On the following morning I took a boat and rowed up the east shore of the lake, in hope of getting a shot at a deer, but though I saw plenty of fresh signs all along the shore no game was visible. I spent the afternoon looking anxiously for my promised guide, but he came not. I again amused myself, however, taking views of the scenery, but found on developing the negatives that I had not been eminently successful with either Mount Douglass or Mount Chiam. Snowy mountains are about the most difficult objects in all nature to photograph, especially if you attempt to include anything beside the snowy peaks in the picture; for they are so intensely white, and the sky or even clouds that form the background are so light and afford so slight contrast, that it is next to impossible to get good sharp pictures of them. The landscape about the mountains is sure to offer some dark objects, perhaps deep shadows, and even the mountain itself nearly always has bare rocks and dark, gloomy cañons, and to get these and the dazzling whiteness of the snow and ice on the same plate is decidedly difficult. Of course we see many fine photographs of snow-covered mountains, but if taken with a clear sky or with light clouds for background, there is generally more or less retouching necessary, and more or less doctoring in printing, with tissue paper, glass screens, etc., in order to obtain the results we see in the prints. I made some fair views of both these peaks, but not such as an enthusiastic amateur might wish. Of the lower mountains, where at that time there was no snow, of the lake, the islands, etc., I got very satisfactory pictures. I went up the road, toward the railway station, a mile or more, where it passes through one of those grand forests for which this country is so famous, where--
"Those green-robed senators of mighty woods Dream, and so dream all night without a stir."
There I made views of some of the giant cedars, the dense moss-hung jungles, the great fir trees, etc. In these dark, densely-shaded woods I had to take off the flying shutter and make time exposures. I gave three to five seconds to each plate. In the prints the trees and other objects nearest to the lens are of course over-exposed, but the details in the shadows and objects in the extreme distance are clearly and beautifully brought out. For these time exposures I placed the camera on some convenient log, stump, or stone, in lieu of a tripod. In two instances I seated the rear end of the instrument on the ground, with the lens bearing up through the tops of the trees. The whitened trunk and broken, straggling arms of one great old dead fir--one that has flourished in this rich soil and drawn sustenance from the moist, ozone-laden atmosphere of these mountains for hundreds of years, but has lived out his time and is now going the way of all things earthly--forms the subject of one of the best and most interesting pictures of the whole series. The tops of several other trees--birch, maple, etc., that stood near the fir--are also shown in the picture. It can best be seen and appreciated by holding it above your head, looking up at it, and imagining yourself there in the forest, looking up through the tops of the giant trees into the blue ethereal dome of heaven.