312 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Oct. 12, 1895. 



AN OUTING IN THE SIERRAS.-IV. 



Glenbrook and Out. 



On Aug. 13 1 left the California part of Lake Tahoe, 

 and in an hour the Meteor carried me to Gl'enbrook, 

 Nevada, nearly opposite Tahoe City, and thirteen miles 

 distant. Glenbrook is for the present at least a buBy, 

 thriving little town, with a most bome-like inn kept by a 

 lady from Maine. 



There are stores, a number of good houses, school- 

 house, church, and what has made it, but will in the end 

 let it die or live a feeble existence, a large saw-mill, that 

 has perhaps more than any other factor contributed to the 

 prosperity of the Comstock and other mines. 



This mill is the property of a company of which Mr. 

 Duaue Bliss, my host and pleasant companion for a couple 

 of days, is the president and general manager. 



Beginning a quarter of a century ago, when the moun- 

 tains — which encircle the lake^were covered with a 

 magnificent forest of pines, cedars, firs, tamarack and 

 other trees, this company having acquired many thou- 

 sand acres began a most thorough course of exposing the 

 rocks and crags and manufacturing romantic and grand 

 scenery as well as timber, lumber and firewood. The 

 timber is carried up a ten-mile railroad, built first along 

 the edge of a canon with a sharp rise, then crosses its 

 head on trestles, then by a three-legged zigzag ascends 

 the face of a mountain— on which a healthy goat would 

 grow weary, about 1,000ft. in ten miles — to the summit. 

 Here the lumber is cast into a twelve-mile flume; and the 

 swift current of ctear mountain snow and spring water 

 shoots it down to Canon City, built of it, whence it is dis- 

 tributed to Virginia and other cities; and millions of feet 

 of timber go into the bowels of the earth to timber the 

 mines, the firewood to furnish pump power and heat the 

 cities of the mining region. Year after year the denuda- 

 tion has spread; peak after peak has thrust its naked 

 head into visibility, and the border of available timber 

 within paying distance has gone further away, until at 

 another point on the lake shore it became necessary to 

 build nearer to the supply another city, Bijou, with more 

 railroad, and a long wharf over which to its end the rail 1 

 road extends; and from it the logs are dumppd into the 

 'lake, made into rafts, towed by the company's steamers 

 to Glen wood, hauled out through the saw-mill and sent 

 up the mountain and down the flume as were their pre- 

 decessors. But a few years more and there will come an 

 end. "With no more trees within profitable distance there 

 will be no more uses for the mill, the railroad and the 

 flume. "With them out of demand, no more work for the 

 men, no more need of the houses, school-house and 

 church, and Glenbrook and Bijou will be deserted villages. 

 It is fortunate for those who must remain that the loca- 

 tion is pleasant; and when pushed to it pleasant hotels 

 may attract a share of the summer travel. 



That afternoon Mr. Bliss invited me to a ride up the 

 mountain on the railroad. I accepted witb pleasure, but 

 must confess that when given the choice between the cab 

 and the cow-catcher my first thought was in favor of the 

 cab, but when he remarked, "Here's my favorite seat," 

 at the same time taking a seat across the head of the 

 engine, I did not have courage enough to decline, and we 

 mounted, using the cow-catcher to rest our feet. After a 

 bit I began to enjoy it, with our backs against a guard on 

 the front of the boiler — the entire horizon open to our view 

 — and no dust. The ride up the two legs, when we went 

 abead, was exciting and very pleasant; but on the middle 

 stretch where we had to back the heat was perceptible. 

 We dashed ahead at good speed around mountain Cape 

 Horn, over high trestles, along the edges of deep canons, 

 until we reached a table land or flat almost up to the 

 summit, along which we ran quite a distance, and I won- 

 dered at the thrifty appearance of the grass. It is a cattle 

 ranch. 



On the whole, the ride up and down again from the 

 flume will be long remembered. 



After a pleasant dinner at his borne I had a pleasant 

 chat with Mr. Bliss and family. We had all been in 

 China, Japan and India, and had much in common. 



The next morning early the Emerald took us over to 

 Bijou, 12 miles; then leaving us on the wharf, she tackled 

 an immense raft of great logs to tow back, while we 

 mounted this time the cab of the locomotive, backed 

 down the wharf for our use, and started for Myers 

 Station, 10 miles. This road, leading along a compara- 

 tively level route, along the base of mountains and edges 

 of valleys in which many cattle were grazing, was less 

 picturesque, but actually more dangerous than the Glen- 

 brook road; for there were lots of chances for steers, cows 

 or calves to be on the track. One such chance — and one 

 only — has had a serious termination. A few years ago 

 a suddenly awakened or startled calf lying unseen near 

 tbe track jumped up and onto it, ditched the engine and 

 killed two or three men. We went along very carefully, 

 throttle in hand, and had no adventure. 



Along the road there are branch roads and switches 

 leading up c&iions. 



At Myers Station, which we reached at 9:30, a hand- 

 some pair of good and safe horses were hitched to a very 

 comfortable buggy, and we started across the Sierras on 

 the old stage road from Carson and Virginia City, the 

 road over which so much treasure has been hauled, and 

 immortalized by Bret Harte and other Western writers. 

 The first three miles was asteady climb and asteepone, for 

 we went up about a thousand feet in three miles; then at 

 about 8,000ft. up, and from one of the highest of surmount- 

 able summits, we began our way down, reaching Straw- 

 berry, where we had a very excellent lunch at aboutnoon. 

 Welay off there until about 3 P. M., for it was blazing 

 hot and the horses nef ded rest. 



The little hotel is temptingly near the banks of the 

 American River, and hot as it was I did. not resist the 

 temptation to put my rod together and make a few casts — 

 a very few it turned out, for I did not, and ought not to 

 have even expected to, get a strike. But there occurred 

 something which brought to my notice a fact that I had 

 not hitherto observed. In all of the work I had done at 

 the high altitudes I had panted a great deal, but perspired 

 very little. Here the reverse was the caBe. A hundred 

 yards of tramping caused profuse perspiration, this at 

 about 4,000 or 5 000ft. 



The road, although so old, and according to the views 

 of Mr. Bliss, who had gone over it often, now in bad 

 shape, struck me as very fair, exoept for the duet. 

 Going down a steep grade just before reaching Straw- 

 berry (and very glad that the horses were good holders 

 &B0*),.Mx. BJjss tpjd. m.e that this was the identical hill 



made historic by the gallop down and by a short turn 

 almost a countermarch over "Slippery Ford," given by 

 Hank Monk to Horace Greeley years ago. There's a bridge 

 over the river now, but the approach to it over bare rocks 

 would no doubt, if wet, be slippery enough. I can read- 

 ily believe that in his account of the occurrence Mr. 

 Greeley did not exaggerate his emotions. 



Several places were pointed out where more or less 

 successful and historical "hold-ups" had occurred, and 

 here and there where a grizzly had been encountered; but 

 the great number of wagon loads of campers, men, 

 women and children on their way in, and a goodly num- 

 ber of established camps in suitable locations, of a few 

 adventurous bicyclers pushing their wheels before them 

 up tbe hill, of women and children strung along and 

 whipping the American River for trout, and of herds of 

 calves and young cattle tranquilly cud chewing, and at 

 no time a great distance apart dwelling houses, dairies, 

 ranches and taverns, indicated that the danger of meeting 

 either road agent or bear was at a minimum. Jack rab- 

 bits, California quail and hare we did meet in abundance, 

 and no end of chipmunks. 



We reached the Pacific House, thirty-nine miles from 

 Myers Station, at 5:30 P. M , and there spent the night. 

 I must give a free ad. to this hotel, simply this: I never 

 in my life had in any country, at any resort for travel- 

 ers, so excellent a supper and breakfast so splendidly pre- 

 pared as those here given us by Mrs. Zimmerman — enough 

 of everything for three times the capacity of Mr, Bliss 

 and myself, and each course better than the other. 



As the Pacific House was only about 50yds. from the 

 bank of the American River, I thought I would try it 

 again with my rod, but when I walked to the edge and 

 looked down a steep almost up and down climb of about 

 300ft. I concluded, in remembrance of my climb up and 

 sliding down the railroad embankment at Truckee, that 

 I wouldn't. A half-pound fish would have been a heavy 

 one before I got him up that bank. 



In this vicinity the forest has been nearly obliterated, 

 and fertile stock ranches and dairy farms have taken its 

 place. 



At A M the next day we got under way again, and 

 after an eighteen-mile drive, so dusty with the ground- 

 up, red, gold-bearing earth that all that had gone be- 

 fore seemed by contrast dustless, we at noon reached 

 Placerville on the railroad, and bidding Mr. Bliss good-by 

 my outing was at an end. In spite of the dust and heat 

 I don't know that I have ever more enjoyed a drive. Mr. 

 Bliss was thoroughly familiar with the country, and 

 pointed out many places and scenes of which I had read, 

 and snatches of Bret Harte's and Joaquin Miller's writings 

 were being constantly recalled. 



There were places where the road, wide enough for 

 safety with a good team and skillful driver, had but little 

 over, and the ravines below, the mountain sides above; 

 were very close to our wheels. Qe place a forest fire, 

 due to camper's carelessness^ had landed tbe burning end 

 of a great pine across a part of the track, and a Blight 

 shy by the horses would have precipitated us to a great 

 depth; but at a word from tbeir master they steadied 

 down and we passed in safety. Again, near the Pacific 

 House, we encountered a wash-out and had hardly a foot 

 to spare. It was a grand ride of nearly sixty miles by 

 carriage, eleven by railroad and twelve by boat, and a 

 fitting termination to a delightful outing. Piseco. 



GROUSE HUNTING IN PIKE COUNTY. 



A trip at this time of the year through Monroe into 

 Pike county, Pa., is particular interesting; and especially 

 so to any one who has had business ties confine him in 

 any of our large cities without rest or change during the 

 entire hot summer now happily at an end. 



But to the man who takes this trip in a comfortable 

 wagon, behind a good pair of horses, with George Stiff 

 (the pathfinder of Mount Pocono) as driver and guide, 

 with a pet, set purpose in view, and the complete where- 

 with stowed away in the wagon, to carry out that pur- 

 pose, it was delightful. A few nights of frost had tinted 

 those old hills, and those vast slopes of green had changed, 

 mottled here and there with a light yellow and red, as a 

 warning to all nature of the closing of summer and the 

 coming of fall. The robins and crows seemed to travel in 

 company instead of alone, the mountain ash was perfec- 

 tion in its happy combination of colorings, red and green. 



A six hours' drivaf rom Mount Pocpno brought us to our 

 destination; the. Promised Land (right in the center of 

 glory). From out the wagon we secured our guns, 

 ammunition, hunting clothes and George Stiff (he had 

 been most carefully packed in), also a pair of young 

 English setters. Ben Hadad was to begin his second 

 season on grouse; and my little blue Belton, Countess 

 Jennette, was to bave her first whiff at these gay birds of 

 the forest. 



We found the Promised Land almost a deserted timber 

 camp. Some years' chopping, drawing and sawing and 

 forest fires have left little for the woodsman of this day 

 to do. One house is, however, well occupied by sturdy 

 Ed. Wilson, his good wife and six golden-haired children. 

 The name of this place should be changed to Hunter's 

 Paradise. A fine pond three miles long is full of gamy 

 pickerel and other fish; wild ducks are in plenty, with 

 often a bear, sometimes a deer, and grouse galore. 



Grouse hunting in Pike county is all right for any one 

 who can stand it. I cannot conscientiously recommend 

 it as a health-giving pastime for the weak and weary of 

 limb and body, nor the proper exercise for those suffering 

 with the gout. Nor does a man need to be an all-around 

 acrobat and athlete, but awfully near it. I will add, 

 neither is it a good place for a man to learn to shoot! 

 Learn to shoot first and go grouse hunting afterward, and 

 see how little you actually know about the art. There is 

 no "ready?" "right!" "pull," in grouse shooting. Mr. 

 Grouse is essentially a bird of the brush, and he Bticks 

 pretty close to his native heath. I can prove that by the 

 owner of that unknown wonder, Donald, who in the 

 estimation of his master will surprise the dog world next 

 year. 



In this country one will find more fallen timber (always 

 black), huge rocks (always on edge), bull briers (full 

 grown), rhododendron thickets (proof even against 

 cyclones and forest fires) to the acre than in any other 

 part of this whole country. Many times one will hesi- 

 tate whether to go over or under a particular log, and in 

 many cases will decide to do both, and come out with a 

 well-knit, cloBe-fitting brier collar on and his religion just 

 a point or two below par^ 



But even in this anti-watermelon growing country 

 there are beautiful places, restful to mind and body alike 

 — the mystic spring all alone on that great hillside, sur- 

 rounded by a carpet of soft fine grass, a small picture 

 framed in rugged mountains, cool, refreshing and invig- 

 orating; the long shady road through the swale to 

 Link's, full of old moss-covered rocks and logs — oue of 

 the few places that have escaped tbe awful fury of the 

 forest fire and tbe modern cyclone. A rest here is quite 

 a real dream of the wilderness, with that splendid sports- 

 man and indulgent companion, my brother the Doctor, 

 by my side. The Doctor's only kicks are, that the day 

 don't last longer and the morning don't come sooner, and 

 that we don't have a wagon to ride home in when the 

 hunt has ended five miles from camp, and the excitement 

 of chasing some old bird has died out with night close at 

 hand, and he discovers after all that his legs are not built 

 of steel springs. 



I will not tire the readers of Forest and Stream with 

 all the details of that three days in Pike cjuaty, but my 

 love of the dog tempts me to tell of some of them. 



On the first morning out we struck for a point of low 

 timber that looked promising. The dogs passed in well 

 in advance of us. Soon Ben took on that solemn air and 

 slow tread that with him means "get your gun," Jen- 

 nette, less familiar with this sort of work, quickly slid to 

 the front and hesitated a second only. The scent was 

 new, but tbe sense was native and inborn. She straight- 

 ened, I called "Steady !" A superfluous noise, however. 

 She was down, steady, fast and true, with patient 

 Ben's head well drawn forward at her flank, her first 

 grouse, well done. The Doctor flushed, but in such a 

 cover hiB Bhot were not effective. 



On we go, two more flush wild; we separate and follow, 

 Wilson and I to the left, the Doctor and George to the 

 right, up through afi old oak woods whose entire founda- 

 tion Was heavy broken rocks and fallen timber. Another 

 fine point by jennette and the left barrel brings to earth 

 a handsome fellow. While reloading, up go two 

 more; but alas! the gun was open. Ben comes in and 

 finds my bird, which Jenn. could not locate. 



A few yards further and two more take to wing, again 

 the left does the work. My bird falls with a broken wing. 

 We go to find. The Doctor and Ben have left us. We 

 must search alone. From rock to rock bounds Jennette, 

 Beemingly coming no nearer to that hidden cripple. She 

 takes a wider cast down with the wind, swings and comes 

 up. With head high and every sense on the alert, on she 

 comes, straight as an arrow, until confronted by a high 

 flat rock, apparently too high for the leap, but fearful of 

 losing for an instant what those delicate nostrils contain, 

 Up she goes, lands on the edge, starts to cross, hesitates, 

 stops; the hanging tongue is drawn in, with it one side of 

 the upper lip; she gently raises that slender left paw, 

 lowers that knowing head, straightens the bushy tail and 

 ail is still. The only motion in that dumb animal was the 

 beating heart, the breathing even seemed hushed. For 

 200yds. in any direction could be seen this small statue of 

 mottled marble, on its immense brown stone base in this 

 old woods, where all was so still. It was a sight to gladden 

 the heart of any true sportsman. To me it was beautiful. 

 Ten paces in front of iier, crouched at the foot of a tree, 

 well hidden under a rock, we found my bird, a handsome 

 cock, only wing tipped. The guide secured him, and we 

 pushed on until the noon hour, flushing some birds, but in 

 too heavy cover for effective shooting. 



The early afternoon found us four miles from home 

 with no birds in our bags and in a Irenching rain. With 

 Coat collars turned up and hat brims turned down, we 

 struck for camp Indian file. Nearing the end of this 

 forced wet match* in an old road, with our bedraggled 

 dogs well in advance, we were surprised to see them both 

 swing half around and come to a full point at the edge of 

 a brier patch. Before we could come up, however, a half 

 dozen birds flushed and took to cover. We didn't. We 

 immediately took after them, and in less than an hour, 

 from this lot and another one, we had four and a half 

 grouse in our pockets. George Stiff had the half, and it's 

 remarkable how his gun will shoot at short range. He 

 killed, picked and stewed that bird with one blow. We 

 were soaked to the skin and broke for home. 



The second day netted us a wonderful outing; in fact, 

 as I recall it, we were out from sunrise until dark, and 

 took in most of Pike county; Wilson as guide in the 

 morning, his friend (and now, I hope, mine) Sam in the 

 afternoon; but we got few birds. I shall never forget 

 Sam cutting loose with his 10-boreand 5drs. of black pow- 

 der (one could readily imagine himself at the proving 

 grounds) on a hen grouse. When the smoke had cleared 

 away we found two feathers and some badly shattered 

 timber, but no bird. Shortly afterward I flushed 

 this same bird. Of course she got up well back 

 of me, Jennette being well to my right in some 

 short timber. My two barrels only served to make 

 that thoroughly frightened bird go all the faster and hide 

 all the closer. I marked down carefully, in a thick brier 

 patch, too thick for the dog. She followed part of the 

 way in, however, and as I supposed turned to go out. 

 Raise that bird we couldn't, and passed on over the hill 

 into an old road, and called the dog. It was of no use. 

 I must go back and find her. This I did, in a tangle of 

 briers pricking her in twenty places, down fast on a full 

 point, and she had been in that position until she trembled 

 from tip to tip. The timber was scant, the way was clear 

 and my empty pocket filled me with desperation, to say 

 nothing of my obligation to the faithful animal. That 

 bird must die. Three days later, comfortably seated at 

 my own table, I picked its bones. 



I traveled the track of the fiery fiend and scrambled in 

 the wake of the cyclone, and explored the thicket of 

 rhododendron, ytt wearied not. I must get another. The 

 sun had not only tinted, but had painted the west in dark 

 colorings; the distant bells told of the going home of the 

 wandering mountain cow. We had passed from the 

 early twilight of the woods into the remaining light of 

 the road and had taken up the wearied tread of the tired, 

 hunter homeward bound. The night of despair smothered 

 me. I had a little hen grouse to show the Doctor, and 

 wondered what had been his luck. Jennette, footsore, 

 worn and weary, would run abead, lie down and rest her 

 blistered feet, await our conking and then on again. 



During one of these painful spurts those sensitive 

 nostrils detected a late diner by the roadside. Around 

 like a flash she became motionless, one foot up (only three 

 hurting in this position). I swung my heavy artillery in 

 at the right, S. to the left, commanding the heavy gun to 

 open the battle while I cohered the retreating en§my with 



