584 
FOREST AND STREAM 
October, 1918 
THE GREAT MULE DEER OF MODOC COUNTY 
FEW PLACES ON THE PACIFIC COAST PROVIDE AS GOOD SPORT IN HUNTING 
THIS SPLENDID ANIMAL OR AS ACCESSIBLE AS THIS SECTION OF CALIFORNIA 
T O a person desiring varied and satis¬ 
fying hunting and fishing, there are 
few places left on the Pacific Coast 
as fertile in sport and as accessible as 
Modoc County, California. In winter and 
in early spring it cannot be reached save 
by means of a narrow-gauge railroad 
going in by way of Reno, Nevada, but 
during the summer and fall months the 
mountain roads offer easy and delightful 
travelling to the automobilist. 
1 was one of a party of three who en¬ 
joyed a week’s sojourn in this veritable 
fish and game preserve, and I do not feel 
that I would be doing my full duty if I 
did not tell my fellow sportsmen some¬ 
thing of the scenery, fishing and hunting. 
We left San Jose one August Sunday 
morning in Dr. A’s car; just we three, 
with our guns, ammunition and fishing 
paraphernalia—no camp outfit, no bed¬ 
ding, no food. The road from San Jose 
to Redding in Shasta County is paved 
highway almost all the way, and we 
reached the latter city about four o’clock 
in the afternoon. Next morning at day¬ 
light we started on country roads for 
Alturas, the lively and flourishing county 
seat of Modoc County. 
The managers of the hotel at which we 
put up are two newcomers, enthusiastic 
fishermen and hunters. They gave us 
detailed information of the country, and 
placed us in charge of a guide, whose 
only determinable name is “Scrapsaw.” 
Scrapsaw is not much for name or looks, 
but he is a famous cook, a certain hunt¬ 
er, and he charged us nothing at all. 
The next day, under our guide’s direc- 
The author and his “eight-point” buck 
By SAMUEL A. HORNER 
tions, we rented a tent and other camp 
outfit, bought supplies, and proceeded to 
Blue Lake, some thirty miles distant. 
Of the trip there is not much to tell—it 
was accomplished in less than three 
hours, and all by machine. 
Of Blue Lake there is everything to 
say, and if anything has been left unsaid, 
an injustice has been done. I have been 
through Yosemite and through the Yel¬ 
lowstone, but never have I beheld a spot 
of Nature so alluring as this lake. It is 
about three-quarters of a mile long and 
about a half-mile wide. It reaches a 
depth of ninety feet in places. It is fed 
by a full lusty mountain stream, and is 
surrounded by hills, densely timbered in 
pine, fir, quaken-ash and mahogany. At 
every point the solid ranks of trees, hun¬ 
dreds of feet in height, are reflected from 
the very water’s edge in the perfect mir¬ 
ror of the lake’s surface. 
We arrived at the lake shore about 
noon. Followed a hasty lunch of ham 
omelet and coffee, and the tent was 
pitched, fir boughs cut, and everything 
made ready for night. Then Hank (my 
hitherto unnamed companion) and myself 
stepped into a boat which some forest 
ranger has thoughtfully provided for the 
lake, and floated out upon its blue waters 
for a try at trout, while Scrapsaw and 
Dr. A. went hunting. 
Fishing on Blue Lake is most success¬ 
fully done by spoon trolling. Half of the 
time I trolled while Hank rowed, and 
half of the time he operated the rod and 
I the oars. In some two hours we were 
tired, and our boat was full of trout—• 
great and game rainbow and Dolly Var¬ 
dan. The largest of our catch was landed 
by Hank, and weighed a trifle over five 
pounds—actual weight by scales. 
We landed and lolled in luxury in the 
deep shade, upon a mattress builded by 
the constant dropping of needles from 
the stately pines, through years and years. 
We started a fire, and then came 
Scrapsaw with two sage hens and a 
grouse, each with its head shot clean off 
by the rifle of our guide. As the birds 
and fish were frying, as the camp biscuit 
browned, and the aroma of coffee min¬ 
gled with the pungent odor of fir in the 
swiftly falling darkness, there came Dr. 
A., tired, hungry and excited. 
The one hundred and sixty miles to 
Alturas was made that day over a road 
of striking and varied scenic attractions. 
Winding along the banks of Mill Creek 
(which dashes in full-throated cataracts 
and falls through a steep and rocky chan¬ 
nel), now down to the very water’s edge, 
and now skirting a bluff, hanging a sheer 
thousand feet above the foamy torrent. 
Then the trip over Burney mountain— 
a climb and a drop for ten miles, through 
a solid forest of stately pine, fir, and 
tamarack. Past the majestic Pitt River 
Falls, where the mighty Pitt drops over 
a forty foot bluff, with a roar and gran¬ 
deur of tumbling waters and falling spray 
that takes one’s breath away. 
Through Big Valley—an immense basin 
of rich, level lands of thousands of acres. 
Through beautiful Round Valley, and the 
picturesque Hot Springs Valley—the 
home of the Hot Springs Indian—and 
then, at evening, to the town of Alturas. 
W E were surprised at finding so live¬ 
ly a town in the midst of a coun¬ 
try so undeveloped. There was 
a healthy businesslike activity upon the 
streets. The Nevada, California, and 
Oregon Railroad has moved its general 
offices here, into impressive and substan¬ 
tial buildings of stone. 
Immediately we dished up the evening 
meal. Permit we to digress one moment: 
If you have never tasted a half-grown 
sage hen, fried over a camp fire in a pine 
forest, and served with camp biscuit, you 
have never honest-to-goodness eaten. 
Over this supper Dr. A. told of a 
mighty buck seen, shot at and missed. 
For this is the real home of the great 
Mule Deer—the largest deer of the West. 
Our guide told us that deer weighing five 
hundred pounds as they fall, are not un¬ 
common in this section. 
N EXT morning when day broke we 
were already up, and had eaten 
' more fried trout, hot cakes and 
coffee, and started to climb the hills; 
Scrapsaw and I one way, and the Doc 
and Hank another. The guide and myself 
walked for perhaps a mile through a path 
in the woods, and just at sunrise reached 
(continued on page 6i6 ) 
The deer looked as big as a horse 
