PTARMIGAN SHOOTING IN THE YUKON DELTA. 



FRED. G. PARK. 



It was while on the way to the new gold 

 fields at Nome that our party chanced on 

 the finest 2 hours' shooting any of us had 

 ever experienced. 



Nearly 40 days of drifting coastward on 

 the bosom of the mighty Yukon had put 

 Dawson far behind and we found our- 

 selves, a browned, weather-beaten, decid- 

 edly hungry quintet, at the mouth of An- 

 drefsky river. We had found the few sup- 

 ply stations along the river not yet re- 

 stocked for the summer and our larder, in 

 consequence, had grown scant. 



We were within a few hours of the Yu- 

 kon flats, where the waters of the great 

 stream separate into innumerable deltas, 

 each trending toward Bering sea and pre- 

 senting in their sameness a decided puzzle 

 to the inexperienced navigator. With the 

 provision problem to be solved and the 

 knowledge that we had already been too 

 long on our journey, we beheld with joy 

 the smoke of a steamer creeping swiftly 

 downstream which proved, as she passed 

 our camp and tied up at the trading-post, 

 to be the Alaska Commercial company's 

 freighter Bella. We speedily boarded her 

 and engaged passage to St. Michael. 



It was with a touch of sadness in our 

 hearts that we dismantled and abandoned 

 the staunch little sailboat in which we had 

 spent so many jolly days and which had 

 borne us so safely through whirling rapids 

 and driving storms, but with the quick 

 adaptability of experienced travelers we 

 soon made ourselves comfortable on board 

 the big barge attached to the bow of the 

 Bella, and when the gong sounded at sup- 

 per time we devoured a well cooked, boun- 

 tiful meal for the first time in days. A quick 

 run brought us to the extreme mouth of 

 the river early the following afternoon, and 

 ?s we passed out to sea, following a line of 

 buoys marking the always uncertain chan- 

 nel, we bumped squarely into a new sand 

 shallow and stuck hard and fast despite 

 the powerful efforts of the steamer to clear 

 herself. 



There was nothing for it but to await 

 the incoming tide, so we passengers pre- 

 pared to kill time as best we could. It was 

 a bright day, the sun tempering the soft 

 breeze from the sea to a delightful warmth. 

 To the West the long swells of the sea 

 lazily heaved and smoothed away in broad, 

 glassy planes, while through the hazy dis- 

 tance the tops of an island or 2 snowed 

 blue and restful. Northward and behind 

 us stretched the endless flat waste, green 

 with new born moss and glinting with 

 numberless lakes. 



Only a boat's length separated us from 

 the shore, so it was not long before a hunt- 

 ing party was landed, armed with a most 

 nondescript lot of firearms of various 

 makes and bores. 



Within a few yards of the beach we be- 

 gan putting up bands of ptarmigan until 

 the air was full of them and the guns were 

 popping away right merrily. The birds 

 were fairly quick on wing, having a rather 

 deceptive flight as to speed, arising to a 

 level like the quail, only going much great- 

 er distances before alighting. They had 

 lost their beautiful snowy winter garb and 

 put on a dull brown that blended with the 

 cover from which they arose. 



After the first rise it was grand sport, 

 for the birds scattered enough to make it 

 uncertain just where the next would get up. 

 They broke cover only when absolutely 

 compelled to do so, and it was a frequent 

 occurrence to have a bunch of lively brown 

 feathers roar out from between one's feet 

 and go hurtling off, in many instances un- 

 touched by the shot sent after it. 



We found the flats interwoven with small 

 lakes, none more than 2 acres in extent, 

 all excellently grassed, and the homes of 

 thousands of ducks and geese. These 

 fowl seemed not in the least afraid of man, 

 permitting us to approach within a few 

 yards of themselves and their fluffy bodied 

 broods, never offering to fly, and only pad- 

 dling slowly away when the intruders 

 seemed too close. Not one of these birds 

 was killed by our party, though for 2 hours 

 we were winding in and out among the 

 lakes seeking ptarmigan hidden in the long 

 moss and grass. Possibly we were the 

 first human beings who had ever visited 

 that spot. 



A long blast from the steamer's whistle, 

 warning us that the tide was coming in, 

 called our party on board once more, and 

 an interested crowd gathered on the deck 

 of the barge to count the game. About 180 

 ptarmigan had fallen before 11 shot guns, 

 loaded chiefly with No. 4's and B. B.'s, and 

 one 44 Winchester rifle. Every man, the 

 rifleman included, had killed his birds on 

 the wing. Despite the number of birds 

 killed in the brief time ashore, we could 

 scarcely be classed as game hogs, as we 

 were snooting for grub as well as for sport, 

 and there were about 50 people on board to 

 be fed. The nicely browned birds were a 

 luxurious treat to our bacon-satiated appe- 

 tites, and by the time we reached St. 

 Michael only a few sacks of feathers, ap- 

 propriated for pillows, remained to remind 

 us of our 2 hours in Gameland. 



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