June 16, 1894.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



309 



la light canvas lodge- lining:, about 6ft. by 15ft. Billy's 

 [camera, the special long-range outfit made for him by the 

 I Smithsonian Institution, weighed 25|lbs. without the plate 

 [holders, and made all the load Billy could carry. The 

 [holders, plates, rolls of films, ruby lantern, etc. , which be- 

 I longed with this camera, made a goodly part of the other 

 ' packs. My camera, weighing about lO^lbs. , made a good 

 [basis for a third pack. We had alight and very excellent 

 [camp axe. The men carried thpir army revolvers. They 

 • had in their packs extra socks, and also the warm muskrat 

 [skin caps issued by the army, which latter they rarely 

 [wore. Billy and I had extra underwear and pienty of 

 [socks, of course, and each had a heavy woolenshirt extra, 

 [to which I added a sweater. We carried each an extra 

 [pair of overshoe?, and we were careful to have each an 

 [extra pair of colored goggles, an important precaution, for 

 [to be without some protection for the eyes in that snowy 

 [glare,, is to practically go blind. I had along a pair of 

 [moccasins in my pack — which I am most thankful I car- 

 pied in spite of Billy's injunction to cut down weight. 

 [Billy had a few screws, in case of a broken ski, I had a 

 [needle and thread, and we had plenty of wax for the shoes. 

 [Of course we had plenty of good matches. We carried 

 [lunch enough for two meals, intending to make the soldiers' 

 [quarters at Norris Basin, 20 miles out, and to replenish 

 [there. We had some tea, the very best we could buy; 

 [Billy said we must not drink coffee, but tea, as tea was 

 ["better to work on." In this the miners and lumbermen 

 [nearly al' agree with him, but I am such a coffee drinker 

 [myself that I became mutinous after the first day out, and 

 [finished the trip on coffee. We had two of the army quart 

 Ifcin cups, the sole dishes or utensils that we carried. As I 

 have said, Billy and I carried no weapon but our scabbard- 

 knives. Item, the men had their tobacco. I put in my 

 kit some such simple remedies as vaseline, quinine, etc., 

 and we also carried a pint of brandy. This was all the 

 spirits we took along, and we had about half of that when 



skis with a 801bs. pack on his back and a reputation for 

 dignity to sustain. 



The worst of it was the snow stuck to our shoes and 

 made it hard going even on the places where we didn't 

 want to slip back any. We paused at the end of the first 

 half hour or so and scraped off our shoes. The day was 

 cold, but we were all perspiring with the work. 



"Put on your glasses," said Billy to me. "Your eyes 

 aren't bigger than slits in a blanket already. Do you 

 want to go blind? And stop eating that snow. What- 

 ever you do, and no matter how thirsty you get, you 

 must not eat snow. If you get heated up and take one 

 drink of cold water, that knocks you out worse than four 

 hours of work. It weakens you right away. You must 

 not drink between meals, and you mustn't eat snow." 



This struck me as being hard luck, for just then I would 

 rather have eaten snow than do anything, but I obeyed. 

 We pushed on up the sharp grades the best we could, or 

 rather the best I could, for of course the others could 

 leave me as they liked. We let the two privates go ahead, 

 with instructions to build a fire at the top of the hill, 

 opposite the magnificent Cathedral Rock. They were 

 joined further on by the detail sent out by Capt. Anderson 

 to bring: in the poacher Howell, who had just been caught— 

 Sergt. Kellner and two privates, all good shoers. At last 

 Billy and I made the last rise— I'm sure I don't know 

 how — and in a moment more we were beside our little 

 fire, melting snow to make tea. I drank about a quart of 

 strong tea— and nearly met a Waterloo by doing it, for it 

 made me sick. We ate also a bite of lunch, and fixed up 

 our shoes, heating them scorching hot and then rubbing 

 them quickly with wax. Billy showed me how, enjoining 

 me by no means ever to allow a drop of water to fall on 

 either surface of the skis, as it would freeze and cause the 

 snow to stick to it. The theory of the ski is to slip over 

 and through the snow without dragging any along. It is 

 quite an art to learn all the tricks of ski work, and keep- 



A SKI OUTING PARTY IN THE PARK. 

 From a photo by Haynes. 



•e got back, thus establishing a marked difference be- 

 iween our own and the Schwatka outfit. 

 The above, with a most scanty allowance of toilet arti- 

 es, constituted all of our simple' baggage, yet one will 

 e surprised to learn that made up into four packs it 

 aade each pack weigh between 25 and 301bs. Billy, one 

 if the most experienced packers in the mountains, soon 

 made up two solid, oblong packs for the soldier boys, 

 adjusting them with soft whang leather carrying-straps. 

 Billy had a carrying harness— and an abominablv stiff 

 and awkward one, too— attached to his camera. Some- 

 times I carried that camera to give Billy a chance for his 

 life, and I always wished the Smithsonian man who in- 

 vented that harness had it around his neck. For myself, 

 in spite of Billy's entreaties, I stuck to the Lake Superior 

 pack bag, made in Duluth, which I had in long trips 

 through the pine woods previously found so roomy and 

 so easy to carry. This bag was made of heavy canvas, 

 and weighed S^lbs, but its straps, "tote" strap (the head 

 3trap by which alone Indians will carry a pack) and 

 shoulder straps are put on this bag so understanding^ 

 that one can carry additional weight and not feel it as he 

 would with ordinary straps. We found this bag handy 

 for the loose small articles. Of course, being not new at 

 packing, we carried our packs lying well down along the 

 spine, so that shoulders and hips shared the weight. We 

 found a breast strap, of leather or gunny sacking, passed 

 across the front and pulling the shoulder straps a trifle 

 together, made the carrying easier. For this I usually 

 engaged my silk handkerchief. We all carried strips of 

 ~umy sacking at our belts. Billy had made two sets of 

 lowshoe clogs. We carried these three miles and threw 

 hem away. 



Off. 



At 9 o'clock the last pack had been lashed, the last strap 

 ijusted, the last grunt of protest uttered by the human 

 [pack train Billy was cinching up, and we were on our way 

 lup the first slopes of the great Golden Gate hill, beyond 

 [which lay the wondprs and the trials of the wild region 

 lof the upper Park. The journey was on. Since I was a 

 [boy and used to lie awake all night before the days when 

 [my father was going to take me with him on a fishing 

 [trip or camp hunt, I can not remember ever to have felt 

 bo keen a thrill of curiosity and anticipation as I did then. 

 [In anticipation it was the trip of a lifetime, and in the 

 [realization it proved all and more than I hud hoped. 



Trials of the Narrow Pass. 

 The Golden Gate hill rises about 1,500ft. or so in three 

 and a half miles, and it isn't so awfully particular how it 

 does it, either. It is the terror of the soldiers and scouts 

 who have to snowshoe in the Park, and is considered 

 about the hardest climb in the Park. Certainly it consti- 

 tutes a delightful place to break in a greenhorn on the 



ing: the skis in order is one of the most important ones. 



Travelers through the Park will remember the .rock 

 cut, the trestle and the bridge just below the entrance of 

 the Golden Gate proper. Above the wall of rock rises 

 straight up and on the left as one ascends the mountain 

 side drops sheer off into the canon which makes down 

 below the Cathedral Rock. This is a pretty bit of road 

 in summer. As we saw it there was no road at all, but 

 a drift of snow filling the road 30ft. deep. We had to 

 leave the road at a point above the trestle, t ke off our 

 skis and make our way the best we could along the 

 mouutain side, climbing up steps, cut in the snow to the 

 point right at the last little bridge, under the rail of 

 which we crawled. Then, after this ticklish piece of 

 business was over, we put on the skis, pushed around 

 the corner, ran up the last faint rise and lo! before us lay 

 the wide and storm-swept plain of the Swan Lake Flats. 



Big white mountains hemmed in this high plateau- 

 Electric Peak, Sepulcher Peak, Joseph Peak, Quadrant 



-, 171 



Mountain, Antler Peak, Trilobite Point, Mount Holmes; 

 all these could be seen standing sentry. White Mount 

 Washburn, highest peak of the Park, could be seen far 

 off in the wild central region of the Park. We could 

 even see over to the Yellowstone range toward Cooke 

 City. Certainly it was a most impressive landscape and 

 rendered not the less forbidding by the stalking pillars 

 of snow which went in procession across the wind-swept 

 plateau which made the near foreground. 



A Friend in Need Is a Friend Indeed. 



Billy now told me that we had eight miles more to go 

 before we could make the Crystal Springs "shack," the 

 only practicable stopping place this side of Norris quarters. 

 It was so late, and the shoeing was so had, that he had 

 given up all hope of making Norris that night. He added 

 that the eight miles was not so hard as the three miles we 

 had just passed, and bade me be of good cheer. Larsen 

 and Holte, whom we found to be excellent ski men, as 

 befitted their Scandinavian ancestry, Billy advised to go 

 ahead and turn in at the Crystal Springs, as we did not 

 wish to hold them back. They hit off a swinging gait at 

 this, and were soon mere specks on the other side of the 

 fiat. Billy could have kept up with them, of course, but 

 remained with me, who equally of course could not go 

 such a pace my first day on the skis. 



If Billy had not stayed back with me, it is very probable 

 I should never have gotten into camp that night or any 

 other night. That he did so was only what he would in 

 mountain honcr consider himself bound to do, but none 

 the less the fact that he did has always left a soft spot in 

 my heart for Billy, and a feeling that if he were in a 

 tight place I should like to stay with him in turn. Cer- 



tainly he helped me through a tight enough place — about 

 as bad an afternoon as I care to put in. 



On the windy flats the snow was hard and made fair 

 shoeing, and I plodded along behind Billy's shoes method- 

 ically enough, and did not really feel so very tired. At 

 the Gardiner River, however, four and a half miles still 

 from the shack, I was taken desperately faint and sick, 

 so that at length I fairly toppled over off my skis. I don't 

 know what it was, unless the unusual exertion, combined 

 with the unusual altitude, caused the stomach to resent 

 the unusual dose of bitter tea I had given it. Anyhow, I 

 got desperately weak, and pretty soon I didn't care a 

 copper whether I went anywhere or not. Billy would 

 not let me stop for more than a moment, however, know- 

 ing the effects of a chilling through. He fished out the 

 brandy bottle and for almost the only time on the trip I 

 drank a little of it— about a thimbleful was Billy's idea 

 of a plenty. This braced me up a little, but for over an 

 hour I was so weak, and moreover so dull and apa- 

 thetic, that it seems to me I know how it must feel 

 to be left on the trail. In my belief a fellow wouldn't 

 care much about it, one way or another, if he got 

 much further along than I was. Billy was anxious, 

 I know, for the day was waning, and it had come on to 

 snow most dismally. Worse still, the snow began to 

 stick to the shoes when we entered the dense forest, and 

 it was hard plugging for a man even at his best. We 

 worried along over one little hill after another, not dar- 

 ing to stop long enough to build a fire and wax our shoes. 

 Once in a while we would turn from the trail, tramp a 

 hole down in the snow— which was 8ft. deep on the level 

 here — and sit for a moment resting, with our packs lean- 

 ing on the snow. Then we would cut a pine bough and 

 rub the skis hard with the resinous tips and needles. 

 This would help the shoes for a way, when perhaps we 

 would cut off another bough, throw it on the snow and 

 drag the skis across that to cut off the adhering snow, 

 and "slick" the shoes a little. Billy would not let me sit 

 down long at a time, but kept me moving; and at length 

 toward evening I began to get stronger. 



"It's only three-quarters of a mile further now," said 

 Billy finally. "Can you make it?" 



"Betcherlife, Billy," I said, making an awful bluff. 



"Come on, then," he said, and so set out at abetter 

 pace. But it transpired that he had feared I could not go 

 even that distance, for it was not a quarter of a mile fur- 

 ther before he turned out to the left from the trail, into a 

 deep thicket of pines that fringed a little stream. 



"Brace up, old man," said he, "we're home now." 



Home, Sweet Home. 



And home it was, a very blessed one, this little shack of 

 rough boards, buried roof deep in the snow which folded 

 the whole forest in like a great white blanket. There was 

 a blue wisp of smoke rising, and there were voices of wel- 

 come as we came in sight, and that is the most of home. 



We learned that Kellner's party had been unable to 

 make Norris quarters that day, owing to the stickiness of 

 the shoeing, and it therefore became necessary for all 

 seven of us to pass the night in the little shack, not over 

 9ft. square. This, however, we found not an unwelcome 

 prospect. Everything in life is relative. For my part I 

 threw myself down on a board somebody had propped up 

 off the floor, and for over half an hour I knew nothing of 

 what was going on. This might have been sleep, or it 

 might have been sheer exhaustion. I heard somebody 

 say, "That feller's purty tired." Then somebody gave me 

 a warm sandwich with corned beef hash in it, and a tin 

 cup of coffee. This combination saved my life, and pretty 

 soon I got quite peart again. The boys cut a lot of boughs 

 and put down on the floor, and brought in plenty of wood 

 for the old cook stove which Uncle Sam had left in there 

 against just such an emergency as this. Not one of the 

 party but Billy and myself had a blanket, for the soldiers 

 declare they would rather sit up by a fire all night than 

 pack a blanket all day. Billy spread down his piece of 

 canvas and his one blanket, insisting on my taking the 

 sleeping bag, and so we all turned in the best we could, 

 the soldier men squatting, lying or crouching about the 

 stove as the taste and fancy of each dictated. 



This ended my first day on the skis, and it served at 

 least to teach me what a snowshoe trip through the 

 Park meant, how serious a thing it might become and 

 how impossible help would be in case of sickness or acci- 

 dent. When I lay down to sleep that night I had not 

 the slightest idea that I would be able to travel the next 

 day, for I thought I would be too stiff and sore. I never 

 could understand what the trouble really was, nor how it 

 was that I got over it so easily. Certain it is that the 

 next morning I awoke rested and refreshed, stiff and a 

 bit sore, of course, but only triflingly so by comparison. 

 I got on my shoes all right, and from that time on clear 

 through the trip I never did have any more trouble. I 

 took coffee and corned beef hash in mine after that 

 every time I got a chance, and attribute my later success 

 to those remedies. That one first bruising day — it was a 

 nightmare of a time — made the beginning and the end of 

 the grief. After that the art of shoeing grew easier and 

 easier every day, and the trip more and more delightful. 

 But I have not yet forgotten how Billy stayed with me 

 when I was disposed to lie down and join the golden 

 choir. 



The men who first reached the Swan Lake Flats that 

 day saw four elk off to the right of the trail. No other 

 game was seen. - Billy and I noticed elk pawings in the 

 snow on the hills north of the Golden Gate, but no very 

 large band was indicated. 



The thermometer went nearly to zero that night. 



E. Hough. 



909 Security BtniDiNa, Chicago. 



Some Out-of-Print Books. 



We receive frequent inquiries for books on sport which have been 

 published a good many years ago and are now out of print, and there- 

 fore only to be obtained by accident- On the publication of "Amer- 

 ican Big-Game Hunting," the book of the Boone and Crockett Club 

 frequent inquiry was made as to where some of the books mentioned in 

 the article on "The Literature of American Big-Game Hunting" could be 

 found, and to all such inquiries we were obliged to respond that many 

 of the works referred to were out of print. Recently we have had an 

 opportunity to pick up in England copies of "Hunting Grounds of the 

 Great West," Dodge, and "Carolina Sports," Elliott, works which 

 stand high in the literature of American outdoor life. With these we 

 have secured Lament's "Yachting in the Arctic Seas" and Flack's "A 

 Hunter's Experience in the Southern States of America." All of 

 these are second-hand books and soiled as to the covers, so that they 

 would have to be rebound, but except for this the volumes are com-; 

 plete. They are offered at the following prices: "Hunting Grounds 

 of the Great West," §5; "Yachting in the Arctic Seas," $5.50; "Caro 

 Una Sports." §3; "Hunter's Experienco in the Southern States of 

 America," $3 7 



