Bighorn Hunting in British Colmbiau 
Forest and Stream in its second August 
number last year told, under the title of ‘‘Train¬ 
ing for the Trail,” how I went through a 
regular course of training for a big-game hunt. 
Friends of mine from the Atlantic to the Pa¬ 
cific read it and asked me for information about 
the actual hunt anticipated therein. This I 
promised to give in Forest and Stream, and I 
now propose to redeem the promise, making no 
compromise with the strength of pride in the 
recital. . • 
Twelve days of travel, by rail, stage and pack, 
transported me to a camp in the heart of British 
Columbia among the glaciers of the Cascade 
Mountains. An isolated ridge of scant jack- 
pine forest afforded ample fuel for fire and 
storm-break for man and beast. A few rods 
below camp was a beautiful lake at the base of 
a big mountain ridge, and fed from two glacial 
torrents. It was in the wild ram country and 
the beaten sheep trails could be traced through 
the fieldglasses across the slides up the yellow 
cliffs and over the red ledges. It was in every 
respect an ideal location for a hunter’s camp. 
I was proud of it, inasmuch as I had located 
it after a day’s ramble, and judging from signs 
or lack of signs, it was the first white man’s 
camp to be pitched on the lake. The spot was 
accessible to horses only by following a narrow 
valley, and the way was carefully guarded by 
treacherous tundra and huge boulders. 
There was hard work at hand, and it was 
with misgivings that I accepted the challenge of 
the bighorn, for the successful pursuit of which 
I had undergone such a careful course of 
training. 
My companion and guide was a pleasant, 
stockily-built Canadian, active and strong. We 
made a bee-line for the foot of the glacier, 
climbed up the ridge and began the ascent of 
the irregular boulder field. We were carefully 
negotiating the first section of steep rock, when 
without a moment’s warning there appeared on 
the bench above an old ram with horns. My 
first impulse was to enjoy, undisturbed, a picture 
of rare beauty. Then hastily following up an 
admonition from the guide, I proceeded to de¬ 
stroy the picture, and the sheep disappeared 
over the ridge. 
Pursuing the general direction of the ram, we 
came to a drift of snow on the lee side of a 
draw, which the fugitive had crossed, and 
found blood by the track. I climbed higher and 
higher, keeping a sharp lookout ahead for an¬ 
other opportunity. Snow was in large patches 
and closer together, and consequently a longer 
stretch of tracks. Between drifts the crimson 
splashes on the rocks were searched out with 
difficulty. After traversing numerous draws and 
climbing as many benches, we at last reached 
the base of the rim at the head of the last draw, 
but we were unable to see the ram. At intervals 
he had stood looking back on the trail, prob¬ 
ably seeing us each time and resuming his 
flight. 
The sun was low and camp distant, but we 
made the last ascent after a hard pump and 
pulled up on the edge of the rim between two 
peaks, and looked down on a broad glacier field. 
On to this the ram had descended and, following, 
we picked up his fresh trail, headed for the top 
of the glacier on the north side of a pass 
loftier than the one we had just crossed. The 
blood spots were scarce, the going was better. 
The sun's warmth had softened the surface of 
the frozen snow and by carefully planting my 
heels I made good progress. The grade was 
considerable, and where the icy surface was 
glassy, the use of the gun as an alpenstock was 
necessary to prevent a hard fall. 
When we reached the last and highest pass 
the sun was just setting behind the Coast Range. 
Here was a picture, unpainted, unsung, untold, 
one a white man had rarely beheld, in the midst 
of a vast wilderness, occasionally visited by 
gold-hunters, Indian meat-hunters and white 
head-hunters. Notwithstanding hunger, cold, 
aching feet, pumped-out wind, sore muscles and 
heart heavy over bad shooting, I momentarily 
forgot them in contemplation of the varied 
mountain beauty. 
As day closed the picture faded. The guide 
asked if we should endeavor to reach camp that 
night or continue the pursuit and camp out 
without food or shelter and perhaps fast for 
twenty-four or thirty-six hours. The ram had 
certainly gone straight down the further side 
of the mountain, endeavoring to get clear out 
of the country. I decided that we should en¬ 
deavor to reach camp that night and resume the 
chase on the morrow. Dismounting the rocks 
from the lofty pass, we crossed the glacier and 
reached the base of the next ascent. Twilight 
added danger to the climb. Footing for each 
step had to be selected with great care. Dis¬ 
abled and a night’s camp without fire or food 
on a wind-swept ledge overhanging glacier fields 
was not a pleasant prospect, hence picking one’s 
way with care was doubly necessary. 
We made fast time and reached the little 
jack-pine forest, in the midst of which was our 
camp. Dan, the Lillooet Indian, had a fine 
supper ready and we did ample justice to it. 
The second day we started after the crippled 
ram. On the direct line was a rugged yellow 
peak, the loftiest on the headwaters of Big 
Creek, the base of which nearly reached the little 
jack-pine forest. We carefully worked our way 
along the face of the eastern side, endeavoring 
to find a short way to the high pass, where we 
had abandoned the trail the night before. Con¬ 
siderable time was lost in retreating from 
dangerous or inaccessible points, but by dint of 
constant and persevering effort we half circled 
the big dome and clambered upon the ledge 
which joins it with its neighbor peak to the 
south. This was an irregular, ragged ledge of 
red shell rock along the line of which was worn 
the trail of bighorn, which way the eye could 
trace for a long distance. The ledge looked 
very dangerous, but we followed it perhaps half 
a mile to a point that seemed absolutely im¬ 
passable to man or beast. Reluctantly we be¬ 
gan the descent, which we wished to obviate. 
Great care was necessary to prevent dislodg¬ 
ing large boulders which might roll on us, and 
progress was slow. 
One great yawning chasm was especially 
fascinating. Deep down, so far that the vision 
did not reach it, was a torrent emitting a roar. 
Further on we heard the smothered roar but 
could see no break in the congealed surface. 
Not being able to locate the danger, we made 
ourselves as light as possible and tiptoed out of 
the locality. 
The only object to be seen to break the 
monotony of the ice field was a pair of big 
horns and a few sheep bones scattered about. 
We reached the pass where we had halted the 
night before and descended by a long, devious 
and arduous way to a small glacial lake which 
lay about half way down the draw, keeping a 
careful lookout in the vague hope of finding 
the ram. We were not vigilant enough, how¬ 
ever, to locate a bunch of five rams before they 
had gotten away about 500 yards, when they 
halted and looked back. I have since realized 
that I had a fine shot for a telescope rifle in 
trained hands. Good long shots are the rule 
when hunting rams, and they are nearly always 
to be found among the rocks where there is 
nothing to obstruct the view. The fact that 
they feed at night in the valleys and grassy 
draws and spend the days among the rocks 
makes them very difficult to approach. 
We had another long, hard trip back to camp. 
We had seen deer signs about the camp, and 
needing meat, kept a sharp lookout on ap¬ 
proaching the jack pines. We jumped a young 
doe which I killed. Williams gralloched her 
and packed her into camp. It proved to be un¬ 
usually fat and juicy venison. 
The third day’s quest for the wounded ram 
started with breaking camp, which was accom¬ 
plished as soon as Williams and the Indian 
could get the horses packed and under way. 
We headed up the west fork of Big Creek, in¬ 
tending to approach the sheep range from the 
north, and camped in a broad valley in the last 
clump of jack-pines on the timberline. Misty 
clouds which overhung the high mountains 
soon began to spit snow. An aged Indian 
astride a well-kept bay mare and accompanied 
by a black shepherd dog came into camp. On 
the cantle of his saddle were a bundle of steel 
traps and a handy steel rod used in trapping 
the whistling groundhogs. On his back was 
strapped a .44 rifle. Fie wore a tattered Prince 
Albert coat and a greasy cowboy hat, with a red 
band holding an eagle feather and a frazzled 
nose string to hold the headgear in place. He 
proved to be the chief or tihee of a rancherce 
of Chjlcoten Indians. He talked incessantly 
and tried to be agreeable. Our Indian cook 
had heard of him arid said he was an influ¬ 
ential and highly respected chief. I gave him a 
pocket mirror which seemed to please him and 
purchased of him a pair of moccasins. He said 
that a storm was brewing, and that rams at 
