FROM THE GAME FIELDS 



373 



IN THE UINTAH RANGE. 



Vernal, Utah. 



Editor Recreation: Early in the season 

 of '97, my brother, a friend and I went bear 

 hunting. We started for the Uintah range, 

 a spur of the Rockies about 50 miles from 

 our home. We took a pack outfit, and 

 after 2 days' traveling, through box can- 

 yons, over rock slides, through dense for- 

 ests of fir and pine and over rough mountain 

 passes, we reached the headwaters of Ashley 

 creek. There is plenty of water in its bed 

 at this height, but all of it sinks before 

 reaching the valley below and only a small 

 portion ever rises again. It was late in the 

 evening when we finished pitching our tent 

 and arranging camp. We were up with the 

 sun next morning, and after breakfast, left 

 camp with our hounds and rifles. We trav- 

 eled all day, through pine timber and 

 marshy parks, without seeing any bear sign. 

 On our way back to camp we saw some old 

 tracks that we supposed were those of 

 mountain sheep. Next morning we started 

 for a rougher part of the country, hoping to 

 find the sheep. After tramping for hours 

 over the rockiest part of Uintah county, all 

 we found was more tracks. However, they 

 were fresh and we were sure they were sheep 

 tracks; so getting their course, we returned 

 to camp. The next day we determined to 

 follow the sheep from where we had left 

 their trail the evening before. We had gone 

 but a few miles when we came to where 

 they had bedded, and from there we trailed 

 them until we heard a jump and a bound 

 and caught a glimpse of a big horn. We 

 could not get a shot, so resolved to try our 

 dogs and at once put them on the trail. 

 Then walking to the top of a ridge near by, 

 we sat down for a few minutes to get the 

 course they were going and watch for the 

 sheep. In 5 minutes we saw a buck, about 

 a mile away. He appeared bewildered, and 

 was running in a circle. We saw the dogs 

 were gaining on him and we started to fol- 

 low. When we caught up, they had the ram 

 bayed on the point of a cliff which ran out 

 from the side of the mountain about 50 feet, 

 and was about 75 feet high. When we came 

 within 200 yards of them the ram broke 

 from the dogs and made another run for his 

 life. Then he ran to another cliff and went 

 out on a narrow shelf where the dogs dared 

 not venture. They came back to us and the 

 ram, thinking himself safe, started on again. 

 We were within about 300 yards of him, and 

 knowing it was our last chance, each 

 took a running shot. Only one hit him, but 

 that brought him down. His horns meas- 

 ured 14 inches around at the base, 25^2 inch- 

 es around the outside curve, and the points 

 were 22 inches apart. 



That ended our sport and the following 

 day we returned to our homes. 



William Green. 



A MORNING WITH THE DUCKS. 



All night long my untiring sentinel kept 

 his lonely watch ; all night long he stared at 

 me with his cold, unchanged face : never 

 moving but ever mumbling to himself, and 

 as day began to dawn he broke out into 

 fiendish laughter, awakening me from 

 Dreamland into a more pleasant reality. It 

 was only the alarm clock, a mechanism 

 that is both a blessing and a curse to man- 

 kind, but whether blessing or curse it has 

 secured me many a pleasant day of sport. 



Looking out of the window of my room, 

 I saw what I had dreamed of. Away off 

 in the South a gigantic V of ducks were 

 plowing their way to the Northern lakes. 



The day was an ideal one for ducks. A 

 leaden sky, a drizzling rain, and a good 

 strong East wind. So into my " waders " 

 and hunting-coat I went and pulling the 

 " Old .12" out of its case, I started to the 

 string of ponds that were to form my 

 " hunting ground." When within a quarter 

 of a mile of the nearest pond, I saw some 

 " specks " swirl around it and then vanish. 

 This put new life into me ; I knew my game 

 was there. 



Following a ravine for a hundred yards, 

 I reached the pond bank unseen. There I 

 stopped to rest, for " sneaking " is hard 

 work. Then cautiously I rose. The in- 

 stant my head appeared above the bank 

 away they went. Bang ! Bang ! Well that 

 was fair — 3 with 2 barrels. Bagging my 

 game I went on to the next, with visions of 

 another fine flock of mallards on it, but 

 the " visions " failed to materialize. Not 

 far from this was a little body of water, a 

 fine place for ducks at this season, situated 

 in the center of a cornfield that furnished 

 ample feeding ground. It was a place in 

 which they might stop a day and rest before 

 completing their Northward flight. 



Again I " sneaked," and the next mo- 

 ment was on the pond bank pounding 

 aw^ay at a flock of blue wing. Again the 

 " Old .12" did some rapid talking and out 

 of the flock of 7, 3 went off wiser, 4 re- 

 maining greatly worsted. Would you 

 think 3 mallards and 4 bluewing heavy? 

 Try it? 



One more pond on my way home, so up 

 the bank I went — nothing? Whirr! from 

 beneath my feet! Bang! Bang! Two 

 lovely holes -in the bosom of a typical 

 March day. That was strange! Why, I 

 should have cleaned him for the pot at that 

 distance! But I know now, I was just 

 " scared to death." 



Back to the house now for a good warm 

 breakfast. Oh! how good that coffee will 

 taste! And the sport — nothing like it. 

 Nowhere can a man come nearer his Maker 

 than on the stream or in the field. 



C. H. Dillon, Sedalia, Missouri. 



