Mollie Adams Diary of her Journey in the Canadian Rockies, August 24, 1908

Moose Lake Camp.
Monday Aug. 24.
               We made the long drive today past the lake etc., in 6½ hrs.  Started wearing slickers on account of wet brush, but soon shed them as it partly cleared and was pretty dryish until we almost reached the upper end of the lake, when it rained gently again for a while.  Thought we should get into camp dry, but no such luck.  As we were passing the sloughs above the lake, a black ragged edge cloud came straight down the valley toward us.  I prepared for the worst as we rode along by sneaking on the slicker pants, tying the camera on under the coat, pinning it up tight at the neck and cinching up the wrists, and putting my hat elastic under my chin.  And none too soon, in a few minutes we were in the midst of rain, hail, thunder and lightning, and gales of wind.  It whistled through the trees as it does through the rigging of a ship in a gale at sea, and then of course the dead trees began to come crashing down.  One fell across the trail a little way in front of us, but we were in a fairly open place when the storm first struck us.  Bugler could hardly be induced to face the hail, kept trying to turn around and get his back to the wind, and U. had quite a time with the pack horses as they all had the same idea too.  The trees were falling in bunches in a big patch of dead timber just across the slough from us, and the trail presently crossed and went right into it, so when we reached that point we thought it would be more healthy to wait a bit till the worst was over.  And when we did go in we were not stopping to have any of the tress fallen across the trail cut out, but just did some tall hopping over them, the horses seeming to be as willing as we were to hurry along and get through those woods, before another smash up came.  We reached Moose River Camp at 3.30, all happy and wet again; and the other outfit arrived shortly.  We gave them a cheer as they hove in sight across the creek.  They only have on saddle horse between them, so it was quite a show to see them cross.  Both climbed on the one horse and came over and then one went back and drove the packs.  More highly colored yarns around the camp fired in the evening.  The C.K. has a quaint way of expressing himself, and is quite a jollier according to his own account.
               There was a fence put up across the trail about half a mile below Moose R., so someone has been here since we were by.  Coleman perhaps?

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