Persoon) Poiret.
This very prickly gooseberry is reported by Gorman from the same
locality as the preceding.
=Leptarrhena amplexifolia= (Sternberg) Seringe.
A handsome plant, with a radical tuft of oblong crenate evergreen
leaves, and an erect scape of small greenish flowers in a corymb. The
pods when mature are usually deeply tinged with purple. Common on the
borders of rills at 5,000 feet, and on the wet cliffs near Sluiskin
Falls. Also reported by Professor Greene from Spray Park.
=Tiarella unifoliata= Hooker.
Common in rich woods up to 3,500 feet elevation.
=Mitella breweri= Watson.
In the shelter of trees, common at 6,000 feet altitude.
=Mitella pentandra= Hooker.
Much like the preceding and found in similar places.
=Mitella trifida= Graham.
Found on Mount Rainier and on Goat Mountains by Allen.
=Parnassia fimbriata= König.
A plant with radical reniform leaves and one-flowered scapes. The
petals are white and fringed. Not rare in moist places near Sluiskin
Falls; also at Crater Lake.
=Heuchera glabra= Willdenow.
On the cliffs near Camp of the Clouds.
=Heuchera micrantha= Douglas.
Mount Rainier, _Tolmie_, according to Hooker.
=Elmera racemosa= (Watson) Rydberg.
(_Heuchera racemosa_ Watson.)
Rock crevices at the base of Little Tahoma; rare.
=Suksdorfia ranunculifolia= (Hooker) Engler.
Rock Cliffs near Camp of the Clouds.
=Saxifraga bongardi= Presl.
Common along rills, 5,000 to 6,000 feet elevation.
=Saxifraga bronchialis austromontana= (Wiegand) Piper.
Abundant on rock cliffs near Longmire Springs, and frequent up to
6,000 feet altitude.
=Saxifraga marshallii= Greene.
Rare on the cliffs near Sluiskin Falls. Also collected on the Goat
Mountains by Mr. Allen.
=Saxifraga odontoloma= Piper.
A species with reniform, coarsely dentate leaves. Common along the
rivulets, 5,000 to 6,000 feet altitude.
=Saxifraga nelsoniana= D. Don.
Much like the preceding, but the petals oval instead of orbicular and
clawed. Near Camp of the Clouds; rare.
=Saxifraga mertensiana= Bongard.
Much like _S. odontoloma_, but the leaves doubly dentate, and usually
bearing bulblets among the flowers. North side of Cowlitz Glacier;
rare.
=Saxifraga tolmaei= Torrey & Gray.
Abundant at 5,000 to 7,500 feet elevation, blooming as soon as the
snow melts. Easily known by its small, thick, entire leaves, and small
white flowers, solitary on scapes an inch or two high. Originally
found by Tolmie, from whose specimens the species was described.
=Saxifraga debilis= Engelmann.
Found on Mount Rainier by Mr. Allen. This is the first record of the
plant west of Colorado.
=Saxifraga caespitosa= Linnaeus.
Collected by Flett and by Allen. Leaves 3 to 5-lobed.
=CRASSULACEAE.= (Stonecrop Family.)
=Sedum divergens= Watson.
This species is easily known by its small globular leaves. Common on
the cliffs near Sluiskin Falls.
=CRUCIFERAE.= (Mustard Family.)
=Draba aureola= Watson.
A viscid yellow-flowered species, rather rare at and near Camp Muir.
=Draba lonchocarpa= Rydberg.
In pumice sand at 8,500 feet altitude.
=Arabis lyallii= Watson.
Common along Paradise River, at 5,000 feet altitude, but also
occurring in the pumice at 7,500 feet.
=Arabis drummondii= Gray.
Piper No. 2065, referable to this species, is from Mount Rainier.
Collected near the Cowlitz Glacier.
=Cardamine kamtschatica= (Regel) Schulz.
(_C. umbellata_ Greene.)
A small "bitter-cress," not rare along rills at 5,000 feet elevation.
=Erysimum asperum= (Nuttall) De Candolle.
A yellow-flowered plant much like a wallflower, rare at 6,000 feet
altitude. It occurs also in loose rock near Interglacier.
=Smelowskia ovalis= Jones.
A small, white-flowered, canescent plant, interesting because it
ascends Mount Rainier higher than any other flowering plant. Common
from 8,000 to 10,000 feet altitude. One specimen was collected quite
at the base of "The Sphinx."
=FUMARIACEAE.= (Bleeding-heart Family.)
=Corydalis scouleri= Hooker.
Common along streams at low elevations.
=BERBERIDACEAE.= (Barberry Family.)
=Achlys triphylla= (Smith) De Candolle.
Reported by Mr. Gorman "on the trail from Longmire Springs to the
Park." The sweet-smelling leaves of this plant have suggested the name
of "vanilla leaf."
=RANUNCULACEAE.= (Buttercup Family.)
=Thalictrum occidentale= Gray.
This meadow-rue is not rare near the foot of Van Trump Glacier.
=Anemone drummondii= Watson.
Collected by Flett, No. 2171, on the north side of the mountain at
7,000 feet altitude.
=Anemone hudsoniana= (De Candolle) Richardson.
Collected on the Goat Mountains by Mr. Allen, No. 250.
=Pulsatilla occidentalis= (Watson) Freyn.
Common on the dry slopes 5,000 to 6,000 feet elevation. Flowers large,
white or bluish, developing a large head of tailed carpels, which has
much the appearance of a hussar's cap.
=Trautvetteria grandis= Nuttall.
A tall plant with large maple-like leaves and loose corymbs of
delicate white flowers. Abundant in shady woods up to 4,000 feet
elevation. The pallid blossoms, in sharp contrast to the shade they
dwell in, has prompted the name of "ghost flower."
=Ranunculus suksdorfii= Gray.
A bright-flowered buttercup, not rare in moist places at 5,500 feet
elevation.
=Ranunculus verecundus= Robinson.
On rocky ridges at 7,000 feet altitude, Flett.
=Caltha leptosepala= De Candolle.
(_C. macounii_ Greene.)
Wet places, 4,000 to 6,000 feet; plentiful.
=Aquilegia formosa= Fisher.
The common scarlet and yellow columbine of the lowland, found on the
grassy slopes at 5,500 feet elevation.
=Delphinium bicolor= Nuttall.
A handsome blue and white-flowered larkspur, found in the Goat
Mountains by Mr. Allen, No. 146.
=Delphinium glaucum= Watson.
This larkspur is tall, three to four feet high, with rather many large
leaves, and long racemes of pale blue small flowers. Collected by Mr.
Allen in the Upper Nisqually Valley, and by the writer near Crater
Lake.
=CARYOPHYLLACEAE.= (Pink Family.)
=Silene lyallii= Watson.
(_S. macounii_ Watson.)
(_S. douglasii viscida_ Robinson.)
Distinguished from its near allies by its four-lobed petals. Not rare
at 6,000 feet altitude.
=Silene suksdorfii= Robinson.
A low species, with scapes mostly one-flowered. Rather rare in the
loose basalt talus near the base of Little Tahoma.
=Silene acaulis= Linnaeus.
The "moss campion" of Europe, and common in the Rocky Mountains.
Collected by Mr. Flett near the Mowich Glacier.
=Stellaria borealis= Bigelow.
A prostrate chickweed, common along the Paradise River, at 5,000 feet
elevation.
=Stellaria washingtoniana= Robinson.
Described from specimens collected by Allen on the slopes of the
mountain at the head of Nisqually River in alder woods.
=Sagina occidentalis= Watson.
A small species of pearlwort, doubtfully referred here, occurs rarely
along rivulets in Paradise Park.
=Cerastium arvense= Linnaeus.
Goat Mountains, Allen, No. 237.
=Arenaria capillaris= Poiret.
Common on the rocks at 5,000 to 7,000 feet elevation. The form with
curved leaves, variety _nardifolia_ Regel, is more frequent than the
type.
=Arenaria verna= Linnaeus.
Rather rare in the pumice on the east side of the mountain.
=Arenaria macrophylla= Hooker.
In dry woods at low altitudes.
=PORTULACACEAE.= (Purslane Family.)
=Spraguea multiceps= Howell.
A handsome plant, with entire spatulate leaves and dense heads of pink
or purple flowers. Common in the pumice fields.
=Claytonia sibirica= Linnaeus.
Collected by Flett somewhere near the base of the mountain. The
commonest lowland "spring beauty."
=Claytonia asarifolia= Bongard.
A plant with fleshy entire leaves and small racemes of white flowers.
Occasional along the rivulets at 4,000 to 5,000 feet elevation.
=Claytonia parvifolia= Mocino.
On the rocks at 3,000 to 4,000 feet altitude.
=Claytonia lanceolata= Pursh.
Common in the grassy meadows. The tuberous root is edible.
=Lewisia columbiana= (Howell) Robinson.
Goat Mountains, Allen. Leaves fleshy, flowers rose-purple, showy.
=POLYGONACEAE.= (Buckwheat Family.)
=Oxyria digyna= (Linnaeus) Hill.
A small plant with reniform entire leaves, and flowers and fruit like
those of the common docks. Not rare in rock crevices at 5,000 to 6,000
feet elevation.
=Polygonum minimum= Watson.
Common at 5,000 to 6,000 feet altitude.
=Polygonum douglasii= Greene.
On a gravelly slope near the foot of Cowlitz Glacier.
=Polygonum newberryi= Small.
Common in the pumice fields, where it is a characteristic plant.
=Polygonum bistortoides= Pursh.
Very plentiful on the grassy slopes, where it is conspicuous by its
dense white-flowered spikes an inch long, borne singly on slender
stems a foot or two high.
=Eriogonum compositum= Douglas.
A form of this variable species occurs on the talus at the foot of the
cliffs on the north side of Cowlitz Glacier.
=Eriogonum pyrolaefolium coryphaeum= Torrey & Gray.
Plentiful in the pumice fields.
=BETULACEAE.= (Birch Family.)
=Alnus sinuata= (Regel) Rydberg.
Sitka alder. A small alder, seldom over ten or twelve feet high.
Common along the streams at low altitude.
=SALICACEAE.= (Willow Family.)
=Salix scouleriana= Barratt.
The common upland willow; not rare up to 3,500 feet elevation.
=Salix sitchensis= Sanson.
The "silky willow" is plentiful along the Nisqually at Longmire
Springs.
=Salix barclayi= Anderson.
=Salix commutata= Bebb.
These two willows make thickets along the rills at about 6,000 feet
altitude. The leaves in the former are smooth above and glaucous
beneath; in the latter pubescent on both sides.
=Salix nivalis= Hooker.
A very dwarf willow, with obtuse leaves, growing only a few inches
high. Found on the north side of the mountain by Flett.
=Salix saximontana= Rydberg.
Very similar to _Salix nivalis_, but larger in every way. Also found
by Flett on the north side of the mountain.
=Salix cascadensis= Cockerell.
(_S. tenera_ Andersson.)
A very dwarf rare willow with leaves acute at each end. North slope of
the mountain, collected by Flett.
=Populus trichocarpa= Torrey & Gray.
The cottonwood occurs along the Nisqually to some distance above
Longmire Springs.
=ORCHIDACEAE.= (Orchis Family.)
=Corallorhiza maculata= Rafinesque.
Common in the coniferous woods at low altitudes.
=Corallorhiza mertensiana= Bongard.
Frequent in the dense coniferous woods up to 3,500 feet.
=Spiranthes romanzoffiana= Chamisso.
A small form of this species was found in a bog on the summit of the
ridge overlooking the foot of the Nisqually Glacier.
=Peramium decipiens= (Hooker) Piper.
On the trail above Longmire Springs, according to Mr. Gorman.
=Limnorchis stricta= (Lindley) Rydberg.
A tall plant with long spikes of greenish flowers. Not rare in wet
places at 5,000 feet elevation.
=Listera caurina= Piper.
Common in mossy woods up to 3,500 feet.
=Listera convallarioides= (Swartz) Torrey.
Growing in moist woods near the foot of the mountain.
=LILIACEAE.= (Lily Family.)
=Allium validum= Watson.
This wild onion has rootstock-like bulbs. It has been found on the
north side of the mountain, and only by Mr. Flett.
=Vagnera sessilifolia= (Baker) Greene.
Common in moist woods up to 3,000 feet altitude.
=Streptopus curvipes= Vail.
Common in moist woods at 3,000 feet. Distinguished from the Eastern
_S. roseus_ by its small size, simple stems, and creeping rootstocks.
=Lilium columbianum= Hanson.
The wild tiger lily occurs on dry slopes near Longmire Springs and in
Paradise Park, at 5,000 feet elevation.
=Fritillaria lanceolata= Pursh.
Goat Mountains, Allen, No. 235.
=Erythronium montanum= Watson.
The white-flowered adder's tongue, so abundant in Paradise Park, up to
5,500 feet altitude.
=Erythronium parviflorum= (Watson) Goodding.
Much like the preceding, but the flowers yellow. Frequent along rills
at 5,500 feet.
=Clintonia uniflora= (Schultes) Kunth.
Abundant in the coniferous forests at 2,000 to 4,000 feet altitude.
Easily recognized by its tuft of two to four radical leaves, which are
oblong in form, and its delicate scapes, three or four inches high,
bearing a single white flower. The berry is blue.
=Trillium ovatum= Pursh.
The wake-robin is plentiful at 3,000 feet altitude.
=Tofieldia intermedia= Rydberg.
This species has been confused with both _T. glutinosa_ and _T.
occidentalis_. From the former it differs principally in its seed
characters, otherwise being so similar that there are no
distinguishing characters in the flowering specimens. All the Cascade
Mountain specimens apparently belong to _T. intermedia_, because no
plant with the seed character of _T. glutinosa_ has as yet been found
in that range of mountains.
=Veratrum viride= Aiton.
The green hellebore forms considerable clumps, three or four feet
high. It is frequent on moist slopes in Paradise Park.
=Stenanthium occidentale= Gray.
Goat Mountains, Allen, 233. Also collected on Mount Rainier by Rev. E.
C. Smith, in 1890.
=Xerophyllum tenax= (Pursh) Nuttall.
The so-called pine-lily or bear-grass is not rare in gravelly soil in
rather open woods. Straggling specimens are found up to 5,500 feet
altitude.
=JUNCACEAE.= (Rush Family.)
=Juncoides glabratum= (Hooker) Sheldon.
Dry, grassy slopes at 5,000 feet.
=Juncoides majus= (Hooker) Piper.
(_Luzula arcuata major_ Hooker.)
(_Juncoides piperi_ Coville.)
The plants referred here occur at 7,000 feet altitude, in springy
places. Allen, No. 44, and Piper, 2172, are identical with Tolmie's
Mount Rainier specimens.
=Juncoides parviflorum= (Ehrhart) Coville.
Common on dry slopes up to 5,000 feet elevation.
=Juncoides spicata= (Linnaeus) Kuntze.
Rather rare in damp places in the pumice fields, at 8,000 feet
altitude.
=Juncus subtriflorus= (E. Meyer) Coville.
Common at 5,000 to 6,000 feet elevation.
=Juncus parryi= Engelmann.
Much like the preceding, and growing along with it.
=Juncus mertensianus= Bongard.
Frequent along rills even up to 8,000 feet altitude.
=CYPERACEAE.= (Sedge Family.)
=Eriophorum polystachion= Linnaeus.
This "cotton-grass" occurs in the low ground around the lakes near the
base of Pinnacle Peak.
=Carex paddoensis= Suksdorf.
Springy places at 8,000 feet altitude; Allen, 172; Piper, 2541.
=Carex pyrenaica= Wahlenberg.
With the preceding; Allen, 171; Piper, 2540.
=Carex phaeocephala= Piper.
Dryish places at 7,500 feet elevation; Piper, 2535.
=Carex preslii= Bailey.
Common at 5,000 feet, along streams.
=Carex pachystachya= Chamisso.
This species occurs along rills in Paradise Park.
=Carex nigricans= Meyer.
Common at 4,000 to 6,000 feet elevation.
=Carex rossii= Boott.
On the grassy ridge above Sluiskin Falls.
=Carex geyeri= Boott.
Goat Mountains, Allen, 169.
=Carex mertensii= Prescott.
Rare along stream banks at about 4,000 feet altitude. Some of our
specimens came from near the foot of Cowlitz Glacier.
=Carex spectabilis= Dewey.
(_C. invisa_ Bailey.)
In wet meadows at 4,000 feet elevation.
=Carex scopulorum= Holm.
With the preceding.
=Carex ablata= Bailey.
Frequent in the meadows of Paradise Park.
=Carex accedens= Holm.
Paradise Park; Piper, 2550.
=Carex arcta= Boott.
Mount Rainier, 4,000 feet altitude; Allen 271.
=Carex atrata= Linnaeus.
Collected by Allen, August 14, 1895.
=Carex laeviculmis= Meinschausen.
In swamps near the foot of the mountain.
=Carex hepburnii= Boott.
A handsome little plant common at 8,000 feet altitude.
=Carex kelloggii= W. Boott.
Along Paradise River; Piper, 2548.
=Carex rigida= Goodenough.
Allen, 269, and Piper, 2533, are referred here. The last-named
specimens are from near the foot of Pinnacle Peak.
=GRAMINEAE.= (Grass Family.)
=Phleum alpinum= Linnaeus.
The "mountain timothy" is of frequent occurrence at 5,000 to 6,000
feet altitude.
=Agrostis geminata= Trinius.
Collected by Allen, in 1894.
=Agrostis aequivalvis= Trinius.
The plant referred here is common on the banks of the Paradise River
up to 5,000 feet.
=Agrostis rossae= Vasey.
Slopes at 6,000 feet elevation; common.
=Agrostis humilis= Vasey.
Abundant in springy places at 8,500 feet elevation.
=Calamagrostis vaseyi= Beal.
Goat Mountains, Allen, and common on the rocky ridges north of Cowlitz
Glacier.
=Calamagrostis scabra= Presl.
Not rare at 5,500 feet elevation; near Sluiskin Falls, Piper; Tatoosh
Mountains, Allen.
=Deschampsia atropurpurea= (Wahlenberg) Scheele.
Common at 5,000 to 6,000 feet elevation.
=Danthonia intermedia= Vasey.
Common at about 5,000 feet altitude.
=Trisetum cernuum= Trinius.
Moist places up to 5,000 feet altitude.
=Trisetum spicatum= (Linnaeus) Richter.
Rare on the ridge near Camp of the Clouds.
=Cinna latifolia= (Treviranus) Grisebach.
Common in wet ground about Longmire Springs.
=Poa arctica= R. Brown.
A grass doubtfully referred to this species is common at 5,500 feet
elevation.
=Poa paddensis= Williams.
One of the most frequent grasses at 5,000 to 6,000 feet.
=Poa saxatilis= Scribner & Williams.
On rock cliffs at 6,000 feet. The type of this species is Piper No.
1964, from above Camp of the Clouds.
=Poa suksdorfii= Vasey.
Rather rare in the pumice at 9,000 feet elevation.
=Poa lettermani= Vasey.
On the slopes near Camp Muir, growing with the preceding.
=Festuca viridula= Vasey.
The finest grass on the slopes. Abundant at 5,000 feet elevation.
=Festuca ovina supina= (Schur) Hackel.
In the pumice fields at 8,000 feet altitude.
=Festuca subulata= Trinius.
Longmire Springs, in moist places.
=Bromus marginatus= Nees.
A species doubtfully referred here was collected on the mountains in
1890 by Rev. E. C. Smith. No specimens of it are now in our
possession.
=Sitanion rigidum= J. G. Smith.
Pumice fields at 8,000 feet.
=Sitanion glabrum= J. G. Smith.
Common on the rocky ridges north of Cowlitz Glacier.
=Sitanion rubescens= Piper.
Dry slopes on the south side of the mountain.
=SPARGANIACEAE.= (Bur-reed Family.)
=Sparganium minimum= Fries.
Collected in 1890 by Rev. E. C. Smith, in one of the small lakes near
the base of Pinnacle Peak.
=TAXACEAE.= (Yew Family.)
=Taxus brevifolia= Nuttall. Western Yew.
The yew is not uncommon along the trail from Longmire Springs to
Paradise Park. It does not ascend much above 3,000 feet elevation.
=PINACEAE.= (Pine Family.)
=Juniperus sibirica= Burgsdorff. Mountain Juniper.
The alpine juniper occurs on the banks of the Nisqually, near Longmire
Springs, and is common on the rocks up to 7,500 feet elevation.
=Chamaecyparis nootkatensis= (Lambert) Spach. Alaska Cedar.
The Alaska cedar ranges on the mountain slopes from 3,500 feet up to
6,000 feet altitude. It is far more abundant on the north side of the
peak than on the south. Few, if any, specimens exceed four feet in
diameter, and where the trees are most abundant the trunks are only
one or two feet through.
=Abies grandis= Lindley. White Fir.
Some trees, without cones, which were observed on the trail above
Longmire Springs, are doubtfully referred here. They are more likely
to belong to the following species.
=Abies amabilis= (Douglas) Forbes. Lovely Fir.
The Lovely fir is abundant at from 2,500 to 3,500 feet elevation. It
is usually but a small tree, with beautifully symmetrical form. Except
when fruiting, it is difficult to distinguish from the lowland white
fir.
=Abies nobilis= Lindley. Noble Fir.
The finest of all the firs, frequently four to six feet in diameter,
without a single branch for a hundred feet or more. Easily known by
the deep red color of the bark when chopped into, and by the large
cones, covered with reflexed bracts. Abundant at 4,000 to 5,000 feet.
=Abies lasiocarpa= (Hooker) Nuttall. Subalpine Fir.
This is the primly conical little fir so common in Paradise Park. It
rarely occurs below 4,500 feet elevation. Its dark purple pubescent
cones, only two or three inches long, readily distinguish it from the
preceding species.
=Pseudotsuga mucronata= (Rafinesque) Sudworth. Douglas Spruce.
The Douglas spruce is common up to 3,500 feet elevation. There is a
marked tendency of the cones to be relatively shorter and thicker at
this altitude, but otherwise the tree shows little variation from its
lowland typical form.
=Tsuga heterophylla= Rafinesque. Western Hemlock.
The Western hemlock is abundant at 3,000 feet altitude, but usually
much smaller than when growing near the sea level.
=Tsuga mertensiana= (Bongard) Carriere. Black Hemlock.
The Black hemlock is frequent from 4,000 to 6,000 feet elevation. On
the higher slopes it commonly forms clumps with the Subalpine fir.
When this is the case, the irregular form and dark foliage of the
hemlock, usually festooned with lichens, form a pleasing contrast to
the conical form and lighter foliage of the fir.
=Pinus albicaulis= Engelmann. White-bark Pine.
This white-barked nut pine is abundant on the high ridge north of the
Cowlitz Glacier. It also occurs above Camp of the Clouds. It rarely
fruits, and when it does the cones, with their sweet edible seeds, are
quickly torn to pieces by Clark's crow. The trunk and branches are
frequently adorned with the bright yellow lichen, _Evernia vulpina_.
=Pinus monticola= Douglas. Western White Pine.
Not uncommon at low elevations. The narrow cones, six to twelve inches
long, are characteristic.
=Pinus contorta= Douglas. Lodgepole Pine.
Reported by Mr. Gorman "on the moraines of the Nisqually."
=Picea engelmanni= Parry. Engelmann Spruce.
Rather a rare tree about Mount Rainier, at 3,500 feet elevation. In
the Sitka or Tideland spruce the leaves are decidedly flattened; in
the Engelmann spruce they are nearly square in cross section.
=ISOETACEAE.= (Quillwort Family.)
=Isoetes echinospora braunii= Engelmann.
Common in the small lakes near the foot of Pinnacle Peak.
=LYCOPODIACEAE.= (Club-moss Family.)
=Lycopodium annotinum= Linnaeus.
A large patch of this handsome species occurs at the point where the
trail first crosses Paradise River above Longmire Springs.
=Lycopodium sitchense= Ruprecht.
Common on the meadows at 4,000 feet elevation.
=EQUISETACEAE.= (Horsetail Family.)
=Equisetum limosum= Linnaeus.
This species occurs in the bog on top of the ridge above the foot of
Nisqually Glacier. The old trail to the park led through this bog.
=Equisetum arvense= Linnaeus.
Sterile fronds of this plant were observed at Longmire Springs.
=Equisetum robustum= A. Braun.
Common in damp places up to 3,000 feet elevation. Readily eaten by
cayuses.
=POLYPODIACEAE.= (Fern Family.)
=Polypodium hesperium= Maxon.
Not rare in rock crevices on the cliffs overlooking the lakes at the
foot of Pinnacle Peak.
=Phegopteris dryopteris= (Linnaeus) Fee.
The pretty "oak-fern" is abundant along the trail above Longmire's, in
deep woods.
=Phegopteris alpestris= (Hoppe) Mettenius.
Forming crown-like tufts in the talus at the foot of cliffs in
Paradise Park.
=Dryopteris spinulosa dilatata= (Hoffman) Underwood.
The common wood-fern is frequent in the forests at 3,000 feet
altitude.
=Polystichum lonchitis= (Linnaeus) Roth.
Specimens of this species are in my possession from Mount Rainier, but
the exact place of collection has passed my recollection. Presumably
it was found in or near Paradise Park.
=Filix fragilis= (Linnaeus) Underwood.
Diminutive specimens of this fern were collected on the cliffs at
8,000 feet altitude. Rev. E. C. Smith found much finer examples at a
lower elevation.
=Cryptogramma acrostichoides= R. Brown.
Common in the coarse gravel on the bars of the Nisqually, occurring
even at the foot of the glacier.
=OPHIOGLOSSACEAE.= (Adder's Tongue Family.)
=Botrychium lunaria= (Linnaeus) Swartz.
Specimens were collected by Rev. E. C. Smith on the north side of the
mountain in 1888.
=Botrychium lanceolatum= (S. G. Gmelin) Angstroem.
Longmire Springs, Allen, not otherwise known on the Pacific Coast.
FOOTNOTES:
[27] Am. Jour. Sci., 3d series, Vol. XXVI, 1883, pp. 222-235.
[28] Neues Jahrbuch für Min., etc., Vol. I, 1885, pp. 222-226.
[29] Observed by Iddings: Twelfth Ann. Rept. U. S. Geol. Survey, p.
612.
[30] Hague and Iddings: Twelfth Ann. Rept. U. S. Geol. Survey, p. 225.
[31] Oebbeke, _op. cit._, p. 226.
[32] Jour. Geol., Vol. IV, 1896, p. 276.
[33] Emmons, Bull. Am. Geog. Soc., 1877, No. 4, p. 45.
XVII. CREATION OF MOUNT RAINIER NATIONAL PARK
MEMORIAL BY SCIENTIFIC SOCIETIES
A surprisingly wide interest was awakened by the proposal to
create a national park to include the great mass of Mount
Rainier and its immediate surroundings. Five societies
appointed committees to coöperate in securing the needed
legislation from Congress. Those committees prepared a
memorial. The Senate Miscellaneous Document, number 247,
Fifty-third Congress, second session, shows that the memorial
was introduced on July 16, 1894, by Senator Watson C. Squire
from the State of Washington. The memorial was deemed of
sufficient importance to be republished in the Eighteenth
Annual Report of the United States Geological Survey for
1896-1897. It is here reproduced from that publication.
With all the interest thus manifested, it required nearly
five years from the introduction of the memorial to witness
the achievement of its purpose. The act of Congress creating
the Mount Rainier National Park bears the date of March 2,
1899.
_To the Senate and House of Representatives of the United
States of America in Congress assembled:_
At a meeting of the Geological Society of America, in Madison, Wis.,
August 15, 1893, a committee was appointed for the purpose of
memorializing the Congress in relation to the establishment of a
national park in the State of Washington to include Mount Rainier,
often called Mount Tacoma. The committee consists of Dr. David T. Day,
Mr. S. F. Emmons, and Mr. Bailey Willis.
At a meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of
Science, in Madison, Wis., August 21, 1893, a committee was appointed
by that body for the same purpose as above mentioned, consisting of
Maj. J. W. Powell, Prof. Joseph Le Conte, Prof. I. C. Russell, Mr. B.
E. Fernow, and Dr. C. H. Merriam.
At a meeting of the National Geographic Society, held in Washington,
D. C., on October 13, 1893, there was appointed a committee for the
purpose above mentioned, consisting of Hon. Gardiner G. Hubbard, Hon.
Watson C. Squire, Mr. John W. Thompson, Miss Mary F. Waite, and Miss
Eliza R. Scidmore.
At a meeting of the Sierra Club, held in San Francisco December 30,
1893, a committee for the same purpose was appointed, composed of Mr.
John Muir, President D. S. Jordan, Mr. R. M. Johnson, Mr. George B.
Bayley, Mr. P. B. Van Trump.
At a meeting of the Appalachian Mountain Club, held in Boston April
11, 1894, a similar committee was appointed, consisting of Mr. John
Ritchie, Jr., Rev. E. C. Smith, Dr. Charles E. Fay.
The committees thus appointed were instructed by the several bodies to
which they belong to coöperate in the preparation of a memorial to
Congress, setting forth the substantial reasons for the establishment
of such park.
Pursuant to their instructions, the committees present the following
memorial to the Congress, and pray that such action may be taken by
the honorable Senators and Representatives as will secure to the
people of the United States the benefits of a national park which
shall include the area mentioned above. In support of their prayer
they beg to submit the following statement:
By proclamation of the President, in compliance with the statutes
provided therefor, a Pacific Forest Reserve has been established in
the State of Washington, the western portion of which is nearly
coincident with the tract of land to be included in the national park
for which your memorialists pray.
The western part of this reserve includes many features of unique
interest and wonderful grandeur, which fit it peculiarly to be a
national park, forever set aside for the pleasure and instruction of
the people. The region is one of such exceptional rainfall and
snowfall that the preservation of its forests is of unusual importance
as a protection against floods in the lower valleys; but the scenic
features, which mark it out for a national park, attract tourists, who
set fire to the timber. This destruction goes on notwithstanding it is
a forest reserve, and will continue until protection is afforded by
adequate supervision of the area, whether as a reserve or park.
The reserve is traversed through the middle from north to south by the
crest of the Cascade Range, which has an elevation varying from 5,300
to 6,800 feet. This is the divide between tributaries of Puget Sound,
flowing west, and those of Yakima River, flowing east. Mount Rainier,
the isolated volcanic peak, 14,400 feet high, stands 12 miles west of
the divide, from which it is separated by a deep valley.
The eastern half of the reserve differs from the western in climate,
in flora, and in fauna, in geographic and geologic features, and in
aspects of scenery. The eastern slope of the Cascade Range within the
reserve is a mountainous region, with summits rising to a general
elevation of 6,500 to 7,600 feet above the sea. It is forest covered
and presents many attractions to the tourist and hunter; but it is not
peculiar among the mountain regions of America either for grandeur or
interest, and it is not an essential part of the area to be set apart
as a national park.
The western slope of the Cascades within the reserve is short and
steep as compared with the eastern. Much of it is precipitous,
particularly opposite Mount Rainier, where its bare walls would appear
most grand were they not in the shadow of that overpowering peak.
North and south of Rainier this slope is more gradual and densely
wooded.
The western half of the Pacific reserve, that portion which it is
proposed shall be made a national park, is characterized by Mount
Rainier, whose summit is but 4 miles from the western boundary of the
reserve and whose glaciers extend beyond its limits.
Mount Tacoma is not simply a volcanic cone, peculiar for its hugeness.
It was formerly a vast volcanic dome, 30 miles in radius to the north,
west, and south; but rivers have cut deep canyons, glaciers have
carved ample amphitheaters back into the mass, and now many serrate
ridges rising from a few hundred to 10,000 feet above the sea converge
at that altitude to support the central pyramid, which towers more
than 4,000 feet above its base.
This grand mountain is not, like Mount Blanc, merely the dominant peak
of a chain of snow mountains; it is the only snow peak in view, Mount
St. Helens and Mount Adams being, like it, isolated and many miles
distant. Rainier is majestic in its isolation, reaching 6,000 to 8,000
feet above its neighbors. It is superb in its boldness, rising from
one canyon 11,000 feet in 7 miles. Not only is it the grandest
mountain in this country, it is one of the grand mountains of the
world, to be named with St. Elias, Fusiyama, and Ararat, and the most
superb summits of the Alps. Eminent scientists of England and Germany,
who, as members of the Alpine Club of Switzerland and travelers of
wide experience, would naturally be conservative in their judgment,
have borne witness to the majesty of the scenery about Rainier.
In 1883 Professor Zittel, a well-known German geologist, and Prof.
James Bryce, member of Parliament and author of the American
Commonwealth, made a report on the scenery about Mount Rainier. Among
other things, they said:
"The scenery of Mount Rainier is of rare and varied beauty. The peak
itself is as noble a mountain as we have ever seen in its lines and
structure. The glaciers which descend from its snow fields present
all the characteristic features of those in the Alps, and though less
extensive than the ice streams of the Mount Blanc or Monta Rosa groups
are in their crevasses and séracs equally striking and equally worthy
of close study. We have seen nothing more beautiful in Switzerland or
Tyrol, in Norway or in the Pyrenees, than the Carbon River glaciers
and the great Puyallup glaciers; indeed, the ice in the latter is
unusually pure, and the crevasses unusually fine. The combination of
ice scenery with woodland scenery of the grandest type is to be found
nowhere in the Old World, unless it be in the Himalayas, and, so far
as we know, nowhere else on the American Continent."
These eminent and experienced observers further say:
"We may perhaps be permitted to express a hope that the suggestion
will at no distant date be made to Congress that Mount Rainier should,
like the Yosemite Valley and the geyser region of the Upper
Yellowstone, be reserved by the Federal Government and treated as a
national park."
But Mount Tacoma is single not merely because it is superbly majestic;
it is an arctic island in a temperate zone. In a bygone age an arctic
climate prevailed over the Northwest, and glaciers covered the Cascade
Range. Arctic animals and arctic plants then lived throughout the
region. As the climate became milder and glaciers melted, the
creatures of the cold climate were limited in their geographic range
to the districts of the shrinking glaciers. On the great peak the
glaciers linger still. They give to it its greatest beauty. They are
themselves magnificent, and with them survives a colony of arctic
animals and plants which can not exist in the temperate climate of the
less lofty mountains. These arctic forms are as effectually isolated
as shipwrecked sailors on an island in mid-ocean. There is no refuge
for them beyond their haunts on ice-bound cliffs. But even there the
birds and animals are no longer safe from the keen sportsman, and the
few survivors must soon be exterminated unless protected by the
Government in a national park.
The area of the Pacific forest reserve includes valuable timber and
important water supplies. It is said to contain coal, gold, and
silver.
The timber on the western slope differs from that on the eastern in
size and density of growth and in kinds of trees. The forests of Puget
Sound are world-renowned for the magnitude and beauty of their
hemlocks, cedars, and firs. Their timber constitutes one of the most
important resources of the State. Nowhere are they more luxuriant than
on the foothills west and north of Mount Rainier. But their value as
timber is there subordinate to their value as regulators of floods.
The Puyallup River, whose lower valley is a rich hop garden, is even
now subject to floods during the rapid melting of the snow on Mount
Rainier in the limited area above timber line. In the broader area
below timber line, but above 3,000 feet in elevation, the depth of
snow in the winter of 1893 was 9 to 15 feet. Protected by the dense
canopy of the fir and hemlock trees this snow melts slowly and the
river is high from March to June. But let the forest be once destroyed
by fire or by lumbermen and the snows of each winter, melting in early
spring, will annually overwhelm the Puyallup Valley and transform it
into a gravelly waste. The same is true of White River and the
Nisqually.
The forests of the eastern slope, tributary to the Yakima, are of even
greater importance as water preservers. They constitute a great
reservoir, holding back the precipitation of the wet season and
allowing it to filter down when most needed by crops. In the Yakima
Valley water gives to land its value. Storage of flood waters and
extensive distribution by canals is necessary. The forests being
preserved to control the water, the natural storage basins should be
improved and canals built. For these reasons it is most important
that no part of the forest reserve should be sacrificed, even though
the eastern half is not included in the national park.
The boundaries of the proposed national park have been so drawn as to
exclude from its area all lands upon which coal, gold, or other
valuable minerals are supposed to occur, and they conform to the
purpose that the park shall include all features of peculiar scenic
beauty without encroaching on the interests of miners or settlers.
None save those who can march and camp in the primeval forest can now
visit Mount Rainier; but it is the wilderness, not the distance, that
makes it difficult of approach. On the west the distance up the
Nisqually River from the railroad at Yelm Prairie to the reserve is
but 40 miles. Though heavily timbered, the valley of the Nisqually
affords an easy route for a railroad. The Cowlitz Valley also offers a
line of approach without difficulty by rail, it being about 50 miles
from the railroad to the reserve.
On the northwest the railroad at Wilkeson is but 23 miles from the
summit of Mount Rainier, and the glaciers can be reached by riding 25
miles through the great forest.
On the north the Cascade branch of the Northern Pacific Railroad
crosses the range, only 13 miles in a direct line and 19 miles along
the summit from the northern limit of the reserve.
On the east the city of North Yakima is but 62 miles from the summit
of Mount Rainier.
The proposed park covers a mountain region which lies across the line
of travel from east to west. The railroad winds northward; the travel
down the Columbia River turns southward to avoid it. The great current
of tourists which flows north and south through Portland, Tacoma,
Seattle, Vancouver, and Alaska passes to the west within sight of
Mount Rainier, and when the grand old mountain is obscured by clouds
the travelers linger to see it, or, passing regretfully on their way,
know that they have missed the finest view of their trip.
When a railroad is built up the Nisqually or Cowlitz Valley to the
park and connection by stages is assured northward to the Cascade
branch of the Northern Pacific Railroad and eastward to Yakima, the
flood of travel will be diverted through the park.
The point which combines accessibility with surroundings of great
beauty, and which is therefore most appropriate as a hotel site, is
southeast of Mount Rainier, on one of the spurs of the Tatoosh
Mountains, near the Cowlitz Valley. To open this region to travel it
would be sufficient to establish the hotel and its connections down
the Nisqually or Cowlitz Valley, together with trails to points of
interest within the park. From the hotel a principal trail would
extend north to the Emmons and White River glaciers, which would thus
be easily accessible, and thence the railroad at Wilkeson could
readily be reached on horseback over the old Northern Pacific trail.
In the future, stage roads, or possibly a railroad, would be extended
over the Cowlitz Pass to the eastern slope, North Yakima would be
reached via the Tieton or Tannum Valley, and Tannum Lake would become
a favorite resort.
But the highway which would challenge the world for its equal in grand
scenery would extend from the Cowlitz Pass northward along the crest
of the range to the Cascade branch. The distance is 50 miles, 31 in
the park and 19 beyond it to the railroad. Within the reserve the
summit is open and park-like. On the east is a sea of mountains; on
the west is a bold descent of 3,000 feet to the valleys of Cowlitz and
White rivers, beyond which Tacoma rises in overpowering grandeur,
8,000 feet above the road and only 12 miles distant.
A committee of your memorialists has carefully examined the existing
maps of the State of Washington with special reference to the
position of this reserve, and finds that the boundaries of the
reserve are farther east, in relation to Mount Rainier, than was
supposed. The western boundary traverses the slope of Mount Rainier
at altitudes of 7,000 to 9,000 feet, and the glaciers extend several
miles beyond it. In order to include all of the glacial area and the
immediately adjacent forest on the west, your memorialists
respectfully recommend that the western boundary of the park be
drawn one range west of that of the reserve, viz., at the range line
between ranges 6 and 7 east of the Willamette meridian. By this
change no part of the Wilkeson-Carbonado coal field would be
included in the park.
Your memorialists find, as already stated, that it is not necessary to
include the eastern slope of the Cascades in the park, and furthermore
that it is desirable to leave the Natchez Pass on the north and the
Cowlitz Pass on the south open for the construction of railroads. Your
memorialists therefore pray that the park be defined by the following
boundaries: Beginning at the northwest corner of sec. 19, T. 18 N., R.
7 E. of the Willamette meridian; thence south 24 miles more or less to
the southwest corner of sec. 18, T. 14 N., R. 7 E.; thence east 27
miles more or less to the summit of the Cascade Range; thence in a
northerly direction to a point east of the place of beginning, and
thence west 26 miles more or less to the place of beginning.
Your memorialists respectfully represent that--
Railroad lines have been surveyed and after the establishment of a
national park would soon be built to its boundaries. The concessions
for a hotel, stopping places, and stage routes could be leased and the
proceeds devoted to the maintenance of the park. The policing of the
park could be performed from the barracks at Vancouver by details of
soldiers, who would thus be given useful and healthful employment from
May to October.
The establishment of a hotel would afford opportunity for a weather
station, which, in view of the controlling influence exerted by Mount
Rainier on the moisture-laden winds from the Pacific, would be
important in relation to local weather predictions.
Your memorialists further represent that this region of marvelous
beauty is even now being seriously marred by careless camping parties.
Its valuable forests and rare animals are being injured and will
certainly be destroyed unless the forest reserve be policed during the
camping seasons. But efficient protection of the undeveloped
wilderness is extraordinarily difficult and in this case practically
impossible.
Therefore, for the preservation of the property of the United States,
for the protection from floods of the people of Washington in the
Yakima, Cowlitz, Nisqually, Puyallup, and White River valleys, and for
the pleasure and education of the nation, your memorialists pray that
the area above described be declared a national park forever.
For the National Geographic Society:
GARDINER G. HUBBARD,
_President._
For the American Association for the Advancement of Science:
J. W. POWELL.
For the Geological Society of America:
BAILEY WILLIS.
For the Sierra Club:
JOHN MUIR.
For the Appalachian Mountain Club:
JOHN RITCHIE, JR.
WASHINGTON, D.C., _June 27, 1894_.
XVIII. MOUNT RAINIER IS 14,408 FEET HIGH
BY THE UNITED STATES GEOLOGICAL SURVEY
The United States Geological Survey issued a bulletin for
newspaper publication on January 22, 1914, giving the height
of the mountain as determined by the most accurate and
definitive methods known. That bulletin is here given as it
was then issued. At the same time F. E. Matthes, topographer
with the Survey, sent additional comment to the Sierra Club
of California, by whom it was published in the Sierra
Bulletin for January, 1914. This comment is now reproduced by
permission of the Sierra Club.
The height of the summit of Mount Rainier, Washington, has been
determined by the United States Geological Survey to be 14,408 feet
above mean sea level. This elevation now officially displaces the
former supposed height of the mountain of 14,363 feet and accords to
Mount Rainier the distinction of being the second highest mountain
peak in the United States, Mount Whitney, California, being the
highest. The correct height of Rainier was determined by a party of
topographic engineers of the Survey in connection with the mapping of
the Mount Rainier National Park, which was completed last summer. The
topographic survey of the park was begun in 1910 by F. E. Matthes,
continued in 1911 by Mr. Matthes and George R. Davis, and finished in
1913 by C. H. Birdseye, W. O. Tufts, O. G. Taylor, and S. E. Taylor.
In the mapping of the summit of the mountain a terrific blizzard was
encountered; in fact, two ascents of the upper portion of the mountain
were necessary. The first ascent of the upper 5,450 feet was begun at
5 o'clock A.M., August 16 [1913], and dawn broke with every indication
of developing into a beautiful day. On reaching the summit the men
encountered a terrific gale, clouds enveloped the mountain, preventing
observations, and by noon snow began to fall. A descent was attempted,
but the party became hopelessly lost in a labyrinth of crevasses, the
storm developing into a blizzard. To descend further was impossible;
to remain was suicide. Consequently a return to the crater was
ordered, and the men reached it after a two hours' climb, utterly
exhausted and nearly frozen. Here they sought shelter in one of the
steam caves, where during the long night they were thoroughly steamed
and half frozen in turn. Strenuous measures were employed by the men
to keep from falling asleep and freezing to death. As it was, their
fingers and ears were badly frozen. Finally, with a rising barometer,
they succeeded in descending 9,000 feet to a temporary camp, making
the descent in three hours. Here they recuperated and prepared for
another ascent, which was accomplished on August 20, the start being
made at 1 o'clock in the morning. Good weather was encountered and the
mapping of the entire summit was finished by 1 o'clock.
"If anyone thinks that American glaciers are play glaciers, or that
the weather which may be encountered at the summit of Mount Rainier in
August is uniformly balmy and springlike," said Mr. Birdseye, whose
fingers and ears were badly frosted, "let him climb Mount Rainier
during one of its summer blizzards. The steam caves in the crater are
not the pleasantest places imaginable to spend the night in, but had
they not been there, not one of us would be alive today to tell the
tale."
COMMENT BY F. E. MATTHES
The mountaineers of the Pacific Northwest will no doubt jubilate at
the above announcement by the United States Geological Survey of the
new figure for the altitude of Mount Rainier. It places that peak
close to the top of the list of high mountains in the United States.
Mount Rainier's closest rival on the Pacific coast, Mount Shasta, it
so happens, has just recently been beheaded by the United States Coast
and Geodetic Survey, and now can claim no more than 14,162 feet, that
is, 218 feet less than it once boasted. The great volcano of Puget
Sound is thus left well in the lead.
A review of the different figures that have been announced in the past
for each of the higher peaks of the United States would almost justify
one to infer that these summits have a peculiar habit of fluctuating
in height from time to time. Both Rainier and Shasta have been
notorious for their inconstancy; so much so indeed that it is to be
feared that the public will lose faith somewhat in the trustworthiness
of altitude determinations in general. There is good reason to
believe, however, that the last announcements for these two peaks are
not likely to be changed again. About Mount Shasta, perhaps the Coast
Survey is the only party able to speak positively; but as regards
Mount Rainier, the Geological Survey feels satisfied that the new
figure is the best that can be obtained with modern methods and
instruments.
The elevation of Mount Whitney (14,501 ft.), it may be remembered, was
determined by actual leveling, but such procedure would have been
impossible on Mount Rainier, as the most practicable route to its
summit leads over many miles of snow and ice, and up a precipitous
chute several hundred feet in height. On thawing snow accurate
leveling is out of the question, for the instrument can not be set up
so firmly that it will not settle slightly between back and fore
sights. To execute this pottering kind of work in freezing weather
would entail both hardship and great expense. But the obstacle that
would have proved entirely insuperable to levels on Mount Rainier and
led to the abandoning of that method is the dreaded Gibraltar Rock,
well known to many who read this magazine [Sierra Club Bulletin]. To
carry levels up its precipitous side is for practical considerations
all but impossible.
It was necessary, in the case of Mount Rainier, to resort to
long-distance methods of angulation. That is to say, sights were taken
to its summit from neighboring peaks, six to eight miles distant, the
altitudes of which had been carefully determined, and the positions of
which with respect to the mountain's summit had been computed from a
scheme of triangulation.
It is not possible to execute vertical-angle measurements of this sort
with the precision obtainable by leveling; at the same time by
providing a sufficient number of checks and repeating each measurement
many times a result can be attained that can be relied on within a
foot or two. And closer than that the determination of a snowcapped
peak, such as Mount Rainier, need scarcely be; for its actual height
is bound to fluctuate by several feet from year to year and even from
month to month.
It is gratifying to note how closely the new trigonometric
determination of Mount Rainier accords with the barometric one of
Prof. Alexander McAdie (14,394 ft.). It is hoped that this agreement
between the results of two fundamentally different methods will
strengthen public faith in their reliability, and lead to the
discarding of other figures (some of them much exaggerated) that have
appeared in print from time to time.
In closing, it may be said, that the Geological Survey's bulletin
little more than hints at the fortitude and pluck of Mr. Birdseye and
his party in their almost disastrous experiences on the peak. Survey
men are so frequently confronted by peril in their daily work, that
they are not apt to write or talk about it, and as a consequence the
public seldom learns the intimate details. It is to be hoped that the
history of this undertaking will some day appear in full.
[Illustration: PETER RAINIER.
Admiral of the Blue, Royal Navy. ]
XIX. PLACE NAMES AND ELEVATIONS IN MOUNT RAINIER NATIONAL PARK
Place names within a region like the Mount Rainier National
Park are produced by three causes: The first and most
important is the actual need of such names by those who work
within the Park and by those who report upon or write about
it. The second is the natural desire to honor those
individuals whose achievements are worthy of commemoration.
The third cause is found in the vanity of visitors. This is
sometimes manifested in the harmless and often helpful desire
just to be the one to name something, but usually it takes
the form of a desire of visitors to write the names of
themselves or their friends upon the map.
The ranger who discovers from a look-out peak a distant fire
near some unnamed lake or cliff hastens to a telephone, but
finds his work of sending fire fighters to the place of
danger much more difficult than if he could use some definite
place name. Trail builders and patrols continually find a
similar need for names. For their own use they proceed to
invent names which often stick. The Mountaineers in 1915
found that a trail builder had supplied such a need by giving
a beautiful waterfall near his trail the name of his favorite
brand of canned peaches. More care of such matters is now
being exercised by those interested working through the
United States Geographic Board.
The elevations given are taken from the official map and
other Government publications. In time all important heights
will be definitely determined and marked.
It is hoped that this compilation of the names may be
improved from year to year. Further facts about any of the
names would be welcomed by the editor of this work.
=Ada Creek.= A tributary of Huckleberry Creek near the northern
boundary of the Park. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Adelaide Lake.= Near the north-central boundary of the Park. Origin
of name not ascertained.
=Affi Falls.= In Lodi Creek, in the north-central portion of the Park.
Origin of name not ascertained.
=Alice Falls.= In Spukwush Creek, in the northwestern portion of the
Park. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Alki Crest.= In the northwestern corner of the Park. The name is from
the Chinook jargon meaning "by and by."
=Allen Lake.= See Lake Allen.
=Alta Vista.= A point near the snow line on the south-central slope.
It was named by John P. Hartman, who visited the place with a Tacoma
party in 1889. The name is Spanish and means "high view."
=Anvil Rock.= On the southern slope, near the upper Cowlitz Glacier.
The name is descriptive, but who suggested it has not been
ascertained. Elevation, 9,584 feet above sea level.
=Arthur Peak.= In the northwestern corner of the Park. Origin of name
not ascertained.
=August Peak.= Near the northwestern boundary of the Park. Origin of
name not ascertained.
=Avalanche Camp.= On the north slope. Named by a member of The
Mountaineers, during that club's first ascent in 1909. Elevation,
10,900 feet above sea level.
=Baker Point.= Outjutting portion of Goat Island Mountain, overlooking
Emmons Glacier. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Bald Rock.= On the southeastern slope, near the Cowlitz Divide. The
name is descriptive.
=Barnes Pass.= On western edge of the Park. Named in honor of the
photographer, C. A. Barnes, who discovered it while with J. H. Weer
and J. B. Flett.
=Barrier Peak.= A prolongation of Governors Ridge near the
east-central boundary of the Park.
=Basaltic Falls.= On the southeastern slope of the mountain. One of
the features of Cowlitz Park. Named by Prof. J. B. Flett and H. H.
Garretson.
=Bear Park.= In the northeastern corner of the Park.
=Bee Flat.= In the northwestern portion of the Park, just south of
Chenuis Mountain.
=Beehive.= Large rock on the southeast slope. It was named by Major E.
S. Ingraham in 1888, who says: "It reminded me of one of those
old-fashioned beehives." Elevation, 11,033 feet above sea level.
=Beljica.= An interesting peak near the road leading from Ashford to
the Park. The name is a composite made up of initials. In July, 1897,
a party of nine young people visiting the peak provided the name. The
B was for Burgon D. Mesler, the e for any one of three--Elizabeth
Drabe, Elizabeth Sharp and Elizabeth Mesler, the l for Lucy K.
LaWall, the j for Jessie K. LaWall, the i for Isabel Mesler, the c
for Clara Mesler, and the a for Alexander Mesler.
=Bench Lake.= In the southern portion of the Park. The land lying
above the lake is called The Bench. Elevation of the lake, 4,500 feet
above sea level.
=Berkeley Park.= In the north-central portion of the Park, between
Burroughs and Skyscraper Mountains. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Berry Peak.= In the northwestern corner of the Park.
=Boulder Creek.= A tributary of Ohanapecosh River, in the park of the
same name, on the eastern slope of the mountain.
=Boundary Peak.= Appropriately named, as it lies on the southern
boundary line of the Park.
=Brown Peak.= In the northeastern corner of the Park.
=Buel Peak.= Near the east-central boundary of the Park. Origin of
name not ascertained. Elevation, 5,933 feet above sea level.
=Burnt Park.= In the northeastern corner of the Park.
=Burroughs Mountain.= On the northeast slope. It was named for the
naturalist and was at first called John Burroughs Mountain.
=Butter Creek.= Flowing from the Tatoosh Range across the southern
boundary of the Park.
=Camp Curtis.= On the northeast slope. Named by The Mountaineers in
1909 in honor of Asahel Curtis, leader of that club's first ascent.
Elevation, 9,000 feet above sea level.
=Camp Delight.= See Camp of the Stars.
=Camp Misery.= On the southern slope of the mountain at the base of
the Beehive. The name is descriptive. Elevation, 11,033 feet above sea
level.
=Camp Muir.= On the southeast slope. Named by Major E. S. Ingraham, in
honor of the naturalist, John Muir, who selected the temporary camping
place during their ascent in 1888, because the presence of pumice
indicated a shelter from strong winds. Elevation, 10,062 feet above
sea level.
=Camp No Camp.= On the southeastern slope, near the summit of the
mountain. It is in the saddle near the summit of Gibraltar. The name
indicates a disappointed attempt at rest. Elevation, 12,550 feet above
sea level.
=Camp of the Clouds.= On the south slope above Paradise Valley. Named
on August 12, 1886, by Charles E. Kehoe, Charles A. Billings and
George N. Talcott of Olympia. During their visit there the heavy banks
of clouds parted and gave them a superb mountain view. Elevation,
5,947 feet above sea level.
=Camp of the Stars.= On the southeastern slope of the mountain, near
the foot of Gibraltar. It is a narrow shelf of rocks, affording space
for a dozen climbers when crowded together and "feet hanging over." It
was used by one of the Ingraham parties, and H. E. Holmes says they at
first called it Camp Delight on account of their joy at the first rays
of morning. Elevation, about 12,000 feet above sea level.
=Canyon Bridge.= In the southeastern part of the Park. The Muddy Fork
of the Cowlitz River rushes through a very narrow and deep rift in the
rocks. The spanning bridge gives an attractive view.
=Carbon Glacier.= This glacier begins at the foot of Willis Wall on
the north face of the mountain.
=Carbon River.= About 1876 coal was discovered on the banks of this
river suggesting the name, which was also later given to the glacier
from which the river has its source.
=Carter Falls.= One of the beautiful features of the lower Paradise
River. Named for an early guide who built the first trail to Paradise
Valley. For years the Longmires collected a fee of fifty cents from
each one using the trail. It was willingly paid when it was explained
that the money went to the builder of the trail.
=Castle Rock.= In the northwestern portion of the Park. Named from its
resemblance to an old castle. Elevation, 6,116 feet above sea level.
=Cataract Basin.= See Mist Park.
=Cataract Creek.= Flows from Mist Park to the Carbon River in the
northwestern portion of the Park. About midway in its course are the
beautiful Cataract Falls.
=Cathedral Rocks.= Extending southeast from the summit. It is an
extensive cleaver between the upper Cowlitz and Ingraham Glaciers. Who
first suggested the name has not been ascertained. Elevation, 8,262
feet above sea level.
=Chenuis Mountain.= An extensive ridge near the northern boundary of
the Park. On the shoulders of the mountain rest three little lakes
called Chenuis Lakes. From the northern slopes of the mountain there
rises Chenuis Creek, which, near its junction with the Carbon River at
the northwestern boundary of the Park, produces the beautiful Chenuis
Falls. The name seems to be Indian, but its origin has not been
ascertained. Elevation of the ridge, from 4,000 to 6,000 feet above
sea level.
=Christine Falls.= On the lower portion of Van Trump creek. Mr. Van
Trump says the falls "were named after my daughter, Christine Louise,
by a friend John Hayes, of Yelm." Elevation, 3,667 feet above sea
level.
=Cliff Lake.= In the south-central portion of the Park, between the
Tatoosh Range and the boundary.
=Clover Lakes.= In White River Park, in the northwestern part of the
Park.
=Cold Basin.= In the northern portion of the Park, just south of Grand
Park.
=Colonnade.= The ridge lying between the South Mowich and the Puyallup
Glaciers on the west-central slope of the mountain.
=Columbia Crest.= Name suggested by H. E. Holmes of the Ingraham party
in 1891. They had spent two nights in the crater and before leaving
voted on a name for the highest part of the summit, with Columbia
Crest as the result. It has occasionally been called The Dome. By
Stevens and Van Trump it was called Crater Peak. Elevation, 14,408
feet above sea level.
=Comet Falls.= On the southern slope of the mountain, in Van Trump
Park. Elevation, 5,200 feet above sea level.
=Cougar Falls.= Near the southern boundary of the Park, in the Nickel
Creek tributary of the Cowlitz River.
=Cowlitz Chimneys.= Pointed and columnar rocks on the east-central
slope. Though not adjacent to the glacier or river of that name, they
undoubtedly got their name from one or the other. Elevation 7,607 feet
above sea level.
=Cowlitz Cleaver.= Near the southern peak of the summit. It is
appropriately named, as it cleaves the higher streams of ice part of
which flow into Puget Sound and the rest into the Columbia River.
=Cowlitz Divide.= A ridge running from north to south in the
southeastern corner of the Park.
=Cowlitz Glacier.= Named by General Hazard Stevens and P. B. Van Trump
in 1870 when they discovered it to be the source of the river by that
name. It has its beginning from a group of smaller glaciers on the
southeast slope of the mountain. Above the glaciers lies Cowlitz Park.
=Cowlitz River.= The name appears as early as the Lewis and Clark
reports, 1805-1806, where it is spelled Coweliskee. In varying forms
it appears in the writings of all subsequent explorers. A tribe of
Indians by that name inhabited its valleys. The river finally flows
southward into the Columbia River.
=Cowlitz Rocks.= A mass of rocks on the southeast slope, between the
Paradise and Cowlitz Glaciers. The rocks were named in 1907 by the
veteran guide, Jules Stampfler, who found a name necessary to satisfy
the curiosity of his companies of tourists. Elevation, 7,457 feet
above sea level.
=Crater Lake.= On the northwest slope. Bailey Willis gave the name in
1883. He recently wrote: "The amphitheatres which the young geologist
mistook for craters are now known to be glacier basins eroded by
ice." Elevation, 4,929 feet above sea level.
=Crater Peak.= See Columbia Crest.
=Crescent Mountain.= On the northern slope. The name was used by
Bailey Willis in 1883. Near the foot of this mountain lies Crescent
Lake.
=Cress Falls.= In the northwestern portion of the Park, near Spukwush
Creek.
=Crystal Mountain.= On the southwestern slope of the mountain,
overlooking Indian Henrys Hunting Ground. Elevation, 6,300 feet above
sea level.
=Cushman Crest.= On the southern slope, overlooking Nisqually Glacier.
Named in honor of the late Congressman F. W. Cushman, of Tacoma.
=Dege Peak.= Overlooking Yakima Park in the northern part of the Park.
Origin of name not ascertained.
=Denman Falls.= On the western slope, in St. Andrews Creek. Named by
Ben Longmire in honor of A. H. Denman of Tacoma, enthusiastic
mountaineer and photographer.
=Devils Dream Creek.= On the southern slope of the mountain, a
tributary of Pyramid Creek. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Dick Creek.= Flowing from Elysian Fields to the Carbon River in the
northwestern portion of the Park. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Division Rock.= At the lower end of North Mowich Glacier, on the
northwestern slope of the mountain.
=Doe Creek.= A tributary of Ipsut Creek in the northwestern portion of
the Park.
=Double Peak.= Near the southeastern boundary of the Park. The height
is marked at 6,200 feet. The name was suggested by its form.
=Eagle Cliff.= Overlooking Spray Creek in the northwestern portion of
the Park.
=Eagle Peak.= Near the south-central boundary of the Park. Elevation,
5,955 feet above sea level.
=Echo Cliffs.= In the northwestern portion of the Park above Cataract
Creek.
=Echo Rock.= On the northwest slope near Russell Glacier. Major E. S.
Ingraham named it Seattle Rock because it may be seen from that city.
He does not know who changed the name.
=Edith Creek.= On the southern slope, a tributary of the Paradise
River. In 1907, Jules Stampfler, the guide, was getting out a series
of stereopticon views and he needed a name for that creek. He does not
remember Edith's full name. She was a member of one of his parties.
=Edmunds Glacier.= On the western slope. In June, 1883, the glaciers
were visited by Vice President Oakes of the Northern Pacific Railroad
Company and United States Senator George F. Edmunds of Vermont. One
result of that trip was an order to build what has since been known as
the Bailey Willis trail to the northwestern slopes of the mountain.
Another subsequent result was the naming of the glacier in honor of
Senator Edmunds.
=Elizabeth Ridge.= Near Crater Lake in the northwestern corner of the
Park. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Elysian Fields.= One of the beautiful park regions on the northern
slope. The name was given by Major E. S. Ingraham in 1888. Elevation,
5,700 feet above sea level.
=Emerald Ridge.= On the southwestern slope of the mountain, dividing
the lower parts of the Tahoma and South Tahoma Glaciers. The name is
descriptive, but by whom it was first suggested has not been
ascertained.
=Emmons Glacier.= On the northeastern slope. This is the largest
glacier on the mountain. For a long time it was called White Glacier
because it gave rise to the river of that name. The river's name came
from the glacial whiteness of its waters. The present name is in honor
of S. F. Emmons, who, with A. D. Wilson, made the second successful
ascent of the mountain in 1870.
=Eunice Lake.= In the northwest corner of the Park near Tolmie Peak.
Bailey Willis named it Tolmie Lake in 1883; but it was not so mapped
officially, and the name was changed to honor Mrs. W. H. Gilstrap of
Tacoma. She and her husband were frequent visitors to the Crater Lake
region.
=Fairy Falls.= On the southeastern slope, in the upper waters of
Stevens Creek. Elevation, 5,500 feet above sea level.
=Falls Creek.= Rises in North Park and flows across the boundary at
the northwestern corner of the Park.
=Fay Peak.= In the northwestern portion of the Park, overlooking
Crater Lake. Elevation, 6,500 feet above sea level. The name was given
in honor of Miss Fay Fuller of Tacoma, who in 1890 was the first of
her sex to attain the summit of Mount Rainier.
=Fir Lake.= A small lake in the southeastern corner of the Park.
=Fish Creek.= A tributary of Tahoma Creek in the southwestern corner
of the Park.
=Fishers Hornpipe Creek.= On the southern slope of the mountain, a
tributary of Pyramid creek. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Flett Glacier.= Near Ptarmigan Ridge on the northwestern slope. The
name is in honor of Professor J. B. Flett of Tacoma, one of the most
enthusiastic explorers of the mountain.
=Florence Peak.= In the northwestern corner of the Park. Origin of
name not ascertained.
=Frog Heaven.= On the south-central slope of the mountain, to the west
of Narada Falls.
=Frozen Lake.= In the northern portion of the Park, just south of
Mount Fremont.
=Fryingpan Glacier.= There are two conflicting theories about this
name. One is that some campers lost a frying pan in the river, giving
it that name, which was later extended to the glacier. The other is
that Professor I. C. Russell named the glacier from its fancied
resemblance to a frying pan, and that the name was later extended to
the river. On the east-central slope of the mountain.
=Garda Falls.= In Granite Creek, a tributary of Winthrop Creek, in the
north-central portion of the Park. Named by C. A. Barnes in honor of
Miss Garda Fogg of Tacoma.
=George Lake.= See Lake George.
=Gibraltar.= This famous and forbidding cliff of rock just southeast
of the summit was named by the Ingraham party in 1889. Elevation,
12,679 feet above sea level.
=Glacier Basin.= On the northern slope of the mountain. It is a rather
steep but attractive little park, with a small lake and good spring
water. Inter Glacier is at its head and Inter Fork passes through it.
Miners at Starbo Camp maintain a little waterpower sawmill, and they
have for years worked at prospective mines on the slopes of the Basin.
They have built a wagon road to their camp, by use of which tourists
will soon become well acquainted with the beauties of Glacier Basin
and the surrounding regions. Elevation, 6,000 feet above sea level.
=Glacier Island.= On the southwestern slope of the mountain. The name
is descriptive, as the island lies between the lower parts of Tahoma
and South Tahoma Glaciers.
=Goat Island Mountain.= On the northeastern slope of the mountain,
between Emmons Glacier and Summer Land.
=Goat Island Rock.= In the lower portion of Carbon Glacier, in the
northwestern portion of the Park.
=Golden Lakes.= A cluster of beautiful lakes in and near Sunset Park,
close to the west-central boundary of the Park. At sundown they glow
like molten gold.
=Gove Peak.= In the northwestern portion of the Park. Origin of name
not ascertained.
=Governors Ridge.= Toward the east-central boundary of the Park. The
name was suggested by Superintendent Ethan Allen of the Park.
=Grand Park.= A high and extensive area in the northern portion of the
Park. The miles of relatively level ground, flower-strewn and
ornamented with circular groves of alpine firs and hemlocks, with
deer abundant every summer, make the name an appropriate one.
Elevation, 5,700 feet above sea level.
=Granite Creek.= In the north-central portion of the Park. It is a
tributary of Winthrop Creek.
=Grant Creek.= A tributary to Spray Creek in the northwestern portion
of the Park. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Green Lake.= In the northwestern corner of the Park.
=Green Park.= North of Sourdough Mountains, in the northeastern part
of the Park.
=Hall's Camp.= See Wigwam Camp.
=Hayden Creek.= A tributary of Meadow Creek in the northwestern corner
of the Park. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Henrys Hunting Ground.= See Indian Henrys Hunting Ground.
=Hessong Rock.= On the northwest slope overlooking Spray Park. It was
named in honor of a photographer who lived at Lake Kapowsin.
=Hidden Lake.= Near White River Park, in the northeastern part of the
Park.
=Howard Peak.= In the northwestern corner of the Park. Origin of name
not ascertained.
=Huckleberry Creek.= Takes its rise in the Sourdough Mountains and
flows northward across the boundary of the Park.
=Huckleberry Park.= At the headwaters of Huckleberry Creek in the
northeastern part of the Park.
=Independence Ridge.= Extending from Chenuis Mountain to the northern
boundary of the Park.
=Indian Bar.= A large gravel bar in Ohanapecosh Park on the eastern
slope of the mountain.
=Indian Henrys Hunting Ground.= About 1870, a Cowlitz Indian began
hunting mountain goats in that region. Henry Winsor, a pioneer mail
carrier, asked his name and got an unpronounceable answer. "That's no
name," said Winsor, "your name is Indian Henry." His playful joke
stuck. On the map the word "Indian" is omitted, but the United States
Geographic Board has voted to restore it. P. B. Van Trump said the
Indian's name was Sotolick.
=Ingraham Glacier.= This beautiful glacier lies between Cathedral
Rocks and Little Tahoma on the southeast slope. It was named by
Professor I. C. Russell in 1896 in honor of Major E. S. Ingraham of
Seattle.
=Inter Glacier.= On the northeast slope. It was named by Major E. S.
Ingraham in 1886 when he attempted but failed to ascend the mountain
from the north side. The name was suggested by the glacier being
hemmed in by a rim of rocks.
=Ipsut Pass.= In the northwestern corner of the Park. Flowing from it
to the Carbon River is a stream called Ipsut Creek. The word is said
to be a form of an Indian word meaning "bear."
=Iron Mountain.= On the southwestern slope of the mountain,
overlooking Indian Henrys Hunting Ground. The name describes the
masses of supposed iron stain. Elevation, 6,200 feet above sea level.
=Jeanette Heights.= On the west-central slope overlooking Edmunds
Glacier. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Josephine Creek.= A tributary of Huckleberry Creek, taking its rise
in Green Park. Origin of name not ascertained.
=June Creek.= Flows across the boundary in the northwestern corner of
the Park. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Kautz Glacier.= This glacier begins at the foot of Peak Success, the
southern summit. It was named in honor of Lieutenant (afterwards
General) A. V. Kautz, who attempted an ascent in 1857. The creek
flowing from the glacier bears the same name.
=Klapatche Ridge.= Near the west-central boundary of the Park, between
the North Puyallup River and St. Andrews Creek. Origin of name not
ascertained.
=Knapsack Pass.= In the northwestern portion of the Park, a pass
between Fay Peak and Mother Mountain from Mist Park to Crater Lake.
=Kotsuck Creek.= Flows across the east-central boundary of the Park.
Origin of name not ascertained.
=Lake Allen.= On the west slope of Mount Wow in the southwestern
corner of the Park. To avoid confusion, it was originally named Lake
O. D. Allen. The name was given in honor of the veteran botanist, who
was at one time a professor at Yale University.
=Lake Eleanor.= Near the northern boundary of the Park. Origin of name
not ascertained.
=Lake Ethel.= In the north-central portion of the Park, with outlet
into the West Fork of White River. The name was suggested by The
Mountaineers in 1912 as a compliment to the daughter of Park Ranger
Thomas E. O'Farrell.
=Lake George.= On the western slope of Mount Wow in the southwestern
corner of the Park. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Lake James.= In the north-central portion of the Park, with outlet
into Van Horn Creek. The name was suggested by The Mountaineers in
1912 as a compliment to the young son of Thomas E. O'Farrell, Park
Ranger.
=Lake Tom.= A small lake near Arthur Peak in the northwestern corner
of the Park.
=Landslide.= On the northwest of Slide Mountain, in the northeastern
corner of the Park.
=Lee Creek.= A tributary of Crater Creek in the northwestern portion
of the Park. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Liberty Cap.= The northern peak of the summit of Mount Rainier. It
has been claimed that Stevens and Van Trump gave this name at the time
of their first ascent in 1870, but Mr. Van Trump says they called it
Tahoma Peak. One of the early uses of the present name was by Bailey
Willis, who wrote in 1883: "Over the trees near the outlet, just to
the right of this pinnacle, a pure white peak towers up into the
heavens; it is the northern summit of Mount Tacoma,--the Liberty Cap."
Elevation, 14,112 feet above sea level.
=Liberty Ridge.= To the west of Willis Wall and overlooking the head
of Carbon Glacier near the northern summit. The name was adopted in
1914 by the engineers of the United States Geological Survey who made
the official map of the Park. It was suggested by John H. Williams,
author of the book entitled "The Mountain That Was God."
=Little Tahoma Peak.= A towering and rugged peak on the east flank of
Mount Rainier. Very few adventuresome climbers have as yet attained
its summit. Elevation, 11,117 feet above sea level. The only ascent
known was made by Prof. J. B. Flett and H. H. Garretson.
=Lodi Creek.= A tributary of White River, in the north-central portion
of the Park. The name is said to have been given by early prospectors
for minerals.
=Longmire Springs.= Near the southeastern boundary of the Park. The
springs were discovered by the pioneer, James Longmire, who acquired
title to the property and lived there until his death on September 17,
1897. Members of his family still maintain a resort there. The
National Park Inn, a postoffice, Park offices, and other conveniences
make Longmire the capital of the Park. Elevation, 2,761 feet above sea
level.
=Lost Creek.= Flows across the northeastern boundary of the Park.
=Louise Lake.= In the south-central portion of the Park between Mazama
Ridge and Tatoosh Range. Origin of name not ascertained.
=McClure Rock.= On the southeastern slope near Paradise Glacier. It
marks the place of the tragic death of Professor Edgar McClure, of the
University of Oregon, in 1897, while descending after taking
barometric measurements at the summit. Elevation, 7,384 feet above sea
level.
=McNealey Peak.= A part of Sourdough Mountains in the northern part of
the Park. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Madcap Falls.= On the southern slope of the mountain, in the Paradise
River between Narada Falls and Carter Falls.
=Maple Falls.= In a creek of the same name, near the southern boundary
of the Park. The creek is a tributary of Stevens Creek.
=Marcus Peak.= A part of Sourdough Mountains in the northeastern part
of the Park. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Margaret Falls.= On the southeast slope, between Cowlitz Park and
Cowlitz Glacier. The name was in honor of one of the daughters of E.
S. Hall, former Superintendent of the Park.
=Marie Falls.= On the southeast slope, in the upper waters of Nickel
Creek. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Marjorie Lakes.= Near the north-central boundary of the Park. Origin
of name not ascertained.
=Marmot Creek.= A tributary of Cataract Creek, draining Seattle Park,
in the northwestern portion of the Park. The name is for the whistling
marmot, so plentiful in that region.
=Marsh Lakes.= In the southern part of the Park.
=Martha Falls.= On the southeast slope. The falls were named in honor
of the wife of the late Elcaine Longmire, by Ben Longmire, the son.
=Martin Peak.= On the northwestern boundary of the Park. Origin of
name not ascertained.
=Mary Belle Falls.= On the southeast slope in the upper waters of
Nickel Creek. The name was suggested by Superintendent Ethan Allen in
honor of one of the daughters of E. S. Hall, former Superintendent of
the Park.
=Mazama Ridge.= On the southern slope of the mountain, beginning at
Sluiskin Falls. Named for the Oregon mountain climbing club whose main
camp was pitched there in 1905.
=Meadow Creek.= Near the northwestern boundary of the Park. It rises
near Tolmie Peak and was named by Bailey Willis in 1883.
=Mildred Point.= On the southwest slope, overlooking the foot of Kautz
Glacier. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Mineral Mountain.= On the north-central slope of the mountain,
overlooking Mystic Lake. The name tells the hopes of early prospectors
who worked there before the National Park was created.
=Mirror Lakes.= On the southwestern slope of the mountain, in Indian
Henrys Hunting Ground.
=Mist Park.= In the northwestern portion of the Park, on the shoulders
of Mother Mountain. Elevation, 6,000 feet above sea level. This park
is also known as Cataract Basin.
=Moraine Park.= On the northern slope, bordering Carbon Glacier. It
was named by Professor I. C. Russell.
=Mosquito Flat.= In the north-central portion of the Park, near Lakes
James and Ethel. The name indicates that the place was first visited
at an unfortunate season. Elevation, 4,400 feet above sea level.
=Mother Mountain.= An extensive ridge in the northwestern portion of
the Park. The name came from the figure of a woman in the rock on the
northeastern summit of the ridge clearly seen silhouetted against the
sky by those traveling on the Carbon River trail. Elevation, 6,540
feet above sea level.
=Mount Ararat.= On the southwest slope, overlooking Indian Henrys
Hunting Ground. Ben Longmire writes: "I named it because I found there
some long slabs of wood that had turned to stone and I thought they
might have been part of old Noah's boat. I also found a stump with a
ring around it as if his rope might have been tied there. It was all
stone." Elevation, 5,996 feet above sea level.
=Mount Fremont.= In the northern portion of the Park at the western
extremity of Sourdough Mountains. The origin of the name has not been
ascertained. Elevation, 7,300 feet above sea level.
=Mount Pleasant.= In the northwestern portion of the Park, overlooking
Mist and Spray Parks.
=Mount Rainier.= Named for Admiral Peter Rainier of the British Navy
by Captain George Vancouver in 1792. For his own account of the
discovery and naming of the mountain, see Chapter I of this book.
Elevation, 14,408 feet above sea level.
=Mount Ruth.= On the northeastern slope of the mountain, overlooking
the Inter and Emmons Glaciers. The name was given in honor of Ruth
Knapp, daughter of the prospector who built "Knapp's Cabin," a
landmark for tourists in the Glacier Basin region. Elevation, 8,700
feet above sea level.
=Mount Wow.= In the southwestern corner of the Park. It is sometimes
called Goat Mountain. Elevation, 6,045 feet above sea level.
=Mountain Meadows.= In the northwestern corner of the Park. The name
originated with Bailey Willis in 1883. Elevation, 4,000 feet above sea
level.
=Mowich Glaciers.= On the western and northwestern slopes of the
mountain are two beautiful glaciers known as North and South Mowich.
The name is from the Chinook jargon, meaning "deer." Who first
suggested the name has not been ascertained. Each glacier has its
draining stream. These flow together, making Mowich River, which
crosses the northwestern boundary of the Park. North Mowich was once
called Willis Glacier and South Mowich was called Edmunds Glacier.
=Muddy Fork.= On the southeastern slope of the mountain. One of
several sources of the Cowlitz River, it drains from the foot of the
large Cowlitz Glacier.
=Myrtle Falls.= On the southern slope in Edith Creek, a tributary of
the Paradise River. The name was given by Jules Stampfler, the guide,
in 1907. Myrtle was a member of one of his parties, but he has
forgotten the rest of her name.
=Mystic Lake.= On the northern slope of the mountain, between the
Winthrop and Carbon Glaciers. It is a favorite place for campers who
expect to attempt the ascent of the mountain on its northern slopes.
Elevation, 5,750 feet above sea level. Named by Prof. J. B. Flett and
H. H. Garretson on account of a mysterious temporary whirlpool seen
near its outlet.
=Nahunta Falls.= On the south slope. At one time the falls had the
name Marie, but it was changed at the suggestion of Secretary Josephus
Daniels of the United States Navy Department. He says: "The name was
familiar to me as one given by the Carolina Tuscarora to a river in
North Carolina and also to their largest fort or 'head town.'"
Secretary Daniels obtained from the Bureau of American Ethnology
information that the name has appeared under various spellings and may
mean "tall trees" or "tall timbers."
=Narada Falls.= On the south-central slope, the principal feature of
the lower Paradise River. An effort was recently made to change the
name to Cushman Falls in honor of the late Congressman F. W. Cushman,
a strong friend of the Park. The present name is of Theosophical
origin. Narada was a spiritual being worshipped by the Brahman people
in India by reason of his service to the first race of men. Among
modern Theosophists the word has become a metaphysical subject, the
greater part of which is given to esoteric students and cannot be
revealed. The word itself means "uncontaminated." The wonderful beauty
of the scene, in its pure and original form, suggested the name to an
early group of visitors, Theosophists, consisting of the following
persons: Professor E. O. Schwägerl, Mr. and Mrs. George A. Sheffield,
Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Knight, Miss Ida Wright (now Mrs. Vern Mudgett),
Mrs. Addie G. Barlow and Mr. Henry Carter. Elevation, 4,572 feet above
sea level.
=National Park Inn.= At Longmire Springs near the southwestern
entrance to the Park. This attractive hotel has frequently been so
overrun with guests that numerous tents have been used for sleeping
quarters. These are placed in the groves of pines and firs on the bank
of the Nisqually River. Many trips to interesting parts of the
mountain are made from the Inn. Elevation, 2,761 feet above sea level.
=Natural Bridge.= In the north-central portion of the Park. Many
photographers have scrambled to the scene of this natural curiosity.
Elevation, 5,400 feet above sea level.
=Needle Creek.= Near the east-central boundary of the Park. It is a
tributary of Kotsuck Creek and takes its rise near the sharp cliffs of
Cowlitz Chimneys, which may have suggested the name "Needle."
=Needle Rock.= On the northwest slope, overlooking the North Mowich
Glacier. The name was given by Professor J. B. Flett from its supposed
resemblance to Cleopatra's Needle. Elevation, 7,587 feet above sea
level.
=Nisqually Glacier.= The large glacier flowing from the southern flank
of Mount Rainier. It was named by Stevens and Van Trump in 1870 when
they found it to be the source of Nisqually River.
=Nisqually River.= Rising at the foot of Nisqually Glacier, it flows
southwesterly through the Park and empties into Puget Sound between
Tacoma and Olympia. It was mentioned in the Journal of John Work of
the Hudson's Bay Company, as early as 1824. The first settlement by
white men on Puget Sound was made by the Hudson's Bay Company near its
mouth in May, 1833. That trading post was called Nisqually House. Rev.
Myron Eells, the talented missionary, says the word comes from the
native word, "Squally-o-bish," from the tribe of that name.
=North Mowich.= See Mowich.
=North Park.= In the northwestern corner of the Park. Elevation, about
5,000 feet above sea level.
=Northern Crags.= In the northwestern portion of the Park, overlooking
Elysian Fields.
=Observation Rock.= On the northwest slope near Flett Glacier. In 1885
it was named Observation Point by Prof. L. F. Henderson. An extensive
view of western Washington is to be had from its top. Elevation, 8,364
feet above sea level.
=Ohanapecosh Glacier.= On the east-central slope of the mountain.
Below the glacier lies the beautiful Ohanapecosh Park, from which
flows the river of the same name, which passes out of the Park at the
northeastern corner of the boundary. The name is Indian, but its
meaning has not been ascertained.
=Old Desolate.= A ridge in the northwestern portion of the Park
between Moraine and Vernal Parks.
=Ollala Creek.= In the southeastern corner of the Park. The name is
from the Chinook jargon, meaning "berries."
=Owyhigh Lakes.= Near the east-central boundary of the Park. The
Yakima had a great war leader, Chief Owhigh, and this is apparently an
honor for him. See narrative by Theodore Winthrop in this book,
Chapter IV.
=Panhandle Gap.= On the east-central slope of the mountain, above the
Sarvent Glaciers. Elevation, about 7,000 feet above sea level.
=Panorama Point.= On the southern slope of the mountain, overlooking
Nisqually Glacier.
=Paradise Glacier.= On the southeast slope. In 1870, Stevens and Van
Trump called it Little Nisqually Glacier.
=Paradise River.= Stevens and Van Trump called the river Glacier Creek
in 1870.
=Paradise Valley.= On the south-central slope. This is the best known
part of the Park. David Longmire says that his mother (wife of the
pioneer, James Longmire) and a Mrs. Jameson were the first women to
visit the region. As they wound up the zigzag trail through the forest
they were suddenly in the midst of most wonderful mountain scenery.
"O, what a paradise!" exclaimed one. "Yes, a real paradise," answered
the other. That was in 1885, and the name Paradise has remained in use
for the valley and has also been extended to the river and the glacier
from which it takes its source.
=Paul Peak.= In the northwestern corner of the Park. Origin of name
not ascertained.
=Peak Success.= The southern summit of Mount Rainier. It was named in
1870 by Stevens and Van Trump on the occasion of their making the
first ascent of the mountain. The new map calls it Point Success.
Elevation, 14,150 feet above sea level.
=Pearl Creek.= On the southern slope of the mountain, draining Pyramid
Glacier into Kautz Creek. About midway in its course the creek plunges
over what are known as Pearl Falls.
=Pigeon Creek.= Near the north-central boundary of the Park.
=Pinnacle Peak.= One of the most dominant peaks of the Tatoosh Range
in the south-central portion of the Park. Its height is marked at
6,562 feet. On its northern slope lies an ice field called Pinnacle
Glacier. The ascent of this peak is attempted by many visitors
starting from Paradise Valley.
=Plummer Peak.= Near the south-central boundary of the Park. The name
was suggested by Superintendent Ethan Allen in honor of the late Fred
G. Plummer, Geographer of the United States Forest Service.
=Point Success.= See Peak Success.
=Prospector Creek.= A tributary of Huckleberry Creek in the
northeastern part of the Park.
=Ptarmigan Ridge.= On the northwestern slope of the mountain, lying
north of the North Mowich Glacier and south of the Flett and Russell
Glaciers. The name was given on account of the large number of
ptarmigan families found there each summer. Named by Prof. J. B. Flett
and H. H. Garretson.
=Puyallup Cleaver.= The large ridge of rocks on the western slope of
the mountain, dividing the Puyallup and Tahoma Glaciers.
=Puyallup Glacier.= On the western slope. Its name comes from the fact
that it feeds one of the branches of the Puyallup River.
=Puyallup River.= Two forks of this river rise from the glaciers on
the western and southwestern slopes of the mountain. The river empties
into Puget Sound at Tacoma Harbor. There have been many spellings of
the word in early annals. Rev. Myron Eells says the tribe of Indians
living on the river called themselves "Puyallupnamish."
=Pyramid Park.= On the southern slope of the mountain, adjacent to
Pyramid Peak. From the park flows a stream called Pyramid Creek, and
above the park lies Pyramid Glacier, between South Tahoma and Kautz
Glaciers.
=Pyramid Peak.= On the southwestern slope, overlooking Indian Henrys
Hunting Ground. It was named by James L. Mosman, of Yelm, because of
its resemblance to a perfect pyramid. The same name has been extended
to a small park and glacier to the northeastward of the peak.
Elevation, 6,937 feet above sea level.
=Rainier.= See Mount Rainier.
=Rampart Ridge.= On the southern slope of the mountain. This ridge is
a prominent group of crags rising above Longmire Springs. Elevation,
3,800 feet above sea level. The nearer and higher portion of the ridge
is known as The Ramparts. The name is an old one, but who first
suggested it has not been ascertained. Elevation of The Ramparts,
4,080 feet above sea level.
=Ranger Creek.= In the northwestern corner of the Park, flowing into
Carbon River near the Ranger Station at the boundary of the Park.
=Redstone Peak.= In the north-central portion of the Park, between the
headwaters of Van Horn Creek and White River.
=Reese's Camp.= On the south-central slope of the mountain, in
Paradise Park. For a number of years John L. Reese has accommodated
visitors in a log and canvas hotel with numerous tents for sleeping
rooms. The name of his camp has grown so familiar that other names are
forgotten. The site of his hotel was once known as Theosophy Ridge.
Beginning with 1916, the Rainier National Park Company, a new
corporation composed of prominent citizens, will supplant Reese's Camp
with a modern hotel and will provide garages, lunch-stations and other
conveniences for the tourists. The elevation at Reese's Camp is 5,557
feet above sea level.
=Reflection Lakes.= On the south-central slope of the mountain. These
lakes are visited by all who make the trip to Pinnacle Peak from
Paradise Valley. Elevation, 4,861 feet above sea level.
=Register Rock.= On the rim of the crater, where there is securely
fastened in the rocks a record on which all successful climbers by
way of the Gibraltar route sign their names. Elevation, 14,161 feet
above sea level, or 247 feet below Columbia Crest, the actual summit.
=Ricksecker Point.= On the southern slope. It was named in honor of
Eugene Ricksecker, the engineer, who had charge of building the
government road in the Park. Elevation, 4,212 feet above sea level.
=Round Pass.= Near the southwestern boundary of the Park. It is
understood that the name is to be changed to Halls Pass in honor of
former Superintendent E. S. Hall.
=Rushingwater Creek.= Flows from the Golden Lakes across the
west-central boundary of the Park.
=Russell Cliff.= At the summit, east of Liberty Cap. It was named by
The Mountaineers Club, during an ascent in 1909, in honor of Professor
I. C. Russell.
=Russell Glacier.= On the northern slope, just west of Carbon Glacier.
It was named in honor of Professor I. C. Russell.
=Rust Ridge.= In the northwestern corner of the Park.
=St. Andrews Park.= On the southwestern slope of the mountain. Among
the first campers in that region was a group of choir boys from St.
Mark's (Episcopal) Church of Seattle. It is said that they called the
place St. Andrews Park. The stream flowing out of it is now called St.
Andrews Creek, and high up on the western slope is St. Andrews Rock,
at the entrance to Sunset Amphitheatre.
=St. Elmo Pass.= On the north slope, through the ridge that divides
the Winthrop and Inter Glaciers. It was named by Major E. S. Ingraham,
who says: "In 1887, I camped on the ridge with my party. During the
night a great thunderstorm arose and we could hear the peals of
thunder below. A couple of boys who were with the party were sleeping
above us. Suddenly they called out that the storm was over because
they could see the stars. I, too, saw stars, but I did not think they
were real. I got up and began to investigate. What the boys thought
were stars was St. Elmo fire which had settled on their alpenstocks.
Even the cooking utensils were aflame with it, and our heads shone. I
explained the phenomenon and the place was called St. Elmo Pass."
Elevation, 7,415 feet above sea level.
=St. Jacobs Lake.= A small lake in the southeastern corner of the
Park. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Sarvent Glaciers.= Two small but interesting glaciers on the
east-central slope, draining into Fryingpan Creek. They were named in
honor of Henry M. Sarvent, the engineer, who made the first detailed
map of the mountain.
=Scarface.= Near the north-central boundary of the Park. The name is
descriptive. Elevation, 6,100 feet above sea level.
=Seattle Park.= A small but beautiful area in the northwestern portion
of the Park between the Russell and Carbon Glaciers. It was named for
the City of Seattle.
=Shadow Lake.= On the east-central slope of the mountain, east of
Burroughs Mountain. Elevation, 6,200 feet above sea level.
=Shaw Creek.= A tributary of White River near the eastern boundary of
the Park. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Silvan Island.= On the south side of Emmons Glacier. Named by Prof.
J. B. Flett.
=Silver Falls.= In the southeastern corner of the Park.
=Skyscraper Mountain.= In the north-central portion of the Park,
overlooking Berkeley Park. It is a recent name and comes from its
supposed resemblance to a modern style of architecture. Elevation,
7,650 feet above sea level.
=Slide Mountain.= In the northeastern corner of the Park. Elevation,
6,630 feet above sea level.
=Sluiskin Falls.= On the southeastern slope, in the upper waters of
Paradise River. Named by Stevens and Van Trump, in 1870, in honor of
their Indian guide. Elevation, 5,900 feet above sea level.
=Sluiskin Mountain.= In the north-central portion of the Park,
overlooking Vernal Park. Evidently an additional, though later, honor
for the Indian guide of Stevens and Van Trump. Elevation, 7,015 feet
above sea level.
=Snow Lake.= Near the southern boundary of the Park.
=Sotolick Point.= On the southwest slope. The name is spelled
"Satulick" on the map. It was suggested by P. B. Van Trump, who says
Sotolick was the name of Indian Henry. Elevation, 5,574 feet above sea
level.
=South Mowich.= See Mowich.
=South Tahoma.= See Tahoma.
=Spray Falls.= On the northwestern slope of the mountain. The highest
and most beautiful falls on the north side of the mountain. It was
probably named when the Bailey Willis trail was built by it in 1883.
The abundant water breaks into a mass of spray. Elevation, 5,300 feet
above sea level.
=Spray Park.= Above Spray Falls lies this extensive and most beautiful
park. Its elevation is from 6,000 to 8,000 feet above sea level.
Several lakes drain into Spray Creek, which produces Spray Falls. The
name originated at the falls and was later extended to the creek and
park.
=Spukwush Creek.= Flowing from Chenuis Mountain to Carbon River in the
northwestern portion of the Park. The name seems to be Indian, but its
origin has not been ascertained.
=Squaw Lake.= On the southwestern slope of the mountain, near the
entrance to Indian Henrys Hunting Ground. It is said that the Squaw
camped there while her hunter husband went further up the slopes for
his game.
=Starbo Camp.= In Glacier Basin, on the northern slope of the
mountain. It is named for the miner who has maintained a camp there
for a number of years. Further information is given under the head of
Glacier Basin.
=Steamboat Prow.= On the north slope of the mountain. The
appropriateness of this name is apparent to any who have visited the
upper ice fields of the Winthrop and Emmons Glaciers. The pointed
cliff seems to be buffeting a sea of ice. Elevation, 9,500 feet above
sea level.
=Stevens Glacier.= On the southeastern slope, adjoining Paradise
Glacier. The name is in honor of General Hazard Stevens who, with P.
B. Van Trump, made the first ascent of the mountain in 1870. The creek
flowing from the glacier is called Stevens Creek; its deep bed is
Stevens Canyon, and the overlooking crags are Stevens Ridge.
=Stevens Peak.= Near the southern boundary of the Park. The name is
probably an additional honor for General Hazard Stevens. Elevation,
6,511 feet above sea level.
=Success Glacier.= On the southern slope of the mountain, flowing into
Kautz Glacier. Between Success Glacier and South Tahoma Glacier lies a
ridge called Success Cleaver. For the origin of the name see Peak
Success.
=Summer Land.= One of the mountain's most beautiful parks, on the
east-central slope, above Fryingpan Creek. It was named by Major E. S.
Ingraham in 1888.
=Sunbeam Falls.= On the southern slope of the mountain, in a tributary
of Stevens Creek.
=Sunrise Ridge.= Appropriately named as being at the northeastern edge
of the Park. A stream flowing from the ridge is called Sunrise Creek.
Elevation, about 6,000 feet above sea level.
=Sunset Amphitheatre.= A huge cirque extending up toward Liberty Cap
on the western side of the mountain. From it flow the Puyallup and
Tahoma Glaciers.
=Sunset Park.= So named because it extends to the west-central
boundary of the Park.
=Sweet Peak.= In the northwestern corner of the Park. Origin of name
not ascertained. Elevation, 4,500 feet above sea level.
=Sylvia Falls.= On the southeastern slope, in Stevens Creek. Ben
Longmire, who is quite a wag, says: "Bill Stafford named some falls,
Sylvia Falls, after his sweetheart, and she has not spoken to him
since."
=Tahoma Glacier.= On the southwest slope of the mountain, beginning
at Sunset Amphitheatre and draining into the South Fork of the
Puyallup River. Just south of this glacier is another called South
Tahoma Glacier, which drains into Tahoma Creek, which in turn flows
into the Nisqually River at the southwestern corner of the Park. The
name is one of the forms of the word Tacoma. Stevens and Van Trump
gave the name to what is now known as Liberty Cap at the summit. The
name is also applied to a most prominent peak on the eastern slope of
the mountain. See Little Tahoma.
=Tamanos Mountain.= Near the east-central boundary of the Park. The
name is apparently one way of spelling the Chinook jargon word meaning
"spirit."
=Tato Falls.= On the southern slope, near the foot of Nisqually
Glacier. The name was suggested by Superintendent Ethan Allen.
=Tatoosh Range.= Near the south-central boundary of the Park. The
Indian word is said to mean "nourishing breast." A stream from the
mountains is called Tatoosh Creek. Highest elevation, at Unicorn Peak,
6,939 feet above sea level.
=Tenas Creek.= Flowing from Mount Wow across the boundary in the
southwest corner of the Park. The name is from the Chinook jargon
meaning "little."
=The Burn.= Near the southern boundary of the Park. The name is too
suggestive of a departed forest.
=The Castle.= A part of the Tatoosh Range, in the southern portion of
the Park.
=The Fan.= On the southeastern slope, just south of the lower part of
Cowlitz Glacier. It is a lake whose name was suggested by its shape.
=The Palisades.= A ridge jutting northwestward from Sourdough
Mountains, in the northeastern part of the Park.
=The Ramparts.= See Rampart Ridge.
=The Wedge.= On the north slope of the mountain, between the Winthrop
and Emmons Glaciers. A large mass with Steamboat Prow at the upper or
"sharpened" edge. Named by Prof. I. C. Russell and his party in 1896.
=Theosophy Ridge.= See Reese's Camp.
=Tilicum Point.= On the northwestern slope of the mountain, a part of
Ptarmigan Ridge. The name is from the Chinook jargon, meaning
"friend." Elevation, 6,654 feet above sea level.
=Tirzah Peak.= A portion of Chenuis Mountain near the northwestern
boundary of the Park. Origin of name not ascertained. Elevation, 5,212
feet above sea level.
=Tokaloo Rock.= On the western slope, at the lower end of Puyallup
Cleaver. Origin of name not ascertained. Elevation, 7,675 feet above
sea level.
=Tolmie Peak.= In the northwestern corner of the Park. It is named in
honor of Dr. William Fraser Tolmie, the Hudson's Bay Company surgeon,
who was the first white man to approach the mountain. It was in 1833
that he climbed this peak. In 1883, Bailey Willis wrote: "The point
remained unvisited for fifty years; last summer I was able to identify
it and named it Tolmie Peak." A near-by stream is called Tolmie Creek.
Elevation of the peak, 5,939 feet above sea level.
=Trixie Falls.= On the southeastern slope, in Cowlitz Park. The name
was suggested by Superintendent Ethan Allen in honor of one of the
daughters of former Superintendent E. S. Hall.
=Tumtum Peak.= In the southwestern corner of the Park, visible to all
on the road to and from Longmire. The name is from the Chinook jargon,
meaning "heart," and was suggested by the form of the mountain.
Elevation, 4,678 feet above sea level.
=Twin Falls.= On the southeastern slope of the mountain, in the lower
part of Cowlitz Park.
=Tyee Peak.= A part of Chenuis Mountain in the northwestern portion of
the Park. The name is from the Chinook jargon, meaning "chief."
Elevation, 6,030 feet above sea level.
=Unicorn Peak.= Where the Tatoosh Range approaches the south-central
boundary of the Park, this peak rises to a height of 6,939 feet. On
its western flank is an ice field called Unicorn Glacier.
=Van Horn Creek.= On the northern slope, toward the boundary of the
Park. The name was suggested by Thomas E. O'Farrell, Park Ranger, in
honor of Rev. F. J. Van Horn, one of The Mountaineers' party of 1909.
The beautiful falls in the creek received the same name. Elevation of
the falls, about 4,400 feet above sea level.
=Van Trump Glacier.= On the southern slope. It is named in honor of P.
B. Van Trump who, with General Hazard Stevens, made the first ascent
of the mountain in 1870. The creek flowing from the glacier has the
same name, and the flower-strewn region above the creek is called Van
Trump Park. Elevation of the park, about 5,500 feet above sea level.
=Vernal Park.= In the north-central portion of the Park, just south of
Sluiskin Mountain.
=Virginia Peak.= Near the northwestern boundary of the Park. Origin of
name not ascertained. Elevation, 4,934 feet above sea level.
=Wahpenayo Peak.= Between the Tatoosh Range and the south-central
boundary of the Park. Origin of name not ascertained. Elevation, 6,234
feet above sea level.
=Wallace Peak.= A portion of Chenuis Mountain near the northwestern
boundary of the Park. Origin of name not ascertained. Elevation, 5,800
feet above sea level.
=Wapowety Cleaver.= On the southern slope, overlooking Kautz Glacier.
Mr. Van Trump says that Wapowety was the Indian guide of Lieutenant A.
V. Kautz during his attempted ascent in 1857. Elevation, about 9,500
feet above sea level.
=Washington Cascades.= On the southern slope of the mountain, in the
Paradise River above Narada Falls.
=Wauhaukaupauken Falls.= On the east slope, in Ohanapecosh Park. This
is one of the remarkable features of the mountain streams. The meaning
and origin of the Indian name have not been ascertained.
=Weer Rock.= On the western slope. The name does not appear on the
map, but it is said to have been agreed upon as an honor to J. H.
Weer, of Tacoma, who has done extensive exploration work upon and
around the mountain. He was leader of The Mountaineers, in 1915, when
the first large party encircled the mountain at snow-line.
=White River.= This river drains most of the glaciers on the
northeastern slopes of the mountain. With a grand sweep around the
mountain, the river flows through its valley to unite with the Black
River near Seattle, becoming the Duwamish River, which empties into
Puget Sound at Seattle Harbor. Its name came from the glacial
character of the water.
=White River Park.= Lying between Sourdough Mountains and Sunrise
Ridge in the northeastern part of the Park.
=Whitman Glacier.= On the eastern slope of the mountain flowing from
the side of Little Tahoma. The name is in honor of Doctor Marcus
Whitman, who gave his life as a missionary among the Indians. He, his
wife, and twelve others were murdered by the Indians near Walla Walla
in 1847. The ridge of rocks east of the glacier is called Whitman
Crest.
=Wigwam Camp.= In Indian Henrys Hunting Ground, on the southwestern
slope of the mountain. For several years a tent and log-cabin camp has
been maintained here by George B. Hall for the accommodation of
visitors. Elevation, 5,300 feet above sea level.
=Willis Wall.= On the northern face of the mountain at the head of
Carbon Glacier. The great vertical cliff, 3,600 feet high, over which
avalanches of snow crash throughout the summer months, is one of the
attractive features of the great mountain. It was named in honor of
Bailey Willis, on account of his extensive explorations in 1883.
=Williwakas Glacier.= On the southeastern slope of the mountain,
flowing from Paradise Glacier. The stream draining the glacier is
known as Williwakas Creek. Origin of name not ascertained.
=Wilson Glacier.= On the southern slope, above Nisqually Glacier. It
was named in honor of A. D. Wilson, who, with S. F. Emmons, made the
second ascent of the mountain in 1870.
=Windy Gap.= In the northern portion of the Park, between the ridges
of Chenuis and Crescent Mountains.
=Winthrop Glacier.= On the northern slope, where its head joins that
of Emmons Glacier. It is named in honor of Theodore Winthrop, who
passed close by the mountain in 1853 and recorded his observations in
his book entitled "The Canoe and the Saddle." The same name is given
to a creek that drains this glacier into White River. The glacier was
formerly mapped as White Glacier.
=Wright Creek.= A tributary of Fryingpan Creek, taking its rise near
the Cowlitz Chimneys, on the eastern slope of the mountain. Origin of
name not ascertained.
=Yakima Park.= On the northeastern slope, on the shoulders of
Sourdough Mountains. The name is that of a tribe of Indians living
east of the Cascade Mountains. It has there been used as the name of a
county and a city.
=Yellowstone Cliffs.= In the northwestern portion of the Park, at the
southeastern end of Chenuis Mountain.
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