Source.—Ocean to Ocean, 1873: the diary kept by the Rev. George M. Grant, Secretary to the Expedition through Canada of Sandford Fleming, Engineer-in-Chief of the Canadian Pacific and Inter-colonial Railways.

September 11th. Away this morning at 6.15 a.m., and halted at 1 p.m., after crossing the RiviÈre de Violon or Fiddle river, when fairly inside the first range. It was a grand morning for mountain scenery. For the first three hours the trail continued at some distance east from the valley of the Athabasca, among wooded hills, now ascending, now descending, but on the whole with an upward slope, across creeks where the ground was invariably boggy, over fallen timber, where infinite patience was required on the part of horse and man. Suddenly it opened out on a lakelet, and right in front a semi-circle of five glorious mountains appeared.... For half a mile down from their summits, no tree, shrub, or plant covered the nakedness of the three that the old trappers had thought worthy of names, and a clothing of vegetation would have marred their massive grandeur. The first three were so near and towered up so bold that their full forms, even to the long shadows on them, were reflected clearly in the lakelet, next to the rushes and spruce of its own shores.... The road now descended rapidly from the summit of the wooded hill that we had so slowly gained, to the valley of the Athabasca. As it wound from point to point among the tall dark green spruces, and over rose bushes and vetches, the soft blue of the mountains gleamed through everywhere; and, when the woods parted, the mighty column of Roche À Perdrix towered above our heads, scuds of clouds kissing its snowy summit.... We were entering the magnificent Jasper portals of the Rocky Mountains by a quiet path winding between groves of trees and rich lawns like an English gentleman's park.

... Soon the RiviÈre de Violon was heard brawling round the base of Roche À Perdrix and rushing on like a true mountain torrent to the Athabasca. We stopped to drink to the Queen out of its clear ice-cold waters, and halted for dinner in a grove on the other side of it, thoroughly excited and awed by the grand forms that had begirt our path for the last three hours. We could now sympathise with the daft enthusiast, who returned home after years of absence, and when asked what he had as an equivalent for so much lost time—answered only "I have seen the Rocky Mountains." ...

There was a delay of three hours at dinner because the horses, as if allured by the genii of the mountains, had wandered more than a mile up the valley, but at four o'clock all was in order again and the march resumed in the same direction. A wooded hill that threw itself out between Roches À Perdrix and À Myette had first to be rounded. This hill narrowed the valley, and forced the trail near the river. When fairly round it, Roche À Myette came full into view, and the trail now led along its base....

As we passed this old warder of the valley, the sun was setting behind Roche Suette. A warm south-west wind as it came in contact with the snowy summit formed heavy clouds, that threw long black shadows, and threatened rain; but the wind carried them past to empty their buckets on the woods and prairies.

It was time to camp, but where? The Chief, BeauprÉ, and Brown rode ahead to see if the river was fordable. The rest followed, going down to the bank and crossing to an island formed by a slew of the river, to avoid a steep rock, the trail along which was fit only for chamois or bighorn. Here we were soon joined by the three who had ridden ahead, and who brought back word that the Athabasca looked ugly, but was still subsiding, and might be fordable in the morning. It was decided to camp on the spot, and send the horses back a mile for feed. The resources of the island would not admit of our light cotton sheet being stretched as an overhead shelter, so we selected the lee side of a dwarf aspen thicket, and spread our blankets on the gravel, a good fire being made in front to cook our supper and keep our feet warm through the night. Some of us sat up late, watching the play of the moonlight on the black clouds that drifted about her troubled face, as she hung over Roche Jacques; and then we stretched ourselves out to sleep on our rough but truly enviable couch, rejoicing in the open sky for a canopy and in the circle of great mountains that formed the walls of our indescribably magnificent bed chamber. It had been a day long to be remembered.