The trees here are like those of most parts of interior Alaska. They grow in the thin soil, nowhere more than six inches or so deep, which is underlaid by strata of earth that have been frozen for thousands of years. The moss on the top of the soil acts as an insulator and keeps the ice from melting except on the surface. The roots go down to the ice and then spread out. When a tree dies one can easily pull the stump out, roots and all, and throw it aside. The overland trail was cleared in this way, and the sides of it are fenced with piles of such trees. We are accustomed to think of this part of the world as all snow and ice. That is so in winter, but in summer the whole country is as spotted with flowers as a botanical garden. During our ride we passed great beds of fireweed and motored for miles between hedges of pink flowers, higher than the wheels of our automobile. The woods that had been swept by forest fires were dusted with pink blossoms, and in the open spaces there was so much colour that it seemed as though Mother Nature had gone on a spree and painted the whole country red. In one open place where we stopped to put on a new tire, I picked nineteen varieties of wild flowers. Among them were roses of bright red, and white flowers with petals like those of a forget-me-not. There were also blue flowers the names of which I do not know, and daisies with petals of pink and centres as yellow as bricks of Klondike gold. The mosses were especially wonderful. One that looked like old ivory grew close to the ground in great patches. It reminded me of the exquisite coral of Samoa and the Fijis. I am told that this moss is the favourite food of the reindeer, and that the caribou paw their way down through the snow to get it. Another curiosity found here is the air plant. I have always thought of orchids as confined to the tropics, but in this part of the world are polar orchids, great bunches of green that hang high up in the trees. The character of the country varied as we went onward. Now our way was across a rolling plain, now the road climbed the hills, and again it cut its way through the mountains. At one break in the hills we could see the Ibex Range, with glaciers marking its slopes, and its peaks capped with perpetual snow. In other places the mountains were as green as the hills of the Alleghanies, and they had the same royal mantle of purple. Just beyond the Tahkeena River we rode through a valley walled with mountains from which the earth had been torn by a cloudburst a few years before. The faces of the green hills were covered with clay-coloured blotches and they looked as though they had been blasted by leprosy or some earthy plague.