Oct. 27, 1906. ] FOREST AND STREAM, 655 
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Camp-Fires in the Canadian Rockies. 
It is of a hunting journey during which, as he 
says, the party "went far beyond the last tin 
cah of civilization” that. Mr. William T. Horna- 
day writes in his latest work, which bears the 
title given above. But this volume is not a 
scientific work. The author calls it "merely a 
story of recreations with big game, with a few 
notes on nature,” but he tells the story well, and 
the grand illustrations, reproduced from photo¬ 
graphs made by the Hon. John M. Phillips, are 
remarkable. 
The railway journey ended at Michel, a coal 
camp just out of the Elk river valley, in East 
Kootenai, British Columbia. Michel, a town 
where twenty-four different languages are spoken, 
is literally painted red, for it belongs to a coal 
company, and red paint is cheap. 
The hunting party consisted of the Hon. John 
M. Phillips, State Game Commissioner of Penn¬ 
sylvania; William T. Hornaday, director of the 
New York Zoological Park; C. L. Smith and R. 
W. Norboe, guides; John Norboe, scout; G. E. 
Huddleston, the cook, and Kaiser, the "official 
dog.” We quote from the book: 
"From New York to ■ Michel the continent 
seemed utterly barren of mammalian life, except 
in the Sioux Reservation, where we saw a few 
gray-coated Franklin ground squirrels (Citellus 
franklini ). We saw neither antelope, coyote, swift 
nor prairie dog! On the Dakota lakes and ponds 
there were a few ducks, enjoying immunity until 
September; but the total number was small. 
"At Charles L. Smith’s ranch, on Elk river, 
five miles below Michel, we at last saw a wild 
animal! A big pack-rat ( Neotoma) of sociable 
habits, calmly climbed into the grub-wagon that 
was to go as far up as Sulphur Springs, and 
settled itself for a migration at our expense. 
The stowaway was discovered, and the alarm 
sounded. There between two of the boxes, its 
head in full view under the edge of the tarpaulin, 
was as droll a face as could be imagined. The 
big, black eyes looked at us inquiringly, but 
calmly, and even fearlessly. They said: 'Well, 
what’s all this noise about? Why don t you 
drive on? You needn't be afraid of me; I’m 
not afraid of you.’ 
"In Elk river, below the Sulphur Springs there 
is no extra-fine fishing, for the reason that the 
accessibility of the stream has caused the biggest 
fish to disappear via the short line. So Charlie 
Smith planned that we should make a trip for 
trout over to Fording river, partly, as he 
phrased it, ‘to break the director in gradually, 
before we got into the high mountains.’ In 
New Aork I hunted long for rubber-bodied 
May-flies, and I carried a rod and reel twenty- 
five hundred miles for one day on Fording river; 
but that day was worth it! 
“From start to finish it was a wild revel. I 
soon became so set up with four or five big 
fish that I refused to engage any small fry. 
Whenever I saw a small fish dart toward my 
fly, I snatched it away from him, and angled 
for his betters. Whenever by any untoward ac¬ 
cident a one-pound fish took the hook in spite 
of me, we landed him without loss of time, took 
the hook from his lip, and with an admonition 
never to do so any more until he got big, 
gently dropped him back home. 
"The cut-throat trout is, after all, a dainty 
biter. Although he takes an imitation May-fly 
swiftly, and even joyously, he does not greedily 
gulp it far down into his anatomy, and makes 
all kinds of trouble. He seizes with his lips 
only, not his throat; and almost invariably the 
hook is found holding feebly in his lip. This 
scanty hold requires much care in playing tne 
fish, and a line constantly taut, to keep the hook 
New York. Charles Scribner’s Sons. 
in its place. With the least carelessness, away 
goes the fish. It also makes it easy to remove 
a fish that is too small, and put it back in the 
stream as 'good as new. One fly lasts a long 
time, and is good for at least three or four fish 
of approved size.” 
The first view of mountain goats is a very 
impressive one. Of this Mr. Hornaday says: 
"At the top of the precipice that rose above 
our slope, a long, irregular line of living forms 
perched absurdly on the sky-line, and looked 
over the edge, at us. Quickly we brought our 
glasses to bear, and counted fourteen living and 
wild Rocky Mountain goats. 
"Suddenly sharp cries of surprise came up 
from the camp, and I sprang up to look about. 
Three goats were running past the tents at top 
speed—a big billy, and two smaller goats. 
“‘Hi, there! Goats!’ cried Smith and Norboe. 
“The cook was stooping over the fire, and 
looking under his right arm he saw the bunch 
charging straight toward him, at a gallop. A 
second later, the big billy was almost upon him. 
“ ‘Hey! You-son-of-a-gun!’ yelled Huddle¬ 
ston, and as a big snow-white animal dashed 
past him he struck it across the neck with a 
stick of fire-wood. The goat’s tracks were with¬ 
in six feet of the camp-fire. 
“The billy ran straight through the camp, then 
swung sharply to the left, and the last I saw of 
him was his humpy hindquarters wildly bob¬ 
bing up and down among the dead jack pines, as 
he ran for Bald Mountain. 
. “We laughed long at the utter absurdity of 
three wild goats actually breaking into the 
privacy of our camp, on our first afternoon in 
Goatland. In the Elk valley Charlie Smith had 
promised me that we would camp ‘right among 
the goats,’ and he had royally kept his word. 
At evening when we gathered around the camp¬ 
fire, and counted up, we found that on our first 
day in Goatland, we had seen a total of fifty- 
three goats; and no one had fired a shot.” 
Mr. Hornaday tells how he got his first goat 
as follows: 
"My goat was grazing behind the trunk of a 
fallen tree, which shielded his entire body. I 
waited, and waited; and there he stood, with his 
head down, and calmly cropped until I became 
wildly impatient. 
“It must have been five minutes, but it seemed 
like twenty-five, before that goat began to move 
forward. The annoying suspense had actually 
made me unsteady; besides which, my rifle 
was a new one, and unchristened. Later on I 
found that the sights were not right for me, and 
that my first shooting was very poor. 
"At last my goat stood forth, in full view— 
white, immaculate, high of hump, low of head, 
big and bulky. I fired for the vitals behind 
shoulder. 
“ ‘You’ve overshot!’ exclaimed Norboe, and— 
“‘Bang!’ said Mr. Phillips’ rifle. 
“Neither of us brought down our goat at the 
first fire! I fired again, holding much lower, and 
the goat reared up a foot. Mr. Phillips fired 
again, whereupon his goat fell over like a sack 
of oats, and went rolling down the hill. My 
goat turned to run, and as he did so, I sent 
two, more shots after him. Then he disappeared 
behind some rocks. Mack, John and I ran 
forward, to keep him in sight, and fire more 
shots if necessary. But no goat was to be seen. 
“ ‘Pie can’t get away!’ said Norboe, reas¬ 
suringly. 
“ ‘He’s dead!’ said I, by way of an out¬ 
rageous bluff. ‘You’ll find him down in the 
slide-rock!’ But inwardly I was torn with 
doubts. We hurried down the steep incline, and 
presently came to the top of a naked wall of 
rock. Below that was a wide expanse of slide- 
rock. 
"‘Thar he is!’ cried Norboe. ‘Away down 
yonder, out on the slide-rock, dead as a wedge.’ 
"Truly the goats we saw at home were unac¬ 
quainted with fear. They have no nerves! 
With dogs and men you can corner a goat on 
a ledge, and hold him there for an hour or two. 
He will get very angry, and grit his teeth, and 
perhaps kill several of your dogs, but he will 
not get ‘rattled,’ and he will neither fall off nor 
leap off to certain death, as any deer surely will 
do under such circumstances. There are some 
men, and also some animals, who do not be¬ 
come panic-stricken, even when they are being 
killed; and of the latter I think the mountain 
goat is one.” 
Mr. Hornaday’s first silver tip was secured 
in this way: 
“Far down, fully one hundred and fifty yards 
from where we were, there lay a silvery-gray 
animal, head up, front paws outstretched. It 
was indeed a silver-tip; but it looked awfully 
small and far away. He was out on the clean, 
light-gray stipple of slide-rock, beside the scanty 
remains of my goat. 
"I greatly desired to watch that animal for 
half an hour; but when a bear hunter finds a 
grizzly bear, the tiling for him to do is to kill 
it first, and watch it afterward. I realized that 
no amount of bear observations ever could ex¬ 
plain to John Phillips the loss of that bear. 
“As I raised my .303, the grizzly rose in a 
business-like way, and started to walk up the 
slide-rock, due south, and a little quartering 
from us. This was not half so good for me as 
when he was sitting down. Aiming to hit his 
heart and lungs, close behind his foreleg, and 
allowing a foot for his walking, I let go. 
“A second or two after the ‘whang’ the bear 
reared slightly, and sharply wheeled toward his 
right, away from us; and just then Charlie’s 
rifle roared—close beside my ear! Without 
losing an instant, the grizzly started on a mad 
gallop, down the slide-rock and down the canon, 
running squarely across our front. 
"Quickly I threw in another cartridge, and 
fired again: and ‘whang’ went Charlie, as before. 
The bear fairly flew, reaching far out with its 
front feet, its long hair rolling in great waves 
from head to tail. Even at that distance, its 
silvertipped fur proclaimed the species. 
“Bushes now hid my view, and I ran down a 
few yards, to get a fair show. At last my chance 
came. As the bear raced across an opening in 
view, I aimed three feet ahead of his nose, and 
fired my third shot. 
“Instantly the animal pitched forward on his 
head, like a stricken rabbit, and lay very still.” 
James Bay Routes. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Mr. A. T. Durston, of Syracuse, N. Y., made 
a trip to James bay this summer from Ridout 
station. It is a question whether the Ridout or 
the Wakami is the best starting point. There is 
more water in the Wakami river and more, game, 
although both routes abound with game. There 
are only eight miles between the two mentioned 
starting points. Both are on the main line of 
the Canadian Pacific Railway. Mr. Durston 
says: 
“We had fine weather and reached James bay 
successfully. The trip back is rather hard. There 
are many rapids to pole up. We saw a good deal 
of game between your place and half way down to 
James bay. None after that." 
There is no doubt that the best game section 
of Canada is between the Great Lakes and a 
point about 100 miles north of the main line of 
the Canadian Pacific Railway; getting further 
north into the Muskeg region, game is not so 
abundant. L. O. A. 
