CHAPTER VIII.

THE PARK IN WINTER.

From the end of September to the end of May the Park is closed to the tourist; that is, the hotels do not receive guests, and camping is too precarious to be attempted. It is generally possible, however, to get into the Park as late as the middle or end of November, very rarely as late as Christmas. In May, the snowfalls are light, but the accumulations of the previous winter render traveling out of the question. With great difficulty the hotel company reaches its nearest hotels as early as May 16. Some of the roads remain impassable fully a month later.

What the fall of snow is in the upper Park has never been determined; but at Mammoth Hot Springs, altitude 6,200 feet, an average for six years, from November to April inclusive, is ten feet per year, with a maximum of fifteen feet and a minimum of five. But on the Park Plateau, 1,000 to 1,500 feet higher, the fall is certainly much greater. No doubt its light depth aggregates twenty feet. The weight of this snow often destroys the railing of bridges and injures the buildings of the Park.

The drifts accumulate in phenomenal magnitude. No matter how deep a ravine may be, the wind will pile the snow up in it until it is level with the surrounding country. Some of these drifts on the mountain sides are hundreds of feet deep and never entirely melt away. Even on the general plateau they last until the middle of July. The Cañon Hotel is almost buried every winter. The snow actually reaches the second story windows, and the drift behind the hotel would last throughout the summer were its melting not facilitated by cutting it in pieces with shovels. It verily seems that all the conditions of climate here conspire to make this region one of the snowiest in the world.

Of course, general access to the Park under such conditions is wholly out of the question. Only on snow-shoes is it possible at all. The hotel company has a watchman at each of its buildings, who drags out a lonely existence through the two hundred days from November to May. He can talk over the telephone line with Mammoth Hot Springs, and at long intervals he receives a call, and perhaps mail, from "Telephone Pete," who travels the line to keep it in order. In some places, also, small squads of soldiers are stationed for the winter.

The art of traveling by snow-shoe is a thoroughly interesting one, notwithstanding the fact that it is about the most difficult method of travel known and is rarely resorted to except from sheer necessity.

The instrument used in the Park for this purpose is called a _ski_ (pronounced skee). It is a long slender strip of wood--ash, Norway pine, or hickory--some twelve feet long, four or five inches wide, and just thick enough to give needed strength. About midway of its length is a strap through which the toe is slipped and by which the foot pulls the _ski_ along. The bearing surface of the two _skis_ is about eight square feet, and holds the weight of the body even in soft snow without sinking more than a few inches. The bottom surface is polished smooth and then rubbed with a mixture of tallow and beeswax to make it free from friction. A pole is an important accompaniment, aiding to slide the traveler along and steady him on the _skis_. It also serves as a brake in descending steep hills, the traveler sitting astride it and bearing the rear end into the snow.

Down hill work is indeed glorious. No express train can rival the _ski_ for speed. Its only drawback is danger of accident. On level country _ski_ traveling is simply walking on a board walk, except that the pedestrian carries the board with him, and makes and unmakes the road as fast as he goes. This is hard enough, especially if the snow is sticky, but when it comes to up hill traveling it is a truly laborious matter. If the hill is steep, there is danger of losing one's grip on the snow and sliding backward down the hill. Where the ascent is too steep to work up by direct forward movement, "corduroying" is resorted to. The traveler works up sidewise, stepping up a foot or so with the upper _ski_ and following with the lower. Generally this sidewise movement is combined with a slight forward movement, the _skis_ being pointed up hill at as steep an inclination as they will hold.

The dress and equipment of the snow-shoe traveler are reduced to a minimum consistent with protection from the climate. This protection is really needed only at camping places, for the extraordinary exertion of traveling keeps the body in a continuous glow of warmth. Generally, warm woolen underwear, with canvas surface garments to keep out the wind and to shed snow, are the essential features of the dress. No overcoat is worn, but a tightly drawn belt takes its place. The feet are the weak point. "Natural wool socks, then a pair of Indian moccasins, then a pair of heavy gray army socks, then Arctic overshoes and leggings," is the description of an equipment actually used. A broad hat is frequently worn to keep snow out of the neck, and colored glasses are indispensable to prevent snow blindness.

Baggage is limited to the strictest necessities, and is so packed that it will rest uniformly on the back from the shoulders to the hips.

No eating of snow or drinking of water can be safely indulged in while _en route_. The traveler must go strictly "dry" between meals.

Of course traveling of this sort is attended with much peril. A man must rely wholly on himself. No wagon or saddle is available if he is injured or sick. Heavy storms may blind him and cause him to lose his way. In short, a snow-shoe trip through the Park is an undertaking which requires a vigorous physique, a determined will, and a good fund of courage. Very few, except those whose duty has required it, have ever made the attempt. But it is the unanimous verdict of those who have, that, glorious as the Park is in summer, it is even more glorious in winter. One can readily understand this to be so. Evergreen forests never appear to better advantage than when laden with snow. Ice formations always enhance the beauty of water-falls.[AX] The rolling open valleys of the Park must be doubly beautiful when robed in drifted snow. It is a pity that this silvery landscape should forever remain excluded from the general view.

[AX] For picture of Grand Cañon in winter, see p. 257.