sn't it heavenly! Only two plates to wash!" expressed the essence of
her satisfaction.

Two plates to wash, two paddles to manipulate, two healthful, happy
weeks of out-of-doors, all as enjoyable for a woman as for a man--that
was our Deschutes River canoe trip. And there are a score or more of
other Oregon outings as delightful.

CHAPTER X

Olympus

In the hilly residential section of Tacoma is a studio-workshop. On a
certain September morning its inward appearance indicated the recent
passage of a tornado--a human tornado of homecoming after a long
campaign of camping. From dunnage bags, scattered about the floor,
showered sleeping-bags, ruck sacks, a nest of cook pots, "packs," the
rubber shoes of the north country, belts, knives, ammunition, and a
thousand and one odds and ends. In a corner was an oiled silk tent, the
worse for wear. Elsewhere, a clutter of ice axes, snowshoes, glacier
spikes, guns, photographs, and hides occupied the available space.

The room and its contents smacked of the regions that lie about the
Arctic circle, and thence, indeed, they had just come. For Mine Host was
barely back from Mt. McKinley and many months of venturesome exploration
in Alaska.

Next to watching the other fellow prepare his camping kit and discuss
plans for the Big Trip, when you yourself are to stay at home, I think
the most exasperating experience is to hear the good tales told by the
man fresh returned from some thrilling expedition. As you listen to the
story of the big untrodden places, the routine of your everyday life
seems woefully petty, and you are all at once distracted with a mad
resolve to go and do likewise. It is a dangerous symptom, and should be
prescribed for immediately--though the only real remedy I know is to
close one's eyes and ears and flee from the place of temptation. For
this is the Wanderlust, the joyful plague of the sinner who has lost all
count of time and ties in following some wilderness trail, and desires
nothing more than to lose them again.

If McKinley and Alaska were out of reach, across Puget Sound lay a
closer land of mountains and little-trodden trails. "Why not try
Olympus?"

The suggestion was no sooner made than accepted. Before I entered the
room six months of stay-at-home was my unquestioned outlook, but all at
once a hike to Olympus appeared the most reasonable thing in the world.

Mine Host, upon whom the blame rests, was out of the running, for he
start