446 



FOREST AND STREAM, 



[July 2, 1885. 



r <h* Mff ar ^ s W n S£vwi$t+ 



Address all communications to the Foi-est and Stream Publish- 

 ing Co. 



THE SPARKLING SPOKANE. 



Editor Forest and. Stream: 



Even in far off Washington Territory there are many 

 sportsmen to whom the weekly appearance of the Forest 

 and Stream is an event of importance. 1 enjoy many quiet 

 evenings reading the experience and adventures of the hunt- 

 ers and anglers who tain to me through the columns of your 

 paper, and I find myself comparing notes with them, laugh- 

 ing at their jokes, entering into the spirit of their sport, ex- 

 ulting over their successes, and sighing for their failures, un- 

 til I am becoming acquainted with all of them, and they are 

 hereby invited to visit the banks of the Spokane River at 

 any time between this and the 15th of September, and I 

 hereby pledge tnyself to give them an experience in fly-fish- 

 ing which, when written up, will be a rare contribution to 

 the sportsmen's literature. If the tenth part of my fishing 

 experience in this Territory was given to your readers, I 

 should probably be set down at once as yarning, and 

 my local reputation in that direction is quite sufficient with- 

 out giving it the national circulation which your paper would 

 insure. And why not come to Washington Territory? Our 

 streams and many of our lakes are alive with trout; our 

 waters are practically new and untried, except by a few 

 anglers, among our business and professional men, who find 

 fishing so inexpensive and so profitable in its return of good 

 sport that they are not particularly anxious to publish our 

 rich resources to the great brotherhood of anglers who de- 

 pend upon the Forest and Stream for information as to 

 the best places to select for their summer sport. 



The Spokane Elver is a deep, swift stream of clear, cold 

 water, which preserves a very even temperature the entire 

 year; it is not too warm for drinking purposes iu summer 

 and it never freezes in winter. It is a grandly beautiful 

 river, with a rugged, rock-rimmed shore, and its forceful 

 current flows over a rock bottom from where it fiuds its 

 source as the outlet of Ceeur d'Alene Lake, in Northwestern 

 Idaho, to where it discharges its waters into the Columbia 

 River, 100 miles further west in Lincoln county, Washing- 

 ton Territory. There are two great falls on the river, the 

 largest being at the city of Spokane Falls, an important town 

 on the Northern Pacific Railroad. Here the fall is 158 feet, 

 and affords one of the grandest and most imposing views to 

 be found on the Pacific coast. A sight of these falls is alone 

 worth a trip across the continent, and the trout fishing either 

 above or below the falls is exceptionally fine. 



The angler will find here advantages which other streams 

 do not furnish ; our river is exceedingly well behaved and 

 never overflows its banks, is not subject to sudden rise or 

 fall, we have no cyclones, no wind storms, but the most de- 

 lightful climate in the world, and camping out here at any 

 time during the summer months is a real luxury. Yes, come 

 to Washington Territory and cast your fly in the best trout 

 stream in the world. Q. H. Morgan. 



Spokajje Falls, W. T., June 15. 



A MOONLIGHT MEMORY. 



THE glories of nature are generally too common to excite 

 more than a transient interest, but occasionally if is 

 given to mankind to behold a scene of beauty which is cal- 

 culated to live long in memory. I have seen one or two in 

 the course of my lifetime, and if I could reproduce a tenth 

 part of the emotions which those scenes awoke in my mind 

 1 could stand unchallenged among the great poets of this 

 world. It will be observed, however, that I am not stand- 

 ing there. 



Lake Michigan has its moods, as fickle and changeable as 

 the clouds above it. I have walked its beach when its pulse 

 was dead, and the lake lay so smooth and still that the long 

 line of the water's edge never wavered half an inch up 

 and down upon the hard yellow sand. "But let the 

 ruffian Boreas once enrage the gentle Thetis" and you 

 may see its mighty surges,"urged on by a gale that sweeps 

 the lake from Michillimacinac to Michigan City, thunder 

 against the Chicago breakwaters, wresting piers from their 

 sandy bed, overturning long lines of pile and stone work, and 

 not unfrequently tossing ah unhappy schooner on the threat- 

 ening shore, "a toast to Neptune." 



I lived at Kenwood last summer, and while there we had 

 a long reach of that hazy halcyon weather in which all 

 nature lies languid and lethargic under the drowsy influence 

 of the heated air, and the strident call of the locust, basking 

 in the dry sunlight on higb, is the only animate sound that 

 breaks the stillness of the sultry hours. I never allowed one 

 of those midsummer evenings to pass by without carrying 

 my birch canoe across the railroad tracks, launching her on 

 the cool Jake, and floating idly off the shore, until either my 

 tobacco was exhausted or my vertebral column in danger of 

 severance against the sharp edged brace which Indian in- 

 genuitjr has made an essential principle in his navai archi- 

 tecture. Nor was I alone, for other canoeists, yielding to 

 the glamor of the soft evenings, might be seen impelling their 

 dainty crafts through the dusky air like shadows, as silent 

 and impalpable. 



One night in particular I recall. We, that is, my brother, 

 a jurisconsult of eminent talent, and a Canadian friend and 

 myself, had launched our. canoe and were resting on our 

 paddles, meditating in devout silence over the first pipe of 

 the evening and waiting patiently for the rising of the full 

 moon, a phenomenon which, as the almanac assured us, 

 might be expected to occur toward 10 o'clock. Why we 

 were waiting lor that event, or just what we expected to do 

 when it came to pass, I cannot now remember. It is irrele- 

 vant and immaterial anyway. Twilight had fled and black 

 night settled down on the water. From the shore came the 

 note of preparation, the plash of paddles and the rattle of 

 oarlocks as various parties got under way and put off, and 

 presently all around us arose the sounds of different craft 

 moving over the surface, and the whole air was voluble with 

 the murmuring voices of their crews. 



Was it not all the poet sung — 



"* * * Argosies of magic sails, 

 Pilots of the purple twilight dropping down with costly bales." 

 But veiled in darkness we saw them not, or only noted 

 now and then the swift gliding gleam of a stray Ian lorn. 

 Under the silent but. effective play of the jurist's paddle our 

 light birch glided here and there through the fleet, as we 

 sought better acquaintance with our neighbors. Some we 

 knew and others not, and some evidently preferred to know 



each other better than to know us at all. But these last 

 (showing such evident bad taste) were of opposing sexes and 

 running in companies of twos, and we, on encountering 

 such, and appreciating the delicate situation, would mag- 

 nanimously sheer off and run down more practical and less 

 romantic mariners. Thus we lay in the darkness, nothing 

 visible except the lights of the city stretching awayto the 

 northward, and in the south a baleful gleaming in the 

 heavens, betokening the furnaces of South Chicago. 



And finally the moon rose, a faint gleam on the horizon 

 at first and then at a bound stood on the water's edge "round 

 as the shield of my fathers," huge, red, refulgent, and after 

 a seeming pause, as though making a preliminary survey, 

 took up its march across the sky, becoming smaller and sil- 

 very as its attitude increased. The soft light lit the lake 

 from shore to cloud line, disclosing the flotilla to our view 

 scattered widely over the smooth water. By common im- 

 pulse the boats moved toward each other and assembled off 

 the gaunt and desolate ruin of the old Hyde Park Hotel, 

 where every one said "hello," and every other one remarked 

 that it was "a perfect night." A small* sail yacht was there, 

 and although not the slightest ripple blurred the polished 

 surface of the water, and not the faintest breath of air could 

 we detect, yet some current was stirring up aloft, for her 

 topsails were full and she hovered about the circle of canoes 

 as softly and as noiselessly as an owl on the wing. 



Some singers, too, were among the company, and the same 

 were moved of course to break forth into a song; a thing 

 often commendable, but not always. At that time, that par- 

 ticular time, it struck me that silence was not only golden 

 but eloquent, and I was for decamping. But the juriscon- 

 sult thought otherwise, and as he was sustained by the Can- 

 adian, 1 submitted and listened indignantly while a bevy of 

 maidens monotonously alleged that 



"Many a stormy wind shall blow 

 Ere Jack conies home again " 



Doubtless I was wrong, doubtless it w as the music of the 

 singers alone that lent any charm to the quiet night and the 

 moonlit lake, and doubtless 1 am a miserable and crabbed 

 misogynist in thinking otherwise. I admit the soft impeach- 

 ment, and will live in the belief that the singiug of those ro- 

 mantic damsels was the only spot upon the beauty of that 

 perfect night. 



An hour later we stood on the beach, and shouldering the 

 dripping canoe passed into the abodes of men. C. 



Chicago. . 



tnt[nl l§$t 0T U* 



Address all communications to the Forest and Stream Publish- 

 ing Co, 



ZUN1 AS IT IS. 



I^HE morning of April 7 opened with a cloudless sky and 

 all the characteristics of a perfect spring day. Indeed, 

 Northwestern New Mexico had rarely experienced such a 

 season ; bright skies, no wind, and balmy airs, and of a con- 

 sequence excellent roads, no dust, and the cautious advent of 

 the early birds and flowers. 



One of my companions was a jovial traveler from Phila- 

 delphia doing the States and Territories, the other was an 

 honored curator and professor of one of our worthiest uni- 

 versities of the East. He was on a year's vacation ; was 

 traveling for the change, but still had a keen eye on the 

 fauna of the countries lying in his intended route, and did 

 not hesitate to gather in all the birds and mammals that he 

 could on the way for his museum collection. 



Away we went— we three and the driver— in an old-fash- 

 ioned army ambulance, drawn by four mules, up the hill back 

 of the Post, off for Zufii. I had heard many, many stories 

 about the place, I had read the papers by Frank Cushing in 

 the Century Magazine and the reports of the Bureau of Eth- 

 nology, and I looked forward to this visit with the keenest 

 pleasure. My friends enjoyed a similar frame of mind; and 

 we were soon exchanging former experiences in our lives, 

 of collecting trips, hunting excursions, and voyages over the 

 sea. The mules in the meantime tugged away up the moun- 

 tain road, through the scrubby pinons and junipers, until we 

 came to the top. Here we find Bradley Station, a rough, 

 ladderlike structure, erected by the United States Geological 

 Survey a year or so before, and named in commemoration 

 of the' officer in command at the fort. The view from this, 

 the highest point, is truly magnificent and beyond the powers 

 of pen to adequately describe. We all disembarked to enjoy 

 it for a little while. The elevation at this point is between 

 seven and eight thousand feet and overlooks an enormous 

 valley, flanked on all sides by the grandest of pine-clad 

 mountains and cliffs of forms most grotesque and colors most 

 various. 



From this point our road lay through, for several miles, a 

 magnificent pine forest, to be occasionally varied by an open 

 mountain park, or perhaps some narrow .valley, presenting 

 us in its peeping verdure with the first evidences of spriug. 

 Here we saw perching upon dead stalks of some gaudy 

 flower of the year before, the brilliant arctic bluebird, and 

 less frequently its cousin of the Eastern States, the common 

 form. Here, too, an unsuccessful attempt was made to cap- 

 ture a fine specimen of the shining fly-snapppr {Pliainopejila 

 nitens), a bird of so much interest to. ornithologists. Thus 

 we rode along, now enjoying the stampede of the prairie 

 dogs, as we passed through one of their towns; again, mak- 

 ing mental notes of the birds that we observed, Few of 

 these had as yet arrived, as the vanguard of the migration 

 had but barely put in an appearance. One swallow was 

 noticed, and we saw kildeers and Colaptes mericanus and 

 western robins, with a sprinkling of nuthatches, chickadees 

 and SDarrows. 



Plenty of turkeys are found in these pine forests, and two 

 or three kinds of "rabbits with an occasional deer, or in the 

 canons a bear; but the game is rapidly disappearing before 

 the persistent Navajo Indian hunter. * At the end of our six- 

 teenth mile, we passed down a high hill, over which the 

 road ran into the beautiful valley of Las Nutrias, named 

 from a sparkling mountain stream which courses through 

 it. Here Ave found our tent already pitched for us by our 

 escort, which had preceded us with a four-mule wagon 

 carrying provisions and other necessaries for the trip. 



Ah! the charms of a mountain camp in the spring time, 

 and above all, on a quiet spring evening. Every lover of 

 the forest knows them, and is only too happy to seek them 

 whenever the opportunity offers. The absolute freedom 

 from all restraint can only be appreciated here; one feels as 

 free as air, and a peculiar elasticity and strength seem every 

 moment to be taking possession of you. 



How we enjoyed each his hot pot of coffee and the Boston 

 baked beans, as we sat, Turk fashion, about my little iron- 

 bound chest, just within the tent. Then the talk and the 

 pipe afterward, which is prolonged until evening steals over 

 all, and by common consent we are soon curled up under the 

 blankets, to be lulled asleep on the New Mexican frontier by 

 the distant music of the coyotes. 



In the morning we were all up betimes, and strolled down 

 to the stream to take our "rub up." Then back to camp 

 again with sharpened appetites to partake of an excellent 

 field breakfast. 



A mile and a half further along on our road there was a 

 small pueblo, called the Nutrias Pueblo, after the stream. A 

 large number of Zunis were living at this time of the year 

 iu and about this point, as it was the wheat season. Several 

 of them now began to drop into our camp, and I must own 

 that I was by no means favorably prepossessed with their 

 appearance in this first introduction to them. They were 

 exceedingly untidy in their dress, besides being unwashed 

 and unkempt. Of the number standing about the tent, I 

 failed to see a single individual that might in any way recall 

 that manliness in bearing and fastidiousness in attire which 

 is by no means an uncommon thing among the Northern 

 Sioux and Crows, as I myself have frequently observed. 



One of their number, a man who appeared to be about 

 three-fourths white, was a particularly uninviting specimen 

 of humanity, with his sore eyes, filthy skin, foul and ragged 

 dress, and with his head covered by a mass of matted yellow 

 hair, that reminded one of the abandoned inner lining of a 

 vulture's nest, which had been by mistake used one season 

 too many. This creature took no little pride in impressing 

 it upon us that he was a Zuni. Just as the ambulance was 

 about ready for our day's ride that would land us by after- 

 noon in the capital of these people, we observed that they 

 were arranging something over an anthill on the prairie only 

 a few yards from where we stood. As we were on an expe- 

 dition to see everything that could be seen in all Zunidom, 

 over we all started to investigate the cause of Ihe movement. 

 It was soon made clear to us; the yellow-haired man was 

 engaged setting a bird trap to catch small birds, and the 

 others were looking on. For a small sum I purchased one 

 of these traps, and I give the account of its workings just as 

 it was given to me by the Zuhis themselves. They first take 



an old hollow reed about two feet long and cut one end of 

 it, just as our boys go to work to make a willow whistle, 

 only the Zunis do not put the end plug in. Next they get 

 a dried little twig with a small piece of the main stalk at- 

 tached to it, as shown at b. The lighter and dryer this is 

 the better. Then they take a little cylindrical piece of wood 

 (c) and tie it securely around its middle with a horsehair, leav- 

 ing enough to make a small noose at one end, and some twelve 

 or fifteen inches at the other. This passes through the 

 opening in the side of the reed and appears at a. Its lower 

 end has fastened to it, first, about eight inches of a narrow 

 piece of rag, which in its turn is fastened to a small stone of 

 some two ounces weight. Now to set it, the reed is stuck 

 firmly in an anthill and allowed to slant over just a little. 

 Then b is placed across the top, as shown in the cut, with <• 

 at right angles to it, and barely resting on the margin of the 

 reed and the middle of that part of b which crosses it. The 

 horsehair noose is now made and placed on the upper side 

 of b, being held in its position by the little cross stem on the 

 end of it. The trap is then ready, and if some small bird 

 lights on top of it, which is pretty sure to happen on the 

 open prairie", its feet resting on b within the noose, dislodges 

 c, which is really the only thing which holds up the stone, 

 and this falling 'to the ground holds the victim fast on the 

 top of the reed" 

 In one of the pueblos on Las Nutrias I counted seventeen 



