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Updated: May 11, 2025
Of Kintla itself, I have no very vivid memories. But standing out very sharply is that figure of the cook crouched over his dying fire, with the black forest all about him. There is a picture, too, of a wild deer that came down to the edge of the lake to drink as we sat in the first boat that had ever been on Kintla Lake, whipping a quiet pool.
We took some photographs of Kintla Peak, taking our boats to the upper end of the lake for the work. They are, so far as I can discover, the only photographs ever taken of this great mountain which towers, like Rainbow, a mile or so above the lake. Across from Kintla, there is a magnificent range of peaks without any name whatever.
The imagination of the Geological Survey seemed to die after Starvation Ridge; at least, they stopped there. Kintla is a curious lemon-yellow color, a great, flat wall tapering to a point and frequently hidden under a cap of clouds. But Kintla Lake is a disappointment to the fisherman.
I have a strong suspicion that that guide took away Kintla's only fish, and left it without hope of posterity. We rested at Kintla, for a strenuous time was before us, rested and fasted. For supplies were now very low. Starvation Ridge loomed over us, and starvation stared us in the face. We had counted on trout, and there were no trout.
"Do you know of any place where we can find a cook?" And this man, who had dropped from heaven, replied: "I am a cook." So we put him on our extra saddle-horse and took him with us. He cooked for us with might and main, day and night, until the trip was over. And if you don't believe this story, write to Norman Lee, Kintla, Montana, and ask him if it is true. What is more, Norman Lee could cook.
There is a sort of R.F.D. in this corner of the world, but it is not what I should call in active operation. It was then August, and there had been just two mails since the previous Christmas! Aside from the Geological Survey, very few people, except an occasional trapper, have ever seen Kintla Lake. It lies, like Bowman Lake, in a recess in the mountains.
And all day long the boatmen struggled with the most serious problem yet, for the wagon-trail was now hardly good enough for horses. Where the trail turned off toward the mountains and Kintla Lake, we met a solitary horseman. He had ridden sixty miles down and sixty miles back to get his mail.
When our seven truants were found that brilliant morning, they had eaten up practically the grain-field and were lying gorged in the center of it. So "we folded our tents like the Arabs, and as silently stole away." We had come out on to the foothills again on our way to Kintla Lake. Again we were near the Flathead, and beyond it lay the blue and purple of the Kootenai Hills.
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