200 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



.Sept. 8, 1«9S. 



A CAMPER'S DIARY. 



July 15. — Well, I've decided to go camping next 

 montli with Sam Andrews. Sam's a little old fellow, 

 about thirty- five, but looks younger; not a bit particular 

 about his grammar, never laughs at a joke nor makes 

 one, but often gets unconsciously funny trying to say two 

 things at once. He's a crank on camping, and likes to 

 potter around the fire, they say, and make a pan of bis- 

 cuit. According to bis talk, "camping out" is just a 

 halcyon time, but the old man went once when he was 

 young and he says it's moat all jthat'e execrable. I'm 

 going anvhow, 



July SI. — The boys were up to-night to talk it over. 

 Mack and Valentine are the other two. Four in all. 

 Mack's a medium-sized chap about twenty-two, still 

 beardless, without any deep lines of thought or care on 

 Bis countenance. Looks as if he would be good-natured 

 on wet days. Valentine's a student [with side tabs and 

 wears glasses. He's enti' ely innocent of the woods and 

 never caught a lish, but he's reading up on those things. 

 I haven't sized him up yet, but Sam says he'll fit in all 

 right and won't be in the way at all. His expression is 

 not exactly solemn, but rather wondering, as if he would 

 like to laugh if he could only see the joke. 



Well, we had a great time leaning over the table while 

 Sam traced a pencil over the route on Farrat's man and 

 lured us on a wonderful journey through Vacation Land. 

 He spoke of the moonlight on the water sailing oat of 

 Boston on the Portland boat. He overlooked the dusty 

 railroad trip, but enlarged on the charming, jolting, jog- 

 gling journey on the buckl)oard stage between the 

 movmtains, and when he opened up the view of the lake 

 his imagination carried us on till we sunned ourselves 

 with hitn aboard the little steamer going north. He said 

 we'd climb tlie mount "Old Ziscoss" and leave our names 

 in a cairn on top. and get a noble vision there. He 

 agreed to point out the Canadian Mountains and the 

 Mountains of the Half Moon and Katahdin, and a myriad 

 of lakes besides, and the forests on a thousand hills: but 

 principally he talkfd of a silver river. Magalloway, in 

 the Avilderneas with just us on her bosom in two canoes. 

 He talked knowingly of "The Narrows" and "The Mead- 

 ows" and "The Forks" and reverently of "Parmacbenee,'" 

 cautioned us if we read up on the subject to make allow- 

 ance for Farrar's imagination, but it struck me first of 

 all we'd bptter fortifiy ourselves against Sam's own elo- 

 qurnce, Valentine was deeply interested and inquirfd 

 of Sam if he t'lought there was any pro8];)ect of his hear- 

 ing a loon. He wanted to hear a loon crying in the 

 night. Sam thought there was; he would almost guaran- 

 tee it. He wouldn't guarantee to show me a deer though, 

 standing out on a point, but he agreed to point out the 

 tracks where the old fellows had stood a little before, and 

 foot prints on the little beaches "thicker than leavps in 

 Vallambrosa " The nest meeting comes off at Sam's 

 houpe, Aug. 10, 



July 8G, — Bought a big rubber bag to-day to hold 

 things and a rubber blanket. The blanket has two little 

 holes you can put a string through and tie around your 

 neck. I don't mind if it does rain one day. Met Sam on 

 the street to-day. He is having a hard time to get away. 

 His employer is one of those old fellows who "never ha.d 

 a vacation in fifteen years; couldn't afford it." He 

 didn't see how Mack could either. Mack told him he 

 couldn't afford not to take one. 



Aug. if.— Met Sam night before last. Awful hot and 

 we sat on the back piazza in shirt sleeves. I'm satisfied 

 now that that fellow's a born camper. What do you 

 suppose he had? A little fire on the concrete. A 

 smudge, he called it, to keep away the bugs. The tent 

 has come too. He had it up on the lawn Sundaj^ Says 

 it will sleep four nicely. Then we turned to business. 

 Had an important matter to discuss — grub. Sam read 

 down his list by the light of the "smudge" and said, 

 "I've decided to cross off tomatoes, three cans; too 

 bulky." This brought a remonstrance from Mack and 

 he wound up. "If you leave out tomatoes, you can leave 

 out me." So Sam sighed and reinstated them. "All 

 right." he says, "I'll give you a can for supper first night 

 and I'll sink a can in the river to have coming back and 

 that'll leave only one can to tote," The remaining list 

 passed. Then Mack said, "Say Sammy, you're going to 

 take along the camera, aren't you ?" Sam shook his head, 

 "No, those small ones are no earthly good. I wouldn't be 

 satisfied with anything less than a tripod and that's too 

 bulky for where we're going." Mack was disappointed 

 and insisted that those were fine pictures that they got 

 last year, "fine ones," "Yes,'' said Sam, winking at me, 

 "you better look over those pictures Jeff, you'll find Mack 

 looming right up in the middle with his arms akimbo. 

 After you've seen the whole ten you may think to in- 

 quire 'I wonder where Sam is?' " Mack looked sheepish, 

 so I came , to his assistance and said, "I'd bet if Sam 

 would bring the instrument along he'd capture the 

 Forest and Stream prize of twenty-five dollars." Sam 

 was obdurate though and Mack says, "No use, .Jeff. 

 When he says 'no' like that he means it like a mule." 



Then we drifted on to the subject of game. Mack 

 wanted to buy a heavy rifle and get a deer. I argued 

 that he couldn't hit a deer anyway, but by taking a shot- 

 gun or a little .23 we could get a duck or partridge now 

 and then. We appealed to Sam. By this time he had 

 dragged the tent out and had it spread on the piazza. 

 He had laid in a lot of blankets and was making a roll of 

 canned goods. He got us down on our hands and knees, 

 and then said, "I'll cook anything you fellows bring to 

 camp, but I don't go shooting much at this season of the 

 year," "What's the matter, you 'fraid of the game 

 law?" Well, no Turn that corner in, Jeff, and 

 roll hard. No, I don't stand much in awe of the laws of 

 Maine, but I have some regard for the laws of Nature." 



Well, we finally got that old tent bundle made and 

 covered all over with rope and hard knots. Mack says, 

 "So long as Valentine's not here I move we appoint him 

 a committee on the spot to untie the tent bag at th<^ first 

 camp. Sam says, "Oh, I met him to-day. He's been 

 reading a book by Dr. Mitchell. The doctor says, 'Don't 

 forget to take along some raw onions.' I told him if the 

 doctor ordered them we'd take a few. Some other 

 author teUs him not to cover his face all over with vile 

 daub, but to wet the corner of his handkerchief with oil 

 of lavender. He says he's going to have the laugh on 

 the rest of ua," 



The question of fire-arms was reopened, but left un- 

 settled. Mack remarked with a bloodthirsty gleam that 

 he'd carry "something" on his own hook. 



Sam says, "Say, you fellows better get this expedition 

 subsidized and we'll fetch along a lot of troggers to lug 

 the game and ammunition and camera and I'll march 

 ahead with a white Stanley helmet and take pictures." 



This was a parting shot as we were going out of the 

 gate. 



We start in a few days. Jefferson Scribe. 



THE STORY OF A COUGAR SKIN. 



Yes, I captured a cougar skin of considerable propor- 

 tions when out on the Pacific coast, but I haven't said 

 much about the occurrence because the circumstances 

 were souniisual, so almost incredible, that I didn't wish 

 to weaken the already rather slim confidence my friends 

 have in me, by relating them. However, as cougar 

 stories haven't been a very prolific crop lately, 1 will 

 whisper my little story in your private ear, Mr. Editor, 

 because you have seemed to convey an insinuation that 

 if there was a story about this particular pelt, it would 

 have to be manufactured. The pelt is on view, it speaks 

 for itself. I am likewise situated. I have long desired 

 to meet a healthy cougar in the flesh in his native wilds, 

 provided I had a magazine gun in my hands, and the 

 animal would let me have the drop on him, my kind of 

 a drop. But I don't yearn as T did. I have lost a yearn, 

 a yearn or a half or two yearns, and if my own wishes 

 are consulted, the animal in question may have his flesh, 

 health and native wilds all to himself. I shall not seek 

 him out to stir him up. I once mooned around over 

 Hepubllcan MoTintain in Colorado all day in the snow 

 with an old Gallagher carbine which I was very desirous 

 to "let 'er go" at a big oat whose five-inch track was very 

 devious, well defined and attractive, but the Felis very 

 obligingly kept going and out of my way so that I am 

 thankfully alive at this present time. I often think how 

 awfully hot and c^ld it would have been up there toward 

 the zenith if that disreputable old fusee had gone off un- 

 certainly and that enraged puma had left my person 

 scattered around over the rocks in strings, shreds and 

 patches. It is worth shuddering over. 



On a miity, rainy, gloomy, despondent, beautiful Ore- 

 gon day last spring, 1 found myself very expectedly on 

 the lower Columbia aboard a tlnion Pacific steamer, 

 plowing the muddy waters of that noble highway be- 

 tvveen Portland and Astoria. The scenery was truly 

 Oregonian and Columbian at that season of the year and 

 probably quite a number of other seasons. Occasionally 

 the shores, low-lying or more abrupt, could be seen, but 

 for the most part the "saew was limited to the low-hang- 

 ing clouds dropping their everlasting surplus in steady, 

 depressing and monotonous drizzle, and to the irresist- 

 ible flow of the mighty river. Occasionally a gull 

 emerged silently from the wetness of the whence and as 

 silently disappeared in the misty moisture of the hence. 

 How lonesome and hungry, and damp and chilly and 

 unsatisfied he looked. And I've no doubt he was. I 

 shivered in sympathy. The steamer shivered too, and 

 coughed with its lungs full of Oregon mist, and the 

 passengers gathered around the radiator in the cabin, 

 and radiated tobacco smoke and juice, read Seaside 

 books, Portland papers, and discussed the latest phase of 

 the perennial Astorian boom, which, with canned salmon 

 are the principal products of Astoria, both well-pre- 

 served. Among the passengers was a Norwegian, Prof. 

 Aamold by name, characteristically blonde and fair 

 haired, a violin virtuoso, who, having completed his 

 winter tour, presumably with satisfactory returns, had 

 separated himself from his confreres of the troupe and 

 with his preciom violin, guns, rods, and pony was bound 

 for a summering among the lofty hills and secluded val- 

 leys of this region, where he might breathe purer air 

 than that usually served up in concert halls, lure the 

 wily trout from his crystal retreat, or perforate the 

 mighty grizzly or stealthy puma with his .45-90 Win- 

 chester. He had been here before and talked entertain- 

 ingly of sport past and to come, for he was well-read, a 

 fine conversationalist, a great admirer of, and a firm dis- 

 ciple of, Darwin, concerning whose views he conversed 

 enthusiastically, and as a brother sportsman my heart 

 warmed toward him and I sincerely hoped he might 

 escape the raking claws of the tawny Felis, and the fatal 

 hug of the horrible Ursus. His pony, a little, beautiful, 

 intelligent gray, had, through the carelessness and 

 mismanagement of the deck hands at Portland, tumbled 

 into the river between the dock and boat and had been 

 quite severely injured, and was of course an object of 

 much solicitude, as he was to be the Professor's mainstay 

 in his jaunts. 



During the day we passed several long double lines of 

 piles on either side of the river, between which men on 

 loaded barges were dumping evergreen branches which 

 were to be weighted down with stone to confine the cur- 

 rent at bars and shallow places, for Uncle Sam 

 was taking a hand in the improvement of the river for 

 Portland's benefit. Along in the afternoon the boat 

 pulled in to the little village or port of Klackallackum, 

 for there was very little village to it, only a broken 

 down wharf, a store and two or three houses, on the 

 Washington side. The mail bag and a box of bottled 

 beer were put off, the freight clerk or purser walked out 

 the gang plank with considerable style, handed a bill to 

 the storekeeper who was alpo postmaster and agent for 

 the boat, walked back again, the mate cried up the 

 speaking tube, "All gone, sir," the pilot rung the gong in 

 the engine room, men on the wharf cast off spring and 

 stern lines, the wheel, for she was a stern wheeler, backed 

 water until ting-a-ling from the pilot started her ahead 

 again, and we were once more under way down stream, 

 while the half dozen dejected and lonesome-looking men 

 on the wharf moved solemnly storeward with the beer, 

 which might have been spelled the other way, judging 

 from their motions. During the moment or two that we 

 laid at the wharf I was standing on the upper deck lean- 

 ing on the guards looking down on the festive and thrill- 

 ing scene, when Prof. A. stepped to my side. "Do you 

 see that gap in the hills back of town ? Well, a fine 

 trout stream comes down from the mountains through 

 that gap, and flows rather sluggishly across the inter- 

 vening mile or so, emptying into the river just below 

 here. Ie'r a wild country back there, as I happen to 

 knovr, and you won't go amiss if you try the stream for 

 fish." I thanked him, resolving if opportunity offered to 

 visit the place and see what sport I could get out gf iti 



After a journey which would have been tedious but I 

 for the company of the Prof, and for whose entertaining 

 conversation 1 was truly obliged and thankful, I reluct- 

 antly bade him good- by at Astoria as he led his pony 

 across the deck: and not many moons afterward walked 

 myself across the wharf at Klackallackum, with rod and 

 basket bound for the Pilchuck, ss I found its name to be. 

 On inquiry, I ascertained that I could boat it almost, if 

 not quite, to the gap or rough water, so after some search 

 I found what was not the most graceful or lightest boat 

 in existence, but which would float me at least, and 

 which I hired for the trip. It was a fine day, that rare I 

 thing on the lower Columbia, and I give full credit there- 

 for. I thanked my lucky stars that the fates had been 

 so propitious, for nine days in ten I might have struck a 

 solid day of wetness. I did not know what I had done 

 to deserve such good fortune, but I accepted it thank- | 

 fully and hoped that I might be a gratified recipient 

 often. By that I don't mean to asseverate that a Calif oi- 

 nian or Arizonian in June would have called it such. 

 The patient reader will simply understand that it did not 

 rain. It was cloudy to be eure, but the clouds were not 

 the low-lying, enveloping, reeky, sifting, depressing 

 sort, but were, for the nonce, in a more etherial and light 

 hearted mood, sailing aloft, solidly it is true, but almost 

 persuaded at times to accede to the importunities of the 

 sun and allow him to penetrate and lighten their dense 

 folds. 



I got a boy to dig me a dernier resHort of worms, for 

 pometimes early in the season trout don't hunger for 

 flies, and however great a stickler I may be for the only 

 eesthetic lure, when the trout decline any and every 

 shape and hue of manufactured loveliness, J am just 

 stickler enough to stick on a barnyard hackle and secure 

 enough belly fins to use either as fly or bait. With my , 

 worms, rod, and a grocery lunch of cheese, crackern, i 

 pickles and canned beef I loaded myself into the skift', 

 took up a pair of oars, the blades of which Lad lost the 

 most eft"ective part of their extremeties, and resembled 

 long butter paddles as much as anything, jjut them be- 

 tween those aggravations of the oarsman, thole pins, and 

 turned my bow up the quietly gliding and romantic 

 strpam, the euphonic Pilchuck. 



A good deal of brush bordered the stream as I moved 

 along up, back of which here and there were open field.", 

 alternating with bits of woodland, and in the former all 

 the air was quivering with the delicious song of the 

 meadow lark, which is more prolonged and far sweeter 

 to my ear than that of its Eastern congener, the song 

 being suggestive of the mingled sounds of tinkling glass 

 and steel accompanying the incomparable melody from 

 the bird's throat. Bobolink's tnusic is likewise sugges- 

 tive. The larks were very numerous, and the delightful 

 serenade I enjoyed already repaid me for the trip. Rob- i 

 ins were arriving, and now and then a crow projected ' 

 his black form against the dim clouds as he beat the air i 

 with heavy pinion, croaking a warning or greeting to I 

 some sombre-robed companion who sat on a distant tree 

 and hoai'sely acknowledged the salutation. Rounding a 

 bend I surprised a little mink "projeckin' " around a bit 

 of stranded drift, busy as he could be working out some 

 Fcent; but when he caught sight of my movements he 

 paused a moment as he endeavored to understand them, ' 

 and then left a brown streak behind him, disappparing 

 under the bank among the roots of a handy tree. Ducks 

 of various kinds rose ahead of me with much alarm and 

 splashing, circling around to the rear or going further 

 up, and an occasional heap of drifter log detained me: 

 but all the region was a terra incognita, and the delays 

 andsurmoimting of obstacles were pleasant. 



There were likely-looking spots for wetting a line in 

 suggestive pools or still reaches of water by the side of a 

 log or under the bank, but the rapid, tumbling, foaming i 

 stream as it dances in cataract or leaps in fall, pausing 

 here and there in deep pool where the eddies circle and 

 the foam flakes chase each other up stream only to be 

 drawn into the current, to go whirling down again in a 

 delightful "merry-go-round," has charms for me beyond, 

 any sluggish water, so I kept up the breeze and looked 

 for better things. The country grew rougher as 1 pro- 

 ceeded, unbroken forest succeeded fields, the current 

 grew swifter, and ere long the foothills rose from the 

 banks ard ran upward to the nearer low-lying moun- 

 tains. .Just in the entrance to the gap stretched a long, 

 rather deep pool, where the stream took a long breath 

 after its prolonged and rapid flight, and at the upper end, 

 around a curve, I could hear a raj")id, which told me my 

 boating was over for the jjresent. On the left hand about 

 half-way up the pool the water was quite deep, and the 

 bluff rose abruptly to a height of perhaps a dozen feet. I 

 noticed before I reached this place that an old disused 

 trail, formerly used probably by lumbermen, ran up from 

 the lower ground, and presumably ran alongside the bluff 

 on top. On the opposite side the pool just below this 

 bluff, a bar or point of low-lying rocus ran out, and on it 

 was a long pile of drift, some of the logs and limbs reach- 

 ing out to quite deep water, 



A little distance above there was a sharp turn to the 

 left, and the current running around this shot across, 

 ptriking the outer edge of a drift. Noting these facts as 

 I worked along up, 1 decided to land on the trail fide, as 

 one naturally would, so I drifted back to where I could 

 land easily and ran ashore, pulled the boat out and pro- 

 ceeded to put my rig together. And assembling an outfit 

 at such i)eriods as this is, to me, one of the most enjoy- 

 able moments of the day. With what joyful, satisfying 

 expectancy one joints his rod, attaches the reel, threads 

 the line, chooses with cogitation the cast. While the 

 beautiful, clear, rushing waters harboring the handsome 

 game, the pebbly shore or bolder rocky bluff, the pile of 

 drift or overhanging roots from beneath the edge of which 

 the swift flsh darts upon his prey, the silence and solitude 

 all yours surrounding you like a benison, the lovely 

 vistas opening between boles of stately trees in silent 

 watchfulness over all, are sweet and inspiring influences 

 which make glad and peaceful the heart of thefisherman. 



My Chubb lancewood soon stretched its willowy length 

 before me, visibly achin' for the fray. A royal-coachman 

 and brown-hackle were the last things on the string, and 

 putting my lunch in my hunting coat: pocket (and by the 

 waj;. what satisfaction there is in a multi-pocket coat on a 

 fishing trip), and giving an extra safe pull to the boat, so 

 as to be sure of its whereabouts, I struck for the trail and 

 meandered up stream. 



As is the case in most, if not all, trout streams, the 

 best holes couldn't be got at handily, which is nature's 

 best protection, but by careful and Quiet iuanagement, 



