43g 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[June 6, 1896, 
was not a moment's pause in the battle of the echoes. An 
owl, too, was hooting over on the distant ridge, and 
from a pond up the stream, borne^on the pulseless pinions 
of the evening air, came the wailing, tremulous note of 
the loon, the most mournful of all the voices of the wil- 
derness. 
Uncle John had enhanced his reputation as a cook by 
fabricating a stew of a fearful and wonderful kind. 
There was strong circumstantial evidence to the effect 
that it comprised a sample of every edible our larder con- 
tained, including such harmonious ingredients as ham, 
potatoes* codfish, carrots, boned duck, beans* pilot bread, 
onions, tomatoes, raisins, maple sugar, etc. It looked 
suspicious, but it went all right. What is there that 
doesn't go all right with hungry men in the woodB? 
In front of the camp and a rod or so beyond the fire 
hole stood a small ash tree. To one of its lower branches 
was suspended the remains of our goodly ham. The last 
man's pipe went out about 9 o'clock, and as it was fair to 
assume that he was more awake than the others, the 
moral onus was imposed on him of fixing the fire for the 
night. We watched for a little while the bparks playing 
around like fireflies among the trees, bestowed a pensive 
moment on the absent ones over the horizon's rim, then 
crawled beneath our blankets and were soon fast asleep; 
all at least except the faithful Peter, who lay prone in 
the door of the tent facing the fire, with his muzzle resting 
on his paws and his yellow eyes agleam. 
The very n«xt thing I was aware of, though several 
hours must have passed, was that Peter had dashed out 
of the tent, cleared the smouldering embers at a bound 
and was barking for all, or even more than, he was 
worth, somewhere in the shadows near the brow of the 
bluff. It was plain that he meant business this time. 
His bark was so loud, so belligerent and aggressive that I 
rose to my feet at once and rushed to the opening of the 
tent. It was clear that this was not another canine 
comedy, but that something really serious was going on 
beneath or behind the little ash tree aforesaid. In the 
dim uncertain glow of the fading tire, which only Berved 
to make the darkness visible, a huge black animal rose 
upon its haunches, and then, as though they were the 
creatures of a dream, another shadowy form was revealed 
standing beyond the tree on the outer extremity of the 
bluff. Peter was barking incessantly, but could not be 
seen. I at once selected the nearest of the two black 
masses for a target and emptied the whole six chambers 
of my ancient cavalry revolver as fast as I could pull the 
trigger. Uncle John reached the scene almost as soon as 
myself and opened up with his Bullard repeater, and in 
less time than it takes to say so Harry was pumping lead 
from his Winchester. 
Never to be forgotten was the din our firearms made in 
the narrow river valley and among the wooded hills and 
hollows that night. The echoes multiplied the fusillade a 
hundredfold, until one could have sworn that an army 
of men were hotly engaged in battle. After the first few 
shots were fired the smoke, the river fog and the natural 
darkness of the night entirely hid the bears from our 
sight (for we knew at once that they were bears), and we 
simply raked the top of the bluff at random. We could 
not form the slightest idea of what was going on in the 
enemy's camp. 
We were soon enlightened. One of the bears, finding 
that his retreat on the left was barred by a fallen ram- 
pike, afraid to descend the bluff, and harassed by Peter 
on the right, opened his throttle valve and came charg- 
ing straight for the tent, scattering like chaff the stones 
and smoking brands of the fire hole. There was a shout 
of warning, a shower of ashes and embers, a fleeting 
vision of Peter glued to the rear tire of the bear, and then 
the avalanche of hair and horror passed us by. When 
we regained the use of our faculties the tent was down 
and somewhere within its complicated folds a terrific row 
was raging. The canvas was convulsed in the likeness of 
a storm at sea upon the scenic stage — a confused chorus 
of grunts, growls and roars arose from within — then in a 
jiffy the canvas was rent in twain at the further side, and 
the avalanche passed through the hole and disappeared 
in the outer gloom. We had a transient view of Peter 
clinging to the bear, we heard them stumbling and fall- 
ing, crashing and snarling away through the brush and 
then all was still as though a million feather beds had 
fallen from the sky. 
By the light of a birch bark torch we surveyed the 
scene of battle. Within a rod of the ash tree lay one of 
the ham thieves, as dead as a last year's almanac. There 
were, as near as we could ascertain, five bullet holes in 
various parts of his anatomy. He measured from tip to 
tip 6ft. 10in., and we estimated his weight to be at least 
4001bs. 
We did not go through the formality of trying to sleep 
any more on that particular night. We built a rousing 
fire, cut a new ridge pole, raised the tent, and sewed up 
the rent in the canvas that marked the track of the pass- 
ing storm. 
With the first gray streaks of morning light we took 
the trail through the scrub and searched for the missing 
ones long and earnestly, but all in vain. 
Ten years have pasBed since then and unto this day no 
word of weal or woe has ever come to us from the faith- 
ful Peter. 
Whether he is still careering over the face of nature 
glued to the avalanche, or whether in a happier hunting 
ground than this, with his muzzle resting on his paws 
and his yellow eyes agleam, he watcheB and waits for us, 
where the pine trees whisper, and the stars Bhine bright, 
and the river goes singing to the sea, who can tell? 
Frank H. Risteen. 
Fbedericton, N. B., May 25. 
Massachusetts Shore Birds. 
Boston, Mass.— It is beyond the recollection of the 
oldest sportsman along our Massachusetts coast when so 
many yellow- legs and plover have visited the marshes 
along the shore as this year. Reports from the Cape state 
that there are simply thousands, and the same is true 
regarding the marshes along the north shore. I have 
yet to hear of a good reason for their great numbers this 
year. Can anybody give one? Hackle. 
THE TROUT OF LAKE CRESCENT.— 11. 
At the end of another week, on Oct. 27 I found or made 
opportunity again to visit the Lakes, and that I might 
have chance to verify the stories told me by Ben Lewis 
and others that in the big lake there were some big trout, 
seldom caught; that they were neither rainbows nor, 
as some claimed, salmon, but of such style and appear- 
ance that their local name "blue-backs" was appropriate. 
Lake Crescent the "big lake," was my objective point. 
I was determined that if such trout were there I would 
find them. 
Early in the forenoon, this time in the company of and 
the guest of Mr. M. J. Carrigan, I started for the lake in a 
comfortable buggy drawn by his own horse. We were 
in all respects well outfitted. 
For the first sixteen miles the route was identical with 
that to Lake Sutherland, that is, generally, but on this 
occasion it differed in a most annoying manner, so much 
so that it became an all-day journey. 
Ordinarily the country road is to a great extent a fair 
trotting road, but very little trotting came to us. First, 
the horse was out of condition. While galloping the day 
before with a man on his back he had tripped on a root, 
had a heavy fall, and all the trot was out of him. Hardly 
had we entered the forest when we were brought up by a 
tree 2ft. in diameter, which, smoking and smouldering 
from the dying out fire which had downed it, stretched 
across the road about 1ft. from the ground. There was no 
chance to turn out; burning brush and unconsumed logs 
prevented, and there was no axe in the wagon nor within 
some miles. We had but one resource, "We seen our 
duty and we done it." 
Carrigan, with whom the horse was on familiar terms, 
jumped him over (after unhitching) and hitched him on 
the other side. Then we two had a lively tug for half an 
hour at the buggy. We could almost do it, but not quite, 
and never was a tramp more welcome than a big one who 
came sauntering along. We soon made him our tramp, 
for we had with us the necessary inducements, and his 
weight turned the scale; over came the buggy unharmed. 
Then for the benefit of others we spent an hour building 
and burning bonfires under the log, and when, sweat 
soaked and smoke blackened, we restarted, that log was 
doomed. In about half an hour our horse developed a 
colic, so that our continued journey to Clarke's ranch, 
two or three miles further on, became a very uncertain 
one, stops and a slow walk alternating. 
We found Clarke to be a very obliging man, and he 
offered to us his only resource, for his carriage was out- 
one of a team of logging mules, and after an hour or so 
more devoted to first catching the mule, which was out 
in the pasture, we restarted, leaving the horse in the 
pasture. 
Carrigan, who most thoroughly understands horses, did 
not seem very enthusiastic about driving the mule, so he 
accepted Mr. Clarke's offer to drive for a mile or so to 
"get him used to it." Confidence in the mule's docility 
was small on the start and diminished rapidly, as the 
beast made several efforts to get into the buggy stern 
firBt, at least we so interpreted the action of his hindlegs. 
Clarke said he was "playful," but we didn't want to play; 
so when, Carrigan and I walking, Clarke driving, we 
reached another ranch, Frank's, a Portuguese-American 
citizen, and a most hospitabe man, at about 1 P. M., we 
gladly accepted his invitation and that of his wife, the 
most intelligent, womanly and best educated dPBcendant 
from Indians I ever met, to stop and lunch. We did so 
and enjoyed a couple of hours of rest. 
Frank loaned us his horse, a very good one, accustomed 
to woods travel, bat with one uncomfortable habit. It 
had been the off horse in a stage team and persisted in 
keeping on its own side of the road or turning for it at 
most unexpected times, very inconvenient times, some- 
times, when that side of the road was very close to the 
edges of sundry canons which the road skirted, or to the 
perpendicular edge of the cut in the side of the hill. We 
had to steer that horse with a very small helm. 
About sunset we reached the brow of the hill leading 
down to Lake Sutherland, and soon after brought up at 
Wilson's Tavern and concluded to postpone Crescent until 
the morrow. Wilson took good care of us, gave us a good 
supper and a pair of comfortable rooms, in one of which 
a good wood fire was burning, and we had a most enjoy- 
able evening talking with Wilson and Ben Lewis, who 
had come to meet us, and who became our guide and 
boatman for the trip. Both are very intelligent men, well 
up in woodcraft, experienced hunters and, until we took 
the lead, the most successful fishermen on the lake. 
Note, I say fishermen; there is a lady, Mrs. Michell, 
whose record is equal to if not superior to them. 
After a good night's sleep and a good breakfast we 
started early across the divide, and at about two miles 
came to the wharf at the eastern end of the lake, where a 
comfortable steam launch met us, and in an hour took us 
around the point of Pyramid Mountain and up a long nar- 
row bay. Mr. Carrigan, near the point, has a cosy sum- 
mer cabin home by the side of a very pretty mountain 
brook, "Idlewild" he calls it, where he is hoping to estab- 
lish an anglers' and hunters' club, for which it is wonder- 
fully adapted on both sides of Pyramid Mountain, and on 
the south side of the bay the land is mostly precipitous, 
with here and there a mountain stream, whose valley 
makes gentle slopes, where sites for "proving-up cabins" 
and clearings are utilized by the pioneers, who have 
mines of future wealth in the magnificent timber with 
which the hills are covered. 
Of these cabins, the best that I saw were those of Mr. 
Sanborn, a pensioned soldier, Mr. Cross, Ben Lewis, and 
of Mr. George Michell, at the head of the bay, where is 
the site of the present very small but hoped to grow vil- 
lage of Fairholm, where there are a good wharf, several 
buildings, including a store, and a post office, to and from 
which three times a week a rowboat transports the mail . 
Mr. Michell is postmaster, justice and principal landown- 
er. He with his wife are living at their cabin undergoing 
the proving-up process. Mrs. Michell, a most charming, 
educated and refined lady, has bravely given up life in the 
outer world to keep her husband company in the task, 
and enjoys the life, being herself an expert with gun and 
rod, and beloved'by all of the pioneers. Mr. and Mrs. 
Michell were away at Port Angeles, but they had left in 
charge their nearest neighbor, Mr. Cross, and following 
their instructions he placed at our disposition the house and 
all therein contained, the boats and fishing gear, if we 
needed, which we did not. 
The clearing embraces the head of the bay, and from it 
leads the trail to the westward as far as the coast, over 
which, en route to sundry hunting and fishing grounds, 
many pass annually, especially in the springtime, when 
the great Bize and abundance of trout in the Solduck River 
attract many fishermen from Victoria and other cities of 
the Sound. 
It is common talk that in this Solduck it must be a 
very expert fisherman, or one as ignorant, who dares risk 
more than one big fly on his leader; the former may suc- 
ceed in handling the one, two, three or more pounder 
two or three at a time, who is apt at once to begin' a fight 
for his tackle — one to each fly, backed by strong riffle and 
swift current. The ignorant man simply gets out his 
knife and cuts a pole to replace his smashed rod. 
Mrs. Michell is an expert angler, and it is about her 
TJie'FoKEST and Steeam is put to press each week oru 
Tuesday, Correspondence intended for publication 
should reach us at the latest by Monday, and as much 
earlier as practicable. 
Piseco. 
TWO HOURS ON LAKE CRESCENT, WASHINGTON. 
Blue-backs and mountain trout. Weights in pounds, 3, 6, 11}£, 11, 11}£, 3, 3. 
M. J. Carrigan. 
