SOS 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Oct. 16, 1897. 
UP AMONG THE BALSAM FIRS. 
TJpwABD, ever upward, over the broken rock, over the 
rotten logs, sometimes wading against the rush of the 
current in the little stream, sometimes clinging by finger 
ends and "toe holt" along the smooth face of the storm- 
"Worn cliffs, but always upward, always further on. The 
peak looked only a short hour's journey from below, yet it 
was still on up and the sun hung only an hour above the 
rim of the world. A tall cliff bars the way, one of those- 
smooth walls of rock that reaches away up into the fog 
wreaths. Here the little creek comes tumbling out of a 
notch in the top and fades into a. film of spray, just a wisp 
of a water veil away up there 70ft. above our heads, yet 
thei'e is a pool below, right among the jagged rocks we 
have just climbed over, and the little creek tumbles mer- 
rily on from this quiet pool just as though it started there, 
instead of from the glaciers up above where it tumbles 
over the moss-stained cliff — or is it copper stain? 
Surely that moss is not all moss, some of it is the green 
stain of copper. The prospecting hammer rings its me- 
tallic clink, clink, against the face of the cliff. "How's 
that for good looking rock?" Half copper! Soon a cedar 
stake is secured among the rocks and there is writing in 
lead pencil on the smooth wood. "I, the undersigned, 
this day claim, by right of discovery and location, 1,500 
lineal feet along the course of this glacier lode." That is 
what the stake means — a notice that we have a claim 
there where the falls are in the wild mountain glen. 
The problem of the cliff still confronts us, for we have a 
notion we will see what mineral is hidden there among 
the rough peaks above the thick timber. 
Off come the - heavy shoes, off with coat, hat, packsack, 
belt and pistol. Our work is cut out for the next 100ft. 
and the coil of rope and the stout Alpine stick with its 
iron-shod point and its curved steel hook is all the load 
we need — ^that is, the man who goes ahead needs no more. 
Soon a figure moves up and along the smooth face of the 
cliff, clinging like a big beetle, a grip with the finger ends, 
a bit of hold with the bare feet, a reach and a swing with 
the steel hook of the Alpine staff for a grip in some little 
crack. 
Slowly up and across the sunlit rocks, slowly over the 
moss patches and the copper stain, upward and on toward 
a ragged cleft that splits down into the rock and offers a 
good road to the top. Sixty, seventy feet above the wait- 
ing partners below, who know better than to shout or 
offer advice to the climber, for they well know that a look 
over his shoulder, a sudden shifting of weight, any little 
miscalculation on the part of the figure there against the 
cliff, may mean a plunge down, a sickening, killing fall into 
the mass of broken rocks at the foot of the cliff where the 
pool nestles. The climber has a steady head and good 
muscle and slowly creeps along, face to the rocks, upward, 
onward, and at last stands in the cleft. 
The coil of rope is unslung. Look out! It unwinds its 
twisting length downward, and the partners make a pack- 
sack fast. The climber takes a turn over a spur of rock, 
and the second figure climbs the sheer face of rock hand- 
over-hand, up the stout line, until two figures stand in the 
cleft of rock. They haul away, and a packsack swings, 
sways, rolls and bumps along up over the rock until it, too, 
enters the notch. Soon all the outfit is bimchdd there to- 
gether, and the third figure swings against the painted cliff, 
and he too, enters the cleft. 
Packs are slung, the rope coiled^ and on they go, these 
three partners, climbing on up to the top through the split 
in the rocks. 
A juniper grows at the rim, and through this they swing 
on up into the full light of the yellow sun, just dipping be- 
low the rim of the world. 
All around rise more cliffs, on all sides save one. At 
their feet a little lake where the brook is born; a little lake 
as black as tar; a lake that goes down into the very heart 
of the world, and whose shores are grim, smoke-stained, 
blackened and burned cliffs that tower 1,000ft. above its 
placid surface. Sometime in the long ago this mountain 
burned and smoked, and red fires bubbled where the little 
black lake is. Burned and simmered with the blue flames 
of sulphur; sent forth fumes of ciopper and arsenic; fretted 
and lashed its molten rocks against the crater until, weak- 
ened, it broke, and the red hot rocks ran in liquid stream 
down over the mountain side where the partners climbed 
up. 
That was long ago, and one only know it happened be- 
cause the sign of it all is in the stone record of the eternal 
mountains. 
Now there is a carpet of moss, thick and soft, up there 
where the hot rocks ran down the mountain's side. Tall 
balsam firs fight the mountain storms, fight always for life. 
They twist their clinging roots into the crannies of the 
rocks, growing stronger, holding firmer, and putting out 
more branches that are thick with needles. The moun- 
tain gales twist them, tear at the limbs, gnarl them into a 
mass of burls and lumps, stunt their trunks and help the 
ice and snow to continually battle against them. 
The big brown bear reaches up with his claws and tears 
the bark to ribbons. The big blue mountain grouse 
crouches among their thickly matted branches and hoots 
by the hour in his slow and melancholy way. The 
hunter or prospector lops oft' their "feathers" for his bed, 
yet the tree lives on until some spring day the snows and 
ice that have slowly melted under the warming sun let 
loose and start down the mountain, roaring screaming, 
booming like a thoiisand demons, crushing the rocks into 
bits. The poor old balsam stands in the path of the roar- 
ing mass, it touches the tree, goes on and buries it, slides 
on down into the thick timber far below, and when it is 
gone the fir is gone too, and there is only a smooth strip 
of desolation for the mountain winds to rush over. 
We read these things in the signs up there while we 
were camped on the crater rim. For water we had to 
melt a bit of glacier instead of using that from the black 
little lake that was full of copper and of arsenic, and tbe 
snow water had none of these when it froze and helped to 
build the glacier. 
We made a quick camp that night there by the ice that 
is forever moving down the bill, little by little, and we 
dragged many limbs from the balsam firs over close to the 
particular patch of moss we had spread our blankets over. 
It was cold and we had no shelter, only our blankets that 
we had packed those weary miles in our packsacks. That 
is how we came to stand watch and watch through a beau- 
tiful night and keep a big fire burning among the rocks 
that had been strangers to fire for ages. 
At 11 o'clock it was my turn to sit there awake and see 
that the fire crackled merrily while the others slept. Such 
a night I fear will not come to my lot again, but I will 
always remember the quiet beauty of that one. 
When I turned my back to the fire and got the glow of 
it out of my eyes,! could see the cold, white snows of other 
peaks glimmering in the moonlight, and to see them the 
beHer I climbed a bit of rocky spur, .30ft. or so in height. 
What a view was spread out in the steely moonlight! 
Seven ranges, one over the other, ran their rocky, ragged 
length from east to west, beginning across the valley that 
fell away into the blue shadows below me, one range show- 
ing its snow-crested peak line above the next nearest until 
seven were in sight before they met the lower edge of the 
Northern Lights glimmering in the sky— a background for 
a grand and rough picture. 
Below in the valley mists were creeping silently up- 
ward, filling the trees with a damp veil, bringing the blue 
shadow line always higher, until soon they filled the val- 
ley with a great silver river of fog, that the moon burnished 
into snowy white. 
A low murmur of rushing water droned up from below, 
so faint and far away that at times it was Uke tbe gentle 
summer air among the pines. It was a long way down to 
the bottom of the valley, and I knew the river that made 
the noise roared very loud, for I had caught fine trout in 
its icy waters. 
There was an indescribable stillness there amon? the 
rocks and the balsams that night, and all the noises from 
below were faint, yet very distinct. Once I heard a gray 
wolf howl, and it made me feel creepy, it was so dole- 
ful and so full of a wild fierceness, for all it was so far 
away. 
Later I caught a disappointed yell from a hunting cou- 
gar that had perhaps missed his kill among the jack pines 
and tangle of the old slide where the deer fed, half way 
down the mountain. 
I stood there with pipe aglow and my blanket wrapped 
about me, Indian fashion, until the fire got burned down 
to a red and steady glow, then came back and stood again, 
listening, looking at that grand living picture from a point 
of vant<«ge 10,000ft. in the air, right among the topmost 
pinnacles of the highest peak in the range. Never, in 
many trips, have I gazed on so calm and peaceful a scene, 
so beautiful a picture as old nature threw on her magic 
screen that night among the peaks, after a hard and dan- 
gerous climb that lasted all day and ended in finding a 
copper mine. 
The next morning when the last man on watch saw the • 
gray come into the sky, the valley and the peaks were all 
buried under the clouds, and soon a wild gale rushed 
among the peaks and tore at the balsam firs that were 
scattered among the rocks and a summer storm was on. 
Through the rift of fog in the early morning we saw a big 
bear trundle his bulk over the moss beds, nosing about for 
wild onions while the fog left a tiny ball of dew on each 
hair along his back. El Comancho, 
A STRING OF BEADS. 
I HAD but slight idea of what a lumbering dia«;rict was 
Uke, for though twenty years had passed since I first waved 
a red flag at a disappearing antelope, this was my first trip 
to the big woods. 
The first thing that excited my wonder on leaving the 
train at Aitkin was the badly-splintered sidewalks. Aitkin 
was not then a very ancient burg, but its sidewalks had the 
appearance of having been worn for a century at least. 
The planks were worn and splintered like the back step of a 
set of target traps that have been used for years, by the 
fellow who fell short, to paste a 30in. circle on, in proving 
his gun in error and not him-elf. In fact, they looked as if 
they had withstood a long siege, where shotguns and No. 7 
shot were used. Not wishing to brand myself as a tender- 
foot, I asked no questions but wondered, in a vague sort of 
way, as to the cause. 
A few days later, with the acumen of a Sherlock Holmes, 
I solved the riddle, A log raft came down the Mississippi] 
and when I saw the drivers swarming about the streets in 
their spiked shoes, i soon guessed what was the matter with 
the walks. 
The first man I scraped an acquaintance with was Geo. 
Rice, the veteran agent of the Northern Pacific R. R.Co. 
at Aitkin. Mr. Rice proved to be an enthusiast on the 
game question, and volunteered to show me fur, fin and 
feathers in any quantity required if I would only wait a few 
days, until a press of busintiss was "rounded up," so that he 
could take a vacation of a few days. 
The interim of waiting was filled in by daily excursions to 
nearby lakes and streams. 
My first trip was to Deer Wood, where a fishing lodge 
was kept by some parties whose names I have forgotten. 
The fishing was fairly good, but with no demand for my 
catch 1 soon tired of that. My second trip was south to the 
cluster of lakes that are strung Hke beads along the thread 
of Mud River. Just why this stream should be called Mud 
River was hard for me to determine, for clearer, purer 
water never bubbled over more golden sands than lined its 
course from bead to bead. 
There was Bay, Farm Island, Pine, Hickory, Spirit, Wild 
Rice, Mud, and Hanging Kettle lakes, all strung on a thread 
fifty miles in length, and then dropped into the great wood 
in such manner that the first and last bead were only about 
six miles apart. All of these lakes except Wild Rice, which, 
as its name signifies, is overgrown with wild rice, were 
clear, pure and deep. The margins of these lakes varied 
from the wide sandy beach to a bold, rocky and precipitous 
shore, with now and then a fringe of rushes, where lurked 
the pickerel and bass, and where the woodduck reared her 
young and whiled away the summer days. 
There were occasional rice bays, too, where, late in the 
evenings, hundreds of woodducks collected to feed on the 
wild nee. In summer or early autumn there are very few 
ducks, except woodducks, in that region; but late in Octo- 
ber, when the mallard comes down from the North, 1 have 
seen them collect in these rice bays and lakes in countless 
thousands. 
The bays are unapproachable except by boat, as wild rice 
is the origin of floating bogs, the stems floating on the sur- 
face of the water and collecting other vegetable matter until 
a sod is formed. This floating sod sometimes extends far 
out over deep water, and to break through it, with 30ft, of 
water underneath, means the knocking of a prop from under 
the great Republic, by disappearing for ever. 
Farm Island is rather the most beautiful on the string, 
though I felt with the fellow who was besieged by feminine 
beauty that "'twere easy here to make a choice were the 
other fair charmers away." In this lake is an island of some 
sixty acres of very rich soil. 
The foliage on the island is often greeh long after the sur- 
rounding woods have taken on the tints of autumn, the 
warmth of the water holding jack frost in check to a later 
date. The Indians had, in the long ago, taken advantage of 
this immunity from early frosts and cleared patches on the 
island on which to raise corn and other vegetables; hut the 
government, seeing this, has removed them to other locali- 
ties where no such opportunities for self-support offered, their 
clearings have grown up to weeds, and the long boxes that 
cover the graves of their buried dead are rotting away be- 
neath the pines. 
From this cultivation by the Indians the lake gfetStits name 
of Farm Island. 
On one of my rambles in the woods T had occasion to stop 
at a farmhouse for dinner one day. 
The house was situated on Mud River, between Hickory 
and Spirit lakes; Hickory being some 200yds. to the west of 
the house, and Spirit a like distance to the east. The dinner 
proving satisfactory, I began negotiations for a week's board, 
which resulted in the young lady who had served the din- 
ner calling her father, who was at work somewhere about 
the place. 
I was soon introduced to Mr. Ben Lamere, and in answer 
to my request for a week's board he said, "Sure," and the 
preliminaries being arranged, the conversation turned to 
hunting, and I was soon apprised, incidentally of course, of 
tUe fact that Ben Lamere was the great deer hunter of that 
section. 
Many and lurid were the tales of deer, bear and moose 
hunting old Ben told me that autumn afternoon as we sat 
beneath the primeval oaks before his door. 
The Lamere place was finely located for a headquarters 
from which one could hunt, fish and dream the time away, 
and I improved it to the utmost while opportunity offered. 
The following day I went to A'tkin for my outfit and also 
brought back lumber for a boat. This boat when finished 
proved to be the handiest ducking boat I ever owned, and 
cost the splendid sum of $1.60. 
Leaving instructions at Aitkin for Mr. Rice to notify me 
when he got ready for our proposed hunt, I devoted myself 
to such pleasures as were within my own resources. 
My first trip after locating at Lamer ;'s was to one of the 
rice bays after wood ducks, but as an houi's work of an 
evening s ipplied the demand for several days, I had much 
time for fi<hing and fxploring. Exploring places that are 
conveniently near to comfortable quarters is one f my 
strong points, and here I had ample scope An hour's walk 
in the woods would take me to lonely dells where I could 
easily imagine no human foot had ever pressed its yielding 
moss before; an hour with the paddle would give me the 
choice of three beautiful lakes, and two hours would give 
me the choice of two more, Wild Rice, where I went for 
ducks, and Farm Island, where I went to "moon" about its 
shadet and rocky coves and islands, orxlrift upon its bosom 
when the wind was still. 
The latter was very irregular in shape, having some twelve 
or fifteen miles of shore line, though only about three miles 
from land to land in the longest reach. It had large bays 
and small bays, and long, narrow cover extending far back 
between the wooded hills. Beside Farm Island there was 
one other small island in the lake. This island reared itself 
suddenly up out of ihe lake to a height of 30ft. or more, and 
its diameter did not e.sceed 60yds."either way. Its shores 
were very abrupt except at the south end, where there was a 
sand spit which made a convenient landing. 
On one 'side trees grew out from among the rocks and 
hung far over the water. Under the shade of these trees 
I have passed many a pleasant hour lying; on the clean 
washed boulders and listening to the lap. lap, of the waves 
when the wind was light, or the heavy swish, swish when it 
was strong. 
1 had been at Lamere's but a short time when rumors of 
bears began to be rife. Old Ben urged the feasibiUty of my 
hunting the oak ridges with a gun and shooting some of 
them, but the sly coquettes, the lakes, had me in tow, and 1 
dallied with them, though fully determined to stroll out some 
day and shoot a few hears. 
'The rumors of bears, however, which were vague and 
uncertain at first, grew stronger and ever stronger, with liv- 
ing witnesses to testify as to the truth of them. At last the 
climax came that swept me into the bear column. I had 
stayed at the house one day to write some letters, and was 
still engaged with them when a boy dashed into the house 
with the information that his dog had treed a bear and 
was then watching him a couple of hundred yards up the 
road. 
The boy and his sister were on their way to school, the 
girl being some distance in advance, when a bear suddenly 
appeared in the road between them. They had a dog with 
them which charged the bear on sight, and the bear had 
taken to a tree; the boy then returned for his Uncle Ben 
and his rifle, while the gu-1 ran on to the schooihouse for 
safety. 
In one minute after this announcement three heavily- 
armed men were running up the road at top speed—*, e., Ben 
Lamere, with his .45-60 rifle; a neighbor who had called in, 
with a .40-8a, and myself, with my 101b., 10 gauge Parker, 
loaded with edrs. of black powder and twelve buckshot suit- 
able to its choke in either barrel. Tbe boy and myself, being 
the best sprinters, arrived at the tree first; but bear and dog 
were gone, and a diligent search failed to find any trace of 
either. Being powerless to do more, we returned to the 
house, and my first bear hunt was at an end; but the seeds 
of a mad ambition were sown, and I resolved to kill a 
bear. 
No sooner was it noised abroad that I had set my sight for 
bear than I began to get advice from aU corners as to how 
to proceed. The methods of procedure were as numerous 
as the advisers. One told me 1 would find it very tame 
sport, as shooting bears was like going into a pig pen and 
shooting domestic hogs. Another one told me if 1 should 
find a she bear with cubs, 1 must charge the cubs with a sav- 
age yell and they would tree, and the old bear would return 
for them, when I would be sure to get all three. Still an- 
other gray-bearded nimrod, who had grown stoop-shouldered 
from carrying a rifle and had never been known to kill any- 
thing larger than a chipmunk, told me the best way to do 
was to catch one of the cubs and twist its tail until it 
squealed, and when the old one charged, open-mouthed, to 
\ ssert the muzzle of my gun between her teeth and Are both 
