A GROUSE HUNT IN THE TRINITY MOUTAINS. 



D. S. BALLARD. 



A 50-mile drive behind Burke's mare 

 took him and me to Bridgeville. The fol- 

 lowing morning found us 011 our way 

 farther into the mountains. Two saddle 

 horses and one pack horse, 2 shot guns and 

 a rifle, with the necessary articles for camp, 

 comprised our outfit. The weather was 

 hot, the pack horse lazy, my saddle horse 

 crazy, and we made slow progress. That 

 night we stopped at the Kuntz place, and 

 Kuntz told us where to find plenty of 

 game. The next day, after a hard, hot 

 climb up the South Fork mountain, we 

 reached the camp of Joe Creighton, a vet- 

 eran hunter and trapper. We camped 

 close to Joe, and are indebted to him for 

 advice as to good hunting grounds. 



After resting until 3 o'clock we started 

 out to find grouse. Burke carried a .10- 

 gauge breech-loading hammer gun, and I 

 a new .12-gauge Ithaca hammerless. The 

 first grouse that rose I dropped with the 

 Ithaca, and Burke got the next one. 

 Another lit in a tree, 60 yards away, and 

 Burke gave it the other barrel, but got 

 only feathers. 



The next morning Joe and Burke started 

 up the mountain after deer. I went with 

 them to the head of a gulch of cedar and 

 fir timber, where we separated, they going 

 up the mountain to the low, thick brush 

 and scrub oak, where the deer are to be 

 found in greater numbers, while I worked 

 down an opening at the head of the timber. 

 A grouse rose out of the grass and fern, 

 the Ithaca spoke, and my bag claimed a 

 bird. Going through the timber to the 

 open glade toward camp I spied 2 more 

 grouse sitting on a knoll. The right bar- 

 rel brought one down, but I stood there 

 tiying to cock the left barrel with my 

 thumb and did not remember I had a ham- 

 merless gun until the other bird lit in a 

 tree 50 yards away. I then gave it the 

 left barrel, and overshot it. Slipping in 

 another shell, I held lower and got my 

 bird. Another, in a high cedar, was 

 bagged, and I started for camp. As I 

 drew near it a grouse rose. I felt for a 

 hammer, fumbled with the safety, and then 

 sent a charge of shot after the bird, but 

 succeeded only in cutting a trail through 

 some cedar boughs. Another bird rose to 

 the right and flew across my bow. The 

 safety was already up, and I sent him a 

 greeting. He flew on 30 yards, lit in a 

 tree, performed some acrobatic feats on a 

 limb and fell out dead. He was shot in 

 the head, but still flew 30 yards and lit. 



T then had all the grouse we could use 

 before they would spoil, so I hit the trail 

 for camp. Joe and Burke had not been 



idle. Their dog, Maje, started a deer, 

 which ran past Burke. Then .45-70 went 

 to his shoulder, a quick, careful sight, a 

 sharp report, the deer jumped twice and 

 fell dead. The bullet went in behind the 

 shoulder, through the lungs, and came out 

 higher up. After resting we went out and 

 brought in the game. We then had 

 plenty of meat and divided with Joe, dried 

 some, ate grouse, and were happy. After 

 that we hunted grouse when we needed 

 them. 



On our next hunt Burke's gun, which 

 had come across the plains in the 70's, 

 failed to go once in 5 times. He got 2 

 grouse and I one. The evening before we 

 broke camp Burke wished to take 2 or 3 

 birds home, so we went out once more. 

 Burke ran into a bunch of about 25, but 

 his gun snapped again until all were gone 

 but one, sitting as high up as he could get 

 in a tree. Burke tried for him, the gun 

 worked that time, and he got his bird 

 The shot started a grouse my way, and 

 I bagged it. The sun was setting, so we 

 turned toward camp, regretting that the 

 last day of our hunt had closed. 



The next morning we broke camp and 

 bade good-by to our friend Joe. He had 

 royally entertained us with stories of the 

 sea, the navy, hunting, and of old Club- 

 toot, the 1,800-pound grizzly, who ranged 

 all the way from Lake county to the North 

 pole, and who stood with his heacl between 

 his paws while an Indian emptied a Win- 

 chester into him, then turned and made 

 off. Once Joe met Clubfoot on the trail 

 with a hog in his mouth. The bear 

 stepped aside, let Joe pass, and went on 

 to enjoy his pork. Joe did not say whether 

 it was a game h g the bear had. 



Clubfoot acquired his name when he was 

 caught in a 200-pound trap made especial- 

 ly for the purpose and packed out on a 

 mule. The bear got into the trap, which 

 was not chained to anything. He sat 

 down on the first rock pile he came to 

 and smashed the trap to pieces, losing the 

 toes of his fore foot in doing so. 



When we reached Bridgeville we found 

 a friend awaiting us with several barrels for 

 our game. We told him we read Recrea- 

 tion and were not swine. We killed 12 

 grouse and one deer, and had all the meat 

 any 2 men could use. None of it was 

 wasted. We went for pleasure, not to 

 slaughter. We feel better than if we had 

 slaughtered 100 grouse and 20 deer. We 

 left some for others, although we could 

 have killed more if we had hunted every 

 clay. Go ahead, Coquina, you are on the 

 right trail. The game hog must go. 



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