BY A.H. CORDIER, M. D, ILLUSTRATED ms Mij Game Warden Ram. Some Big Game Hunts By A. H. CORDIER, M. D. Professor Surjfery University Medical College, Ex-President Mississippi Valley Medical Association, Ex-President Tri-State ( Iowa, Missouri and Illinois ) Medical Society, Ex-Chairman Section Gynaecology of American, Medical Association, etc. Illustrated From Photographs Made by the Author Unless Otherwise Specified Kansas City, Missouri 1911 To ALLIE G. CORDIER, MY WIFE, THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. Copyrighted 1911, By Union Bank Note Company Press of Union Bank Note Co., Kansas City, Mo. ^^5-0 ©CI.A303G87 MO. f PREFACE If an apology were necessary for writing this book on Some Big Game Hunts when so many works on the same subject have already been published, my excuse would be: a desire to call the attention of my brother physicians and others to the necessity of taking an annual outing away from the busy strife going on about them while at home, and to the value received from such a vacation. I know of nothing that stays the hour-hand of time more than trips such as herein described. It is not necessary to be a naturalist to enjoy these outings. If you have trained your power of seeing things you look at and know the difference between fur and feathers, skin and scales, you will see many things to interest you. There is much to enjoy while hunting besides the actual killing of big game. "And this our lives exempt from public haunts finds tongues in trees, books in running brooks, sermons in stones, good in everything." Kansas City, Missouri. A. H. Cordier, M. D. 1911. • CONTENTS Chapter I. Page Selection of Locality for the Hunt, Clothing, Guns, Provisions, Guides, Hunting Companion and Other Equipment 17 Chapter II. A Buffalo and Antelope Hunt in Southwestern Kansas and No Man's Land 31 Chapter III. Hunting Elk, Deer and Bear in Wyoming. Many Amusing Incidents of the Trip. Difficult Moun- tain Trails. Beautiful and Rare Mountain Scenery 45 Chapter IV. Pack Train Experience. Steep CHmbing. Grand Mountain Scenery 54 Chapter V. Moved Camp. Saw Bull Elk. Some Elk Traits. Elk Bugling. My First Elk 73 Chapter VI. Elk and Wolf Fighting. Teton Mountains. Snow Storm. My Second Elk 81 Chapter VII. Yellowstone River Camp. More Elk. Home- ward Bound 87 Chapter VIII. A Moose and Caribou Hunt in New Brunswick. Some Traits of the Moose. Cow Moose Killed liy Mistake. Some Amusing Exi)eriences 94 Contents — Continued Chapter IX. The Moose and Some of His Traits. Moose Calling 106 Chapter X British Columbia Hunt after Mountain Sheep, Goats and Bear 115 Chapter XI. Indians of British Columbia. Trails in the Cas- cades. Killed Lynx. Porcupines. Mountain Sheep and his Habits 127 Chapter XII. Killing Mountain Sheep in Closed Season, and What It Cost Me 139 Chapter XIII. Some Good Trout Fishing. Game Warden Visits Our Camp. Secured the Sheep Head and Scalp. Indian Deserts Us. Retracing Our Steps. Find of the Game Warden's Deer, Killed Out of Season. Some Reminiscences 148 Chapter XIV. Camp Seclusion. Mountain Goats and their Traits. Killing Goats 158 Chapter XV. Our Last Camp. Some Deer and Goat Hunting. The Bear We Did Not Get. Englishman's Bear Hunt 169 Chapter XVI. Kodiak Island, Alaska, Hunting Trip. Scenes and Incidents En Ro^de 177 Chapter XVII. On Board the Steamship Ohio, Through the Famous "Inside Passage" Along the Alaskan Coast 182 Contents — Continued Chapter XVIII. Through Icy Strait. In a Northern Pacific Storm on a Foggy Night, on Board a Ship with a Broken Rudder Chain 189 Chapter XIX. Cordovia, Valdez, Seward, Seal Rocks, Cook's Inlet, Mount McKinley 195 Chapter XX. The Steamship "Dora." Cook's Inlet. Kodiak Island. Uyak. A Sail on the "Emile" to Fox Island 210 Chapter XXI. Off for a Bear Hunt. Our First Bear. Hair Seals. Some Exciting Sailing Experience 218 Chapter XXII. Methods of Hunting Kodiak Bears. A Bear Story 232 Chapter XXIII. Fox Farming 245 Chapter XXIV. Return Trip Begins. Shipwrecked Crew and Fisher- men of the Columbia Aboard a Badly Leaking Boat 256 Chapter XXV. Some Thoughts on Alaska. Its Resources, Inhab- itants, Game Laws. The Moose Cow Hybrid 271 Chapter XXVI. Hunting the Javelina Along the Rio Grande in Texas .286 Chapter XXVII. A Royal Buffalo Hunt 305 ILLUSTRATIONS Frontispiece— MY game warden ram 2 The author, photo, by coffee 4 An individual floored tent is a valuable aid to one's camp comfort 20 Truly a species of big game now almost extinct 26 American antelope, group mounted and photo- graphed BY PROF. L. L. DYCHE, OF UNIVERSITY of kansas 32 The camp cook's reverie 36 a beautiful camp site 39 The DEER WERE PLENTIFUL IN COLORADO 41 Bear in his native haunts 42 Wyoming elk in their winter quarters, photo- graphed BY s. n. leek 46 Comparative sizes of coyote, black bear and kodiak brown bear 48 "Old MISSOURI" and me, photographed by "h. p." 51 Resemb ledan army of multi-colored ants 55 My saddle horse 58 ISHWOOD pass, sheep MOUNTAIN IN THE DISTANCE 62 Illustrations — Continued The pleasures op camp life are memories ever to be ENJOYED 66 Wash day 69 "Is IT RIGHT?" 79 A pause at TIMBER LINE 84 Camp thief. These birds are a peculiar set 86 Our camp on the Yellowstone river 88 The outgoing tide in the bay of fundy leaves many VESSELS setting IN THE MUD AT THE WHARVES 95 A MOOSE hunter's home in new BRUNSWICK 98 Interior of our cabin, photo, by "h. p." 100 " 'Doc,' YOU HAVE killed A COW MOOSE" 103 As WE TOOK our departure A FLOCK OF BUZZARDS COULD BE seen HIGH IN THE AIR 105 A BEAVER DAM 109 We OUTFITTED IN LILLOOET 116 The barkerville limited 118 a british columbia through freight 120 "Billie" manson, the noted guide 122 a sun-set scene on the frazier river 123 It is indeed pathetic, but what are we going to do ABOUT it? 124 "Alex" trailed us toward his sheep pasture 125 Illustrations — Continued A LYNX. He was an extra large varmint, photo. I5Y FRANK 128 Horse skull camp 130 The beautiful ovis dalli of kenai peninsula, photo- graphed BY DR. BAUCHMAN, OF SEWARD, ALASKA 133 The ovis Montana. This is a record head in many OF ITS measurements 133 Mementoes of a good time 138 The author and his "game warden sheep" 140 "Creekwah," our cook, was fond OF "porky" 145 Here frank caught forty trout within an hour 147 Camp limit 149 Patiently waiting for his pack 152 "Billie" and some rams 154 Looking for the antlered monarchs of the rockies 157 Mount cordier 159 Camp seclusion 161 From this point we "spied" the goats 163 A nice museum specimen 165 Packing a-la-siwash 167 Loaded 174 KoDIAK ALASKA. PHOTO. BY J. E. THWAITES 178 Illustrations — Continued Sitka. It was here on October 18th, 1867, that the stars and stripes supplanted the russian FLAG 184 Icebergs floated lazily to their death 187 Dinner is now being served in the barabara 194 CoRDOViA. The ocean terminus of the copper river RAILROAD. photo. BY J. E. T 196 a copper river native. photo. by unknown 198 Seward, on beautiful resurrection bay, photo. BY J. E. T. 201 Scenery of enchanting beauty 204 Seldovia. It was from this place dr. f. a. cook dis- embarked FOR his mount MCKINLEY ASSAULT 207 Rugs 209 As the DORA LEFT UYAK MY NEW FRIENDS BADE ME good-by 213 Uyak. Four million cans of salmon are shipped from this place each year 216 Kodiak brown bears, photo, by J. E. T 220 The emile in sahar bay 223 Virginia waterfall 226 Kodiak brown bear 230 The vast ice fields of Alaska cover twenty thous- and SQUARE miles 233 These badarkas are as graceful in the water as A DUCK 235 Illustrations — Continued Aleuts. The man in the center is a chief of the aleutian indians 240 ALF'S ST. HELENA 246 The BLUE fox's worst enemy, photo, by j. e. t 250 Alf, the guide and fox farmer 253 Bear skins secured near seward, Alaska, photo, by dr. bauchman 257 a barabara, my kodiak island camp home 260 Part of the Columbia's shipwrecked crew 264 The DORA was beached as soon as her passengers were landed 267 Waiting 270 Dutch harbor, photo, by j. e. t 272 An ALASKAN GARDEN AT SEWARD 274 Ancestral trees or totem poles 276 Malamute 27!) The beautiful white tail deer of texas 288 Chuck wagon and Mexican fence riders 294 Texasja velina under an average sized mesquite tree 297 A TEXAS javelina 299 Buffalo group. Collected, mounted and photo- graphed BY PROF. L. L. DYCHE 308 CHAPTER I. SELECTION OF LOCALITY FOR THE HUNT, CLOTHING, GUNS, PROVISIONS, GUIDES, HUNTING COMPANION AND OTHER EQUIPMENT. The selection of a locality for* a successful big game hunt is a matter of no little magnitude, and much dis- cretion and time are often necessary to complete the arrangements. Especially is this true if the hunter lives a long distance from the secluded haunts of the game he is going after. Railway guide books and sporting house catalogues cannot always be relied upon. Articles in sporting magazines, while usually authentic, are often mislead- ing, because they do not tell of the failures, disasters, drawbacks and difficulties of the trip. Details such as the prospective hunter would like to know are only too often omitted. This applies to the veteran as well as to the tenderfoot, for the reason that in all localities the climatic, topographical and many other features peculiar to that locality vary and the hunter should go prepared to meet each in its turn. In this chapter I trust that the experienced hunter will appreciate my endeavors, and that the tenderfoot will properly value the suggestions made, for experience is often an expensive and a disappointing teacher. 18 Some Big Game Hunts I have hunted big game for many seasons in a ter- ritory the boundary of which extends from the cane brake slough flats of Southern Mississippi to the cran- berry lake swamps of Northern Minnesota and from the muskeg and caribou moss covered heaths of New Brunswick to the volcanic, desolate, crumbling peaks of Central British Columbia and the tide-ripped shores of Alaska and Kodiak Island. I have found on these trips all kinds of game, from the chipmunk to the griz- zly bear, from the snow shoe rabbit to the moose, moun- tain sheep, goat, antelope, caribou, elk, Kodiak brown bear and deer. My guides, while not extensive in variety, have been varied enough to warrant me in saying that, as a rule, these diamonds in the rough are jewels of rare worth. However, I have had some experiences with guides that the less said the better for the reputation of the good and faithful majority of these whole-souled fellows. Guides have troubles of their own with some of the so- called sportsmen; but that is another story. How will you select the locality for your next big game hunt? I would advise you to make up your mind several months in advance, that you are certainly going to take a hunt and then decide upon the kind of game that you want to go after. There are some local- ities where a variety of game can be found within a small radius, but do not expect to find antelope grazing above timber line in the center of a broad mountain Equipment 19 range, or big horns on some little knoll out in a broad expanse of prairie. These remarks may sound very elementary, but my dear reader, please remember that a large number who go out in quest of big game for the first time are men who have been cooped up in their offices for years, and do not know the peculiarities or natural traits of the game they propose hunting. To such, I would advise the purchase and careful study of good books on nat- ural history, and above all, take two or more sporting magazines and read them carefully at your leisure hours. Without a knowledge gained from such sources, the amateur hunter will fail to get the full value of his vacation, for I assure you there are many things to be enjoyed on trips of this kind, besides shooting the game you may see. Having fully determined that you are going to hunt big game, scan carefully the best sporting magazines for truthfully written articles by those who have made similar trips. If the editors are true sportsmen, such as our good friends, Mr. McGuire of Outdoor Life and others, I am sure, if you write them, they will be only too glad to refer you to sources where you may obtain all the information necessary. Having decided on the locality and selected your guide, begin several weeks in advance to get your equip- ment together, and about two weeks before you start see how much of the "unnecessaries" you can take out of the outfit. I find, as a rule, that the beginner is too 20 Some Big Game Hunts much disposed to take along all his birthday and Christ- mas hunting presents which are good for little else than to decorate the walls of his den. It is less expensive and not so burdensome to leave these at home and there show them to your circle of immediate friends. The guides have seen them all many times before. I would advise that you take only one hunting part- ner, and if you are not a physician, get one to go with you as your hunting companion. There is ever an ele- An individual floored tent is a valuable aid to one's camp comfort. Equipment 21 ment of danger from accidents on these trips and other- wise you may be a long way from medical aid in a time of need. If you are a physician take a few essentials with you. That "necessity is the mother of invention" is exemplified on many occasions during a hunting trip. If you are of scientific turn of mind, take an aneroid and a thermometer — you can buy a good pocket aner- oid for twenty dollars and a thermometer for one dol- lar; also take along a good tape measure, a compass, a pair of scales and a camera — three and one-fourth by five and one-fourth being a good size. This whole outfit will weigh less than three pounds and need not be carried with you all the time while hunting. You will sleep more homelike in a little wedge tent, five by seven feet and seven feet high. It should be canvass floored, to keep out insects and reptiles, if you should be in a snake country. This tent will not weigh more than twelve pounds, can be carried in an ordinary grain sack and will cost you about twelve dollars. A sleeping bag with three woolen sack blankets will be needed to keep you warm in very cold weather, and to this outfit I would add a strip of rubber cloth — both sides rubber covered — six by twelve feet, to keep out the cold and rain and retain the heat of the body in the sack. The necessary clothing should be woolen and light and the shoes ought to be of light weight material with good soles. Do not burden yourself with big, heavy, clumsy hunting boots, requiring half a cow skin to 22 Some Big Game Hunts reach to the knees. There is nothing that will tire you out more quickly while climbing mountains or walking over moss covered heaths than heavy foot gear. On most of my trips I have used a good grade tennis shoe, and have found them easy on the feet, noiseless and free from slippery qualities. Thus shod you can jump from one slick log to another with a good deal of assurance that you will stay where you land. For the protection of your shins and pantaloons, a seventy-five cent pair of leggins will meet every re- quirement of strength, durability and security. Wool- len stockings should be carried along for use in cold weather and for wet feet. The feet enclosed in woollen stockings will keep warm, even when water soaked, as long as you keep on the go. A good, heavy, ordinary shoe must be worn in cold weather, and a light pair of gum waders should be added to the list of foot gear. Your provisions should be selected with the view of nourishment, with a few toothsome articles added to the Hst. Canned goods, while desirable in some ways, are heavy and liable to freeze— condensed milk being an exception, unless the weather be very cold. Oat meal, rice, bacon, flour, salt, pepper and sugar are among the essentials, and dried apricots are especially delic- ious as an acid bearer on these trips. Beans and a few potatoes — bury the later deep below frost line — should be in the outfit. Syrup and buckwheat can be dispen- sed with, but sometimes these extras are very accep- table. Equipymnt 23 Much has been written on hunting equipment, each writer and hunter advising that which his individual experience and demands suggest. As a rule, one should take only that which is necessary, or likely to be needed. If you have carefully studied the locality in which you expect to hunt, and the kind of game you are going after, it will be easy to select about what you will need. I usually make out a list of these articles some time before starting, and every few days go over it and cut out or add to it as I think best. On my Kodiak Island trip for a two months bear hunt, I took the following: Two skinning knives; One pair gum boots (waders) ; One compass; One camera, 3 A. 10 rolls of films, 10 exposures on each roll; One Stero-camera No. 2, Hawkeye, 10 rolls, 6 ex- posures on each roll; One aneroid; One mosquito net; Six pairs heavy woolen socks; Two extra pairs pantaloons, woolen; Two extra coats, woolen; One pair hand scales; A few surgical instruments; One gum hat; One gum coat; One pair tennis shoes; 24 Some Big Game Hunts One pair gum gloves; Two pairs woolen gloves; One pair extra spectacles; Two towels; Writing tablet and pencils; One pair Bausch & Lomb Stero binocular field glasses ; Six extra handkerchiefs; Cleansing rods; Gun oil; Small gun tool, kit; Match safe — water proof; Safety pins; Buttons ; Three woolen shirts; One cap; One wide brimmed hat; One whetstone; One tooth brush; One comb; One razor; One fishing rod and a few flies; Two extra pairs woolen drawers; One sweater; One sleeping bag and extra blanket; One rubber sheet; One spool strong wire; Talcum powder; One tape measure; Equipment 25 One fever and weather thermometer; Ball of good strong cord ; Ammunition — two or three hundred shells. This entire outfit weighs less than one hundred pounds, and can be shipped in an ordinary steamer trunk. If you are going on a horseback trip these things can be carried in two ordinary, strong sacks, about three feet long, making a light load for one horse. After a fair trial of many rifles, I am fully convinced that the 1895 Winchester, 35 caliber, is the best all around gun for big game on the market. The 405 is a more powerful weapon, but I would not recommend it except for hunting African big game. The 35 has a velocity at fifty feet of 2150 feet per second, and a strik- ing power of 2667 pounds; it penetrates 56 one-inch fresh pine boards, at fifteen feet, carries a bullet of 250 grains and has a trajectory with the small range of only twelve inches at three hundred yards, with a re- coil of only nineteen pounds. The killing power of this rifle seems to be all anyone could desire, yet I fully realize there are many other makes of guns that are endorsed by hunters of much experience. UkNXiu'lHSSi Tndij a species of big game now almost extinct. Mij First Deer 27 MY FIRST DEER I remember in my early life, in Kentucky, that deer were quite numerous. They were hunted with dogs, or tracked in the snow. There were certain runways that the deer would go through when pursued by dogs. Drives were made in the early morning, so that the hounds would strike the trails made during the night, while the deer were feeding. These hunts were usually taken in the fall, about the time the trees shed their foliage. I took part in many of these hunts, although not a member of any hunting parties. No fence or private holdings checked the hunted or hunter, when the chase was once started. I have seen deer, dogs and hunters on horses go pell-mell over rail fences and even right through our apple orchard. A favorite runway led through the creek bottom where we had a meadow. It was in the woods near this meadow that I used to take my stand when I heard the hounds on the trail. I always had to steal out my father's old "cap and ball" rifle, as I began hunting at too early an age to meet the full approval of my parents. Well do I remember how I would place the round bullet in the palm of my hand, pour the black powder from the horn until it just snugly covered it, then fish out the bullet, pour the powder into the slanting rifle barrel, put the patch over the muzzle of the gun, insert the bullet just within the barrel, cut off the patch, and with the hickory ramrod push the bullet down on the powder and ram it until the rod bounced out of the 28 Some Big Game Hunts barrel, then open the cap box on the butt of the rifle stock, take out a "G. D." cap and put it on the tube. These old guns were very accurate up to sixty yards. On one occasion, while hunting quail, I had a little, single-barrel, muzzle loading shotgun, loaded with bird shot (No. 8). I heard the hounds barking, hot on the trail of something that was heading my way. I leaned against a poplar tree, to await development of coming events. I did not have to wait very long before a beau- tiful two-year-old buck came bounding along as noise- lessly as a rabbit ; and as he passed within a few feet of where I stood, I fired, but he continued his flight as though I had not touched him. The hounds came by pretty soon, with their hair all on ends and frothing at the mouth like dogs with hydrophobia. They did not run more than two hundred yards before they ceased barking, and as the deer had taken the direction in which I was going, I leisurely walked, and much to my surprise I found the deer lying stone dead. One shot had pierced his heart. I was so excited and felt so strong that I literally picked that deer up and carried him on my shoulders fully two hundred yards. After resting, I tried to lift him again, but was unable to get him off the ground. This was my first deer. Since that time I have killed many of these animals, but none of them have brought the genuine Daniel Boone huntsmanlike pride and grat- ification, equal to this little, spike buck killed while I was a mere boy near my old Kentucky home. SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS AND NO MAN'S LAND CHAPTER 11. A BUFFALO AND ANTELOPE HUNT IN SOUTH- WESTERN KANSAS AND NO MAN'S LAND. In September, 1883, I decided to take a short hunt- ing trip into Southwestern Kansas and No Man's Land, a narrow strip between Texas and Kansas, but now a part of Oklahoma. There were very few permanent settlers in that part of that country at that time. We left the Santa Fe railroad at Hartland, Kansas, and rode across the prairie, south, seventy-five or a hun- dred miles. On our journey across the buffalo grass plains, we found many prairie chickens, and with no trouble kept our larder well filled with nice, tender, young birds. We had heard that there was, roaming over this large territory, a small herd of buffalo. They had been seen by some cowboys a few months prior to our starting, and it was this herd that we were going out to hunt. We had in the party an oldtime buffalo hunter, whose name I have forgotten, and he was to pilot us to the herd. One afternoon, as we were riding along on the vast expanse of level prairie, I noticed to the west of our course an occasional flash of some white reflecting like objects, almost as if someone were using a mirror to i-e- 32 Some Big Game Hunts fleet the sunlight, only not so brilliant. I was at a loss to know the source whence this came, as I was a stranger to that part of the country and its inhabitants. On inquiry, I learned that a band of antelope was "flirting" with us. There were about fifteen or twenty in the bunch and these were the first antelope I had ever seen. They would dart over some little knoll, and as they disappeared, their little white rumps would fiash in the bright sunlight, but they would no sooner get out of sight than they would appear again at the crest of another ground swell. Their curiosity would not per- mit them to stay out of sight long at a time. We were Killed, mounted and photo(jra2)hed by Prof. L. L. Dyche, of K. U. Southwestern Kansas and No Man's Land 33 probably the first white men they had ever seen, unless, perchance, some of the older members of the band had seen travelers along the old Santa Fe trail, that winds its course a few miles south of where we then were. We quickly decided to have an antelope hunt, and we separated into two parties, intending to circumvent them. The antelope seemed to understand our moves, and before we had gone a half mile, the band strung out across the prairie and was soon lost to sight. With- in a few miles of this spot, we discovered another band of five fine antelope, standing quietly on a little knoll a half mile away, stamping their feet, and intently gazing at us in the most inquisitive way. This time our party separated without dismounting, expecting to shoot from horse back. I was somewhat timid about shooting from the back of a broncho that had to be broken every time he was saddled, so I decided to let the others lead my horse, and I would sit down on the prairie and see the fun, or in other words, watch the old, experienced antelope hunters and learn how it was done. When those on horseback had gotten half around the antelope, but about half a mile away from them, the antelope struck out single file toward where I was sit- ting on the ground, but every little space they would pause, line up in military order, in a questioning atti- tude, and gaze intently at the peculiar looking object directly in front of them. Then the most venturesome one in the bunch, a particularly fine buck, would take 34 Some Big Game Hunts the lead and renew the march toward me, but when within two hundred yards, they dashed away at a rate such as only antelope can go, making three quarters of a turn around me, and then began their inquisitive stalk toward me again. They kept this up until they came within a hundred yards of me, when I fired at the leader, killing him instantly with a breast shot. The others took to their heels, and soon were beyond the range of my thirty-eight Winchester. My hunting compan- ions were watching the whole performance from a safe distance. I was delighted with my kill, as it was the second bunch of antelope I had ever seen. Uncon- sciously, I had resorted to one of the very best methods to get a shot at an antelope. They are of a very in- quiring turn, as I learned later, and I had a great laugh at the expense of the veteran hunters on that occasion. We continued our trip down into Southwestern Kan- sas in quest of the buffalo. After riding over a vast scope of country, we discovered buffalo signs made the year before, but no buffalo were seen while I was with the party. I left the others in No Man's Land and returned home. I was absent on this hunt about five weeks. During that time the party killed several antelope and a numbei of coyotes, jack rabbits and prairie chickens. It has ever been one of my keen disappointments that I left the party before the hunt was over. Had I remained with them, I would have been in the last successful buffalo hunt of the whole Southwest. Southwestern Kansas and No Man's Land 35 A few days after my return home, those remaining found fresh buffalo signs and followed them for a day, when they found the animals at a water hole. The hunters encircled them, and succeeded in wiping out the whole herd of seventeen. This was a ruthless slaughter, but it only hastened the inevitable. The hides, heads and much of the meat was brought back to the railroad and shipped to the market at Garden City and Fort Dodge. This same broad expanse of prairie at the present time has a farm on every quarter section of tillable land. The buffalo and the Indian, the original inhab- itants, have been corralled and put on reservations or in side-shows, where the curious can see them at so much a ticket. After all, I presume that the white settlers with their vast fields of grain, millions of domesticated animals and little white school houses are making bet- ter use of the country and prove to be far better and more desirable citizens than the Indian and the buffalo. A COLORADO BEAR AND DEER HUNT. In 1888, in company with the late Judge Underwood, of Kansas, I made a trip to Western Colorado to hunt big game. It was in the early part of September that we landed at Delta, a little station on the Denver and Rio Grande railroad. We were met by a Mr. Stevens, who with his outfit conducted us up the north fork of the Gunnison River to a post office called Paonia, the distance being about forty miles. At this time there 36 Some Dig Game Hunts The camp cook's reverie. is a railroad up this valley that taps some of the richest coal fields in Colorado. While on this hunt we found the vein that is being worked at this time and, in fact, I think some of our party filed a claim on the land soon after this hunt. We outfitted from Paonia and struck the trail up a small creek, putting into the north fork of the Gunni- son River from the Northwest. At our first night's camp we found fresh signs of the Ute Indians who at that time were off their Utah reservation on a hunting trip, and had recently been acting very ugly toward the whites. One of our party found a Ute blanket A Colorado Bear and Deer Hunt 37 that had been lost by some member of the Indian hunt- ing party. My saddle horse on this trip was formerly owned by old Ouray, the chief of the Utes. We had a shepherd dog with us. At our first camp the fresh ashes of the Utes' campfire told us that the savages had camped there only two nights before. During the night the dog became very restless, and gi'owled and made signs of some suspected danger. At one time he jumped on to my bed and gave a most un- earthly growl. We were very much alarmed, as we were afraid that the Utes had surrounded us. There was a slight fall of snow during the night, and next morning, on looking for the cause of the dog's uneasi- ness, we found within a few yards of our camp where a grizzly bear had strolled leisurely by. The dog's bark- ing seemed not to disturb him in the least, judging from his tracks, which did not look like those made by a frightened bear. During the day we hunted from this camp. I re- member, distinctly, finding where many cattle (?) had lately visited a water hole near the timber line. On my way back to camp, I climbed upon a high log to take a look at the surrounding country. As I looked down into a little glade about fifty yards away, I got a glimpse of a large brown-looking animal, disappear- ing into the underbrush. I had never seen an elk, and did not realize what I was then looking at, until I re- lated my experience at the camp that night. I could have easily killed that elk had I known what it was, or 38 Some Big Game Hunts had I thought to shoot before it was too late. The next day we stopped at an old, abandoned, pros- pector's cabin, and from this point we made several trips after bear. The bear signs were very plentiful in a large choke cherry patch of about three miles in extent. While here, we set a steel trap ?nd secured a very fine specimen of the cinnamon colored black bear. He dragged the four-inch, sixteen-foot long, quaking asp toggle for a mile down the mountain side. It was no trouble to follow his trail. I imagine that no such growling, threshing and gnawing of underbrush was ever made by a captive bear, before or since. A well directed shot from an old Sharp's rifle put a quietus on his bearship in record time. The next day, while hunt- ing in this same cherry patch, I ran onto three bears in a bunch, but they disappeared before I got a shot. 1 was not much of a big game hunter, then. I have learned more about it since. I had more nerve and less judgment, then, than now. One of our party killed a small black bear the following day, and two days later, between two of us we secured another. On this trip we saw thirteen bears. We had seen fresh grizzly signs one afternoon, so early the next morning all hands were ready to go after this big bear. When we arrived at the canon where the bear signs were discovered, we found that an old she with two cubs made up the bear party. We fol- lowed them by their tracks in the soft earth, and by disturbed rocks and logs where the old bear had turned A Colorado Bear and Deer Hunt 39 them over, looking for bugs and mice. About ten o'clock we caught sight of them going over a little knoll into a deep gulch. While they were about five hun- dred yards away, we fired many shots, but this did not disturb her in the least, and even the dog barking at her would not make her run away from the cubs. She walked along as leisurely as a Jersey cow coming from the pasture to the barnyard. Every now and then she would wheel about and strike at the dog with her front foot. When she disappeared into the gulch, a A beautiful camp site. 40 Some Big Game Hunts council of war was held, as to the best manner of attack. We decided to surround the gulch and it fell to my lot to go to the lower end of the canon, where the precip- itous walls approached to within a hundred yards of each other. It was suggested to me that I take that stand, for in so doing I would surely get a good, close shot, as they would drive the bear right toward me. Little did they think that they were telling the truth as to the course that old bear was going to take to get out of that gulch. Had they thought so, they would probably not have suggested that the youngest, least experienced and worst scared hunter of the bunch should take that stand. I started to the stand, but decided that I did not want to tackle an old mother grizzly with two cubs, all by myself with a single shot rifle. That was a sensible conclusion, as any hunter will certainly say. Sure enough, the bears did go by that stand, but they went by with no disturbance from my rifle or my presence. After this little incident, I lost my reputation as a bold, bad, bear hunter. While on this trip, we killed many deer, as they were very numerous in Colorado twenty years ago. We heard many elk bugling, but I did not know to what I was listening. Other members of the party had a few days hunt after elk, as I learned later, but they did not get a shot. I have learned much about the habits of big game since then. A few years after this hunt, I made another trip to Colorado, to fish for trout. While on this trip, I killed A Colorado Bear and Deer Hunt 41 my first and only mountain lion, or puma. I found and killed him without the aid of dogs. The puma is of all animals the hardest to find without trailing dogs. I ran on to this lion while he was lying quietly on a large, sloping, fallen tree. His head was down the hill, and he appeared to be sound asleep. My trail passed di- rectly under the log on which he was lying, and it is barely possible that he was waiting for a deer, as I am sure that he did not expect me along that way. I dis- covered him at about a hundred yards distance and a single shot from a three hundred and three Savage killed him instantly. He was a very large lion, and The deer were plentiful in Colorado. 42 Some Big Game Hunts I had a whole mount made of this specimen, but the moth attacked the fur while I was absent from home for six months, and completely ruined it. I have made other hunting trips into Colorado, since, but secured only deer and some small game. Colorado has a good game law, and in a few years all big game will be plentiful, again, in that state. WYOMING CHAPTER III. HUNTING ELK, DEER AND BEAR IN WYOMING. MANY AMUSING INCIDENTS OF THE TRIP. DIFFICULT MOUNTAIN TRAILS. BEAUTIFUL AND RARE MOUNTAIN SCENERY. After a correspondence extending over several weeks with guides in various parts of the country, I decided to make Cody, Wyoming, our outfitting point and to take Fred as our guide. In company with my good friend and hunting companion, H. P. Wright, of Kan- sas City, Missouri, we left home September 7th, 1905 via the Burlington route. No better nor more jovial hunting partner ever lived than "H. P.", and any hun- ter who has been in the mountains for weeks at a time will recognize the importance of the careful selection of the make-up of the party, be he guide, companion, horse wrangler or dog. Nothing of importance trans- pired en route, save on many occasions "H. P." would point out a good place for bears, or a dandy retreat for elk. The first really ideal bear ground located by him was just after we crossed the railroad bridge at Kansas City, in Harlem, but as we were headed for Wyoming, we decided to continue our trip, and not to hunt where the signs were so ancient and scattered. However, it required a firm stand on my part to keep down the im- 46 Some Big Game Hunts Wyomiva Elk in their virter qiiaiiers. (Ph t'jrjrapfird by S. N. Lfck) pending mutiny, as he repeatedly quoted from Lewis and Clark's diary — 1805 — such sentences as this: "June 17th, 1805, our hunters killed two elk and three bears at the mouth of a river six hundred feet wide, putting into the Missouri from the West. The Indians call it 'Kaw river.' " I must admit that such incidents as above quoted had a tendency to weaken my position. However, as our tickets read to Cody, Wyoming, and return, I stood firm in my position and we proceeded without any other evidence of the violation of proper discipline. We changed cars at Toluca, Montana. Toluca is quite a metropolis composed of a depot, a section house, Wyoyniny 47 two Cody hotel signs and a large prairie dog population. Here we practiced with a target rifle for an hour or two while waiting for the train to leave for Cody, a distance of one hundred and thirty miles. This is an all day ride, including the stops the engineer and fireman made when they went to shoot prairie chickens along the right of way. At six o'clock, Saturday, September 9th, we arrived at Cody, where we were met by Fred. The Irma Hotel, owned by "Buffalo Bill," is a hos- telry that reflects much credit on the little town of Cody. This little town of the Shoshone foot hills is a thriving burg of one thousand inhabitants, and is a truly typical border or frontier town. Supported as it is by ranchmen, miners and cowboys, it presents an animation out of all proportion to its size. We procured our hunting license that night, paying fifty dollars for the privilege of killing two elk, two deer, two antelope and one sheep. Very few hunters ever secure this amount of game. Early the next morning, we loaded our traps into a wagon and started for Judge Swenson's, fifty miles up the South fork of the "Stinkin" water or Shoshone River — Fred driving and H. P. and I taking turns at riding "Jim," the guide's horse. If there ever was a horse that could soldier, Jim was the animal. He could, when made to try, almost catch an elk, but when let to have his own way, he could trot as long in the same tracks as any horse I have ever rid- den. As we were leaving Cody, we paused long enough on the edge of the plateau south of the town to get a 48 Sorne Big Game Hunts good look at the place, and make some pictures. Just where I stood was the bleached and weather-decayed skull of a buffalo with horns attached — a silent and crumbling monument of this noble and almost extinct animal. In my fancy for the moment, I could see the vast herds as they roamed the grass covered valley below me where Cody now stands, and on the surrounding hill-tops, I gazed at the red men armed with their bows and lances while they were looking the herds over with a view to selecting and killing the fattest for their win- ter's food, and not for wanton destruction, cruel sport, or trophy hunting, as later practiced by white men. Faintly in the distance toward the rising sun, I could see the steam and smoke from the steamboat as it Comparative size of a coyote, black bear and Kodiak brown bear. Wyoming 49 wended its way thiough the sand bar meshes of the treacherous Missouri, loaded with whiskey, beads and firearms — the first stimulus to the red man to destroy and barter the very source of his existance. A buffalo robe for a string of beads and the results of a whole winter's hunt for a few drinks of cheap whiskey and an antiquated gun. I next saw the steel rails being laid across the continent, and the locomotive drawing its cars loaded with hides, teeth, heads and ruthless tongue hunters, then a great fog appeared to settle over the scene and I was lost in my reverie until H. P. took hold of me and said, "Doctor, come out of it." I looked again and I saw the smoke from the hoisting engines and heard the blast of dynamite at the site where the United States government is building a three million dollar dam across the mouth of the south and north forks of the Shoshone river, and I realized fully that time and progress had wrought many changes, but oh, at what a sacrifice and cost to the original owners. Modern civilization with its ever increasing demands to gratify the restless nature of man has led to the con- stant invasion of new territory, and nature has been lobbed of some of her most valuable secrets, but in so doing, great sacrifices have been made. Whole tribes of human beings and all the native fauna and flora, with few exceptions, have disappeared with the advent of our boasted civilization. The American bison, poor brutes, are practically extinct. It is almost pathetic when one thinks of the 50 Some Big Game Hunts gradual but sure destruction of this, the noblest of our fourfooted American aborigines. A century ago the buffalo were distributed over a large area of the United States. Lewis and Clark record the killing of these animals at the mouth of the Kaw, in 1805. Kansas City, with a population of three hundred and fifty thousand souls, marks that site today. In our middle, southern and northern states, buffalo and elk roamed in large herds. The recent discover- ies by excavation in Montana and Wyoming of the petrified remains of many extinct and prehistoric ani- mals bring to mind that it is in exactly this same locality that the buffalo, the Indian, the bear, the elk and the moose have made a final stand in their endeavor to avoid a fate similar to that of their monstrous and prehistoric predecessors. Within a radius of fifty miles, we find the original of our great western water ways, principally the Snake and Colorado of the Pacific slope and the Yellowstone and Missouri of the Atlantic water shed. This dome of our continent, like a mountain peak projecting from a large body of water that is surely but slowly creeping up its rugged sides and crowding the denizens higher and higher for safety is similarly sui-rounded by civil- ized man with his indomitable desire to invade new territory and conquor the natives by extermination, be they beast or human. The law makers of Wyoming are to be congratulated on their wisdom in extending the game preserve, re- Wyoming 51 miipHm^^^^p^^^^i^;«ii#«<^' nr» -^^^BBI "'■'''■^ •• r- ~¥,|«5» -^R^^^uk 4^ ■pi^ii^^BT^ '^^Rf VIM JiiSK. ''^HHHI'- '■^^.lltf^^^HW' **'-■ " ■ ''i^jHHIIlii^ "Old Missouri" and Me. cently, thirty by sixty miles south of the Yellowstone Park. If the legislature would pass an act forbidding guides who go in with hunting parties to carry firearms, there would not be so many elk killed above the two allowed by the present law, to each hunter in one sea- son. Females are only too often killed for their scalps. Taxidermists find it a remunerative pursuit, where the bulls are scarce. They use the female scalps to remount moth-eaten or otherwise destroyed scalps of antlered trophies. After a hard day's travel over fairly good roads, we arrived at the "Judges," at six o'clock, where we found 52 Some Big Game Hunts in waiting Charley Workman, guide, and Ben Thomas, cook. They had preceded us the day before with six- teen head of pack animals consisting of fourteen head of mongrels, but be it said to their credit that with one or two exceptions they were as sure-footed, faithful and trustworthy a bunch as ever went into the moun- tains. Of this number, a mule, — Old Missouri — de- serves special mention. He was one of the most intel- ligent dumb brutes I have ever seen. He could calcu- late to the fraction of an inch the space required for his pack to pass beneath or between two trees. When he came to a boggy place, he would step aside and watch others of the pack go through, and if too much danger seemed apparent, he would back track to a safer crossing. He was sure footed, strong and his gait was a sure but slow get there walk. Our saddle horses were animals of remarkable endurance, as they were required to keep the pack animals in the trail, and thus in the course of a day's travel would make three miles to one made by the others. In spite of the most care- ful "diamond" and "squaw" hitches applied by our careful and skilled guides, the packs would become displaced occasionally in going over some particularly steep trail, or through the closely studded telephone pole pine forests. The re-adjusting of these required time, and seemingly, the use of a newly-coined vocab- ulary on the part of the guides, much to our amuse- ment. Really, I did not realize that there were so many cuss words, and in fact, there were whole sen- Wyoming 53 tences that, doubtless, had never been used before. The guides when talking to the pack animals persisted in referring to some remote or near ancestor of the poor brutes. I asked them to make it a personal matter with the horses addressed, but they said we must begin farther back in the family tree, to do the subject jus- tice. "One hears much unwreaked vengeance wreaked on a trip of this kind." They had arranged our tents and had a good supper awaiting us, which was enjoyed very much after the eight hours jaunt. Judge Swenson deserves more than a passing mention. He has really, as he expressed it to me, "a little paradise surrounded by hell." "But doctor," he said, "you know I never go up in the moun- tains." I really believe that the Judge's views were correctly applied when it comes to getting over or through some of the passes near his paradise. He has a beautiful farm all irrigated and very productive. His affability and kindness to us, both on going and returning, will ever be remembered. His home was the last we saw for four weeks, and we fully agreed with him on our return, that it was certainly heavenly, speaking from an eaithly standpoint. CHAPTER IV. PACK TRAIN EXPERIENCE; STEEP CLIMBING; GRANB MOUNTAIN SCENERY. Monday morning, the 11th, we were up early, separ- ating the baggage and alloting the loads for the pack animals, which was not a small task, by any means. We had our first experience with bucking and stiff leg high pitching, soon after the second horse was loaded. If a rubber broncho had gone crazy, he could not have displayed to a better advantage his resiliency, than did this cayuse on that occasion. As soon as he gave the fiist step after the load was tied on, he pro- ceeded to get up in the air in the most ungraceful and undignified manner, squealing all the while with every bound. His first jump took him over a mowing ma- chine, then he straddled a hay rake, next he plunged into an alfalfa stack, but finding his endeavors to dis- lodge the load futile, he quieted down and proceeded to help himself to alfalfa. All the time this equine gyration was going on, H. P. was chasing about the horse lot, dodging the epithets hurled at the mutinous brutes by the guides. By ten o'clock we were ready to start on our march over the mountains to our hunting grounds. As we strung out over the lange of low foot hills near the Wyoming 55 Judge's home, the train looked, in the distance, like a string of multi-colored ants. We had not gone more than a mile when I heard Ben — our cook — -yell, "Look out!" and right above us was a little dun horse loaded with our camp stove, "bucking to beat the band." He had succeeded in dislodging the stove and the stove pipes. The latter were tied through with a sixty-foot rope, one end of which was fastened through the pipes and the other end was tied to the rest of the pack. The noise this made as it bounded from hill-side to the cayuse's rump stampeded the whole pack train, and such a shaking up of potatoes and other provender I have never witnesses, before nor since. We soon got them under control, however, and proceeded as before the stampede. After passing over a range of good sized foot hills, Resembled an army of muUi-colored ants. 56 Some Big Game Hunts we crossed Ishvvood Creek, a tributary of the south fork of the Shoshone, about two miles from its mouth. We then proceeded up the left side of this stream. The guides had told us that the Ishwood trail was rather difficult in some places, but little did we lealize what was in store for us farther on. After traveling along on the side of the mountain slopes for six miles, we came to the most difficult part of our whole trip — Ishwood Hill. Here the trail came to a sudden end, and we simply climbed up a rocky chute formed by some great upheaval of nature. The steepness of the grade which we negotiated seemed hardly possible, but I feel quite sure that nothing four-footed but a goat or a Wyoming cayuse could have climbed up at that angle. Ishwood trail with its difficulties and dan- gers will ever remain with me as the nightmare of this trip. It is called a trail, I presume, because a moun- tain goat or elk had traveled it a year or two before. Ther-e are many places on this tr^ail that would cause anyone who had not seen a hor*se climb them, to doubt if told that a horse could cany a pack over them. In some places a blaze could be found on a pine tree, evi- dently put ther-e by some one to keep him from attemp- ting it the second time. We divided the horses between the four riders, as that was the only way we could keep the loose animals in the trail and prevent crowding on narrow ledges. I was driving the last two — "Baldy," loaded with our "war bags," and "Dun," the cook stove cayuse. Wyoming 57 There was one of the pack horses that persisted in leaving the trail at the most inopportune times. It mattered little to him whether it was a sprig of grass a hundred feet from the trail, a precipitous mass of slide rock, or a leaning tree that would dislodge his pack, that was held out to him as an inducement. "Old Baldy," as he was called in civilized language, was cer- tainly the limit when it came to giving trouble, and the remarks that the guide made about his ancestors would certainly fill a volume that would not be used as a text- book by a reformer. In fact, I am sure that new words and whole sentences were coined on this trip, to meet the pack driving indications. When we arrived at a point on the trail where it di- verged to the right between two perpendicular rocks, only eight feet apart, the bottom filled with loose earth and sloping upward almost perpendicularly, my two charges left the trail and stepped over a little back- bone of rock into a steep collection of loose soil and crumbling, detached rocks. They could not maintain their footing, so they delibertely sat down and slid into Ishwood creek, three hundred yards away. I thought our personal belongings in the "war bags" were surely lost, as they disappeared over a ten foot bank into the creek. Charley and Fred followed them, sliding the same way as did the horses. They led the brutes a mile down the creek before they could get them into the trail again. They were gone fully an hour. All this time I was standing in a very dangerous place, 58 Some Big Game Hunts Ml/ N(((/(//,(_' hur.-^c. holding on to my horse lest he should fall, while H. P. was in an equally perilous position just above me. We finally got strung out again on the trail (?) and such climbing by animals without claws was never done be- fore. After repeated stops for rest and breath, we reached the summit, "all in." We traveled three miles farther where we struck camp at Buffalo Bill's old camping place of the year before. Here we saw the first elk signs. I shall ever remember the steep places I climbed that night in my dreams, and the horrible sights I beheld in my nightmare fancies — horses going over precipices, and men falling to bottomless canons, to be mangled beyond recognition. I awakened several times during the night and looked out from my tent upon a scene that was inspiring in its grandeur. The Wyoming 59 full moon with its subdued light, and the dark shadows of the high mountain peaks, reaching across deep ra- vines like phantom bridges made a picture that only lacked the grotesque, shrouded figures to complete the stage settings of a vast amphitheater whose actors were the hobgoblins of one's childhood dreams and fears — realized. The weather on most of this trip was of the kind that invigorates the lover of outdoor air and bright sunshine. He who goes into the mountains to hunt and kill, only, and calls that a vacation, does not reap the full benefit of his outing. "Nature's book is ever open to all who enter her domain, and to refuse to scan its pages of well written and valued truths, is to show a want of proper appreciation of the good things set before us, and a squandering of valuable time while erasing the uncut pages of her precious volume." On a trip of this character, many virgin ravines and cliffs are viewed by a white man for the first time, and he would be a dull observer if he did not profit by such a lesson. The untrodden solitude of some of the can- ons we hunted in was grand to behold. At several places near the timber line, I found large pieces of petrified wood, some of which we broke into proper sizes for whet stones. I had them polished on my return to Kansas City. The wood of these pre- historic trees was certainly different from any gi'owing in that vicinity at the present day. I found in two or three places marine (seemingly) shells imbedded in 60 Some Big Game Hunts the softer rocks of these mountains. Being a collect- or of mound builders' and other pre-historic imple- ments and flints, I kept a close lookout for such, finding only one flint flake near the Yellowstone river. When one recalls the fact that the only body of obsidian in the Rockies is to be found one hundred miles north of where we were hunting, and that the Indian abor- igines congregated there as a neutral point to collect war and hunting supplies, one would naturally expect to pick up many obsidian arrow points and flakes dropped in that vicinity by the vanquishing natives, but I did not find a single point. Nature unadorned is seen on all sides on these trips, and great pleasure is to be had in traveling through the unsurveyed canons, gazing on unharnessed water falls. An eagle's nest far up on the mountain-side, built in a place most inaccessible to both man and beast, elicites a profound admiration for the sagacity of this noble bird, and the little striped ground squirrel, as he busies himself, unaware of your presence, or rather not fearing a stranger, in gathering pine cones and storing them away for his winter's use, is an evidence of thi ift, always enjoyed by the lover of Nature. To see the graceful little fellow as he chatteringly runs to the top of a pine tree to his work, and to watch him as he cuts and shoves the pine cones from their attachment and seemingly, in a careless manner drops them to the ground, makes one admire him both for his sagacity and for the untiring zeal with which he goes about his Wyoming 61 work of providing for a rainy day. When he has stripped the trees of their cones, he proceeds to gather them together by the side of some old, fallen tree, or perchance in the crevices of some rock nearby. I have seen piles of pine cones three feet high and four feet across the base that had been gathered by these intel- ligent and interesting little rodents. Bless his beau- tiful, striped, little skin! I love him for his hospitality, I admire him for his wisdom, and congratulate him on his home surroundings with their fresh air, bright sun- light and grand scenery. May the source of his food supply ever yield him an abundant harvest, and his practical wisdom protect him from his enemies. On Tuesday morning, the 12th, we broke camp at ten o'clock and continued up the left bank of Ishwood creek for ten miles, where we crossed the creek and climbed a steep mountain that was covered with fine timber and soil very rich and deep. This led us into Ishwood pass, a long but narrow depression between two very tall peaks, towering above the timber line. In fact, the pass was over eleven thousand feet high. The peak to our right was Ishwood Cone; the one to the left. Castle Peak. Large glacier-like heaps of snow and ice, the silent messengers of the rigid weather of many winters, were piled into the depressions or ravines on either side of the pass. The wind was traveling at a hurricane speed, as we moved along, chilling us un- pleasantly, as our underclothing was damp from the exertion of the climb just completed. Sheep Moun- 62 Some Big Game Hunts tain, looking east from the pass, presented a most mag- nificent scene. This tange of barren rock and tall peaks, some of which are over twelve thousand feet high, is a favorite abiding-place for the big horn sheep. Just as we began our descent on the head water of Pass Creek, we stopped for lunch and to re-adjust the packs. Soon after starting, we saw to our left, a band of eighteen elk. The season was not yet opened, so we contented ourselves by admiring them as they strung themselves out on the side of the mountain in making their escape. We camped that night where Pass Creek empties into the Thoroughfare. While supper was being pre- pared, H. P. and I caught several fine trout from the latter creek, using a gray hackle fly. During the early Ishwood Pass, Sheep Mountain in the distance. Wyoming 63 evening, we heard an elk bugling. We had traveled twenty-two miles that day over fairly good roads. Wednesday, the 13th, we traveled in the Yellow- stone Timber Reserve and approached the southeast corner of Yellowstone Park, rounding the western terminus of Hawk's Rest Mountain, and leaving Brid- ger lake a mile to our right. We then entered the flats of the Yellowstone River, and a more beautiful sight would be hard to find. The gi'ass was waist high, over- run here and there with a clump of stunted willows. Running through its center is the Yellowstone River, while on either side were numerous characteristic beaver canals with their grass-grown borders and ab- rupt, precipitous banks. The river at this point is a mere brook as compared to its size at the exit from Lake Yellowstone, a few miles farther north. We traveled up the right bank of Atlantic Creek to its be- ginning, about ten miles south, and here we camped at Two Ocean Pass, a continental dividing point, the alti- tude being about nine thousand, five hundred feet. A beautiful little spring, with its sparkling waters flowing from beneath a glacial deposited rock, marks a division point of our continental watershed. Two tiny streams from the spring separate here; one wends its way toward the East, the other courses westward. The former adds its mite to the "Father of Waters" and the .great Atlantic, while the latter is a feeder to the mighty Columbia and the vast Pacific. During the night we were serenaded by a pack of wolves. A single 64 Some Big Game Hunts wolf gave the key note, then it was taken up in a most discordant manner by the whole lupus tribe in that vicinity, and echoed as it was on that still, frosty night by every mountain peak, the whole world about us seemed to be one vast kennel, filled with these howling wild dogs. These mountain scavengers are a harmless cowardly, loathsome set, whose only mission on earth seems to be to eat grasshoppers, carrion and the refuse rejected by other beasts, and to make night hideous with their unmusical, howling serenades, intimidating the tenderfoot hunter and disturbing the sleep of the veteran. It seems paradoxical that we loathe above all others the wolf and the buzzard, whose food is the disease-breeding refuse that is revolting to our more refined tastes. The camera, or rather the pictures made with it on this trip have been a source of much pleasure to me since my return, as in my long winter-evening hours I frequently take down my photograph album and live over the pleasures, difficulties and hardships of the outing. The thoughts of the latter, even in imagin- ation, bring pleasant remembrances of the courage and fortitude shown in overcoming the same. This high range of mountains and that beautiful camp site are truthfully recorded by the camera, and might have been lost to my memory had I not made a permanent record to which I could turn in a moment of forgetfulness. A number of my choice pictures, enlarged to eighteen by twenty-four are hanging in my den among my most Wyoming 65 highly prized mementos of this and other hunting trips. Beautiful and rare gems of Nature's carving from gran- ite mountains, emei'ald lakes, set in a multi-colored mountain canon, oi perchance a grizzly bear, or a bull elk ai'e faithfully recorded by the camera for futur-e pleasing reference for oneself and friends. There are many traits of animal life ahnost peculiar to the elk, an understanding of which is of much aid to the hunter, and of great interest to him who would learn of the hab- its of this rapidly disappearing and noble animal. Thursday, the 14th, after crossing the Yellowstone River, we traveled across the Wyoming game reserve. Too much credit cannot be given to the law-makers of this state for setting apart this tract of land, thirty by sixty miles to the -south of the National Park, as a game preserve. Not a gun can be fired here without subjecting the hunter to a heavy fine. If the game wardens will continue to arrest poachers, and refrain from unlawful killing and trapping, themselves, it will take many years to exterminate the game in this part of the state. Of course, the hunters will continue to kill game right up to the borders of the park and this I'eservation. However, the elk very soon learn where it is unsafe to go. From Two Ocean Pass we followed up a branch of Pacific Creek to the crest of the range, where we des- cended a long, steep mountain, to the north fork of Buffalo Creek, which we followed for ten miles to its junction with the south fork. Here we crossed Buffalo m Some Big Game Hunts The pleasures of camp life arc memories ever to be enjoyed. Creek and located our permanent camp on the left bank, just where the two forks join. This is an ideal camping place, good grazing for our horses, plenty of fire- wood, cold, clear water, fine trout fishing right at our tents, and with good elk country near at hand. What more could we ask? We soon had our camp arranged and put in order for the next day — "open season." After a five days' horseback ride over extremely rough trails, one is natur- ally expected to be tired. However, H. P. and I were not so played out but that we caught a good string of trout for supper. Our guns were overhauled, and am- munition put out for an early start next morning. We Wyoming 67 sat up in our cook tent (reception room) until late, listening to the hunting stories as told by Ben, our cook. The pleasures of camp life are memories ever to be enjoyed in after years, when, in reminiscent mood, one goes over his outing trip. The snapping of the dry, pine boughs as they are thrown on the camp fire, the tongues of flame as they dart upward like lightening flashes to disappear into the halo of darkness amid meteor-like fire sparks is a picture so firmly and pleas- antly fixed on one's memory that he will long to live his trip over again. All the unpleasant occurrences, the hardships endured and the disappointment met with are soon forgotten, and in their stead one thinks only of the camp fire affability, of the story-swapping experiences, of sound, restful sleep, good appetites and digestion, and the lucky catch of that big trout, or the grand scenery witnessed while tracking elk, deer, bear or moose. My friend, be you hunter or fisherman, do you not agree with me? Suppose we go again next year. Ben's experience as a sheep herder would make an interesting volume on an occupation that will soon be a lost art. He is a well educated man, and could re- cite his experiences in a most fascinating manner. At every camping place, as soon as we began to re- move the packs and pitch our tents, the "camp thieves" would begin to congregate in the trees about us. They evidently anticipated a feast. These birds are a pe- culiar set, having very little or no fear of man, and are 68 .Some Big Game Hunts possessed with a cunning rarely found in birds, and an indomitable desire to pick up and carry away any food left where they can get it. On several occasions one of these robbers stole the bread or meat from our plates while we were pouring a cup of coffee, or had our backs turned for an instant. They are about the size of a domestic pigeon, pale blue in color with very dark eyes, and possessing voices very unmusical and of limited range. All the clear, cold, swift running streams in the ter- ritory hunted over on this trip were alive with the gam- est of trout. The Buffalo fork afforded especially good sport. Many enjoyable hours were spent in casting a gray hackle, a coachman, or a professor fiy, and land- ing these gamest of all fish. One day, while wading this stream, my attention was drawn to an object of unusual shape in the bottom of a still pool. I picked it up and it proved to be an exact mould of the skull of a monkey, the size being that of a full grown ape. The nasal fossa was in the right position above the max- illary slit, and the orbits were in their normal place. This specimen comes as near being a petrified monkey skull as was evei discover^ed in North America. While resting on a dead pine log one afternoon, 1 saw a small, dark object creeping from rock to rock, or from behind one dead and fallen log to another. I sat as quietly as possible, that I might discover the char- acter of the varmint and its habits. I was soon able to tell that it belonged to the mink family and that it Wyoming 69 was a pine martin. It was stalking some object just behind a large detached rock about thirty yards from me. I next discovered the object of the animal's pur- suit — a snow shoe rabbit. The poor rabbit seemed to be completely mesmerized by its enemy, as it wa.s making no effort to escape, while apparently looking directly at the martin. I watched them until they were ten feet apart, and then my sympathy for the rabbit so completely overcame my interest in the dis- puted question as to how a mink captures and kills its prey that I bounded to my feet and threw a stone at the assassin and rushed closer to them. The mink did not want to leave the premises at all, as he ran onl y a few yards and crouched under a fallen tree in plain view and remained there. I had to almost kick the Wa»h day. 70 So7ne Big Game Hunts rabbit, in order to make him move from his mesmeric rooted position. I am sure that martin had snow shoe rabbit for his supper that night. That we did not have a niggardly diet list can be shown by our bill of fare, a sample of which is given here: BREAKFAST SUPPER Oat Meal, Olives, Chili Sauce, Fried Young Grouse, Fried Trout with Bacon, German Fried Potatoes, Venison Stew, Venison Tenderloin, Elk Tenderloin, Fried, Broiled with Bacon, Potatoes, Tomatoes, Peas, Hot Biscuit, Canned Peaches, Buckwheat Cakes, Maple Apple Pie, Cheese, Jelly, Syrup, Coffee. Coffee, Pipes. DINNER Tomato Soup, Short Ribs of Elk Roast, Potatoes, Corn, Onions, Hot Corn Bread, Canned Cherries, Cheese, Coffee, Cigars. With such an appetite as one has while hunting, this list was none too extensive. After all, we derive much pleasure in this life from what we eat, how we sleep, what we see, and how we look at it. If one has a capricious stomach, that resents even Wyoming 71 the suggestion of dirt, let him go on a trip of this kind and I will guarantee that ere he returns he will be able, with no fear of offending his digestive organs, to brush the dust off from a dried biscuit, or pick out the elk hairs from his gravy, and besides, he will enjoy the di- version. He will also return with a ravenous appetite, a cast iron digestion, new blood coursing through his arteries and veins, renewed interest in his office and other duties, and a firm resolution to return to the mountains and woods again the next year. We listened longingly for elk bugling their challenges during the early part of the evening, but not a note did we hear. Fred, who has hunted several seasons in this vicinity, was very much disappointed, as he had assured us that we would hear bugling on all sides at the mouth of the Buffalo. The next morning we were awakened early for breakfast. The air was cold and crisp, and an inch of ice had formed on still water dur- ing the night. (September 14th, altitude 9,000 ft.) Fred and I started out directly south of the camp, while H. P. and Charley went southwest, or down the left side of the Buffalo. Near our camp we passed a fine six point head that Fred had cached the year before. We hunted faithfully up the side of the mountain to the top of a very high, barren, nameless peak. On the way up we saw some fresh elk signs and heard one dis- tant bugle. At one of our resting places — it was steep climbing — we feasted on raspberries. We crossed to the south, over a long, narrow back-bone of a ridge and 72 Some Big Game Hunts took our lunch by the side of a beautiful little moun- tain stream. In the afternoon we hunted back, and when within two miles of camp we entered a deep, narrow, heavily timbered canon, where we saw oui' first bear signs. By the footprints and color of hair- on the gum on the spruce trees, we were convinced that both black and grizzly bear were making this canon their home. The remains of a cow elk that had been devoured was found, and we saw a bear wallow that had been used that same day. We hunted this territory carefully, but no bear was discovered. Near our permanent camp were numerous and fresh bear signs, where bruin had either been having a feast on berries, rubbing his shaggy back against a fallen tree, or taking a mud bath in some elk or bear wallow. The size of the footprints, shape of claw impressions in the mud and color of the hair left sticking in the spruce gum indicated that both black and grizzlies were in that neighborhood. We were fortunate enough to see three black bears, but they were beyond rifle range, and as we had no dogs, we soon lost them. Next to the mountain lion, the black bear is the most alert big game today in the Rockies, and fortunate is he who gets within rifle shot of one of these wary animals with- out the assistance of dogs or bear bait. CHAPTER V. MOVED CAMP. SAW BULL ELK. SOME ELK TRAITS. ELK BUGLING. MY FIRST ELK. We arrived at camp about five o'clock, convinced that no great number of elk was to be found in that vicinity, and began arrangements to make a side trip farther up the south fork on the next morning. H. P. and Charley returned about the same time, and re- ported that they had seen a few cow elk, but no bulls with good antlers. The next morning, September 16th, we took two pack animals and our four saddlers and struck up the south fork of the Buffalo. Two miles from camp we found a beautiful little lake of a few acres extent, and grazing on its grass-bordered shore was a beautiful chestnut sorrel horse that had strayed from some hun- ter, or perchance its owner had been killed by accident or a grizzly, thus swelling the list, by one, of the un- returned. We crossed the stream frequently within a few miles. One of the most beautiful meadows I have ever seen in the Rockies was traversed on this trip. As we were going through this meadow, we saw a large bull elk on the top of a mountain five miles away, standing out in bold relief against the clear blue sky, like a beautifully 74 Some Big Game Hunts carved medallion. Even the experienced eye will often be deceived in the flood of dazzling, free-from-dust atmosphere of the Rockies. He looked to be only a mile away. What hunter has not heard of the rim rock of the Rockies, with the long, tedious climb to reach it each day, while hunting elk? It is just beneath its pro- jecting and gloomy shadows where late in the season the best grazing is to be found. The winter's snow disappears last at this point. The trees here are more dwarfed and scattered, leaving many beautiful little park grazing places for the elk. Wyoming has more than hei share of rim rock. In fact, she has enough for the whole world, if it were pro- perly distributed, and this grand state, it seems to me, has more of Nature exposed than any bear country over which I have ever hunted. The hunter, who each morning crawls from between his blankets with stiffened muscles, aching joints and vivid recollections of the hard climb the day before to rim rock or barren craig above timber line, and is willing and ready to make the journey again in quest of the game whose tracks he saw the day before, is cer- tainly an enthusiastic individual and deserving of every trophy thus obtained; for who of us have not resolved never to make the climb again, as we, at dusk, turned our face toward the camp, miles away, when we were so tired, hungry and keenly disappointed at not finding the owners of the feet whose tracks were to Wyoming 75 be seen at every turn? The hard climb over dead and fallen trees, the careful foot work up rocky precipices, the rapid heart beats, the panting respiration, the dry tongue from high altitudes and mouth breathing, and the sweat-covered face and body are all vivid pictures painted on memory's canvas by the artist — experience. Who would not endure these hardships for the thrills of excitement incident to witnessing a band of elk in their native haunts, a mountain sheep in his fearless and daring leaps over rock-walled mountain peaks in his flight for safety, or perchance a grizzly in his rapid, but awkward and lumbering gait over the dead and fallen trees! Thoughts like these with the pure, invigorating air give new life and renew one's hopes for better success in the future, and he is up early next morning and ready to make the climb "just one more time." In after years the hardships entailed, the difficulties overcome and the dangers braved are the most cherished mem- ories of the trip. This grass laden oasis, with its wall of a thousand feet in height, is accessible by trail only at two points. At the upper end of this meadow we turned to the south and up a small stream for a mile or two, then turned east again, following a faint elk trail and climbing some very steep places, passed through two or three miles of fine pine timber. Our camp site was on the right bank of a small stream coming from the northeast, just below its junction with another stream heading from 76 Some Big Game Hunts the highest mountain peak in that neighborhood. We made camp at two in the afternoon. A bull elk, during bugling time, has his family troub- les. He must keep a constant and watchful eye on the fickle and rolicking members of his harem, lest they desert him for a noisy rival. It is indeed inter- esting to see one of these antlered sultans with a large band of cows about him, in his antics among his ad- miring spouses, pawing the earth with his feet; again, with his head in a clump of stunted pines, tearing them to pieces with his horns as though they wei'e an imag- inary foe — in another instant, with his nose high in the air and his antlers over his shoulders, giving forth a defiant bugle to some rival bull elk on a distant moun- tain peak, and all the while keeping a jealous eye on the members of his household. If the band is fright- ened by an enemy, they are off in an instant, the master bull usually bringing up in the rear lest some cow elk should lag and stray from his flock. This herding dis- position of the bull only too often leads to his des- truction at the hands of the experienced hunter, who will wait patiently and watch for him at the rear of the fleeing band. Schilling's (1906 With Flashlight and Rifle) in writ- ing of this characteristic trait says of the water buck: "A species of antelope found in German East Afi'ica, The females always give the alarm, the bucks foiming the rear guards of the fugitive troops." We left camp at five o'clock, P. M., and climbed Wyoming 77 along a narrow, steep range of mountains to the timber line. Here we found beautiful grazing spots where the snows of the previous winter had last disappeared. In these grassy places numerous fresh elk signs were to be seen. It was "bugling time" of the year, and on the distant mountain sides could be heard the peculiar challenge of some majestic bull elk, as he surveyed his harem and defied his rivals to engage in a test of courage and strength to dethrone him. This challenge was invariably answered, either by his equal in power or by some weakling "five-pointer," who had been driven from the band by an older bull, or who having recog- nized his own weakness had involuntarily retired to a safe distance to await the coming of another point on his antlers, when he too could collect about himself a throng of admiring females and would then be able to enter into a more hopeful contest for supremacy. While thus held spell-bound by the grand concert of these mountain buglers — whose stage was the rocky walled heights at timber line, the amphitheatre the depths of the dark canons, the seats, the mountain crags and the roof the blue dome of heaven — within a few hundred yards of us came the loud challenge of one of these mountain sultans. We were off in an instant, slowly, carefully and noiselessly creeping towards him, taking particular pains to keep in a direction that he could not "wind" us. Just as we reached the timber line, where the pines were mere little bunches of stunted underbrush, my 78 Some Big Game Hunts guide whispered, "There he is." I had discovered him at the same instant. Surrounded as he was by his band of cows and calves, he lool^ed "the monarch of the glen." With the gallantry of a true lover and noble lord, he slowly emerged from his cover, and while his lady loves made a hasty escape, his deliberation invited his own destruction. As he emerged into the opening I fired, aiming at his left shoulder. The ball, from a 45-70 Winchester, reached the spot exactly, but my aim was a little too far forward. At the next shot he fell to his knees, the guide remarking, "You cer- tainly have him this time." As we approached him, he turned his noble head towards us, seeming to realize that we were the one enemy of whom, for ages, inher- itance had installed him a fear above all others. With a desperate effort he bounded to his feet again and turned squarely toward us. His very attitude seemed to say, "Why should I be afraid of these mere pigmies, when I have so often vanquished greater foes?" This defiance was only temporary, for he immediately wheeled and started in the opposite direction, when a well directed shot brought him down for good. As I walked up to him, he raised his magnificent head crowned as it was by a headgear grander, more beauti- ful and more handsomely bedecked by Nature's jewels than that of royalty, and in his dying agony he gave forth a most defiant bugle that seemed to say that even in death there is victory. He was a fine specimen, weighing fully one thousand Wyoming 79 -««y^>'"T»!K'y22S:' "Is it riyhf"! pounds. His antlers had six points, the crown points measuring twenty-one inches, the royals twenty-two; length of horns four feet six inches and spread four feet four inches. This head I had mounted and it now adorns the front hall of my home. As I stood and looked at this monarch of the Rockies, just where he fell on the crest of our continent on that beautiful Sep- tember evening, as the sun was disappearing behind 80 Some Big Game Hunts the Tetons, sixty miles away, I really felt that I had committed a serious crime, and that I had selected one of God's grandest, most innocent and rarest creatures as my victim. When the guide had removed the scalp and the head with its magnificent ornamentations, my eyes sorrow- fully turned toward that thousand pounds of elk whose life I had taken, and I thought of the Iggorrotes at the World's Fair, who commanded so much attention be- cause they were known as the uncivilized head hunters of the Pacific Islands. Slowly and reflectively I found my way back to camp. That night, during my waking hours, I thought often, is it worth the price? Is it right? The next morning after killing my big elk, Fred and I hunted up to the body of the elk, and I made a picture of him, just as he fell. We then put in a few hours in that vicinity without finding any fresh signs, and re- turned to the camp in time for dinner. H. P. and Fred went out again in the afternoon, while Charlie and I hunted to the northward, toward Buffalo Creek. We saw many fresh bear signs where bruin had been looking for his food. At one point he had turned over many logs and large flat stones in his search for bugs and mice. It is remarkable how these big animals evade the hunter, not even giving him a glance at their shaggy pelts as they steal away on his approach CHAPTER VI. ELK AND WOLF FIGHTING. TETON MOUNTAINS. SNOW STORM. MY SECOND ELK. I had the rare opportunity of witnessing a fight be- tween a gray wolf and a spike bull elk one afternoon. It had been snowing very hard, a moist, soft snow that made traveling on foot very disagreeable, though noise- less. As I approached a little meadow on the right side of the mountain, just at the foot of the "rim rock," I saw a bull elk running in a cii'cle of about one hundred feet in diameter, and in front of him was a wolf, keep- ing just far enough ahead to be out of danger. After keeping this up for five minutes, a larger and older bull made his appearance. The wolf, seeing this addition to the arena, beat a hasty retreat. The next day I killed a wolf in that vicinity, presumably the one I saw fighting the elk on the day before. I hunted this after- noon with Charley, and about four o'clock I had the opportunity of my life to witness the magnificent sight of the Tetons, sixty miles away, taking on their win- ter's garment — the first of the season. As these grand, rocky peaks, with their points projected fourteen thousand feet into space were being robed in this shroud of Nature's purest white, it seemed especially fitting as they appeared nearest heaven. While the sun was 82 Some Big Game Hunts shining brightly where we were hunting, this under- taker, — the snow god — was clothing these distant peaks for their annual death slumber. I thought of the eons during which this grand panorama had been produced, and how rarelj^ it had been witnessed by the eyes of man. The silent grandeur of this pantomime by Nat- ure's actors must be seen to be appreciated. While thus enchantingly watching this embalming process of Nature, the sun disappeared, and large flakes of snow began to fall. Such were the size of these pulverized ice sheets that it reminded me of myriads of damp cigarette papers turned loose from the clouds to gently pave the earth and hanging, as they did, from every pine cone and needle, the scene was quickly converted into one vast world filled with Christmas trees, decor- ated with tinsel and gorgeously bedecked candelabra. Amid scenes like this, one is richly paid for the hardships endured in negotiating difficult trails and mountain passes. We were slowly going toward camp, the snow making our footsteps noiseless, when I saw something jump quickly into an opening eighty yards away. I fired, knowing that it was a game animal of some kind. When I reached the spot I found that I had killed a large gray wolf. We removed his pelt and with it his head and continued our tramp toward camp, which we reached about dusk. Twilight in the Rockies is only a subdued flash, filling the gap between day and night. We found that the snow, now six inches deep, had hidden all our pro- Wyoming 83 visions and cooking utensils, and that our bedding was water logged, as we did not take a tent with us on this little side trip from our main camp at the fork of the Buffalo. Our elk tenderloin was snowed under, our bacon was frozen, the coffee was filled with snow and the fire extinguished. Accepting the situation as a legitimate part of the primitive surroundings, we soon had a fire started and supper under way. It was now dark as a coal mine, still snowing, and we had not the semblance of a tent in which to sleep, and to add to our discomfort and anxiety, our hunting partners had not returned. The invigorating effect of good camp coffee was never better tested than on this occasion. After supper we cut pine boughs for our beds and rigged up a "lean to" with saddle blankets. About nine o'clock H. P. and Fred arrived, hungry, tired and disgusted at their poor success in getting a big elk that was badly wounded. I have never slept more soundly in my life than in that improvised bed chamber. During the night the clouds cleared away and the full moon with its snow reflections made a scene of marble beauty unsurpassed. What a pleasure it is to sleep in the bosom of the un- housed night, with the unlimited blue dome above you, studded with stars like myriads of arc lights winking you to sleep. The elk that had been feeding high in the mountains, taking warning of this harbinger of winter and hidden grasses, busied themselves in getting to lower altitudes. 84 Some Big Game Hunts Several times during the night we could hear them pas- sing, some in pairs, some in herds, and a single elk, perchance driven from the band, would occasionally go strolling by. Wednesday, the 18th, we hunted in this vicinity for a few hours, but noticing that all the elk tracks were going down the mountain toward our Buffalo fork camp, we pulled out after them. We had traveled about two miles through some very heavy pine timber and were just emerging into an open glade, when half a dozen cow elk started across this open space with a good sized bull, bearing six point antlers, following. Fred jumped from his horse and called to me to do the same, which I had already done. I fired two shots, both reaching the mark. This elk fell in his tiacks ^^Mfj^'h^W^ ,'mmmm 1 A pause at Umber line. Wyoming 85 with the last shot, the ball hitting him in the neck. It was one hundred and eighty yards from where I stood to the point where he fell. I photographed him, re- moved the scalp and head and selected the best part of the animal for our camp meat. With nothing more of special interest occurring on our way, we arrived at our permanent camp at six that afternoon, where we found Ben awaiting our return. The next morning was clear and cool, and the still- ness of this mountainous seclusion was marvelous, as the neighing of a pony was echoed from peak to canon and back again, until the sound was so diluted by space that its resonance was lost in the distance. We hunted faithfully all day without finding any game. The next morning H. P. decided that he would not hunt, so the guides took a long trip, but without success. During the day I took "Sport," the dog, and a "twenty two," and went two miles up the mountain to kill some gi'ouse, or "fool hens," as they are called. The latter name is applied to this bird because of the silly habit it has of alighting on a limb near the ground and per- mitting itself to be stoned or clubbed to death by any- one who can throw accurately or long enough to ac- cidently hit it. I killed a number while on this trip by hitting them with stones. While looking for grouse, I discovered fresh bear signs, both grizzly and black. I hurried back to camp and secured my 45-70 Winchester and returned, but was never able to get a glimpse of the bear, and presume 86 Some Big Game Hunts from subsequent events that it was a good thing for me that I did not run across "Old Four Toes." Such it proved, afterwards, to be, yet I would have gladly taken a shot at the old fellow. The next week, Fred returned to the same spot and found this old bear , and how he killed it is best told in his own language, as pub- lished in "Outdoor Life," for April, 1906. CHAPTER VII. YELLOWSTONE RIVER CAMP. MORE ELK. HOMEWARD BOUND. We broke camp and started toward the Yellowstone River, where we expected to camp for a few days and hunt on the head waters of this stream. We camped about four miles from Bridger lake, just south of Hawk's Rest Mountain. During the day we saw three large, black bears, but they were about a mile away and run- ning for dear life, so we did not try to overtake them. We remained here three days, hunting in various di- rections, seeing a great many elk. The only big horn sheep signs discovered while on this trip were near this camp. We also saw five moose while here, but as they are pro- tected by the Wyoming game law, they were not dis- turbed. In this vicinity we added to our larder some of the finest venison I have ever tasted. Just under the towering shadow of this tall mountain, H. P. se- cured a fine seven point elk. It began raining that day, and continued a slow drizzle all night. H. P. and I having our limit on elk, and it not being a sheep, goat or deer territory, we broke camp and turned our horses' heads toward home. We camped that night near Castle Rock and Ishwood 88 Some Big Game Hunts Our camp on the Yellow Stone River. Cone, the latter being the highest peak within a radius of sixty miles. The next day we crossed Ishwood Pass and made camp on Ishwood Creek, about four o'clock. The guides made a side trip this afternoon and killed a fair sized elk. During the night, H. P. was awakened by a noise near his tent. The next morning an investi- gation showed that a good-sized "bobcat" had visited his tent and made an effort to get at something to eat. The tracks were undoubtedly "bob" tracks. The following morning our last day's pack was begun and a pack over Ishwood Hill is no small undertaking. Days of hunting and minor hardships had not in the least dimmed the picture of the terrible climb we had made on the out-going trip. The down-going we found Wyoming 89 was, if anything, more difficult and dangerous than the up-hill climb. The rocks in many places were wet, and the horses' shoes were either off or so slick as to be of very little service to them, but we had only one mishap. A little iron gray pony lost her footing and slipped back- ward into a trough-like depression, sliding a hundred feet, yet stopping within ten feet of a precipice, five hundred feet deep. She regained her feet, neighed appealingly to the more fortunate members of the pack, and climbed back into the trail. We reached the "Judge's" about five o'clock, and to call his home a paradise is expressing it mildly. We had been in the mountains four weeks and had not seen anyone save our own party and one or two game wardens. We camped at his place and the next day we drove into Cody and took the train for home, arriving in Kansas City two days later. Thus ended one of the most enjoyable of my many outing trips. Tired from the hardships of the journey, but thor- oughly rested from professional routine, I was ready and anxious to get back into the harness again. Dear reader, if you would fully appreciate the many things enjoyed from an outing of this kind, I beg of you, take one. 90 Some Big Game Hunts THE TRAIL To "H. P." I am tired of the asphalt streets o'er which we daily go, Am longing for the hunting trail — the trail we used to know. I don't want any smooth roads or vehicles rubber tired, I don't want any horses with high titles or nobly sired. I want the trail a-winding amid high mountain crags. And a train of pack cayuses with stout and sturdy legs. I don't want a livei"ied driver with uniform so grand, I don't want a procession led by a noisy band. I want the old wrangler with his style so queer and quaint, I want to see the pictures that no artist e'er can paint. Ishwood trail. Two Ocean Pass, are good enough for me- Here wedded dew-drops separate, each one to find a sea. At night, the trailing completed, while sitting by the fire, The whole world seems a playhouse, what more could we desire? The hunting trips of years ago, with pleasures are re- viewed, With many plans for next year's trip, our spirits are imbued. I can see the sparks ascending through the halo of the night — On each peak a star is anchored, like a bright electric light. Wyoming 91 Ah, listen to the music, sweet, of the wild among the trees! 'Tis a song of glorious freedom, and do just as you please Lay aside your high collar, your tie and your cuffs, Come with me along the trail to the Rockie's highest bluffs; 'Tis there the sun shines brightest, the air is pure and sweet, There earth and heaven in Nature's bridal chamber almost meet. When the last cayuse is loaded, ready for the final start, I want our trails to be the same, or not very far apart. May there be no smooth, slide rock or passes very high, When we start on the final trail to the camp beyond the sky. All fallen timber in the trail, may the good angels remove, That the journey to permanent camp may be nice and smooth. May Game Warden, Saint Peter, welcome us as his guests — When we camp with him, the game will get a rest. NEW BRUNSWICK CHAPTER VIIL A MOOSE AND CARIBOU HUNT IN NEW BRUNSWICK. SOME TRAITS OF THE MOOSE. COW MOOSE KILLED BY MISTAKE. SOME AMUSING EXPERIENCES. Early September, 1900, found H. P. Wright and me on our way to New Brunswick to hunt moose and car- ibou. We had selected a desirable location and some good guides. It is five days' travel from Kansas City to the locality where we made this hunt. As a hunting trip this was not very successful, yet one must be pre- pared to have failures on hunting trips, and he should be able to meet these disappointments with as few re- grets as possible. One is amply repaid on these trips, for does he not get as much benefit and pleasure from his travels as any tourist? That portion of the Province in which we hunted was settled two hundred years ago, and one would naturally expect to find it barren ot all game, however, such is not the case. For many years the game, once almost exterminated, has been increasing. The game laws are quite strict and well enforced. This country at one time was heavily timbered with pine and spruce, but the timber has been practically all cut. The coun- try is not an agricultural one, as only a few farm pro- ducts can be profitably raised here, hence the farmers New Brunswick 95 are abandoning their homes, moving west or to the cities, and giving up the country to the moose, caribou and other wild game. Since the heavy timber has all been milled, the young pines have sprung up as thick as it is possible for them to thrive. This makes splen- did moose ground. Much of the country is low, open heaths, full of boggy places, which furnish the best of feeding grounds for the moose, and the moss that The outgoing tide in the Bay of Fundy leaves many vessels setting in the mud at the wharves. 96 Some Big Game Hunts covers the whole of the open country is ideal feed for the caribou. I was informed by a guide that twenty years ago there was not a moose for miles about his place. He told me of going ten miles on one occasion, just to look at the tracks ox a moose where it had crossed the road. A moose's tracks were then a curiosity. Now the moose aie so plentiful there that they are a menace during the summer to successful gardening. The cows and young bulls walk in plain view, leisurely, across the gardens of some of the farmers, and appear to hav( little fear of the family. The day I was in Moncton, a full grown bull moose passed through the center of the town and swam the Pettikodiac River, landing safely on the opposite shore. The tide from the Bay of Fundy runs into the Petti- kodiac River at Moncton, fifty to sixty feet high. It is a great sight to see the bore come in. It is a solid wall of water many feet high and two miles across, that I'olling up the river from the bay. Large ocean going steamers land at Moncton duiing the high tide, and they land in reality with the out-going of the tide. Good sized vessels may be seen with their hulls buried in the mud of the river bed after the tide recedes. We were met at the depot by the guides. They had a two horse wagon, and our journey began to their home. It was indeed a slow gait that these people traveled, only about two miles an hour, and it took us most of the day to go eighteen miles. The next morning we hired a New Brunswick 97 cook and one more guide. I don't know why we needed a guide, at all, as they were lost most of the time we were in the woods. These guides and cooks were a most loyal set of fellows, plain and simple in their hos- pitality, with no idea of graft like some guides I have met. Their charges were very leasonable, and their services freely and faithfully rendered. To any one looking for genuine primitive methods, I know of no better place to find the same than in this locality. The roads in this section are mostly old logging roads, long since abandoned. They are lined with overhanging vines, pine trees and alder brush. Long years of disuse and the rains have converted these once busy thoroughfares, for the most part, into veri- table dry ditches, making them almost impassible. These people know nothing about pack horses and their value in camping outfits. Time and again we were compelled to rebuild bridges across small streams, and on one day we traveled in the bed of a good sized stream for ten miles. In many places the water was up to the wagon bed, but most of the way the drive was over a layer of slick cobble stones, covered with about a foot of swiftly flowing clear water. This stream was practic- ally barren of fish. Only a few small trout were seen on the whole trip. Part of this river journey was made on foot by most of our party. On our way to camp, we saw a small black bear ambling across an old, abandoned meadow. Our guns had been put snugly away in the bottom of the wagon, hence bruin went on 98 Some Big Game Hunts loose hunler's home in Neu' Brunswick. his way undisturbed, and soon disappeared in the thick underbrush. A little before sunset we ariived at our camp. A good camp site in this flat country is hard to find, as the whole country is one flat, boggy expanse with an occasional little knoll. The place where our cabin was located was on a little rise about ten feet higher than the surrounding country. As soon as the horses were unhitched, one of the guides suggested that we go down to the bog and look for moose. About a half mile from our cabin was a swamp about two miles across, in the center of which was a body of open water of many aci-es. The whole bog was covered with cranberry bushes and peat moss. In many places by keeping on the move you could travel over this springy surface, New Brunswick 99 but the instant you stopped walking you could feel your feet slowly sinking into this mass of wet sponges. How deep you would sink would be hard to conjecture, as on several occasions I thrust sticks ten feet or more downward without striking the bottom. How a big, heavy, narrow-hoofed, long-legged animal like a moose can plow through these bogs is a mystery to me, yet they will plunge through them at a rate of speed far beyond one's expectations. This bog was a favorite feeding place for moose, as great patches of lily pads were to be found in the water. A moose will go a long way for a few of these succulent, tender shoots. He will wade into the water up to his belly, and plunge his head out of sight into the water and mud to get a mouthful of these pads. While in this camp I had ample opportunity to study the moose, his habits and table manners, while eating. Of this I will speak later. When we arrived at the edge of the bog, much to oui surprise and gratification we saw four big moose feeding on the opposite side of the bog. By the aid of our glasses we could see that one was a very large bull, with a wide spread of broad palmated antlers. This, indeed, was encouraging — four moose in sight within a half hour of our arrival in camp. We quickly planned our course of attack. I was to take a guide and circle the bog to the south, while H. P. was to go leisurely to the north. It was at least three miles around the bog from where we started to the moose. This bog is practically circular in its outlines, with a fringe of tim- 100 Some Big Game Hunts ber skirting its whole circumference. This timber belt is about two hundred yards broad. On all sides of the timber is an open heath with not a tree on its level surface. These heaths are covered with a cari- bou moss, several feet in thickness. This caribou moss reminds one of millions of large sized buggy sponges, piled over a bed of sticky mud, the whole saturated in water and densely populated with mosquitoes. We realized that we would have to travel very fast to reach the moose before it was too dark to shoot. At every step we would sink to our knees in the moss, making the trip laborious from the start. I would look around Interior of our cabin. {Photo by " H. P.") New Brunswick 101 to see where my last track was made, but could see only what looked like some low form of animal taking in a breath to full expansion and blowing out a few air bub- bles, then all was as quiet and trackless as though the moss had not been disturbed. Mountain climbing, surrounded by grand scenery, is truly a dream of ease and beauty as compared to the tiresome trudging through these unpoetical peat bogs. Time and again I was compelled to pause to get my breath, let my heart have a little rest, mop my face and kill a few hundred voracious mosquitoes that seemed to recognize me as a full blooded stranger in those parts. When we arrived at a point about opposite the place where we had seen the moose feeding, the guide said to me, "There they go!" I looked up and about three hundred yards away were four moose running in single file, the largest one in the bunch being in the rear. The guide remarked, "Shoot the last one, he is the big bull." at the same time making ready to fire. I took good aim and fired at the same time the guide did, and the moose straightened up on his hind heels and pitched over backwards and remained perfectly quiet. My joy at having killed a moose within an hour after reach- ing camp may be surmised. I shouted, threw up my hat, laid down, rolled over, and did many seemingly foolish things that any hunter would have done under similar circumstances. We were soon alongside of the moose. On our way to the carcass, after the shooting, both laid claims to being the one who had killed the 102 Some Big Game Hunts moose. I remember we both told how carefully we had aimed, and how sure each was of the accuracy of his shooting. Of course, the guide had no business shooting, but I told him I wanted the scalp and horns of that moose, this being said to him while we were stalking around the bog. Before we reached the moose, he told me of course I could have the trophy. He also told me how a hunter of the year before gave him twenty-five dollars for killing a moose for him, and I at that time said I thought it cheap, but that I was sure I had killed the one we had just been shooting at. If you are a big game hunter, dear reader, you know how fast you can talk and walk when going from the spot from where you shot at the animal to where it fell. Well, we walked and talked fast that day. I felt real sorry for H. P., who was within hearing of our guns, because I had killed a big moose so soon after getting to the hunting grounds, and he would probably have to trudge through the swamps foi- several weeks to get his moose. I could, in my fancy, see the big, broad spread of palmated antlers hanging in my den, and could almost hear my voice, as I re- lated to my friends how easily I had secured the trophy. These and many other exhilerating thoughts along the same line passed quickly through my mind, while walk- ing toward the dead moose. When we arrived within a few yards of the carcass, the guide exclaimed, "Doc, you have killed a cow moose!" Sure enough the ani- mal had no horns, although six feet tall and old enough New Brunswick 103 ''Doc, you have killed a cow moose." to have had a record pair. The altitude of my spirits fell far below the zero point immediately, and I was equally as generous as the guide in my disposition to divide the honors with him. In fact, it would not have required much persuasion for me to have relin- quished all claims to any part of the good shooting. I am a firm believer in protecting the females of all game animals and I would be the last one to kill a cow moose, intentionally. I would get as much or more pleasure from killing a family Jersey cow. This was an unfortunate incident and appeared to be absolutely unavoidable. The mistake occurred in this manner: After we began our stalk that day, another moose walked out of the fringe of timber into the bog, making five moose in sight of H. P. and the other guide. When 104 Some Big Game Hunts they started to run out of the bog, the big bull instead of going with the bunch, circled to the left into the timber where we could not see him, and this made us certain that the big one in the rear was the bull that we had seen with the others. It was late in the day and a slow drizzle had set in, making it hard to see a pair of horns three hundred yards away. What to do next was quickly decided upon, and that was to cut some small cedars and stick them about the carcass so that no one could see the results of the unfortunate, unintentional and unavoidable accident. The next day I visited the carcass and found it so swollen that the sides were protruding above the tops of the cedars, I cut tall cedars and stuck them into the soft heath and left, feeling quite sure the mistake was well concealed. Two days later, I visited the spot again, and to my horror I could see four feet sticking above the ce- dars, as the body of the moose had sunk in the moss and turned turtle. I cut the legs off at the knees and el- bows, took a final look at the little green oasis of stunted cedars in that barren heath, and bid farewell to that locality. As we took our departure the next morning I could see a flock of buzzaids slowly circling high in the bright sky over the heath near the bog. I wonder what they were looking at! While in this camp we saw many fresh bear signs, but no bears. The only way a bear could be captured here, unless by accident, would be by trapping or with New Brunswick 105 dogs. The underbrush of alders and willows is so thick that these jungles are almost impenetrable to man, yet a full-grown moose will go through this arbor- eal skein like a "cotton tail" through a briar patch. We saw many moose on this trip and could have killed several, but as we wanted only good trophies, we did not shoot at them, after the unpleasant accident above mentioned. Many young bulls and cows were seen almost daily, but we made no effort to kill them, yet we were living on salt bacon and were craving fresh meat. As we look our departure a flock of buzzards could be seen high in the air. CHAPTER IX. THE MOOSE AND SOME OF HIS TRAITS. MOOSE CALLING. The question as to whether a bull moose can be called to the hunter by the efforts of the guide to imi- tate a cow moose is not settled, as yet, in the minds of many hunters. I had ample opportunities on this trip to satisfy myself that during the rutting season the bull moose will come to the call by an experienced and skilled caller. On several occasions the guide succeeded in enticing young bulls to come within shoot- ing distance of our blind, and, twice, old bulls answer- ed to the calls and ventured to within smelling distance of our hiding-place, but quietly slipped away after get- ting our wind. I don't know whether they come because of the strange noise they hear, or whether they actually are fooled into the belief that it is a cow moose bellowing. I never heard a cow moose bellow, so I cannot tell how much the noise these guides make through the birch- bark horns resembles the call of the cow. The pound- ing of a stick on a dead log may act just as well to en- tice the love mad animals to come to you, according to the opinion of some hunters, but I am a firm believer in the cow moose signal, as a means to get the bull with- in shooting range. It requires no little skill and much New Brunswick 107 practice to make a good caller. A thorough knowledge of the cow moose's love note is necessary, and too fre- quent, too loud or a false note may drive the bull away from, instead of toward the hunter. The calling is done through a birch-bark megaphone. The sound, as made by these guides, is a dreamy, pro- longed, wail-like, low-pitched, nasal tone, accented at the end of the call. This is repeated every ten or fifteen minutes until a response from the bull is heard, then fewer calls are made as he approaches. The answer from the bull reminds one of the croaking of a bull frog that has suspected approaching danger. As the bull gets closer to the caller, he becomes suspicious and will often come up to within three hundred yards of the hunter and then make a half circle in order to get on the up wind side. An old bull is very wise, and it requires a good caller to put him in the open quickly. A moose cow is the ugliest, most ungainly and idiotic looking beast I have ever seen in the woods. I saw one coming down a logging road one evening just be- fore sundown, and decided to see how close she would venture to me. I was in plain view of her as she ap- proached. She stopped within sixty yards of where I was standing, and in a dreamy, semi-conscious way took a good look at me. Occasionally she would work her long, mule-like ears back and forth and look up the road in an inquiring way. She stood with her fore feet about three feet apart, and ev?n then her shoul- ders were so much higher than her hips that she re- 108 Some Big Game Hunts minded me of a mule-colored giraffe. I put my rifle vertically in front of me, and began moving it from side to side slowly advancing toward her. She appeared to be completely hypnotized, so intently and fixedly did she gaze at my antics as I approached her. When within thirty steps of her, it occurred to me that if she should suddenly decide to attack me, I might have to shoot another cow moose, and just at that time I was unusually impressed with the idea that a cow moose should not be killed. I was really afraid that she was going to attack me, as she raised her hair like a porcu- pine and stamped a front foot. I yelled at her as loudly as I could, at which she wheeled about and dis- appeared like a dissolving cloud. Her departure was as noiseless as if she had taken wings. Of all the localities in which I have hunted, this was the easiest in which to get lost. Every tree, clump of alders, heath of bog looked exactly like the other. The only time in my life I felt as if I were lost was at this camp. I had followed a logging road for about four miles from our camp. I was alone that day, and I de- cided to make a cut off on my return trip, in doing so I crossed my outgoing trail about a mile from the camp without recognizing it. This put me to the north of the trail going east and west. After traveling a mile or so north, I decided that the old trail must be south of me, so I turned around and started south. I was using a compass when I found the trail, but my tracks were going the wrong direction for my out-going jour- New Brunswick 109 A heaver dam. ney. I decided to follow them anyway, and when I found myself I had followed my own tracks to the point where I left the trail to make the cut-off when I started to return to camp. It was dark, or I should have dis- covered my mistake earlier. I recognized a large tree that had fallen across the road at the point where I turned back. It was four miles to camp and as dark as it could be, but by feeling for the wagon ruts, I was able to reach it. I was tired and hungry and glad to see the campfires that night. While at this place I visited a colony of beavers, and had the rare opportunity of seeing these artisans of the animal kingdom engaged in the work of construct- ing a new dam across a small stream. They go about theii- work in the most matter-of-fact way of uny ani- 110 Some Big Game Hunts mals I have ever seen. Their dam had been cut the year before by some telephone pole cutters, and the beavei were busily engaged in replacing it before winter set in, that then- winter food supply might be sunk in the deep water above the dam, where they could get at it be- neath the ice from their dens in the nearby banks. I saw a few deer while on this trip, but as they were all hornless, I decided not to shoot any of them. If my observation was correct, there must have been a lot of marriageable females among the animals of that vicinity that were not liable during that season to meet a mate. I am sure that out of the number of moose seen on this trip theie must have been at least eighty per cent of them females. It seems almost incredible that within a few months these great palmated moose antlers will grow, shed the velvet and drop off, only to be replaced by a new set by the next mating season. These connecting links between the modern animal and pre-historic monsters are the largest survivors of their ancient relatives. Their very ungainliness is sufficient to make them appear picturesque. Their uncouthness is intensified by the very fact that no other animal, existing today, resembles them. They stand alone in their glory of palmated antlers, long, dispro- portionate legs and protruding, bulbous upper lip and hooked nose. Standing as he does when at bay, with a spread of antlers sixty to eighty inches, with his shaggy beard (bell) hanging half-way to his knees, with New Brunswick HI his long, ill-defined colored hair all turned the wrong way, his eyes the very emblems of anger and courage; the moose makes a foe, one may well avoid, unless pre- pared to destroy him with one of the moder-n high-power repeating rifles. In spite of his ugly ai)pearance, we cannot help ad- miring him for his courage and the valor which he dis- plays in protecting the members of his family from the attacks of hungry wolves and other destroyers of his family circle. In Europe he was known by the name of elk, the name we use in America for the round-horned wapitti. The cow is an ugly, dumb looking, expressionless crea- ture, lacking all of the traits of stateliness so marked in the bull. She is a mother in every sense of the word, sacrificing all else for the love and piotection of her young. Although stupid looking, it is she who on most occasions gives the alarm to her lordly spouse when man or other dangers threaten his safety. Their fond- ness for water is so well known that it is hardly worth the space to mention it. Their characteristics in swampy gr-ound are not so thoroughly understood. They will wade into soft, boggy places up to their bellies while in search of lily pads and other succulent water plants, and the ease with which they plow their way through the mud would astonish anyone who had not witnessed them while making their escape from the mar-shes when they heai- or smell the approach of suspected enemies. You can hear the thuds of their 112 Soyne Big Game Hunts long legs, as they are pulled out of the mud, for two or three miles, on a cold, frosty, still morning. The moose is reckless in his disregard of dead and down timber and thickly wooded places, tearing thiough them with the velocity and power of a cyclone, crashing and break- ing limbs and logs in an incredible manner. The bull is a fickle lord, as he is wont to bestow his affections upon many sylvan dames. However, he is not to be called away from his rightful spouse while she pours into his ears her wooing words of admiration and her threats of desertion, if he should prove false. If you do not believe this statement, I ask you to use all your skill as a moose caller in trying to coax him away from his family circle. He msy answer your call with his w-a-u-a-h, w-a-u-a-h, and even approach you, but just let him come close enough foi you to hear the following cow give him her opinion on the call, or her ideas on a moose deserting his family, and I assure you he will soon become quiet and repentant and skulk away without giving you a close shot at his henpecked sides. We saw many caribou signs while on this trip, but did not secure a specimen. These untamed reindeer are a peculiar animal in many ways. In some parts of British America and Alaska herds of many thousand may be found, feeding among the bogs and peat beds. BRITISH COLUMBIA CHAPTER X. BRITISH COLUMBIA HUNT AFTER MOUNTAIN SHEEP, GOATS AND BEAR. In company with Frank Hodges, of Olathe, Kansas, I made a trip to British Columbia, in 1907. We left the Canadian Pacific at Ashcroft, B. C, taking one of the really delightful stages of the company furnishing transportation to Barkersville, two hundred and eighty miles north. This stage trip is made in four days. Having engaged passage the night before, we were told to be ready to start by three o'clock, A. M. The landlord of the Hotel Ashcroft awakened us promptly. We had arranged all our baggage the night before, to prevent delay. We were ready to start on time, and sallied forth to be picked up by a British Columbian fresh from the Arctic breeze. This little unpleasant- ness did not worry us, but when we had to stand on the street for four hours, waiting for the driver to hitch up, our patience was taxed a little bit, I must admit. A ride in one of the old-time coaches with six horses on a dead run around some of the winding places in the road a thousand feet above some rushing stream, was, on many occasions, disposed to make one a little sea-sick, if not a trifle nervous. Our first day's travel from Ashcroft to Lillooet, our 116 Some Big Game Hunts outfitting point, was made in eight hours, the distance being seventy miles. This trip was one of the most picturesque stage journeys I have ever made. The road is a government highway and is kept in fine repair. For many miles the roaring and dangerous Frazier River is followed by this highway in its windings in and out of deep gorges. This stream flows more water than the Missouri, yet is not navigable, owing to the rapids and falls. Its water is the color of milked coffee, owing to the volcanic ash and glacial flour that is con- stantly sliding from its precipitous banks. Lillooet, our outfitting point, is a little village of much notoriety, a few white people and many Chinamen. It was here that placer mining was discovered as early as 1849, and at one time Lillooet had a population of We outfitted in Lillooet. British Columbia 117 five thousand souls. I found here the most sociable and hospitable people I have ever met on any of my hunting trips. I had engaged W. G. C. Manson as our guide. "Bill," as he is called, is one of the most noted guides today living in British Columbia. A few words about this great hunter will not be amiss at this time. He is a fourth breed Cree Indian. His father was of Scotch descent and a Hudson Bay Company factor. He was born in the Peace River country near the Arctic Circle. He has been a hunter and trapper all his life, and what he does not know of the habits of the game in that country would not make a large book. Among the notables who have hunted with him as their guide may be mentioned: Admiral Seymour, Lord Powell Clay- ton and Senator Penrose. While at Lillooet we had some very fine trout and salmon fishing. Seaton Lake is three miles away. From this lake Seaton River has its source. This stream is a hundred feet in width and is only three miles in length to its entrance in the Frazier. It is a clear water stream and is noted for the salmon that annually go up it to Seaton Lake to spawn. The Canadian government has a fish hatchery at the lake exit of the river. A double row of fingered traps, extending across the stream permits the fish to go upward at the lower trap and downward at the upper trap. This collects the fish from both sources, but mostly, of course, from below, in this space between the traps, which are one- 118 Some Big Game Hunts The Barkerville limited. half mile apart. It is indeed a great sight to stand on the broad runway in mid-stream and watch the sal- mon in their frantic efforts to get above the upper trap. The egg-ladened females are caught and "milked" and the eggs fertilized in the hatching troughs at the hat- chery. The salmon are then thrown back into the streams to be washed away. Like all the salmon going up these streams, none return to the ocean alive. The salmon's life story, although very interesting, is too long to be recited here. We were told that these fish would not take the fly, but they did, as I can verify by the fish warden, if necessary. We caught three fine specimens within an hour. Forty-five minutes of that hour were occupied by me in landing one fish. We gave the fish to a Si- British Columbia 119 wash family, camping near the lake. The wild, mad rushes of one of the salmon I hooked, I have never seen excelled by any fish save the muskalonge of the North- ern Minnesota lakes. The trout would not take the fly in this big river trap as the salmon eggs were too plentiful, but a mile below, they were ravenously hun- gry. They were of the Dolly Varden species with pointed heads and light colored spots. Cut-throat trout — Salmon Clarkii — are black spotted trout. Back and sides halfway down golden yellow, slightly oblong black spots from mouth to tip of tail. Peculiar blood-red margin on the edge of the gills gives this fish the name of cut-throat. Manson had engaged two Lillooet Indians as camp helpers. The Indians of this province, like all of those in the northwestern country, are called Siwashes, re- gardless of the special tribal name. This particular Siwash bunch is known as Lillooets. The condition of these poor, superstitious, ignorant and lazy natives illustrates the same indomitable disposition of the white race to obliterate all color lines by extermination, when possible. Black approaches the indelible most closely, and even this color today has many yellow streaks. These Indians are a shiftless set, but show much more thrift than our western plains Indians. They live by hunting and fishing. The banks of the Frazier River during the salmon run in August and September are lined with these aborigines, with their crude dip nets, patiently sitting on some projecting rock, hour after 120 Some Big Game Hunts hour, waiting for the madly rushing salmon on their way to the spawning beds in the little streams, hun- dreds of miles from the ocean. The fish, when caught, are halved and hung up to dry. I have visited a num- ber of these native fishermen and have seen them in all their filth and squalor. It is indeed pathetic, but what are we going to do about it? The survival of the fittest (fightest) will bring the answer in the near future. We had three of these natives with us on this hunt- ing trip, as horse tenders and cook. I did not think it possible for civilized white men within a few weeks to retrograde to such an extent as to approach closely to aboriginal practices. Our cook thought nothing of using a horse blanket for a table cloth or a saddle stir- A British Columbia through freight. British Columbia 121 rup to pound a tough venison steak with, and strange as it may seem, we were Indian enough to eat that steak with a rehsh from a tin plate on this same horse blanket. . Mountain climbing, sunshine and fresh air beget an appetite that leads to an acute attack of table refinement opacity. The language (?) of these Indians reminds one of a hound-dog eating hot mush. They understand it all. Some of the words are a mixture of French and Siwash and can be interpreted and spoken by a white man, but most of it can be used only by being born with the "slush" accent in the mouth. Some of their utter- ances make one feel uneasy, lest he strangle. The names of our Indians were, "Creekwah" and "Bonaparte." "Creek" was low, heavy-set, with wide mouth, broad face, high cheek bones, and an open faced grin. He had an enormous appetite and unlimited capacity. "Bony" was slim, agile, a hard hunter, but a poor shot. He was a good horse wrangler and par- tial to good things to eat, with no hesitancy in helping himself to the very best. The day we left Lillooet, "Billy" employed an extra Indian, a Chilcootin, to guide us to a new and good sheep country, which he said was near his home. Alex- ander was his name. I presume that he is — like a his- torical Alec — weeping at this moment, unless he has discovered a new bunch of hunters to feed him and ac- company him on his way home, paying him well for the privilege. He was of a tribe living a hundred and 'UUlic" Manson, Ihe noted guide. British Columbia 123 ■:.::-v-- -- '' ■■'■*" '' ■^'<'»'f'^^M|tijtt| mum ^^^^1 r "i^H ^H 1 ^^^^^^^^^1 ^BEJ^^'*** "v^T^T^^^^^^BHHH ^^^B ' I '^'^'V,''^^^^^^^^! ^^^■yiSCg*,^ 'v-~-<-..^r ^^^^^ ^^^Bi-''> '' I .''w''4 tl^^^^^^^l ^^Hpr'V --•,_. .'l--^ '•'!:.J9^^^H ^H^:^1i!l^^^^H ■BSiKifllkrr- _^.. .. '^■'^'^i^^^^^^S BHHPlMHliii^^^^H A sun-set scene on the Frazier River. fifty miles north of Lillooet. I protested against em- ploying this Indian, as I did not like his looks. He looked the part of a villian. I refused to let him go in- to the woods while we were hunting, as he took a great fancy to my gun, and would, on every chance, pick it up and admire it by gestures. He could not speak English. It will be seen later how well grounded were my suspicions of this traitor to his new-made friends. We were going on a long and difficult trip to navigate trail, necessitating good, stout horses with newly put on' sharp shoes. A complete horse-shoeing outfit and extra shoes were taken along with us. The trails along the Frazier and Bridge rivers are especially hard on horses' shoes, as there are so many slide rock mountain sides to go along. The intense cold of the long win- 124 Some Big Game Hunts ters and the extreme heat of the mid-day summer sun keep up a constant flaking of the friable exposed rocks. These cUps pile up on the mountain slopes many feet deep and hundreds of yards down the mountain. These rock slides are the dread of all hunters, as a horse stumbling may start a rock avalanche of no small pro- portions. I have seen tons of these rocks rush down the mountain side carrying everything movable before them. These Indians have no idea of promptness in keeping an appointment. A two days' delay is of no conse- quence to them, especially if, while waiting, they are drawing their salary. After three days spent in getting together the Ind- ians and the other duffle, we started on our seven days' journey to the newly discovered (?) Alexanderiayi sheep It is indeed pathetic, but what are we going ,to do about it''. British Columbia 125 country. This jaunt reminded me of the fooUsh equine known as "Thompson's colt," that swam a river of clear water to get a drink from a mud hole on the other shore. Good sheep hunting, I later learned, could be had within a day's travel of Lillooet. Our expenses for "Bill," sixteen head of horses and his tamed war- 'Alex" trailed us toward his sheep pasture. 126 Some Big Game Hunts riors was only thirty-two dollars per day. Why should we care if we did go out of our way fifteen or twenty days? Were we not getting value received? Did we not have the pleasure of seeing the Indians eat? This was an almost continuous performance. The show was a good one to a person who enjoys seeing the ani- mals fed at a circus. Horse hunting always forms an important part of the pack train hunters' duty, and this trip was not an exception, as we had sixteen head of pack and saddle animals. A horse wrangler's duties are many and arduous. We had a remarkable good bunch of horses, and as a rule, they were very home- like in their attachments for each new camp, but occas- ionly we would have to lay up a half day while finding and driving in the pack. We kept a bell on one old- timer. This horse knew his place in the procession and would fight vigorously any horse that undertook to usurp his rights. The tall grass surrounding our camping sites was always saturated with dew in the early morning, or if there was frost it soon melted, mak- ing the early morning horse or other hunting on foot equivalent to wading in an ice cold stream, knee deep. CHAPTER XI. INDIANS OF BRITISH COLUMBIA. TRAILS IN THE CAS- CADES. KILLED LYNX. PORCUPINES. MOUN- TAIN SHEEP AND HIS HABITS. Poor B, C. Lo has his troubles served up to him about the same in B. C. as in the U. S, His game and fish have gone the usual route, and he is doomed to follow them. I sincerely trust that his dreams of the happy hunting grounds may come true. If they should I wager that some white man will be there awaiting their arrival. The horses were the best lot I ever saw on the trail. Bill was kind to them and they were a docile, obedient bunch of pack animals. As we left Lillooet we passed many old placer mines, most of which had long since been washed out. Occas- ionly we would see some lone Chinaman with his pan, diligently washing the sand on the banks of the Frazier. Here and there, perched on projecting rocks on the river bank, a solitary Indian was seen sitting as quietly as a fish hawk, net in hand, patiently waiting and watching for the few straggling sock-eye salmon that had escaped the gauntlet of the white man's modern salmon traps down the stream. These Indians have made some efforts at farming and stock raising. Theii- religion is Roman Catholic. 128 Some Big Game Hunts A Lynx. He was an extra large varmint. Four miles from Lillooet we crossed Bridge River on a suspension bridge made by these Indians. One feels secure after he reaches the opposite bank. The Bridge River is a turbulent, opaque stream, flowing in many places through volcanic fissures and gravel beds. There is a constant, but slow crumbling of the enor- mous glacial deposits that keeps the waters of this stream anything but clear. In many places we trav- British Columbia 129 eled for miles along its almost precipitous banks. Some ten miles from town we saw a good sized lynx quietly walking along the mountain side. He was not in the least disturbed by our presence. Even after we had fired two missing shots at him he did not run. Some loose horses, grazing near had probably brought about this feeling of false security. The third shot killed him. His pelt was not worth saving. He was an extra large varmint. During the day we traveled along a government trail following the river. Late in the afternoon, we came to a little creek, which we followed to our first camp, making about thirty miles for the first day. While putting up the tents, Frank secured a number of fine trout for our supper and breakfast. Early the next morning, I struck out on foot in the direction we were to travel, hoping that I might find a bear, as there were plenty of berries along the route. I saw where a mother bear and two cubs had been feeding during the night, but did not see the bears during that day. We killed a number of "fool hens," or Franklin grouse, as we were traveling through the heavy lower timbered slopes. As we were crossing a high divide — five thous- and, eight hundred feet — we flushed two sooty grouse — blue grouse, or pine hens. One of the horses tram- pled on one of the young, killing it. The male lighted on a tall, dead pine tree, but flew again when we got to within a hundred yards of him. We ate dinner that day by the side of a beaver dam. 130 Some Big Game Hunts Fresh signs indicated that the dam was inhabited. We struck camp that night in a cold, drizzling rain, but it was not too rainy for Frank to get a nice string of trout. Just as we were eating supper, a full grown lynx walked up to within fifty yards of our camp, calm- ly viewed us with his cat-like eyes, and slowly walked away with his pointed ears laid back against the ruf- fled fur of his neck, as good as to say, "Those fellows don't amount to much, anyway." We traveled all the next day in the rain and camped near Dromedary Peak, a noted location for mountain goats. We spied the mountains, but failed to get a glimpse of Oreamnos. Our next camp was on a small stream at Horse Skull camp, so named because a fiactious guide two years Horse skull cuDip. British Columbia 131 before had killed one of his pack animals by striking him on the head with a club. The skull of the poor, abused animal, bleached to a ghastly white, with a jagged stellate fracture was hanging on a dead limb near our camp. I wrote a few lines on the bleached frontal bone. I trust that this guide may see the same, some day. It would do him good, I hope. It was while at this camp that I ate my first piece of porcupine, as well as broke the game laws of British Columbia by killing a mountain sheep ten days before the open season on sheep. The fine has been paid, the docket cleared and all concerned are satisfied. How- ever, I want to submit my case to you, my dear reader, and ask you, candidly, what would you have done had you been in my place with those five big rams strung out before you? We were traveling slowly down a long, narrow ra- vine on our fourth day out from Lillooet when I saw something moving lazily in a little clump of willows. I rode into this bunch of underbrush to see if I could find the moving object. I soon discovered that it was a large porcupine. He was not in the least perturbed by the close relationship that had so suddenly sprung up between us, although we were perfect strangers, as we had never met before. These turtles of the animal kingdom have just about as much speed, wisdom and appreciation of the unusual and dangerous situations as the old land terrapin of the southern states. I got off my horse and stood within two feet of his needle 132 Some Big Game Hunts covered, ugly back. He turned his repulsive face toward me and with his rat-like eyes surveyed me from head to foot and said something to me about me in por- cupine, which I did not understand. He probably thought what a ghastly fright I was without a street sweeper on my back. Having expressed his opinion about me he began to eat grass loots and willow sprouts, occasionally slapping his tail against the ground, with a grunting emphasis. He kept his tail toward me most of the time, as that was best fortified against any at- tack from my source. After defying me to attack him, he leisurely waddled away a few feet to a spruce tree which he climbed ten feet, when the idea seemed to strike him that there was something about me that he had not examined closely enough. He backed down the tree and walked to within three feet of where I was standing, talking to himself in erethizon epixanthus in a nasal, high toned manner most of the time. After my trying to converse with him in "Missouri," he seemed suddenly to become disgusted or frightened, and I never saw a "porky" stir up so much dust and tumble down a mountain side so quickly as he did. The last I saw of him, he was going toward the head waters of the McKenzie River. The Indians are very fond of "porky" — they are fond of anything to eat, I can prove it if necessary. One day Creekwah, our cook, said, "Want 'porky' or ground hog today to eat?" Our guide killed a big, fat porcupine during the day. The Indians skinned him British Columbia 133 and we had "porky" stew for dinner. I took a small piece and without chewing it, swallowed it, like a cap- sule full of quinine. My hunting partner said that would not count as eating "porky," but that I must take a good-sized bite and chew it. I tackled it. Here is where I made a mistake. I began, first, to chew it easily; then I put on the loud pedal and advanced the spark, threw in the clutch and hit the rubber on the high speed. The more I chewed, the tougher the piece got and the tighter it fitted my mouth. Finally it pried my jaws open, pressed down my tongue and filled my mouth so full that it required three Indians quite a while to remove the rubber ball from between my teeth. No more "porky" for me! The beautiful Ovis dalli of Kenai Peninsula. (Photographed by Dr. Bauchman, of Seward, Alaska.) 134 Some Big Game Hunts In addition to the Ovis Montana, Alaska harbors within its confines two additional specimens of the mountain sheep: One, the Ovis Stonei, or black mountain sheep, found in the Costal range of Southern Alaska, and the Ovis dalli, or white big horn of the Kenai peninsula. A photo of a beautiful specimen of the latter, killed by my friend, Dr. Boughman, of Se- ward, is here shown. Ovis Montana, mountain sheep or big horn, is to the animal world what the eagle is to the bird kingdom. He is the very em.blem of caution, termerity and reck- lessness embodied in one. He never turns a corner or makes a move, but that he is on the alert. He never crosses a divide that he does not show his caution and termerity. His dare-devil leaps from crag to shelving rock, and his flight along the edges of precipices stamp him as the very embodiment of recklessness. His speed and the way in which he gets over the mountains en- title him to be named the areoplane of the mountains, as compared to the camel or ships of the desert. Un- like the deer, elk, moose and many other hunted ani- mals, he does not depend on the tangled underbrush and thickest foliage to hide him, but stands out in bold relief against the sky line on the highest peak and seem- ingly invites you to come and get him if you can. He depends on his good eye-sight, vigilance and his rapid, long and perilous jumps to carry him to safety. I have measured in the snow in British Columbia on amount- British Columbia 135 ain side where there was not much slope, a jump of over twenty-four feet. I have often wondered why the Rocky mountain sheep selects as his home the almost desolate and bar- ren mountain peaks, when, within a few thousand feet the richest pasturage may be found. Occasionally, he may, in passing from one peak to another, condescend to go through a forest or trample underfoot the suc- culent grasses of the lower altitude, but he will not tarry long on his journey unless in rare instances, over- taken by a storm, or if constantly hunted on the moun- tain tops, he may seek refuge in the foothills. How- ever, this is very rare and only temporary. As a game animal I consider him the king. He is ever alert, swift of foot, quick to sight danger, and keen of sense of smell, timid to an extreme, of man, fearless in his daring leaps and rapid flight in getting away from the hunter. Add to this his natural haunts in almost inaccessible, high altitudes with rarified atmosphere, and the successful hunting of mountain sheep becomes a task the like of which is not to be found in hunting any other game. The hunter who secures a trophy of this, the king of big game, deserves all the honors that accrue to him who strives and conquers. It must be understood that the animals remain on the highest mountain peaks in a given range during rigid winters of the North, They will descend to lower ranges, but will select the highest ridges of that particular range. The wind usually blows the snow off the crest of these ridges, leaving the 136 Soyne Big Game Hunts ground bare so they can find a scant sustenance during the winter. During the early autumn months, several rams are frequently seen together, the ewes and lambs remaining on some distant mountain. As the rutting season approaches, the rams cease to roam together in peace and take on ugly moods, with a tendency to carry "chips on their shoulders," so to speak. These chips are usually butted off many times during the The Ovis Montana. This is a record head in many of ila measurements British Columbia 137 actual rutting season. On a cold, frosty morning, I have heard the terrific impact of the horns of two fight- ing rams three miles away. The other rams, ewes and lambs will stand by quietly, looking on while the fight is in progi'ess. Occasionally, a particularly athletic ram with an overflow of energy and a tough head will give vent to his pent up feelings and force by butting the bark from some stunted cedar or pine tree on the mountain side. You may see his battering ram signs on almost any mountain where sheep have made their home for a number of years. Do not mistake the band- like porcupine gnawing on trees for the bark-brushing butting of the sheep. One must not think that the sheep are only on the lookout after having discovered the approach of danger. A camp fire the night before, or a little target practice at a camp miles away from the mountain, known to be "good sheep country" may put these timid animals in a state of panic that makes the approach to them within rifle shot almost impossible. Do not let the sheep become the hunters by showing your presence to them, first. If you do, you won't get one of those sheep. A sheep, while grazing, can see below him, hence, in hunting sheep it is best to approach him from above, when possible. During the early mornings they will be found grazing or lying down on the sunny slopes of the mountains. Do not approach from the east in the early morning. The thundering noise of the avalanche may not disturb a band of sheep as quickly as the rolling of a small stone or the cracking 138 Some Big Game Hunts of a dead twig under the hunter's foot. Quiet treading is essential in all hunting. This is especially true in hunting big horns. I prefer thick rubber soled tennis shoes. If your feet are tender, put in a good, thick leather inner sole. You can travel almost noiselessly with this foot-gear, if you will avoid starting detached pieces of rock. CHAPTER XII. KILLING MOUNTAIN SHEEP IN CLOSED SEASON, AND WHAT IT COST ME. I had been informed by the guides before leaving my home that the open season on mountain sheep had been changed from September 1st. to August 15th. 1 had traveled three thousand miles to reach the sheep coun- try in which I expected to hunt. On my arrival I was informed that the open season had not been changed, as the governor had refused to sign the new bill. My time was limited. The guide and his outfit — three Indians and sixteen horses — were engaged for thirty days at thirty dollars per day, for myself and hunting partner. It would take seven days of hard trailing to reach the country where we were going to hunt. It was then August 15th. We decided to start on the trip and get well located by September 1st. We trav- eled four days and camped in a beautiful, little grass covered valley and decided to rest one day and let the horses graze. The next morning the guide, my hunt- ing partner, one of the Indians and I concluded to go on a little tour of inspection upon Big Red mountain, so called because of the bright red color of its crest. This mountain is about ten thousand feet above sea level and is made up of a flinty red stone that flakes 140 Some Big Game Hunts The Author and his ''Game Warden sheep." and tumbles down its side constantly, making the very worst kind of slide rock to travel over, both for man and beast. This is especially true on the south side of the mountain, where the sun produces such marked changes in the temperature of the rocks. On the north side thei-e is a large area of snow and a few small glaciers in British Columbia 141 some of the ravines near the shoulder of the moun- tain. At the foot of these snow and ice masses, there is an abundance of rich grass, but the sheep do not graze much there, as you find them higher up on the mountain. I have often wondered why they do not graze in these luxuriant, gi'assy spots, instead of in the barren rocky summits. As I have learned more of these animals, it is easily understood. The reason is purely one of self-preservation. It was an ideal day. The sun shone down upon us with sufficient heat to counteract the cold of the wind's blast as it swept over the glacier and snow covered mountain sides. The climbing up the sides of this mountain presented the usual difficulties met with in reaching high altitudes. You look above you and think, on the next bench I will be at the top, but when you reach that spot, perchance you will discover a broad, flat valley several hundred yards or more in width. This "benching" of a mountain "has been a source of disappointment to many a hunter. I have never been quite able to understand where the moun- tain climber gets his compensation for his labors. Of course, he is well paid, but the salary of one man does not meet the demands of another. On approaching the shoulder of the mountain, we separated to circumvent the summit, on a purely in- spection tiip. We had been separated for two or three hours, and I had seen nothing in the way of game signs and had started to return toward the camp about five 142 Some Big Game Hunts miles away. I paused for a moment and glanced toward the sky line to the north of me about three miles. I was using my field glasses. All at once I saw, like a retreating cloud bringing to view the moon at the horizon, five slowly resolving moving objects that I soon recognized as rams' heads. I have never beheld a grander sight. I could make out that they were frightened and had been running quite a distance, as they frequently paused and turned about to look in the direction from whence they came. I was standing in mushy snow up to my ankles, but what did I care for cold or wet, while watching this band of noble rams! I quickly lay down on my back in the snow, as they were coming in my direction. They were led by a big ram with a massive pair of horns. The sight was one of enchanting beauty, as I watched them. They strung out on the face of the mountain, all the time coming nearer and nearer to me. My joy at the prospect of bagging one of those trophies was unbounded, and I could hardly contain myself, so impatient was I while watching them. They are, I thought, now about six hundred yards away and coming directly toward me with the wind in my favor. Will they discover me, or will they turn to the right through the little sag on the spine of the mountain? While I was thus meditating, they quickly turned away from me and disappeared through the gap. I jumped to my feet, one-half of me as wet as a ship's hull just put in the dry docks, and ran with all my might — not very fast at that altitude British Columbia 143 — in the direction they had disappeared. I had not gone over two hundred yards before I saw them com- ing right toward me in full flight (flight nearly de- scribes their ability to get over the ground). They had evidently come in sight of some one of our party over the crest of the ridge. When within three hundred yards of me, I began firing at the leader. My second shot striking him while in the air — truly a wing shot — he turned a summersault and never moved after strik- ing the snow. I fired three more shots, scoring on the horns of another, stunning him so badly that he lay in the snow for fully thirty seconds, but regained his feet and made his escape. I measured some jumps made by these sheep in the snow and found the distance to be twenty-four feet. The actual distance of the sheep from me when I shot measured over three hundred yards. My delight at killing this ram was so great and my enthusiasm was so intense that I did not realize — and I presume would not have cared at that time — that I had violated the provisions of the game law of British Columbia, protecting Ovis Montana. I was later very forcibly reminded of this fact, when one of the Indians deserted camp and told the game warden that I had killed the sheep on August 20th. I was fined fifty dollars and costs. Now, my dear hunters and true sportsmen, I believe in game protection by stringent laws, and I believe in the prosecution of all violations of the same, but place yourself in my position — and consider other facts men- 144 Some Big Game Hunts tioned — at the time I killed this ram, and I will ask you on the "Q. T." what would you have done? What? Of course you would. The officials of British Columbia are the finest set of courteous gentlemen I have ever met in an official or unofficial way. Bill had heard the shooting and came running over the top of the mountain just in time to see me doing an Indian stomy dance about the dead ram. I took actual measurements of the sheep. He measured forty inches in height, fifty-eight inches from nose to tail, forty-four inches about chest, forty at waist line. His weight was about two hundred and thirty pounds. Base of horns measured fifteen inches, length of horns, thirty- three inches, between horns, at tip, twenty inches, from nose to horns ten inches, between eyes six and one-half inches, about neck twenty-seven inches. After taking off the skin and dressing the meat, we loaded ourselves with the carcass and started down the mountain. We had not gone far before we ran on to Frank and "Boney," on their way to the camp. We soon had the meat transferred to the horses and joined the procession camp ward. To say that I was elated over my kill that day only faintly expresses my joy. Never in my life since I killed my first little buck, away back in Kentucky when I was a mere boy, have I felt so proud of a hunt- ing feat as I did on that occasion. If my i-eader friend, is a big game hunter, he will fully agree with me when British Columbia 145 I say that he who kills one of these sky pilots brings down the gamest of the big game. As we returned to camp, a feeling of guilt slowly crept over me and I assure you that it dampened my ardor and enthusiasm very much, as that was my first ''Creekwuh," our cook, was fund of "Porky. 146 Some Big Game Hunts and only wilful trespass of a game law. I had on another occasion killed by mistake a cow moose, think- 'ing it a bull, in violation of the game law, for which I was very sorry, as one gets no more sport from killing a cow moose than from shooting the family cow. As we came nearer and nearer the camp, a feeling of secrecy overcame me so much that I suggested hiding the evidence of my guilt, although a hundred and fifty miles from a game warden. I was afraid of Alec, the Chilcotin. How well my suspicions were founded may be seen, when two days later he deserted our camp and rode back to inform the game warden of my violation of the act protecting sheep to September 1st. In my early life I had purloined a few watermelons, or perchance filled my shirtbosom and on one occasion the bottom tied up legs, of my knee breeches, with a neighbor's apples. All that was done with little thought of the consequences. But this was so different. After seeing that there were no visitors in camp, who would want the sheep's and my mutton, I ordered the meat brought in. I have never tasted meat so palatable and sweet that later became so bitter. The Indians sat up the most of the night, eating mutton. Creekwah said, "Doc make skookem (strong) medicine. Kill zolops (sheep). Heap good shooter." We broke camp the next morning, still following the traitor toward his visionary sheep pasture. This was a hard day's travel through fallen timber, part of the time through heavy jack pines that were ladened British Columbia 147 with rain that soon saturated our clothing. We saw several deer during the day. We struck camp near a little lake at the crest of the Pacific and Bridge river watershed. While making camp, Frank with his flies and rod, caught a bucket full of trout. This was the most disagreeable camp of the whole trip, in as far as concerned our bodily com- fort. It was still raining when we moved the next morning. The horses were fractious from fighting mosquitoes, making the putting on of packs more than usually tiresome. The guide was sore about nothing in particular and everything in general. The Indians were, if possible, more stupid than usual, and there were two white hunters who had smiles that refused to come on. »^. Bl/^^ ^ ^ ^ A'f% CHAPTER XIII. SOME GOOD TROUT FISHING. GAME WARDEN VISITS OUR CAMP. SECURED THE SHEEP HEAD AND SCALP. INDIAN DESERTS US. RETRACING OUR STEPS. FIND OF THE GAME WARDEN'S DEER, KILLED OUT OF SEASON. SOME REMINISCENCES. During the day we made about thirty miles. In the afternoon the clouds cleared away and such a scene as was presented to us! In every direction, to the front, to the right and to the left of us was a vast range of black, sharp, spire-like peaks, too steep to hold the snow, projecting skyward through the mansard snow covered roofs of the mountains. While on this high pass, I could look down upon hundreds of islands of cloud shadows in a vast ocean of sunshine. During the day, on a particularly high pass that commanded a range of country for a hundred miles to the north and west, we asked Alec to show us his sheep Eldorado. We were surprised to learn from him that he was lost and that he could not locate within the hundred miles in view any familiar mountains. It was then that I told Billy that the Indian was leading us on a "wild goose chase," instead of a sheep hunt. He was disposed to agree with me. During the day, the Chil- British Columbia 149 "Camp Limit." cotin was inclined to wander away from the trail, but could not get any good excuse to get out of sight. We camped that night on a beautiful little knoll over- looking the valley many miles, and commanding some fine sheep country. There were a good many bear signs here, also. This camp I later named "The Limit," both because it was our farthest camp and because of anothei little incident that had its focus at this point. The first night after landing at this camp, Alexander, 150 Some Big Game Hunts during Hanson's absence, saddled his pony and said, "Alec go away." We protested, but to no avail. As soon as our guide returned, I told him that the Indian had left in an ugly mood and that I feared he was going to see the game warden. That was the last time I saw the Indian. We spied the mountain near our camp for a few days, seeing only a few ewes. One evening when I returned, Creekwah said, "Game warden been here, took sheep head. Chilcotin told him you kill ram, he come here, go way. Come in morning see you." This was de- lightful (?) news to a man who had violated the game laws of another than his own country. The game warden came that night. I told him to take good care of my sheep scalp and that I hoped he would not get mine as well as the sheep's. He took the scalp away with him and kept it in good shape until I went before the magistrate in Lillooet, admitted my guilt and the guide paid my fine, thereby showing his manhood, as he was the cause of my being on the hunting grounds too soon. This was an honest mis- take on his part, however. On trips of this kind every hunter is liable to have an attack of "grouch," some more than others. No ill feeling toward anyone in particular, but toward the world in general. Some have the faculty of walking it off, others must talk it off. The latter plan is the quickest way to get it out of the system, and usually results in a cure. The day after the game wai'den took British Columbia 151 my fine mountain sheep scalp and horns away with him, I was decidedly on the moody side. I could see only a bread and water diet handed me by a stern and heartless jail keeper, through the narrow space between the bars. All unnecessary brooding! While in this mood I wrote: "The poetry and picturesque features of a trip of this kind fade away in the face of a stern reality of failure. The aboriginal novelty is offset by the dirt and poor cooking of these 'children of the forest.' The last of the great scouts has, as an offset, thirty per day and no rams. The sublime scenery will ever re- main in one's memory as the only thing free. It costs nothing but the labor of getting through and around and over it. Even this grand display on this day does not look good to me." The next day we retraced our steps, making a forty mile trip. On that day we came to where the game warden had told us he camped the night before he came to our camp. We found two nice, fat quarters of ven- ison, snugly wrapped up in a gunny sack, hanging on a tree near his camp. It was also a closed season on deer. We had two fine pieces of venison to eat on for the next few days. I do not know who killed that deer, but I do know who helped to eat it. It was about an even swap, two quarters of mutton for a half of a big buck. I assure you that I had nothing to do with taking the venison. I had made a resolution to be good the rest of my stay in British Columbia. We staid only one night at this camp. From here 152 So7ne Big Game Hunts we passed "Horse Skull Camp" and headed up past the big, red mountain, where I had killed the ram. We selected a beautiful camp site back of Sanford Moun- tain. This camp I named "Seclusion." It was here that I really felt that we were away from game wardens, not that I had any idea of violating the game laws, but I really felt as if I did not want to even see one again. We staid here several days, seeing many fine bucks and many does and fawns. The pine slopes here were full of grouse and porcupine. While hunting one day near this camp, I ran into a bunch of wild hogs. There were forty or fifty in the bunch. While at this camp we also saw four beautiful wild horses. They were as wild as deer. A young wild pig, I believe, is a delicacy when well Patiently wuitiny for /ti.s pack. British Columbia 153 roasted between two gold washing pans, that very few have ever indulged in. "Possom and taters" are not in the same class, with roast pig served in this way. As Charles Lamb says of roast pig: "The strong man may fatten on it and the weakling refuseth not its ten- der juices." These hogs and horses, or their ancestors, evidently had at some time belonged to some prospector who had abandoned them, or they had strayed away and adopted this wild life. There is not at this time anyone living within a hundred miles of this locality. While hunting one afternoon a few miles from the camp, I saw two little fawns. I decided that I would sit still and watch their antics. They discovered me and began slowly approaching me. I put my hands to my ears and worked my hands back and forth like the ears of a mule-eared deer. They came up to with- in ten feet of me. Poor, little, innocent, unsuspecting things! Had I been a cougar the ending would have been much different. I quietly got up and let them go on their way. They are probably wondering to this day what that thing was they discovered. I for- got. Animals do not reason or wonder. If some do not, I cannot see the difference. One day while seated on the highest peak of a very tall mountain, I thought: "It has taken me hours of hard, patient climbing to reach this point, only to look back over the route and behold the difficulties I have sui-mounted. I was at the top. The climax had been 154 Some Big Game Hunts attained on that mountain, yet there were others far- ther on. I thought if one could only pause on the high places in this life and view those not conquered and look down and behold the difficulties of the upward 'Billie" and some rams. (Photo by Manson.) British Columbia 155 climb, this moment of exaltation would in part pay for his labors and inspire him with new courage and deter- mination to continue the upward march. However, others want your view point and you must either step down on the other side or continue your labors uninter- ruptedly. Many of our best friends do not see the hardest part of our labors. The very designs of our works are soon lost sight of and the pattern, as well as the architect, is soon lost and forgotten. "Our labors are often like the pitch ladened pine faggots that burn best and brightest and give out the most radiance soon after the application of the match." The solitude one experiences on the tops of these vast mountains, when alone, makes him feel as if the very soul of his body had taken its departure and he seems to be a part of the rocks about him. I thought of the out of season sheep killing episode, while seated on this mountain. "Our evil deeds, like the smoke from the campfire, pursue us where'er we go, blinding our eyes to the many beautiful objects surrounding us." We remained at camp Seclusion several days. This was the most beautiful camp site I have ever seen. I could spend part of each year here, with much pleasure and contentment. This was a regular porcupine center. We had to hang our saddles, bridles, and in fact, every- thing left out of the tents, up on swinging limbs to keep the villians from gnawing them to pieces. It was at this camp that I had quite a little porcupine excite- ment. These animals evince no fear of man, as a rule, 156 Some Big Game Hunts and will invade his tent, unless a fire is left burning, or the tent door is kept closed. They will crawl all over your bed and your face, too, if uncovered. The year before, one had gotten into a hunter's tent and was crawling around over his head, when the hunter struck at him with his hand. Quick as a flash, "porky" slapped his tail on to his face and head, leaving eighty- five quills sticking in the skin. It was a torture to have them removed. He developed erysipelas and came near dying. I was sound asleep, one night, in my floored seven by seven by seven tent. I felt something slowly creep- ing up on my feet, then up to my knees. I thought, there is a "porky" in my tent. I must keep still. I pulled my head and neck into my sleeping bag, like a land terrapin. All the time the beast was seemingly getting nearer my head. I expected each second to feel the slap of his needled tail on my head. Great drops of cold perspiration stood out all over my body. I was afraid to hollo or move. Can you imagine a rattlesnake in bed with you, and you are expected to keep still to prevent getting bitten by the snake? Such were my feelings during the time I was being be- sieged by this varmint. I could stand it no longer. I holloed frantically, "Porky! kill him quick before he needles me." I imagined that he was going to tattoo me in good shape. Just about the time I was ready to give up, Mr. Hodges gave the pine boughs a big jerk with the string he had stretched through my tent dur- British Columbia 157 ing the day. I will always sympathize with anyone who has a porky scare as near the real thing as was this one. CHAPTER XIV. CAMP SECLUSION. MOUNTAIN GOATS AND THEIR TRAITS. KILLING GOATS. In many places we found where forest fires had swept over large areas of the country. The dry, white, flinty, lodge-pole pines stood like grim death shafts, left standing to mark the destructive march of the fire. Millions of tangled limbs and trunks were piled in masses of confusion over the giound, while the young Jack pines, like a boundless nursery, were starting a new crop of telephone poles. Traveling through, under and over this tangle of the living and the dead is attended by many falls, much difficulty, many epithets and the loss of numerous patches of clothing and epidermis. The manner in which a trained pack horse gets through this tangled skein of fallen timber is a marvel. Occasionally the ever-present axe must be taken from its holster and a few logs cut to make the route possible. Very few of the many hunters who have gone into a new country have returned without having something named after them. Some tall isolated peak is the usual favorite. I know one famous hunter who has mountains galore all over this country that have been given his name, but like the fleeting shadow of the British Columbia 159 Mt. Cordier. passing cloud, the name remains, only, while the hunter and his guide are passing. The next passing cloud will make another shadow. I have even been known to have visions of my name on the maps of the future, by the side of some, at this time, unnamed peak. So far the dream has not come true. There are enough peaks in the Rockies for all, if the Smiths and Jones are left out of the list. Near Camp Limit, there is a peak that stands out prominently from its fellows. This peak measures by aneroid, ten thousand feet above sea level. Mr. Hod- ges named this peak Mount Cordier. He did not label it as such, hence, I presume it has been divorced and has changed its name several times since we parted. Hoary old mountains, pioneers of the sky's frontier, 160 Some Big Game Hunts raised their broad shoulders and shaggy heads to dizzy heights. Their faces, wrinkled by time, climate and the storms of countless centuries, in their dotage, are crumbling and losing their grandeur. Great masses of slide rock, the evidence of decay, are to be seen on every mountain slope. These towering giants are to crumble until all canons are filled and all crags have disappeared. The cascades are peculiarly picturesque, with their sharp spire-like projections and roof pitched sides. The rocks are softer than those of our Rocky mountains, hence the constant crumbling from the above-mentioned causes. After leaving Camp Seclusion, we traveled north up a small stream to timber line. This took us to the base of Big Red Mountain, which we circled to the east and passed down the shin of the divide to a small stream, a branch of the Frazier. We had been hunting on the Bridge water' shed up to this time. A long, hard day's traveling brought us to the goat country. We passed many old camp sites, where the Indians — Lillooetins and Chilcotins — for ages had made their annual hunt- ing pilgrimage. Old and new tent poles, turkish baths — a la Siwash — and drying scaffolds all told the story, that we had been reading from day to day, of the grad- ual, but sure extermination of the fauna of that coun- try. We camped early in the most miserable and un- attractive spot of the whole trip, A forest fire had swoi)t the mountain side the year before , destroying British Columbia 161 most of the timber save a few, old, snarled pines that were battling for existence on an isolated, barren spot that the flames could not leap across. The dead trees were falling about us all night, as a storm threatened to break on us at any minute. Bonaparte felled sev- eral dead trees before striking camp that were too close for comfort or safety. We did not have bough beds that night, as we were to move early the next morning to "spy" for goat. The tangled mass of dead and fal- len bamboo-like pines was the hardest to get through 1 have evei seen. Underneath, over and on top of these "jack straws" we climbed, fell, swore and slid until I was about ready to sell out my interest in the goat pro- ject at a discount. In spite of that tangled skein, the place was full of "Camp Seclusion." 162 Some Big Game Hunts deer. No big bucks, but all does, fawns and spike bucks. The big stags remain high above timber line until the snow drives them down. In one of our breath- ing spells, I looked across the gulch and I saw five moun- tain goats, delibertly feeding, but too far for a good view without the glasses. We could make out that there was not a big billy with them. This discovery was truly encouraging, and our journey back to camp with this news made the trip much easier. The next morning we were up early and on the move to a better camp site. We found a most delightful location, just at the head of a small glacier and snugly surrounded by stately pines and firs. In the afternoon we hunted north of our camp, where we had seen the goats the evening before. We found signs in abundance, but no goats. The next day, about noon, after a disappointing and fruitless search for game, while discussing the best thing to do, I looked across the range about three miles, and in plain view with the aid of my glass I could see twenty-three moun- tain goats. We quickly saddled our horses and started in a circuitous route after them. It took about two hours of hard traveling to get to a point where we had decided to leave our horses. It was growing very dark as a storm was approaching. However, we were soon on our downward climb to the spot where we had last seen the goats. When within a few hundred yards, we discovered them, slowly moving toward the timber. Within the space of five minutes, a blinding rain and British Columbia 163 From this point we "spied" the goats. snow storm burst upon us, chilling us bodily, and dam- pening our ardor on goat hunting very much. When we reached the spot where we had a few moments ago seen the goats, not an animal could we find. We hun- ted for an hour, back and forth, over the mountain. The storm had now spent its force and the sun was shining brightly. We had just about abandoned the hunt for that day, when we discovered the goats in a little patch of underbrush not sixty yards away. In fact, we were practically surrounded by goats. We had walked right into the middle of the flock. The first goat that I saw was a big fellow, standing on a log not over thirty yards away, viewing me as complacently as the family Jersey would the approach of the milk- maid. I thought: that is a good museum specimen; 164 Some Big Game Hunts I will try not to injure the specimen for a good mount or a rug. The rug is a beauty. The three of us got seven within a few seconds and could have killed several more. We had a nice, tender kid for a gold pan bake the next day. Every pelt was saved. Of all the animals possessing the power of escape of the mountain goat, he is the most idiotic. He is a fast runner, especially down hill, but he will stand and gaze at you as stupidly as a porcupine, on many occasions, even though you are in a stone's throw of him. He is a hard animal to get acquainted with, for all his seeming docility, as his haunts are in the most remote mountain ranges and on the highest and most difficult peaks. The stupidity of these animals was illustrated by the seeming indifference of a goat to my presence, after we had killed all we wished out of this flock. After ceasing our fire, I walked to a carcass not over sixty yards away. I had been looking at it, probably five minutes, when I discovered a big goat not twenty yards from me, standing on a log, calmly surveying me, evincing no fear. I walked to within ten yards of him before he took flight. I have never seen such a reck- less, headlong, rapid, down-hill descent by any animal, as was made by that goat. His jumps were short, but very quick and directly down the mountain side, each jump in the soft, dry ashes-like earth sent up a cloud of dust and left a ragged hole like that made by a met- eor or thirteen inch solid shot. His awakening to his surroundings was as sudden as his stupid deliberations British Columbia 165 were amusing and absurd. With all the noise from our guns, the flight of his companions and the sight of man, his behavior was certainly a surprise. I can see no valid reason why any layman or natural- ist should think of classifying these animals as a spe- cies of antelope. There is absolutely no resemblance. He looks like a goat, acts like a goat, stinks like a goat and his meat tastes like goat meat. I think he is a goat as much as our familiar bill-board tomato can, suburban billy or nannie. The goat has a peculiar, India rubber-like sole to his feet, surrounded by a casing of ordinary hoof-like sub- stance. This arrangement of the feet makes him a good, safe climber, breaks the shocks of his fearless leaps and keeps the foot from splintering on the rocks. The style of whiskers the billy wears was much in A nice museum specimen. 166 Some Big Game Hunts vogue about the time Horace Greeley figured in national politics. These goats have a facial resemblance to an old-time politician. The pelage of these goats is so spotlessly white that one could easily imagine that he dressed each morning in a fresh suit, just from the laundry. He is fearless, strong of limb and will power. When once started on a course, he is apt to pursue the same in the face of seeming insurmountable difficulties and dangers. His horns are black, very sharp and average about nine inches in length and four and one-half inches in circum- ference at the base. The females have the longest horns, as a rule. A record horn, I believe, measured about twelve inches. These goats were killed in September. They were not in full winter pelage. The under coat of fine, downy wool was at its best, but the long, coarse hairs that make up the so-called "rain coat" had just begun protruding above the surface of the under coat. When in full dress, one of these old, serious billies, as he leisurely strolls across the face of some almost perpendicular ledge of rock, reminds one of a drum major, leading a funeral procession. The mountain goat is a peculiar animal. In many respects the beast disregards established standards, so often noticed in other four footed animals. His coat is of the finest, made of soft, downy wool, while his domesticated cousins, the billy and nannie, wear a coarse, hairy outer garment. The female has British Columbia 161 the longest horns and is indeed a formidable defender of her young. Even a full sized grizzly bear has been killed by this queen of butters, while protecting her young. The billies are stupid acting, though gallant Packing-a-la-Siwash . 168 Some Big Game Hunts * looking old dudes, dressed in pure white pantlets and jumper extending below the knees and elbows. Except during the mating season, "William" stays by himself, often confining his grazing range to a few hundred yards of almost grassless mountain side. You may often see him standing on some large, detached rock for hours at a time, reminding one, as he looks at him with a strong glass, of a beautifully carved Italian marble statue. The climbing ability of a mountain goat is almost beyond belief. He will scale rocky heights at almost a perpendicular angle, and is a far surer-footed animal than his big horned neighbor, Ovis Montana. His progress up the face of a steep mountain side is much slower than the big horn, but is sure and steady. He will permit you to approach him while stupidly looking at you. He will run from the scent of man much more quickly than from sight of him. CHAPTER XV. OUR LAST CAMP. SOME DEER AND GOAT HUNTING. THE BEAR WE DID NOT GET. ENGLISHMAN'S BEAR HUNT. We remained at goat camp a few days, curing skins and having a good time in general. From this camp we moved toward Lillooet, twenty miles, and camped at timber line. It is very important in selecting a camp in the cascades, to find a locality where the grass is abundant for the horses, and where you can get good water and plenty of wood. Frequent and severe wind storms are to be dreaded, hence your tents must be placed so that dead trees will not be blown down on them and so that the wind cannot blow them away. Unless you have been in one of these rushing, dry, wind storms, you cannot imagine the extent of dam- age they can do on short notice. If camp is made in a ravine approaching a mountain pass, the tents should be erected well to one side of the middle of the ravine, and preferably in a bunch of trees. While at this camp, we made frequent hunting ex- cursions to a good looking hunting ground for rams, but failed to see any. Many old signs were to be seen on every mountain top, but they were evidently made 170 Some Big Game Hunts during the winter before, as this range is much lower than big Red Mountain. We killed one fine billy while at this camp. There were plenty of deer in every direction from our camp. We found fresh venison all the time, after the open season on deer began. It was no trouble to kill a nice buck any time we wanted fresh meat. Bear hunting in British Columbia can only be carried out successfully during the spring of the year. It is then that the foliage is off the underbrush below timber line, and above that point the mountains are covered with snow. This forces the bears into the open coun- try for their food, where they can be seen by the hunter. The mad rushes of the snow avalanches sweep the mountain side clean of everything movable, leaving vast stretches of bare ground, not even any of the snow remaining. These snow slide paths are often several miles long and a quarter of a mile wide. This gives good early spring feeding ground for the bears. These animals live on a herbivorous diet most of the year, eating grass, skunk cabbage, roots, berries and tender shoots from some of the underbrush. They never re- fuse meat when they can get it and will dig up and devour ground squirrels and mice. Their favorite diet during the summer is salmon. While at this camp I saw some very large tracks made by grizzlies. One day, while sitting on the moun- tain side near the foot of a long snow slide, I heard a noise as though some heavy animal were slowly ap- British Columbia 171 preaching in the underbrush. Presently I saw the back of a brown, or cinnamon colored black bear above the willow tops in the snow slide. As he emerged from this underbrush into a little opening, I fired at him, twice. The second shot he went down and remained quite still. I thought I had killed him. I leisurely stepped off the distance to my supposed dead bear, it being one hundred and eighty-six yards. When I arrived at the spot where he was lying when last seen, there was no bear to be found, but evidence of where he had dragged himself over the avalanche drift wood was plainly to be seen. I looked about for some time, but failed to locate him. I have long since placed a much higher value on my own hide than on that of a bear. To follow that wounded bear into the underbrush alone and six miles away from the camp, just at dark, was not, in my judgment, a wise thing to do. I returned to the camp highly elated, as I was sure that I would get that bear early the next morning. Mr. Hodges accompanied me early the next day to the place where I had left the trail of the wounded bear. We looked for him, faithfully, for several hours, but never found him. The hunting country about Lillooet is a vast country, but I am sorry to say that as a desirable place in which to have successful hunting trip, I cannot endorse it. There is a class of mountains there that are hard to negotiate. The country is hunted to death by sports- men from all over the world. The Indians kill for 172 Some Big Game Hunts sport, for sustenance, for the skins to make clothing and foot gear, and for the fur market. Guides with a long and varied experience meet many peculiar types of hunters. "Billy" related to me this bear story: "An Englishman of the snobbish 'remittance' type came to British Columbia, one spring, for a grizzly bear hunt. He insisted on being called 'Lord' So and So. This, within itself, was somewhat of a bore to 'Bill,' as he had no use for these snobs, as he termed them, of English nobility. The 'Lord' had all the par- aphernalia for elephant and 'rhino' hunting, and in- sisted on taking tables, chairs and beds with him into the mountains on the hunt. Anyone who has been on a long journey over the trails and virgin passes of the Cascades in the early spring will fully realize the im- portance of tiaveling 'light.' At this time of the year the streams are swollen and full of ice and the sides of the mountains are a mass of slush aud soft, sliding snow. "Well, we finally reached the bear country and I felt sure we would get good sport, as fresh signs were to be seen on every slide. "We had been in camp only two days, when I spied a big grizzly bear on a slide two miles away. We headed for him. The 'Lord' had two big elephant rifles with him that I had to carry. We worked our way up the mountain to a good position, with the wind from the bear directly toward us. It looked favorable British Columbia 173 for this amateur hunter to bag a grizzly. I placed him on a favorable location and warned him to keep quiet and on the lookout for the bear, as I would go below the bear where he would get wind of me and drive him toward the 'Lord's" stand. I left him and cautiously worked my way below the point where I had last seen the bear. When I got into a favorable position to peep over a little knoll I was much surprised to see three full gi'own, grizzly bears headed directly toward the Englishman, a half mile away. I waited in breathless suspense for the report of his gun. Bang! bang! came the reports of ten shots in quick succession. I hur- riedly climbed the mountain toward him, all the while repeating to myself, 'A fool for luck, a fool for luck,' as I expected to find him by the side of three dead griz- zlies, a feat very few hunters have ever performed on grizzlies. When within a hundred yards of him, I could hear him shouting, but could not understand what he was saying, but felt sure he had bagged the flock of bears. When within fifty yards of him, I saw him standing on a pile of avalanche driftwood twenty feet high, with his hat off, yelling at the top of his voice, 'Congrat- ulations, congratulations! Hi succeeded. Hi succeeded!' I holloed to him, 'Where are they? How many did you kill?' 'Oh, Hi did not kill any of them! Hi suc- ceeded in scaring the whole lot away.' He had fired every shot into the air, frightening the bears away, and was much surprised at my actions 174 Some Big Game Hunts when I threw that table away — you see the remains over there — packed up and pulled out for home, where I dismissed myself from the Englishman's service." While in Lillooet, Mr. Hodges pui chased a musical instrument of unknown ancestry and much discord, from a half-crazed, love-sick Chinaman. This pur- chase created much amusement on our way home, as Mr. Hodges was frequently importuned to play a few pieces, but was usually excused when he stated that he was carrying the instrument home for the doctor. ALASKA CHAPTER XVI. KODIAK ISLAND, ALASKA, HUNTING TRIP. SCENES AND INCIDENTS EN ROUTE. I had hunted and bagged a specimen of about all the big game in the United States and Canada, and in looking about for a new territory in which to hunt I was not long in deciding on Kodiak Island, off the pen- insula of Alaska, as the next objective point. It is away off on this island, over two thousand miles north and west of Seattle, that the largest and most powerful carnivorous animal in the world is to be found. The Kodiak brown bear (ursus mittendorff) is found only on this island and the nearby Kenai Alaskan penin- sula. I had corresponded with a guide on Uyak Bay for a year, making arrangements for this hunt. Frank Hod- ges, a genuine hunter and true sportsman, was to be my hunting companion. When the time arrived for our departure, April 15th, he was feeling bad, but de- cided to accompany me as far as Seattle, hoping that he would get better before we reached this point, but much to my disappointment and sorrow, he became much worse, and his symptoms became so grave that I was compelled to remove him to a Seattle hospital and operate on him for an abscess of the liver. After 178 Some Big Game Hunts Kodiak Alaska. {Photo by J. E. T.) staying with him a few days, until the danger period was passed, I continued my journey toward Kodiak Island. While in Seattle, I met Mr. Alvord, as good a hunter as ever crossed or followed a trail. At my invitation, he accompanied me on the hunt, and to him is due much credit for the success of the trip. He is a good shot, cool and brave in time of danger, be it on the ocean in a storm or on the trail of a wounded bear. I am often asked why I go so far to hunt bear and other big game. My answer usually is: "Because there are no Kodiak brown bear, British Columbia mountain goat and grizzlies, or New Brunswick moose in Missouri, or Kansas, and besides, I get as much, or more, out of my traveling to and from the hunting Alaska 179 grounds as the average tourist who whiles away his time on the sleeper or in his stateroom playing draw poker or solitaire." From Kansas City to Seattle is a journey as varied in temperature, altitude and fertility as any to be found in a like distance on this continent. The beautiful blue grass lawns and bright, warm, April sunshine of Missouri were in striking contrast with the barren sand dunes, sage brush and stunted cedar foothills and snow storms of Wyoming and Montana. Through Mon- tana we passed thousands of oval and rounded topped mounds with cattle-path-terraced sides, reminding one of the fanciful pictures of the foot-path sides of the Tower of Babel. After passing through Missoula, Mon- tana, we entered the two million acre reservation of the remaining Flat Head Indians. The valley is a beautiful, broad expanse of fertile land, surrounded by a low range of wooded mountains. I thought at the time that this piece of land was the most fertile and inviting of any tract that I had ever known the govern- ment to set aside for the Indians. My surprise at the nation's generosity was soon dispelled, when I learned that the reservation would soon be opened to white man's settlement. Ravalli, a little railroad station in this reservation, is the point from which the last, wild herd of native buffalo was shipped. While our national law-makers were asleep, in as far as concerns the preservation of the remnant of our vast herd of buffalo, the Canadian 180 Some Big Game Hunts government, acting on the advice of Alexander Ayotte, purchased from Mitchel Pablo his six hundred head of buffalo, and shipped them from Ravalli, Montana, to a reservation near Fort Saskatchawan. Pablo re- ceived over two hundred thousand dollars for the herd. Vast herds of cattle were grazing on the sparse grass and sedge brush on the unlimited ranges of Wyoming and Montana. Many dead cattle, which had frozen during the winter, were piled against the wire fences or in canons. As we passed one carcass, eight coyotes slunk away up the hillside, reminding one of the African hyena, with his fondness for the refuse of other and bra- ver flesh eating animals. On a little barren knoll within a few hundred yards of the spot on which gallant Custer and his brave little band were massacred by the Indians under Old Sitting Bull is a solitary Indian grave marked by a rudely constructed monument of cobble stones. A silent mockery, so to speak, of the greatness of this daring soldier and his memories. The last resting-place of this great soldier and the brave men who fought and died with him is marked by a granite shaft, surrounded by white marble slabs arranged in methodical manner, many of which are unmarked. This battle was indeed one of many sac- rifices, but was in reality the beginning of the end of the Indian warfare, as no great battles have been fought with the red man since. The days of his kind are surely numbered. He must either become a "good Alaska 181 Indian" or become extinct. The latter solution seems to be his doom. I witnessed a scene near the Crow agency that por- trayed the mingling of the old and the new Indian. Near a modern-constructed frame dwelling, I saw an Indian tepee. In front of the house a young buck was polishing the brasses on his automobile, while his squaw was viewing a passing train with a high-power field glass. An old warrior with his feet in moccasins was polishing a pair of buffalo horns, while an old, wrinkled squaw was tanning a coyote skin. The latter scene was one of pathos and a parting of the old and the new. A resolving picture of disappearing primitive life and initiatory modern civilization. Near the Custer battle field we saw eight coyotes, the hyenas of the prairies, slinking away from the rail- road right-of-way. Their sly, treacherous and stealthy nature was portrayed in their every movement. Hunted to the very verge of extinction, these wild dogs are ever on the lookout for their enemy. It is marvelous how they have survived man's intrusion on their domain. They are prolific breeders and can live on a little fresh air and a few grasshoppers for a long time. CHAPTER XVII. ON BOARD THE STEAMSHIP OHIO, THROUGH THE FAMOUS "inside PASSAGE" ALONG THE ALASKAN COAST. On April 24th, we started from Seattle on the Steam- ship Ohio, a boat three hundred and sixty feet long, with an iron hull. A fairly good boat, but a little out of date. This boat was formerly an Atlantic liner, owned, I was told, by the Star Company. I learned it was in this same boat that General U. S. Grant, in 1876, made part of his famous tour of the world. In my fancy, I could hear the roar of the cannon's salute, still echoing in her staterooms, as the boat with her brave soldier and honered statesman dropped anchor at the ports of the world. I could see the crowned heads of all nations, as they advanced to welcome their honored guest. I thought how time has wrought many changes, and I realized fully these changes when I looked forward and beheld the thirteen hundred head of live sheep in four deep tiers of cages above deck, and fully two hun- dred quarters of slaughtered steers hanging around the promenade deck. The people of Alaska must have fresh meat or scurvy. They very sensibly choose the former. To anyone accustomed to rapid transit, be it by Alaska 183 automobile, Atlantic liner or limited express train, his patience will surely be taxed while making the vast distance along the Alaskan coast, on the creeping-like slowness of the coast boats. The first one you start on seems slow enough, the next you think is the limit, then comes "beyond the limit" and at last the finish. But why should we hurry? The world is moving fast and we should go slowly if we want to be long here. To the tourist, a trip on one of the well equipped boats making the run from Seattle to Skagway, Juneau and Sitka is a pleasure ever enjoyed, and will amply repay one for the time and money spent. If one lets his journey end here and turns his face toward home, he has not yet begun to see Alaska, with all her beauties and wonders. Sitka may be appropriately termed the gateway or ticket office to the big show beyond. The stage settings of this vast arena are indeed gor- geous, marvelous and superbly grand. They represent the ceaseless work for countless eons of those indefatig- able sculptors and painters of nature's most marvelous scenery. These artisans included among their toilers, the gods; Vulcan, Neptune and others: All past masters in their specialties. Here are the stage settings just as they left them, with no effacements from the hands of the despoilers, such as saw mills, railroads, sky scrapers, flats, business blocks and factories. One cannot travel along in front of the footlights without pausing in pro- found admiration at these wonders of wonders, think- 184 Some Big Game Hunts ing how long this preformance had been going on and how rarely had human eyes gazed on the scene. The scene is cold and uninviting, yet there is a grandeur and a sublimity about it that holds one spell-bound before its mesmeric and enchanted charms. It would seem that here old Mother Earth had passed her three score and ten ; that her poor old countenance had been wrinkled and furrowed by the ravages of time and trouble and that the snow god in his commiseration had taken pity on her and had drawn a shroud of the purest white over the departed beauty of her dying face. Death was surely terrible on this battle field of fire and water. The unbroken procession of these shrouded old monarchs, as one passes them, grows monotonous and one longs for the boundless prairies Sitka. It was here on October ISth, 1867, the stars and stripes supplanted the Russian flag. Alaska 185 of Kansas or the bounteous blue grass pastures of Ken- tucky with their grazing herds. As you go along these rock-bound shores, a vast pan- orama unrolls before you; here you have towering snow- capped peaks, distorted, gnashed and furrowed moun- tain sides, abysses, empty or perchance filled with river- like, slowly moving glaciers. On first beholding scenes like this, the effect is one of exquisite delight and pro- found admiration, but you tire of the monotony, after following the shore line for two thousand miles. In passing through Georgian Bay, we did not see a whale; this is a favorite feeding ground for these mam- mals, later in the season. The water in this bay during the early evening was beautifully phosphorescent. As we passed through Queen Charlotte Sound, a run of four hours, the boat rolled from the side swells so that a number of the passengers refused to take any interest in the bill of fare. In fact, I know of two or three hunters who tried the dried beef and codfish remedy for sea sickness. Even now, as a physician, I would hesitate to recommend either as a curative or prophylactic remedy. Our boat was too large to go through Wrangle Nar- rows, hence we steamed around the north end of Prince of Wales Island. During the night, here, we also struck some swells that caused the boat to roll badly. While going up on the steamer, we met four bear hunters, Mr. Hillis, of Oregon, Mr. King, of California, Judge Williams and Dr. Anderson of Colorado. They 186 Some Big Game Hunts were a jolly lot, and the bear and other hunting stories, as recited while visiting in each others staterooms would fill a volume. Each day we formed a line of march for exercise on deck, with the Judge as leader, inviting all on board who desired to join in. Frequently, we had in line, including a number of ladies, an unbroken circle about the deck, necessitating taking the lock step. This part of the performance usually brought all the married men into the procession with their wives. "Marching through Georgia" and other old-fashioned songs were usually sung during this "stomp" dance around the deck. This grand march was kept up until three miles was walked, both in the forenoon and after- noon. On our up-trip on the Ohio, I was informed that we had on board about six hundred passengers, many of whom were going to Cordovia to work on the Copper River railroad. Think of it! Six hundred passengers on board a steamer with a life saving boat capacity of only two hundred. Somebody would have drowned, had the boat gone down. After leaving Juneau, we steamed down Douglas Straight around Douglas Island and into Icy Strait. These boats are not expected to go through these dan- gerous gauntlets of icebergs, except in clear weather, or by daylight. However, we steamed through these frozen masses in a fog at midnight. A number of times the boat was dangerously near some large bergs, but missed them. Alaska 187 Icebergs floated lazily to their death. On our return trip, I had the pleasure of viewing this grand possession of the off shoots of Muir Glacier, by daylight. Many icebergs of all sizes and shapes with snow white crowns and robes of turquoise blue, bedecked in myriads of the purest of pure white diamond-like cry- stals, floated lazily in the sparkling liquid blue waters of the sea, to their death. From their long imprison- ment, these sparkling, frozen, icy particles burst forth in the flood of sunlight with a splendor indescribably beautiful. Add to the scene the constant roar of the glaciers cannonading and the fall of the advance ice barricade guard from the persistant onslaught of the merciless ocean waves, and the scene is truly one of a battle to the death, with the Pacific and time as the victors. 188 Some Big Game Hunts The scene from a distance reminded me of a slowly moving flock of sheep, being driven across a vast, blue grass pasture. The bergs had just been driven by the tide through the gateway into Glacier Bay, on their journey from Muir Glacier to Icy Strait. This glacier, with a frontage two miles wide and one thousand feet deep, is one of the most beautiful in the world. It is receding at the rate of about two miles in ten years, according to a recent estimate of John Muir. After passing Cape Spencer we entered the Northern Pacific ocean, our next destination being Cordovia. There existed a vast solitude on the Northern Pacific Ocean on calm, moonlight nights, as our boat was noise- lessly propelled through the smooth water. Now and then some night bird prowler, with an unknown voice, to me, would call to his mate, as he whirled past the boat, or perchance, on some drifting iceberg some wing- tired birds had found a resting place. CHAPTER XVIII. THROUGH ICY STRAIT IN A NORTHERN PACIFIC STORM ON A FOGGY NIGHT, ON BOARD A SHIP WITH A BROKEN RUDDER CHAIN. From Cape Spencer northwest it is thirty-six hours run to Cape St. Elias. From this cape on the south- west shore of Kayak Island, dangerous hidden reefs jut out into the ocean for five miles, then there is a deep and safe gap five or six miles in width, extending to another chain of dangerous rocks. In going from Cape Spencer to Cordovia, Cape St. Elias is the land mark pointing out the deep water through which it is safe for boats to go. From this point a new log reckoning is started to Cape Henchenbrook, sixty miles farther northwest. Neither of these dangerous reefs are marked by a lighthouse, buoy or other warning signals. Steamers going through this safe, five mile wide channel in the night or in a dense fog, must depend on their reckoning and the distance traveled from the log reading, both unreliable in a fog, storm, or high, swift running tide. A drift to either side during the thirty- six hours time from Cape Spencer or the over running of the log reading may mean the missing of the safe channel and wrecking of the boat. On our up trip we arrived at this part of our ocean 190 Some Big Game Hunts journey at about one o'clock at night in a heavy fog and a terrific storm. The waves were almost dashing into the smoke stacks. Our boat was carrying over thirteen hundred head of live sheep in four-story pens built on the front of the boat almost to the top of the smoke stacks, and there were at least two hundred quarters of slaughtered cattle, hanging from iron hooks strung from the eaves of the hurricane deck, completely obstructing the view of the ocean from the doors and windows of our staterooms, all of which open out on the promenade deck. When we arrived in what the captain thought was the vicinity of Cape St. Elias, the storm and fog were at their worst. The pilot could not see his usual guiding landmarks and to complicate the situation, the distance traveled according to the log reading was far beyond Cape St. Elias, a situation not at all to be desired. The captain decided to head for the open ocean or safe waters until morning, or until the storm subsided. In attempting to make this turn, the chain controlling the rudder parted and control of the steamer was completely lost. The boat, one minute, would roll about in the trough of the high running seas, the next instant the fore part of the boat would rise like a great monster drawing itself over lofty mountain heights, only to take a plunge in the valley just beyond the summit. Oh, how utterly insignificant and helpless one feels in an ocean storm, with the very safe-guard of his life being tossed and toyed with by the merciless Alaska 191 waves, as a cat would play with a mouse! The machin- ery had ceased, except the chug! chug! of the water pumps. The ship was completely dark, save an occasional lantern, like a jack-o-lantern or a phosphorescent ball of fire moving about slowly, or like a giant lightning bug on a misty, foggy night. The orders could be faintly heard above the splash and roar of the towering waves. Add to all this noise and confusion the pathe- tic bleating of thirteen hundred sheep, and the screech- ing of night birds, and it would tend to make the strong- est and most courageous feel that — well, dry land is a good place to be on in a storm. A cyclone cellar will not sink and drown you. The quarters of beef began falling on deck and as the boat would stand on end, a few hundred pounds of raw meat would take a flight downward along the prom- enade deck, converting it into a ten pin alley, using the other hanging quarters for the pins, knocking them down dozens at a time. This skidding meat was a danger to be avoided by the officers and crew who were trying to get to the rudder chain to repair it. In an hour or two it was repaired, and much to the surprise of the officers, they discovered Cape Hinchenbrook, sixty miles beyond the dangerous reef they were afraid of during the night. They had actually piloted the boat so accurately for thirty-six hours that she steamed through a space of safe water only five miles wide, and that too, in a dense fog and storm of no little fury. 192 Some Big Game Hunts "All is well that ends well," but do not try it too often. All the while the wind was howling, the boat tossing and the waves dashing overboard, the wireless instru- ment that was located exactly over my stateroom kept up a constant buzzing, as the operator called, time and again, first "A. N.-Cordovia," then "-S. O.-Catilla." The persistent calling of the wireless would naturally arouse the suspicions of the most confiding, in the midst of such a storm, on a vessel with a broken rudder chain, with the boat drifting dangerously near hidden reefs. I wondered what he was saying, and fully resolved to learn the wireless code. I was dreadfully anxious to see a piece of Kansas City's dry soil, about that time. In fact, I resolved to eat a piece of Missouri River mud pie on my return. We learned the next day at Cordovia that the "Jenie," a good-sized steamer loaded with explosives, had broken her propeller shaft while near Cape St. Elias during the same storm. The steamer "Bertha" was also near us. The latter boat took charge of the Jenie and towed her to Cordovia, and from there to Seattle for repairs. The steamship Ohio, two months later, sank near Wrangle, Alaska. The wreck of the steamer Ohio, August 3rd, 1909, recalls a peculiar string of accidents to the five trans- port steamers carrying the third expedition of troops that sailed from San Francisco to the Philippines, as a part of General Merritt's army. There were five ships. Of this number, four have been wrecked and Alaska 193 lost: The Indiana, Morgan City, Valencia, City of Para and the Ohio. The expedition was commanded by the now ranking officer of the army, General Mac- Arthur. The Morgan City was lost in Japanese waters, the Indiana was lost off the shore of South America, the Valencia was wrecked near Seattle, with terrible loss of life. Soma of the passengers hung to the rigging for days, with help in sight, but unable to reach them. The Ohio has had a career of accidents. In 1908, she was •caught in the ice on Bering Sea, near Nome, and im- prisoned for forty-five days. She has been gutted by fire. The sinking of the Ohio, like a faithful officer, dead at his post, is a fitting termination of the old, faithful iron-clad. I do not like to think what would have happened to the six hundred and eighty passengers on the night of the terrific storm near Cape St. Elias, when the rudder chain parted. Had she struck a reef that night no one would have been saved. The official report, in part, of Captain Johnson, of the Ohio, is given below: "There was a strong wind from the southeast, and the weather was very dirty. I went below at midnight and was relieved by Captain Snow, the pilot. Later I was called, as the storm was getting worse. The Ohio undoubtedly struck one of these pinnacled rocks which are being discovered from time to time in the Alaskan waters. There are many of these dangers to 194 Some Big Game Hunts navigation which are not chartered, and the only way in which they are brought to notice is under circum- stances similar to this, when a good ship is wrecked." CHAPTER XIX. CORDOVIA, VALDEZ, SEWARD, SEAL ROCKS, COOK'S IN- LET, MOUNT MCKINLEY. It was raining very hard when we landed at Cor- dovia. The wharf looked like a parade on which was being held a Goodyear rubber and umbrella picnic. Everybody had on gum coats, gum hats, rubber boots — many of the ladies had on rubber boots — rubber gloves and oiled umbrellas. I actually saw two bulldogs with mackintoshes on their backs, their ugly faces frowning at you from under celluloid eye shields and isinglass goggles. I asked one thoroughly insulated individual how long it had been raining. He replied, "Only two weeks, this time.' I asked him it if rained all the time there that way. He replied, "No, it snows like hell, sometimes." This town is having quite a little boom at this time, owing to the Guigenheim interest pushing the Copper River railroad to some valuable copper property one hundred and fifty miles up the Copper River. The town is built on moss beds, trunda and glacial mor- aines. The streets were full of slush and snow banks many feet high. The gold fever is a peculiar disease — one in which a single attack does not bring with it immunity from 196 Some Big Game Hunts subsequent spells. In fact, when once contracted, it is very hard to make it let up at all. On our boat were two men over eighty years old, both "forty-niners," still seeking the "lucky strike," inveterate gamblers in life's pursuits, taking the loser's end with no regrets, but resolved to try again. They were going west to look for gold on the Aleutian Islands. Both were hale and happy and "sure to find it this time." After remaining in Cordovia a number of hours, and unloading supplies and railroad laborers, the boat steamed off for Valdez, our next stop. This trip was made in a few hours. Valdez is located at the head of Port Valdez, a beau- tiful fiord about twelve miles long. As the boat steams up this irresistibly enchanting bay the mountain peaks Cordovia. The ocean terminus of the Copper River Railroad. {Photo by J. E. T.) Alaska 197 seem to be in pairs, methodically arranged, one lifting its marbleized spire into the sky, while its reflected companion dips its head to the very depths of the mer- cury-like coated bottom of the bay. Valdez, the rival of Seward and the origin of a rail- road of a few miles in extent, is the ocean end of the three hundred and eighty-six miles, Fairbanks trail. The town is built on a glacial deposited moraine at the head of Valdez Bay. The town, while showing evidence of some thrift, presented an appearance, in a general way, of decay. Many dilapidated and vacant store rooms marked the departure of merchants in all depart- ments. Valdez is our most northern Pacific port, and is the nearest to the pole of any port in the world, remaining unobstructed by ice the whole year. Here we unloaded our cargo of sheep. The poor brutes were a sorry look- ing lot. The owner was going to drive them across the mountains to Fairbanks, a distance of three hundred and eighty-six miles. I fear some poor mutton was delivered to the meat eaters of Fairbanks. Fort Lis- cum, across Valdez Bay, is a two-company post, gar- risoned by a portion of the Twenty-second United States Infantry under the command of Captain Strit- zinger. This is a peaceable country, and I am at a loss to know how the soldiers pass their time in this lonely fort. I was told that the officers usually spent "steamer night" in Valdez, this being a night of balls and other festivities, especially the latter. A Copper River native. (Photo, by unknown.) Alaska 199 From Valdez to Seward is a journey of eighteen hours. At Seward we took the Dora for Uyak. We staid in Seward thirty-six hours. I presume to help the hotels and restaurants, as I could see no reason why the Dora did not pull out the next morning after we arrived. We were only too glad to stay and visit with these good, kind-hearted people. While there we targeted our rifles and witnessed some marvelous trick rifle and pis- tol shooting by Mr. Hillis, one of the crack shots and big game hunters of the United States. Mr. King and Mr. Hillis were also on their way to Kodiak Island for a bear hunt. As we approached the entrance to Resurrection Bay a rock projecting from the water presented the ap- pearance of two giant elephants, belly deep in the surf, with their heads together, engaged in deadly conflict. This resemblance was made more real by a hole through the rock just under that portion of the rock resembling the heads of two elephants. On May 5th, we landed at Seward on the north shore of Resurrection Bay. I do not know why this beau- tiful body of land-locked and smooth water should be named Resurrection Bay, as it is far from suggesting a burial site or a ship's graveyard. Paradise Harbor would have been a more appropriate name. It is here that one is quickly relieved of all sea sickness. The waters in this eighteen miles of placid seclusion, as your boat steams through the narrow and rock-guarded entrance to the bay, become so quiet that those on 200 Some Big Game Hunts board can easily imagine that the boat has dropped anchor or tied up to some quiet river wharf. This bay is the most beautiful body of water it has ever been my good fortune to look upon. The snow capped peaks four thousand feet high that completely surround the bay as you look at them, inter- spersed with deep ravines filled with glaciers, reflected from the deep blue bay water, form a picture the like of which will not be found at any other place on earth. The water looks so smooth that one can easily imagine that the mermaids had just gone ovei its surface and polished it with the finest of finishing powder, and that the water nymphs had completed their work by giving it a French plate mirror reflecting surface. The pic- ture cannot be described. When the ocean is being tossed by storm and the billows are running high, a few of the more daring waves will venture into this bay, but their energy is quickly expended and no danger is ever inflicted by theii faint endeavors. The tide runs so high in Resurrection Bay that the gravelly beach near the wharf at low tide at Seward was made to act as a dry dock for the Dora, on our re- turn, to save the boat from sinking on her arrival with her extra load of shipwrecked humanity and badly leaking hull. Seward is truly a haven of rest. It is there that one must leave the larger boats of the Northwestern Steam- ship Company and take the little Dora, if he is going Alaska 201 farther west than Kodiak. After the trip across the "open ocean," for forty-eight hours, many are only too glad to get ashore and eat a meal without the table "dash-board" rubbing their wrists raw. The trip along the shore reminds one very much of a malarial or relapsing fever. At each stopping place your ills intermit for the length of time you are at the wharf, only to relapse as soon as your boat makes a turn beyond the point into the open ocean. From Seward, one may within a few days reach, on the main land, the sportsman's dreamland. There are many thousand square miles of unexplored territory, teeming with big game of all kinds found in Alaska: bear, moose, sheep, goat, caribou and many small fur bearing animals. Seward and Valdez are bitter rivals, and this little Seivard, on beautiful Rcaurcction Bay. {Photo by J, E, T.) 202 Some Big Game Hunts story is told by a Sewardite, about the ladies of Valdez. When asked by Miss Gordon to a most delightful, little dinner party, I inquired if it were a full dress affair, and was informed that it was to be very informal, as the people of Seward liked to be home-like on all occasions — and I assure you that I found them the most hos- pitable people I have ever met — but that the ladies in wet and rainy Valdez took off their gum boots and put on their slippers on such occasions. Gum boots on all feet and all occasions at Valdez are the very essence of good judgment and propriety. It rains and then rains some more — when not snowing, at Valdez. We left Seward at 6 A. M. on May 4th. As we steamed out into the Pacific from Resurrection Bay, I I felt as if I were leaving a true, old friend and was to deal with a treacherous unknown. We arrived at Homer — far from being poetical — at 8 A. M. on the 5th, after crossing Kachemak Bay from Seldovia. There is a coal mine here, but the coal is of a poor grade and a bad steam-making quality. While crossing the bay we saw many white whales. I tried my rifle on a few of them, but they paid no attention to my shots. During the night of May 4th, the Dora stopped at Port Graham and Seldovia. After leaving Homer we steamed along the west coast of the bay, heading toward Cook's Inlet. We passed a number of active volcanoes. Illiamnia, twelve thousand feet high, is the largest, but St. Augustine, situated in the bay, is the most per- Alaska 203 feet and symmetrical volcanic cone in the' world. It reminds one of a great, inverted morning glory, four thousand feet high and six miles across its base, its apex emitting steam that curls heavenward in the cold and crisp morning air like a great, climbing vine, the root of which is beyond the sky dome. Two volcanic up-lifts a few miles from the entrance to Resurrection Bay are the homes of many sea lions. These ponderous missing links between mammal and fish attain prodigious size. Some of the old bulls weigh as much as two tons. When within a few miles of these islands all on board the Dora appeared on deck to witness the sight of sights. Even those who from anticipating sea sickness had taken to their berths could not resist the desire to see real seal rocks and their hosts. It was indeed a grand and unique sight. The captain blew the whistle. It was the signal for the turning loose of a thousand of, the most unearthly, discordant sounds to which I have ever listened. The rocky benches for a hundred feet above the water were literally studded with these ungainly beasts. They were greatly alarmed and bewildered at the sound of the whistle and the sight of the little Dora, as she approached to within a half mile of their rookery. Many of them seemed to be panic stricken, confused and undecided what was best to do, while others made graceful head dives from great heights into the dashing surf below. The big, old bulls could be distinctly seen 204 Some Big Game Hunts towering above the lesser males and females, in the most defiant and aggressive attitudes possible for a monarch among sea lions to assume. All the while the terrific fog horn-like bellowing was kept up by those remaining on shore. We steamed by, leaving them in their seclusion and sea lion glory to await the ap- proach of the Dora, for a little diversion a month later. As we passed these volcanic island uplifts or rem- nants of towering mountains, their shelving sides, Scenery of enchanting beauty. Alaska 205 ridge pole tops and over-hanging eaves reminded me of a densely populated pigeon roost or crow rookery. Thousands of gulls, sea parrots and birds unknown to me were perched in military rows of precision, and again in mob-like confusion, circled about the mast. A few, perchance, remained as if they were indifferent to our invasion, reminding one of museum specimens with their sphynx-like stoicism. From Seward to Seldovia we saw a number of whales, mostly of the finback variety. A few hump-backs were seen at a distance of half a mile. The finback whale can be recognized by the shape of head and arch- ing of back and by the difference in the shape of the back fin, as well as by the high, narrow spout that disappears so slowly. The humpback's spout is a low, bushy, quickly dissolving one. Great flocks of sea birds will follow in the wake of whales, feeding on the refuse, herring and little shrimp, the food of the whales. These schools of shrimp when near the surface give the water a pinkish hue. On one of my Alaskan trips I had the rare opportunity of witnessing a terrific battle between a humpback whale and a "thrasher" whale, or possibly a "killer." I watched this battle between this Goliath and the David of the deep for an hour, as the steamer slowly moved past them. I could see the terrible engine-like plun- ges of the whale, in his despairing and frightened efforts to shake off his relentless enemy. He would throw his huge body completely out of the water, striking fran- 206 Some Big Game Hunts tically with his vast expanse of tail fins at his assailant. His antagonist, all the while, striking him from all sides. They were still fighting when last seen from a distance of five miles or more. Shoals of dolphin would occasionally run races with the boat. Often one would get directly under the prow and act as though playing pilot. Porpoises in herds frequently scampered about our boat, rolling, bounding out of the water, diving through waves and across the swells from the steamer. These mammals, like the dolphins, give birth to offspring and nurse and care for their young in a very tender and motherly way. I have often wondered how whales communicate with each other while they are scattered over a large area of the ocean. If one makes a turn to the east or west the whole herd quickly follows him, as though some wireless message had passed from one to another. They are all following the same school of herring and these fish are moving in the same direction. As we steamed across Cook's Inlet from Homer to Illiamnia, we occasionally got a view of Mount Mc- Kinley and the active volcano. Redoubt, the former being the bone of contention between Dr. Frederick A. Cook and Edward Barrille. The later history is too familiar to all to bear repeating. Time and the efforts of others may yet disprove the claims of Dr. Cook in regard to his ascent of the mountain. These frontiersmen of the upper cloud world in their Alaska 207 vast solitude present an enchantment that is irresis- tible on first view, and even now, though many thous- and miles away, their grandeur haunts me in my fancies. In the presence of these stupendous uplifts, towering thousands of feet into space, one is made to feel his utter insignificance and littleness. Here one sees altitudes in their true value, rising as these vast ranges do, from the very spot on which your boat is anchored, many thousand feet, within a few miles of the shore line. Mount McKinley, the crowning glory, the ice and snow-bound capping stone of the dome of our continent, with its apex lifted heavenward twenty thousand three hundred ninety feet, is only seventy- Seldovio. II «'((N from lliix place Dr. F. A. Cook (lit