62 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Aug. 18, 1887. 



Address att communicaUom to the Forest and Stream Pub. Co 



MOUNT YO. 



MOUNT YO, a bare rugged peak of some five thousand 

 feet in height, is situated on the right shore of the 

 North Arm of Burrard Inlet, ten miles from the mouth 

 and fifteen miles from the village of Hastings, the nearest 

 hotel, from which point the trip to the foot of the moun- 

 tain is made by water. The broken nature of its summit 

 offers ample cover for the different kinds of game found 

 there; and although at first glance the extent of country 

 to be hunted may appear A^ery limited, still one will re- 

 quire at least three or four days to thoroughly explore the 

 many nooks and corners of this snow-covered peak. 

 There is no trail leading to the summit, and one must, 

 pick his way through the tangle of undergrowth and 

 broken rocks. Still there is nothing difficult or danger- 

 ous in the ascent, winch can generally be made in from 

 seven to ten hours. Mountain goats, black-tailed deer 

 and black bear are among the game found here, and of 

 the smaller mammals, a few wolverines, the Douglas 

 marmot and little chief hare are sometimes met. Mount 

 Yo was the scene of that photograph "One Day's Hunt in 

 British Columbia," which has been so unceremoniously 

 appropriated by some half dozen authors, and which, 

 after going the rounds of the civilized world, has at last 

 found its way into the school books of the Dominion; it 

 was on the occasion of that hunt the mountain was named 

 Yo, after the correspondent of Forest and Stream, 

 whose talented pen has so often delighted its readers with 

 sketches of camp life in the mountains. With this bit of 

 introduction, I will relate my last trip to Yo. 



Three hundred feet below us the creek seethed and 

 foamed over its rocky bed, and as its sound reached us, 

 or some turn in our course brought us nearer the almost 

 vei-tical sides of the canon, my companion would look 

 down with greedy eyes at the cool gurgling waters, a 

 mouthful of which would have been so much to his 

 parched hps, and ask, "Is there no way of getting down 

 to that stream?" At last the summit is reached; and after 

 qtienching our thirst at one of the many springs found in 

 the locality, the spirits of my companion began to revive, 

 and in a moment all the troubles experienced during his 

 ten-hour tramp were forgotten. He took off his hat and 

 strutting around over the heather-covered sward de- 

 livered himself after the following fashion: "Here we 

 are at last. Behold, oh. rugged peak, a new form of life 

 has appeared bef ore you. For the first time these gloomy 

 canons are echoing back the voice of civilized man, for 



the first time this sod is pressed by " 



He stopped short as if struck by the fangs of a rattler. 

 His foot had come in contact with something which, as it 

 rolled on in front of him, gave out a hollow clinking- 

 sound. Both eyes starting from their sockets he watched 

 it till it came to rest against a clump of juniper, and then, 

 as if drawn by some irresistible force, he moved slowly 

 toward it and picked it up, and from the partially faded 

 label on its side read out the following: 



Pure Ground Coffee, Fell & Co., Victoria, B. C. 

 There was a moment of silence, the thing dropped from 

 his hand, then he straightened himself up and fairly 

 bursting with indignation turned and faced me. 



Now, after complying with my companion's request to 

 accompany him to the summit of some one of the moun- 

 tains of the Inlet, it never occurred to me that he was 

 ignorant of the fact that Mount Yo was an old camp 

 ground of mine, nor that I was deceiving him in leading 

 him up here. But the true meaning of his remarks 

 repeated to me a half dozen times on the way up, that 

 "the pleasure of exploring some unknown land, to pitch 

 his tent where no white man had ever hunted, had always 

 been the height of his ambition," just began to dawn on 

 me, and I felt guilty. But what he intended to say then 

 will probably never be known, for just at that particular 

 moment something occurred which not only absorbed his 

 attention for the rest of the evening, but completely drove 

 the relic of the old camp ground out of his head. This is 

 what happened. About 500yds. from where we were 

 standing the summit proper of Mount Yo shoots into the 

 clouds three or four hundred feet above the surrounding 

 ridges. The side of this peak facing us is steep and rug- 

 ged, broken up with great blocks of granite, with here 

 and there a clump of stunted pines and juniper bushes. 

 I have never attempted the ascent from this side, though 

 my Indian on one occasion followed an old goat and its 

 kid to the top. On the opposite side the ascent is quite 

 easy. As my companion turned to face me, his eye 

 caught sight of something on the side of this peak, and, 

 uttering an exclamation, he picked up his rifle and started 

 in that direction, followed by the Indian. A hasty glance 

 revealed the cause of his excitement; a white goat was 

 running down the side of the mountain, closely followed 

 by a black bear. Neither appeared to be going very fast; 

 indeed, the nature of the ground was not at all favorable for 

 a test of speed, and this was more a game of hide and 

 seek, and the goat had the best of it. Doubling round 

 among the granite blocks, he kept the distance between 

 him and his black pursuer about the same; and once when 

 on the top of a huge rock he stopped and looked back at 

 the bear. From my position I had a good view of the 

 race, and with my glass watched it eagerly. I believe 

 that the noble red man of the forest is accredited with 

 holding in his composition a more than average share of 

 stoicism, but in this respect, and under all circumstances, 

 a mountain goat can discount him. Whether scrambling 

 away from danger or chewing his cud on the sunny side 

 of a rock, the same mopish indifference to passing events 

 is stamped on every feature of his long and shapeless 

 face. I do not wish it to be understood that I entertain 

 any feeling of contempt for the mountain goat, for, on 

 the contrary, I consider it one of the most interesting ani- 

 mals in the mountains; and the sportsman who has a 

 desire to know something of {the life history of our mam- 

 mals, and who has never encountered a wh'ite goat in its 

 habitat, has missed a very important chapter m natural 

 history. 



A puff of white smoke and the report of my compan- 

 ion's rifle recalls me to the chase. The goat moves off to 

 the left and disappears among the bushes in that direc- 

 tion, while the bear, followed by my companion and the 

 Indian, who fire two more shots apparently without 



effect, rushes off to the right, and is soon lost to view be- 

 yond the angle of the mountain. 



I have not fully made up my mind as to what would 

 have been the result of that race had it not been inter- 

 fered with by my companion. There is nothing in my 

 experience with the white goat to stamp it as an animal 

 of more than average speed. I have also had, on more 

 than one occasion, ample proof that a black bear will get 

 through the woods about as fast as any animal I know of. 

 But as before stated, the present case was not one where 

 speed could have been made the winning card; and in the 

 matter of staying powers, patience and cunning, the goat 

 was probably the superior animal. The Indians have 

 more than once told me that the goat sometimes becomes 

 the prey of the blackgbear, the latter lying in wait and 

 springing upon his victim from an ambush. 



It was dark when my companion returned. He had 

 the usual story: "The bear was literally shot to pieces, 

 but it was too dark to follow the trail; they would find 

 him easy enough in the morning" (a prediction not veri- 

 fied by facts). The evening wore on and I fell asleep, to 

 be wakened some time in the night by a punch from my 

 companion, and "How in thunder did that old can get 

 here?" But I feigned sleep, and so the thing was for- 

 gotten. 



The next day resulted in the killing of three goats, 

 which, however, I had no hand in, as I occupied my time 

 in endeavoring to secure some specimens of the little 

 chief hare (La.gomys pi ■biceps). 



When the chase is over, on the approach of night, in 

 the rugged surroundings and deathlike stillness always 

 pervading the summit of these mountains, there is some- 

 thing conducive to gloomy reflections; and with the pre- 

 sentment forcing itself upon me, that probably this would 

 be my last trip to Yo, I must admit that my spirits were 

 not of a very buoyant nature, nor did the cheerful blaze 

 of the camp-fire impress me with any desire to listen to 

 "Indian lore" or "camp-fire flickerings." My compan- 

 ion appeared to be fully engaged in looking after his 

 goat skins; and strolling along down the ridge to a point 

 overlooking the waters of the inlet and commanding a 

 view far to south and west, I sat down for a quiet smoke. 

 The sun had already dipped behind the long wooded 

 ridge which marked the boundary between Burrard In- 

 let and Howe Sound, but his light still rested on the tops 

 of the tall firs which skirted the southern shore of the 

 South Arm. Port Moody, fifteen miles away, buried in 

 the shadows of its forest surroundings, looks sullen and 

 gloomy, while its successful rival, Vancouver, twelve 

 miles to the west, looms up in all the gaudiness of freshly 

 painted walls and glittering roof s, reflecting back the 

 rays of the fading day. In the matter of these two cities 

 it is shadow and sunshine in very truth. 



A long line of black smoke is twisting its way like a 

 huge serpent down the shore of the South Arm. It is the 

 express train of the Canadian Pacific Railway from the 

 far away East. What a chain of thought that line of 

 smoke calls up. Twenty-five years ago, when after foot- 

 ing it across the Great Plains of the Northwest, I stood 

 upon the summit of the Rockies and looked down over 

 this sea of mountains stretching away to the Pacific, I 

 imagined I had found a land into which civilization would 

 be slow to follow, and my wildest dreams then could 

 never picture these two iron bands stretching from the 

 east to the west. But the granite breastworks of nature, 

 which stud the country from the western border of the 

 jnains to the Pacific, have proved but puny barriers to the 

 march of progress and conquest toward the setting sun; 

 and the journey which then took the writer five months 

 to accomplish can now be made in about as many days. 



A mountain goat which has been slowly working its 

 way up the side of the canon opposite me, has reached 

 the top and now stands, his white shaggy form sharply 

 outlined against the darkening sky beyond. This solitary 

 old chap is also taking a survey of his surroundings, and 

 if possessed with the power of reasoning may, in contem- 

 plating these two iron bands, be computing the time when 

 the report of the hunter's rifle will be more frequent here 

 than it is now; when an army of exterminators shall en- 

 compass the land, compelling him to give up his lease of 

 life or move on toward the frozen north. 



This picture probably may be a fancy one. It may also 

 be within the range of possibility. Well, so far as I am 

 concerned, I have had my day, and under existing cir- 

 cumstances, the unexpected turn in the wheel of fortune 

 which necessitates my changing my forest home for one 

 in a noisy bustling city, has not come too soon. Many of 

 the ties which bound me to these rugged haunts have 

 been severed. Companions who have shared with me a 

 hunter's couch and fare have laid away their rifles and 

 crossed the unknown river. Even Seammux, the faithful 

 old Indian who first guided my footsteps to this spot, has 

 folded his Miss-Miss* for the last time and departed for 

 the happy hunting grounds, where probably he will find 

 a realization in the hope often repeated to me, that moun- 

 tain goats and hoary marmots are there in abundance, 

 and the Douglass Indian will not be allowed to encroach 

 on the hunting grounds of the Squamish. Griffen, too, 

 the companion of a hundred camp-fires, has placed a bar- 

 rier between us. He has taken to himself a wife, and is 

 now too much occupied in his domestic surroundings to 

 answer to my beck and call as he was wont in former 

 days. Yet in my altered circumstances, in my quiet mo- 

 ments my thoughts will always turn to Yo as a bright 

 green spot in my life of twenty -five years in the moun- 

 tains. 



But night is upon me, the goat has faded away in 

 the surrounding gloom, and guided by our camp-fire I 

 pick my way back to camp. My companion is already 

 asleep, while the Indians are squatted before the fire 

 broiling slices of mountain goat. It will be a night of 

 feasting for them.f The old Indian is relating to his 

 younger companions a story of a Salolikum \ which once 

 haunted this mountain, and for a while I follow the old 

 fellow's yarn, but drowsiness overtakes me and I roll 

 myself in my blankets and say good-night. 



John Fannin. 



Victobia, British Columbia. 

 * Indian mat. 



+ 1 hare known Indians, after the us\ial evening meal, to set to 

 work roasting and eating mountain goat or whatever game might 

 be in abundance in camp and keep it up till long after midnight, 

 and the amount of fresh meat that two or three Indians will "get 

 away with" on these occasions is sometimes wonderful. But no 

 matter how scant our gamebag might be I have very seldom had 

 an Indian complain of hunger. 



t Salolikum, anything supernatural, a beast or bird that suc- 

 cessfully eludes the power of man. In this case it was a grizzly 

 bear. 



MOOSEHEAD IN FLY TIME.— 1. 



THE average man likes to go a-fishing: and as every i 

 one knows he is prone to expatiate on his adventures jj 

 with the finny tribe and tell fish stories, which' his friends 

 receive with as much credulity as his reputation for vera- 

 city will admit. As this paper is to a certain extent a fish 

 story, the Scribe begs the indulgence of his readers, and 

 will endeavor not to overstep the line which di vides the 

 plain, unvarnished truth from— well, from fish stories in J 

 general. 



The Scribe enjoys nothing better than going a-fishing, ' 

 and when one day his friend William said, "Let's you and 

 I go down to Moosehead fishing," it only needed the reply, 

 "All right; when shall we start ?" to 'bind the bargain. J 

 The Scribe belongs to that ubiquitous class known as com- ' 

 mercial drummers, and William is one of his customers. 1 

 Of course a salesman is bound to please his customers, 

 even to the extent of going fishing with them, and as J 

 drummers are proverbially innocent and truthful, the 

 above statement is additional guarantee that this narra- 

 tive will not be exaggerated. After we had agreed to go I 

 William remarked, "I hardly deem it safe to risk myself 

 alone down in the woods with a fiery untamed diummer; j 

 you might get me down there alone somewhere and sell 

 me goods enough to swamp the concern before I could 

 get away. I think I'll take the youngster along too," re- 1 

 ferring to his son Lloyd, a sturdy lad of thirteen years. 



Ignoring this unkind compliment to his abilities as a 

 salesman, the Scribe replied, "Well, then I'll take my 

 brother Harry along, and the trip will do them both good." 



In addition to the fishing outfits William and the Scribe 1 

 were each to take their photographic apparatus and a I 

 goodly supply of dry plates, and though we did not much | 

 expect to use them, a rifle and shotgun were added to | 

 our impedimenta. 



The trip to the lake by rail was uneventful, and on 

 Saturday afternoon, when the train drew into Greenville 

 at the foot of the lake, the two advance members of the 

 party were among the disciples of Izaak Walton who 

 alighted therefrom. There were a score of other de- I 

 votees of the gentle art, who had also made Moosehead 

 the Mecca of their piscatorial pilgrimage. After dinner ' 

 we went aboard the steamer and were fairly afloat on 

 New England's largest lake. And a jolly set we were, 

 each one seeming to feel that now the cares of business 

 and the restraints of the city were behind us and that 

 our faces were fairly turned toward the free life of th&i 

 woods and the open air. One party, with their guides I 

 and canoes, were bound for Deer Island, and another to" 

 the East Outlet dam. 



A fishing club from Boston were going to Mount Kineo, < 

 which was also our objective point, and where we were i 

 to meet our guides. The view from the wharf at Green- j 1 

 ville is not very impressive, but soon after leaving it one. \ 

 is in the midst of wild and beautiful scenery. The -, 

 steamer passes Mile Island and Ledge Island, the latter a § 

 mass of granite, and soon afterward Moose Island, be- [l 

 yond which a magnificent view of Squaw Mountain is to r 

 be had. Big Squaw guards the southern end of the lake i 

 and lifts her dusky head far toward the clouds, her sides 'j 

 and slopes covered with dense forests down to the veryd 

 shore of the lake, whose waters reflect the wavy outlines, j! 

 Far away beyond the eastern shore, itself ten miles dis- . 

 tant, the Lily Bay Mountains loom up, a huge blue mass s 

 of rugged peaks against the lighter blue of the sky. The! 

 steamer's course lies between Deer and Sugar islands, at i 

 the former of which we made a landing, and after emerg- j 

 ing from the narrow channel we had covered half the i 

 distance to Kineo (ten miles) and were in the widest part ;l 

 of the lake, where it is fifteen miles from the East Out- >\ 

 let to the head of Spencer Bay. Look which ever way 7 

 we would the horizon was notched with mountain peaks. ( 

 Over toward Spencer Bay the two Spencer Mountains rise ) 

 alone, with no foothills to detract from their grandeur; ; 

 to the northeast are Lobster Mountain and Little Kineo; : 

 to the northwest the Blue Ridge, Miseree Mountain and j: 

 the great mass of Bald Mountain. Straight ahead, to the \ 

 north, the great cliff of Kineo stands like a grim sentinel, 

 a huge black silhouette against the sky. Straight toward 

 its frowning front the little steamer held her course, the J 

 little group of buildings at its base becoming more and 

 more distinct, till at last we sailed into the little bay and - 

 glided gently to the wharf. A number of canoes were 

 drawn up on the beach, and guides and sportsmen stood J 

 about, watching the arrival of the boat. 



Our first duty was to discard the habiliments of civili- 

 zation and don the soft hats, flannel shirts and knee 

 breeches which were to constitute our costume for the I 

 coming days, and which formed the prevailing dress of 

 this free and easy place. This done, Ave felt more in har- 

 mony with the surroundings, and went out to look up our 

 guides and lay our plans for the campaign. The fisher- 

 men and guides were just coming in from various parts 

 of the lake, the latter a bronzed, hardy, fine-looking set 

 of fellows, as a rule, with their hat bands stuck full of 

 flies and carrying the results of the day's sport. Some 

 were Indians, some Yankees and a few French Canadians. 

 The fishermen , themselves, their faces tanned and sun- 

 burnt also, a laughing and jolly crowd, compared notes 

 and proudly exhibited their speckled trophies or looked 

 enviously at their more fortunate brethren, as they dis- 

 cussed their different experiences. Among them all there 

 was no prouder nor happier person than a young miss of 

 some twelve summers, who never tired of showing the 

 largest fish of the lot, a speckled trout which weighed 

 nearly five pounds and which she ha'd caught herself. 



After supper, as we sat on the piazza, certain small in- 

 sects made their presence known and felt by their per- 

 sistent efforts to investigate the interior arrangements of 

 our ears, noses, eyes and mouths, and their patient 

 endeavors to sample our life's blood. A gentleman who 

 sat near us, a new arrival, was expending his strength in 

 vigorously beating the air with his handkerchief in a 

 vain hope of keeping them away. They were not going 

 away, though, as fast as was his temper, and he turned 

 to the Scribe and asked: "What are these miserable 

 things, anyway?" 



"Those, my friend, are the famous black flies, the bete- 

 noir of the woods at this season." 



"Is that so? I have heard of them, but never made 

 their acquaintance before;" and he retired to the house. 



Soon afterward we also retreated in good order, discre- 

 tion proving the better part of valor. 



One of our American humorists once sagely remarked, 

 "It is the little things of life which annoy us; one can 

 dodge an elephant, but he can't dodge a fly." If he re- 



