FOREST AND STREAM 
January, 1920 
trouble, drive and drag a porcupine at 
least a mile to camp where he killed it, 
and then, running a sapling through it, 
held it over the fire to burn off the quills, 
when he cooked it. It always tasted to 
me like eating a piece of pine bark, but 
possibly my taste was off for I have heard 
others say they were fine. The “pork- . 
ies” also had an Indian superstition at- 
tached to them. If their intestines had 
three points on the end, then the luck 
would be fine, but if fewer number were 
found then the best thing to do was to 
stay in camp for there was no telling 
what would happen to the hunter. We 
saw a few big timber wolves which have 
kept the deer out of the country but did 
not get any shots though one day “W” 
ran until he was sick in a desperate at- 
tempt to head two off, as they were cross- 
ing the valley. 
N OT wishing to return home without 
trying for the large Osborne cari- 
bou and moose, we retraced our 
steps to Telegraph Creek where we out- 
fitted again and after staying there a 
couple of days headed up the old trail for 
Dease Lake which lay about seventy miles 
distant. The trail was kept up by the 
Government so was in very good condi- 
tion and good time could be made. Sev- 
eral old deserted log cabins along the 
trail and immense piles of empty bottles 
are all that remain of the saloons, to 
show for the gold rush at the north end 
of Dease Lake years ago. Later on it 
came into its own again when the great 
Klondyke rush was on and many people 
went over this old trail seeking their for- 
tunes far to the north. The only objec- 
tion to the trail was that the camp sites 
were spoiled by so many people using 
them, as there is still quite a lot of min- 
ing being done at the Dease Lake dig- 
gings. 
On reaching the lake we cached some 
of our extra stuff and struck off to the 
eastward, into the caribou and moose 
country. As we left the Lake the country 
soon got higher and more broken and then 
we were once more in the mountains. 
After supper the night we left the lake 
camp, Mac told us an old Indian legend 
which ran as follows: — In a fair sized 
lake to the east of Dease Lake lives a big 
animal which eats anything that goes 
near the lake. Once it ate nineteen sheep 
and two Cassiar Indians who were cross- 
ing in a canoe. The only thing that 
ever escaped was a great bull caribou, 
who on account of its horns could not be 
swallowed but was found near the edge 
of the lake with all its legs broken. 
Ducks, geese, or anything going near the 
water are caught and no Indian would 
go near the lake now, Mac told us. We 
tried to find out more about it but could 
not, and needless to say we did not hap- 
pen on the lake and see the big animal 
that lived there. Warburton Pike after- 
wards told me he had heard of a lake in 
that locality that had a whirlpool in it, 
and possibly that was the foundation 
for the story. It was fascinating at any 
rate to sit and hear a story like the above 
from an Indian who in his quaint way 
told it and showed his belief in it and 
we never tired of hearing tales from 
Dick and Mac and wish we could go once 
again over the same country, and hear 
more of their tales and see again that 
everchanging wonderful district of the 
Cassiar. 
A LMOST the first small mountain we 
came to had an interesting thing 
to see at its base. Two small 
streams that came from opposite di- 
rections, came together, and at the meet- 
ing place, disappeared in a hole be- 
neath the mountain. We went on further 
and got at last into a country that the 
Indians had never seen and claimed that 
no one had ever hunted in before, and I 
am sure that very few had been there, 
for we covered a good deal of ground 
and never saw a sign of a camp or of 
man anywhere, and the game certainly 
did not show the fear of people as they 
do in most places. I say this, for one day 
Dick and I were having lunch and as it 
was cold we had made a fire and were 
boiling some tea and were surprised to 
see a good sized bull moose come straight 
towards us, up wind, where he must have 
winded us and seen our smoke, for it was 
open country with only small bushes. We 
also saw sheep that were not as alert 
as those we had seen in the country we 
had first hunted in south of the Stikine. 
There is one valley I hope to visit some 
day; I never got into it on this trip for 
we saw it late one day and were unable 
to go back again. We had been out on a 
long walk to get the lay of the land and 
to look around, and came to the edge of a 
mountain top. Beneath us far below, 
down past the steep ledges and rock 
slides, lay a valley that one dreams of, 
grassy, park-like open places, then 
patches of trees and running through it 
all, a beautiful stream and in addition 
to it all we could see the vapor from a 
hot spring rising on the still air. It 
was getting late and we were a long way 
from camp, so with one last look we re- 
luctantly turned and headed back, but the 
valley yet remains I am sure, unharmed 
by the acts of man, and I hope the favor- 
ite feeding ground for some old bear or 
other fine wild animal. 
The Osborne caribou are different from 
their eastern relatives in their choice of 
range, aside from any physical differen- 
ces as they keep to the mountains and we 
saw none in the valleys where the eastern 
variety would likely be found feeding. 
They are wonderful animals to look at and 
afford much better sport than those in 
New Foundland. As we found them high 
up on the mountains on grassy slopes 
they could not be approached very easily 
and it took about the same amount of 
work as in hunting sheep, to get within 
range. I was surprised one day on coming 
around the brow of a mountain to meet 
a big bull walking towards me and ap- 
parently paying no attention to me 
though I was in full sight. I shot him 
as he had a queer horn formation, one 
side being malformed which made it 
shorter and broader than the other and 
on going to where he lay, found the rea- 
son he had not noticed me. The poor 
old fellow not being well protected with 
a good pair of horns had evidently been 
severely beaten by another bull, as one 
eye was gouged out and the side of his 
head greatly swelled and he was in bad 
shape generally. 
We crawled into close proximity to a 
band of cows and calves one time, and 
they were most interesting to watch. The 
only grown bull, the head of the herd was 
very large, but unfortunately for me 
his right horn was broken off half way 
down so he was worthless as a specimen 
and I hope lived to grow a good pair of 
horns the next year and lead his herd 
over their range in peace. A day or two 
before starting homeward I was lucky 
to get a good head but only after a hard 
day and wretched shooting. 
(continued on page 38) 
