At last, the summit of Yoho pass! At last, that striking picture of a tented town nestling amid the realm of trees! You remember it, do you not, fellow-camper? the white canvas homes for a brief day amid avenues of greenery, under a sky of blue, with grey old Wapta and Michael's mount standing sentinel, three thousand feet higher still. You remember, do you not?—as if we could ever forget—the incomparable scene beside the incomparable Yoho lake, holding in its translucent waters all the emerald and amethyst shades in Nature's color box. You recall the welcoming camp fire of huge dimensions, and the yet more welcome aroma of THINGS TO EAT as cooked by that cheerful Celestial, Jim Bong, otherwise known as Ping-Pong. May his fat shade never grow less.
The Camp, made gay with banners and flags and bunting of many colors, was divided into three sections: Residence Park, Official Square, and the horse paddock. The arrangements were perfect to a detail, thanks to the forethought and hard work on the part of the President, Mr. Arthur O. Wheeler, and his efficient staff. The dining tent accommodated one hundred, where meals were served from early morn till late night. A bulletin board kept the members acquainted with the daily programmes. In the centre of the Square the big fire burned unceasingly, brightening up for the evening hours, when it was surrounded by as many fire worshippers as there were occupants of the tents, and where were heard more Demosthenian eloquence and oratory, more jokes and quips and antique chestnuts, and more accomplished entertainers than ever gathered on a mountain summit before. It is a pity the Journal cannot hold within its pages all that was said and sung and done around that cheerful camp fire.
But we were in Camp Yoho for the express purpose
