’’Round Timber Line 
Part II. 
With Rifle and Pack Train in the Canadian 
Rockies —Fishing and Goat Hunting 
By R. R. HAMILTON 
EXT day. we undertook to move our pacx 
train into the va ley where I had shot the 
mule deer. To do so we had to cross Mount 
Hamilton, as Bill had named the big mountain 
which gave us such a hard climb, over which no 
other white man except Bill himself had ever gone. 
We were able to avoid the worst parts on oui re¬ 
turn by working across at a lower level below 
the bad rock places, but had I not been present 
I should never have believed it possible for 
horses to make the trip. 1 hey did, however, and 
I now believe they can go wherever I can, and 
easier’ than I can at that. Surely those horses 
must have descended from goats, as we are de¬ 
scended from monkeys. Of course we walked, but 
the pack horses apparently paid no attention to 
their loads, and climbed and zig-zagged across 
slides and up goat trails with the same noncha¬ 
lant air they displayed on a wide level trail. 
Finally we literally s id down into the valley and 
camped beside the tree where we had hung the 
head and hide of the stag. 
We found all as we had left it, and made haste 
to properly butcher the deer for future use. The 
venison of the mule deer seems to be superior 
to that of any other of his tribe. I have lived 
on and enjoyed the meat of antelope, moose, 
caribou and white-tail, but somehow, in memory, 
none seems so delicious as mule deer. At any 
rate we ate it all, quarters, saddles and neck. 
We had intended to put in one more day hunt¬ 
ing sheep on the ridges to our north, but the 
sight of a big billy goat walking leisurely across 
the face of the cliff opposite camp with no visible 
means of support greeted our eyes as we rose in 
the morning, and we passed up the unknown in 
favor of the game in sight. 
During breakfast we discussed the means of 
getting at this goat, which had lain down on a 
shelf of rock about half way up the perpendicu¬ 
lar cliff, and decided that’ if Bill went down the 
valley a little way, then climbed to the top of 
the cliff and worked back till he was above the 
goat, while Bonaparte and I climbed the talus 
to the foot of the sheer rock, they might be able 
to drive him in my direction and within range; 
in fact, we had it figured out just where he 
would appear above my position and within a 
hundred yards. 1 struggled up that 6oo feet of 
steep, loose slide and took my place beside and 
partially hidden by a big rock. Of course I was 
wringing wet from the climb, and the sun had 
not risen high enough to reach my side of the 
vailey, so I sat and shivered for what seemed 
hours. 
At length I saw the goat, but alas he had not 
followed the line of march we had laid out for 
PACKING OVER MOUNT HAMILTON. 
him; instead, while coming my way he had been 
climbing also and did not get nearer than 800 
yards. I took a couple of shots at him as he 
disappeared over the sky line, but only succeeded 
in making him jump. I hoped Bill might get a 
chance to drive him down again, but found later 
that the configuration up there was such that 
Bill never got a glimpse of him and cou.d not 
have worked over far enough in my direction 
to have turned the goat if he had seen him. I 
slid down to camp, but Bill, who had seen a 
band of ewes in the distance, spent the morning 
scouting around on the mountain in hopes of 
locating some rams. 
I was disappointed of course at not having a 
chance to add a ram's head to my collection, but 
at that time (September) the color of the sheep 
blends so exactly with that of the rocks of the 
mountain summits that finding them is almost a 
matter of pure luck. Their vision and scent are 
very keen, and the chances of their seeing or 
scenting the hunter before he sees them are 
about 100 to 1, while they rival the deer in the 
rapidity of their get-away. 
After the first heavy snowfall, usually about 
the end of October, the sheep leave the sum¬ 
mits and move to the benches below timber line 
for the winter. In these places they are much 
easier to hunt, as there is more cover and less 
climbing. In September, however, one may hunt 
rams indefinitely with nothing more than a view 
of their white discs disappearing over the sky 
line until the lucky day comes, and he stumbles 
on his rams at short range or in a place where 
they can be stalked. I could not wait indefinitely 
for that day, so we bade good-bye to the big- 
glacier, which we named "Edith G'acier'' and 
headed our pack train for Gunn Creek Lake and 
the goat country. 
As the valley widened out and we got down 
to timber line, the burnt tree trunks lying criss¬ 
cross like piles of jackstraws, the little jack pines 
growing up through the interstices, made travel 
most arduous. It is impossible to go straight 
ahead; one must zig-zag through the most open 
spots and frequently retrace hard-worn steps to 
get out of some cul-de-sac. Three hours of this 
1 rought us to a little lake where we expected 
to find an old trail. We did find it; in fact, we 
found it many times, but we lost it again each 
time, as it had not been used in years and was 
blocked with brush and down timber. Bear 
tracks were more than plentiful, though we 
saw none that we could identify as grizzly tracks, 
but once we got a glimpse of four black bears 
hiking down the valley in the distance. At length 
we reached Tyaughton Creek (called Tyaxon) 
and followed it toward Bridge River. Down we 
went, the timber getting thicker and bigger until 
we reached the river where we forded Tyaugh¬ 
ton, and camping one night at its mouth followed 
a good trail along the river to Gunn Creek. Just 
