NOV. 22, 1913. 
FOREST AND STREAM 
655 1 
with the roar of a most awe-inspiring cataract. 
Thence on, pass the second Military Station, 
about two miles from the Lower Geyser Basin, 
which we soon reach, just after a most refresh¬ 
ing shower. This basin is said, by Dr. Hayden, 
to contain six hundred and ninety-three hot 
springs, exclusive of the seventeen geysers. The 
elevation is about 7,250 feet, while the slopes 
round about, and which are, for the most part, 
covered with timber, are from four to eight hun¬ 
dred feet higher. You can get a pretty fair view 
of the Lower Geyser Basin, if you will now 
imagine yourself in the center of it, while all 
around you, behind you, before you, at the right 
of you, at the left of you, you see hundreds of 
seething, boiling, hissing, rumbling, some appa¬ 
rently groaning under their awful pressure, 
springs, overflowing their rims with hot water, 
and from each of them arising a vapor of scald¬ 
ing steam, while ever and anon, here, there, yon¬ 
der, everywhere, the active geysers shoot a stream 
of boiling water from seventy-five to one hundred 
feet into the air to spread its vapor like a cloud 
over nearly, if not quite, all the basin. You feel 
like running, but you dare not take the risk, for 
a misstep here or there might precipitate you 
into the mouth of a geyser or spring, and that 
would be your undoing. In much agitation and 
fear though you be you had better wait till the 
mist passes away that you may be able to select 
a safe route from the midst of the basin. What 
are those things upon which we are now looking? 
They are the Paint Pots, Nature’s own mixture, 
without the assistance of man. Nothing more 
nor less than a mud caldron, which is in a state 
of constant agitation. “It resembles some vast 
boiling pot of paint, or bed of mortar with 
numerous points of dbulition; and the constant 
boiling has reduced the contents to a thoroughly 
mixed mass of silicious clay.” Some of us would 
like to take just a little of this mud as a souve¬ 
nir, but the Federal Government says, “No, you 
must not touch it,” so we pass on to the Middle 
Geyser Basin, where the main attraction is the 
Excelsior Geyser, 350 feet in length by 200 in 
width at its widest part, and during eruption 
shoots upward a column of water to the height 
of 200 to 250 feet. You cannot stand in the pres¬ 
ence of this wonderful geyser without having 
brought to your mind that matchless poem of 
Longfellow’s, Excelsior. We hasten to the Up¬ 
per Geyser Basin, where we spend our first night 
in the Park, about which and else I will tell you 
in my next. 
Trouting In British Columbia 
By A. W. ENGLE 
The mountainous waste lands along the 
coast of British Columbia probably present to 
those devoted to rod and reel as many attractive 
places as this continent anywhere affords. 
For our summer outing we selected a little 
known lake lying in the midst of the most de¬ 
lightful wilderness a lover of nature could con¬ 
ceive—more than two hundred miles up the 
coast and about twenty-five miles inland, nestling 
among snow-clad mountains so abrupt and so 
high, that at evening the reflections meet in the 
center of its limpid waters. 
We had been warned that we would find 
this uninhabited lake, with its awful silence and 
almost overhanging mountains, so weird and 
lonesome that we would not stay; but upon our 
arrival there we both thought that this was the 
place we were looking for and arrangel our 
camp to enjoy it. Our only neighbors were 
two great loons, which greeted us morning and 
evening with their weird, far-reaching call. 
The first evening was spent exploring the 
lake shores and visiting a small creek which 
tumbled into the lake on the opposite shore 
about three-quarters of a mile away. We landed 
on a beautiful white rocky bar, where the ice- 
cold water rushes out upon the lake, and with 
a cast of gray-hackle and bee, we caught eight 
pretty cut-throats about ten inches in length— 
more than enough for our supper. 
The following day was consumed chiefly in 
getting out temporary home in order. We 
caught but two trout, one a three-pounder, to 
the credit of Mrs. E.’s rod. 
About daybreak the next morning I heard a 
peculiar plaintive sound near the door, and 
looking out cautiously, discovered the visitor 
to be a mother grouse with one chick. They 
showed no fear and walked off quietly up the 
hill. Game appears to be plentiful about the 
upper end of the lake, all the bars are marked 
with both deer and bear tracks, and there is 
abundance of evidence of beavers. In October, 
when the fresh snow begins to fall on the moun¬ 
tain tops, many goats appear on the lower 
slopes. At the time of our visit there they 
were feeding upon the green meadows on the 
summits at the foot of the. snow. 
Having partaken of a fine breakfast, we 
paddled away for the upper river, taking our 
lunch with us. I poled up the fast water as 
far as practicable and pulled out. We then 
“took the water” together, sometimes as much 
as three feet deep on the crossings—which held 
no terrors for my better half, for we have had 
many like experiences—and finally came to a 
pool, the beauty of which is seldom seen, long 
and deep and shaded, with a good bank on the 
opposite side, with an overhanging alder to make 
it interesting, and a broad clean bar to cast 
from. Briefly, here we rested, rigged our casts 
and took from this pool six beautiful trout, the 
smallest eighteen inches and the largest twenty- 
two inches in length, five on a gray-hackle and 
one of the largest by Mrs. E. on a March- 
brown. We quit at once, had lunch, and after 
an hour’s rest in this beauty spot, paddled out 
and down the dark quiet lake about three miles 
to our camp. We certainly could have taken 
more trout, but I was obliged to salt three of 
these, as we do not waste them, even though 
they are plentiful. A remarkable feature of our 
casting in that pool was that we hooked every 
rise and brought every one to the creel. 
Of course, we could not fish the next day— 
there being no way to send out the catch—so 
we crosed the lake to the brook and whiled away 
the bright warm day in the cool shade of the 
maples with good books and an extra good 
luncheon. 
In the evening after supper I could not 
resist making a few casts from the rocky point 
in front of the camp, with the result of hook¬ 
ing a big black cut-throat at the end of sixty 
feet of line, casting from the rock about thirty 
feet above the water. Lie made trouble in 
plenty, but I worked him around the point into 
a little bight, where Mrs. E. climbed down and 
landed him. It was then about dark and we 
made no further effort. 
Next morning, for curiosity, we tried a deep 
troll, hoping to find a ten-or twelve-pounder, 
but we were not successful. However, we land¬ 
ed two, the combined weight being one ounce 
short of six pounds. 
Reluctantly we packed up and sailed down 
the lake and thence over the trail to the foot 
of the rapids in the lower river, where the 
launch was ready to take us twenty miles out 
to the gulf, where we caught the steamer to 
civilization’s comforts and luxuries, but to no 
pleasures equal to those we had found in God’s 
wilderness. 
In Memory of A True Sportsman 
T. F. Pellett died October 20 at his home 
in Murphysboro, Ill. 
As a sportsman he was from his early boy¬ 
hood well known, in Pennsylvania, on the Lacka- 
wock, Delaware and Paupock rivers. 
He was reared on a farm and in the lumber 
trade while in Pennsylvania. His father’s home 
was headquarters for many hunters who came 
from all parts of New York, New Jersey and 
Pennsylvania to spend the season. He had often 
told his father, when it was raining and the order 
was to go to the barn and thresh out seed rye, 
that it rained too hard to work, but not too hard 
to go fishing. Then it was he was told he could 
cut brush in the fence corners. 
Since coming to Illinois he organized a gun 
club at Murphysboro, of which he was president, 
and John W. Grear, Joe Bastien and his brother, 
C. O. Pellett, were the officers of the club. To 
say he was true in sport is putting it mildly. If 
he hung up in a tie with a weak shooter he 
would always propose a divide, but if the other 
party objected, then Dode would almost invari¬ 
ably beat his opponent in the miss and out. 
He kept more dogs and guns than almost 
anyone in the state, and always paid dog tax to 
the township and city amounting to from $7 to 
$10 a year. 
Mr. Pellett served as a volunteer in the 
Civil War. He was an enthusiastic reader of 
Forest and Stream for many years. 
