42 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Feb. 12, 1885- 



THROUGH TWO-OCEAN PASS. 



III.— A CAMP ON YELLOWSTONE LAKE. 



THE lengthening shadows of the pine trees warned me to 

 set out for the camp which was to be on the lake some- 

 where near the outlet. The. clouds which had been all day 

 hurrying across the sky seemed to have concentrated in the 

 northeast and looked threatening. 1 had twelve miles to ride, 

 but, Pinto was willing to go and responded readily to the 

 touch of the rowel, and we were soon moving swiftly along 

 the road at the long swinging gallop which seems scarcely 

 more tiring to the tough wiry broncho than it is to his rider. 

 A few miles from the Upper Falls, the stages which had 

 started in the early morning from Marshall's, began to ap- 

 pear. The sad-faced jaded tourists, who were being jolted 

 about in them, excited my commiseration, for they did — most 

 of them— look very unhappy. And why should they not, trav- 

 eling as they do at headlong speed and being whirled along 

 from one point of interest to another, each of which they 

 are obliged to examine in baste, and then leave to reach the. 

 next one on time? The railway companies sell excursion 

 tickets, which allow five, days in which to see the Park, and 

 the holder of one of these fairly bounds from the railroad 

 train into a wagon, in which he spends most of his time 

 while he is in the Park. No wonder that he soon becomes 

 worn out— so fatigued that the most wonderful scenes make 

 little impression upon him. When he leaves the Park, he feels 

 obliged to at least express some enthusiasm about it, because 

 he has heard and read so much concerning its wonders, but 

 his honest feelings are of disappointment; secretly bethinks 

 that the region has been much overrated. He has been sur- 

 feited with scenery. This is no way to seethe Park, and 

 hereafter I shall endeavor to show how, with great comfort 

 and at small expense, the tourist can visit this region and 

 thoroughly enjoy every minute passed there. 



Pour miles from the Falls I turned off the main road and 

 took the one leading up the river to the Lake. Although fol- 

 lowing along close to the stream, the forest for much of the 

 distance conceals the water, but occasionally glimpses of it 

 are to be had. 



The old mud volcano, which many years ago was quite 

 active, has now apparently ceased its eruptions and is par- 

 tially dried up, though it still boils and steams fitfully in a 

 few places. The so-called Devil's Workshop, a great black 

 cave in the hill to the right of the road, is, however, still 

 active, and gives forth great volumes of steam with the same 

 dull throbbing or pumping noise for which it has always 

 been celebrated. In the hillside very near at hand, and 

 easily recognized by the white cloud which ever rises from 

 it, is a large circular mud spring, perhaps twenty feet in 

 diameter. Thirty feet below the edge of the opening is a 

 boiling, seething mass of dark gray liquid mud constantly in 

 motion, which appears to issue from a hole in the side of the 

 hill at the bottom of the crater, and then to be sucked into 

 it again. Hot, sulphurous steam rises in clouds from this 

 boiling mass and wets one side of the crater wall, which is 

 here curiously streaked with bright copper green and rich 

 brown. There are numerous other hot springs and sulphur 

 vents here, which have been fully described by various 

 writers. 



The road to the lake is an attractive one. It leads through 

 forests, sometimes of living green, at others dead— killed by 

 the fires which have in the past been kindled by Indians or 

 careless and malicious whites. Here and there are pretty 

 grassy meadows, and from them charming views may be had 

 of the river, which, as we approach the lake, becomes 

 broader and spreads out over wide flats. To the right the 

 mountain rises sharply, and forms the Elephant's Back, about 

 1,000 feet in height. 



There are broad openings on the shores of the lake near 

 the outlet, where the grass grows thick and rank, and here 

 a dozen years ago, a Long Island bayman named Topping 

 built himself a cabin on a little point jutting out into the 

 water. With an ordinary whipsaw he cut planks from the 

 pine logs of the neighboring forest, and with these con- 

 structed a skiff and a catboat, in which he used to transport 

 the few visitors to the lake across to Steamboat Springs, or 

 out to the various islands. Topping left his cabin and moved 

 out of the Park years ago, and the boats soon after went to 

 pieces, and since then there have been none on the lake. 



In the marshes, pond holes and sloughs in the river near 

 where it leaves the lake I saw many flocks of mallards and 

 Canada geese, and sandpipers and bay birds were noticed 

 feeding along their margins, and a few coots in the shallow 

 pools. Although especially numerous at the outlet and at 

 the mouth of Pelican Creek, ducks and geese are abundant 

 everywhere on the lake, and flocks of the latter frcqueutly 

 flew along the shore within gunshot of our camp. A number 

 of swans were seen and a few pelicans, though these last 

 seemed much less numerous than I have seen them in former 

 years. Every one seems to take pleasure in shooting these 

 great birds, which are quite worthless as food and yet are 

 so interesting a feature of the bird life of the lake. Half a 

 dozen carcasses of pelicans shot that summer were seen near 

 the outlet, which had evidently been killed in pure wanton- 

 ness. 



The trout fishing in the Yellowstone Lake is good, if we 

 consider only the size and abundance of the fish. Although 

 there, are some points along the shore especially favorable 

 for casting, it is an easy matter to catch plenty of trout from 

 almost any point of rocks, and even from the sloping grav- 

 elly beach. During the afternoon of the day we reached the 



lake two of the men in a short time caught twenty or twen- 

 ty-five fish here, and after dinner, just at dusk, I set up my 

 rod, and using a white miller for a tail fly, made a few r casts 

 from the shelving beach in front of the tents. The first 

 fish that I struck was logy and dull, and in a very short 

 time I was able to draw him out on to the beach. The sec- 

 ond one made a much sharper fight, and kept the pliant 

 bamboo on the strain for quite a little while, before I dared 

 bring him to the water's edge. 



The following afternoon, just before sunset, I strolled 

 along shore, and took seven or eight fis*h, all of which I re- 

 turned to the water, as there were several others out fishing, 

 and they could be trusted to secure enough to supply the 

 table. There was nothing like uniformity in the fighting 

 qualities of these fish. Many of them made little resistance 

 — for trout — when struck, but occasionally one would take 

 the fly, which afforded fine sport. One very large fish 

 sprang a foot or two out of the water just as I was recover- 

 ing for another cast, and seizing the fly at the critical 

 moment, snapped the line an inch or two above the leader, 

 and made off with my whole cast. 



These fish would weigh from one to two pounds each, and 

 are enormously abundant. Unfortunately they are afflicted 

 with a parasitic worm which takes up its quarters in the 

 flesh just beneath the skin, where it lies coiled up in a knot, 

 usually forming a slight protuberance which can be readily 

 seen or felt. Sometimes, however, they are deeper seated 

 and within rather than on the flesh. If the fish were thor- 

 oughly cooked, no doubt they could be eaten, without any 

 unpleasant results, worms and all, but the idea of using 

 food of this kind is not an agreeable one, and all the fish 

 caught were skinned and carefully examined, and those in 

 which the parasites were found were rejected. 



These worms are about the thickness of a knitting needle, 

 somewhat flattened, and occasionally attain a length of over 

 two feet. Specimens submitted to Professor Leidy were 

 pronounced by him to be nearly allied to similar para- 

 sites of the European salmon, but a new species, which he 

 described under the name Dibulhrium cordiceys. They seem 

 to appear first in the intestines, and thence after a time 

 make their way into the flesh. 



During the greater portion of our sojourn on the lake the 

 weather was fine, and while this was the case the morn- 

 ings and the evenings were usually calm, but toward mid- 

 day a fresh breeze rose, tossing up tiny waves which rip- 

 pled on the beach with a soft, pleasant murmur. 



Yellowstone Lake lies about 7,700 feet above the level of 

 the sea. It coutains 150 square miles of water, and there is 

 probably no other lake in the world of equal size at so great 

 an elevation. Roughly speaking, its shape is like that of an 

 onen hand which lacks the first and middle finger. The 

 wrist is at the northern end of the lake, the West Arm 

 answers to the outstretched thumb, and the South and 

 Southeast Arms to the "ring" and little finger. It is a lovely 

 sheet of water; for the most part sereuely picturesque, lying 

 like a great sapphire beneath the unclouded sky; but some- 

 times, when the autumn storm clouds gather about the 

 mountain tops, and becoming black and threatening, roll 

 down their sides, when the fierce cold winds whistle through 

 the canons and ravines, and make the pines toss their 

 branches about and sigh and moan, the dark waters rise in 

 fury, and white-crested waves hurry shoreward, tumbling in 

 upon the beach with the hoarse tumult and the volume of the 

 ocean's surf. Shut in on all sides by the somber green of 

 the pine forest, the lake gleams brightly under the summer 

 sun, the loveliest spot in all the Park. Above its blue waters 

 is the narrow 7 , gray line of beach or bluff. Above that are 

 the pines, clothing the mountain side with verdure, and then, 

 higher still, rise the snow clad pinnacles and ridges of half a 

 dozen mountains, whose white crests are sharply projected 

 against the unclouded sky. 



From whatever point it is viewed, tne lake is beautiful, 

 and its beauties never pall on the senses. The more familiar 

 one becomes with its scenery the lovelier it appears. There 

 are a hundred views from its shores, of water, and island 

 and timbered point, and bold promontory, and curving bay 

 and smooth green hillside, and beetling crag and white 

 snow-cone, each different from all the others, and each pos- 

 sessed of a charm which is all its own. 



Our first camp on the lake was delightfully situated on a 

 bluff about fifteen feet above the beach. The tents standing 

 among a grove of noble pine trees, faced the southeast, look- 

 ing out over the broad expanse of waters toward a shore 

 that was eight miles distant. To the east, far back from this 

 shore, rose Mt. Chittenden, to the southeast Mts. Doane and 

 Langford, and still further to the south, up the valley of the 

 Upper Yellowstone, the black peak of Turret Mountain, 

 then Flat Mountain, and beyond it Mount Sheridan and the 

 Red Mountain Range. Of all the grand peaks and ranges 

 which from the outlet meet the eye, Sheridan is the most 

 imposing. This is due not less to its apparent height than 

 to the great mass of snow which covers it. 



A mile or two from the shore to the southeast is Steven- 

 son Island, long, low and timbered, which, distinctly seen, 

 throws back the remainder of the landscape into the further 

 distance and gives a charming effect. At evening as the 

 sun was setting and had already begun to fall behind the 

 Elephant's Back, a curious green light would spread over 

 the whole lake. Then gradually the waters changed 

 from green to blue, and from blue to pale purple, and 

 the shadows crept slowly up the mountain sides toward the 



Their snowy crowns took on a rosy glow, and then 

 faded and grew cold ; twilight hung its veil over the scene, and 

 one by one the brilliant stars stood out in the heavens. As 

 we watched, the shadows grew heavier, the distant mountains 

 were lost to view, and then a pale clear radiance appeared in 

 the opposite sky, and before long the glorious harvest moon 

 rose above the eastern hills and laid a broad straight path of 

 living waving silver upon the heaving waters. 



[TO BE CONTINUED.] 



TO MY OL' DAWG DRIVE. 



TTTHEN ye wag y'r tail an' yelp, a-snoozin : 

 * ™ Olus' t' the Are this f roze-up weather, 



'S y'r dreams to comin' times a-cruisin' 

 Er back to them 't we've had together? 

 Which is 't, ol' dawg? 



Good times we've had, an' many on 'em. 



No man anNJawg 't I know 's had more; 

 We've got 's much fur as any on 'ein, 



'N' of ri' daown fun as big a store- 

 Han 't we, ol' dawgr 



Seu' fust I took to guns an' huntin', 



A many dawgs I've raised an' had; 

 But I can say withaout no stuntin', 



Though more was good 'n the' was bad, 

 You're best, ol' dawg. 



If we could live to be a hunderd. 



In everlastin' Injin summer; 

 'N' I never missed 'n' you never blundered, 



We'd stan' aside for some new-comer, 

 Most willin', dawg. 



But twelve year ol', an' deaf 's a post, 



Blind of an eye, an' rheumatizy; 

 You'll go in tew three year at most, 



Leave me 'n' the gun, wi' naught to busy, 

 Withaout no dawg. 



I will say this, if nothin' stronger, 



Though flndin' fault wi' Natur' 's wrong, 

 I wish 't dawgs' lives 's a leetle longer, 



Erless men's lives wa'n't quite so long; 

 I du, ol' dawg! 



Danvis, Vt., Jan., 1885.— Editor Forest and Stream: Dear Sir— 

 These lines, found in Mrs. Huldah Lovel's ragbag, like those which I 

 have before sent you, I forward to you to do with as you see fit 

 I was not acquainted with Mr. Samuel Lovel, and do hot know 

 whether he was a good, bad or indifferent speller, but in his verses i 

 think he must have written as nearly as possible as he and his neigh- 

 bors spoke. It is quite common here even now, in speaking, to drop 

 the i from "is," the a from "as," and sound only the n in "an," 

 "and" and "than." "Stunt" is always used for "stint," except when 

 an allotted task is meant; thenit is "stent." With these explanations 

 I hope you will have no difficulty in understanding him. With great 

 respect, yours, Horace Mumpson, Schoolmaster in Dist. No. 13. 



UNCLE LISHA'S SHOP. 



via. 

 rpHE south wind had been roaring for forty-eight hours 

 _L after its first piercing chill, softening the snow so that 

 it took the imprint of the foot of man and beast as sharp 

 and clear as an impression in wax; then bringing to its 

 surface weeds and tops of knolls, then making it so splashy 

 that the brooks burst their bonds and overran them in 

 swishing yellow floods, when one January night Lisha's 

 friends came straggling in over the sloppy roads. The talk 

 ran naturally to tracking 'coons, which the weather favored, 

 then to the life and habits of the animal. 



"Wal boys," said Lisha, splashing a tap in the tub, 

 "s'pose ye'll all be arter 'coons termorrer, won't ye? This 

 thaw '11 fetch 'em aout." 



"Wal I d' know," Sam Lovell answered; "I kinder 

 thonght'l'd take a little turn arter 'em 'f nothin' happens." 



"Dat what we ''11 call it chat sauvage in Canada ah guess 

 so, 'coon? Dat same ting ah '11 hear it sometam rrrac-coon? 

 Yas?" 



"Sartinly, Antwine," said Solon Briggs, "'coon and rac- 

 coon is what we call anonymous terms for one and the same 

 annymill. Raccoon,! expect, is a Latin or Greece word, 

 which 'coon is the English of it." 



"Then grease is their name as well as their natur', for 

 they 're the fattest creeturs," said Sam. 



"Naow, Antwine," asked Solon, "what might be the true 

 meanin' an' interporation of 'shaw syvadge'?" 



"Wall, M'sieu Brigg, lemme see, ah '11 tole you— chat, he 

 mean cat, an' sauvage, he mean he don't tame— m-what you 

 call 'em wil'? Chat sauvage, wil'cat, on'stan'?" 



"Hni! yes, wildcat, or to speak moreeggzack, puttin' the 

 cart afore the boss arter theJFrench fashion, 'cat wild,' similar 

 to 'shovelnware' for a black boss, which 'shovel' means boss 

 an' 'uware' means black. Naow, hain't that a most on- 

 nat'ral-hist'iy name, so to speak, for a 'coon or a raccoon , 

 which it hain't noways the natur' of the feline race, but 

 much more resemblances a bear, a layin' dormouse in winter 

 an' eatin corn an' shack as much as meat victuals as no crit- 

 ters of the cat speshy do?" 



"Sartin Solon, you're right," said bam, "a coon ould. 

 make a first-rate little bear 'f 'twan't fer his tail. He's jist 

 as independent, an' hoggish, an' sorter cunnin'-foolish, an' 

 fond of water an' mud, an' sweet-toothed, an' hot-toothed 

 tew fer he'll dig wild turnips an' eat 'em jes' 's a bear will. 

 Haow on airth any critter 't ha'n't got its maouth an' insides 

 lined with sheet iron, can chaw an' swaller a green wild 

 turnip s more 'n I can understand. Why, it's wus 'n forty 

 thaousan' red hot needles a jabbin' int' yer tongue, 'f ye ever 

 bit one." , , „ , , 



Almost every one present confessed to having been tooled 

 in the days of "his youth by some rough practical joker into 

 tastin°- the bulbous root of the plant, whose snake-like spathe 

 should warn one that it biteth even like a seipent and sting- 

 eth like an adder. 



"Wal, naow," saia Lisha, laying aside his lapstone, shov- 

 ing his spectacles on to the top of his head, and resting his 

 elbows on his knees, "that makes me think of a man 'at I 

 knowed 'at come tu his death along of foolin' a boy with a 

 wild turnip, 'n' I d' know but what it sarved him putty nigh 



