222 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[April 10, 1885 



THROUGH TWO-OCEAN PASS. 



XIII.— TRACKS ON THE SNOW. 



fTVHE voices of the men shooting at the stock awoke us 

 -*- next morning, and gave us the first intimation that the 

 day was pleasant and we could coutinue our journey. Sure 

 enough, the sky was without a cloud, and before breakfast 

 was ready the sun had shown his face over the lofty rock 

 wall which shut us in on the east. The air was warm and 

 everything was as wet as covdd be. Before the packs 

 could be put on the animals it was necessary that the blank- 

 ets should be dried, and for a while every one was busy at 

 this work. All the various articles of camp equipage were 

 collected together, the snow beaten from them, and they 

 were spread out on low trees, bushes and prostrate logs, so 

 as to be as much as possible exposed to the sun's rays. Then 

 a place was selected between two fallen trees bristling with 

 branches, the snow shoveled away, and a great fire built. 

 Lines were stretched from branch to branch, and over these, 

 the logs, and stakes driven into the ground, werehung heavy 

 blankets, coats, saddles, bridles and ropes— everything, in 

 fact, which had suffered from the storms of the pasl few 

 days. Great volumes 'of steam rising from these articles 

 soon showed that the drying process was at work. In the 

 meantime the packs had, so far as was possible, been made 

 ready, and the animals caught and tied up. 



The difference in apparent bulk between the camp bag- 

 gage packed, and unpacked and scattered about, is very re- 

 markable, and one who is unfamiliar with the packer's 

 methods would scarcely believe that all the material of a 

 camp could be brought into such compact shape as is done 

 before it is placed on the animals. 



It was nearly noon before we started. Following the val- 

 ley a few hundred yards we turned off a little east of north 

 through a low pass, and took the hillside over an open country 

 where there was a good deal of climbing of low hills, but no 

 very steep ascents. The sun shone brightly, and the glare on 

 the unbroken surface of the snow was extremely painful to 

 the eyes, and those who had colored glasses found relief by 

 putting them on, while those who were without them tied 

 handkerchiefs tightly about their heads just below the eyes, 

 and pulling their hats low over their foreheads, thus limited 

 the amount of light entering the eyes. 



The scene was beautiful in its purity, and often, in cross- 

 ing through the saddles between the bare hills, we could 

 see— 



"No cloud above, no earth below, 

 Only a universe of snow." 



Again we would reach a point where theie was an extended 

 view, and snow-clad mountains, evergreen forests — each tree 

 draped in white— and, not far before us, the fine high peates 

 of the Main Divide, with precipices of bare, black rock, 

 combined to make up a scene of sharp contrasts and striking 

 effects which will not soon be forgotten. Below us in the 

 narrow valley of Pacific Creek the black course of the wind 

 ing stream was sharply marked as far as the valley could be 

 seen. 



As we proceeded through this universal whiteness the 

 history of the past twelve hours was seen plainly written on 

 the snow before us. Here on this shining tablet were in- 

 scribed a series of characters which recorded the doings of 

 the inhabitants of the forest; characters whose lines and 

 letters rauuing hither and thither over the snow told to one 

 who had learned how to translate them a story as unmistak- 

 ably certain as did ever the pages of a printed book to the 

 reader. It was a record, though transient and subject to the 

 elements; likely to fade slowly" and, become indistinct and 

 illegible beueath the warm rays of the sun, or to be wiped 

 away bv a blast of wind, as the schoolboy clears the figures 

 from his slate with a sponge, or to be still more utterly blot- 

 ted out by the silent fall of a few more flakes of snow^, 

 which would prepare a new surface, fair and unbroken at 

 first, to be again marked with other stories of the deeds of 

 the free, wild creatures who make their homes among these 

 shining peaks. Thus this deep snow is a palimpsest, from 

 which the writing has been many times erased, but one that 

 can never be restored. 



Down at the foot of the canon wall in the valley were a 

 series of tiny parallel dots in the snow which showed where 

 a little striped squirrel had run out from the broken rock 

 fragments where he had his home dowu nearly to the water's 

 elge, and then, frightened by some sight or sound — perhaps 

 our approach— bad turned and hurried with long bounds back 

 to his rocky fortress. 



Higher on the hill, about every weed stalk that showed 

 itself above the surface of the snow, were pairs of long 

 parallel depressions, and scattered about them were frag 

 nients of the seed cases of the plants and strips of the bark 

 of the stem. Here the snowbirds had been at work, and so 

 hard pressed for food that they had visited almost every 

 projecting plant. Similar but, larger tracks accompanied by 

 a long and wide shallow depression, occurred here and there, 

 made by the gray jays so abundant in these forests. 



The night had looked on more than one tragedy. Death 

 had been abroad, stalking grimly over the barren hills and 

 pushing his way among the thickly clustered pines. There 

 had been battles, and ambuscades, and stern unrelenting 

 pursuits, fierce struggles, resistances, feeble and unavailing, 

 despair, and the final yielding when hope was lost. Many 

 a life had gone out that night on the bleak hillside, many a 

 death shiiek had been smothered by the thick whirling snow 



drift, or drowned by the wailing of the wind which moaned 

 through the narrow canons or made dismal sobbing among 

 (he tossing pines. Here close to the margin of a little brook 

 was a pile of bright azure feathers, telling its own sad story 

 of death, and near it long light strokes on the fresh snow 

 spoke plainly of the fierce bird that in the gray light of 

 earliest dawn had seized in ins savage crooked talons the 

 little bluebird who was just beginning his journey toward 

 the summer laud. 



Winding about upon the hillside, often quartering tbe 

 ground like a well trained hunting dog, and occasionally 

 proceeding directly to some bush or cluster of weeds, were a 

 series of footprints larger than any we. had yet seen. A fox 

 had been hunting during the early morning and had visited 

 each spot that might give shelter to his prey. There beneath 

 a spreading pine he had come upon the footprints of a dusky- 

 grouse, and had followed them for a little distance, when 

 suddenly they were no longer to be seen, the two last deeply 

 impressed tracks showing where the bird had vigorously 

 sprung from the ground, and on whirring wing had darted 

 away among the snow-laden treetops. A few feet from 

 these one could see where reynard had paused in his stealthy 

 advance when the bird took flight, and it was easy to imagine 

 how regretfully he had gazed after her, and to picture to 

 oneself the look of disappointment on his cunning visage as 

 he saw his hoped for breakfast disappear. A little further 

 on he had been more fortunate. A hole dug in the snow, 

 and a tuft or two of bluish fur, showed that some unlucky 

 mouse had fallen a victim to the keen-nosed hunter. 



The trae.ks of mice and of tiny shrews were evident about 

 each stalk of weed or bush that showed itself above the snow, 

 ami the delicate trails ran hither and thither over its surface, 

 all of them couverging to the little hole close to the stem, up 

 and down which the small creatures passed. 



The snow here was a foot deep, and the passage of a heavy 

 animal over it made a wide trail. Such a trail, looking some- 

 what as if one had dragged along a pillow, emerged from 

 a grove of pines and zigzagged along a hillside that we 

 crossed. At the foot of a pile of rocks which obscured the 

 base of a little lava bluff, the beast had paused and had dug a 

 great hole, tossing snow and pieces of rock about in a reck- 

 less fashion that indicated great strength. Then it had left 

 this work and goue on over the hill and down into the valley 

 of the stieatu. It was a wolverine that had been prowling 

 about here, and he had been trying to dig out a woodchuck 

 or a squirrel, but without success, for the home of the rodent 

 was well defended by the frost-bound fragments of rock. 



As we rode through the pints, we could see where the red 

 squirrels had run over the snow from tree to tree, and in a 

 little glade a porcupine had passed along, sweeping with his 

 broad body and long dragging quills a wide pathway in the 

 snow. 



OfJ.CU at the border of some grove of pines could be 

 seen the impress of the great coarse pads of the snowshoe 

 rabbit, scarcely sinking into the light snow. These, for the 

 most part, kept close under the evergreens, where the snow 

 was l<ast, deep; but when startled by wolf or fox, then 

 indeed they could skurry away over the drifts, while the 

 heavier pursuer must laboriously toil through them— far 

 behind. 



The tracks which were most noticeable were those of the 

 elk. The heavy snowfalls, warning them of the near. 

 approach of winter, had started them down from the peaks, 

 and everywhere were trails leading from tbe hillsides into 

 the valley and going westward. As we came along, noisily 

 announcing our approach with clang of bell, and rattling of 

 dead branches against the packs, and cries to the mules, the 

 animals retreated to the timber to let us pass, and so we saw 

 none of them, but they were evidently migrating in con- 

 siderable numbers, and mauy of the tracks were extremely 

 recent. By hunting a little we might have secured a load or 

 two of meat, but we did not require it. 



We had not gone far from the camp when we saw, off to 

 the northeast, a low pass in the hills, which w r e took to be the 

 one we were in search of. The stream forked again here, 

 the two branches being nearly equal in size, and thus giving 

 us ro hint as to which was the main creek. We were now 

 able to descend into the creek bottom, which soon became 

 wide and level, and except that it was occasionally somewhat 

 miry made good traveling. Usually we kept close into the 

 hills and had no trouble at all. Occasionally the hills would 

 close together, so as almost to form a canon, and again would 

 widen out again into the broad level plain, crossed in all 

 dhections by elk tracks. These, at a distance, were pretty 

 to see, looking, as they often did, like two delicate chains 

 kid side by side and running for a longdistance almost in a 

 straight line. The elk had been hungry, and the first ones 

 that had passed along had bitten off the heads of all the 

 grasses and weeds that they could find above the snow. 

 Thus the first tracks went in every direction, but always 

 they turned finally and kept on down the valley. 1 remember 

 one set of tracks where the valley was perhaps two miles 

 wide, which we could see as they came out of the timber on 

 the opposite side and proceeded straight across the valley. 

 About half way across and two hundred yards to one side 

 of these tracks was a great dead pine stub standing alone, 

 the only tree in all the meadow. When the elk came oppo- 

 site this he had turned at right angles to his course, gone to 

 it, rubbed himself against it, and then returned to his track 

 and kept on straight across the valley. We crossed his path 

 as he went into the timber on our side. More than once as 



we reached these widenings of the valley we thought our- 

 selves near the pass, but always it narrowed again and the 

 water kept flowing west. 



At length, late hi the afternoon, we came upon a heavy 

 and old pack trail, which was no doubt that made by Cap- 

 tain Jones, of the C. S. Engineers, in 1873. 



All the signs showed that it was a white man's trail and 

 made by a Government expedition. We could see the broad 

 blazes on the trees, most of them now partialy covered by the 

 growth of many years, and the spots on the trunks where 

 the hard corners of the packs had knocked away the bark, 

 and allowed the resinous sap to trickle clown and harden. 

 Following this trail for a short distance, we came to a large 

 camp at the edge of abroad meadow, in which rose many 

 springs, forming several large pools of quiet water. We 

 were now, according to Jones's map, only a short distance 

 from Two-Ocean Pass, and at every opportunity we scanned 

 the creek carefully to see which way the water ran. For 

 half a mile more it continued to run west, and then sud- 

 denly, after passing through a bit of timber, we came out 

 upon an open valley from the other end of which a brawling 

 stream hurried away to the eastward. The snow lay lure a 

 foot or eighteeu inches deep, and covered the narrow streams 

 and channels, so that it was impossible for us to determine 

 just what course the drainage took, as might have been done 

 had the ground been bare. It was apparent, however, that 

 the divide which separated the waters flowing in opposite 

 directions was very low, certainly not more than a few 

 inches high, and that in times of high water this low barrier 

 might be overflowed and so cease to exist. 



B 



THE FARMER'S BOY. 



LESS his dear, honest face, how can one but love that 

 1 frank expression, that awkward but cordial greeting; 

 he is glad to see us, his eyes are eloquent in saying so, if his 

 tongue is not. I have a large number that I value as friends, 

 and often wonder why sportsmen do not more generally cul- 

 tivate their acquaintance. There has been a great deal suid 

 about the farmer and the sportsman, but give me the farm- 

 er's boy. How I enjoy a visit with him as, tramping through 

 stubble or cover with clog and gun, I find him looking after 

 the cows or going to some spring for a drink, or maybe 

 chasing a squirrel or gathering nuts, we sit down, and while 

 man and dog are resting, we enter itito a conversation that 

 generally ripens into a lasting friendship. He is shy at first, 

 and if saluted with the question, "Bub, is there any game 

 around here?" his answer would probably be, "I duuuo," 

 while he does know if there was a brood of grouse or quail 

 raised anywhere about there, and where they are, and how 

 many there are of them; he knows of every squirrel and 

 what trees their nests'are iu, and of every woodchuck 's hole, 

 and he will tell you about, them if you treat him like a little 

 gentleman; and he will go a mile to show you just where 

 The grouse are at this particular Lime of day, for he has 

 watched them day after day while herding the cows or pick- 

 ing berries. He goes into the woods, the thickets, the gul- 

 lies, and through the fields and stump lots, and he knows 

 what is going on where the farmer himself never goes. 



1 was" just thinking— this cold blustery day— of a little 

 friend who has given me some very good shooting the past 

 three years, and has also added greatly to the pleasure of it. 

 There are a number of others who always make it a point to 

 come and see me when in the city and let! me of any game 

 they may have discovered, but this one is a little naturalist 

 and is very observing, which tends to make him the more 

 interesting. I met, him on his father's farm three years ago 

 the past fall, after taking a long and tiresome tramp without 

 starting a feather. We sat down at the top of a gully, and 

 while 1 was resting, told him how the dog loved to hunt, 

 and how disappointed he was when we failed to find the 

 birds. This opened the way to the little fellow's heart, for 

 he and the dog had been exchanging caresses and were 

 already friends," and he told me where there were two bevies 

 of quail further up and across the gully iu a small piece of 

 standing corn; how he had watched them as they ran out to 

 feed from the scrubs that grew along the edge ever since 

 they were a few weeks old, and if I would go with him he 

 would show me where to find them. I at first demurred, as 

 I felt, that they must seem like pets to him, but gave in im- 

 mediately when he brought up that time-worn but clinching 

 argument, "If you don't shoot them some one else will." He 

 was also anxious to see the dog work. Going across the 

 gully we had hardly regained our breaths, when looking 

 ahead toward the corn, there stood Pard just at the edge, 

 pointing as rigid as a statue ; going on 1 flushed the bevy 

 and scored a double, much to my friend's delight. Follow- 

 ing them up we scored two more, when, as it was growing 

 late we turned homeward; his house being on the way I 

 stopped for a drink, and learning that his mother was sick, 

 save him the quail with instructions how to cook them for 

 her Ever since when shooting iu this section, he has in- 

 variably joined me, and 1 enjoy his company no less than 

 the apples and pail of cider which he brings for my refresh- 



The past season he kept the usual sharp lookout for some- 

 thing for me to shoot, About the first of October—my two 

 pup'sadlv needing mstructious-1 took a tramp over to see 

 mv little friend. Yes, he knew where there was a dozen or 

 more grouse that had not been disturbed; he had been wait- 

 ing for me to come out to go with me, but could not go just 

 then ■ but if he could get away would come over m the woods 

 in an hour or so. Giving me the necessaiy directions we 



and quartered well, the pups worked as independently as 

 though they were old hands at it, we covered the grouuci 

 over thoroughly, but not a ruffed grouse could we find. 

 Where could they be? There was no other place near by; 

 where should I go? I was disappointed and did just what 

 manv another sportsman has done uuder like circumstances, 

 lit mv Pipe and seated myself on a log to reflect on the un- 

 certainties ot finding game just where you havereasous to 

 expect it most. I had every confidence in my informant; 

 t he birds had been there, but they were not there then . I sat 



