494 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[June 24, 1905. 
Across the Clearwater Range of 
the Bitterroot Mountains. 
(What is written in and between these lines is dedicated to the 
best of fellows, the Big Chief.) 
The Lewis and Clark Exposition at Portland follows 
in the wake of the Louisiana Eurchase Exposition, held 
in the city from which a hundred years ago the great 
Lewis and Clark expedition started. 
Both events, the Louisiana Purchase and the famous 
exploration have become of the greatest imaginable mo- 
ment to the people of the United States, and both cen- 
tennials will go down in history as having been fitly 
celebrated by two great expositions. 
The Louisiana Purchase so closely followed the ex- 
ploration of Lewis and Clark, that it is quite pardonable 
to believe the one a logical sequence of the other. In 
fact, Merryweather Lewis had left Washington before 
the treaty had been received by Jefferson. This, of course, 
does not impair their historic affinity, and while we know 
much of the Purchase, the average reader has heretofore 
not been in a position to acquaint himself with the won- 
derful recital of this exploration. 
History in monarchic countries centers in the persons 
of kings and battle lords; history of the United States 
must tell of the people and its self-chosen leaders. It 
must speak of that colossal fight for civilization waged 
against man, beast and inanimate nature — a modern Iliad, 
a fight of such gigantic proportions that in the short time 
of less than one hundred years it has performed the labors 
of civilization of ages and centuries. 
It is patriotism never to forget that. 
When a politician talks about patriotism, consider it a 
business proposition, for he needs a good deal of other 
people's patriotism to thrive. When a spread-eagleist 
pumps his superior patriotic ideals into a mere American 
by choice, take it cum grano salis. When the children 
come from school and tell the latest they have learned of 
their country's greatness, let us hope for more good 
Americans. But when around the fire-place the pipes are 
going and the boys tell of the wondrous beauty of our 
country's forests and streams, of the blazed trail through 
the wilderness, of the Great Lakes or the big mountains 
and the West and the game it harbors; of hunters' joys 
and hardships, then I believe one when he says, "This is 
God's country." That is my kind of a man and my kind 
of patriotism. And if in the midst of political corruption, 
nativistic arrogance and religious intolerance, in human 
weakness, courage and bright hope should fail me, I shall 
take one of those good fellows and follow the trail into 
the mountains. For the eternal rocks preach a grand and 
powerful sermon. There they stand from the time that 
God spake, "Let the waters under the heaven be gathered 
together into one place, and let the dry land appear." 
Their snow covered peaks lift up to azure blue heights. 
A mysterious rustling comes to you out of the depth of 
that glorious forest, and if you only listen to what the 
loquacious, gurgling and babbling brook has to tell you, 
you will know that the shades of George Washington, 
Rogers Clark, Jefferson, Lincoln, Grant, Emerson, Whit- 
man and all the true and great patriots have not gone to 
heaven, but that they all dwell within the sacred bounds 
of the American forest primeval. From here they hold 
their blessing hand over our great and beautiful country, 
and if you only go to them it will come over you like a 
revelation: "Be strong and brave and true to yourself, 
be worthy to be an Epigone of those who have made what 
you enjoy." And while we remember those great De- 
parted, let us not forget him, who in his toilsome and 
arduous duties as first servant of his country, knows well 
the language of forests and brooks, peaks and canons— 
the man, every inch an American, who often heM com- 
munion with his great predecessors in the vast realms of 
the Siegfriedlike West and a man who is a sincere and 
fervent patriot I trust, because he is a true sportsman, 
our beloved President, Theodore Roosevelt. 
It will always be a mystery to me, why the average 
well-to-do American rushes across the water instead of 
studying his own country first. Fuller's maxim, "Know 
most of the rooms of thy native country before thou goest- 
over the threshold thereof," is not exactly followed by 
them. 
Of course it's so much easier to do Europe than to do 
the West. In fact, the person who au grand serieux com- 
plains of the service of Pullman cars, Atlantic liners and 
European hotels, should by all means stay away from the 
West; it is no place for him. But the man who wants to 
know more of this, his country of unbounded possbili- 
jfeies, is drawn as by invisible forces to look with his own 
eyes at the sunset of the Far West. 
You will have noticed, my brethren, that I have some- 
what drifted away from my Clearwater country hunting 
story, but only apparently so. It does me good occa- 
sionally to demonstrate to myself that there is a vast dif- 
ference between the sportsman and the pot hunter; be- 
tween the man who measures his grit against animal cun- 
ning, incidentally learn commiseration, and the individual 
whose chief occupation is to turn a living, breathing being 
into a carcass. With these unalterable opinions, let us 
now proceed in the name of St. Hubert. 
When we came out of the mountains and again greeted 
the manifold blessings of civilization at Alissoula, Mont., 
it dawned upon me and then grew with irresistible force, 
that William T. Nash and Albert Lieber were no longer 
fit company to associate with. "Thou villain base, 
knowest me not by my clothes?" said the afore-mentioned 
William with Cymbeline, and thus it became plain that 
their own views about me differed not from mine con- 
cerning them. Such experiences lead to introspection 
and are consequently of high esoteric value. 
It soon became apparent that aside from our clothes, 
numerous other things needed a thorough renovating, in- 
cluding our vocabulary, which had expanded in the prom- 
ising direction of western phraseology to such an extent 
that since my return I have taken up the study of the First 
Reader, so as to get acquainted again with the English 
language. If in consequence, therefore, it should be 
manifest that I have not succeeded, we will blame William 
T. Nash for it, who insidiously inveigled the good 
Colonel Waters into the belief that he might expect "a 
good story if not a fancy one." 
So much for a foreword, apologetically. 
It is now in order to introduce to you my fellow sports- 
men, the dramatis personse : The Big Chief, Albert Lieber ; 
Ragged Artillery Bill, William T. Nash; Jumping Bill, 
William F. Kettenbach; Mexican Dick, Richard Lieber; 
the Herr Director, William B. Benton; Grizzly Bob, 
Robert Willoughby; Paddie, OIlie Paddock. 
The last named individual gained a living as cow- 
puncher when we engaged him as head wrangler, and a 
good one he was. The Herr Director, our cook, received 
his name through a Lewiston paper which stated in an 
evidently inspired article, "Mr. Benton will direct the 
party." Grizzly Bob, our guide, was a man of such mani- 
fold achievements that I have made up my mind to de- 
vote a whole chapter to him. The others are mere gen- 
tlemen. 
The Elimination of Obstacles, 
You men of the forest and stream, who listen to the 
song of the reel or the sharp calling of the rifle, will more 
readily understand a man's trend of thoughts, than the 
dear little housewife, who with growing suspicion and in- 
creased alarm, watches her husband casting loving side 
glances into his hunting cabinet. Lately he has been 
especially nice to her; in fact, he has suggested a trip to 
the East. All that is highly suspicious, and how he talks 
trails and outfits, and how superbly a bear or lion skin 
would match the oriental rugs. 
Little by little the whole story leaks out; anyway, it 
was not intended to be kept back. And so this man is 
going out West. This same man who has wife and chil- 
dren, a business and sundry civic duties to perform. Who 
ever heard the like? That's the trouble with 'im; the idea 
to exchange the blessings of civilization for pathless wil- 
derness, to turn from the latest style automobile for a $30 
pony, let alone clean linen and regulated dinner hours. 
There you are. Take my husband for example. At home 
there is nothing too good for him. He can give the value 
of a sour cream gravy to the dot, and has his decided 
ideas how filet mignon a la Rossini ought to be served, 
but there I find in his diary that for five solid days, on 
a forced march, they had lived on sow-bosom (I presume 
that's bacon) and beans. I would like to know what he 
would say if bacon and beans would grace his table at 
home twice a month. At home, furthermore, he is 
liardly able to locate the exact position of the ice-box, let 
alone the recesses of the cellar, and out there that same 
man wants to take a trail, or better still, find his way 
through a cafion or over a mountain back to camp. 
This last paragraph, I may mention, is not by me but 
by my wife. It expresses to an extent the feminine senti- 
ment upon the subject. 
Finally the trunks were packed. Did you ever try to 
pack a sleeping bag into a trunk? The thing is so un- 
wieldy, fluffy and woolly that you might as well pack 
the trunk in the bag. Thus we sallied forth on a hot 
and sultry August day via Chicago and St. Paul and then 
took the Northern Pacific for Idaho. 
Some Notions as to Outfitting. 
No little concern was it as how to outfit properly, for 
once in the mountains it is too late for corrections; and 
a pleasant occupation it was. But even as a man after a 
good dinner is' in no particular mood to select his next 
, meal, we had to remind each other with the thermometer 
at 90 degrees that the heaviest winter underwear, includ- 
ing sweaters, would be none too heavy for such an ex- 
pedition; so we took the heavy clothes and were glad we 
did. Besides, it is well and good, to have a few blankets 
and a saddle for a pillow to complete one's bed, but I 
myself prefer an air mattress and a sleeping bag. At 
that your guides, cook, etc., in all probability will sleep 
better on their pallet than you in your four-poster, until 
you get used to it. 
Air mattresses in particular are apt to be a source of 
trouble ; for in cold weather they get very cold, so that 
all the blankets on top of the sleeping bag will not insure 
a warm bed unless you put some of them between the 
mattress and the bag, thus insulating the one from the 
other. This we found out after some most miserable 
nights. It really was ludicrous to see what we put on to 
go to bed. Ragged Artillery, for instance, informed me 
pne night that when he wanted to undress he would put 
on more instead. By that time he looked like a butter 
ball or at least like a walking clothing house, and still he 
shivered. 
The experienced sportsman will know this and very 
much more, but to the inexperienced, I should like to sug- 
gest to never depend on his guide for instructions in 
this particular. He will invariably use his own limited 
needs as a criterion and never fully take into considera- 
tion your own. It was our experience that these same 
people on the very threshold of the mountains underrated 
the malter and made us leave our fur jackets behind. The 
most experienced men will agree with me that there is 
a deplorable lack of circumspection shown in most out- 
fits. Anything will do, even for people who can afford 
to do better. 
"But you are roughing it." 
Very well, but with all you will find it plenty rough. 
You will work harder than you ever did before, and while 
you don't stand on niceties in your bill of fare, it should 
be wholesome and of sufficient variety. Make your selec- 
tions in person and do not leave it to your cook. Your 
tastes may differ and, furthermore, man is a creature of 
habit and you will soon discover how a well earned appe- 
tite has to make up for things lacking otherwise. 
Provide for a good tent, sufficiently heavy and fitted 
with flues, forming an air chamber. This is an extra 
precaution against storms, besides it will make it warmer. 
The question of rifles we would better leave undis- 
cussed. We carried a .35 Winchester, a .303 Savage and 
a .30-40 Winchester, besides revolvers. For big game I 
consider my .30-40 somewhat light, for while it shoots 
admirably straight it nevertheless does not possess a suffi- 
cient knockout quality. But, as I said before, I do not 
want to be drawn into a discussion on rifles, sights, cov- 
ered or open bullets. 
That is largely a matter of personal experience, per- : 
sonal likes or dislikes. For instance, I used an automatic 
pistol, which I meant to discard after my return, when 
it was stolen from me. This highly recommended weapon- 
would fail in a most aggravating manner, both Amercian 
and foreign made cartridges sticking. I omit the name, 
■ since my experience may have been singular ; neverthe- ; 
less, such an occurrence means the loss of confidence. We 
were only shooting at pheasants when it happened, but 1 ' 
might have been in close quarters where I had to defend 1 
myself and what then? Pistols are carried as a sort of i 
ultima ratio, and when you do need them you need them 
mighty bad. 
As to your personal apparel, a good English corduroy 
suit, heavy blue flannel shirts and two pairs of hobnailed 
boots. I like to underscore boots ; well fitting boots. Half 
of your life, your comfort and strength depends upon 
proper footwear. For the camp, take an old pair of ordi- 
nary shoes, they will come in handy. Lastly, do not for- ■ 
•get a compact little medicine case, and this prepared you 
are ready to take the trail into the wilderness. 
This we did on Aug. 21, that memorable Sunday, but 
before I can tell you about it I must acquaint you with 
the place where we fitted out and the events which led 
up to it. 
Kooskia is a little station on the Clearwater Branch 
of the Spokane-Lewiston (Northern Pacific) Railroad. 
It is nestled between hills not very far from the eastern : 
line of the Nez Perces Reservation and may have a 
population of 300 inhabitants. There are two general 
stores, a hotel, a drug store, a meat market, a post office, 
a blacksmith shop and vice-consuls, a saloon, besides a 
newspaper and a United States Forest Reserve office. If 
you add to this a number of frame cottages and a more 
or less dilapidated board walk, you will have the outer 
view of this hamlet. When we arrived the "hotel" was 
crowded (for who would think to engage rooms in ad- 
vance), so we repaired to a comparatively substantial 
farm house and had our cook to look after the meals. . In 
the meantime we inspected the outfit and put some' 
semblance of order into the chaos of pack-saddles, alfor- 
cases, blankets and such things more. 
The following day, a Sunday, was set for the start. 
The pack horses had arrived and were being reshod in 
or about the blacksmith shop, for while this undertaking 
began inside the shop it most generally wound up out- 
side amid a dense cloud of dust and profanity. Some 
of the horses never had been shod and their just aversion- 
to the act had prompted their owner to leave this ticklish 
piece of business to us rather than risk a set of broken 
limbs himself. The local blacksmith practiced the same 
caution, and 1here it would have ended had there not 
been a man of versatility, our guide Grizzly Bob. Bob's, 
cradle stood not on the mountain where the graces dwelt,- , 
"sylvan beauty, melancholy grace" was not his, and at a 
beauty show he would have been as much out of place 
as a royal flush in a ministers' assembly. But Bob had 
qualities that made up for this lack of beauty, "this vain 
and doubtful good, a shining gloss that fadeth suddenly." 
He held rather with Ruskin, "that the most beautiful 
things in this world are the most useless ; peacocks and 
lilies for instance." This man looked like a skinned 
grizzly and had the strength of a live one. Muscularly 
lean and lank, he wears a No. 11 shoe, has same number 
hands ; and says Eugene Fields : 
"His nose been like a vulture's beake, his blie been swart of hue,. 
And curly been ye whiskers through ye which ye zephyrs blew.. 
An eye that hawketh up and down for evereche kind of game,. 
And, when he does espy ye which, he tumbleths to ye same." 
I could continue with poetry, for poetry was a sort of 
foible with Bob, but we will defer that matter. It was a 
heroic task to which he had set himself, something like 
the labor of Hercules, but Bob was equal to the occasion. 
By 10.30 Sunday morning every horse was ready. Then 
followed the task of packing. It may as well be said that 
our outfit of pack horses was untrained and as unman- 
ageable as they make them. The owner must have rea- 
soned that if a lot of men want to risk their bones it 
would be all well and good, but to send a good horse 
in there were sheer foolishness. 
For this reason we had to go and put up with the un- 
avoidable performance of green critters. You never know 
what such a cayttse will do until he does it. There was 
one black little devil all ready packed and at that, packed 
with the greatest care, when all at once he started up the 
village road with the velocity of a skyrocket gone wrong. ' 
Finally after the conventional kicking and bucking of 
the pack ponies, accompanied by a most wonderful dis- 
play of cowpunchers' terminology, the train strung out 
toward the east. We still hope to obtain a fitting descrip- 
tion of that day's events by the Hon. Wm. T. Nash. Bill 
looked somewhat undecided, perched on the back of a , 
shaggy-maned quadruped with the S. P. brand. He did 
not know whether smiling would interfere with the 
equanimity of his mount, so he refrained from smiling at 
all. "Bill, which way are you going?" "Don't know 
yet," he answered cautiously, "have to consult my horse 
first." 
He was about to do so when the great and free show 
■commenced over again. I have never failed to enjoy a 
