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MESSAGES
The Communication Skills Book

Matthew McKay, Ph.D.

Martha Davis, Ph.D.
Patrick Fanning

New Harbinger Publications, Inc.

 Publisher’s Note
This publication is designed to provide accurate and authoritative information in regard to
the subject matter covered. It is sold with the understanding that the publisher is not engaged
in rendering psychological, financial, legal, or other professional services. If expert assistance or
counseling is needed, the services of a competent professional should be sought.

Distributed in Canada by Raincoast Books

Copyright © 2009 by Matthew McKay, Martha Davis, and Patrick Fanning

New Harbinger Publications, Inc.
5674 Shattuck Avenue
Oakland, CA 94609
www.newharbinger.com

All Rights Reserved

PDF ISBN: 9781572248533

Acquired by Catharine Sutker; Cover design by Amy Shoup;

Edited by Brady Kahn

The Library of Congress has Cataloged the Print Edition as:

McKay, Matthew.
Messages : the communication skills book / Matthew McKay, Martha Davis, and Patrick
Fanning. -- 3rd ed.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN-13: 978-1-57224-592-1 (pbk. : alk. paper)
ISBN-10: 1-57224-592-1 (pbk. : alk. paper)
1. Communication. I. Davis, Martha, 1947- II. Fanning, Patrick. III. Title.
P90.M253 2008
302.2--dc22
2008052325
 Contents

Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

PART I
Basic Skills

1 Listening. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Real Vs. Pseudo Listening  Blocks to Listening  Assessing
Your Listening Blocks  Four Steps to Effective
Listening  Total Listening  Listening for Couples

2 Self-Disclosure. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
Rewards of Self-Disclosure  Blocks to Self-
Disclosure  Optimal Levels of Self-Disclosure  Assessing
Your Self-Disclosure  Practice in Self-Disclosure

3 Expressing. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
The Four Kinds of Expression  Whole
Messages  Contaminated Messages  Preparing Your
Message  Practicing Whole Messages  Rules for Effective
Expression
 PART II
Advanced Skills

4 Body Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
Body Movements  Spatial Relationships

5 Paralanguage and Metamessages. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70

The Elements of Paralanguage  Changing Your
Paralanguage  Metamessages  Coping with Metamessages

6 Hidden Agendas. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80
The Eight Agendas  Purpose of the Agendas

7 Transactional Analysis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
Parent, Child, and Adult Messages  Analyzing Your
Communications  Kinds of Transactions  Keeping Your
Communications Clean

8 Clarifying Language. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104

Understanding a Model  Challenging the Limits of a
Model  Challenging Distortions in a Model  Some Final
Clarifications

PART III
Conflict Skills

9 Assertiveness Training. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125

Your Legitimate Rights  Three Communication
Styles  Identifying Communication Styles  Your
Assertiveness Goals  Assertive Expression  Assertive
Listening  Combining Assertive Expression and
Listening  Responding to Criticism  Special Assertive
Strategies  Assertiveness Skills Practice

iv   Messages
10 Fair Fighting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150
Unfair Fighting  Identifying Unfair Fighting Styles  Fair
Fighting  Fair Fight Rules  Your Script for Change

11 Validation Strategies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161

What Is Validation?  Why Does Validation Work?  What
Validation Is Not  Components of Validation  Successful
Validating Strategies  The Power of Validation

12 Negotiation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173
Four Stages of Negotiation  Dealing with Conflict  Rules
of Principled Negotiation  When the Going Gets Tough

PART IV
Social Skills

13 Prejudgment. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191
Prejudgment Traps  Stereotypes  Approval and Disapproval
in Prejudgment  Parataxic Distortions  Perpetuating
Illusions  Clarifying First Impressions

14 Making Contact. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205

Fear of Strangers  Guidelines for Making Contact
 The Art of Conversation  Putting It All Together

PART V
Family Skills

15 Couples Skills. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223

What Makes a Good Relationship?  Schemas
 Couples Systems  Keeping Your Relationship Strong

   v
16 Communicating with Children. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 246
Listening  Expressing  Joint Problem Solving  When to
Let Go  When You Have to Say No  The Point Is…

17 Family Communications. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265

Family Communication Disorders  Family Pathology  Family
Systems  How to Keep Family Communications Healthy

Part VI
Public Skills

18 Influencing Others. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 285

Ineffective Strategies for Influencing Change  Effective
Strategies for Influencing Others  Your Plan for Influencing
Change  Lisa’s Plan for Influencing Change

19 Public Speaking. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 295

Defining Your Purpose  Outlining the
Subject  Presentation  Organization  Audience
Analysis  Style  Supporting Materials  The
Outline  Delivery  Dealing with Stage Fright

20 Interviewing. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 312
Clarifying What You Want  If You Are the Interviewer
 If You Are the Interviewee  Conclusion

Recommended Reading. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 343

References. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 347

Index. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 349

vi   Messages
 Introduction

Communication is a basic life skill, as important as the skills by which

you make your way through school or earn a living. Your ability to com-
municate largely determines your happiness. When you communicate
effectively, you make and keep friends. You are valued at work. Your
children respect and trust you. You get your sexual needs met.
If you’re less effective at communicating, you’ll find your life defi-
cient in one or more areas: Work may be all right, but your family shouts
at the dinner table. Sex can be found, but friendships never seem to work
out. You bounce from job to job and your mate is often cool, but you
have a great time with your old school buddies. You get a lot of laughs
at parties but go home alone.
Effective communication makes life work. But where can you learn
it? Parents are often dismal role models. Schools are busy teaching French
and trigonometry. Often there’s no one to show you how to communi-
cate your wants, your anger, or your secret fears. No one shows you how
to fight fair instead of blaming others, how to listen actively, or how to
check out someone’s meaning instead of mind reading.
These skills have been known and available for years. They can
and should be taught right along with the three Rs. Young adults, for
example, should learn parent effectiveness skills in school before having
children of their own—not years later when a teenage son is a truant or
a daughter runs away. Colleges should provide core courses in the skills
of communication in addition to the more traditional courses in com-
munication theory.
This book gathers the most essential communication skills into
one volume. They are presented in condensed form, but with sufficient
­examples and exercises so that you can begin practicing the skills you want
to acquire. The book tells you what to do about communicating rather
than what to think about it. Pure theory is omitted unless it contributes
directly to your understanding of a particular communication skill.
Looking over the table of contents of this revised third edition, you
will see that the emphasis on skills is reflected in the book’s organiza-
tion. The first three chapters cover basic skills. Everybody needs to know
how to listen, how to disclose thoughts and feelings, and how to express
what’s really true.
The section on advanced skills contains five chapters that teach you
about using and understanding body language, decoding paralanguage
and metamessages, uncovering hidden agendas, applying transactional
analysis to your communications, and clarifying your own and others’
language.
The next section, on conflict skills, contains four chapters covering
skills that are essential in conflict situations: assertiveness, fair fighting,
validating, and negotiating. The social skills section that follows con-
tains two chapters on avoiding the pitfalls of prejudgment and making
contact.
The section on family skills teaches you how to communicate with
your intimate partner, your children, and with your whole family.
The final section, on public skills, offers three chapters about skills
required for influencing others, when you are called upon to make a
speech, and during interviews.
Obviously, you should read the basic and advanced skills chapters
first, then go on to the specific chapters appropriate to your relationships
and position in life. Not so obviously, you have to do more than read. If
you merely read, you will miss the main point of this book—that commu-
nication is a skill. The only way to learn a skill is experientially. You have
to do it. You actually have to perform the exercises, follow the suggestions,
and make these skills your own through practice. For some of the exercises
in the book, you’ll need a notebook or some blank pieces of paper.
Just as you wouldn’t expect to become a skilled woodworker after
leafing through a back issue of Woodworking Magazine, so you can’t
expect to become a glib, fascinating conversationalist after just perus-
ing the chapter on making contact. Learning by doing applies to com-
munication skills just as much as to woodworking, skiing, or playing a
musical instrument. Skill requires knowledge. The knowledge is in this
book. But you must put it to work in your everyday life.

2   Messages
 PART I

Basic Skills
 1

Listening

You’re at a dinner party. Someone is telling anecdotes; someone is com-

plaining; someone is bragging about his promotion. Everyone there is
eager to talk, to tell his or her story. Suddenly you get the feeling that
no one is listening. While the talk goes on, you notice that people’s eyes
wander. They are perhaps rehearsing their own remarks. It’s as if they
have secretly agreed, “I’ll be an audience for you if you’ll be an audience
for me.” The party may be a success, but people go home without really
hearing or knowing each other.
Listening is an essential skill for making and keeping relationships.
If you are a good listener, you’ll notice that others are drawn to you.
Friends confide in you and your friendships deepen. Success comes a
little easier because you hear and understand people; you know what
they want and what hurts or irritates them. You get “lucky” breaks
because people appreciate you and want you around.
People who don’t listen are bores. They don’t seem interested in
anyone but themselves. They turn off potential friends and lovers by
giving the message “What you have to say doesn’t matter much to
me.” As a result, they often feel lonely and isolated. The tragedy is that
people who don’t listen rarely figure out what’s wrong. They change their
perfume or cologne, they get new clothes, they work at being funny,
and they talk about “interesting” things. But the underlying problem
remains. They aren’t fun to talk to because the other person never feels
satisfied that he or she has been heard.
It’s dangerous not to listen! You miss important information and
you don’t see problems coming. When you try to understand why people
do things, you have to mind-read and guess to fill in the gaps in your
listening skills.
Listening is a commitment and a compliment. It’s a commitment to
understanding how other people feel, how they see their world. It means
putting aside your own prejudices and beliefs, your anxieties and self-
interest, so that you can step behind the other person’s eyes. You try to
look at things from the other person’s perspective. Listening is a compli-
ment because it says to the other person, “I care about what’s happening
to you; your life and your experience are important.” People usually
respond to the compliment of listening by liking and appreciating you.

Real Vs. Pseudo Listening

Being quiet while someone else talks does not constitute real listening.
Real listening is based on the intention to do one of four things:
1. Understand someone.
2. Enjoy someone.
3. Learn something.
4. Give help or solace.

If you want to understand someone, you can’t help but really listen
to him or her. When you’re enjoying a conversation or you intend to
learn something, listening comes quite naturally. When you want to help
someone express his or her feelings, you are involved, listening. The key
to real listening is wanting and intending to do so. Unfortunately, a lot
of pseudo listening masquerades as the real thing. The intention is not
to listen but to meet some other need. Some of the typical needs met by
pseudo listening are as follows:
JJ Making people think you’re interested so they will like
you.
JJ Being alert to see if you are in danger of getting rejected.
JJ Listening for one specific piece of information and ignoring
everything else.

6   Messages
 JJ Buying time to prepare your next comment.
JJ Half listening so someone will listen to you.
JJ Listening to find someone’s vulnerabilities or to take advan-
tage of him or her.
JJ Looking for the weak points in an argument so you can
always be right; listening to get ammunition for attack.
JJ Checking to see how people are reacting, making sure you
produce the desired effect.
JJ Half listening because a good, kind, or nice person would.
JJ Half listening because you don’t know how to get away
without hurting or offending someone.

Exercise. Everyone is a pseudo listener at times. Problems develop

when real listening (the intention to understand, enjoy, learn, help) is
happening a lot less than pseudo listening. In general, the more real
listening you do, the better your relationships feel. Use the following
chart to assess the real versus the pseudo listening you do with significant
people in your life. Estimate the percentage of your listening that is real
for each of the following:

WORK HOME
Boss          % Mate            %
Coworkers Children
            %             %
            %             %
            %             %
Subordinates Roommate         %

            % FRIENDS

            % Best friend         %
            % Same-sex friends

Listening   7
RELATIVES             %
Mother           %             %
Father            %             %
Siblings Opposite-sex
            % friends

            %             %

Others     %             %
            %             %
            %             %

To use the information on your chart, ask yourself these questions:

JJ Who are the people you listen to best?
JJ Who are the people with whom you do more pseudo
listening?
JJ What is it about these people that makes it easier or harder
to listen to them?
JJ Are there any people on the chart with whom you want to
do more real listening?
As an exercise, choose one person you could relate to better. For
one day, commit yourself to real listening. After each encounter, check
your intention in listening. Were you trying to understand him or her,
enjoy him or her, learn something, or give help or solace? Notice if you
were doing any pseudo listening and what needs your pseudo listening
satisfied.
Habits form easily. If you continued this exercise for a week, atten-
tion to the quality of your listening would begin to be automatic.

8   Messages
Blocks to Listening
There are twelve blocks to listening. You will find that some are old
favorites that you use over and over. Others are held in reserve for certain
types of people or situations. Everyone uses listening blocks, so you
shouldn’t worry if a lot of blocks are familiar. This is an opportunity
for you to become more aware of your blocks at the time you actually
use them.

Comparing
Comparing makes it hard to listen because you’re always trying to
assess who is smarter, more competent, more emotionally healthy—you
or the other. Some people focus on who has suffered more, who’s a bigger
victim. While someone’s talking, they have thoughts such as these:
“Could I do it that well?” “I’ve had it harder; he doesn’t know what hard
is.” “I earn more than that.” “My kids are so much brighter.” They can’t
let much in because they’re too busy seeing if they measure up.

Mind Reading
The mind reader doesn’t pay much attention to what people say. In
fact, he or she often distrusts it. The mind reader is trying to figure out
what the other person is really thinking and feeling: “She says she wants
to go to the show, but I’ll bet she’s tired and wants to relax. She might
be resentful if I pushed her when she doesn’t want to go.” The mind
reader pays less attention to words than to intonations and subtle cues
in an effort to see through to the truth.
If you are a mind reader, you probably make assumptions about how
people react to you: “I bet he’s looking at my lousy skin.” “She thinks
I’m stupid. “She’s turned off by my shyness.” These notions are born of
intuition, hunches, and vague misgivings; they have little to do with
what the person actually says to you.

Listening   9
 Rehearsing
You don’t have time to listen when you’re rehearsing what to say.
Your whole attention is on the preparation and crafting of your next
comment. You have to look interested, but your mind is going a mile a
minute because you’ve got a story to tell or a point to make. Some people
rehearse whole chains of responses: “I’ll say X, then he’ll say Y, then I’ll
say Z,” and so on.

Filtering
When you filter, you listen to some things and not to others. You
pay only enough attention to see if somebody’s angry or unhappy or
if you’re in emotional danger. Once assured that the communication
contains none of those things, you let your mind wander. One woman
listens just enough to her son to learn whether he is fighting again at
school. Relieved to hear he isn’t, she begins thinking about her shopping
list. A young man quickly ascertains what kind of mood his girlfriend
is in. If she seems happy as she describes her day, his thoughts begin
wandering.
Another way people filter is simply to avoid hearing certain things—
particularly anything threatening, negative, critical, or unpleasant. It’s as
if the words were never said: you simply have no memory of them.

Judging
Negative labels have enormous power. If you prejudge someone as
stupid or nuts or unqualified, you don’t pay much attention to what
that person says. You’ve already written the person off. Hastily judging a
statement as immoral, hypocritical, fascist, pinko, or crazy means you’ve
ceased to listen and have begun a knee-jerk reaction. A basic rule of lis-
tening is that judgments should only be made after you have heard and
evaluated the content of the message.

10   Messages
 Dreaming
You’re half listening, and something the person says suddenly trig-
gers a chain of private associations. Your neighbor says she’s been laid off,
and in a flash you’re back to the scene where you got fired for playing
hearts on those long coffee breaks. Hearts is a great game; there were
the great nights of hearts years ago on Sutter Street. And you’re gone,
only to return a few minutes later as your neighbor says, “I knew you’d
understand, but don’t tell my husband.”
You are more prone to dreaming when you feel bored or anxious.
Everybody dreams, and you sometimes need to make herculean efforts
to stay tuned in. But if you dream a lot with certain people, it may
indicate a lack of commitment to knowing or appreciating them. At the
very least, it’s a statement that you don’t value what they have to say
very much.

Identifying
Here you take everything someone tells you and refer it back to your
own experience. Someone wants to tell you about a toothache, but that
reminds you of the time you had oral surgery for receding gums. You
launch into your story before the other person can finish his or hers.
Everything you hear reminds you of something that you’ve felt, done, or
suffered. You’re so busy with these exciting tales of your life that there’s
no time to really hear or get to know the other person.

Advising
You are the great problem solver, ready with help and suggestions.
You don’t have to hear more than a few sentences before you begin
searching for the right advice. However, while you are cooking up sug-
gestions and convincing someone to “just try it,” you may miss what’s
most important. You didn’t hear the feelings, and you didn’t acknowl-
edge the person’s pain. He or she still feels basically alone because you
couldn’t listen and just be there.

Listening   11
 Sparring
This listening block has you arguing and debating with people. The
other person never feels heard because you’re so quick to disagree. In
fact, a lot of your focus is on finding things to disagree with. You take
strong stands and are very clear about your beliefs and preferences. The
way to avoid sparring is to repeat back and acknowledge what you’ve
heard. Look for one thing you might agree with.
One subtype of sparring is the put-down. You use acerbic or sar-
castic remarks to dismiss the other person’s point of view. For example,
Helen starts telling Arthur about her problems in a biology class. Arthur
says, “When are you going to have brains enough to drop that class?”
Al is feeling overwhelmed with the noise from the TV. When he tells
Rebecca, she says, “Oh god, not the TV routine again.” The put-down
is the standard block to listening in many marriages. It quickly pushes
the communication into stereotyped patterns where each person repeats
a familiar hostile litany.
A second type of sparring is discounting. Discounting is for people
who can’t stand compliments: “Oh, I didn’t do anything.” “What do
you mean? I was totally lame.” “It’s nice of you to say, but it’s really a
very poor attempt.” The basic technique of discounting is to run yourself
down when you get a compliment. Others never feel satisfied that you
really heard their appreciation. And they’re right—you didn’t.

Being Right
Being right means you will go to any lengths (twist the facts, start
shouting, make excuses or accusations, call up past sins) to avoid being
wrong. You can’t listen to criticism, you can’t be corrected, and you can’t
take suggestions to change. Your convictions are unshakable. And since
you won’t acknowledge that your mistakes are mistakes, you just keep
making them.

Derailing
This listening block is accomplished by suddenly changing the
subject. You derail the train of conversation when you get bored or

12   Messages
uncomfortable with a topic. Another way of derailing is with humor.
You respond to whatever is said with a joke or quip in order to avoid the
discomfort or anxiety in seriously listening to the other person.

Placating
“Right… Right… Absolutely… I know… Of course you are…
Incredible… Yes… Really?” You want to be nice, pleasant, supportive.
You want people to like you, so you agree with everything. You want
to avoid conflict. You may half listen, just enough to get the drift, but
you’re not really involved. You are placating rather than tuning in and
examining what’s being said.

Assessing Your Listening Blocks

Now that you’ve read about the listening blocks, you probably have an
idea of which ones apply to you. Make a note of each listening block that
seems typical of how you avoid listening. Having identified your blocks,
you can begin to explore whom you are blocking out. You can also find
out which people or types of people typically elicit certain blocks. For
example, you may spar with your mother but derail your best friend, or
you may placate and rehearse with your boss but do a lot of advising
with your children.
In the following exercises, you will explore the listening blocks you
typically use, which blocks you tend to use with which people, and
how often and in which situations you resort to listening blocks. After
you’ve assessed your listening patterns, the final exercise will help you
make small changes that will enable you become a better listener in the
future.

Exercise. For significant people in your life, write down which

listening blocks you typically use. Note that for many people, you may
use more than one block.

Listening   13
Person Blocks
WORK

Boss                    

Coworkers     
                             
                             
                             
Subordinates
                             
                             
                             
RELATIVES
Mother                    
Father                    
Siblings
                             
                             
Others
                             
                             
                              
HOME
Mate                    
Children
                             
                             
                             
Roommate               

14   Messages
FRIENDS
Best friend                    
Same-sex friends
                             
                             
                             
Opposite-sex friends
                             
                             
                             

Look at your pattern of blocking. Are you blocking more at home

or at work, with same-sex or opposite-sex friends? Do certain people or
situations trigger blocking? Do you rely mostly on one kind of blocking,
or do you use different blocks with different people and situations?

Exercise. To help systematize your exploration of blocking, reserve

a day to do take the following five steps. Note that the goal of this
exercise isn’t to eliminate listening blocks but to increase your awareness
of how and when you engage in blocking.

1. Select your most commonly used block.

2. Keep a tally sheet: How many times did you use the block in
one day?
3. With whom did you use the block most?
4. What subjects or situations usually triggered the block?
5. When you started to block, how were you feeling? (Circle every-
thing that applies.)

Listening   15
 bored anxious irritated hurt jealous
frustrated rushed down criticized
excited preoccupied attacked tired
Other

This awareness exercise can be repeated with as many blocks as you

care to explore. Keep track of only one block in any given day.

Exercise. After gaining more awareness, you may want to change

some of your blocking behavior. Reserve another two days to do the
following:

1. Select one significant person you’d like to stop blocking.

2. Keep a tally sheet: How many times did you block the person
on day one?
3. What blocks did you use?
4. What subjects or situations usually triggered the blocks?
5. On day two, consciously avoid using your blocking gambits
with the target person. Try paraphrasing instead (see the next
section). Make a real commitment to listening. Notice and write
down how you feel and what happens when you resist blocking.
(Note: Don’t expect miracles. If you have a 50 percent reduction
in blocking, that’s success.)

Initially, you may feel anxious, bored, or irritated. You may find
yourself avoiding one blocking gambit only to cook up another. The con-
versation may take uncomfortable turns. You may suddenly share and
reveal things you previously kept to yourself. Be a scientist. Objectively
observe what happens. Evaluate it. Does this feel better than the usual
way you operate with the target person? If it doesn’t, extend the exercise
for a week. Notice how you gradually form the habit of checking how
well you are listening.

16   Messages
 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
 However, there are dangerous mountain-top winds of one kind, or,
more properly, numerous local air-blasts, that are sometimes created
within these high winds, that do not appear to have any habits. It
would be easier to tell where the next thunderbolt would fall than
where the next one of these would explode. One of these might be
called a cannon wind. An old prospector, who had experienced
countless high winds among the crags, once stated that high, gusty
winds on mountain-slopes "sometimes shoot off a cannon." These
explosive blasts touch only a short, narrow space, but in this they
are almost irresistible.
Isolated clouds often soften and beautify the stern heights as they
silently float and drift among peaks and passes. Flocks of these sky
birds frequently float about together. On sunny days, in addition to
giving a charm to the peaks, their restless shadows never tire of
readjusting themselves and are ever trying to find a foundation or a
place of rest upon the tempestuous topography of the heights
below. Now and then a deep, dense cloud-stratum will cover the
crests and envelop the summit slopes for days. These vapory strata
usually feel but little wind and they vary in thickness from a few
hundred to a few thousand feet. Sometimes one of these rests so
serenely that it suggests an aggregation of clouds pushed off to one
side because temporarily the sky does not need them elsewhere for
either decorative or precipitative purposes. Now and then they do
drop rain or snow, but most of the time they appear to be in a
procrastinating mood and unable to decide whether to precipitate or
to move on.
Commonly the upper surfaces of cloud-strata appear like a
peaceful silver-gray sea. They appear woolly and sometimes fluffy,
level, and often so vast that they sweep away beyond the horizon.
Peaks and ridges often pierce their interminable surface with
romantic continents and islands; along their romantic shores, above
the surface of the picturesque sea, the airship could sail in safe
poetic flight, though the foggy depths below were too dense for any
traveler to penetrate.
 One spring the snow fell continuously around my cabin for three
days. Reports told that the storm was general over the Rocky
Mountain region. Later investigations showed that that cloud and
storm were spread over a quarter of a million square miles. Over this
entire area there was made a comparatively even deposit of thirty
inches of snow.
All over the area, the bottom, or under surface, of the cloud was
at an altitude of approximately nine thousand feet. My cabin, with an
altitude of nine thousand, was immersed in cloud, though at times it
was one hundred feet or so below it. Fully satisfied of the
widespread and general nature of the storm, and convinced of the
comparatively level line of the bottom surface of the cloud, I
determined to measure its vertical depth and observe its slow
movements by climbing above its silver lining. This was the third day
of the storm. On snowshoes up the mountainside I went through
this almost opaque sheep's-wool cloud. It was not bitterly cold, but
cloud and snow combined were blinding, and only a ravine and
instinct enabled me to make my way.
At an altitude of about twelve thousand feet the depth of the
snow became suddenly less, soon falling to only an inch or so.
Within a few rods of where it began to grow shallow I burst through
the upper surface of the cloud. Around me and above there was not
a flake of snow. Over the entire storm-area of a quarter of a million
square miles, all heights above twelve thousand had escaped both
cloud and snow. The cloud, which thus lay between the altitudes of
nine thousand and twelve thousand feet, was three thousand feet
deep.
When I rose above the surface of this sea the sun was shining
upon it. It was a smooth sea; not a breath of wind ruffled it. The top
of Long's Peak rose bald and broken above. Climbing to the top of a
commanding ridge, I long watched this beautiful expanse of cloud
and could scarcely realize that it was steadily flinging multitudes of
snowflakes upon slopes and snows below. Though practically
stationary, this cloud expanse had some slight movements. These
were somewhat akin to those of a huge raft that is becalmed in a
quiet harbor. Slowly, easily, and almost imperceptibly the entire mass
slid forward along the mountains; it moved but a short distance,
paused for some minutes, then slowly slid back a trifle farther than it
had advanced. After a brief stop the entire mass, as though
anchored in the centre, started to swing in an easy, deliberate
rotation; after a few degrees of movement it paused, hesitated, then
swung with slow, heavy movement back. In addition to these
shifting horizontal motions there was a short vertical one. The entire
mass slowly sank and settled two or three hundred feet, then, with
scarcely a pause, rose easily to the level from which it sank. Only
once did it rise above this level.
During all seasons of the year there are oft-recurring periods when
the mountains sit in sunshine and all the winds are still. In days of
this kind the transcontinental passengers in glass-bottomed airships
would have a bird's-eye view of sublime scenes. The purple forests,
the embowered, peaceful parks, the drifted snows, the streams that
fold and shine through the forests,—all these combine and cover
magnificently the billowed and broken distances, while ever floating
up from below are the soft, ebbing, and intermittent songs from
white water that leaps in glory.
Though the summits of the Rocky Mountains are always cool, it is
only in rare, brief times that they fall within the frigid spell of
Farthest North and become cruelly cold. The climate among these
mountain-tops is much milder than people far away imagine.
The electrical effects that enliven and sometimes illuminate these
summits are peculiar and often highly interesting. Thunderbolts—
lightning-strokes—are rare, far less frequent than in most lowland
districts. However, when lightning does strike the heights, it appears
to have many times the force that is displayed in lowland strokes. My
conclusions concerning the infrequency of thunderbolts on these
sky-piercing peaks are drawn chiefly from my own experience. I
have stood through storms upon more than a score of Rocky
Mountain summits that were upward of fourteen thousand feet
above the tides. Only one of these peaks was struck; this was Long's
Peak, which rises to the height of 14,256 feet above the sea.
 Seventy storms I have experienced on the summit of this peak,
and during these it was struck but three times to my knowledge.
One of these strokes fell a thousand feet below the top; two struck
the same spot on the edge of the summit. The rock struck was
granite, and the effects of the strokes were similar; hundreds of
pounds of shattered rock fragments were flung horizontally afar. Out
of scores of experiences in rain-drenched passes I have record of
but two thunderbolts. Both of these were heavy. In all these
instances the thunderbolt descended at a time when the storm-cloud
was a few hundred feet above the place struck.
During the greater number of high-altitude storms the cloud is in
contact with the surface or but little removed from it. Never have I
known the lightning to strike when the clouds were close to the
surface or touching it. It is, however, common, during times of low-
dragging clouds, for the surface air to be heavily charged with
electrical fluid. This often is accompanied with strange effects.
Prominent among these is a low pulsating hum or an intermittent
buz-z-z-z, with now and then a sharp zit-zit! Sometimes
accompanying, at other times only briefly breaking in, are subdued
camp-fire cracklings and roarings. Falling snowflakes, during these
times, are occasionally briefly luminous, like fireflies, the instant they
touch the earth. Hair-pulling is the commonest effect that people
experience in these sizzling electrical storms. There is a straightening
of the hairs and apparently a sharp pull upon each. As John Muir has
it, "You are sure to be lost in wonder and praise and every hair of
your head will stand up and hum and sing like an enthusiastic
congregation." Most people take very gravely their first experience of
this kind; especially when accompanied, as it often is, with apparent
near-by bee-buzzings and a purplish roll or halo around the head.
During these times a sudden finger movement will produce a
crackling snap or spark.
On rare occasions these interesting peculiarities become irritating
and sometimes serious to one. In "A Watcher on the Heights," in
"Wild Life on the Rockies," I have described a case of this kind. A
few people suffer from a muscular cramp or spasm, and occasionally
the muscles are so tensed that breathing becomes difficult and
heart-action disturbed. I have never known an electrical storm to be
fatal. Relief from the effects of such a storm may generally be had
by lying between big stones or beneath shelving rocks. On one
occasion I saw two ladies and four gentlemen lay dignity aside and
obtain relief by jamming into a place barely large enough for two. In
my own case, activity invariably intensified these effects; and the
touching of steel or iron often had the same results. For some years
a family resided upon the slope of Mt. Teller, at an altitude of twelve
thousand feet. Commonly during storms the stove and pipe were
charged with fluid so heavily that it was a case of hands off and let
dinner wait, and sometimes spoil, until the heavens shut off the
current.
The sustaining buoyancy of the air to aerial things decreases with
altitude. In this "light" air some motor machinery is less efficient
than it is in the lowlands. It is probable that aviators will always find
the air around uplifted peaks much less serviceable than this
element upon the surface of the sea. But known and unknown
dangers in the air will be mastered, and ere long the dangers to
those who take flight through the air will be no greater than the
dangers to those who go down to the sea in ships. Flying across the
crest of the continent, above the crags and cañons, will be
enchanting, and this journey through the upper air may bring to
many the first stirring message from the rocks and templed hills.
 Rob of the Rockies

Rob of the Rockies

Hurrying out of the flood-swept mountains in northern Colorado,
in May, 1905, I came upon a shaggy black and white dog, hopelessly
fastened in an entanglement of flood-moored barbed-wire fence that
had been caught in a clump of willows. He had been carried down
with the flood and was coated with earth. Masses of mud clung here
and there to his matted hair, and his handsome tail was encased as
though in a plaster cast. He was bruised, and the barbs had given
him several cuts. One ear was slit, and a blood-clot from a cut on his
head almost closed his left eye.
Had I not chanced upon him, he probably would have perished
from hunger and slow torture. Though he must have spent twelve
hours in this miserable barbed binding, he made no outcry. The
barbs repeatedly penetrated his skin, as I untangled and uncoiled
the wires from around his neck and between his legs. As he neither
flinched nor howled, I did him the injustice to suppose that he was
almost dead. He trusted me, and as I rolled him about, taking off
that last thorny tangle, the slit ear, bloody muzzle, and muddy head
could not hide from me an expression of gratitude in his intelligent
face.
Returning from a camping-trip, and narrowly escaping drowning,
too, I was a dirty vagabond myself. When the last wire dropped from
the prisoner, he enthusiastically began to share his earth coating
with me. He leaped up and half clasped me in his fore legs, at the
same time wiping most of the mud off his head on one side of my
face. Then he darted between my legs, racing about and
occasionally leaping or flinging himself against me; each time he
leaped, he twisted as he came up so that he struck me with his
back, head, or side, and thus managed to transfer much of this
fertile coat to me. He finally ended by giving several barks, and then
racing to the near-by river for a drink and a bath. I, too, needed
another cloudburst.
Just what kinds of dogs may have made his mixed ancestry could
not be told. Occasionally I had a glimpse of a collie in him, but for all
practical purposes he was a shepherd, and he frequently exhibited
traits for which the shepherd is celebrated. I could never find out
where he came from. It may be that the flood separated him from
his master's team; he may have been washed away from one of the
flooded ranches; or he may have been, as the stage-driver later told
me, "a tramp dog that has been seen in North Park, Cheyenne, and
Greeley." Home he may have left; master he may have lost; or
tramp he may have been; but he insisted on going with me, and
after a kindly though forceful protest, I gave in and told him he
might follow.
The flood had swept all bridges away, and I was hurrying down
the Poudre, hoping to find a place to cross without being compelled
to swim. He followed, and kept close to my heels as I wound in and
out among flood débris and willow-clumps. But I did not find a place
that appeared shallow.
As it was necessary to cross, I patted my companion good-by,
thinking he would not care to go farther, and waded in. He squatted
by the water's edge and set up a howl. I stopped and explained to
him that this was very bad crossing for an injured dog, and that we
would better separate; but he only howled the more. He wanted to
go with me, but was afraid to try alone.
Returning to the bank, I found a rope in the flood wreckage, tied
this around his neck and waded in. He followed cheerfully, but swam
with effort. When about half way across, and in the water up to my
shoulders, I attached myself to a floating log lest the dog should
weaken and need help. Within sixty or seventy feet of the desired
bank we struck a stretch of swift, deep water, in which I was
compelled to let the animal go and swim for the shore. My
companion was swept down by the current, and the rope caught on
a snag, entangling my legs so that I had to cut it or drown. The
current swept poor doggie against some stranded wreckage in
midstream. On this he climbed, while I struggled on to the bank.
I called to him to come on, but he only howled. Again I called,
patted my knees, made friendly gesticulations, and did all I could
think of to encourage him. Finally, I told him that if he would only
start I would come part way and be ready to help him if he got into
trouble. But he would not start. Not desiring the task of returning for
him through the cold, strong current, and feeling in a hurry, I started
on. He howled and then cried so piteously that I went back and
towed him safely ashore.
That night some good people of the ranch house treated both of
us kindly, and in the morning they wanted to keep my companion. I
was willing that he should stay, for he would have a good place, and
I was bound for Denver, where I feared some accident would befall
him. But he growled and ran away when the man advanced to tie
him. I started on afoot and he joined me, insisting on following.
All the time he had been with me his only thought appeared to be
to stay with me. Game, dogs, horses, and people he saw and passed
with expressionless face, except two or three times when he
imagined I was in danger; then he was instantly alert for my
defense. When the stage overtook us, and stopped to let me in, he
leaped in also, and squatted by the driver with such an air of
importance that I half expected to see him take the lines and drive.
I lost him in my rush to make the train at the station. He could, of
course, have kept with me had he been without fear, or if he had
really so desired. As the train pulled out, I saw him start down-street
with an air of unconscious confidence that told of wide experience.
He was a tramp dog.
The next time I saw him was several months later, in Leadville,
some two hundred miles from where he left me. Where, in the mean
time, he may have rambled, what towns he may have visited, or
what good days or troubles he may have had, I have no means of
knowing.
I came walking into Leadville with snowshoes under my arm, from
two weeks' snowshoeing and camping on the upper slopes of the
Rockies. The ends of broken tree limbs had torn numerous right-
angled triangles in my clothes, my soft hat was unduly slouchy, and
fourteen nights' intimate association with a camp-fire, along with
only an infrequent, indifferent contact with water, had made me a
sight to behold,—for dogs, anyway. On the outskirts, one snarly cur
noticed me and barked; in a few minutes at least a dozen dogs were
closely following and making me unwelcome to their haunts. They
grew bold with time, numbers, and closer inspection of me. They
crowded unpleasantly close. Realizing that if one of them became
courageous enough to make a snap at my legs, all might follow his
example, I began to sidle out of the middle of the street, intending
to leap a fence close by and take refuge in a house.
Before I could realize it, they were snapping right and left at me,
and howling as they collided with the tail of a snowshoe which I
used as a bayonet. We were close to the fence, I trying to find time
to turn and leap over; but I was too busy, and, without assistance, it
is probable that I should have been badly bitten.
Suddenly there was something like a football mix-up at my feet,
then followed a yelping of curs, with tucked tails dashing right and
left to avoid the ferocious tackles of a shaggy black and white dog.
It was Rob, who was delighted to see me, and whom I assured that
he was most welcome.
He had been seen about Leadville for two or three months, and
several persons had bits of information concerning him. All agreed
that he had held aloof from other dogs, and that he quietly ignored
the friendly greetings of all who made advances. He was not
quarrelsome, but had nearly killed a bulldog that had attacked a boy.
On one occasion, a braying burro so irritated him that he made a
savage attack on the long-eared beast, and sent him pell-mell down
the street, braying in a most excited manner.
 The drivers of ore wagons reported that he occasionally followed
them to and from the mines up the mountainside. At one livery-
stable he was a frequent caller, and usually came in to have a drink;
but no one knew where he ate or slept. One day a little mittened girl
had left her sled, to play with him. He had responded in a most
friendly manner, and had raced, jumped, circled, and barked; at last
he had carried her slowly, proudly on his back.
I grew greatly interested in his biography, and wondered what
could have shaped his life so strangely. In what kind of a home was
his pretty puppyhood spent? Why was he so indifferent to dogs and
people, and had he left or lost a master?
Early next spring, after vainly trying to follow the trail of explorer
Pike, I struck out on a road that led me across the Wet Mountain
valley up into Sangre de Cristo Mountains. When well up into the
mountains, I saw a large dog walking slowly toward me, and at once
recognized him as Rob. Although clean and well-fed, he held his
head low and walked as though discouraged. The instant he scented
me, however, he leaped forward and greeted me with many a wag,
bark, and leap. He was one hundred miles from Leadville, and fully
three hundred miles from the flood scene on the Poudre. He faced
about and followed me up into the alpine heights, far beyond trail.
We saw a number of deer and many mountain sheep; these he
barely noticed, but a bear that we came upon he was most eager to
fight.
The second night in the mountains, near Horne's Peak, we had an
exciting time with a mountain lion. Coyotes howled during the
evening, much to the dog's annoyance. It was a cold night, and,
being without bedding, I had moved the fire and lain down upon the
warm earth. The fire was at my feet, a crag rose above my head,
and Rob was curled up against my back. A shrill, uncanny cry of the
lion roused me after less than an hour's sleep. The dog was
frightened and cuddled up close to my face. The lion was on a low
terrace in the crag, not many yards distant. Having been much in the
wilds alone and never having been attacked by lions, I had no fear
of them; but none had ever been so audacious as this one. I began
to think that perhaps it might be true that a lion would leap upon a
dog boldly at night, even though the dog lay at the feet of his
master. I kept close watch, threw stones at suspicious shadows on
the cliff terraces, and maintained a blazing fire.
Long before sunrise we started down the mountain. Both Rob and
I were hungry, and although we startled birds and rabbits, Rob paid
not the least attention to them. At noon, on Madano Pass, I lay
down for a sleep and used Rob for a pillow. This he evidently
enjoyed, for he lay still with head stretched out and one eye open.
At mid-afternoon we met a sheep-herder who was carrying a club.
I had seen this man elsewhere, and, on recognizing me as he came
up, he waved his club by the way of expressing gladness. Rob
misinterpreted this demonstration, and dragged me almost to the
frightened herder before I could make him understand that this
ragged, unwashed, club-carrying fellow had no ill wishes for me.
I had in mind to climb Sierra Blanca the following day, and hoped
to spend the night in a ranch house on the northern slope of this
great peak. Toward sundown Rob and I climbed through a pole
fence and entered the ranch house-yard. Round a corner of the
house came a boy racing on a willow switch pony. On seeing us, he
stopped, relaxed his hold on the willow and started for Rob. How
happily he ran, holding out both eager hands! The dog sprang
playfully backward, and began to dodge and bark as the boy
laughingly and repeatedly fell while trying to catch him. Just as I
entered the house, Rob was trying to climb to the top of the fence
after his new playmate.
That night Rob was agreeable with every one in the house, and
even had a romp with the cat. These people wanted to keep him,
and offered money and their best saddle-horse. I knew that with
them he would have kind treatment to the day of his death. I
wanted him, too, but I knew the weeks of mountain-exploring just
before me would be too hard for him. "Rob is a free dog," I said,
"and is, of his own choice, simply traveling with me as a companion.
I cannot sell or give him away. I like him, but, if he wants to stay, it
will be a pleasure to me to leave him."
 The next morning every one was wondering whether Rob would
go or stay. The dog had made up his mind. He watched me prepare
to leave with keenest interest, but it was evident that he had
planned to stay, and his boy friend was very happy. As I passed
through the yard, these two were playing together; at the gate I
called good-by, at which Rob paused, gave a few happy barks, and
then raced away, to try to follow his mountain boy to the top of the
old pole fence.
 Sierra Blanca

Sierra Blanca
I was rambling alone on snowshoes, doing some winter
observations in the alpine heights of the Sangre de Cristo range. It
was miles to the nearest house. There was but little snow upon the
mountains, and, for winter, the day was warm. I was thirsty, and a
spring which burst forth among the fragments of petrified wood was
more inviting than the water-bottle in my pocket. The water was
cool and clear, tasteless and, to all appearances, pure.
As I rose from drinking, a deadly, all-gone feeling overcame me.
After a few seconds of this, a violent and prolonged nausea came
on. Evidently I had discovered a mineral spring! Perhaps it was
arsenic, perhaps some other poison. Poison of some kind it must
have been, and poisonous mineral springs are not unknown.
The sickness was very like seasickness, with a severe internal pain
and a mental stimulus added. After a few minutes I partly recovered
from these effects and set off sadly for the nearest house of which I
had heard. This was eight or ten miles distant and I hoped to find it
through the guidance of a crude map which a prospector had
prepared for me. I had not before explored this mountainous
section.
 SIERRA BLANCA IN WINTER
The gulches and ridges which descended the slope at right angles
to my course gave me a rough sea which kept me stirred up. I
advanced in tottering installments; a slow, short advance would be
made on wobbly legs, then a heave-to, as pay for the advance
gained.
Now and then there was smoothness, and I took an occasional
look at severe Sierra Blanca now looming big before me. It was
mostly bare and brown with a number of icy plates and ornaments
shining in the sun.
At last in the evening light, from the top of a gigantic moraine, I
looked down upon the river and a log ranch-house nestling in a
grassy open bordered with clumps of spruces. An old lady and
gentleman with real sympathy in their faces stood in the doorway
and for a moment watched me, then hastened to help me from the
pole fence to the door.
 While giving them an incoherent account of my experience, I fell
into a stupor, and although I had evidently much to say concerning
drinking and apparently showed symptoms of too much drink, these
old people did not think me drunk. Waking from a fantastic dream I
heard, "Does he need any more sage tea?" The Western pioneers
have faith in sage tea and many ascribe to it all the life-saving, life-
extending qualities usually claimed for patent medicines. The
following morning I was able to walk about, while my slightly
bloated, bronzed face did not appear so badly. Altogether, I looked
much better than I felt.
These good old people declared that they had not seen better
days, but that they were living the simple life from choice. They
loved the peace of this isolated mountain home and the
companionship of the grand old peak. In the Central States the wife
had been a professor in a State school, while the husband had been
a State's Attorney.
The nearest neighbor was four miles downstream, and no one
lived farther up the mountain. The nearest railroad station was
seventy rough mountain-road miles away. It appeared best to hasten
to Denver, but two days in a jarring wagon to reach the railroad
seemed more than I could endure. I had not planned even to try for
the top of Colorado's highest peak in midwinter, but the way across
Sierra Blanca was shorter and probably much easier than the way
around. Across the range, directly over the shoulder of Sierra Blanca,
lay historic Fort Garland. It was only thirty miles away, and I
determined to cross the range and reach it in time for the midnight
train. On hearing this resolution the old people were at first
astonished, but after a moment they felt that they at last knew who
I was.
"You must be the Snow Man! Surely no one but he would try to do
this in winter."
They, with scores of other upland-dwellers, had heard numerous
and wild accounts of my lone, unarmed camping-trips and winter
adventures in the mountain snows.
 The misgivings of the old gentleman concerning the wisdom of my
move grew stronger when he perceived how weak I was, as we
proceeded on mule-back up the slope of Sierra Blanca. The ice
blocked us at timber-line, and in his parting handclasp I felt the
hope and fear of a father who sees his son go away into the world.
He appeared to realize that I was not only weak, but that at any
moment I might collapse. He knew the heights were steep and
stern, and that in the twenty-odd miles to Fort Garland there was
neither house nor human being to help me. Apparently he hoped
that at the last moment I would change my mind and turn back.
Up the northern side of the peak I made my way. Now and then it
was necessary to cut a few steps in the ice-plated steeps. The
shoulder of the peak across which I was to go was thirteen thousand
feet above the sea, and in making the last climb to this it was
necessary to choose between a precipitous ice-covered slope and an
extremely steep rock-slide,—more correctly a rock glacier. I picked
my way up this with the greatest caution. To start a rock avalanche
would be easy, for the loose rocks lay insecure on a slope of perilous
steepness. From time to time in resting I heard the entire mass
settling, snarling, and grinding its way with glacier slowness down
the steep.
Just beneath the shoulder the tilting steepness of this rocky débris
showed all too well that the slightest provocation would set a
grinding whirlpool of a stone river madly flowing. The expected at
last happened when a boulder upon which I lightly leaped settled
and then gave way. The rocks before made haste to get out of the
way, while those behind began readjusting themselves. The liveliest
of foot-work kept me on top of the now settling, hesitating, and
inclined-to-roll boulder. There was nothing substantial upon which to
leap.
Slowly the heavy boulder settled forward with a roll, now right,
now left, with me on top trying to avoid being tumbled into the
grinding mill hopper below. At last, on the left, a sliding mass of
crushed, macadamized rock offered a possible means of escape. Not
daring to risk thrusting a leg into this uncertain mass, I allowed
myself to fall easily backwards until my body was almost horizontal,
and then face upwards I threw myself off the boulder with all my
strength. The rock gave a great plunge, and went bounding down
the slope, sending the smaller stuff flying before at each contact
with the earth.
Though completely relaxed, and with the snowshoes on my back
acting as a buffer, the landing was something of a jolt. For a few
seconds I lay limp and spread out, and drifted slowly along with the
slow-sliding mass of macadam. When this came to rest, I rose up
and with the greatest concern for my foundation, made my way
upwards, and at last lay down to breathe and rest upon the solid
granite shoulder of Sierra Blanca.
In ten hours the midnight train would be due in Fort Garland, and
as the way was all downgrade, I hoped that my strength would hold
out till I caught it. But, turning my eyes from the descent to the
summit, I forgot the world below, and also my poison-weakened
body. Suddenly I felt and knew only the charm and the call of the
summit. There are times when Nature completely commands her
citizens. A splendid landscape, sunset clouds, or a rainbow on a
near-by mountain's slope,—by these one may be as completely
charmed and made as completely captive as were those who heard
the music of Orpheus' lyre. My youthful dream had been to scale
peak after peak, and from the earthly spires to see the scenic world
far below and far away. All this had come true, though of many trips
into the sky and cloudland, none had been up to the bold heights of
Blanca. Thinking that the poisoned water might take me from the list
of those who seek good tidings in the heights, I suddenly
determined to reach those wintry wonder-heights while yet I had the
strength. I rose from relaxation, laid down my snowshoes, and
started for the summit.
Blanca is a mountain with an enormous amount of material in it,—
enough for a score of sizable peaks. Its battered head is nearly two
thousand feet above its rugged shoulder. The sun sank slowly as I
moved along a rocky skyline ridge and at last gained the summit.
 Beyond an infinite ocean of low, broken peaks, sank the sun. It
was a wonderful sunset effect in that mountain-dotted, mountain-
walled plain, the San Luis Valley. Mist-wreathed peaks rose from the
plain, one side glowing in burning gold, the other bannered with
black shadows. The low, ragged clouds dragged slanting shadows
across the golden pale. A million slender silver threads were flung
out in a measureless horizontal fan from the far-away sun. The
sunset from the summit of Sierra Blanca was the grandest that I
have ever seen. The prismatic brilliancy played on peak and cloud,
then changed into purple, fading into misty gray, while the light of
this strong mountain day slowly vanished in the infinite silence of a
perfect mountain night.
Then came the serious business of getting down and off the rough
slope and out of the inky woods before darkness took complete
possession. After intense vigilance and effort for two hours, I
emerged from the forest-robed slope and started across the easy,
sloping plain beneath a million stars.
The night was mild and still. Slowly, across the wide brown way, I
made my course, guided by a low star that hung above Fort Garland.
My strength ran low, and, in order to sustain it, I moved slowly, lying
down and relaxing every few minutes. My mind was clear and
strangely active. With pleasure I recalled in order the experiences of
the day and the wonderful sunset with which it came triumphantly to
a close. As I followed a straight line across the cactus-padded plains,
I could not help wondering whether the Denver physicians would tell
me that going up to see the sunset was a serious blunder, or a
poison-eliminating triumph. However, the possibility of dying was a
thought that never came.
At eleven o'clock, when instinctively and positively I felt that I had
traveled far enough, I paused; but from Fort Garland neither sound
nor light came to greet me in the silent, mysterious night. I might
pass close to the low, dull adobes of this station without realizing its
presence. So confident was I that I had gone far enough that I
commenced a series of constantly enlarging semicircles, trying to
locate in the darkness the hidden fort. In the midst of these, a
coyote challenged, and a dog answered. I hastened toward the dog
and came upon a single low adobe full of Mexicans who could not
understand me. However, their soft accents awakened vivid
memories in my mind, and distinctly my strangely stimulated brain
took me back through fifteen years to the seedling orange groves in
the land of to-morrow where I had lingered and learned to speak
their tongue. An offer of five dollars for transportation to Fort
Garland in time for the midnight train sent Mexicans flying in all
directions as though I had hurled a bomb.
Two boys with an ancient, wobbling horse and buckboard landed
me at the platform as the headlight-glare of my train swept across it.
The big, good-natured conductor greeted me with "Here's the Snow
Man again,—worse starved than ever!"
 The Wealth of the Woods

The Wealth of the Woods

The ancients told many wonderful legends concerning the tree,
and claimed for it numerous extraordinary qualities. Modern
experience is finding some of these legends to be almost literal
truth, and increasing knowledge of the tree shows that it has many
of those high qualities for which it was anciently revered. Though
people no longer think of it as the Tree of Life, they are beginning to
realize that the tree is what enables our race to make a living and to
live comfortably and hopefully upon this beautiful world.
Camping among forests quickly gives one a home feeling for them
and develops an appreciation of their value. How different American
history might have been had Columbus discovered a treeless land!
The American forests have largely contributed to the development of
the country. The first settlers on the Atlantic coast felled and used
the waiting trees for home-building; they also used wood for fuel,
furniture, and fortifications. When trading-posts were established in
the wilderness the axe was as essential as the gun. From Atlantic to
Pacific the pioneers built their cabins of wood. As the country
developed, wood continued to be indispensable; it was used in
almost every industry, and to-day it has a more general use than
ever.
 SPANISH MOSS AT LAKE
CHARLES, LOUISIANA
Forests enrich us in many ways. One of these is through the
supply of wood which they produce,—which they annually produce.
Wood is one of the most useful materials used by man. Wood is the
home-making material. It gives good cheer to a million
hearthstones. How extensively it is used for tools, furniture, and
vehicles, for mine timbers and railroad development! The living
influences which forests exert, the environments which they create
and maintain, are potent to enable man best to manage and control
the earth, the air, and the water, so that these will give him the
greatest service and do him the least damage.
Forests are water-distributors, and everywhere their presence
tends to prevent both floods and extreme low water; they check
evaporation and assist drainage; they create soil; they resist sudden
changes of temperature; they break and temper the winds; they do
sanitary work by taking impurities from the air; they shelter and
furnish homes for millions of birds which destroy enormous numbers
of weed-seed and injurious insects. Lastly, and possibly most
important, forests make this earth comfortable and beautiful. Next to
the soil, they are the most useful and helpful of Nature's agencies.
Forests are moderators of climate. They heat and cool slowly.
Their slow response to change resists sudden changes, and,
consequently, they mitigate the rudeness with which sudden
changes are always accompanied. Sudden changes of temperature
are often annoying and enervating to man, and frequently do severe
damage to domestic plants and animals. They sometimes have what
may be called an explosive effect upon the life-tissues of many
plants and animals which man has domesticated and is producing for
his benefit. Many plants have been domesticated and largely so
specialized that they have been rendered less hardy. With good care,
these plants are heavy producers, but, to have from them a
premium harvest each year, they need the genial clime, the
stimulating shelter, and the constant protection which only forests
can supply. Closely allied to changes of temperature is the
movement of the air. In the sea every peninsula is a breakwater: on
land every grove is a windbreak. The effect of the violence of high
winds on fruited orchards and fields of golden grain may be
compared to the beatings of innumerable clubs. Hot waves and cold
waves come like withering breaths of flame and frost to trees and
plants. High winds may be mastered by the forest. The forest will
make even the Storm King calm, and it will also soften, temper, and
subdue the hottest or the coldest waves that blow. Forests may be
placed so as to make every field a harbor.
The air is an invisible blotter that is constantly absorbing moisture.
Its capacity to evaporate and absorb increases with rapidity of
movement. Roughly, six times as much water is evaporated from a
place that is swept by a twenty-five-mile wind as from a place in the
dead calm of the forest. The quantity of water evaporated within a
forest or in its shelter is many times less than is evaporated from the
soil in an exposed situation. This shelter and the consequent
decreased evaporation may save a crop in a dry season. During
seasons of scanty rainfall the crops often fail, probably not because
sufficient water has not fallen, but because the thirsty winds have
drawn from the soil so much moisture that the water-table in the soil
is lowered below the reach of the roots of the growing plants.
In the arid West the extra-dry winds are insatiable. In many
localities their annual capacity to absorb water is greater than the
annual precipitation of water. In "dry-farming" localities, the central
idea is to save all the water that Nature supplies, to prevent the
moisture from evaporating, to protect it from the robber winds.
Forests greatly check evaporation, and Professor L. G. Carpenter, the
celebrated irrigation engineer, says that forests are absolutely
necessary for the interests of irrigated agriculture. Considering the
many influences of the forest that are beneficial to agriculture, it
would seem as though ideal forest environments would be the best
annual assurance that the crops of the field would not fail and that
the soil would most generously respond to the seed-sower.
So well is man served in the distribution of the waters and the
management of their movements by the forests, that forests seem
almost to think. The forest is an eternal mediator between winds
and gravity in their never-ending struggle for the possession of the
waters. The forest seems to try to take the intermittent and ever-
varying rainfall and send the collected waters in slow and steady
stream back to the sea. It has marked success, and one may say it is
only to the extent the forest succeeds in doing this that the waters
become helpful to man. Possibly they may need assistance in this
work. Anyway, so great is the evaporation on the mountains of the
West that John Muir says, "Cut down the groves and the streams will
vanish." Many investigators assert that only thirty per cent of the
rainfall is returned by the rivers to the sea. Evaporation—winds—
probably carry away the greater portion of the remainder.
Afforestation has created springs and streams, not by increasing
rainfall, although the forests may do this, but by saving the water
that falls,—by checking evaporation. On some exposed watersheds
the winds carry off as much as ninety per cent of the annual
precipitation. It seems plain that wider, better forests would mean
deeper, steadier streams. Forests not only check evaporation, but
they store water and guard it from the greed of gravity. The forest
gets the water into the ground where a brake is put upon the pull of
gravity. Forest floors are covered with fluffy little rugs and pierced
with countless tree-roots. So all-absorbing is the porous, rug-covered
forest floor that most of the water that falls in the forest goes into
the ground; a small percentage may run off on the surface, but the
greater part settles into the earth and seeps slowly by subterranean
drainage, till at last it bubbles out in a spring some distance away
and below the place where the raindrops came to earth. The
underground drainage, upon which the forest insists, is much slower
and steadier than the surface drainage of a treeless place. The
tendency of the forest is to take the water of the widely separated
rainy days and dole it out daily to the streams. The forest may be
described as a large, ever-leaking reservoir.
The forest is so large a reservoir that it rarely overflows, and
seepage from it is so slow that it seldom goes dry. The presence of a
forest on a watershed tends to give the stream which rises thereon
its daily supply of water, whether it rains every day or not. By
checking evaporation, the forest swells the volume of sea-going
water in this stream, and thereby increases its water-power and
makes it more useful as a deep waterway. Forests so regulate
stream-flow that if all the watersheds were forested but few floods
would occur. Forest-destruction has allowed many a flood to form
and foam and to ruin a thousand homes. A deforested hillside may,
in a single storm, loose the hoarded soil of a thousand years.
Deforestation may result in filling a river-channel and in stopping
boats a thousand miles downstream. By bringing forests to our aid,
we may almost domesticate and control winds and waters!
One of the most important resources is soil,—the cream of the
earth, the plant-food of the world. Scientists estimate that it takes
nature ten thousand years to create a foot of soil. This heritage of
ages, though so valuable and so slowly created, may speedily be
washed away and lost. Forests help to anchor it and to hold it in
productive places. Every tree stands upon an inverted basket of
roots and rootlets. Rains may come and rains may go, but these
roots hold the soil in place. The soil of forest-covered hillsides is
reinforced and anchored with a webwork of the roots and rootlets of
the forest. Assisting in the soil-anchorage is the accumulation of
twigs and leaves, the litter rugs on the forest floor. These cover the
soil, and protect it from both wind and water erosion. The roots and
rugs not only hold soil, but add to the soil matter by catching and
holding the trash, silt, dust, and sediment that is blown or washed
into the forest. The forest also creates new soil, enriches the very
land it is using. Trash on a forest floor absorbs nitrogenous matter
from the air; every fallen leaf is a flake of a fertilizer; roots pry rocks
apart, and this sets up chemical action. Acids given off by tree-roots
dissolve even the rocks, and turn these to soil. A tree, unlike most
plants, creates more soil than it consumes. In a forest the soil is
steadily growing richer and deeper.
Birds are one of the resources of the country. They are the
protectors, the winged watchmen, of the products which man needs.
Birds are hearty eaters, and the food which they devour consists
mostly of noxious weed-seed and injurious insects. Several species
of birds feed freely upon caterpillars, moths, wood-lice, wood-borers,
and other deadly tree-enemies. Most species of birds need the forest
for shelter, a home, and a breeding-place; and, having the forest,
they multiply and fly out into the fields and orchards, and wage a
more persistent warfare even than the farmer upon the insistent and
innumerable crop-injuring weeds, and also the swarms of insatiable
crop-devouring insects. Birds work for us all the time, and board
themselves most of the time. Birds are of inestimable value to
agriculture, but many of these useful species need forest shelter. So
to lose a forest means at the same time to lose the service of these
birds.
The forest is a sanitary agent. It is constantly eliminating
impurities from the earth and the air. Trees check, sweep, and filter
from the air quantities of filthy, germ-laden dust. Their leaves absorb
the poisonous gases from the air. Roots assist in drainage, and
absorb impurities from the soil. Roots also give off acids, and these
acids, together with the acids released by the fallen, decaying
leaves, have a sterilizing effect upon the soil. Trees help to keep the
earth sweet and clean, and water which comes from a forested
watershed is likely to be pure. Many unsanitary areas have been
redeemed and rendered healthy by tree-planting.
Numerous are the products and the influences of the trees. Many
medicines for the sick-room are compounded wholly or in part from
the bark, the fruit, the juices, or the leaves of trees. Fruits and nuts
are at least the poetry of the dining-table. One may say of trees
what the French physician said of water: needed externally,
internally, and eternally! United we stand, but divided we fall, is the
history of peoples and forests. Forest-destruction seems to offer the
speediest way by which a nation may go into decline or death.
"Without forests" are two words that may be written upon the maps
of most depopulated lands and declining nations.
When one who is acquainted with both history and natural history
reads of a nation that "its forests are destroyed," he naturally
pictures the train of evils that inevitably follow,—the waste and
failure that will come without the presence of forests to prevent. He
realizes that the ultimate condition to be expected in this land is a
waste of desolate distances, arched with a gray, sad sky beneath
which a few lonely ruins stand crumbling and pathetic in the desert's
drifting sand.
The trees are our friends. As an agency for promoting and
sustaining the general welfare, the forest stands preëminent. A
nation which appreciates trees, which maintains sufficient forests,
and these in the most serviceable places, may expect to enjoy
regularly the richest of harvests; it will be a nation of homes and
land that is comfortable, full of hope, and beautiful.
 The Forest Fire

The Forest Fire

Forest fires led me to abandon the most nearly ideal journey
through the wilds I had ever embarked upon, but the conflagrations
that took me aside filled a series of my days and nights with wild,
fiery exhibitions and stirring experiences. It was early September
and I had started southward along the crest of the continental divide
of the Rocky Mountains in northern Colorado. All autumn was to be
mine and upon this alpine skyline I was to saunter southward,
possibly to the land of cactus and mirage. Not being commanded by
either the calendar or the compass, no day was to be marred by
hurrying. I was just to linger and read all the nature stories in the
heights that I could comprehend or enjoy. From my starting-place,
twelve thousand feet above the tides, miles of continental slopes
could be seen that sent their streams east and west to the two far-
off seas. With many a loitering advance, with many a glad going
back, intense days were lived. After two great weeks I climbed off
the treeless heights and went down into the woods to watch and
learn the deadly and dramatic ways of forest fires.
 A FOREST FIRE ON THE GRAND RIVER
This revolution in plans was brought about by the view from amid
the broken granite on the summit of Long's Peak. Far below and far
away the magnificent mountain distances reposed in the autumn
sunshine. The dark crags, snowy summits, light-tipped peaks, bright
lakes, purple forests traced with silver streams and groves of aspen,
—all fused and faded away in the golden haze. But these splendid
scenes were being blurred and blotted out by the smoke of a dozen
or more forest fires.
Little realizing that for six weeks I was to hesitate on fire-
threatened heights and hurry through smoke-filled forests, I took a
good look at the destruction from afar and then hastened toward the
nearest fire-front. This was a smoke-clouded blaze on the Rabbit-Ear
Range that was storming its way eastward. In a few hours it would
travel to the Grand River, which flowed southward through a
straight, mountain-walled valley that was about half a mile wide.
Along the river, occupying about half the width of the valley, was a
picturesque grassy avenue that stretched for miles between ragged
forest-edges.
There was but little wind and, hoping to see the big game that the
flames might drive into the open, I innocently took my stand in the
centre of the grassy stretch directly before the fire. This great smoky
fire-billow, as I viewed it from the heights while I was descending,
was advancing with a formidable crooked front about three miles
across. The left wing was more than a mile in advance of the active
though lagging right one. As I afterward learned, the difference in
speed of the two wings was caused chiefly by topography; the forest
conditions were similar, but the left wing had for some time been
burning up a slope while the right had traveled down one. Fire burns
swiftly up a slope, but slowly down it. Set fire simultaneously to the
top and the bottom of a forest on a steep slope and the blaze at the
bottom will overrun at least nine-tenths of the area. Flame and the
drafts that it creates sweep upward.
Upon a huge lava boulder in the grassy stretch I commanded a
view of more than a mile of the forest-edge and was close to where
a game trail came into it out of the fiery woods. On this burning
forest-border a picturesque, unplanned wild-animal parade passed
before me.
Scattered flakes of ashes were falling when a herd of elk led the
exodus of wild folk from the fire-doomed forest. They came stringing
out of the woods into the open, with both old and young going
forward without confusion and as though headed for a definite place
or pasture. They splashed through a beaver pond without stopping
and continued their way up the river. There was no show of fear, no
suggestion of retreat. They never looked back. Deer straggled out
singly and in groups. It was plain that all were fleeing from danger,
all were excitedly trying to get out of the way of something; and
they did not appear to know where they were going. Apparently
they gave more troubled attention to the roaring, the breath, and
the movements of that fiery, mysterious monster than to the seeking
of a place of permanent safety. In the grassy open, into which the
smoke was beginning to drift and hang, the deer scattered and
lingered. At each roar of the fire they turned hither and thither
excitedly to look and listen. A flock of mountain sheep, in a long,
narrow, closely pressed rank and led by an alert, aggressive bighorn,
presented a fine appearance as it raced into the open. The
admirable directness of these wild animals put them out of the
category occupied by tame, "silly sheep." Without slackening pace
they swept across the grassy valley in a straight line and vanished in
the wooded slope beyond. Now and then a coyote appeared from
somewhere and stopped for a time in the open among the deer; all
these wise little wolves were a trifle nervous, but each had himself
well in hand. Glimpses were had of two stealthy mountain lions, now
leaping, now creeping, now swiftly fleeing.
Bears were the most matter-of-fact fellows in the exodus. Each
loitered in the grass and occasionally looked toward the oncoming
danger. Their actions showed curiosity and anger, but not alarm.
Each duly took notice of the surrounding animals, and one old grizzly
even struck viciously at a snarling coyote. Two black bear cubs, true
to their nature, had a merry romp. Even these serious conditions
could not make them solemn. Each tried to prevent the other from
climbing a tree that stood alone in the open; around this tree they
clinched, cuffed, and rolled about so merrily that the frightened wild
folks were attracted and momentarily forgot their fears. The only
birds seen were some grouse that whirred and sailed by on swift,
definite wings; they were going somewhere.
With subdued and ever-varying roar the fire steadily advanced. It
constantly threw off an upcurling, unbroken cloud of heavy smoke
that hid the flames from view. Now and then a whirl of wind brought
a shower of sparks together with bits of burning bark out over the
open valley.
Just as the flames were reaching the margin of the forest a great
bank of black smoke curled forward and then appeared to fall into
the grassy open. I had just a glimpse of a few fleeing animals, then
all became hot, fiery, and dark. Red flames darted through swirling
black smoke. It was stifling. Leaping into a beaver pond, I lowered
my own sizzling temperature and that of my smoking clothes. The
air was too hot and black for breathing; so I fled, floundering
through the water, down Grand River.
A quarter of a mile took me beyond danger-line and gave me
fresh air. Here the smoke ceased to settle to the earth, but extended
in a light upcurling stratum a few yards above it. Through this smoke
the sunlight came so changed that everything around was magically
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