252 
FOREST AND STREAM 
June, 1922 
UP THE BLUE TRAIL FOR ELK 
A HUNT IN THE WILLOW CREEK COUNTRY ON 
THE SOUTH FORK OF SNAKE RIVER, WYOMING 
I N the fall of 1915 there was good elk 
hunting in Willow Creek, Wyoming. 
In order to get to Willow Creek you 
take the stage at Idaho Falls and 
ride fifty miles up the South Fork of 
Snake River. At first the valley is wide 
and fertile and the fine houses reflect 
the wealth of the country. But as you 
get further on, traveling southward up 
the big river, the valley is more narrow 
and the houses are often mere log struc- 
tures. Then you reach the narrows, and 
for several miles there is not a dwelling. 
At the end of the fifty miles is Grand 
\^alley, better known locally as Hell’s 
Flat. At this wide sagebrush-covered 
area. Salt River enters from the south 
and Bear Creek comes in from the east, 
across the W)'oming line. 
The stage line goes on up Salt River 
in the direction of Star \’alley. But to 
reach Willow Creek it is necessary to 
follow up Snake River for thirty miles. 
Skirting along the canyon a hundred 
yards above the river is a good trail. It 
is known as the Blue Trail and extends 
from Grand Valley up along the river 
to Jackson’s Hole. This canyon is 
spoken of locally as Grand Canyon and 
in its own way compares favorably with 
its more gorgeous namesake, for it is 
undisputably the grandest canyon in 
Wyoming. 
The party consisted of four, including 
myself. Fortunately, we were all rated 
as residents of W’yoming. That gave us 
the privilege of securing licenses at the 
moderate rate of two dollars and a half. 
If we had not been residents, we never 
would have undertaken it. A non-resi- 
dent is a “dude.” He pays fifty dollars 
for his license, five dollars a day for a 
cook and packer, and five dollars a day 
for a guide. We were fortunate also in 
being the guests of William Strober. who 
owned a cabin thirty miles up the Blue 
Trail, where he had spent two winters 
trapping. Bill Strober had been cook 
and packer for us on a government sur- 
veying job all summer. 
Bill Strober had won the name of Old 
Pop, although his age was not a notice- 
able feature of his personality. And of 
personality he had a plenty. All summer 
he had been persistently inviting us to 
go on an elk hunt with him in the fall, 
and we took him up on it. 
The other two were Fred Douthitt and 
Homer Youngs. A word right here 
about Homer. He was the best shot and 
the best sport in the entire world. At 
that time he was only twenty-three, but 
his subsequent achievement justifies this 
extreme statement. Joining the regulars 
early in 1917, he was one of the very 
first to go across. He soon became a 
captain. In a shooting tournament in 
which all the forces of Italy. France, 
England and United States entered, Ho- 
mer Youngs won consistently and quali- 
fy JAMES HOW,ARD HULL 
fied for the next contest. He qualified 
for the semi-finals and for the grand 
finals of the entire contest. He won in 
the finals. Who shall say he was not 
the best marksman in the world ! And 
few men living or gone have left be- 
hind them a more glorious record for 
unqualified nerve and supreme unselfish- 
ness. Severely wounded, he might have 
remained in the hospital and perhaps 
come back to us. But he could still 
fight. He returned to his company in 
defiance of universal protest, and de- 
voting the few remaining days of his 
life to the service of civilization, died in 
action. 
Homer Youngs — War hero and marks- 
man 
""PHE worst difficulty that confronted us 
in outfitting for the hunt was in the 
mattter of horses. All one day I rode 
up and down the river inquiring of the 
ranchers if they had an extra cayuse or 
two we could hire for a week or so to 
take on an elk hunt. There were plenty 
of horses behind the barbed-wire fences 
which skirted the road, but the ranchers 
shook their heads. I eventually learned 
that to take a horse elk-hunting was not 
considered the safest thing in the world 
for the horse. But horses were neces- 
sary. We had only five in our outfit, 
and two of them were the big draft 
horses that pulled the commissary 
wagon. We decided to pack them and 
take a chance on their rolling down the 
canyon ; but we realized that it was dan- 
gerous. Finally two forest rangers 
whom we knew decided to go along with 
us for most of the way, and it was 
through them that we finally managed to 
secure the use of the necessary number 
of pack animals. We needed one each 
to ride. By packing them heavily we 
found that one horse could carry the 
necessary outfit and supplies for two of 
us. But if we each planned to bring out 
an elk it would require eight extra 
horses, two for each elk. 
By three o’clock in the afternoon we 
were ready to start. Spackman and 
Butler, the two rangers, joined us and 
advised that we go as far up the canyon 
as possible before dark, in order to 
arrive at the end of the thirty-mile trip 
by night on the following day. 
At last we were off, “Pop” Strober 
riding in the lead. For mile after mile 
the big canyon towered above us at our 
left and broke off in a precipitous drop 
for a hundred yards to the river. It was 
a good trail, as trails go in that country. 
We continued long after dark, always on 
the lookout for a place where a camp 
was possible. Then we found it. The 
trail descended almost to the river, where ' 
a small tributary came in from the north. 
We unsaddled, unpacked, made camp and ! 
in a half hour were rolled up in our |j 
blankets. i, 
I am a heavy sleeper, but once during | 
the night something woke me up. Cries j 
of “Stop ’em ! Stop ’em !” came from ! 
all around me. Two of the horses had 
picked their way past us and made a j 
break. Before I could locate my saddle 
and horse, Spackman had mounted his, ! 
bareback, and taken up the chase. It : 
was three-quarters of an hour before he | 
came driving them back. Those horses j 
did not enjoy hunting. They had prob- i 
ably had experience. j' 
Before the sun reached the bottom of i| 
the canyon the next morning we were 
again in our saddles. We led some of ' 
the pack-horses, drove some ahead and j 
between us, and some seemed willing to 
follow along of their own accord. ■ 
Although it was dark when we reached 
Pop’s cabin, near the mouth of Martin 
Creek on the south side of the river, 
we made the ford safely and were soon 
seated around the small log structure 
enjoying good coffee and bacon. 
Long before sunrise the next morning 
we set out, taking with us our saddle- 
horses, blankets and a few supplies. The 
two rangers left us here, and with Pop, 
Fred and Homer, I followed up Martin 
Creek. We stopped frequently to rest 
the horses and sometimes dismounted and 
led them. Before noon we were at the 
head of Martin Creek and across the ■ 
divide at Willow Creek. 
There was a little snow, and numerous I 
tracks indicated that a big band of elk j 
had been there recently. It was evident, 
however, that they had been recently 
hunted. There seemed to be no definite 
{Continued on page 268) ! 
