"Oh, isn't that the cutest thing! Stand over there, Junior, and let me take a picture of you". Thus at least thirty times a day would park visitors rhapsodize during the first two weeks I checked cars at Annie Springs. Although "cute" was hardly the adjective to apply to an eighteen foot wall of snow -- which is what it measured on April 23 -- picturesque it certainly was. When it first attracted the attention of large numbers of people, on the day of the Medford opening, the snow wall, thrown by the plow, almost completely covered the Annie Springs cabin, one tiny portion of gable being perceptible. The tunnel leading to the front door had not yet been completely cut through -- a feature which somewhat added to its mystery causing visitors to peer into the ice cave and wonder just what, if any, its purpose was.

When I first went on duty at Annie Springs for the summer on June 15, the aperture had widened so that five or six people might stand in it at once; the wall of snow had melted and flattened so that, instead of a flagpole surmounting a glacier, one could see the peaked roof of the log cabin. From then on it melted rapidly from both sides. The roof of the cave became thinner and narrower, and once could see the light shining through it during the last few days. On hot days visitors would rush into this cool retreat, exclaiming over the color of the walls. They were an icy blue-green, and the rough surface made them look as if they had been hewn out with an adze.

Once a mother bear with three small cubs essayed to climb the dizzy heights on top, in a vain search for food. A crowd at the checking station stood breathless as the old lady ambled over the span, the three cubs following in single file. Would it hold them up, or would they crash through? At this crucial point, a man came out of the front door, and through the tunnel. Much to his amazement, he was greeted with gales of laughter. He did not realize that to the others it looked like a game of "Heavy, heavy hangs over thy head." Finally, the bear family, in disgust, wandered away, and our tunnel remained intact. Several rangers showed signs of disgust, too. It had been the picture of the year, and nobody at Annie Springs could find a camera.

By the twenty-eighth of June the four-foot span had narrowed and thinned until it was no more than six inches wide and less than half that in thickness. I knew it could not last much longer, and I kept glancing over that way, hoping to see the final cave-in. But I was not to be so fortunate. In the midst of checking over the travel figures, I heard a soft "plop". Without ceremony, and with no audience, the Annie Springs snow tunnel had fallen in.