FROM THE GAME FIELDS. 



The man who quits when he gets enough, with plenty of game still in sight, is a real sportsman. 



IN THE OLYMPICS. 



It was only after Mr. Battleford and I 

 had made many plans that we finally got 

 away from Tacoma the night of October 

 15, last, on the steamer Sentinel, bound for 

 Seattle. There we took the steamer Gar- 

 land, and after crossing historic Puget 

 sound, made final preparations in Port 

 Townsend for a long hike up the Elwa 

 river. Our 55-pound packs a farmer took 

 to the Six-mile ranch in his wagon, while 

 we walked through the giant firs, past 

 shingle mills that were slashing away at 

 the great logs. We were not accustomed 

 to traveling, and when we took up the 

 packs at the ranch they seemed heavy ; but 

 we were enthusiastic, and marched along 

 as best we could. Ten miles out we left 

 the road for the trail that winds along 

 Hurricane mountain, following the beauti- 

 ful Elwa, the roar of whose waters made 

 music in our ears as we passed many va- 

 rieties of ferns and giant firs. Then fol- 

 lowed a climb along the mountain side, 

 now near the river bed, now up a steep 

 grade for 20 miles, until we came to Geyser 

 valley and the cabin of Mr. Anderson, who 

 was away ; but as the latchstring is always 

 out in this country, we entered, built a 

 roaring fire and prepared supper. 



At 3 o'clock the next day we were bak- 

 ing doughboys in the Dutch oven and eat- 

 ing our last meal on the edge of civiliza- 

 tion. Then we began the ascent of a ridge 

 5,000 feet high, the scenery changing con- 

 stantly until we could look far away and 

 see the glaciers and the snow. We took but 

 a small bottle of water, and as there was 

 none until the summit should be gained, I 

 gave out. We camped on the trail, where 

 we found a bottle of water providentially 

 left there by someone else. I passed a mis- 

 erable night, full of pains and aches, and it 

 seemed we would never 'reach the summit 

 the following day; but in time we came to 

 the lake, obtained some fresh water and 

 set the tent just in time to enjoy its shelter 

 before rain began to fall heavily. Then my 

 partner went out and shot some grouse. 



We were disappointed in finding no game 

 Monday and Tuesday, so pushed on again, 

 across the treacherous, slippery snow, fall- 

 ing at times and getting many bruises, but 

 keeping on until evening, when we came 

 again to the Elwa. Building a fire, we 

 dried the ground before pitching the tent, 

 and made a bed of spruce boughs. We 

 rested the following day, and found enough 

 grouse for food ; then pushed on again un- 

 til, after crossing the Goldie river, we found 



evidences of bear and elk, and made camp. 



We had not been separated long the next 

 day before I heard Battleford fire a shot, 

 and shortly afterward saw a bull elk below 

 me, some distance away. I dared not try 

 to get closer, so drew a bead with my old 

 .45-90 Winchester and fired. The elk did 

 not move at the first shot, but dropped at 

 the second, got up and staggered away, with 

 me in hot pursuit, and in a few minutes I 

 finished him. This bull had good antlers. 

 Down the trail I found Battleford with 2 

 deer. 



We smoked our meat and our pipes 

 while awaiting' better weather, but as that 

 did not materialize, we broke camp No- 

 vember 4, and going down the Lillian, fin- 

 ally reached Anderson's, camp. There we 

 dried out and ate bear steaks and deer liver 

 which Anderson cooked for us. This bear 

 meat was from a young cub Anderson had 

 killed. We rested there one day, and ar- 

 rived in Port Townsend in good time after 

 our long tramp. 



Game is still abundant in the Olympics, 

 but difficult to find on the Elwa because of 

 the down timber that fills the trail, making 

 the assistance of a pack horse impossible. 

 The game is far back in the mountains, 

 and there is considerable killing out of 

 season. 



Frank Parker, Tacoma, Wash. 



CAPE COD QUAIL SHOOTING. 



I read in February Recreation an article 

 by J. A. MacKenzie asking that more be 

 said on the sport of grouse and quail shoot- 

 ing. I should like to take that gentleman 

 by the hand and say amen to that article. 

 There is no time in the year to which I 

 look forward with more pleasure than the 

 opening of the season for quail shooting. 

 We have no deer shooting down here on 

 Cape Cod, but Ave have quail shooting ; and 

 what sport can be more invigorating than 

 a long tramp in the crisp air of an October 

 morning scented with spruce and pines? 

 Dyspepsia is a stranger to a faithful fol- 

 lower of the sport, and I am one. 



Many of the natives on Cape Cod do not 

 care for quail or grouse shooting, as it is 

 too much work. They would rather sit all 

 day behind a blind and wait for ducks and 

 other sea fowl to come to them. We also 

 have sportsmen, so called, who come from 

 Boston and vicinity, bringing all the re- 

 quired utensils for quail shooting, but when 

 told that the quails are to be found one or 

 2 miles away, they are content to stay in 

 the hotel and play cards, and ask if you 



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