Wednesday, September 7.—Last night when all but the guards were asleep, we were startled by a mountain lion’s shrill scream, sounding so like the human voice that for a moment I was deceived by it into believing that some traveler in distress was hailing our camp. The stream near the bank of which our camp lay, flows into the southeast arm of Yellowstone lake, and for which the name “Upper Yellowstone” has been suggested by some of our party; but Lieutenant Doane says that he thinks he has seen on an old map the name “Bridger” given to some body of water near the Yellowstone. We tried to cross the river near its mouth, but found the mud in the bed of the stream and in the bottom lands adjoining too deep; our horses miring down to their bellies. In accordance with plans agreed upon last night, General Washburn and a few of the party started out this morning in advance of the others to search for a practicable crossing of the river and marshes, leaving the pack train in camp.
In company with Lieutenant Doane I went out upon a reconnaissance for the purpose of determining the elevation of the mountains opposite our camp, as well as the shape of the lake as far as we could see the shore, and also to determine as far as possible our locality and the best line of travel to follow in passing around the lake. There is just enough excitement attending these scouting expeditions to make them a real pleasure, overbalancing the labor attendant upon them. There is very little probability that any large band of Indians will be met with on this side of the lake, owing to the superstitions which originate in the volcanic forces here found.
We followed along the high bank adjacent to the bottom through which the river runs in a direction a little south of east for the distance of about three miles, when we entered a heavily timbered ravine, which we followed through the underbrush for some three miles, being frequently obliged to dismount and lead our horses over the projecting rocks, or plunging through bushes and fallen timber. At the end of two hours we reached a point in the ascent where we could no longer ride in safety, nor could our horses climb the mountain side with the weight of our bodies on their backs. Dismounting, we took the bridle reins in our hands, and for the space of an hour we led our horses up the steep mountain side, when we again mounted and slowly climbed on our way, occasionally stopping to give our horses a chance to breathe. Arriving at the limit of timber and of vegetation, we tied our horses, and then commenced the ascent of the steepest part of the mountain, over the broken granite, great care being necessary to avoid sliding down the mountain side with the loose granite. The ascent occupied us a little more than four hours, and all along the mountain side, even to near the summit, we saw the tracks of mountain sheep. The view from the summit of this mountain, for wild and rugged grandeur, is surpassed by none I ever before saw. The Yellowstone basin and the Wind river mountains were spread out before us like a map. On the south the eye followed the source of the Yellowstone above the lake, until, twenty-five miles away, it was lost in an immense cañon, beyond which two immense jets of vapor rose to a height of probably three hundred feet, indicating that there were other and perhaps greater wonders than those embraced in our prescribed limit of exploration. On the north the outlet of the lake and the steam from the mud geyser and mud volcano were distinctly visible, while on the southeast the view followed to the horizon a succession of lofty peaks and ridges at least thirty miles in width, whose jagged slopes were filled with yawning caverns, pine-embowered recesses and beetling precipices, some hundreds and some thousands of feet in height. This is the range which Captain Raynolds, approaching from the east, found impassable while on his exploring tour to the Yellowstone in the year 1860. I shall, upon my return home, read Captain Raynolds’ report with renewed interest.1
The mountain on which we stood was the most westerly peak of a range which, in long extended volume, swept to the southeastern horizon, exhibiting a continuous elevation more than thirty miles in width, its central line broken into countless points, knobs, glens and defiles, all on the most colossal scale of grandeur and magnificence. Outside of these, on either border, along the entire range, lofty peaks rose at intervals, seemingly vying with each other in the varied splendors they presented to the beholder. The scene was full of majesty. The valley at the base of this range was dotted with small lakes. Lakes abound everywhere—in the valleys, on the mountains and farther down on their slopes, at all elevations. The appearance of the whole range was suggestive of the existence, ages since, of a high plateau on a level with these peaks (which seemed to be all of the same elevation), which by the action of the water had been cut down in the intervals between the peaks into deep gorges and cañons. The sides of the mountains formed in many places a perpendicular wall from 600 to 1,000 feet in height.
This range of mountains has a marvelous history. As it is the loftiest, so it is probably the most remarkable lateral ridge of the Rocky range. In the expedition sent across the continent by Mr. Astor, in 1811, under command of Captain Wilson P. Hunt, that gentleman met with the first serious obstacle to his progress at the eastern base of this range. After numerous efforts to scale it, he turned away and followed the valley of Snake river, encountering the most discouraging disasters until he arrived at Astoria.2
I have read somewhere (I think in Washington Irving’s “Astoria” or “Bonneville’s Adventures”) that the Indians regard this ridge of mountains as the crest of the world, and that among the Blackfeet there is a fable that he who attains its summit catches a view of the “Land of Souls” and beholds the “Happy Hunting Grounds” spread out below him, brightening with the abodes of the free and generous spirits.
Lieutenant Doane and I were somewhat fatigued with our climb of four hours’ duration, and we refreshed ourselves with such creature comforts as we found on the summit; but, although we attained the “crest,” we did not discern any “free and generous spirit,” save that which we saw “through a glass darkly.”
At the point where we left our horses there was, on the east slope of the mountain, a body of snow, the surface of which was nearly horizontal, and the outer edge of which was thirty feet in perpendicular height. This body of snow is perpetual. At this point the elevation, as indicated by our aneroid barometer, was 9,476 feet, while at the summit it was 10,327 feet, a difference of 581 feet, which was the broken granite summit.
The descent occupied an hour and a quarter, when we struck the trail of the pack train near the base of the mountain, which we followed until we found three poles placed in the form of a tripod, the longer pole pointing to the right to indicate that at this point the party had changed its course.
Obeying this Indian sign, we descended the bank bordering the valley and traversed the bottom lands to the river, which we forded at a point where it was about ninety feet wide and three feet deep, with a current of about six miles an hour. This was about six or seven miles from the mouth of the river. We followed the trail of the advance party through a beautiful pine forest, free from underbrush, for the distance of two miles, passing two beautiful lakes. By this time night had overtaken us, and it was with difficulty that we could follow the trail, the tracks of the horses’ shoes, which were our sole guide, being hardly discernible. But we pressed on, following the dark, serpentine line of freshly disturbed earth till it turned up the side of the mountain, where we followed it for upwards of a mile. Fearing lest we were not upon the right trail, we dismounted, and, placing our faces close to the ground, examined it carefully, but could not discover the impression of a single horseshoe. Gathering a few dry branches of pine, we kindled a fire upon the trail, when we discovered that we had been following, from the base of the mountain, the trail of a band of elk that had crossed the line of travel of the pack train at a point near the base of the mountain, and in the dim twilight we had not discovered the mistake.
Map of Yellowstone Lake,
As known between 1860 and 1870.
From the Map of
Reynolds’ Expedition of 1860.
The prospect for a night on the mountain, without blankets or supper, seemed now very good; but we retraced our steps as rapidly as possible, and on reaching the base of the mountain, struck out for the lake, resolving to follow the beach, trusting that our party had made their camp on the shore of the lake, in which case we should find them; but if camped at any considerable distance from the shore, we should not find them. Our ride over fallen timber and through morass for the distance of about two miles to the shore of the lake was probably performed more skillfully in the darkness of the night than if we had seen the obstacles in our path, and as we rounded a point on the smooth beach we saw at a distance of a little over a mile the welcome watch fire of our comrades. When we arrived within hailing distance we gave a loud halloo, and the ready response by a dozen sympathetic voices of our companions-in-arms showed that our own anxiety had been shared by them. Our camp to-night is on the westerly side of the most southeasterly bay of the lake. These bays are separated by long points of land extending far out into the lake. From our camp of two days ago some of these points seemed to be islands. From the top of the mountain, which Doane and I ascended to-day, I made an outline map of the north and east sides of the lake and part of the south side; but on account of the heavy timber on the promontories I could not make a correct outline of the south and west shores. General Washburn and Hauser, as well as myself, have thus far made outlines of the lake shore as best we could from points on a level with the lake, but these have been unsatisfactory and have lacked completeness, and Washburn and Hauser have both expressed their satisfaction with the sketch of the lake shore I made to-day from the top of the mountain; and Washburn has just told me that Lieutenant Doane has suggested that, as I was the first to reach the summit of the mountain, the peak should be named for me. I shall be gratified if this is done.3
Copy of
The original outline sketched by
Nathaniel P. Langford
From the top of Mount Langford, Sept. 7, 1870,
and completed Sept. 10 and 13.
We have traveled from our morning camp about twelve miles, but we are not more than four miles from it in a straight line.
1Captain Raynolds wrote on May 10, 1860: “To our front and upon the right the mountains towered above us to the height of from 2,000 to 3,000 feet in the shape of bold, craggy peaks of basaltic formation, their summits crowned with glistening snow. * * * It was my original desire to go from the head of Wind river to the head of the Yellowstone, keeping on the Atlantic slope, thence down the Yellowstone, passing the lake, and across by the Gallatin to the Three forks of the Missouri. Bridger said, at the outset, that this would be impossible, and that it would be necessary to pass over to the head waters of the Columbia, and back again to the Yellowstone. I had not previously believed that crossing the main crest twice would be more easily accomplished than the travel over what in effect is only a spur; but the view from our present camp settled the question adversely to my opinion at once. Directly across our route lies a basaltic ridge, rising not less than 5,000 feet above us, the walls apparently vertical, with no visible pass nor even ca–on. On the opposite side of this are the head waters of the Yellowstone.”
2Later, in 1833, the indomitable Captain Bonneville was lost in this mountain labyrinth, and, after devising various modes of escape, finally determined to ascend the range.
Washington Irving, in his charming history, “Bonneville’s Adventures,” thus describes the efforts of General Bonneville and one of his comrades to reach the summit of this range:
“After much toil he reached the summit of a lofty cliff, but it was only to behold gigantic peaks rising all around, and towering far into the snowy regions of the atmosphere. He soon found that he had undertaken a tremendous task; but the pride of man is never more obstinate than when climbing mountains. The ascent was so steep and rugged that he and his companion were frequently obliged to clamber on hands and knees, with their guns slung upon their backs. Frequently, exhausted with fatigue and dripping with perspiration, they threw themselves upon the snow, and took handfuls of it to allay their parching thirst. At one place they even stripped off their coats and hung them upon the bushes, and thus lightly clad proceeded to scramble over these eternal snows. As they ascended still higher there were cool breezes that refreshed and braced them, and, springing with new ardor to their task, they at length attained the summit.”
3Soon after the return of our party to Helena, General Washburn, then surveyor-general of Montana, made in his office for the Interior Department at Washington, a map of the Yellowstone region, a copy of which he gave to me. He told me that in recognition of the assistance I had rendered him in making a fair outline of Yellowstone lake, with its indented shore and promontories, he had named for me the mountain on the top of which I stood when I made the sketch of the south shore of the lake. I called his attention to the fact that Lieutenant Doane had been my comrade in making the ascent, and suggested that Doane's name be given to the adjoining peak on the north. He approved of this suggestion, and the map, with these mountains so named, was transmitted to the Interior Department.
Dr. Hayden, the geologist in charge of the United States geological survey, made his first visit to this region the following year (1871), and on the map which he issued in connection with his 1871 report, the name “Mount Langford” was given to another mountain far to the northeast. Since that time my name has again been transferred to a mountain on the southeast. I think that Dr. Hayden must have been aware at that time that this mountain bore my name; for he had read the account of the Washburn exploration, which was published in Scribner's Magazine for May, 1871, accompanied by a copy of the map made by General Washburn.
The significance of connecting my name with this mountain is centered in the circumstance that it was intended to mark or commemorate an important event--that of giving to the public a very correct outline map of Yellowstone lake. In confirmation of the fact that the first outline of the lake approximating any degree of accuracy was made from the mountain-top, I here quote from page 21 of Lieutenant Doane's report to the War Department.
“The view from this peak commanded completely the lake, enabling us to sketch a map of its inlets and bearings with considerable accuracy.”
On page 23 of this report Lieutenant Doane speaks of this mountain as “Mount Langford.” The map last published previous to that made by General Washburn was that of Captain Raynolds, of which I here present a copy, as well as a copy of the map made by me.
