THE ORBGON SPORTSMAN Lao 
A BEAR HUNT IN THE COLUMBIA RIVER 
COUNTRY 
Written by J. B. Hunt, as Narrated by Cec1t Horman, Hood River, Oregon. 
The oaks had just begun to throw off their summer garb, the 
acorns lay beneath them, and the air had that touch of harshness about 
it which bespoke the fact that winter was drawing near. Hunting 
stories were being swapped in the little country stores, when H. S. 
Currans and A. Archer, two young men from far-away Michigan, 
landed in the little town of Hood River, Ore. The October breeze 
played through the great pines and seemed to whisper to them of the 
pleasures of a bear hunt among the hills that girded the Columbia. 
So, after listening to the stories told, and the offer from Bill Currans, 
who had seen the productions of the forests of Washington and 
Oregon, the three made it up to get Cecil Holman, a young man 
who had been raised in this part of the country, and who enjoyed a 
trip through the rugged hills of his native country for the pleasure 
of hunting, and also to show the Hastern boys that it was a pleasure 
to show them that a boy raised in the far West knew how to appreciate 
a request made by a friend. So, promising to be with them for the 
hunt on the next day, the Currans boys, along with their friend, A. 
Archer, betook themselves to Viento, a small station a few miles 
from Hood River, to get things in readiness for the trip, as Bill said 
he had some cordwood to load before he could get away. 
Bright and early on the morning of October 12th saw Cecil Holman 
drop from the train at the little station of Viento with his old ‘“‘Queen 
Ann,” as he called his old 803 Savage, and his two favorite pups and 
an old hound that he took along on account of his hunting qualities 
to teach the younger dogs the art of bear trailing. The cordwood was 
not yet loaded, so Cecil concluded that he needed a little exercise, and 
made a good fellow by throwing cordwood all day. When evening 
came they sat and told stories of the great grizzlies and silver-tips 
they had heard inhabited the mighty Baldy, a peak or high hill that 
rises above its surroundings on the opposite side of the old Columbia, 
over in Skamania County, Washington. After talking until all could 
imagine they were standing in one of the big ravines on “Old Baldy,” 
with a big grizzly lying dead at their feet, they went to their nice 
warm beds to dream of bear hunts and of how they were mixed up 
with a bit of romance in Michigan. Anyhow, on the following morning 
they fixed up their bundles and went to the river to catch a boat that 
would convey them to their happy hunting grounds, never once think- 
ing that it was the 13th day of the month and an unlucky day, but 
as the day the deed, and it was not until three hours after that they 
were relieved of their distress of mind, when Captain Foster, with his 
little steamer “Pearl,” landed them upon the other side of the “Ameri- 
can Rhine” (the Columbia River). They started up the hill and, being 
in a hurry, overtook the game warden, who, being a good-natured 
fellow, had them climb into the wagon and dropped them out at the 
Oregon Lumber Company’s mill on condition that they would supply 
themselves with hunters’ licenses. In the getting of the hunters’ 
licenses and changing of thoughts, they came to the realization that 
they had no frying pan to cook bear meat in. After puzzling their 
minds on what to do, still not thinking that it was the 138th, they at 
last solved the question by borrowing one of Mr. Cooper at the mill. 
After packing the pan away, they started on their journey. After trav- 
eling about four miles up-grade, they met Ben Beels, who had more 
