Hearing in 1909 that an American party were about to seek the coveted prize, Mr. Kinney got together a pack train of three horses and three months’ provisions, “and left Edmonton alone to capture the mountain, hoping to pick up a companion on the trail.” At the place where he swam his horses across the Athabasca, he fell in with Donald Phillips, a young Ontario guide, and enlisted his companionship. They worried their packs to an altitude of about 10,700 feet, where they succeeded in making a bed on a snow-covered shelf. “For hundreds of miles,” says Mr. Kinney, “the peaks lay at our feet. Scores of miles of the Fraser valley lay open below us like a map, and the mighty Fraser was but a tiny, crooked thread of silver. Then the valleys disappeared, and we were alone with the stars and the snow-white peaks and the grinding avalanches. “Friday, August 13, dawned clear and cold, and by the time the sun rose we were on our way to the peak. The many cliffs we had to climb were only from ten to a hundred feet high, but those hard, smooth, icy slopes between were tipped at an angle of from fifty to seventy degrees. One slip on the part of either of us meant a fearful slide to death thousands of feet below. The storm-clouds of sleet swept down and engulfed us while we were at little more than eleven thousand feet altitude. We had not enough provisions for another two-days’ climb. This was our last possible chance, and we despaired of ever reaching the peak. Fortunately, though the clouds were very dense and cold, but little snow fell. The storm was a blessing in a way, for though it spoiled our chance of getting pictures, it shut out of view those fearful sheer slopes below. “In five hours of steady work we reached the peak. The clouds broke open for one brief minute, revealing to us a wonder world, with the Fraser more than eleven thousand feet beneath us; then the storm swept in worse than ever. It took us seven hours to return to our ‘highest-up’ camp, so dangerous had the softened slopes become on account of the storm, and by the time we reached our camp in the valley the climb had cost us twenty hours of hard work—but we had finally captured Mount Robson for our country and the Alpine Club of Canada. Our provisions were gone, we were hundreds of miles from civilisation; so for two weeks we lived on what mountain-gophers and birds we could get. I finally reached Edmonton September 6th, only to find that Cook and Peary monopolised the interest of the world.” But, to continue our progress towards the Pacific, I learn that, seventy-five miles from the sea, there occurs a marvellous palisade of corrugated and terraced mountains reaching a height of 6,000 feet. Then comes a cañon one mile long with sheer walls a hundred feet high; and through that majestic avenue flows a mighty torrent. And so we continue along the Skeena River—a valley of enchantment—until we reach the new ocean port (Prince Rupert) that will be created by the Grand Trunk Pacific.