FOREST AND STREAM. 
March 16, 1895. 
GLIMPSES OF CAMP LIFE. 
Come with me. and we will board a train on that great 
trans-Continental line, the Union Pacific, and westward 
fly toward the setting sun. We will whirl over the great 
plains, toil slowly up the backbone of the Continent, dash 
down the mountains steep, and cross the roaring rivers, 
until we reach that land, so rightly named by the red- 
man, E-dah-hoe or literally the Gem of the Mountains. 
A roughly set "Gem," but still a gem that brightly 
gleams and sparkles in "Columbia's crown." 
That portion of Idaho traversed by the short-line di- 
vision of the Union Pacific, as viewed from the car win- 
dows, gives one a poor idea of the real beauties of the 
scenery and the charming country, that lies away from 
the line of travel. Not that there are not many interest- 
ing sighls and charming valleys, clothed in beautiful 
garments of green, but the railroad runs through many 
sections of arid plain and lava country that are very unin- 
viting. Sage brush plains, vast stretches of lava rock, 
with here and there a bunch of grass growing in the 
crevices and alkali bottoms, looking bare and ghost-like, 
with an unnatural whiteness in the glare of the sun, or 
beneath the mellow rays of the full moon, are all novel 
sights to the eastern tourist, but one soon tires of the 
monotony, and it is not until you get into the mountains 
that you" are impressed with the charms of this wonder- 
ful land. 
Pen pictures of scenes or places are all right so far as 
they go, and if a facile pen makes the picture we can ap- 
preciate, though far away, some of the beauties of the 
charming nooks described, but how much more do we 
understand and grasp a description when it is helped by 
a picture of the place, be it either drawing, painting or 
photograph. There is no doubt, however, that to-day 
photography is the "ne plus ultra' ' of methods for illustra- 
tion, and if it were possible to reproduce colors, there 
would be nothing left to wish for. 
Of the many, many charming camps I have made, some 
have been selected for picturing; and it is hoped that the 
glimpses here seen will so interest some brother lover of 
nature, that he will seek and find for himself some spot 
in the far West, where he, too, may enjoy the pleasures 
of out-of-door life. 
Nestling high up among granite peaks and fir-clad 
mountains fifty or sixty miles north of the Union Pacific's 
short-line branch, lie the Trinity Lakes, some sixteen in 
number, and ranging in size from a mere crystal pool to 
a glistening sheet of water some acres in extent. High 
and rugged peaks, some with thickly timbered sides, en- 
compass them about on all sides. The trail to all but one 
lake is rough and little used, in fact, few parties have 
ever visited all the lakes, and there are no trails. Pound 
about the lakes is a country well stocked with game. 
Mule deer, a few elk, bear and white goats, with the blue 
or mountain grouse, make it quite a hunter's paradise, 
and when we add trout galore, what more can mortal 
wish? 
After a two days' journey, one small party of four 
reached the lakes, one bright September day. We had 
(very foolishly) left the ranch, without any fresh meat 
and with very little else, excepting flour, coffee and some 
dried fruit. When one of us ventured to express his 
opinion, "that it would be better to take a little of the 
deer, hanging up in the meat house for supper, any- 
way;" he was promptly "sat on" by old Joe, with: 
"Wall, if we uns can't kill a deer to-night afore sun- 
down, we ought to go hungry." And so we did, so far 
as meat went; for though "Long Cox," "bored one with 
his needle-gun," as he expressed it, it got into a thicket, 
and he could not find it. On our return journey we dis- 
covered the poor thing dead, but of no use to us. 
We only traveled a short distance each day, and went 
into camp about noon. The second day we camped very 
early, and all started out for meat. Again bread and 
coffee failed to fill the aching void; so when we reached 
the lakes the next noon, the packs were quickly taken 
from the horses, and it was not long before we were all 
pulling out the little speckled mountain trout as fast as 
we could throw a fly. In a very short time more than 
eighty had been taken out, and only a short time after 
we had two frying-pans hard at work. 
Were they good? Well, go to the mountains, my friend, 
live two days on bread and coffee, and then seat yourself 
before a pan of mountain trout, cooked to a turn, and 
served hot and crisp a la hunter style, and you will an- 
swer that question but one way— Yes (with a capital). 
While we were lying under the shade of the pine near 
the tent, Henry, or Hank, as he was usually called. 
"Lowed trout might be flllin', but he was no fisher, and 
nothing but a good fat buck would satisfy him, and he 
was going to have him afore dark that night." Joe 
seconded the motion, while the others voted unanimously 
that "Hank's head was level." 
The sun was still high in the west when Hank was 
heard coming over the rocks singing: 
"In the days of old, 
In the days of gold. 
In the days of W 
"That's buck, sure," said Cox, and when Hank got to 
the tent sure enough his hands were red. 
"Where is the buck, Hank?" said Joe. 
"Down the canon a bit, you fellers better put the saw- 
buck on old Dick and pack him in. He's a dandy and 
fat, I let his mate go. No use being a hog, because 
you've got a chance." 
The shades of night have not fallen ere the buck hangs 
on the pine by the tent, and near by a couple of grouse 
shot by Joe while aftei the deer, dangle from a bough. 
Plenty reigns and peace and contentment hover over 
our little camp. Some one remarks, as the cool evening 
air solidifies the deer fat which was used to cook the 
bountiful pan of venison in, that deer fat was not bad, 
but that it stuck to one's teeth. "Hump," snorted 
Long Cox. "yer needn't kick. 1 notice it sticks to one's 
ribs, too. Beats frying-pan, bread and coffee straight, 
you bet your life." Frank F. Frisbie. 
Detroit, Mich. 
AN ADIRONDACK DOG STORY. 
During the season of 1886 while touring in the grand 
old Adirondack wilderness with my trusty guide, An- 
drew Lyndecker, we were sojourning for a short time at 
mine host Coville's neat and cosy log stopping-place for 
sportsmen, located at the Sweeny Carry, near the lower 
end of the Upper Saranac Lake, and exploring the region 
in that vicinity as well as doing a bit of trolling for lake 
trout. Coville was the owner of a fine black spaniel; and 
also of a little white and red fellow named "March," 
who quickly made friends of us, and was permitted to 
accompany us in our daily rows and rambles, until I be- 
came so much attached to him that I finally bought him, 
and took him with me to my headquarters at Smith's Lake 
(now Lake Lila of Dr. Webb's preserve), one of the beau- 
tiful and picturesque gems of that region. 
On arriving at my wigwam on Rock Point, I found a 
message from some brother sportsmen then in camp on 
Bog Lake (a misnomer) , inviting me to visit them before 
they broke camp, which they were to do presently. The 
next day found us on the way via Harrington and Clear 
Ponds, and across Bog Lake to the camp site at the be- 
ginning of the trail to Mud Lake, where a royal welcome 
was extended. After dinner a little rifle practice was 
in order. I then noticed that March was afraid of a gun, 
and finally slunk away in the cover, and would not re- 
spond to my call, nor could I find any traces of him on 
the trail either way from the camp. The boys assured 
me that they would take good care of him, if he re- 
tui-ned, and I was to come again in two days for him, 
and Andrew and I returned that evening to Smith's 
Lake. 
The next day at about noon, a boat was observed com- 
ing down the lake, and headed for Rocky Point after pass- 
ing the islands; and when in hailing distance the guide 
stated that Mrs. Pliny Robbins wanted him to tell me 
that my little dog March had come to the hotel on Little 
Tupper Lake early that evening, and she would take care 
of him until I could come over for him. We started 
stood, for he bounded and barked and ran to the boat 
ah^ad of us. For a few days thereafter I daily would 
take my gun from its rack, and take a card and show it, 
and tell him 1 was going to shoot it; then tack it up on 
a tree, and fire one shot; and then go and take it down 
and show him the bullet-hole. But he was still more or 
less afraid. 
Finally the time arrived when it was lawful to hunt 
ruffled grouse. March was a splendid trailer, and would 
bark when he had raised a bird. Near camp was a place 
where a covey would be found almost any day, and I was 
now ready and anxious to give the little spaniel his final 
lesson and note the result. I had trained him to follow 
at heel, first by strapping to my leg, and afterward by 
short lessons when free, and he would seem to understand 
what I wanted, and when I told him to "go seek," he 
would start instanter with nose to the ground. He would 
also retrieve a stick very nicely. One favorable morning 
I took down my Winchester , .38cal., and told March we 
would "go out and get a bird for dinner," and we started 
for the thicket near a brook where the grouse were in the 
habit of rising. On arriving at the locality I told him to 
"go seek," and away he went, and in less than ten min- 
utes I heard his whimper of satisfaction, announcing that 
he had struck a fresh trail, and I hurried quietly in the 
vicinity and saw the birds flush, with March after them 
giving full tongue, as they alighted in part in a thick 
spruce. I carefully noted the particular bird that he had 
in view, and drawing the ivory bead of my Lyman sight 
just above its head, I pulled the trigger and was gratified 
to see the grouse come fluttering down. March did not 
seem to notice the report, but sprang forward and caught 
the bird. I said "careful, old boy, now fetch," and he 
brought it to me and gave it into my hand, and I petted 
him and said, "good dog," and he seemed as proud as could 
be. Another bird was perched just above where the one 
secured had been, and in plain view. I pointed with 
my gun and said, "March, there is another one, look out 
for him," and beseemed to understand it, and began 
to bark, looking up at it; in the meantime I took careful 
GLIMPSES OF CAMP LIFE. 
Trinity Lakes. Photo by F. F. Frisbie. 
shortly after, and as we neared the Robbins Hotel saw 
March on the bank watching us, and ere we were an hun- 
dred feet from the shore his keen eyes recognized, and 
he had jumped into the water and swam out and met us, 
and as I lifted him into the boat he barked with delight, 
and in the exuberance of joy climbed all over me. Rob- 
bins said that he had come in that morning over the Bear 
Pond trail, and was very tired, and went to the room, 
and under the bed that I had occupied when I was there 
over night a few days before, and that Mrs. Robbins had 
finally coaxed him out and fed him, she having also fed 
him when he was first there; and he would have nothing 
to do with any one else. We remained over night, and 
next day returned to Smith's Lake, picking up a nice 
mess of trout at Charley's Pond, which we disposed of 
for dinner, 
► The next day we went over to La Mont's little hotel 
(now no more), and finding a few genial sportsmen 
there, we got up a rifle match, and I embraced the oppor- 
tunity to endeavor to break March of being gun shy. I 
put a collar about his neck, and attached a strap, and 
when the others were shooting I took him to a place at 
one side, nearly mid-way between the target and the rifle 
experts, and talked to him as I would to a boy, to soothe 
and allay his fears, and to make him understand what 
was being done, and occasionally I would go to the tar- 
get and show him the result of the shots. At first he was 
very nervous, and trembled like a quivering leaf, but 
gradually his fear passed away. When I would shoot I 
would leave him in charge of Andrew, and when I went 
to the target I would call him, and Andrew would accom- 
pany him, still keeping him in leash. 
The next day another shoot was arranged for, and I ob- 
served the same method, excppt that I finally took off 
the strap and let him loose. He went into the hotel, and 
remained there until the close of the shooting, when I 
called him and petted bim, and told him we would go 
home and get some dinner, which he evidently under- 
aim as before, and brought down the second one, which 
he retrieved as nicely as could be. One head had been 
entirely dissevered, and the other hung by shreds of skin. 
I took both, and with my hunting knife split the skulls, 
and gave the brains to March, which he devoured eagerly. 
Having birds enough for diuner, and well satisfied that 
one or two repetitions of the lesson would eradicate en- 
tirely all fpar of the gun, I returned to camp and enjoyed 
the breakfast of trout, etc., which Andrew had pre- 
pared. At dinner we feasted on the first grouse of the 
season, broiled over the coals on forked sticks, and March 
disposed of the remains with gusto. 
The next morning when 1 took my gun from its rack, 
March seemed to know what was up, and when I said, 
"Do you want to go and find some more birds?" he bark- 
ed and bounded up in a manner that expressed as well as 
words that that was just exactly what would suit him. 
Suffice it to say that we succeeded , and March and his 
master were both happy over the result. From that time 
he was never afraid of the crack of rifle, and was, never 
so pleased as when I took down my rifle and told him he 
could go. If I went out on a stillhunt for deer and cau- 
tioned him to "heel in close,"he would step as cautiously 
as a cat watching a mouse, and seemed to realize what I 
was doing. 
One morning I took him for a jaunt around a bay where 
I had noticed a few fine large black ducks occasionally 
drop in, and as I approached a favorable spot for ob- 
servation, I saw four fine ones 30 rods from the nearest 
point of shore. Telling March to "heel in," I cautioiisly 
crept around to the most favorable spot and took careful 
aim at the head of the largest one in the group, and upon 
firing had the satisfaction of seeing the duck striking his 
wings and gyrating about in the water. I pointed in the 
direction, and told March to "go fetch," and the little 
fellow swam out and seized the still alive and gyrating 
duck by a wing and started for shore. It was some sec- 
onds ere death prevented the bird from beating the water 
