226 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[OCT. 8, 1891. 



FOUR OF A KIND. 



" A LL aboard! Git." 



J\. The heavy farm wagon, drawn by a pair of as 

 uncouth and raw mules as ever graced the western 

 mountains, commenced to move and we were off. We, 

 that is Ben. Dan, Jack and Shoshone, were going to 

 spend a week at the lake. For this event elaborate prep- 

 arations had been made. Under the seats were rifles, 

 guns, rods, tackle, bedding, cooking utensils, grub and a 

 wall tent. What more could we want? A twenty-mile 

 uphiU ride over a rotigli road is not a theme upon which 

 the lyric nurse can spread herself. Nevertheless we 

 sometimes derive health, zest and inspiration in spite of, 

 rather than aided by our surroundings, and that all-day 

 ride was as enjoyable to the mental man as it was un- 

 comfortable to his physical tenement. 



It was Indian summer; not the Indian summer of the 

 East, with its gorgeous wealth of color, its hazy, sensuous 

 atmosphere, its dreamy transition from the lusty life of 

 summer to the dreary desolation of November, but that 

 unique season of the far West, when grassy hills and 

 pine-robed peaks but change their gi-een for sober garb of 

 gray and brown, when the fitful breezes do but moderate 

 the burning heat of August. We have no autumn. At 

 night we lie down and call it summer, and, before morn- 

 ing, a chilling, niioping frost has come. The branches 

 are bare, birds have flown, white are the mountain crests 

 and winter is here. But if there is an Indian summer 

 amid these Watsatch summits, it is the brief season 

 through which Ave have just passed. 



At the end of the first hotir we are four miles from our 

 starting point, on the summit of a divide, where we stop 

 to give the team a good rest. Behind and below us is 

 the_ valley of the Upper Sevier, a perfect basin through 

 which the slow-wandering river makes its sinuous path. 

 That little group of cabins and houses in the center of 

 the scene is Panguitch. About it are squares of golden 

 stubble and brown rowen. Surrounding these, on every 

 side, are the great gray hills, their soft blue serrated 

 summits holding up the colder, clearer azure of the firm- 

 ament. The wheels rumble and we pitch down into 

 South Canon and climb, between frowning, black walls, 

 six miles further to the top of the second divide. From 

 the second divide we drop to the creek level, and, by 

 mutual consent, we stop at the "white rocks" to secure a 

 trout dinner and then to cook it. 



Famous throughout this section of the land are the 

 white rocks. Here the fishermen resort, in season and 

 out of season, but the supply of trout does not seem to 

 diminish, nor does the d'aAnij fontinalis learn wisdom by 

 the experience of his fellows. " The white rocks are fug- 

 ged waUs of sandstone, exclosiug a natural meadow 

 about half a mile long and from twenty to fifty yards 

 wide. The creek is in places open and again the willows 

 overhang deep pools where the trout hide during the heat 

 of the summer day. But there is scarcely a spot, upon 

 pool, riflfie or eddy, where a fly cannot be placed and 

 where it may not be placed so as to secure a rise. Three 

 of the party went for the willows and soon had long 

 straight poles, heavier by far than the fish that they ex- 

 pected to land. For bait they used whitewood grubs or 

 grasshoppers. Shoshone stuck to rod and reel, and 

 used a sober fly of his own fabrication, which he has 

 found to be especially killing in these waters, though it is 

 far from a thing of beauty when viewed from an artistic 

 standpoint. Ben has been the champion of the creek. 

 Fifteen years of fishing in its icy waters have taught him 

 where the largest, sweetest, reddest of the ruby-spattered 

 darlings lie, and he knows instinctively how and where 

 to drop his bait. He drops in first. His willow bends 

 until the tip almost touches the water. Then the butt is 

 lowei-ed and a silver streak flashes from brook, leaving 

 in its wake a string of ghttering pearls. An instant it 

 hangs trembling_ over its native element; then, looking 

 like a broken rainbow, it describes the ar^j of a majestic 

 circle and lies stimned upon the emerald sward full twenty 

 feet behind its captor. Very well done, Mr. Ben, very 

 picturesque; but, while you have been going through 

 jom: little performance,' Shoshone's fly has been float- 

 ing down the ripple just below you, and, though you saw 

 it not, from out the boiling white caps came a gleam, a 

 strike, the tug of war, and now you hear the merry music 

 of the reel. Ah, yes! You may have the tranquil pools 

 and crystal depths, but give the riffle to the dainty fly, 

 Ben is too absorbed to pay attention to any one else. He 

 goes down to another pool, while Shoshone lands five 

 in quick succession. How many more he might have 

 landed will never be known, for Dan, who is destitute of 

 any sportsmanlike chivalry, makes up his mind that the 

 riffle is the place for him. His heavy sinker splashes 

 down, dragging the gi-asshopper after it, and, needless to 

 say, the trout are gone. 



We fished for perhaps half an hour and returned to the 

 wagon with forty-three fish, none of which weighed less 

 than half a pound. Jack had- not made a success of his 

 piscatorial efforts and had already built a fiare and tried 

 out enough bacon grease for the frying-pan. Ben took 

 charge of the flour and bake oven. Dan and Shoshone 

 cleaned the fish, and soon we were eating as though we 

 had left before breakfast. 



The afternoon ride was much more delightful than 

 that of the morning had been. The creek flowed 

 through a wide valley that was covered with meadows 

 of lucerne and wild hay. The rolling hills that extended 

 for miles to the north and south were timbered only at 

 their summits, their slopes being covered with short 

 grass, where thousands of cattle were lying or feeding. 

 Every mile or two we passed a log cabin, corral and milk 

 house. This is a great dairy region. In winter the 

 ground is covered with deep snow, and no one visits the 

 spot; but in May the cattle are driven back from their 

 ranges on the Paria and Waweap. Then the famiUes 

 move up from the settlements to their summer homes. 

 The books of the county assessor show that last summer 

 (1890) 54,0001b3. of cheese and 14,0001bs. of butter were 

 made in this little valley. The season ends about Oct, 1. 



As the sun commenced to slope toward the west there 

 was a constant flight of mourning doves about the wagon, 

 this way and that scurried bevies of half-grown dusky 

 grouse, and now and then a sage cock would arise with 

 loud clamor and sail majestically out of range. Over 

 the creek were teal and greenheads, young broods, just 



right for broiling. Nor were quail wanting. The quail 

 do not belong on this side of the divide, but about eight 

 years ago several pair were brought over from Dixie, and 

 they having never been disturbed have multiplied with 

 surprising rapidity. Dan wanted to borrow Shoshone's 

 gun, but the latter had not forgotten the incident at the 

 riffle and informed the would-be borrower that the game 

 law did not expire for at least eight hours. 



Five o'clock found us at the last steep climb of the 

 jom-ney. Beside us was the roar of the torrent, for the 

 stream made a perpendicular drop of 30ft. between lofty 

 walls that had been cleft rather than worn by the slow 

 action of the water. One long, hard pull and our goal 

 was in sight, Panguitch Lake, in the language of the 

 Utes, "the place of fish." There it lay nestled among 

 the grand eternal pine-clad hills, the liquid blue smiling 

 at the etherial blue above and mirroring in its clear 

 depths the waving trees and sentinel peaks that deck its 

 borders. Upon its limpid bosom sported a host of water 

 fowl, and we knew from the upland peaks and distant 

 canons even now some noble, velvet-antlered bucks were 

 watching our progress with curious eye. 



Panguitch Lake has one gala day, the 34th of July, the 

 Mormon's great holiday. Then it is the gathering place 

 for southern Utah. For days the people of Kanab, St, 

 George, Cedar, Parowan, Beaver, Panguitch and a host of 

 smalller settlements make preparations for the festival. 

 On horseback and in great white covered family wagons 

 they come, until the lake, three miles long by one mile 

 wide, is surrounded by a city of canvas. It is reported 

 that on the last 24th but three able-bodied adult males 

 were left in Panguitch, a settlement of 961 souls. How- 

 ever this may be, every year from 3,000 to 5,000 people 

 gather at the lake and spend three days in eating and 

 drinking, in horse racing and foot racing, in rowing and 

 fishing, in buying terra alba candy, snow ice cream, cir- 

 cus lemonade, cheap tintypes, etc., and last but not least, 

 in dancing. Then the canvas disappears as noiselessly 

 and suddenly as it came, and naught is left to mark the 

 place of revelry but ashes, oyster cans and broken beer 

 bottles. 



Driving slowly about the west shore we selected a camp- 

 ing place as suitable as it was beautiful. An elevated, 

 grassy point dotted with scattering pines and flanked by 

 a crystal stream that leaped and laughed in the sunset 

 glow, beneath the soft Italian sky. Beneath two pines 

 we set our tent and fixed our fire place. Ben and Sho- 

 shone made the beds, tables and seats while Jack and Dan 

 got supper. The ducks near the point had risen with loud 

 clamor at our approach, but as we ate they drifted back 

 within easy gun-shot, as though fear of man was to them 

 something unknown. Perhaps it was so, for the Western 

 mountaineer uses no weapon but the rifle. He may have, 

 among his lares and penates, an old, rusty, long-bai-reled, 

 anti-beUum muzzleloader, but the breechloader is to him 

 a new-fangled invention, "like the locomotive," and of 

 the hammerless self-ejector he knows as little as of the 

 telephone or phonograph. So much the better. Shoshone 

 was prepared to profit by their neglect. In the twilight 

 hour we stroll down to the nearest ranch and make ar- 

 rangements for a supply of milk during om- stay. This 

 cost us, delivered, 12^ cents per gallon. Then came the 

 smoker's hour about the camp-fire— the last and most 

 delicious hour of the day, when earth and its cares steal 

 gently from us, borne to dream-land on the balmy even- 

 ing breeze, when the stars come out one by one, and 

 brighten with joy as they see their own radiant forms 

 reflected in the darkening lake, when we hear the music 

 of the past and live again the days of auld lang syne. So 

 night fell upon the world and sweet sleep upon wearied 

 eyelids, and the silvery waves alone, that rhythmically 

 rose and fell upon the glistening 'sands, watched and 

 waited for the dawn of another day. 



"Hist!" 



That was all Ben said, but is was sufficient to awake 

 Shoshone, and a few moments later a couple of misty forms 

 stole out into the cold, bracing air of early morning, leav- 

 ing Jack and Dan to sleep the sleep of the just, and to 

 have breakfast ready when the sun should be an hour 

 high. There was a light fleece over the water, and above 

 this, over the eastern mountain, the morning star was 

 beginning to pale. 



"Which way, Ben?" 



"Oh, I believe I'll go up the caiion after a yearlin'. 

 Don't you want to take Jack's gun and go 'long?" 



"Not much. I'm going for a mess of chickens. So 

 long." 



A pull at the half-flUed coffee pot that rested in the 

 ashes of last night's fire and we separated. 



And this was Sept, 1, the day when the hunter and 

 sportsman could bang away at any and every species of 

 game that he could hope to find, and in all this region 

 only Ben and Shoshone to take advantage of the privilege, 

 Shoshone's path led him about the foot of the lake, down 

 to the meadows where he knew the birds would take their 

 early breakfast. Nervously he fingered the shells that 

 had been loaded with so much care and precision. If 

 there is a species of "buck-ager," called "chicken-ager" 

 by specialists, he was afflicted with the disease, and a 

 Pennsylvania barn door would have been safe at 40yds. 

 From his feet rises a gray form and goes whirring away 

 into the gloom. The gun is raised but as soon dropped to 

 its old position. 



"No, friend Centrocercus, I want nothing to do with 

 you so Jong as any of your dusky cousins aie to be found 

 in the vicinity." 



The coolness and steadiness come back, for the hunter 

 must be his own dog, find and retrieve as well as shoot. 

 Whhr! whirr! whirr! One, two, three, a dozen up and 

 still rising. How the old gun rang out, and how clumsy 

 are those fingers after six months' rest! What an age it 

 takes to get in fresh shells! Two more shots and the birds 

 are out of range, Mark them down, then gather up the 

 victims. Ah, it is slow finding in the damp, brown rowen, 

 where there is every opportunity for concealment, but 

 four dead grouse and a cripple, that requu-es a grace shot, 

 is not a bad beginning. And now the sun creeps over the 

 mountain and the golden light floods the valley. Here, 

 there, everywhere are feathery forms flying swiftly 

 through the air. This is the very intoxication of sport. 

 From afar on the mountain Ben's rifle makes faint echo 

 to the gun. He, too, is enjoying this grandest morning 

 of the year. 



Ten birds in the pockets of Shoshone's hunting coat 

 remind him of a solemn compact, entered into by the 

 quartette, wherein it was stipulated that, until the day 

 before the return home, no more game should be shot or 



caught than was required for camp use. So he turned 

 back to the tent, above which the pale smoke of the 

 morning fire curled lazily above the swaying pine tops. 

 Ben had been back, aroused the sleeping beauties, and 

 started up the hill with one of the mules. Even now his 

 powerful basso profundo, singing one of the old songs of 

 the "49ers," could be heard and soon he emerged from the 

 aspen cover. Over the back of the mule was slung the 

 biggest buck that we had seen in many a day. The wide- 

 branched, velvety antlers almost touched the ground on 

 one side and the sharp hoofs dragged upon the rocks on 

 the other. And there were shouts of joy from the little 

 camp as the aroma of coffee, slap-jacks and broiled 

 chicken ascended heavenward. 



After breakfast we "fixed" camp, built a shade of 

 aspens, thatched with willows, from the tent to the tire- 

 place, and snaked a couple of loads of dried aspen poles 

 for fire-wood. Jack and Dan, to pay for their laziness 

 during the early morning, were assigned the hulk of the 

 work, and it was in the line of their duties to clean and 

 care for the game. Ben reported the caiion that he had 

 visited as being full of red raspberries, bullberries and 

 sarvice berries, and, while Shoshone, rambled about the 

 lake to secure a boat, the trio went berrying. Near the 

 upper end of the lake the cabias of the professional fisher- 

 men are built. Here a boat was found; heavy, flat- 

 bottomed, leaky, but it would save swimming after ducks 

 and diving for trout, and that was all that was re- 

 quired. 



The heat of the afternoon was devoted to the regular 

 siesta. Then Shoshone launched his fragile bark and, 

 with rod and gun, Dan furnishing the motive power, 

 defied the perils of the mighty deep. Above the shore 

 were scores of hell-divers and mud-hens, but far out the 

 bosom of the lake was black with countless teal and 

 mallards. To shoot or fish, that was the question. Dan 

 claimed to know the best fishing grounds, and that settled 

 it. Over the lake we sped, and the dark mass of natatores 

 parted, sailing gracefully just out of range and leaving 

 us a clear channel. Under the shadow of the eastern 

 peak Dan rested on his oars and, pointing to a deep, dark 

 pool, lashed into spray by the eternal falling of a brooklet 

 that leaped full 20ft, from rock to glassy lake, said, 

 "Cast in," 



Shoshone arose and the grizzly-king fluttered over the 

 spot indicated and dropped, as gently as a leaf, upon the 

 surface of the water. No response to the feathery se- 

 ducer. Again. The same result. The third time— 

 "Dan, get her stern to. I've got a whale,'' 

 "Divil a whale, but a dandy trout, old man," as the 

 boat swung around and old Salvelin us, as proud as he was 

 angry, showed what seemed to be three feet of radiant 

 loveliness as he endeavored to snap the leader with bis 

 tail, 



"Pull for the middle," 



Dan obeyed as though his life depended on it. The 

 craft was clumsy and Dan did not know how to handle 

 her for this kind of work; so the only hope of success lay 

 in forestalling any latent desire on the part of Mr. Trout' 

 to run beneath us. Fortunately the idea did not enter 

 his head. He made a good fight for the lilypads, but 

 boat and reel were too much for his strength, and after a 

 fifteen-minute struggle he allowed himself to be drawn 

 to the net. The scales at the tent showed him to be a 4|- 

 pounder, and he was the largest fish taken during the 

 trip, Dan was now fairly enthused with the spirit of the 

 sport and needed no request to pilot the boat back to the 

 spot where the first cast was made. But, alas, 



"The best laid schemes o' mice and men 

 Gang aft a-gley." 



Trout No. 2 came up to the scratch in elegant form and 

 condition, but his tactics were diametrically opposed to 

 those of his predecessor. Under the boat he was deter- 

 mined to go, and under the boat he went, leaving to Sho- 

 shone a broken tip and the sad memory of a trout that 

 never was caught. But another boat was bearing down 

 upon the scene to take up the sport where we had dropped 

 it. Ben and Jack had managed to secure a punt, even 

 more leaky and clumsy than ours. They had a can of 

 grubs and a pail of minnows, and we were contented to 

 leave them, and, because it was impossible to fish, to tiy 

 our luck with the mallards. 



Now, while the ducks were not exactly timid, they 

 were unusually reserved in their manners, and refrained 

 from making the acquaintance of strangers without the 

 formality of an introduction. They could swim as fast 

 as Dan could row, and they managed to keep about 

 75yds. from the boat. Once in a while there would be a 

 little teasing flight of 20 or SOyds., and at such times the 

 gun would do its duty. But the distance was so great 

 that only cripples fell, and these it was impossible to re- 

 trieve. At length the birds drifted into a little bay from 

 which escape seemed impossible. Shoshone changed hia 

 seat to the stern and laid a dozen shells on the seat. Dan 

 grasps the situation. The boat is planted, fair and square, 

 in the narrow entrance. Before us the brown, moving 

 mass wedges and packs together until the inlet is covered 

 by a solid carpet of feathers. For an instant the birds 

 are undetermined what to do. Then, with one impulse, 

 they rise. The noise is as the roar of the tempest in the 

 forest, as the beating of storm-tossed breakers upon a 

 rocky shore. Landward for a minute and then, by com- 

 mon consent, the grand wheel is made, and the mass 

 comes back toward open water. They are scarce 20yds. 

 above us. The sky is darkened and the sound of the gun 

 that cracks until eight shells are gone is lost in the rush 

 of many wings. Over the lake they flv, faster even than 

 the mountain gale, the ranks of the living closing up the 

 gaps that ruthless powder and shot had made, A mile 

 away, over by the western shore, they alight, and we are 

 left alone, between the blue above a.nd the blue below, to 

 gather up the spoils. Nineteen plump, iridescent-winged 

 beauties are stowed away in the bottom of the boat, and 

 we rejoin Ben and Jack, who have eight 2-pounders to 

 their credit, and are as ready as we for supper. 



What a supper that was! It took a long time to pre- 

 pare it, but it paid for all trouble. Think of it ye purse- 

 proud, game-loving Chicagoans, that pay §1.25 for the 

 leg of a chicken killed out of season, and then, with true 

 devotion to the cause, cinch the seller! We had cream 

 biscuit and coffee, baked fish, broiled chicken, fried duck, 

 fried venison, and wound up with luscious raspberries 

 and cream, the meal costing, barring the broken tip, 

 less than 50 cents. 



Clearly the pursuit of game on the morrow was out of 

 the question. We had made an agreement and intended 



