Forest and Stream 
[L December 12, 1914 
Sheep and Goat In British Columbia 
You Who Want to Know About British Columbia Sports Must Study This 
On the banks of the Fraser river in British 
Columbia, nestling among snow-capped moun¬ 
tains, lies the little old mining town, Lillooet, 
having come into existence many years ago 
through the gold excitement on the Fraser and 
Bridge rivers. As the mines were rapidly play¬ 
ing out, and the town settling down to an every 
day existence, the advent of construction gangs 
on the new Canadian Northern Pacific Railroad 
rudely awakened it from its slumbers. The loca¬ 
tion of Lillooet makes it one of the best points 
from which to outfit for a hunt in the moun¬ 
tains after the Big Horn Sheep (Ovis Montana) 
while Rocky Mountain Goat and Mule Deer are 
plentiful everywhere. 
At high noon on September 30, 1913, automo¬ 
bile No. 1667 drew up in front of the Hotel Ex¬ 
celsior, the palatial hostelry of Lillooet, and 
from its depths came forth the Triumvirate, 
Uebe, Pop and myself, once again about to hit 
the trail, this time trying our luck on Big Horn 
Sheep and Rocky Mountain Goat. 
The first stage of our trip had been success¬ 
fully reached only after overcoming great ob¬ 
stacles, starting back in the dull winter months, 
with numerous conferences, at which were dis¬ 
cussed guides, time tables, etc., etc. Finally 
with the aid of our friends, we decided upon W. 
G. Manson, of Lillooet, for our guide to be. 
Our ride through the Canadian Rockies over the 
C. P. R. was sufficiently awe-inspiring to come 
up to the railroad circulars, and after reaching 
Lytton we secured the automobile, driving up 
the Fraser Valley over a splendid Government 
road, which is cut from the side of the moun¬ 
tain and in many places overhangs space with 
the Fraser’s murky waters grumbling and roar¬ 
ing a thousand feet below. 
As we piled out of the automobile, which by 
that time was surrounded by drunken construc¬ 
tion men, and gave the town a thorough look¬ 
ing over, we saw that it consisted of a main 
street, with a saloon on either side, numerous 
one-story wooden structures, several huskies 
basking in the middle of the street, and quanti¬ 
ties of drunks everywhere. 
Owing to over zealousness on our part, we 
had arrived at Lillooet a few days before our 
arranged date, so after having secured accommo¬ 
dations at the hotel, we were introduced to Joe 
Russell, the game warden, who immediately pro¬ 
ceeded to separate us from our money, at the 
rate of $100 per head in payment of our licenses; 
we then looked up Manson, only to find that he 
was still in the mountains with another party, 
but expected home at any time, so we settled 
By W. N. Beach. 
down to see Lillooet and the surrounding coun¬ 
try. 
During our stay, lasting three days, we met 
most of the celebrities of the town, in particular 
George Scott, an Englishman, of distinguished 
family, who prefers the life of a “fire ranger in 
the wilds’’ to one of ease in his ancestral halls 
in England. He rode in toward dusk one even¬ 
ing and proceeded to entertain us to the best 
of his ability, and he succeeded. 
We were told that few men in the Northwest 
could handle a Colt automatic the way George 
could, but as he had a weakness for shooting 
out the lights in the hotel, the sheriff insisted 
that all irons be deposited with him during 
George’s stay in town, so unfortunately we are 
not able to corroborate these statements. 
I am sure if the life story of this “soldier 
of fortune’’ could only be written, it would make 
one of the very best sellers. 
We went up to Seton Lake, and saw the 
salmon hatchery, which was in full swing, as 
the run was on. The banks of Cayuse Creek, 
the outlet of Seton Lake, which runs into the 
Fraser, were literally covered with dead salmon, 
while the stream itself was packed with salmon 
endeavoring to get up stream to spawn. 
At the lake the Indians were gathering the 
dead salmon, and drying them for their winter’s 
delicacy. Their supreme dish is the roe taken 
from a salmon that has died in spawning, and 
carefully cached, until spring, when it is dug 
up and eaten. 
Manson appeared the day after we arrived, 
and immediately started getting things in shape 
for our trip. 
On the morning of October 3 we got packed 
up with much difficulty, owing to the fact that 
our Indians, of whom we had three full bloods, 
who hardly spoke English, being very much under 
the weather from “Square Face.” 
Our party consisted of Bill Manson, the head 
guide, who has hunted and guided since a boy, 
and will go after a ram or grizzly until he 
drops; Jim Long, an old time Indian trapper 
and hunter, who was as deaf as a post, and 
for all he ever said, might have been dumb; 
David Tom, a young buck, always willing to 
hunt, and who could also appreciate a joke, but 
couldn’t understand why we wanted boughs as 
a bed as he never used them; and then good old 
Creekwah, the head of our culinary department 
who being particularly partial to the taste of 
sheep successfully made everything we ate for 
weeks taste of delightfully strong mutton. This 
he accomplished by using the same mutton fat 
to fry with again and again. 
Even as I write, the odor of it comes to me, 
while the taste didn’t leave me for weeks. 
With eleven pack horses for lightening our 
