Aug. 3, 1895.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



91 



branches soon drop off. Now take' a look around you and 

 use your eyes again." 



"The trunks all have moss on them and it seems to stop 

 at the same height on every tree." 



"Exactly the same height: you couldn't measure it 

 closer with a surveyor's outfit. That's the water level of 

 the last spring overflow, 12ft. from the ground. And now 

 you can see how a man might have tramped over every 

 foot of this ground for years and yet get lost on it after 

 the next overflow. Every spring the backwater comes in 

 here 10 or 15ft. deep and washes out all of the down-logs 

 and other landmarks, replacing them with something 

 else and changing the whole appearance of things. There 

 is little individuality to the standing trees, as you have 

 noticed." 



"Then the only way to keep from losing yourself in this 

 part of the world is to stay in a boat?" 



"That depends upon the time of year. During the over- 

 flow this low land is covered with water for miles in 

 every direction, and there are innumerable creeks and 

 bayous. The trees are so thick that you cannot see a 

 hundred yards anywhere. There is a log jam to be 

 rounded every here and there; and the water is all dead 

 or backing water; and if there's any current, it's as likely 

 to be running up hill as down. Just come here in a dug- 

 out during the overflow and see where you get to." 



"Is there any worse place to get lost in than a cypress 

 swamp?" 



"Well, wait till you strike blue cane, and then judge 

 for yourself." 



"Say, partner, how would a tenderloin steak strike 

 you— the whole beef, I mean, with 'taters and gravy?" 



"See here, you don't seem to think of anything but 

 that tummy of yours. You needn't fret. If we need sup- 

 per by-and-bye we can shoot a pig — there goes a whole 

 family of them." 



My gun was up, but he restrained me. 



"Don't do that yet. It's considered bad manners down 

 here, and has been known to get nice people into trouble. 

 But if we don't strike a trail pretty soon, and a fat little 

 shoat should run up and bite you, why I'll look the other 

 way." 



We plunged into a brake of switch cane, which tangled 

 up our feet, cut us in the face, and seemed never-ending. 

 Then it was over a bog, winding in and about, slipping, 

 stubbing our toes, avoiding water holes only to sink in 

 mire. Enormous tupelos grew here, with hollow butts 

 big enough to shelter us and room to spare. But what a 

 dismal place to camp in, with the miasma, wolves and 

 creeping things! How ghastly, too, those cypress knees 

 would look by firelight— like headless ghosts rising from 

 their dank graves. Darkness always hovers over the 

 swamps, but it was falling now, and the long, exposed 

 roots looked like twisted pythons, while the ugly knots 

 and excrescences on the huge trunks above them, the 

 gnarled and tortured limbs, grew in the shadows to be 

 things of evil. 



"We must cross this creek if we want to reach the 

 upland; here's a coon-bridge," exclaimed Barnes. 



It was ticklish business crossing that slippery log, but 

 we got over. Then there was more cane, and finally 

 the firm upland with its honest oaks and gums. 



One member of the expedition was nearly tuckered out 

 and he was about to demand a halt, when lo! we stumbled 

 into a clearing. 



Could we believe our eyes? Yes, there stood a cabin in 

 the unobstructed rays of a 5 o'clock sun; and in front of 

 the cabin was a man; and he was alive and looked as if 

 he could cook; and surely there was meat in the cabin, 

 with bread and fixin's. 



I rushed up to that swamp angel and nearly fell upon 

 his neck. He was my long-lost brother, who would cook 

 us a meal, and every cent I had was his. Even the im- 

 perturbable Barnes smiled a neighborly smile and greeted 

 the nonplussed pioneer with frank cordiality. 



Horace Kephart. 



St. Louis. 



NORTHWARD TO THE FAR WEST.-V. 



[Continued from page 69.] 



We were loath to say adieu to the old friends and the 

 new ones we had made, but the day came, and once more 

 to the northward we were speeding. At Northport we 

 boarded the Lytton, and received so hearty a welcome 

 from the crew that it seemed like being at home. The 

 month we had been in the StateR had made quite a change 

 in the Columbia River, and the water was now getting so 

 low that the rapids were much harder to run and to as- 

 cend. One of the worst places we had to make before we 

 reached Robson was only gotten over by the process 

 known as "lining up." Ahugepost, called a "dead man," 

 had been sunk in the bank, and a long steel hawser was 

 made fast to it. Spliced to the steel rope was a strong 

 manilla hawser, and on the end of this was a log float or 

 buoy. As the steamer got into the lower part of the 

 rapids this floating log was picked up and the line hauled 

 on board. This lino was then taken to the capstan, which 

 was worked by a donkey engine, and a strain was put on 

 it. We then worked our way up into the rapid, and 

 every inch gained was held by the strain on the hawser. 

 We were in the pilot house and watching the struggle 

 between the forces of nature, chained a,nd free. The 

 mighty current came sweeping down against our craft, 

 thrusting her back with a force that her engines could not 

 equal, and she stood and quivered with the efforts of the 

 machery to drive her forward. The trees on the bank 

 stood still, the dashing, flashing waves seem to come more 

 quickly as the exhaust from the steam pipes takes on 

 deeper tones as the engineer "gives it to her." The cap- 

 stan dogs clink merrily as more slack comes in and the 

 hawser whips out of the water with a snap. Slower and 

 still deeper in tone comes the roar of the steam, and she 

 moves up a little. A tree, which we had in line with an- 

 other, moves just a little, and hurrah! we gain a trifle, 

 faster the donkey engine works, and the great wheel at 

 our stern churns the water into whiter foam as we forge 

 slowly ahead. Now we move perceptibly and the trees 

 seem to drop slowly astern. But, no; wilder yet seem the 

 rushing waters, and again we stand, straining, quivering 

 and groaning in the fierceness of the struggle. The cap- 

 tain, who is at the wheel, puts his foot against a spoke, 

 lets go and spits on his hands. 



"How much steam have they got on below?" he asks. 



"Ninety and raising, sir," replied the mate; "but I 

 think she's gaining." 



Over goes the wheel, as the captain tries to take ad- 



vantage of a cross current that sets it around the point 

 and makes a back swirl. With the help of this the 

 Lytton slowly gains and quicker come the puffs from the 

 exhaust, and soon we leave the standing trees, and the 

 capstan whirls rapidly as the slack comes in and up we 

 go. Another experience has been ours, and we enjoyed 

 it too. 



Just before evening we arrived at Robson, and here we 

 again left the Lytton, as we intended to hunt near by. 



Robson is not much of a place. It has a station, a 

 hotel and a section house. It is the Columbia end of the 

 Canadian Pacific's short branch that runs to Nelson up the 

 Kootenay River, and is the point that those coming to 

 fish the river start from. 



It had been our understanding Tthat there was fine 

 deer shooting near by and we intended to stay a few 

 days. 



The hotel is run by a Frenchman, Louis by name, and 



along at a great gait. Louis and I led the way, and the 

 boys behind said our wind must be good. It was a fine 

 ride, as the scenery is grand. The railroad track runs 

 above the river 200 or 300ft. and through mountains that 

 run back to peaks 7,000 and 8,000ft. high. 



We only went up to the first falls and took our speed- 

 ers off the track. It was a nearly perpendicular descent 

 to the roaring, rushing river 300ft. below us, and one of 

 the wildest scenes imaginable. The lower Kootenay 

 plunges down to the Columbia, through a chasm in these 

 mountains, in a series of rapids and falls. There are no 

 bushes or trees near the margin of the river, nothing but 

 huge boulders and immense rocks, like great nouses, whose 

 sides rise vertically from the foaming water below. 



Deep, dark pools are formed by immense boulders in the 

 rapid current, and foam-crested falls plunge downward 

 into boiling cauldrons of glistening water. No stream 

 could be more charming from an angler's standpoint, or 



KOOTENAY INDIAN CAMP. 

 Amateur photo by P. F. Fiisbie. 



is not such a bad place as one would imagine for a situa- 

 tion that is shut in from the outside world part of the 

 year. Terms $2 per day. Some of the finest October 

 weather that we ever saw set in now, and of course, as 

 usual, we mortals are never satisfied — we wanted a storm. 

 The morning after reaching Robson we made the ac- 

 quaintance of Jerry McBride, a merry son of the Emerald 

 Isle, a local rancher, hunter and guide; and he agreed to 

 take the writer up to Deer Park in his boat and hunt for 

 a week for $3 per day and found; but Jerry could not go 

 until Wednesday, and that gave us two days to kill 

 time in. 



It was pretty cold and rather late for fishing (Oct. 8), 

 but as the sun shone so brightly we — the hotel man, the 

 station agent and a miner, with the writer — de\ i hid we 

 could catch some fish. So we got out two speeder? (rail- 

 way velocipedes) and started up the Kootenay K ; ver, 

 which flows into the Columbia just below Robson. 



more beautiful in its wild grandeur to an artist or the true 

 lover of nature. 



Scrambling down to the water, we were soon whipping 

 the stream with the fly or dropping the more seductive 

 "g"-hopper into the foaming waters. 



It was too late and the trout would not rise well. The 

 squawfish (local), or what is known as whitefish in some 

 parts of the West, would bite, but not freely. Louis had 

 an experience at the falls. He managed to hook a small 

 trout, and was drawing it in when a monster trout made 

 a rush for the little fellow and seized it. Louis kept on 

 pulling, and landed the big fellow, which weighed at the 

 hotel a little over 121bs. We gave in. Louis was too 

 much for us, and as the whole outfit did not have his luck 

 we mounted the speeders for home. 



By. hard wrestling we managed to get together grub 

 enough, from the hotel and the section boss, to take us 

 into camp for a week. There is no store nearer Robson 



KXOOTCHMAN (SQUAW) WATCHING POK DEEE. 

 Amateurfphoto by P. P. Frisble. 



There are really two Kootenay rivers, though it is one 

 water. To explain: The upper Kootenay River rises way 

 up in the Rockies, east of the Columbia, and flows south- 

 erly down into the United States, through sections of 

 Montana and Idaho. It then turns north, back into sec- 

 tions of British Columbia, and some way north of the 

 boundary forms Kootenay Lake, which in turn empties 

 its waters through a river also called the Kootenay, 

 which flows into the Columbia. 



The short stretch of river between the lake and the 

 Columbia is noted the world over for its fishing. This is 

 said advisedly, as parties go there from Europe as well as 

 from the far eastern United States to fish. The Canadian 

 Pacific has made great efforts to advertise this fishing, and 

 also to take care of the people who are attracted by it; but 

 one who goes there now should take his supplies from 

 Ravelstoke or go to Nelson to outfit, and take tents and 

 full outfits with him. There are some log houses at 

 points along the river, but they are not kept in condi- 

 tion. 



The fishing is the best from the middle of July until the 

 middle of September, provided the high water has sub- 

 sided by the middle of July. This year (1894) it had not. 



Trout, and plenty of them of large size, are taken. It 

 is a stream that will be practically inexhaustible, owing 

 to itB location, size, and the volume of water that it car- 

 ries. 



Our outfit on the speeders, two on each, we went bowling 



than Nelson, and only two trains a week, so we were in 

 luck to get anything, as the season was over and Louis 

 had got down to hard pan in the hotel. 



Mr. Thomas, the C. P. agent, very kindly loaned us a 

 tent, so we were fixed. On time Tuesday afternoon 

 Jerry appeared with his little boat, and loading in our 

 supplies and a few personal effects, we started for his 

 ranch, five miles up the river, from which place we 

 intended getting a good early start the next day. 



We found Jerry's shack, as he called it, a very good log 

 house of three rooms and we were much pleased to find it 

 very neat and tidy, as it promised well for Jerry in camp. 

 I was alone and had some misgivings in regard to what 

 kind of a companion Jerry would prove, but a sight of the 

 tidy ranch reassured me. Jerry got his camp outfit ready 

 and we turned in early and were up betimes the next 

 morning. 



Our little craft was a flat-bottomed skiff, or, as we 

 called them in boyhood days in New Jersey, a bateau. 

 She was sharp of bow, square of stern, flat bottom and 

 straight sides, and was just large enough to carry ourselves 

 and duffle comfortably. Jerry had a square sail for her, 

 which was too large, and deliver me from a square sail 

 anyway, especially one rigged as Jerry had his. However 

 Jerry placed his main reliance on an ash breeze and 

 expected to pull the sixteen miles or more, up and down. 

 But we found a nice breeze up the river and hoisted the 

 old rag, and much to Jerry's joy we managed to sail the 



