470 
FOREST AND STREAM 
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A Lynx “So Wild, He Was Tame” 
Rare Photos Taken Under Unusual Conditions 
By J. M. Murdock. 
N these modern times, we work 
everything down to a theoretical 
basis, but when we test our 
theories practically, we are con¬ 
fronted with all sorts of un¬ 
expected experiences. 
Such was my fortune when 
on a recent spring hunting 
trip after grizzly bears up in the wilds of British 
Columbia. How we located sixteen grizzlies on 
one trip last May, and succeeded in getting four 
big specimens, will be the subject of a later story. 
I outfitted at Jasper, P. O., Alberta, Canada, 
reaching that far-removed-from-civilization point 
via the main line of the new Grand Trunk ex¬ 
tension of the western division from Winnepeg. 
Closson Otto, of Otto Brothers, guides and out¬ 
fitters, was my guide, and George Hargrave was 
our cook. A more capable team never went into 
the mountains. The country is new to explorers, 
beautiful, full of big game—anyone going there is 
sure of a successful trip. 
I have hunted about all the big game to be 
found on our continent. I have read much of 
the natural history of American big game. I 
have read with much interest the stories printed 
in Forest and Stream which treat of big game. 
I have always supposed that all big game is 
afraid of the man smell. That if any wild ani¬ 
mal gets the scent of man, he will get away quick¬ 
ly. Our experiences prove that there are excep¬ 
tions to the theory. 
We had been out for about two weeks and 
were camped at the end of a beautiful lake lo¬ 
cated about ioo miles out from the railroad. This 
lake is one of those beautiful bits of water, fed 
by the glaciers of melting snow that covered the 
mountains’ sides, that extended from their peaks 
down to the water’s edge. The lake is about 
eight miles long and one and one-half miles wide. 
Water is clear as crystal. We could see the 
bottom at depths up to about thirty feet. 
At this camp we had been successful in secur¬ 
ing three of our four grizzlies. One afternoon 
we decided to move our camp to the other end 
of the lake. With a deal of hard work, we had 
brought a canoe ninety miles up the river. It 
had to be lined and poled all the way on account 
of the swift current and we had to make sev¬ 
eral portages. Ours was the first canoe ever 
floated on the waters of the lake. 
After loading up our canoe with the outfit of 
a sixteen-foot tepee tent, full camp equipment 
and twelve days’ provisions—this with the three 
bear skins and hides and the added weight of 
three men—we had little free board. We were 
down to within about four inches of the sides 
of the canoe. Take a sixteen-foot canoe loaded 
in this manner on a lake as big as this one, then 
stir up the water with a twenty-mile blow—if you 
don’t know anything about canoes, you will learn. 
If you want to get a good scare, you will have 
your wish gratified. If you don’t, you will get 
it, anyway. 
We got ours, and after shipping considerable 
water in making a forced crossing of the lower 
end of the lake, we were glad to hug the shores 
the remainder of the trip. Both Closson and 
George were expert canoe men; otherwise we 
would have had a bad spill that in ice water is 
not desirable—with the depth apparently infinite. 
We had reached a point about half,way up the 
lake when we saw an animal walking along the 
rocks on the shore. Closson said, “There’s a 
coyote ” A few minutes later, “No, it’s a lynx.” 
He was about ioo yards away when we first saw 
him. We continued paddling. When about 
sixty yards away, he turned and saw us. He 
stopped. We kept paddling slowly for we ex¬ 
pected him to make one jump and disappear 
within the bushes, but he didn’t. He stood still 
until we came up alongside of him and not more 
than ten feet from where he stood. We had 
fresh meat in the canoe to add to our attraction. 
He looked at one end of the canoe—then at the 
other. His short bob-tail switched. He 
twitched his lips. His eyes snapped. He wore 
all the while an expression of curiosity. Present¬ 
ly he sat down on his haunches, still watching us. 
We kept up a continuous conversation in an ordi¬ 
nary low tone of voice. A few of the numerous 
pictures I snapped are here reproduced. 
After about five minutes, he got up, turned and 
walked to the edge of the timber. Just before 
going into the bushes, he stopped again, delib¬ 
erately turned his head and took a parting look, 
then walked out of sight. He showed no more con¬ 
cern than that of curiosity regarding this new thing 
that had come into his exclusively animal life. 
Both Closson and George, who have always 
lived in the mountains, said they had never be¬ 
fore gotten so close to a wild animal. The in¬ 
cident was one discussed later in our camps. All 
theories had been broken. He smelled us. He 
saw us. He heard us. He could have landed 
in the middle of our canoe, on top of our fresh 
meat, with one short jump, and yet he made no 
movement to molest us. We decided “he was 
so wild he was tame.” 
Big game hunting is both interesting and ex¬ 
citing. Camp life has a lure that leads us all 
on, and on, and on. It is such little unexpected 
incidents as this one that are the real treasures 
of the hunt. I felt this glimpse alone of wild 
animal life would have been compensation enough 
for the entire trip. 
We were out thirty days and had a most suc¬ 
cessful trip, bagging three grizzlies and one silver 
tip. One of the grizzlies was known as “Old 
Tramp,” said to be one of the biggest ever found 
in that locality. He had a history not unlike the 
story of M 01 d Wahb,” written by that most in¬ 
teresting writer, Ernest Seton Thompson. He, 
too, “busted” all theories of the man smell “sky 
high.” 
A TRIBUTE TO THEODORE GORDON 
Riverside Drive, New York, June 23, 1915. 
Editor Forest and Stream : 
Allow me to add my poor tribute to what you 
said about Theodore Gordon in the June number 
of Forest and Stream. 
About twenty years ago I met Mr. Gordon for 
the first time on the Beaverkill, in Sullivan 
county, New York. We were stopping at the 
same boarding house and we had many conver¬ 
sations on trout fishing, flies, etc. 
He impressed me as being a man of rare re¬ 
finement and a charming personality. 
The trout flies he tied were works of art. I 
was about to make a fishing trip to Canada and 
Maine and, hearing of it, he presented me with 
a few flies with the request to try them on the 
Maine waters. They were “killing” flies, but 
too precious for fishing. I treasure them in a 
little box, keepsakes to the end. 
To one whom fate has consigned to a city life 
of toil and worry, the mode of life followed by 
Mr. Gordon, even though forced to it by poor 
health, seems to be the ideal lite. 
What beautiful mental pictures of forest and 
stream, and recollections of glorious days spent 
out-of-doors Theodore Gordon has taken with 
him into his immortality! James M. Stewart. 
