July 31, 1890, j 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



27 



to the death between them and man will begin every- 

 where. Under such conditions the odds would be largely 

 in favor of the bugs. The earth would probably be unin- 

 habitable for man without the aid of his allies, the insect- 

 eating birds. I am glad to read in Forest and Stream 

 of hunters who do not try to kill every thing they see. If 

 we were civilized enough, so that nobody could act the 

 hog in the woods, there would always be some game for 

 the hunters of each succeeding generation. 



We ought to have a great public game preserve and 

 fishing ground in the Adirondack region of this State, 

 and several others in the West. If we have a proper 

 sense of what is due to ourselves, and to those who shall 

 come after us, the care of public hunting grounds will 

 not be a matter of great expense. All excess and abuse 

 of opportunity in such preserves should be regarded as 

 disgraceful vandalism, like defacement of noble and 

 priceless works of ancient art. J. B. Harrison. 



52 Wii/iAAM Street, New York. 



A NOTE FROM "PACIFIC." 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



A year has passed since I was hastily summoned from my tour 

 on the Pacific coast to return to my home — poor, desolate old 

 Johnstown. And what a home-coniiag it was! One year prior to 

 that time, iu company with three friends true and tried, I left 

 home with all the enthusiasm of an ardent sportsman. Out ex- 

 ploits through southern and lower California have appeared in 

 Forest and St u cam. and I promised to write up our trip on the 

 Columbia and Wiilianiette rivers; but. alas! The trip was never 

 made. In the midst of our preparations, news of the terrible 

 calamity at Johnstown flashed over the wires, and within three 

 hours we were speeding homeward as fast as steam could carry 

 us. I wired sister and Frank* to meet us at the. station in St. 

 Louis, but upon our arrival there they were not visible. We went 

 to their home and found to our chagrin that Frank had gone to 

 Johnstown on the day after the flood, and— "What's that? You 

 say the madam was there at the. time of the flood?" "Yes. sir; she 

 was visiting friends there, her and the hoy, and we haven't heard 

 a word from her," said the servant. "Great God!" I exclaimed, 

 "I supposed she was safe here in St. Louis." Sadly retracing our 

 steps we returned to the station and boarded the first east-bound 

 train. No need to chronicle my thoughts on that trip. 1 lived 

 over again my three trips to Florida, each time bringing home a 

 brother or sister— dead; my last trip with my only living sister, 

 who was rapidly failing, but who was restored to health by our 

 extoudpd cruise in a launch on the St. Johns and Ojklawaha; our 

 trip next year to Colorado, jolly old Frank always with us; their 

 marriage next year, and the many happy days we hav<? spent 

 together since. Ah, how beautiful she was, and how noble. Frank! 



1 will not harrass your readers with a description of the awful 

 scenes we witnessed when six days after that, damnable flood we 

 reached Johnstown. Two days of climbing over debris, search- 

 ing the different morgues for sister's remains and keeping a sharp 

 lookout for Frank, we finally, in sheor exhaustion, lay down 

 under a tree beside the Conematieh and fell asleep. I don't 

 know how long we slept, but suddenly I hoard a shriek, and look- 

 ing up I beheld Frank. Poor, haggard, careworn Frank! He, too, 

 had been searching everywhere for our darling, but found her 

 not. On that day hundreds of bodies had been brought to the 

 various morgues, and in the evening we made another tour among 

 them. Reverently raising cover after cover, I finally encountered 

 the face of my own darling sister. With a stifled sob I called 

 Frarik, and, well, we fell into each others arms and wept. There 

 she lay, so beautiful even in death. A hand was laid on our 

 shoulders and a gentle voice said, "The Lord giveth and the Lord 

 taketh away." It was the voice of our old minister. We buried 

 the remains of sister, hut the body of little Frankie, a wee tot 

 four years old, has never been recovered. 



I write this in reply to several inquiries in Fortsst and Stream 

 concerning my whereabouts, and my reasons for not furnishing 

 the promised letters of our intended cruise in the Northwest. 



Cresson Springs, Pa., July 12. Pacific. 



*Our readers who have followed "Pacific" in his wanderings in 

 a steam launch will remember that Frank constituted one of the 

 partv for two seasons, and that in 1881 he married "Pacific's" sis- 

 ter Lillian.-BD. F. & S. 



HABITS OF THE WHITE GOAT. 



BY JOHN FANNIN AND GEO. BIRD GRINNELL. 



AT first thought it seems not a little remarkable that 

 no adequate account of the habits of the white 

 antelope has ever been written. This animal is quite 

 abundant over a considerable part of northwestern 

 America; and yet it has remained, up to within a few 

 years, almost wholly unknown. The earliest descriptions 

 of the species were given to the world more than seventy 

 years ago, and since then many figures o'f it have been 

 published; but while the measurements and descriptions 

 taken from skins are often fairly correct, the illustrations 

 of the animal give no more idea of ho w it looks when alive 

 than do the fables told about its habits a true notion of its 

 mode of life. From the time of its discovery almost 

 down to the present an air of mystery has surrounded it, 

 and almost everything that we have been told about it 

 has been based on error. Few hunters have been aware 

 of its existence, fewer still have seen it alive, and of these 

 not many have had the energy and the nerve that are often 

 called in play to clamber over the rough rocks and scale 

 the stupendous precipices which are the home of this 

 animal. To those of us who are familiar with the habits 

 of this interesting species it is not surprising that it should 

 have remained unknown, nor that erroneous ideas as to 

 its habits should have grown up among hunters who had 

 heard of, but had never seen it. 



The white antelope is an alpine animal and makes his 

 home among the loftiest peaks of the high mountains of 

 the western country. Even the pika, or little chief hare, 

 has a lower range than the white antelope, and lives in 

 situations where it is much easier to get about. Not con- 

 tent with this elevated range, this species prefers the 

 roughest, rockiest mountain sides, and is more often seen 

 on some narrow shelf of a vertical precipice than else- 

 where. We believe that it is without a peer in this re- 

 spect, and that it can move about with ease where no 

 other creature unprovided with wings would be safe. 

 This singularly elevated and forbidding habitat removes 

 the animal from the range of almost all white hunters ex- 

 cept those who pursue game for sport. There is no induce- 

 ment for any one to hunt it. No part of it has any commer- 

 cial value. The hunting is most laborious, for it must be 

 done altogether on foot, and one must usually climb sev- 

 eral thousand feet, over steep slide rock and up vertical 

 precipices, before reaching the haunts of the game. The 

 hide is scarcely worth taking _off, for it brings only from 

 25 cents to $1, a sum which would hardly pay for the 

 trouble of skinning and the labor of carrying it down the 

 mountain on one's back. The flesh— though this is largely 

 a matter of individual taste— is at best dry and without 

 character, or else, as in the case of the old males and 

 females, has too much character, being so strongly flav- 

 ored with musk as to be utterly uneatable unless a man 

 is starving. T^he kids and the young females under three 

 years old can be eaten, and, indeed, if they have been. 



killed in such situations that they have not fallen and 

 bruised themselves, their flesh is wholly without unpleas- 

 ant flavor. Still, no one except an Indian is likely to 

 hunt the animal for its flesh, except in case of necessity. 

 Certain tribes of Indians, as will be shown further on, do 

 hunt the white antelope systematically for its flesh and 

 for its hide. 



Up to within a few years, as indeed by many people 

 at the present time, the' white antelope has been regarded 

 as the very rarest of the larger mammals of North 

 America. Even now it is not common in collections, 

 and naturalists know but little more of its habits than 

 they did fifty years ago. The reason is obvious, The 

 animal is known only to the hunter, and has never fallen 

 under the observation of a hunter who was also a natur- 

 alist. Only in recent years, and, as far as we are aware, 

 only in the columns of Forest and Stream, has any tiling 

 been written about it which is intelligent and true. Ex- 

 cept in these accounts there is scarcely anything on 

 record by an original observer since Dr. Harlan's quota- 

 tion from Major S. H. Long, published in 1825, and it is 

 a curious fact that the two most trustworthy accounts of 

 this animal whioh we have, though both are general in 

 character, are those of Harlan and Richardson, published 

 fifty years ago. Subsequent accounts have added noth- 

 ing to theirs, but, by mixing a great deal that is fabulous 

 with a moderate amount of truth, have done much to 

 disseminate erroneous ideas about this species. The fact 

 that it has remained almost unknown to hunters has led 

 writers to descant on its rarity, and above all on its wari- 

 ness, and has lent an air of probability to such marvelous 

 tales as that it prefers death to capture, and will throw 

 itself over a cliff a thousand feet in height rather than fall 

 into the hunter's hands. 



The white antelope is essentially a mountain dweller, 

 and is most at home among the bare rocks. In the 

 southern part of its range — in the United States — the 

 mountains which it inhabits must be high, for, as has 

 been said, it is an arctic animal, and with it, altitude 

 must answer for latitude. It prefers, we believe, a 

 country of great precipitation, and thus we find it more 

 abundant toward the Pacific Coast, on the high moun- 

 tains whose cold summits, opposing themselves to the 

 warm winds rushing eastward from the western ocean, 

 condense their moisture, which falls almost constantly 

 as mist or rain or snow. His warm coat of mixed wool 

 and hair protects the antelope against wind and rain, 

 and against cold and snow. He has only the heats of 

 summer to fear, and his elevated habitat enables him to 

 escape any great suffering from this cause, besides which, 

 in midsummer at the time of shedding his coat, he be- 

 comes almost as naked as a newly shorn sheep. A coat 

 such as that possessed by this antelope is above all others 

 best adapted for protection against wet and cold. In some 

 respects it is like that of the collie dog, which is con- 

 stantly exposed to the cold rains and mists of the Scottish 

 Highlands. It consists of an outer coat of long coarse 

 hair and an inner one of fine close wool. The long coarse 

 hair of its top coat sheds the water like a thatched roof, 

 so that the under wool is never wet, and this under wool is 

 the best possible protection against the cold. The preference 

 of this animal is unquestionably for a country where 

 the humidity is great. It is found scarcely or not at all 

 in the arid regions of the Central plateau. As we have 

 stated in a previous paper, we have no certain record of 

 its capture in Wyoming, Utah or Nevada, but that it can 

 exist in the high mountains of this arid region is shown 

 by its occurrence in Colorado. Except as a straggler, 

 however, it certainly does not occur to the southeast of 

 western Montana and Idaho. It ought to be found in the 

 Teton Range, but we are unaware of its occurrence 

 there, although these mountains would seem to present 

 all the conditions of climate, altitude and roughness 

 suited to the habits of this singular animal. If found on 

 the Tetons it might well enough occur on the western 

 slope of Mount Sheridan, and perhaps on other moun- 

 tains in the National Park; but here, as has been said, 

 there is no record of its existence. 



When we say that the white antelope is a mountain 

 dweller and is most at home among the bare rocks, it must 

 not be inferred that it is only found on the loftiest pin- 

 nacles of the mountains. This animal is a great wanderer, 

 and is sometimes to be met with in situations very unlike 

 those which it commonly prefers. It often makes ex- 

 cursions into low valleys, sometimes descending to the 

 very level of the sea, or traveling from one peak to 

 another across wide stretches of level country, and. some- 

 times even venturing out into the plains far from the 

 rocks, which, usually, it seems to love so well. In fact in 

 many of its habits it is an utter anomaly, and, with our 

 present knowledge, it is quite impossible to account for 

 its vagaries. 



It has been suggested that in the past this species was 

 commonly found on the plains, but the evidence in sup- 

 port of such a supposition is far too slight to be entitled to 

 any weight. A statement made by Lewis and Clarke as 

 to the occurrence of "goats" on the Missouri River near 

 where the town of Mandan now stands, and the country 

 assigned to this animal by Hamilton Smith, appear to be 

 the only grounds for suggesting for this animal any such 

 range as the one referred to. We may feel sure that 

 Smith's statement is erroneous, and it is quite uncertain 

 what species Lewis and Clarke intended. We know that 

 they commonly spoke of the prong-horn antelope as the 

 "goat," although antelope are mentioned in the extract re- 

 ferred to, and, what is more to the point, we know that they 

 never spoke of Mazama as a "goat," but always called it 

 the Rocky Mountain sheep. If this species was ever in 

 historic time abundant on lower and more level ground 

 than it now inhabits, its unsuspicious nature, its conspic- 

 uous color, and its slow and awkward movements would 

 have rendered it an easy prey to its enemies. It would 

 have been killed off in the plain country, and obliged to 

 confine itself to the rough mountains where its powers of 

 climbing would give it every advantage over the hunter. 

 If, however, any such conditions had existed since the 

 white man began to travel backward and forward over 

 the prairies, we should certainly have more satisfactory 

 evidence of it than we have been able to find. An animal 

 which is so striking and so different in all respects from 

 any other species inhabiting the plains would not have 

 escaped notice, and would have been mentioned and that 

 frequently by the early explorers of the Northwest. The 

 earliest and best accounts which we have, however, those 

 of Major Long and of Richardson, already cited, as well 

 as that of Lewis and Clarke, lead us to believe that this 

 species was in their time wholly confined to the mountains, 



The physical structure of the animal, too, offers the 

 strongest possible evidence that it has always been, as it is 

 now, a mountain dweller. Its short, stout legs are not 

 formed for swift motion, but for a deliberate progression 

 which requires the exercise of great strength, and thus 

 the gait of the goat is slow and it gets over the rocks not 

 by its speed or activity as does the mountain sheep, but 

 by main strength and awkwardness. It could not have 

 survived in a country where its safety depended on its 

 speed. The color of this animal furnishes additional 

 strong evidence that it was never commonly an inhabi- 

 tant of the plain country. It cannot be doubted that the 

 coat of this alpine antelope is in a measure protective. 

 Throughout the greater part of its range its home is on 

 mountains perpetually snow covered, and so high upon 

 these mountains that it lives among the snow banks. On 

 snow or on ice, or on mountains dotted with snow banks, 

 it is always difficult and often impossible to detect 

 these animals at any great distance, and after a fall 

 of snow which whitens the mountains we never try to 

 hunt them. It is true that on the southern borders of its 

 range its white color seems to be a positive disadvantage 

 to the species, for against the red or gray of the rocks, 

 the black of the pines, or the green of the grass, the white 

 speck at once catches the eye of the hunter, even at a 

 great distance, while the gray color of the mountain 

 sheep might escape notice and the animal be taken for a 

 fragment of stone or for a weathered tree trunk, but all 

 through the rough peaks, which, snow-crowned and 

 glacier-scored, stretch away from the United States fine 

 toward the frozen ocean, the Avhite antelope's color un- 

 doubtedly serves as a protection against its enemies. On 

 the green or yellow prairie on the other hand, a snow 

 white animal would be readily seen a long way off, and 

 its destruction wottld be made certain by its inability 

 either to defend itself against any large carnivor, or to 

 escape by rapid flight. On a level, a bear could readily 

 overtake it, and while it could perhaps defend itself 

 against a single prairie wolf, two of the larger gray or 

 timber wolves would have no difficulty whatever in pull- 

 ing it down. 



It may be said that on the southern border of its range 

 the home of the white antelope is among the very lofti- 

 est peaks of the mountains which it inhabits. It changes 

 its altitude somewhat with the seasons, but its habits in 

 this respect vary with locality. In the eastern Rocky 

 Mountains it does not appear at present ever to descend 

 to levels much lower than its summer range, though 

 perhaps after the heavy snows of mid-winter have cov- 

 ered the mountains, it may range somewhat lower than 

 in summer. This, however, is probably not the case, for 

 in this wind-swept region the hurricanes, which blow 

 almost without intermission, carry the snow from off the 

 higher peaks and pile up among the timber and in the 

 valleys drifts so deep that it is difficult to see how the 

 white antelopes could get to the ground to feed. The 

 high bare points and tablelands are always measurably 

 free from snow, and in many cases are swept bare dur- 

 ing the entire winter. In confirmation of this belief we 

 may mention that our friend, Mr. J. B. Monroe, in his 

 notes of a hunting trip made during the winter of 1888 

 and 1889, states that he found the goats on the very lofti- 

 est summits of the mountains of the St. Mary's Lake 

 region in December, January and February. At that 

 season of the year they were higher up than in summer 

 and autumn. 



We are told, however, by Mr. Hugh Monroe, who has 

 lived in the Blackfoot country for 75 or 80 years, and by 

 old Blackfeet Indians, that many years ago the white an- 

 telope ranged in winter much lower than it does now; 

 that then it was not uncommon to find the species in 

 winter among the foothills of these mountains, and that 

 in spring they followed up the melting snows, keeping 

 close to the snow line. The same thing used to be true 

 of the mountain sheep, which were often found out on 

 the plains, on the bare ridges far from the mountains. 



On the coast of British Columbia a different set of con- 

 ditions prevail. Here the mountains are much lower, 

 the timber often reaches quite up to their summits, and 

 the snow falls quietly and lies upon the ground through 

 the winter, often to the depth of ten feet or more. At 

 the sea level, however, but little snow falls, and it re- 

 mains on the ground but a short time. Here the white 

 antelope is found in winter below the snow and down on 

 the level of the salt water. 



Our lamented friend J. C. Hughes has told us of one 

 which was shot while swimming across an arm of the 

 sea — one of the inlets — at that season of the year, and he 

 saw another shot from a canoe, which fell from its rocky 

 perch into the salt water. It is certain, however, that 

 these animals begin to return to the summits very early 

 in the spring, and while the snows are still, very deep on 

 the mountain tops. 



Our correspondent Mr. W. B. Anderson, long a resident 

 at Fort Simpson, British Columbia, says of this species: 



"During the summer months the goats keep up high on 

 the mountains, in fact, on the tops of most of the hills in 

 this vicinity, few of which are over 4.000ft. in height. 

 They appear to feed pretty generally in the daytime, and, I 

 think, rest at night. Their favorite food consists of 

 various plants, and of one species in particular of which 

 I send you a dried specimen. This grows nearly every- 

 where in this country — on the tops of the mountains, in 

 the low valleys (when not too thickly timbered) and on 

 the sphagnum moss. I am not botanist enough to say to 

 which order of plants it belongs. Where goats are plen- 

 tiful this plant will be cut off close to the sod. Grass is 

 also eaten. 



"Up to this season of the year the old 'billies' keep 

 rather by themselves (leaving the 'nannies' with their 

 kids and year-old offspring in flocks), which is often 

 the fashion of buck deer, isolating themselves early 

 in the year, and like the deer, seeking out their harems 

 in the autumn. As winter comes on they all move 

 on down to the foot of the mountain, and in the depth 

 of winter it is not uncommon to see whole herds within 

 a few hundred feet of some of the inlets of the sea. In- 

 deed, Indians shoot them often from canoes. The Indians 

 state that in the winter, when the mountains are covered 

 with snow, the goats seek strongholds part way up the 

 mountain sides, among the great slabs and blocks of trap 

 and granite, which in falling have arranged themselves 

 into natural roofs and sheds, generally at the foot of some 

 crag. Huddled together for warmth, they pass the win- 

 ter in these places; not moving in boisterous weather, on 

 more genial days descending, as I have stated, nearly to 

 the foot of the mountains, to browse and nibble the 



