28o 



RECREATION. 



some of the finest of the Cascade range. 

 To the left we could see up Railroad 

 creek many miles. Down the lake the 

 famous Goat mountain loomed. The 

 lake had the appearance of an immense 

 basin of crude petroleum. 



We got one grouse before reaching the 

 summit, and right glad we were that 

 nothing larger than grouse showed up; for 

 if you have ever climbed a steep mountain 

 with a pack on your back, you know what 

 eccentric curves that forward sight will 

 make as you try to draw a bead and get, 

 in a good shot. We tramped from one 

 peak to another; down in the hollow and 

 then up on another ridge a little higher. 

 Coming out of the timber and brush on to 

 a large Hat rock the view of Bear Creek 

 glacier literally burst upon us. 



Miles away the left fork of Bear creek 

 appeared like a. silver thread winding its 

 way down from the glaciers; oftimes van- 

 ishing in the dark green timber and reap- 

 pearing in a beautiful misty cataract. The 

 right fork is almost its counterpart. The 

 jagged peaks of granite and porphyry are 

 seamed with long, dark red streaks of min- 

 eral deposits. 



There in those perpetual glaciers live the 

 goats which have been gradually driven 

 back from the lake and are now found 

 in large numbers, and there they thrive 

 almost totally unmolested. There is grand 

 sport to be had bv those who care to 

 climb the rocks. The goat trails can be 

 found winding around the mountain sides, 

 high up; trails that are worn deep and 

 wide with years of use. 



We passed several goat licks and wal- 

 lows, and from their appearance there 

 must have been hundreds of the animals. 

 Old hunters whom you meet will tell you 

 stories of how they have come on a bunch 

 of goats and the old billy would stand 

 and shake his head and not give an inch. 

 They had never seen a man before, and 

 bunches of 6 and 7 have been killed in as 

 many minutes. Killing them for their 

 hides is gradually thinning them out, 

 especially near Lake Chelan. After get- 

 ting a good rest we selected a camping 

 place miles ahead on the left bank of the 

 right fork under the large glacier. Then 

 commenced our long task of slabbing 

 along the mountains to reach it. To do 

 this trip one must have wonderful patience. 

 Falls, bruises and scratches must be expect- 

 ed. When you get into a gulch in the 

 alders, have to crawl through them, have 

 your pack catch and take a fall out of you, 

 and realize that your struggles are scaring 

 game all around you, you are likely to 

 get furiously mad. Such places don't oc- 

 cur more than 4 or 5 to the mile. 



We were getting into a good game 

 range. Now and then we could see where 



a bear had turned over a stone to get at 

 the ants, and rotten fallen trees that had 

 been scratched open for the same purpose. 

 We were doubly careful about break- 

 ing brush. Mr. Cool would point here and 

 there at tracks by "a whooping big buck, a 

 doe and 2 fawns; the same that I scared 

 up the other day." 



We were going through a lot of shin 

 tangle and fire weeds, when suddenly the 

 crash, crash of some big game on the run 

 below us attracted our attention. We 

 threw off our packs and tried to circle 

 around him, but the old buck gave us the 

 slip. Bear and deer signs were plentiful, 

 and after dropping down the creek and 

 making what little camp was necessary, 

 we were going to rest, making one more 

 desperate effort to have something beside 

 baking powder slugs and grouse for sup- 

 per and breakfast. 



Cool was to go down the creek, then 

 circle up the hill around and above, and 

 I was to stay near camp. I had been 

 tramping over the mountains for the last 

 month and did not feel like climbing 

 farther that day, deer or no deer. 



"Now, when you hear this old pill- 

 driver beller," said Cool, "you may make 

 up your mind there's fresh meat some- 

 where. I'm done with this monkeying;" 

 and he left me. 



In the course of an hour or so there 

 came a roar that sounded through the 

 mountains as though the Oregon had let 

 loose one of her 13-inch railroad trains. 

 There was no crack about that half 

 magazine. I knew it was an effective shot, 

 for there never was a more disgusted hun- 

 ter than Cool. A few seconds later came 

 another shot. In a little while Cool came 

 to camp and wanted help with his game. 

 It was the doe and 2 fawns. He let the 

 doe have it first and then let another one 

 fly at one of the half grown youngsters. 



Up in a draw in the alders lay a doe shot 

 through the shoulders. The fawn could 

 not be found. 



That night we feasted on deer liver and 

 heart, toasted on forked sticks before a 

 cracking fire of cedar. One does not need 

 a ravenous appetite to enjoy such morsels. 



As the wind came moaning through 

 the heavy cedars and pines, cold and damp 

 from the glaciers above, we moved up a 

 little closer to the fire and threw on an 

 extra stick. Then we felt thankful we 

 were alive. 



After a good night's sleep on fragrant 

 hemlock feathers we got up ready for 

 another day's hard work. We had the 

 deer cornered and they could not get over 

 the divide on either side; but as one deer 

 was all we could pack, it would seem 

 brutal to kill more, just for the sake of 

 killing. 



