44 4 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Nov. 24, 1894. 
CHICAGO AND THE WEST. 
The West of the Present and the Past. 
[From a Staff Correspondent.] 
HELENA, MONTANA. 
Joe Flick and the Yellowstone Park. 
That it isn't such a big world I had further proof at 
Helena. I used to know away back in college days a 
tall, slim, innocent boy by name of Arthur Craven, of 
whom I lost sight as the years rolled by. I found him 
at Helena, the possessor of a nice home, a wife and 
family, and a good law practice. Everybody who goes 
to Helena gets rich, because it's in the air, under the 
ground and all around one. I told Craven I was look- 
ing for old-timers, and he took me a long walk up a back 
street leading up the famous Grizzly Gulch in search 
for a certain old-timer by name of Joe Flick, with whom 
Craven had made acquaintance in his earlier days in 
Helena. We found Joe Flick living by himself in a little 
old cabin, and taking what care of himself he could in 
the sufferings entailed by a bad attack of the mountain 
man's curse, inflammatory rheumatism. Poor Joe had 
been a very sick man, and he offered a sad sight, bundled 
up as best he could arrange it in his well-worn clothing. 
But he was gritty and cheerful withal, and gaily said he 
was much better and would soon be around again as 
good as new. I am sure I hope he is well now, for a 
spirit like his deserves good fortune. 
Joe Flick is well entitled to be called an old-timer, for 
his experiences date back to the gold days, and he num- 
bered among his friends Jim Stuart of beloved memory 
and others of that coterie. Flick says that Hay den, who 
made the most famous expedition into the country of the 
Yellowstone, was not any more entitled to be called the 
"discoverer" of the Park country than a hundred others. 
"All that country in there was known perfectly well to all 
of us, of course," said he, "only we didn't ever say any- 
thing about it. We went all over that range time and 
again in our trips to the country below and east of the 
Park. I remember that in the same year that Hayden 
went in there a party of four of us went over into that 
country just for the fun of looking it over. There was 
Jim Stuart and C. M. Jeffries, R. C. Wallace and William 
Moothy, and we were in there quite a while, and went 
into parts of the section we'd never been in before. I 
recollect that we went up that mountain they call Mount 
Washburn, or some of us did. Wallace, he got tired of 
climbing, and allowed he'd go back to camp, and we told 
him we'd go on up and then come down and meet him 
where we'd left the horses. About two or three hours 
after that I happened to be looking away off over on the 
side of the mountain, and about a mile off I saw a man 
just a-leggin' it up the side of the mountain as hard as he 
could go. I couldn't tell who it was that far, but I 
thought it must be one of our party, as we were the only 
ones in there, so I hollered to the fellow as loud as I could, 
and as luck would have it, the wind being just right, he 
heard me, and then you ought to have seen him start for 
me! It was that fellow, Wallace, and he hadn't ever got 
to camp at all, but was plumb lost. He was going in just 
exactly the wrong direction, and if I hadn't happened to 
see hina just when I did, he nevsr would have had sense 
to stop till he was lost for keeps. Then he might have 
had a mountain named after him, like that fool, Everts, 
that got lost on the Yellowstone headwaters and turned 
up on the mountain near the Mammoth Hot Springs. 
Wallace didn't get lost enough to write a big magazine 
story about it, but maybe if I'd let him alone a little while 
longer he would. That's about as easy a way of getting 
a reputation as any I know — getting lost and writing it 
up. No. I never got lost; never had no such luck. Con- 
sequently, there don't nobody know anything about me." 
The New Days of Sportsmanship. 
There are a great many of these old men of whom no- 
body knows anything to-day. They are passing away, 
and will soon be gone, alike with the times which gave 
them birth and occupation. For a little time yet we may 
meet them and talk with them, and by their eyes see the 
West that was. I know of no occupation more pleasant. 
I do not love progress, and if it could be done without 
prejudice, I could wish that the gold of Helena were 
again under ground and that her lofty blocks were 
cabins, and that the hospitable Montana Club were a tent 
instead of a palace and that the smelters were out of the 
hills, and game back in them. But this wild wish can 
never be. The gold of the placers, the game of the hills 
and the old-timer of the frontier belong to the old order 
of things. It is over. The new era of commercial in- 
terest has set on, and with it must come the new ideas in 
sportsmanship. The day of protection and of the game 
preserve, the day of modern sportsmanship has now 
come. 
In these matters of latter day sportsmanship, the city 
of Helena is naturally well in the front of progress. 
There is no touch of the backwoods in her trap clubs', 
and her anglers and game shooters have all the latest 
wrinkles in their equipments. Mr. M. K. Bryan, who 
keeps what seems to be the headquarters of the craft, 
keeps the boys well supplied with up-to-date sporting 
goods, and one can get anything in the world he needs 
there. By the same token, when I called at Mr. Bryan's 
store one morning, pretty well on in the morning, too, I 
found it closed. After a while Mr. Bryan appeared, and 
said he had been out of town for a day, up the railroad 
on a little fishing trip, and he could'nt get back any 
sooner. Now, I rather admire a man who will shut up 
his store when the trout begin to run, and go perform 
what is really his first and highest duty unflinchingly 
and with courage. 
Helena is a leading member of the young Montana State 
Sportsmen's Association, and carries the honor of the 
vice-presidency, Mr. A. J. Fisk holding that office for the 
initial year. Such gentlemen as Mr. Fisk, Mr. Kennett, 
Mr. Balliett, etc., etc., are very much a credit to sporting 
circles, and we could use such in Chicago if they would 
come East. 
The St. Mary's Country. 
My friend Craven has not yet risen to the height of 
being much of a sportsman, in the sense of being wedded 
to rod and gun, but there are always hopes, and maybe 
he will do better after a while. As it is, however, he has 
not been able to escape the spell of the glorious mountain 
region about him, and makes pilgrimages to the hills with 
increasing regularity. He was of a party which a year or 
so ago went up into the little visited country about St. 
Mary's Lake and on the headwaters of the St. Mary's 
River. He can not say enough about the charms of that 
beautiful region, and is one of those who would like to see 
that favored corner of the mountains set apart as a gov- 
ernment reservation, to be keat forever as it is, unhurt by 
the hand of man. 
Judge DeWitt, of Helena, is another and prominent 
friend of the St. Mary's reservation idea. Psaw him and 
asked if he thought there existed any practical obstacle to 
the accomplishment of the purpose, which is one much 
cherished by certain men in the East who have visited that 
grand mountain region and become infatuated with it. 
Judge DeWitt said: 
"I know of only one thing which could prevent the 
establishing of reserve lines; that is to say, which would 
present any legal difficulties. Congress could not set it 
aaide for such purposes if valuable mineral lands had been 
discovered there; but, so far as I can learn, no mineral 
has been found in the St. Mary's region, and it is fairly to 
be held fit to be set aside as a great and permanent forest 
reserve, like the several other national parks of the United 
States. I am sure there could be none more worthy or 
more beautiful." 
How They Kept Their Feet Warm. 
Oct. SO. — I always used to wonder how the old-time 
hunters and trappers who lived beyond the edge of the 
frontier, were able to keep their feet warm in the winter. 
It was not often that they got the chance to buy boots or 
shoes, and as a matter of fact they were obliged to de- 
pend largely on the moccasins. This, of course, in the 
really old time days, before the general advent of the 
frontier- stores. Now a moccasin is a very nice thing to 
wear in dry weather, and I read all kind of things about 
the usefulness of the moccasin on a snowshoe trip, etc., 
etc., though what little experience I ever had with moc- 
casins in the snow has led me to believe that they were 
better in the inside of overshoes than any other way. 
But the old-timers of the pass had no overshoes, and 
neither did the Indians, and the puzzle to me was how 
they kept their feet from freezing. So I asked some of 
my genuine old-timers out in Montana last winter about 
this, and this is what they told me. 
"It would have been a good thing if the blame Indians 
had froze all their feet off," said Uncle Johnny Yancy, of 
the Yellowstone, "but they didn't, and they never wore 
anything but moccasins either, and they never heard of 
socks. The way they got along was to have plenty of 
moccasins, and when one pair wore out or got wet, they 
just put on another pair. You know every village had a 
moccasin maker, ana in the old days there was plenty for 
the moccasin maker to do. Sometimes the squaws made the 
moccasins for their own men, but usually there was one 
maker who beat them all. When a war party started 
out on foot, a good part of their baggage was made up of 
extra moccasins, and if they went on any trip away from 
• home, horseback or on foot, they usually were well fixed 
the same way. 
"Of course this was all right for the warm weather 
when they made their hunting trips or went on the war- 
path, but when it came to cold weather and snow they 
had to do about the same way. The leather they made 
would not turn snow water, of course, so the way they 
did was to stay out of the snow. You know they wouldn't 
winter where the snow was deepest, and during times of 
snow they kept about as close to the village as they could, 
and they wouldn't go hunting until they had to. When 
a buck did have to go hunting or go anywhere else, he 
would go on horseback and keep his feet out of the snow 
that way. Mr. Injun wasn't walkin' when he could ride, 
you could gamble on that. Well, suppose'n he gets after 
some elk and makes a killing, he goes in and does all his 
skinning and cleaning, and then he piles his meat on top 
of his pony, puts on a pair of dry moccasins and climbs 
up on top of the meat. You can bet he ain't lettin' them 
feet of his'n touch the ground 'cept'n in the high places. 
As for getting out in the snow and wadin' in it all day, 
the Injuns didn't do it. Of course in dry snow they 
could get around some, but I 'low they mostly kept their 
feet dry by keeping close up ag'in the fire." 
I asked Uncle Bill Hamilton the same question about 
the footwear of the old time days, and he talked to me at 
some length about it in his quiet way. "We all had to 
wear moccasins on the frontier, in the early days," said 
he, "because we couldn't get anything else. Of course 
there was all kinds of moccasins, and some of them 
made pretty good foot covers, though, as you say, none 
would turn water or wet snow very much. The moccasin 
itself is a pretty good protection against a dry cold, but 
sometimes the feet would get quite cold, even in the best 
of moccasins. We used to take some lengths of this long 
straight rye grass with a hard round dry stem, and we 
would break this up into lengths and put in the bottom of 
our moccasins as you would an insole. The friction of 
this rough grass on the bottom of the foot was the best 
thing to keep the feet warm we ever knew. It would 
surprise you to see how much this little idea would do 
toward keeping up the circulation of the blood in the 
feet. It saved us many a frozen foot on the plains in the 
old days. In those days when We were out in the weather 
so much all the time, we did not need so much clothing 
as people wear nowadays, and we got along with poorer 
dress in every way. There is a good deal in being used 
to a thing. If you were used to moccasins to-day and put 
plenty of wire grass in them you would find that you 
could get along a good deal better than you think." 
There is a common belief that moccasins made of moose 
hide will turn snow water, but I have seen a good many 
that wouldn't; and indeed never saw anything which 
would, except pure and unbroken rubber, which of course 
is an impracticable foot covering even for the hunter of 
to-day. The shank skin of the moose, or even of the elk, 
however, made a legging which would turn snow, and 
this device seems to be much used even yet by Indians 
and hunters of certain regions. The poacher Howell, 
who was captured last winter in the Yellowstone Park, 
was very badly equipped for foot gear. He told us that at 
first he used elk shanks for leggings, but had worn them 
all out. When we saw him he had no shoes, no moc- 
casins, and not even a decent pair of socks; yet he was 
managing to get along all right on his skis in snow that 
was 8 or 10 ft. deep. On the toplof his skis, where the 
straps are usually placed, he had tacked on a long, wide 
footstep or stocking made of grain sacking, which came 
up nearly to the knee. The bottom of this fixed stocking 
was protected by a foot or shoe of raw elk hide, which 
took up the harder grinding of the foot upon the snow. 
The top of the stocking was fastened tightly about the leg 
with thongs. When Howell got ready to travel, he 
wrapped his feet in layer after layer of gunny sacking (in 
the West called "California socks") until they were 
swathed up into the appearance of huge clumsy bundles, 
the gunny sacking coming well up the leg. He then 
thrust his feet down into the sacks or stockings, which he 
had nailed fast to his skis, and bound the stockings tightly 
about his legs by means of thongs. Of course, he could 
not get his feet away from the skis until he got ready to 
quit the trail; but he managed to get along somehow and 
did not freeze his feet. The worst danger on a snowshoe 
trip comes when one's feet have gotten wet in the thaw- 
ing snow in the warmer part of the day, and when it 
comes off colder in the evening. 
So it would seem that there are more wayB than one of 
keeping your feet warm, and more proofs than one of the 
truth that necessity is the mother of invention, which 
means only that the creatures of nature will adapt them- 
selves to their environment. E. Hough. 
909 Security Building, Chicago. 
A SEA TURN AT BRANT ROCK. 
Waltham, Mass,, Nov. 8. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
"You had better come down. A sea turn to-morrow. 
Flight will be good." This telegram was received from 
Brant Rock on Oct. 18. Having been there several times 
of late years I knew that a sea turn meant that the wind 
would be somewhere in the eastern board, which is con- 
sidered the best for good shooting. I was not long in ad- 
vising my friend. We left Boston at six for a long, tedi 
ous ride, not so long in distance as in time. Just think of 
it; nearly two hours in going thirty-seven miles. No 
Empire Express about that time. Just as we were pulling 
out from the station in came an old Irish woman loaded 
with bundles so one could hardly see her, and took the 
seat behind us. As soon as she recovered her mind she 
said, "I only hed tin minutes to come from Jardin- 
Mashes and I run all the way, and then I had to walk 
through two schmoking cars, and I can hardly see at all." 
She made lots of fun for all. I did not enjoy my Foeest 
and Stream until she had left us atWaymoutb. At 
Marshfield we found the team waiting for us which took 
us to our hotel door. Of course our first question would 
naturally be, "How are the bird flying?" "Oh, there are 
no birds, neither will there be any as long as the wind 
holds west, but we shall have a sea turn to-morrow." We 
gave orders to have breakfast ready at five, then went to 
bed, but not to sleep much, for the strange, squeaking bed, 
with the roar of the surf, was not natural to our city ears. 
If it had been milk wagons clattering along we should 
not have minded it. I got up at two and found the wind 
was blowing strong from the east. The sea turn had come 
as predicted. Now I felt sorry I had not ordered break- 
fast earlier, for I knew there would be a rush for 
positions. 
Four o'clock found us eating breakfast. Soon after we 
started in the dory, but we were too late; a long line of 
boats was there before us. We either had to go a long 
distance from shore or form the second line. We chose 
the latter, and put out our decoys. Hardly had we got 
into position when the first gun of the morning sounded. 
Soon the shooting up toward Scituate commenced. I 
have noticed through all my shooting there that the loons 
are the first birds to start; and to see an old fellow 
coming just as straight and then to hear the shooters 
bang all along the line and the loon keep right on, never 
changing his course nor seemingly quickening his pace 
made us both laugh. My friend had never shot a loon, 
so I gave the chances to him, but he did not get one, 
although he hit two very hard, but not far enough ahead. 
Most shooters shoot behind the loon. I consider 8 to 12ft. 
about right. I call to mind how my companion missed a 
big fellow with both barrels, and I shot him after that, 
and it seemed to me at that time that I was fully 16ft. 
ahead of the bird'. The coots came in singles, pairs and 
bunches, and the shooting was quite lively for a while. 
How we wished for a position in the first line, but we had 
to content ourselves and take their leavings. "Mark!" 
my companion said, "close to the water, coming straight 
for you." The time was short, but up went the gun, and 
two were killed with the first barrel and the other badly 
wounded. Mr. P. looked at me and said, "Well, where 
do I come in?" He had his chance a little later, while I 
was fixing the anchor buoy. I heard him chuckle, then 
mutter to himself, ' 'Now we are even. " Instead of taking 
up our anchor when a bird is shot we throw over a large 
painted buoy which saves lots of time, as the water there 
is very deep. 
We stayed out until 10:30, when the flight was over for 
the day. I feel sure that if we could have had a good 
position our total for the morning instead of being four- 
teen would have reached three times that number, for 
we were both doing good shooting. After having the 
inner man filled with coot stew we took a long walk to 
some marshes to try our hand on yellow-legs, but found , 
none. That night we went to bed tired enough; and this 
time to sleep. 
The next morning was all we could wish for. When 
we got to the shooting grounds we found two long lines 
of boats. We were the first to form the third line. Some 
of the men in the first line told me afterward that they 
had gone out at 3:30. Not any in mine, thank you. 
The shooting commenced a little sooner than the morn- 
ing before, but our position almost barred us out, we only 
getting eight. In the evening we went to the local fish 
market to hear about the good shots and bad misses. The 
market is kept by a Mr. Phillips, who is known as the 
best shot in that section of the country. He takes with 
him iwo guns, one 8-gauge, the other 10. 
On Sept. 36 of this year he killed seventy-five coots, 
which is the largest number ever killed there in one day 
by one man. 
The birds have been unusually plenty this year, and 
the local gunners have had some excellent shooting. . Our 
short outing came to an end only too soon. We enjoyed 
every minute, and it will furnish us talk for the stormy 
winter evenings, W. N. F, 
