4B0 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
- [June lo, 1905. 
The Hunter^s Temple. 
How ENTICING the name of the forest sounds to the 
lover of the rifle and rod; what pleasant recollections _ it 
Tarings up. He thinks of the glorious forest draped in its 
I'ich coloring, of mountain sides and mountain peaks, 
great canyons and vast plains; he thinks of hills and val- 
leys, lakes, ponds and rivers, with the glad sunlight over 
all, and then he thinks of all the wild creatures that he 
has seen scattered over this vast panorama that his recol- 
lections have brought out of the past. 
I -have talked with men who say that they cannot un- 
derstand why men will go away from their comfortable 
homes and sleep on the ground and live in the rough and 
primitive way that sportsmen do ; and I have often won- 
dered if they were born so, or if, never having tasted of 
the free life of the forest and plain, they have simply 
failed to develop a love of nature. The true sportsman 
'cannot tell you just why he loves the forest and why he 
longs for the time to come again when he will be free to 
hRthe his soul in the sweet joys of solitude. Fall comes, 
the leaves are golden on the trees, and he feels that he 
is called away to worship in his temple, the forest, and he 
must go. He is not gifted with power to explain it, but 
he loves the forest and all its wild creatures, which he 
protects from wanton destruction to the best of his abil- 
ity. No game law is too stringent for him, and he never 
kills what he cannot use — and very seldom a female. It 
is not alone his successful pursuit of game that pleases 
him, but the coming in contact with nature in all its 
primitive purity, undefiled by man's defacing hand, and 
the wild animal life that appealed to him as the most 
pleasing thing possible. 
Sometimes I wonder at men whom I know to be pos- 
sessed of ample means, staying at home year after year, 
jogging along at some business that they could leave for 
a time as well as not; others with ample fortunes, not 
doing any business, but simply existing, occasionally go- 
ing to some pleasure resort and languidly existing there 
for a time, then home again — and the same old round of 
eating and sleeping and existing, which I do not call liv- 
ing. I often wonder why they do not go to the wilder- 
ness and hunt, as I believe that the sight of a herd of 
deer, elk, caribou or a moose running by within shot 
would certainly set their stagnant blood in circulation; 
if it did not, then I would say that there was no hope for 
them. 
Sometimes I sit and think of the many hunts I have 
had and the friends I have hunted with, and the game 
I have killed, I think also of the grand sights I have seen 
■ — the mountains, the canyons, the plains, the beautiful 
forests and the lakes and streams—and the vastness of 
the great wilderness where the stillness is so profound 
that it makes one's ears ring. I seem to see again the 
great plains specked with buffalo — great numbers of them 
pouring across the country, down through a ravine they 
go ; then out on the other side, and on they go — a great 
river of grand living animals. I see the antelope and the 
big gray wolf; in the timber I see the red deer and wild 
turkey; on the mountainside I see the stately elk and the 
great lumbering bear. Again I hunt in the Mississippi 
Valley for deer, turkey and black bear. Then I see the 
red deer and moose in the forest of northern Maine ; then 
the caribou, the most beautiful of them all, I hunt on the 
barrens of Newfoundland; then in the forests of Nova 
Scotia the lordly moose greets my vision. And I think 
of the placid river and the canoe with silent paddle not 
rippling the water, the eager watching with every sense 
strained to the utmost, hardly daring to draw a long 
breath; then the rush of the animal, the shot, and the 
feeling of exultation as he falls. I think of the rapids 
and the mad rush of whirling waters as our frail craft 
rushes down — but the hand that guides it is true and 
strong, and the brain that directs the hand is clear and 
brave, and we go on in safety. 
The most enduring friendships that I have ever made 
were made around camp-fires. The best place to learn 
a man is to hunt with him; his good qualities as well 
as his bad ones are sure to come to the surface. The 
hunter is a free-hearted man ; even an uneducated hun- 
ter, wherever you find him, has his better qualities de- 
veloped. You may find him away in the Rockies, and his 
latch string always hangs out, and he welcomes you in 
a way that you know you are welcome. Go up into Brit- 
ish Columbia or Alaska, and there he is just the same 
with his big brawny body, warm heart and free hand. 
Go to Maine, New Brunswick or Nova Scotia and he 
welcomes you there. Go to the great barrens of New- 
foundland, and there , he is. and all he has is at your ser- 
vice. He will divide his blanket with you — and his last 
mouthful if you need it. He may not be able to read, 
but his heart is all right. 
As you hunt you meet other sportsmen, and tfifcir hand- 
shake is hearty, and not like the faint pressure that you 
get in the city ; you know that he is glad to see you ; 
you exchange names ; one is from New England, the 
other from the .South or West — it don't matter where; 
each feels that the other is all right, and if either is out 
of anything that the other has, "Help yourself" is always 
said. Both are glad to be there, and would go miles to 
do the other a favor. The contrast is so great when 
compared with our "marts of trade" that we readily sec 
that one is the effect of the influence of nature and the 
pther of pur so-called civilization^ Hunter, 
Living Under Canvas in California. 
Nowhere else perhaps can tent life be enjoyed as it is 
lived in California. Every surrounding natural condition 
tends to make such life ideal. 
We spent two months in a tent in southern California. 
We stopped at Tent Vfllage on the crest of Point Loma, 
a few miles from San Diego, where, from an altitude of 
350 feet, we could look down upon the ocean, the bay and 
city of San Diego and Coronadu Beach. 
in this village of canvas are an aggregation of tents as 
symmetrically laid out as a West Point encampment. At 
one end of the grounds is a large club house or assembly 
room and at the other end the dining rooms and kitchen. 
The tents were a combination of wood and canvas. 
The frame-work and floors were of wood, screened doors 
and windows being fitted to each tent. The roof was of 
double canvas, giving ample air space and protecting the 
occupants of the tent from undue warmth from the sun's 
rays. The furnishings of the tents were such as to leave 
nothing to be desired. Comfortable spring beds, ward- 
robes, wash-stands, carpeted floors, all went toward mak- 
ing one comfortable. The tents were daily taken care of 
with the same neatness as one would expect in a first- 
class hotel. There was almost always a breeze from the 
ocean, and with window and door open one kept cool and 
comfortable under tent cover on the warmest days. At 
night the air was always cool and blankets were a neces- 
sity for comfort. 
Half a mile away the surf, rolling ceaselessly upon the 
beach, lulled one to sleep. And to awake at night and 
listen to the pattering of the rain drops upon the canvas 
roof was far more realistic than the rain upon the shingle 
roof heard when one roomed, as a boy, in the attic of the 
old farm house. 
The swaying of the canvas covering under the pressure 
of the wind with the pitter-patter of the swiftly descend- 
ing rain drops in the still hours of the night was some- 
thing, once experienced, not likely to be forgotten. And 
when the rain ceased and the wind quieted down again 
was heard the requiem of the sea as it raised its voice 
in ever-recurring echoes upon the golden sands. 
From the tent door, almost, one enjoyed such views as 
can be hardly equalled anywhere else. For miles the surf- 
.line can be followed in a bended line by the eye, and the 
breakers seen making one great intermittent line of foam 
as they break upon the beach. ) 
The stretch of land gently sloping toward the sea was , 
covered, after the winter rains, with one great sheet of ; 
green, purple and yellow blossoms. Every wild plant had ; 
its blossom and the weeds flowered like a Persian garden, j 
The breeze from the Pacific carried with it inland the 
scent of the blossoming hillsides, so thickly was the 
ground covered by the flowering wild growth. 
One never grew tired of gazing upon the surface of 
the Pacific. It had its beauties whether at sunrise, sunset 
or during the sunny hours of the day — under a full moon 
it was superb. The rays of the sun made a veritable riot 
of color upon the water's surface, the shifting breeze 
making the water fairly scintillate with greens, yellows, 
grays, purples and blues. A wandering cloud for a mo- 
ment would throw all in sombre shadow only to pass on 
and give the sun full play upon the water's surface. One 
associates a rainbow with a curved body of color arching 
the heavens, but when the sun and wind were right the 
whole surface of the Pacific seemed one waving, shifting, 
scintillating mass of color as brilliant and variegated as 
those of a rainbow. 
We turn around and face the bay of San Diego and 
there we see the bay and city of Naples, with a little 
stretch of imagination, and Vesuvius in the background. 
Those who have seen the Bay of Naples liken this view to 
it. The placid, crescent-shaped bay, dotted with shipping; 
the rising town of San Diego upon the sloping shores, 
and the background of mountains makes a counterpart of 
the Neapolitan scenes that is certainly remarkable. 
Point Loma extends for nearly nine miles out into the 
ocean's depths and is at places a couple of miles in width.. 
The peace and quiet of Tent Village, the ocean breeze, 
unvarying in its constancy, the music of the surf, the 
glorious, radiuiai sunshine, the singing of the mocking 
birds and larks which begin with the rising and ending 
only with the going down of the sun makes a . combina- 
tion not to be found at the average seaside resort. If one 
wants quiet and rest it can be had under conditions of 
the most favorable description at Tent Village, on the 
heights of Point Loma. 
One more word before I close. Mr. Hallock's mocking 
bird talk carries me back to a sunny morning as I sat 
with my wife in the court-yard of the Coronado Beach 
Hotel, at San Diego. We sat embowered amidst roses, 
orange and lemon trees and palms, and the air was heavy 
with the perfume of Araby the Blest. The palms nodded 
fo each other in the whispering breeze, and the fragrant 
roses strewed their leaves upon the warm earth, and 
filled the air with sweetness. 
It was not difficult for us to imagine ourselves in the 
Garden of Eden as we listened to the splashing of the 
fountain that made music and rainbows for us at one 
and the same time. The birds bathed in the fountain 
basin and preened their feathers, when out from the re- 
cess of a lemon tree trilled a mockingbird. How he 
sang! We marvelled at his variations as we followed him 
from note to note. And when he had exhausted his 
repertoire an echo started up from a further end of the 
court and we were thrilled With further rjippkingbird 
variations. As the sun rose each morning we heard the 
mockingbirds outside our tent and it became an old 
story to us. But the roses and tropical growth of palms, 
orange and lemon trees, and the murmuring fountain 
with the accompanying mockingbird concert were de- 
lightful and long to be remembered. 
Chas. Cristadoro. 
An Encounter on the Trail. 
We knew there were bears in the vicinity for we had 
read about them— not in the papers but by the "sign." 
There were marks, man high, on the trees where they 
had stood on their hind feet, stretched themselves and 
whetted their claws ; then there were headless stalks of 
wild barley, rotting logs overturned in the search for 
grubs, rootings for nuts under the pihon trees and 
branches of juniper shrubs broken by the reaching for 
berries. Occasionally we had seen tracks in the sandy 
bottoms of gulches. 
We were chloriding on a promising prospect in Barley 
Flats up beyond the headwaters of Lytic Creek on the 
north slope of "Old Baldy," in southern California. There 
was Paystreak Crawford, Chloride Sam, Hellfire Pete 
and myself. Our experience had taught us that a grizzly 
is not always looking for a fight, nine times out of ten 
he will let you alone if you will do the same by him. 
Neither will he always run, and if he hears a gun shot in 
his vicinity he is quite likely to hunt up the shooter to 
learn if he was shooting at him, therefore we were not 
reckless in the use of our firearms, besides bear meat was 
not good at that season and we were not hunting bears 
anyway, but prospecting for gold. The "Chink" saw one 
iirst. Now — about that Chinese. 
Wfe had been placer mining down on the Cargo 
Muchach during the season of winter rains, but when 
the sun became hot, the water scarce and we had to pack 
our dirt on burros it was too much like work, so we 
packed and hiked for the higher mountains toward the 
coast, where it was cooler. We stopped at a town tO' out- 
fit with grub, and camped with our burros in a horse 
corral in the suburbs. We ate in a restaurant, but drew 
the line at hotels ; we had read of the danger from fire 
and besides Hellfire Pete had stayed a week once in the 
"Pleasant Home," and the telling of his experience caused 
each man to prefer his blankets. We had been sleeping 
in a country of rattlesnakes, centipedes, scorpions and 
tarantulas, but — • 
A clean, decent looking Chinese had been hanging about 
our camp in the corral evidently greatly interested in our 
outfit. While Paystreak was up town at a bank cashing 
in our winter's dust, Hellfire borrowed the "makings" of 
the Chink, and as they rolled their cigarettes together 
they became quite social. 
"Where you go ?" says the Chink. 
"We go huntum mine," says Hellfire. 
"You ketchum?" 
"Mebbe so, mebbe so not. What you do?" 
"Oh — me go loun'; takem look — see." 
"Look — see, look see — what you callum, look — see?" 
"Oh — just go 'loun, takem look, see tlings." 
Then followed a pause while both puffed, the Chink 
eyeing the packs wistfully, then he said : 
"Me likee go 'long; see ketchum mine; me good clook; 
clookum good blead." 
"Sour dough bread?" 
"Sowel dough blead? Me don't know; clookum least 
blead and pie." 
Hellfire stood up: "Hi, fellers; here's a Chink that can 
make yeast bread and pie, and he wants to join as cook. 
Count me in. Think of the wild strawberry pie and mebbe 
shortcake." We caucused and engaged the Chink at $25 
per month — if Paystreak agreed. 
"Maybe you all had better go uptown and get you 
some feather beds and spring mattresses," said he, but 
he finally agreed and we took the Chink. After the first 
day he made such progress that he could stick on a burro 
and use only one hand in choking the saddlehorn. But 
what he did not know about cooking would fill a large 
recipe book ; he did not even know how to dry and wash 
the dishes. All the way to Barley Flats all that blooming 
high-priced cook did was to stand around and watch us 
get the meals over the camp-fire and eat after they were 
ready. He said his name was Ng Quong Hsu, or some- 
thing like that, but Paystreak named him "Pet," Hell- 
fire's Pet. It was not quite so bad after we reached the 
Flats and made camp and set up the knocked down sheet- 
iron stove we had bought especially for the cook. We 
had no rolling-pin, but Hellfire made him one out of a 
manzanita limb. Then we discovered that we had no 
pie-pans, but he baked a pie in a gold pan. It was not 
bad but we had to take it out with a spoon. It was 
worth the price we paid him to teach him to be a camp 
cook, and besides that his coming had taken from us the 
pleasure of playing seven-up and euchre at night to see 
who would get breakfast. 
In the early days of California, some venturesome set- 
tler had found the Flats, a big, level natural park in the 
heart of the mountains, and had thought to make a ranch 
tlaere but had given it up, and the only reminder of a 
previous occupant was a little box shanty of whipsawed 
sugar pine which we used for a cook-house and where 
the Chinese slept. The first settler had either found it 
impossible to build a wagon road to the Flats, or had 
failed to see first a band of marauding Mojaves. 
Our work lay about half mll^ from cainp: where .ay§ 
