Mollie Adams Diary of Her Journey in the Canadian Rockies July 30, 1908

Departure Camp.
Thursday, July 30.
               Rain all night until 7 A.M.  An. 4750 ft.  Off at 10.10 and drove 4½ hrs.  Passed Developing Camp somewhat more than half way down.  The trail, when there was one, was on the whole more solid than the one on the other side of the river, but there were several very bad bits, and quite a little cutting to be done.  At one place where the trail was going along on the river’s edge on a back about 3 ft. high, it was washed away bodily, leaving fallen burnt timber sticking its ends cut over the water.  They cut a new way through and we started forth along it.  Silver and Blue Peter were standing side by side on the 3 ft. bank, the water rushing below.  As they neither of them showed an inclination to move on after W. and the ones ahead, I rode out in front of them, and Blue Peter, either scared or mad, gave a little sideways jump, bumped into Silver and knocked him over like a ninepin.  He landed on his back in the river on top of our duffle bags and blankets and other odd stuff.  It was not very deep, so he presently got his feet, and naturally started off down stream [sic], the current being very swift.  U. jumped in after him on Pinto to try to head him in shore before he got to some long spiky logs sticking out into the water, but Pinto, clumsy as usual, fell down, swam and jumped around and got snagged and brought up with a bang against the logs himself.  U. jumped off in the water, got almost carried away under the logs – W. ran down one leg and into the water to help, and I thought he was going to be washed away for sure – and can’t swim – but all three struggled out, and Silver swum around the logs and landed below.  We went a little way on to an open place where Silver’s pack was taken off to see if any fatal damage had been done, but all went well, duffle bags waterproof and blankets only wet on the edges, they were so well protected by the pack mantle.  So off again on our road.  We had not gone five minutes when we tumbled into a muskeg apparently bottomless in spots.  Several of the pack horses were in trouble, and poor old Brownie almost sank out of sight.  After being rescued and repacked, we proceeded on our way again, expecting momentarily a third accident.  As W. said “that’s two – there’s one to come.”  But we got to camp without anything more serious than a few bucking stunts from Bessie, and rather extra cussedness on the part of the others.  Strawberrying again in the afternoon.  Clearing off and warm.  An. 4700 ft.


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