390 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Deo. 4, 1890. 



HALF-HOURS IN THE SIERRA NEVADA. 



TTAVING returned from my annual trip for 1890 to 

 XX the mountains I will supplement my former 

 articles with this summer's jottings. No one knows 

 what a joy an outing means until they have experienced 

 one in California, somewhere among her mountain fast- 

 nesses. Air pure and life-giving; Avater crystal, clear 

 and cold as the snow that gives it birth; scenery as awe- 

 some and grand as the world affords; fishing and hunting 

 good enough to satisfy any reasonable man; and over all 

 the smiling unclouded sky of California. No summer 

 rains to keep a camper or tourist confined to shelter day 

 after day as in other less favored climes. No insect 

 plagues to make one's life miserable, and but few noxious 

 creatures of any description. In some localities there 

 may be found a few rattlesnakes in the course of a sum- 

 mer, but they are not plentiful and not aggressive. In 

 places a few mosquitoes may be met with , but they are 

 troublesome only for about an hour at dark. The chill 

 of the night soon lays them up for repairs. And when 

 night sets in the tired camper can lie down in his blankets 

 under the quiet stars and sighing pines and sleep undis- 

 turbed till morning, dreading no untimely rain nor tem- 

 pest, and with nothing worse than a coyote's yelp to dis- 

 turb his slumbers. If there is anything on earth that is 

 calculated to make a man indulge in "cuss words" it is 

 to be roused at 2 A. M. out of his blankets with a drench- 

 ing rain beating in his face. 



Many a time, in the Eastern forests, has the writer suf- 

 fered this experience; and has also spent uncomfortable 

 and unprofitable days, both to health and enjoyment, 

 under bark or canvas, listening to the never-ending drip, 

 drip, of the weeping skies, and fighting the pestilent 

 mosquito. 



One summer in particular rests like a nightmare on my 

 memory. It was in the months of June and July, 1874, 

 that with three companions I spent four weeks on and 

 about Lake Megantic, and during the first two weeks of 

 our stay there were just two days upon which it did not 

 rain. It rained for "keeps," too, and no foolishness 

 about it. The Chaudiere Eiver was a mass of seething 

 foam, ditto Spider and Arnold, and not a fin could be 

 captured in any of them. Now and then one or two of 

 us would venture out upon the lake and troll for a "laker" 

 (or a "longe" in the local parlance) to stay our stomachs 

 with. Sometimes we would get him and sometimes we 

 wouldn't, but of one thing we were always sure, we 

 would come in more ill-natured than we set out, and wet 

 to the skin. Still we just had to do it, because it was a 

 case of "muskrat or no meat," 



Our cook got sick and quit, two of the party contracted 

 severe colds, our blankets got damp and we could not dry 

 them, so that we were uncomfortable night and day. We 

 all got "broke" at "draw," our reading matter gave out, 

 and we could get no mail without a 13- mile row in the 

 rain, as we were camped on Spider, and if there had not 

 come fair weather we would have had murder or suicide 

 in that camp sure. 



In thirteen summers' outings in California, sleeping in 

 the open air the greater part of the time, I have never 

 been wet. Sometimes a thunderstorm occurs in the high 

 Sierra, and quite often at the locality of Echo, but it is 

 always in the daytime. In fact, the weather here is 

 "gentlemanly," and always gives warning as to what it is 

 going to do before it does it. 



Of course it does not matter so much to me what the 

 weather is, now that I have settled down to Echo as a 

 constant resort, and have a permanent camp there, but I 

 want my friends (and all the readers of FOREST AND 

 Stream are such) to know the pleasures of a California 

 mountain outing. And by the term "mountain," I mean 

 what I say. One needs to attain an altitude of 4,000ft. 

 and over to be truly in the mountains. There the water is 

 absolutely pure and cold, the air cool and bracing, and 

 the balmy breath of the pines and firs make sweetness in 

 the forest. The waters teem with the gamiest trout, and 

 the "antlered monarch of the hills" stalks proudly over 

 the ranges, The blue grouse and mountain quail call 

 from every ravine, and no matter in what direction one 

 wanders, new scenes of beauty unfold upon the eye. A 

 Sierra stream is a "thing of beauty and a joy forever," 

 whether we sit by its side as it sings its way over gravelly 

 beds, or listen to its diapason as it roars through gloomy 

 canons, hundreds of feet below us. But the crowning 

 beauty of all is a Sierra lake. No swampy shores or 

 tangled undergrowth surround its dimpled waters. Clean- 

 cut rocks and timbered slopes, towering peaks and snow- 

 covered ranges, are mirrored in its pure waters, while 

 no plebeian fish disturb its depths. Trout, and trout alone, 

 reward the angler's skill. 



From Auburn to Echo Lake is about 90 miles, which I 

 generally cover with my own team in two and a half 

 days up, and two down. On my way up this year, about 

 20 miles above Placeiwille, I met an old French Canadian, 

 with whom I had rather an amusing confab. In the 

 lumber and wood camps around Tahoe are many of these 

 Canucks, who have lived there for several years without 

 becoming Anglicised. In fact, Antoine Bissette would be 

 an accomplished English scholar beside some of them. 

 Virginia City is quite a headquarters for them; and they 

 are so clannish that they trade and do all business with 

 their own countrymen, and consequently remain much as 

 they were when they left then native land. It seems 

 that this old Canuck had concluded to come over into 

 California with his son, induced thereto by visions of 

 greater gain. He was sitting on a pine log by the roadside, 

 where a tiny stream came trickling down the mountain. 

 He was just in the act of wiping the sweat off his fore- 

 head with a hooked forefinger as I drove around the bend. 

 His hat and a bundle tied up in an old jumper lay by his 

 side. His heated face and shortened breath showed that 

 that he had been walking far and fast. Rising to his feet 

 as I drove by he saluted me politely, and called out: li Ar- 

 retez-vous, sHl vous plait, monsieur." I reined up as the 

 old familiar patois struck my ear, and entered into con- 

 versation with the man. He appeared to be about 50 

 years of age, middle-sized but strong and wirv, with stiff 

 black hair and beard, and an exposed chest covered with 

 a dense growth of hair. It had been manv years since I 

 had attempted a conversation in Canadian patois, so I 

 answered in English, pretending not to understand him. 



He continued, "Pardon, monsieur, but was dis de 

 chemin pour PlacervhTe?" 



"Yes, this was the road to Placerville." 

 "How many far she'll be?" 

 "About twenty miles." 



"Mabbee you'll see boy, one 'bout vingt-cinque year 

 hoi' down dar, quartre, cinque arpent, hein? (A Canuck 

 will always ask the distance, if short, in acres, never m 

 miles.) 



"Yes, I had met a 'boy' of about that age some two 

 miles foEiok 



"Wal, sah, she Tl mah boy, an' Ah '11 ! f raid Ah '11 goin' 

 lose it." 



"How is that?" 



"S'pose she '11 come one place where tree, two, four, 

 road come so"— placing his index finger of one hand 

 across that of the other— "she '11 not know which one of 

 it for tak', an' Ah 'II 'fraid she '11 gone scattaire." 



I assured him that there was no chance for his son to 

 scatter until he reached Placerville, whereupon he be- 

 come satisfied and volubly communicative, and I could 

 easily understand, without explanation, how his son 

 walked on ahead, impatient at his father's delay in talk- 

 ing to every passer-by, and so became a source of anxiety 

 to his father, for fear he might "scattaire" at a cross 

 road. 



At a mountain hotel, some fifteen miles from where I 

 met the garrulous Canadian, I stopped for a noonday 

 rest, and sat down in the bar-room, office and reading- 

 room combined, to await the preparation of the noonday 

 meal. Presently a "half-shot" individual took a neigh- 

 boring chair. He sat down in a one-sided manner that 

 attracted my attention, and I took a good look at him. 

 He was dressed, like nearly all mountaineers, in canvas 

 overalls and blue cotton jumper, flannel shirt, felt hat, 

 and strong, coarse boots. He was tall, lithe, and well 

 built, was fauiv intelligent looking, and about 35 to 40 

 years of age. Presently he put his hand on one of his 

 thighs, and running it up and down two or three times in 

 a caressing manner, muttered, "It's dog-goned sore." 

 Then, in a louder tone, "I was struck by a line yisterday." 



There being no other person in the room at the time I 

 supposed he addressed me, although he had not looked 

 my way, so I echoed his words iu an interrogative tone, 

 "You were struck by a line?" 

 "Yep." 



"How did that occur ?" 



"Well, stranger," in a condescending mnnner, "I have 

 prob'ly told the story fifty times already, but I don't mind 

 tellin' of it again." 



Just then the proprietor of the house came in, and our 

 mountaineer jumped up and invited me to "take a drink." 

 I thanked him and said I never drank. Well, then, 

 would I take a cigar with him ? Yes, I would take a 

 cigar. But had I only known its deadly qualities before 

 as well as after smoking, the deadliest "taranfclar juice" 

 would have been risked instead. He imbibed a full glass 

 of whisky, and leaning against the bar where he would 

 be convenient for another drink, he resumed: 



"Ye see, it was this way. I located a piece of land this 

 spring up at Grouse Flat,*back of Sugar Loaf. [This is a 

 well-known landmark on the grade.] There'd been a 

 band of sheep 'round my place, an' they'd moved away 

 and left three strays. I see 'em yisterday mornin' as I 

 was goin' over to Brownells, a neighbor o' mine, an I 

 went back home after my rifle to shoot one uv 'em." 



When a band of sheep changes its pasturage in the 

 mountains, if any be left astray they become the legiti- 

 mate game of the first man that finds them. Otherwise 

 they will soon be destroyed by coyotes, bears or panthers. 



" When I came back I had Brownell's dog and my own 

 with me. The sheep wus in the middle of a band of 

 horses and I couldn't get a shot. Seemed as though they 

 knew something was after 'em, and they jist hugged 

 tight to the horses. I circled roun' an' roun' 'em tryin' to 

 get a shot at a fat wether, an' jist as I wus sneakin roun 

 a big rock, a line jumped me." 

 "A what jumped you ?" I exclaimed. 

 "A line, a mountain line." 

 "Oh !" 



This was the first enlightenment I had received as to 

 what a "line" meant. I had supjiosed all the time that 

 he had been somehow injured by a rope or cable and did 

 not drop on his meaning. 



"Yes, sirree! He jist jumped squar' on my back, an' 

 he tuk me a rake on the back with one foot, an' on this 

 thigh (indicating the one he had caressed with his hand 

 j while sitting down) with the other. He jest everlastin'ly 

 I clawed me, and I expected to feel his teeth in my neck, 

 i but as soon as he jumped me the two dogs jumped him, 



Ian' I guess that saved my life. At the same time I threw 

 the muzzle of the rifle back over my shoulder an' shot 

 him through the body. Then he quit an' tuk down the 

 / canon, an' the degs after him. In a minit I heerd 'em at 

 the bottom, havin' a high old time, an' I put after. I had 

 wounded the critter purty bad, an' he cudn't get away 

 'from the dogs, up hill, an' I soon settled him. Then I 

 began to sweat an' git scairt, an' the more I thought of it 

 the scairter I got. My jumper an' shirt an' suspenders 

 was clean clawed off. My back, my breeches was ripped 

 to thunder, an' the blood was jest a-runnin' into my boots. 

 I niver stopped for nothin', but jest put-er fur home, an' 

 plastered up the scratches the best I cud, put on a coat, 

 an' cum down here and got some clothes from Dennis. 

 [This was the hotelkeeper's Christian name.] But take 

 another drink with me, stranger?" 

 "No, I thank you." 

 "Wal, another cigar then?" 

 "Oh, no! no! Leave me out this time. Please?" 

 "All right, stranger, but ye see, the way it is with me, 

 I must drink. They say 'at whisky is a sure cure far 

 rattlesnake bite, an' so I'm a goin' to take it fur these 'ere 

 wounds to keep the pisen outen 'em. But say, aint you 

 a doctor?" 

 "Yes." 



"I thought I heerd 'em call you that. Don't you think 

 whisky is good to keep out pisen?" 



I told him that the antiseptic powers of whisky, taken 

 internally, were somewhat over-rated in my opinion. 



"Betcher life, whiskey's good fur rattlesnake bite, an' 

 if it's good fur rattlesnakes its good for lines. Say, Doc', 

 what's good to put on these blamed scratches?" 



I suggested such remedies as I thought could be pro- 

 cured at a distance of thirty-five miles from a drug- 

 store. 



"Now, that's no good! You jist make up a plaster of 

 sulphur an' sody an' honey, an' put that on a sore, an' 

 it'll draw out the pisen every time, That's what I'm a- 

 goin' tcf get an' put on mine," 



I thanked him for his information, and said that my 

 advice was evidently not needed, and for him by all 

 means to stick to his own prescriptions, plenty of whisky 

 internally and "sulphur, 'sody' and honey" on the out- 

 side. 



Just then the bell rang, and as I entered the dining- 

 room I could see the hero of the lion fight taking another 

 full dose of his "anti-pisen" remedy. 



When I came out from dinner I found that either the 

 whisky or the "pisen" had got in its work, and the victim 

 was uncomfortably snoring in an arm chair with his 

 head hanging away down his back and the flies holding 

 high carnival in his open mouth. I asked the hotel- 

 keeper if the man's word was worth anything and he 

 said it was; that the man was truthful when sober and 

 that he had come there in the manner described and had 

 told the story in the same way before getting drunk. 

 Also that he had shot a female panther at or near the 

 same spot that spring and that this one was probably its 

 mate, 



If the story be true then a mountain lion will attack 

 man. I advise the reader, however, to take it as I did, 

 cum grano salis. 



After the tremendous depth of last winter's snows B. 

 and myself expected to find our summer habitation on 

 Echo crushed to the ground. But on our arrival we 

 found it intact and the only damage sustained was the ' 

 crushing of the bow of one of our boats. The boat house 

 had been crushed at one end and the boat had suffered 

 severely from the immense pressure. We had sent a man 

 ahead of us, however (old "Hatchet" was not with us this 

 year), who had repaired it well and everything was in- 

 order. Our new man proved a treasure, as he was not 

 only as good a boatman as old Hatchet but was a good 

 and a clean cook, a handy man in camp, and a man of 

 more than average intelligence and ability, and gentle- 

 manly withal. In fact, "old Bart" proved invaluable, 

 and both B. and myself trust that he may live to be our 

 factotum for many a year. 



The fishing at Echo this year was as good as we ever 

 found it. B. and I in a part of one afternoon caught 76 

 trout that weighed over rJOlbs. Every one was caught 

 and fairly killed on the fly, too, with 7^oz, rods. That 

 was our best record, but not a clay passed during our 

 three weeks sojourn upon the lake but that the fishing 

 was good enough. 



After a hard half -day's toil I secured three specimens 

 of the little chief hare (Lagomys princeps), and I trust 

 they have safely reached the Smithsonian Institution be- 

 fore I have penned these lines. 



Great drifts of snow, the accumulation of last winter's 

 storms, lay upon the shores, even down to the water's 

 edge, and the surrounding peaks were loaded and covered 

 with vast snowfields. It was the end of August when we 

 left the lake and there was snow even then down to the 

 water in places. And yet the climate was perfection, 78° 

 was the highest and 48 the lowest that the thermometer 

 indicated during our stay, 



The writer begs the reader's pardon for the infliction 

 and promises ' 'not to do so no more" if forgiven this time. 

 He pretends no skill in verse and only sings from the 

 heart: 



If from cities and towns you desire to run, 



Go to Echo! Old Echo! Dear Echo! 

 Or in business transactions you've heen badly "done," 



Go to Echo! Old Echo! Dear Echo! 

 You can there find employment for rod and for gun, 

 And your hours can pass in delightfullest fun. 

 There heat, bores and duns can conveniently shun, 



At Echo! Old Echo! Dear Echo! 



Of all places I know, 'tis the dearest to me, 



At Echo! Old Echo! Dear Echo! 

 Its wild glens are sweeter than meadow or lea, 



At Echo! Old Echo! Dear Echo! 

 On its boisterous bosom, so wild and so free, 

 Where the waves, in their fright, from the storm seems to flee. 

 Is the oae spot on earth where my heart longs to be, 



At Echo! Old Echo! Dear Echo! 



Its waters are clear as a maiden's bright eye, 



At Echo! Old Echo! Dear Echo! 

 Or the luminous depths of the o'er-arching sky, 



At Echo! Old Echo! Dear Echo! 

 And mirror the mountains and bluffs standing by. 

 Bearing pines, firs and hemlocks, with tops reared on high, 

 Midst whose branches the night winds monrnfulLy sigh, 



At Echo! Old Echo! Dear Echo! 



In the morn, on its breast, see the sportive trout flash, 



At Echo! Old Echo! Dear Echo! 

 Where the water's untouched by the wind's stinging lash, 



At Echo! Old Echo! Dear Echo! 

 At noon, see the waves on its shores wildly dash 

 To the tune of the tempest and thunderbolt's crash! 

 Whilst at eve, sleep is wooed by the rivulet's plash. 



At Echo! Old Echo! Dear Echo! 



Arefar. 



Auedrn, Cal. 



Missouri's Great Game Year.— Seneca, Mo., Nov. 22. 

 — We are blessed with an immense flight of ducks thi? 

 fall; and as there is an abundance of rain they are sta; 

 ing with us and we are having some fine sport. A pari 

 of three went out last week and camped near the Neos' 

 River. After looking along the river and about t] 

 sloughs they did not find many ducks. They went fro: 

 there to the prairie where some stockmen are feedi 

 4,000 head of cattle, which waste a great deal of coj 

 The ducks had found this and were there as thick 

 blackbirds; but the boys could not go among the cati 

 to shoot, consequently they had to stay on outside of p: 

 ture to do most of their shooting. We are now waitin: 

 for the cattle to be taken away to make a raid on t~ 

 ducks in big shape. We can go to the river and have 

 good day's shooting any time. I have been out a fe 

 times and I must say that I never saw as many qu 

 as there are this season. I can go out for two hour, 

 and not go more than a half or three-fourths of a mil 

 from town, and get as much shooting as I could tw< 

 years ago by taking a team and spending a full day. W* 

 find a woodcock now and then on our hunts this fall 

 which is a very rare thing for this section of the county 

 they must get in with the ducks and drop out along tb 

 line of flight. A party of hunters camped in town las 

 night on their way home; they had been down on Spava. 

 naugh Creek, in the Territory; they report good succea 

 and had with them seven deer,— F t " 



