530 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Grizzlies on the Snow After They Had Been Rolled Down the Slide. 
fell back on the same song—that in which the 
refrain runs “any little girl that’s a nice little 
girl is the right little girl for me.” It seems 
strange that a fellow who can sing as he can 
doesn’t have one of his own. These two fellows 
put up the best team work I have ever seen on 
a trip. 
We took the wagon and brought my baggage 
up to the bunk house. I proceeded to change into 
camp toggery and pack up preparatory for the 
hunt. I had bought a real nice bright “six 
shooter,” which I had figured would come in 
handy in case of getting into too close quarters 
with a grizzly. 
Closson hurt my feelings some when, in answer 
to my inquiry, “what do you think of that?” he 
said, “I think it’s a good think to leave at home.” 
We had a jolly good time the whole afternoon 
packing up and sorting the things we thought 
we needed. I left a lot of my stuff in the bunk 
house and I later on left more at about every 
place we camped, which shows how easy it is to 
drag along a lot of stuff that is of no earthly use. 
The next morning, we packed up. Closson 
said we would travel light, so although we car¬ 
ried our full camp equipment and provisions for 
thirty days or more, we took only four-pack 
horses and three saddle horses. It was arranged 
that Closson’s brother Jack should bring the 
canoe up the river part way to meet us, so we 
took his saddle horse along. We packed him 
up with supplies that we cached at our night 
camps three and five days out, for use on our 
return trip. We had a fine lot of horses and 
be t saddles I have ever ridden. The horses had 
just come in from the winter range and were 
feeling good. Some of them resented the pros¬ 
pects of thirty days on the trail, carrying a 
“tenderfoot’s” outfit and accordingly tried to kick 
it off. 
Two h^urs saw us strung out on the trail, 
Closson leading off, I rode next, the pack horses 
followed. George brought up the rear, singing 
“Farewell Ladies.” Less than a half hour’s ride 
took us out of sight of the settlement, and for 
the next thirty days we were in the mountains. 
We did not see another human being, a ranch 
house or any evidences of civilization. We lived 
with Nature in its wildest state. 
You can now talk over the telephone from one 
ocean to the other, but you can’t talk in that 
short one hundred mile stretch we covered. 
Three hours out, we forded the Athabaska River. 
After that, we followed it for days. At the 
start, the valley was three or four miles wide. 
Later it narrowed down to a couple of miles, 
then to the river banks, and at times, the moun¬ 
tains came so close together that the water had 
to force its way through in gorges. Government 
maps covering that section show about a dozen 
mountain peaks. In reality, there are hundreds 
of them. Few of them have as yet been named. 
None have yet been climbed. All are snow cov¬ 
ered throughout the year. 
What an ideal country for an Alpine Club! 
We read about the wonderful feat of climbing 
the Matterhorn. Why, there are peaks without 
number that never will be climbed. They rear 
their white summits five thousand to nine 
thousand feet above the river. Some of them 
start right from the river’s edge. Their steep 
sides slope almost straight to the top. Many 
form perpendicular walls the last two thousand 
feet. Wlild? It’s the wildest country I have 
ever seen. 
We stopped the first day early, turned our 
horses out, and walked over a low ridge to 
Buffalo Prairie where we fished, and brought in 
some nice rainbow trout for supper and break¬ 
fast. We fished again at this brook thirty days 
later on our way in and got thirty-eight nice 
trout which we took home for Mrs. Closson to 
cook for us 
We saw bear signs every day—many of them. 
We missed one little incident on our trip that, 
had we been able to pull it off, would have been 
at least interesting. Porcupines were plentiful. 
They were very large, weighing probably as 
much as twenty-five pounds. I made a wager of 
a hat with Closson that he couldn’t hog-tie and 
let loose again a porcupine, without doing it in¬ 
jury. He said he didn’t know just how he would 
do it, but in some way he would do it, and I’m 
convinced he would have succeeded, for noth¬ 
ing in the way of woods lore or wild game feats 
is impossible to him. Unfortunately we waited 
too long to get a nice bright day so that we 
could get pictures of the contest, and we got 
down out of the porcupine district without try¬ 
ing it. 
After the second day out, we saw goats every 
day, some deer and caribou, but we did not 
molest them. Each day we traveled, game signs 
became more numerous and the country more 
rough and wild. 
We carried two tents—one a small wall tent 
ten feet by twelve feet—the other a tepee, six¬ 
teen feet in diameter. This latter makes much 
for comfort on a camping trip. It’s fine to have 
a small fire built in the middle of it of a cold 
frosty morning to get up by. It’s good to have 
a “house” in which you can hang clothes be¬ 
fore a camp fire to dry out when wet. It’s good 
to lie on top of your sleeping bag on a springy 
bed of balsam boughs with a small camp fire in 
the center and watch the smoke curling up and 
out through the top. I mean what doesn’t get 
in your eyes. A tepee and a fire are to the camp 
what the big open fire place is to the home. 
Don’t go out without a tepee. 
A word here about sleeping: I carried an air 
mattress, used it a couple of times and discarded 
it for the warmer and more comfortable “bal¬ 
sam” bed. Well made, the balsam bed is best of 
all. The trouble is that so few of us are will¬ 
ing to make it right. Cut your brush from a 
fair-sized tree, not a sapling. Cut them big— 
lots of them. Lay them about ten inches thick. 
It will be soft for one night only, but when 
stirred up, the next day it’s as soft as ever. 
A Fiala bag is made up as follows: A sheet 
bag and pillow case made of very light soft silk, 
similar to China silk, made a clean and sanitary 
sheet. It can be pulled out and aired each morn¬ 
ing. Next the regular, soft, loose woven, thick 
but light, wool bag. Over that, a pongee silk 
bag. Over that, another regular wool bag, and, 
last, the regular canvas bag cover. I have tried 
three different well-known bags. I made three 
others after my own idea, but none of them 
ever gave the comfort this did. It weighs eleven 
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