Across the Prairie in a Motor Caravan: A 3,000 Mile Tour by Two Englishwomen on Behalf of Religious EducationHasell, Frances Hatton Eva
Religion
Across the Prairie in a Motor Caravan: A 3,000 Mile Tour by Two Englishwomen on Behalf of Religious Education
Hasell, Frances Hatton Eva
Missions -- Canada
We had heard of the beauty of Lake Louise, so on Monday we made a trip
thither. The last part of the way was by a funicular railway. Lake
Louise was hardly known before 1890. It is a small jewel of a lake, just
over a mile long and a quarter of a mile wide. It lies 5,670 feet above
sea-level, and Mount George at the head of the lake is 11,355 feet high.
This mountain is covered with glaciers and perpetual snow. I live in
the Lake District, and also know the lakes of Scotland, Switzerland, and
Italy, but I have never seen such exquisite colouring as that of Lake
Louise. It flashes on you suddenly as you emerge from the pine woods, a
mirror of gleaming turquoise, framed on either side by dark pine-clad
slopes, with glistening white peaks between them, these being reflected
in the clear waters. On the lower slopes of the mountains and at the
foot of the lake there is vivid emerald green grass. Facing this
loveliness the C.P.R. has built an artistic hotel, chalet fashion, which
does not spoil the landscape. From the windows of this hotel the whole
enchanting picture is seen as in a frame.
In the afternoon Winifred went in a motor char-a-banc to see other lakes
and mountains, and I walked up through the pine woods on the right of
Lake Louise to Lake Agnes, a climb of 1,200 feet. A little above this I
saw a tiny lake called Mirror Lake. These two are sometimes called the
Lakes in the Clouds. By this time a thunderstorm had come on, which
greatly enhanced the grandeur of the scene.
On the Tuesday I went to the famous sulphur baths at Banff. The water
comes out at 98 degrees in one spring and 112 degrees in the other.
There are open-air swimming baths with glass all round them, so that you
can see the mountains all the time. The next day we went down the river
in a motor-boat, seeing a most wonderful panorama of woods and
mountains, which a thunderstorm made more beautiful. The lightning
seemed to strike a waterfall and glance off again. That same night there
was another tremendous storm, the thunder echoing and re-echoing in the
mountains, sounding as if two storms had met and burst above us. I
distinctly felt the heat of the lightning and could not help wondering
how soon it would be before we were struck, being under trees. But
although the rain was terrific it never came through the tent.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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