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MORAINE LAKE Out Where Men Are Men But The Mountains Are Marvelous
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REELING the ROCKIES
A Land Cruise Through The Canadian Northwest
By Walter D. Kerst
HREE days of steady clicking over the rails had brought us to the foothills of the Canadian Rockies, about which we had wondered and dreamed for many years. Our hearts beat faster as we rushed out to the open top observation car with camera and tripod. I don't know whether it was anticipation or the altitude that caused us to feel so "funny" inside. I have a suspicion, however, that the fact we had a movie camera with us had a great deal to do with it.
The "open top observation" is an example of the service and courtesy extended by the railroads of Canada for the well-being of their passengers. The car is exactly what its name implies, a car with the top off, so that the glories, the beauties, and the immeasurable height of this great sea of mountains can be viewed and studied in comfort.
Eighteen
Just a few hours away lay Lake Louise, supreme beauty spot of the Rockies. We heard much about this lake of lakes, of its many moods, its peculiar blue-green water, and its great depth, as the train chugged steadily onward towards this goal.
By now the altitude was really beginning to affect us. for we were climbing, steadily and surely, through narrow passes with solid rock walls all about us. Then we would •emerge into an open valley for a short time, only to again be swallowed up by granite jaws.
"All out for Lake Louise," came the welcome cry. In a few moments we had transferred to a trim gasoline railway train of three cars, which was to take us till higher to the lake and its palatial chateau.
Up, up we climbed, the put-put of the engine echoing through the dense forests all about us. The first view of Lake Louise was a never-tobe-forgotten experience. The feeling was indescribable. We had arrived in the cool of early evening, after the wind had died down, and a
calm pervaded everything. There was not a ripple on the mirror-like surface, Mounts Lefroy and Victoria seeming to reach downwards into its bottomless depths, literally thousands of feet.
There was a wild scramble for things cinematographic. Tremblingfingers made quick adjustments, which we prayed would be correct. Yet we realized that we could never fully capture this enchantment on a little ribbon of film. We had come thousands of miles for just this, and that thought saved us many postmortems after we arrived home.
At four-thirty the next morning we were down at the shore of the lake, again held spell-bound by its shifting patterns of color, light, and shade as the sun rose higher in the heavens. What a paradise ! In back of us lay the Chateau Lake Louise, resplendent in the sun, surrounded by its vivid red and yellow Iceland poppies, growing everywhere. And in front, coming to our very feet, lay the "Lake of Little Fishes," as the Stonev Indians knew it, in its