62 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Jan. 26, 1895. 
AN OUTING IN ISLAND PARK. 
In days gone by I had some rare outings, as the old 
files of Forest and Stream hear witness, but somehow 
during the past few years I have felt that they did not 
"pan out" as of old. I sometimes, however, think the 
fault is in me and not in the outing. The declension of 
enthusiasm is one of the penalties of age, and it may 
be that I am beginning to suffer in this respect. I was 
in the full vigor of mature manhood before I took an 
outing worthy of the name, and that was before I ever 
read Forest and Stream, and I read it from the begin- 
ning. My fellow campers are beginning to call me, 
though irreverently, as I sometimes think, and yet 
truthfully, as I am bound to concede, "the old man," 
and not infrequently I detect the rascals planning in the 
kindness of their hearts how to make it ' ' easy for the 
old man. " "Confound you, " I say on such occasions, 
"I can carry each of you and his load !" Nevertheless, 
I let the boys have their way. I appreciate their kind- 
ness and am always careful to let them know it. I am 
afraid that from this introduction the reader will imag- 
ine me to be older than I really am. The truth is that 
which I set out to say was that while my own outings 
of late years are not characterized by that indescribable 
pleasure that used to fairly make me tingle from head 
to heel, nevertheless I find as great pleasure in the nar- 
ratives of others' outings, as printed in Forest and 
Stream, as I ever did. That I have so long been debtor 
for these narratives is my excuse for this paper. 
In the summer of 1892, in company with a sportsman 
friend, I made the journey in a two-horse wagon from 
Great Falls, in Montana, down through the State and 
into and around the usual traversed route of the Yellow- 
stone Park. The trip was so delightful, and the things 
to be seen the park were so wonderful, that I planned 
and carried out another trip in company with my wife 
and daughter the following year. 
On this trip we took tickets to Beaver on the Utah 
and Northern road to the west of the park, whence we 
traveled by wagon to and through the park and thence 
back to the railroad at Beaver. 
But it is not of the park I purpose writing at this 
time, however fruitful the time might prove, but of 
certain outing experiences I had midway between the 
railroad and that place. It is about three days' journey 
from railroad to park, and after one has traveled about 
forty-five miles from 'the former place he comes to the 
valley of Short Gun Creek, an affluent of Snake River. 
Here lives George" Rae, a veteran hunter, trapper, 
miner, with a smarir*sprjnkling of Indian fighter thrown 
in, who is, or was, in 1892 engaged in the more peace- 
ful and prosaic business of improving his water privilege 
on the Shot Gun, with the view to the propagation of 
fish. 
This Shot Gun Valley lies cradled between two 
cast and west parallel ranges of mountains, tha tare ten 
or twelve miles asunder. According to Mr. Rae it was 
at one time marvel ously well stacked with game of all 
kinds peculiar to the country, but now nothing remains 
save a few antelope and many sage grouse. I was 
greatly surprise at the great plentifulness of this truly 
magnificent bird. About the time of our return from 
our park trip the females were down in the valley with 
their broods ready for the shooting. A party of Chicago 
sportsmen were at Rae's place, and I had ample oppor- 
tunity to witness the slaughter of the young grouse. 
Their mode of hunting was for two, three or four 
hunters to hunt the plains in a two-horse wagon. When 
the ground over which they wished to hunt was reached, 
the dogs were sent out and the men followed, while the 
driver with his team brought up the rear. As the 
birds are shot they are thrown toward the center of the 
line, where they are picked up by the driver, who 
draws them and then throws them into the wagon. The 
sage hen is not difficult to shoot. It is as large or 
larger than a barnyard fowl, and when once up it flies 
straight from the hunter. It presents an easy mark to 
hit. By invitation I accompanied the hunters on one 
of their excursions. There were three guns, mine 
counting one. After firing sixteen cartridges, I ceased, 
and thence only two guns did execution. On our return 
after having been in the field not over three hours, if so 
long, there were over seventy-three birds in the wagon. 
How long the sage grouse will last at the rate they 
were being killed off in the Shot Gun in 1892 a very 
few years more will determine. The birds killed by the 
Chicago party and not eaten by them and others at 
Rae's, were given to old Tom Somebody, a mossback 
living hard by, who hauled them over the mountain 
into Montana, where he sold them. But sometimes, as 
I was told, the birds were left in piles by the roadside 
to rot. It is in Idaho, as it seems to be everywhere 
else, no man can ever kill enough. Some of the Chicago 
party would shoot till it was too dark to see a bird. 
But the grouse shooting was only an incident to my 
outing. Wife and daughter wanted to go home as soon 
as they had seen the park, but I did not, and so they 
went, and I stayed. Over the mountain from Rae's to 
the southward was a region known to fame as Island 
Park. I heard a great deal said in praise of Island 
Par*. Snake River ran through Isiand Park, and I 
knew that Snake River was a superb trout stream. 
Geese and ducks were to be found in abundance in 
Island Park, everybody said, and so to Island Park I 
determined to go, and hired Mr. Rae to haul me and 
my little camping outfit over the mountains to the new 
promised land. 
Island Park I found to be a most charming spot. It 
was a sort of enchanted land. Never will I forget the 
view as we came through the notch in the low moun- 
tain range, and looked down the valley in which clumps 
of pines and sage brush plains a.ternated, and through 
which the river ran, making many a loop and fold, but 
ever broad and shallow and fairly green with its hun- 
dreds of islands — islands ranging in size from a break- 
fast table to an acre. It was literally a river of islands 
flowing through a park-like valley, the whole as beauti- 
fu as an Eden. 
Down close by the river I found a pine tree with a 
wide spreading top, and in the shadow of that tree I se* 
my tent. A hundred spriugs, fed by the melting snows 
on the surrounding mountains, for all I knew, were to 
be found within half a mile from my home, and the 
nearest, seventy-five yards distant, answered my pur- 
pose. I lived alone two weeks in Island Park, and 
many were the hours I sat in the shadow of my pine 
and looked out upon the surrounding world of beauty. 
To the southward, rising high above the mountain 
range and rim, and peak, were the Tetons, their heads 
white with the everlasting snow, and although seventy- 
five miles away, through the glass could be seen the 
track of a great canyon, extending from the lower rim 
of the snowcap far down toward the base — a canyon 
that zigzagged its way down the tremendous heights, 
and whose great masses of snow and ice imprisoned 
within its rock walls, looked like a chalkline against 
the far distant background. 
Island Park contained about sixty square niileSj it 
was said, and there were living with its precincts two 
families and one bachelor. One family lived two miles 
westward from me and the other a like distance to the 
southward, while the bachelor, Tom Ball, lived less than 
three quarters of a mile away, and with him I neigh- 
bored. 
I think that the best trout fishing with which I was 
ever blessed was in Island Park. It required but few 
fish for the tables of myself and Tom, but that did not 
stay my fishing. One, two, three and even four pound 
trout rose to the fly, and I had no motive for with- 
holding my flies, but I remember my fish in mercy, and 
let the uninjured go as fast as they were caught. 
The river was in general wide and shallow, so shallow 
that it was easy wading, but there was an abundance of 
deep water in places where the trout never failed. A 
mile or less below my camp a ledge of volcano crossed 
the stream, through which the waters rushed in a nar- 
row channel, and below which they widened out into 
an extensive and deep pool. Into this I made a cast 
one day, and were I to tell the truth as to the hour's 
fishing which followed, my story would not be 
believed. 
As I sometimes dream over my Island Park outing 
and come to that day's sport, I can scarcely believe the 
story myself. The last cast I made that year was at that 
place. I had on two flies, and as they fell upon the 
swirling water there was a splashing and a commotion, 
and I knew that there were two fish fast. How many 
failed to strike the hook I did not know. At once the 
fun began. All I could do was to save my rod, a seven 
ounce split bamboo rod, which if not of any great value 
had, nevertheless, served me many a good turn. There 
was no one to witness the sport, but I enjoyed it none 
the less for that. I remember that as my two captives 
fairly lashed the water into a foam in their efforts to 
escape, I "hollered," "hollered" for very joy. , Pres- 
ently, however, the smaller of the two kicked loose, 
taking the dropper with him, whereupon the other gave 
up the battle and allowed me to take him up on the 
shingle without any resistance. It was a magnificent 
cut throat and if it did not weigh four pounds, it ought 
to. I guessed it off at that and don't think I missed my 
guess. After examining its markings and stroking its 
plump body to my heart's content, I put it back to its 
native element with my blessings upon its head. I 
don't think I ever caught a fish that did me quite so 
much good as did that Snake River trout. And what is 
more it survived to tell the stoiy of its awful experience 
1 to the others of its tribe. 
Ducks? Yes, and geese, too, and plenty of both. But 
that does not mean that many ducks fell to my gun, or 
any geese. It was too early in the season for the ducks 
to be on the wing to any extent, and as the river banks 
were low and clear of trees and bushes, and I had no 
one to drive for me, I found duck shooting uphill yvovk. 
Still, I had no trouble in supplying my own table, and 
what more ought I to have done ? 
The geese gave me the good-by on all occasions. Any 
one who has anything like a true conception of the 
wariness of a wild goose can readily understand why I 
did not fool away any time trying to do the impossible 
thing of shooting a goose in Island Park. 
What, with fishing and duck shooting, and tramping 
and exploring, and looking at the mountains, some near 
by and some afar off, and reading novels and cooking 
and sleeping, my alloted time went swiftly by. It was 
with some misgiving that I ventured into my Island 
Park camp alone. ' ' What if I should become lonesome V ' 
I asked myself before making the venture. Lonesome 
is a state or condition of wihch I had little knowledge, 
experimentally, and I must say that when I struck my 
tent in the Island Park, I was still without that experi- 
mental knowledge. The days were too short for all my 
plans, and as for my night, did I not make up for ail 
the wakeful tossings of a whole year? 
Tom Ball's mother lived in the valley of the Shot 
Gun, and she, learning of my contemplated visit to the 
neighborhood of her son, had admonished me before 
crossing over to the park to stop with him. Motherlike, 
she was concerned about him living alone, and in the 
same wagon in which I and my outfit Avere hauled over, 
she went, carrying for her hopeful's use a couple of 
loaves of bread and bag of doughnuts. In my simplicity 
I thought her mission a bread-and doughnut one 
altogether, but I might have learned better my first night 
in camp had I cross-questioned the young man as I 
might have done. It was Tom who did the cross-ques- 
tioning on that occasion. He called at dusk with a can 
of milk, and had I known him then as well as I came 
to know him ere I left him, I would have known th^re 
was something on his mind. It struck Tom at once that 
I would "chance to get very lonesome, not having no 
man nor even a dog" with me. Conceding the pos- 
sibility of it, I asked how he managed to endure being- 
alone year in and year out. 
"Well, it's this way. During the summer, when a 
feller can be out of doors it's all right. But in the win- 
ter, when he has to be in, it's jist awful !" 
"Well, why don't you get someone to stay wi f h you?" 
I asked. 
"I did have a boy, but the sucker ran off. He 
couldn't stand it no longer, I allow, gol darn him. " 
Then why not get a wife?" 
"A wife," says Tom. "Women's as hard to find in 
this' country as gold mines, and when you do find one 
ten chances to one she won't pan out. fl cal'late you 
know all about them. You've had lots of experience ! 
Aren't they apt to be sort of flickety like? And do 
you think one would stay inside a durn place as this, 
and if she did wouldn't a feller be better off without 
than with her?" 
I did not deny but what I had had some experience, but 
I stood up for the fair sex, declaring that none of them 
were "sort o' flickerty, " though I did not know just 
what that meant, and I assured Tom that he would do 
the fair thing by one, she might be induced to live in 
his clay roofed and dirt begrimed shack, though I did 
not use precisely those words. 
I did not know then what I knew before I left the 
country. Tom's mother was on a weightier mission the 
day I moved over- than the bearer of bread and dough- 
nuts She was on a matrimonial mission. Jane, a 
virgin of peculiar beauty and of marriageable age, had 
come into the Shot Gun valley and was at that very 
time abiding at the home of the mother. "Now, here's 
the very chance for Tom, ' ' thought that good woman, 
and the mission over the mountains was to acquaint 
Tom with the fact. Here, then, was Tom's chance. 
Would he take it? 
The second evening after Tom's visit to my tent, I 
went to his shack after milk. It was dark, and as I 
approached I heard voices and saw a light through the 
window as two lanterns were burning. On entering I 
found myself in presence of company. Jane and a, gen- 
tleman I had seen at Rae's place before I left, and one 
or two others besides were with Tom, at the table. 
Jane had evidently ridden over the mountain to see 
the ' ' diu*n place, ' ' and the shack and for aught I know 
its owner. She was availing herself of her privilege 
and was radiant, charming, and had evidently made up 
her mind. 
As for poor Tom, it was plain to be seen that ho had 
been hunted into his hole. 
As long as his mother and the young woman were on 
the other side of the mountain Tom felt himself able 
to maintain somewhat of a defense. He could meditate 
upon ' ' flickety' ' female nature and gravely discuss the 
question as to whether it would pay to have a woman 
around or not. but now, Oh, Tom ! no more discussion 
for thee, I fear. 
I saw little of Tom after that, until the time came for 
me to start for home. Where he kept himself I never 
knew. His cows were neglected. His cat became wild 
and his dog went to the neighbor's who lived over the 
river, while his horses ranged the plains and ate grass 
and waxed fat. 
The day my two weeks' stay was out Tom came by 
my tent early in the morning on the hunt of his horses 
and said he was going in the afternoon to see his 
mother, and he proposed hauling me over. I jumped 
to the conclusion at once that he was on a lover's errand 
bent. At the appointed hour he came after me, and 
driving back to his old home who should come out and 
take her seat in the wagon but the blooming Jane. 
Six weeks after my return home Tom wrote me that . 
he was married, but whether his marriage had taken 
place before I left Island Park or after he did not say. 
Nor need I have concern as to that. Idaho romances 
are like all other romances. It is enough for us to know 
that Tom is a downright good fellow, that he drives a j 
jam up good team and that he will make it pleasant for 
all fishermen who will stop at his place in Island Park. 
D. D. Banta. 
THE SPORTSWOMAN. 
It is said that the young women of to-day are gaining 
in stature and robust qualities, and while this applies 
probably chiefly to the class possessing wealth, leisure 
and opportunities for physical development, it is a hope- 
ful sign of still better things to come. It is only what 
might be expected from the tendency of the times. For 
out-of-door sports are finding greater favor each year, 
and in tennis, wheeling, golf and various other athletic 
exercises the ladies are vieing with the men and divid- . 
ing' with them the benefits if not the prizes thereto ' 
appertaining. 
That this physical improvement will continue we 
have little reason to doubt, because the various forms of 
open air sports are becoming fashionable and popular, 
and are brought, in one shape or other, within the reach 
of all. Now that the common prejudice against women 
engaging in these recreations has been removed, we 
may expect to see them following up the advantage obey 
have gained until they are excluded from nothing less 
violent than football or other contests calling for great 
strength and endurance. 
I can see no good reason why the ladies should not 
become ardent and successful disciples of Nimrod and 
Isaak Walton. Certainly enough of them have already 
demonstrated their skill with the gun and rod to war- 
rant others in making the attempt. And the men, if 
they are wise, will encourage them in it, even from no 
better motive than selfishness. 
Rip Van Winkle is not the only man in tale or his- 
tory whose wife regarded hunting and fishing as a waste 
of time and money, and fitting texts from which to 
preach lengthy and acrimonious sermons. Possibly, if 
Rip had induced Mrs. Van Winkle to go along with him 
and. had permitted her to participate in the triumphs of 
the chase he and his dog would have had a Warm place 
by the fireside instead of being driven out of doors. I 
presume that many a man since the days of Irving 's 
hero might have found an added pleasure and been 
spared a domestic infelicity if he had taught his wife 
to shoot and fish. It is not to be imagined that "sport- 
ing blood" runs in masculine veins alone, or that 
women are incapable of inheriting or acquiring a fond- 
ness for those things which lend a zest to the lives of 
men. 
I have in mind an example to support my theory, and 
I advise men to follow it, because I myself followed it 
with the most satisfactory results. An enthusiastic 
sportsman, whose leisure had always been spent in hunt- 
ing and fishing, married a wife who not only dis- 
claimed any taste for these barbarous amusements 
