of grub, and, as we had a cache at the forks, we did not want to kill a moose until we absolutely had to, as we had a game warden along with us, but finally we had to do it. But just when we wanted one we could not get it and lived on squirrels and bear-root for a couple of days. When we did get a moose he was the oldest and toughest bull in the province of Alberta and we could not eat it, but boiled large pails of it and drank the broth, which was not very satisfying, and we were getting weaker each day. On the 29th the water started rising rapidly, and on the 30th the ice pulled about fifteen miles. We gave it an hour and followed. That was the most exciting afternoon of the whole trip. The river was running like a millrace and full of rocks and stranded icebergs, and we went over two falls that we could not see on our way up, as the ice was level over them in February. We went under both times, but the prospect of grub ahead cheered us and we only laughed. Rounding a bend there was ice jammed on the right; so we steered for the left, and swinging sharply around the point a big boulder loomed up directly in our path and we struck it head on and the ropes that lashed the front end together parted and the raft spread out like a fan and all our stuff fell through. We caught my sled, which had all our specimens on and most of our equipment, and managed to get it back up on the raft and crosswise of the logs, as the rear end was up on the boulder out of the water. Then I got a rope and got down in the icy water and pulled the logs together and made temporary repairs while cakes of ice striking the rear end threatened to start us on again. With a shove we were away again and poling madly for an eddy on the opposite side a half mile below. We just made it and tied up and took stock of our losses. The game warden had lost everything except his camera and glasses, which he had on his back at the time. All our cooking outfit was gone except one tin plate and a tea-pail and all but one piece of the moose meat. Making all safe again we started on, the poor dogs having all they could do to keep up on the shore. We found the dog-feed pail on a bar and recovered it, but that was all, mile after mile of mad water and ice cakes until our nerves were strained to breaking point and poles were broken or wrenched from our hands, and we would land and get a fresh supply. Just before dark we caught up to the ice again, now piled ten to twelve feet high. Wet and cold, we landed and hung our things up to let the water drip out of them and built a big fire of dry cottonwood, and, supperless, lay down exhausted. In the morning the ice was out of sight, but too much still running to risk rafting; so two of us started at daylight for the cache five miles below. Had to build a small raft to get over to it and bring some back to our side, where we cooked some rice, bacon and cornmeal mush. It was so long since I had had a square meal that two cups of mush made me feel as if I had swallowed a bale of hay, and I could hold no more. The next day we moved down to the cache and added a couple more logs to our raft and ran out into the large rapid-flowing Wapite, and in twenty hours made the hundred miles to Grand Prairie. I came straight to Calgary, as I was late for reporting, and joined the 78th Battery, and a few days later we started for the East, and here I am in uniform at Petawawa, out where all the Canadian artillery train during the summer. It is a beautiful spot to the eye when the sand is not blowing. The Ottawa River, two miles wide here and full of islands, flows by the camp on one side and the smaller Petawawa on the other. Naturally, I don't like the life, but it is not what one likes now; it is what has to be done. A draft is already called, but I missed it. I may be here a month or two yet before getting overseas. Bob Wilkins is in charge of my outfit at Jasper, and I hope some day I may have the pleasure of taking you out for another trip. Sincerely, DONALD PHILLIPS Dear Mr. Colby: Wellcroft, Helensburgh, April 9, 1918 By yesterday's mail I received a SIERRA CLUB BULLETIN (Vol. 10, No. 3). No letter came with it, and I am putting you down as the sender. First, I must thank you for it. I see it contains many fine pictures and a lot of articles which should provide interesting reading if one can tear one's self away from the war bulletins. I see you have a war service record. We of the Scottish Mountaineering Club have such a record. Out of a membership of about 180, some 50 are on service, and about a dozen have been killed. Our president's son, Charles Inglis Clark, was killed last month. So far, none of your friends have shown up here; but I am expecting them sometime as soon as their more pressing engagements in France have been disposed of. I shall make it my care to give them as good a time as I can, and show them as much of bonnie Scotland as they have a mind to view. Red Cross work, volunteering, and digging in my garden for extra food keep me busy. With many thanks to you, and greetings to all Sierrans, (Mr. Rennie is a brother of James Rennie of our Club, and was at one time President of the Scottish Mountaineering Club.) Dear Sir: Alpine Club, 23 Savile Row, London W., June 10, 1918 It has occurred to us that some of the members of your club may be over on this side. Should this be the case we shall be very glad if they will look in here whenever they may find it convenient, and we shall be very much pleased to see them. Unfortunately, there will be very few of us to welcome them, as hardly anyone comes here except to our general meetings, and these are |