SHOOTING THE RAPIDS OF THE QUINAULT 



187 



Eyed Bill. The latter wanted $4 each, while 

 Spotted Hawk underbid him $1 a man. 

 We intended to stay at the lake a few days 

 longer, so wandered on among the lean- 

 tos until we met an enormously fat and 

 jolly looking " Siwash " who told us his 

 name was Frank Hyasman. As Hyasman 

 means " big man," he was appropriately 

 christened. We told" Frank we had in- 

 tended to go down the river, but as their 

 charges were too high we would pack our 

 loads over the trail. 



The Indians were all interested in the 

 " box that makes pictures," and in my rifle, 

 a Savage .303. Big Frank wanted to try 

 the rifle, and a crowd of more or less 

 odoriferous natives gathered around while 

 I explained the mechanism. The fact that 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY F. J. CHURCH. 



GEORGE UNDERWOOD, QUINAULT INDIAN 

 RUNNER. 



the rifle shot a metal-patched bullet, filled 

 them with surprise, while its light weight 

 pleased them immensely. Those among 

 them who owned rifles had the old model 

 .45-100 Sharps, weighing 14 pounds. 



I told the Indians the gun used 2 kinds 

 of cartridges; one big one for deer and a 

 little one for birds. I loaded the rifle with 

 a heavy charge, telling Frank it was the 

 light cartridge. He did not hold the butt 

 close to his shoulder, so it gave him a 

 terrible jolt. I then put in a cartridge 

 loaded with only 5 grains of powder, 

 telling him it was " hyos skookum " (tre- 

 mendously powerful). Frank, naturally 

 thinking if the bird cartridge kicked, the 

 larger one would nearly knock him over, 

 braced himself for the recoil. When the 

 light charge popped, he plunged forward, 



on his hands and knees, to the delight of 

 all the other Siwashes, who rolled on the 

 sand and shrieked with laughter. Frank 

 laughed as much as any one, but told me 

 my words were " kultus wawa," meaning in 

 plain English, that the truth was not in 

 me. 



Shortly after daylight, next morning, 

 Hyasman came over, accompanied by a 

 superbly built young half breed, called 

 George Underwood. Frank said George 

 would take us down for $2 each. We 

 promptly told him we had a better offer, 

 and we had no money to pay for the trip; 

 all we could offer was photographs and a 

 few odds and ends. We finally made a 

 bargain for a dozen photographs, a troll- 

 ing spoon and an ax. 



Soon after George appeared with a long, 

 light dugout, half loaded with salmon, and 

 we started on our voyage to the sea. 

 After leaving the lake we entered a beauti- 

 ful, smoothly flowing stream, 250 feet wide. 

 We glided peacefully down, now putting 

 up a flock of ducks, and again scaring a 

 mink from the rock on which he was sun- 

 ning himself. 



We whipped the stream industriously, 

 with our flies, but could not get a rise. Af- 

 ter an hour of this unsatisfactory work, we 

 gave it up. George then said the trout in 

 the lower river would take nothing but 

 salmon eggs. 



On asking our boatman if the river was 

 smooth all the way, he replied that, in a 

 little way, the water ran rapidly, among 

 numerous rocks, and as a result, it was no 

 good. In this he was correct, for about a 

 mile farther on, a dull roaring was heard, 

 and on rounding a bend, we saw a long 

 stretch of white water, with rocks jutting 

 up on all sides. 



George looked anxious as he told us the 

 river was so low there was no channel. 

 He now dropped his paddle, took a long, 

 light pole shod with a steel pike,' and stood 

 up. One of us in the bow also stood, with 

 a similar pole, while the others were com- 

 manded to sit on the bottom and to keep 

 still. This we were willing enough to do. 

 George then gave directions about using 

 the pole, and told the unfortunate holder 

 thereof, on no account to let the canoe get 

 broadside to the current, or to gather head- 

 way; the intention being to drop slowly 

 down, through the labyrinth of rocks. 



On paper it does not look difficult to 

 stand in a canoe, with a long pole, and to 

 keep her off the rocks by driving the pole 

 into the bottom, pushing to the right or 

 to the left, as the case may require. When 

 standing on the shore, watching the natives 

 handle their canoes in a rapid, the task 

 looks easier still; but try it; try it and be 

 convinced you are the clumsiest, most use- 

 less, mortal on earth. 



The canoe was decidedly cranky, and the 

 place in the bow where our friend stood 



