162 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
March 2, 1805. 
"lie ^fwdwfittt faiiijmt 
ON THE TRAIL. 
Where rugged peaks with saowy summits high, 
O'ertop green valleys low and pierce the azure sky; 
Whore foaming rapids roar, thro' canyons dark and deep, 
Thro' forest shade, where lordly buck doth sleep. 
Beside calm pools and gem-like "tarns," beneath whose crystal 
tide 
Each rock an emerald seems, and beauteous trout doth hide. 
We wander on, until the light of day grows pale, 
And darkness gathers o'er our camp beside the "trail." 
! It is an argument held by many that civil ization has 
increased the capacity of the human race for enjoyment. 
Is this so, or is it that civilization has given us more 
ure. Sixty miles north "on'the'stage "road you are in the 
heart of a mountainous countrv at an elevation of 4.000 
to 8,000 feet. Along a trail leading (from Junction Bar, 
the scene of 'placer mining in olden time, and the junc- 
tion of Feather River with the South Boise River, we wend 
our way. Our pack horses are led, or follow the leader, 
the rear manfurging them forward, or driving them 
back on the trail if they try to stop to crop the luxuriant 
bunch grass that covers the mountain side. The trail 
runs along by the river's side, and then strikes off into 
some grassy swale or shady grove of towering pines, or 
wends its way through thickets of quaking asp and 
bunches of sarvis berry bushes. Anon, it climbs some 
rocky knoll, or winds along the steep side or brow of 
some mountain, the precipitous side of which ends far be- 
low us and is laved by the rushing river, the roar of 
whose sparkling, dashing waters comes faintly up to us as 
we gaze down upon it from our lofty perch. Onward 
we ride, until we reach the waters of Willow creek, 
stream, half hidden beneath the thick growing brush, our 
horses pause to drink. The angler dangles his hopper, 
not two feet from his horse's nose, and lo and behold! the 
next moment is taking in a half-pound trout. "Well, 
that beats me," said one of the party, "but I believe Joy 
could catch trout out of a meadow with a heavy dew 
on it." 
The trail enters a rocky canon, and even the waters of 
Willow Creek make quite a respectable showing as they 
plunge through the narrow and rugged granite walls. 
The trail is rough, and further progress is blocked by the 
trunk of an immense fir tree which had fallen. We soon 
have the axe from its place on old Buck's side pack, its 
leather "cover is removed, and sturdy arms attack the 
fallen giant, who disputes our right of way. Each man 
takes his turn, and the chips fly merrily. Soon Ave roll the 
severed log over the crest of the rocks into the torrent, 
and wend our way along among the rocks until the canon 
is passed. Grassy meadows and open glades now make 
our pathway easy, but in crossing through some jack 
pines, Pinto tries to rub off his pack; we dismount and 
tighten up the diamond, and see that the other packs are 
right,_then on again. 
As the sun gets low, a charming spot is reached; a 
grassy hillside with a spreading fir tree, and the rushing 
water of our stream just below us. We all dismount, off 
come the saddles, and while the patient pack horses are 
being relieved of their loads, the riding animals roll over 
in their joy that the day on the trail is done. Then we 
proceed to prepare the camp; but that is not the "trail," 
and we will not here describe the pleasures of camp life, 
but will say to those who have not been with us on M the 
trail:" 
Far in the West there lies a charmed land, where the mountains 
Lift, through their perpetual snows, their lofty and Intuitions 
summits, 
Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sounds, descend to the 
ocean, 
Like the great chords of a harp in loud solemn vibrations. 
Spreading between those streams are the wondrous, beautiful 
prairies 
Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine. 
Frank F. Fhisbie. 
ON THE TRAIL. 
''Anon it climbs some rocky knoll.' 
means of enjoyment? Do we, the civilized man, enjoy 
what we ha w e more than our untutored progenitors, in 
the past ages, enjoyed what they had? Do not the so- 
called luxuries of our modern life bring in their train a 
thousand and one ills, trials and cares, that were un- 
known to the child of nature? The modern dweller in oui 
cities, towns and villages, lives an artificial life, and the 
original animal man was not intended for such a life. It 
is not real, as anything artificial is not real. 
I do not mean for one moment to advocate a return to 
"savage fife," but I believe that many a man would be 
better physically, mentally and morally if he could, or 
would, leave behind him civilization for a season and 
live far from the haunts of man, free from the cares and 
trammels of modern society. To roam hither and yon, 
with no care for the morrow, commencing with nature 
in her wildest, as well as in her gentle moods, wilf teach a 
man much that civilization cannot. There we "Find 
tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in 
stones and good in everything." 
Life in the mountains "on the trail," brings man near 
to Nature's heart, and he who has not tried it can not 
realize nor imagine the charms of such travel. It has 
been my good fortune to pass many months in the midst 
of nature's most charming nooks, and though at times 
the trail has been rough and the sky not always serene, 
the pleasures have far exceeded the hardships' 
Let the reader (in imagination) follow us on one of our 
little trips and live a short season where the air is pure 
and "sparkling like champagne, " where the sky is clearer 
blue than in the east, and where the mere fact that you 
are alive is a joy, and you bless the hour that gave you 
birth. 
The Great Union Pacific Railroad, pioneer of trans-conti- 
nental lines, with its many branches, carries the would be 
tourist and camper into many sections of the west that 
are as near perfection, for the pleasures of the camper, 
hunter, tourist and "disciple of the rod," as can be found. 
And that section of Idaho lying north of the Oregon Short 
Line division of the Union Pacific, has many inducements 
to offer that are worthy of mention. First, is the great 
variety and comparatively large supply of big game. 
We say, comparatively advisedly, as no section of the 
West has the hordes of wild animals that could be found 
a few years ago. Then, again, the angler can hope for 
success in most of the rivers, lakes and streams. 
The climate is fine, the altitude averages much lower 
than Colorado and some of the other Western States, and 
this to the tourist is a very important fact, as it takes 
time for the Eastern man's lungs to get accustomed to 
the very high altitudes before he can climb and hunt 
with ease and comfort. 
There are many points that can be used as a base for 
an expedition, but in this case we will start from Moun- 
tain Home. We will skip all preliminaries , as it is not in 
the provinces of this short article, to give outfitting illus- 
trations, and besides there are so many good works now 
published treating of these subjects so exhaustively, that 
it is better for the novice to procure these. The Forest 
and Stream's catalogue of sportsmen's books contains 
names of many of these works. 
Mountain Home is a small, but growing frontier town, 
with fair hotel accommodations and good outfitting 
stores, as far as food supplies goes, but not a good place 
to procure a general outfit. It is [from this point that 
the stage line for the Rocky Bar country takes its depart- 
which comes tumbling down over massive rocks and 
through meadows green, sending its share of the melt- 
ing snows from the peaks above to join the greater vol- 
ume of the Boise, which in its turn speeds on to the 
mightier Snake, which twists and turns in its sinuous 
course until it yields its tribute to the greatest of the 
western rivers, the mighty Columbia. 
"Oh, rushing river, emerald hued, 
How mad thou art and fearless, 
No frowning gates though granite-barred 
Can curb thy waters peerless. 
The silent gods of atone 
Revoke their ancient laws of might 
When through the gorge with wing-swift flight 
Thy wind-tossed waves are speeding, 
Each moment wilder grown.— "Rhymes of the Rockies." 
The trail we follow leads us now "beside the willow clad 
banks of a veritable mountain trout stream. Its source - 
is in a spur of the Sawtooth range, and cold springs 
THE SUNNY SOUTH.-III. 
THE START FOR THE BEAR CHASE. 
Chicago, 111., Jan. 21. — Early on the morning after 
my arrival at the Bobo plantation we were in the saddle 
and off for our bear hunt. I had one day in which to 
kill my bear and catch a train. My personal baggage, 
consisting of my camera and bag, were to be put on the 
train at Bobo station that night. Twenty miles or so 
further down the road, nobody seemed to knowjust where, 
I was to catch the same train, we meantime having killed 
the bear. Mr. Bobo informed Ithat, besides running his 
plantation, he had large timber contracts, especially 
with the railroad, and that a force of his men were then 
at work at one of his camps, about twenty miles below, 
on the Sunflower River. 
"We will work on down in that direction," said he, 
"but will put out the dogs at another good place about 
half way to the camp. If we make a strike and kill there, 
we will not go on down to the camp, but will put you on 
your train at the nearest station on the road this evening. 
If we don't, we'll ?go on down to the camp on the Sun- 
flower, and there we are sure of a bear to-morrow." 
"But, my dear sir," said I, "what will Mr. Divine do if 
I don't show up on board, that train to-night? I've 
promised to be there." 
"I reckon Tom Divine knows what sort of man you're 
with," said Mr. Bobo, "and he can probably take care of 
himself, and you'll be getting plenty to eat yourself. Does 
he think I'm going out after bear and not get any bear? 
No bear, no train, my boy, so you might just as well be 
cheerful over it. " 
So I was cheerful, seeing that I was in the bands of my 
on the trail. 
"The precipitous side." 
and melting snows join their trickling waters, and gather- 
ing power and volume as they flow, become a respectable 
stream from a mere rivulet. Two species of trout teem 
in its waters and in the little brooklets that feed it. One 
of our party, an inveterate angler, cuts a willow switch, 
and tying 6n a hook, jumps from his pony, and with his 
hat knocks a grass hopper over, and soon has him flutter- 
ing on the hook. As we ford a little pushing, crystal 
friends, though troubled a little about possible delay for 
the others at New Orleans on my account. Really. I 
wanted the bear as badly as anybody, and though I sup- 
pose I would have given up the bear to keep the engage- 
ment, I was not absolutely filled with grief to see the 
matter taken out of my hands thus decisively. 
We made a great cavalcade as we filed out into the 
woods that morning. There were eight guns in all, Mr, 
