388 
Forest and Stream 
On the headwaters of the River Snag Two moose with two shots within twenty minutes 
T he time passed slowly before the 
season for big game opened. It 
gave me ample opportunity, however, to 
locate the best hunting fields and arrange 
for reliable guides. Finally on August 
the tenth I closed a deal with “Jimmy” 
Brown of McCarthy to conduct me into 
the White River region. The White 
River is one of the larger tributaries of 
the Yukon and enters the great stream 
eighty miles south of Dawson. Our 
plan was to hunt moose and sheep only. 
Caribou or mountain goats were not 
considered in the contract. Brown 
proved that he knew the country well, 
and his assistant, John Nicholls, fulfilled 
his duties as guide in a most admirable 
manner. Much of my success later on 
was due to the faithful interest these 
two men showed in their work and I 
heartily recommend them to any one 
who wishes to hunt or travel in that 
country. 
It required two days to reach Mc- 
Carthy, although the distance is only 
about three hundred miles, but as the 
train does not run at night our progress 
was necessarily slow. On reaching Chi- 
tina, which is about half way, passengers 
are accommodated for the night at one 
of the local hotels. The next day I 
arrived at McCarthy, a little mining- 
town that can boast only of a prosperous 
past. Here I met Captain Hubrick, who 
gave me some valuable information 
about the country and assisted me in 
many ways. Our seven pack horses 
were rounded up and provisions for a 
thirty-five day trip purchased. It re- 
quired four horses to carry this outfit 
while the other animals were used as 
saddle horses. 
The sun shone brightly as our pack 
train left this forlorn little town. We 
wended our way around the great moun- 
tain that rises abruptly behind the 
famous Kennicott mine. It has been 
said that this mine produces the highest 
grade of copper ore ever found in large 
quantities. As we passed along between 
the hills, flowers bloomed beside the trail 
and grasshoppers scuttled away in 
myriads before the horses’ hoofs. Nich- 
olls called my attention to a bush beside 
the trail that was literally loaded down 
with wild ripe raspberries. 
Our course led over the Nazina River, 
a dangerous, swift-running stream that 
rises beneath a vast valley of ice. We 
viewed its rushing waters with some 
anxiety as many a miner has lost his 
life in its muddy currents. The river 
bed is divided into numerous channels 
that change their course from day to 
day. Quick-sand as well as a rapid cur- 
rent make the fording of this stream a 
hazardous undertaking. Brown pointed 
out a spot where two weeks previous his 
own pack train came to grief, and the 
man he was guiding lost his life when 
his horse was bowled over in midstream. 
Luckily our party passed over without 
mishap, and at four in the afternoon we 
reached a log cabin inn run by a Mrs. 
Brown. Here we unpacked our outfit 
and stayed for the night. The camp was 
built during the gold stampede into Chi- 
sana, where a rich strike was made in 
1913. Many miners and trappers used 
this cabin as one of their stopping places 
while they journeyed inland to the gold 
fields. Mrs. Brown conducted the camp 
alone. The meals were ample and e.x- 
cellently prepared, and the house was 
neat and orderly. On a well-filled book- 
shelf were volumes by Dickens, Tol- 
stoy, and many other distinguished 
authors. One could not help but admire 
the nerve of that frail little woman w-ho 
remains here the year round seemingly 
contented with her lot. 
Before starting out next morning our 
time and patience were exhausted in 
locating and rounding up the horses as 
they had wandered far from camp dur- 
ing the night ; but this is the usual 
diflrculty with a pack train. For some 
unknown reason horses never appear to 
be satisfied with the forage near camp, 
and we always found them grazing from 
two to five miles away. This peculiarity 
was a source of much annoyance and 
delay, and it was usually eight or nine 
o’clock before a start could be made. 
Regular camping places are located 
along this trail, and some were comfort- 
able log cabins that had been abandoned 
after the gold rush. They provided a 
welcome retreat wherever we found 
them, as it saved us the trouble of pitch- 
ing our tent at the end of a tiresome 
journey. As we advanced further in- 
land these camping places were scarce 
and further apart, so we slept on piles 
of brush, facing the stars. The rivers 
are the main “roads” on which all trans- 
portation must depend on entering this 
rugged country. Our course usually 
followed the banks or gravel bars of the 
Nazina. Later we turned off into the 
Chittestone, following this stream to its 
source in a northeasterly direction. 
On the seventeenth a stop w-as made 
at Spruce Point, where we remained for 
the night. I noted on the door of the 
cabin that the Denver Museum Expedi- 
tion had stopped here in 1918, as one of 
their party had registered their arrival 
on it. As we advanced from here on the 
scenery became more and more impres- 
sive. At every turn in the river a new 
panorama unfolded itself. Bands of 
white mountain sheep were grazing 
peacefully on the foothills. They were 
of much interest to us but the season had 
not yet opened, so we continued on our 
way without molesting them. At eight 
in the evening we made camp in a small 
patch of stunted spruce close by two 
glaciers, the source of the stream we had 
been following. Light brown water 
boiled out of a dark cavern that ex- 
tended far under this mountain of ice. 
A UGLIST eighteenth was a clear, 
calm day. We started at nine, and 
after fording the swift boulder-strewn 
stream that passed near our camp, we 
began the long tedious ascent of the goat 
trail leading over the divide. None of 
ns rode horses on this trail. It was 
narrow and zig-zagged along a steep 
mountain of shale rock and all agreed 
that the first man who ventured to take 
horses over this path must have been a 
daring individual. Johnnie informed me 
that seven horses tied in line had once 
plunged down this gorge to the bottom, 
the leader missing his footing and drag- 
ging the others that were tied behind 
him to their death. 
Passing up beyond the limit of timber 
we came upon high flat alpine meadows 
that were covered with short green 
grass, while buttercups and forget-me- 
nots made a radiant carpet of rich color 
against a crystalline background of melt- 
ing snow and ice. On nearby hills we 
