Part 9

There are yet some localities where primeval conditions still continue to a great extent; of these the most noted is the country south of the Yellowstone National Park. To the providential care of the National Government, in laying out this great preserve, is due the preservation of the principal sport which now remains. Large bands of elk frequent this preserve during the greater part of the year, until the heavy snows drive them down from the higher elevations to obtain pasturage. Other game besides elk may be hunted in the country adjacent to the park, such as sheep, antelope and blacktail deer, besides smaller animals. With a pack of well trained dogs it is also possible to hunt with success cougars, bobcats, lynx and sometimes bear. Elk and deer do not, as a rule, frequent the same locality to any extent. If one desires to hunt sheep and goats a still different plan of operation must be adopted, while antelope inhabit a country where neither elk, deer, sheep, nor goats are likely to be found, except by merest accident.

The time when a sportsman could pitch his tent most anywhere and expect the wild animal life of forest and plain to come to him as they came to Adam when he first named them, has long since vanished. To hunt with success one must be thoroughly versed in woodcraft, be possessed of a good knowledge of the habits of game and the localities where they are to be found at different seasons of the year, have a quick eye to pick out a desirable head, and must be a reasonably fair judge of distance, to gauge the proper elevation of a rifle. The happy combination of these qualities make the skilled hunter; marksmanship, provided it be fair, is the least important of all his qualifications. There are a great many men who are good shots at a stationary target who are bad shots at game; there are men who are good shots at game, who are by no means experts in shooting at a mark. This statement may seem paradoxical but readily admits of explanation. The marksman has his range given him, he takes his time, and is not betrayed into sudden action. Change these conditions and he is out of his element. If his eye is not trained to judge distance in timber or on the plain, he can easily misgauge it, and shooting at a moving object he cannot take his time; the absence of any spot on the animal near the point he is aiming at is another disadvantage to the man of the target. The practiced hunter knows his distance; his keen eye readily distinguishes his quarry, although it may blend with the landscape, so that the unpracticed eye might easily overlook it; he is accustomed to take a quick sight and shoot, making proper allowances for the moving object; if a rapid advance is possible and necessary to cut off the game before it can pass a given point for which it is heading, the hunter chooses his course, as if by intuition, and often has a chance to get several more shots where another would fail of his opportunity. The skill of a hunter generally brings him within such proximity of game as to relieve him of the necessity of making an extra difficult shot. It is surprising how seldom the huntsman discharges his rifle compared to one who practices at a target. The man who is fond of target practice will probably use up as many rounds of ammunition in one afternoon shooting at a mark as the average huntsman will consume in an entire year.

A sportsman who is a fair shot, and who goes to a locality where game is fairly plentiful, has every reason in the world to expect success, provided he is accompanied by a real hunter, such an one as I have above described. It is very important to employ a competent guide if one expects a successful hunt. When I speak of a competent guide I mean a man who is a good hunter and also capable of managing a hunting outfit.

Guides may be divided into three classes:

(1) Ordinary frauds who are watching an opportunity to “work” some “dude,” by which name sportsmen are sometimes designated in the slang of the country.

(2) Backwoodsmen who are good hunters and tireless and will supply a sportsman with the best they know how to provide, but being ignorant of the ordinary comforts of civilized life, treat their sportsmen with the same cruel neglect to which they have accustomed themselves.

(3) The man who makes a regular business of acting as a guide, who is a good hunter and who also knows how to provide a first-class outfit.

Game has greatly decreased before the advance of civilization and the wanton slaughter which took no thought of the future; the wild life which survives owes its preservation to the almost inaccessible character of the country in which it has taken refuge, and to its own cunning, which of necessity has become very acute.

To know the habitat of game and outwit its wariness requires the skill of the practiced hunter.

We have heard a great deal about roughing it. That phrase as formerly understood must be greatly qualified if the modern sportsman patronizes an up-to-date outfit.

Going to a wild and rather inaccessible country has about it a certain charm of novelty, and part of that charm grows out of the idea of roughing it. Some people have a tendency to greatly exaggerate the ordeals through which they pass in order that they may enhance the interest of their experience. This goes with the weakness for overstating the distance and increasing the apparent difficulty of the shots which they make in securing their trophies, in which error they are too frequently sustained by the somewhat elastic conscience of the guide. This is an age of progress, and that phrase applies to methods of enjoying sport quite as well as it does to anything else. Having good sport with comfort in camp life is simply a question of dollars and cents. The average person does not understand the present conditions of sporting life in a wild country.

It must be borne in mind that in traveling in rough sections of the West, where big game still abounds, although in much smaller numbers than formerly, everything has to be carried on pack horses. What you are to take is limited simply by the supply of pack horses you are to engage. In an up-to-date outfit the open camp-fire, such a picturesque feature in an illustration, has been supplanted by a plain sheet-iron stove which is placed in the tent, with a few feet of pipe attached to carry off the smoke. If one wants the open fire it of course can be easily supplied, and at first a good many sportsmen desire it on account of the romance and novelty of the experience, but the same pampered tastes, which have forced man from a savage life to adopt the comforts which civilization supplies, will invariably lead to the open camp-fire being abandoned for the commonplace sheet-iron stove--very unromantic but thoroughly practical and useful. The open camp-fire, with the smoke blowing in your eyes from every direction, which gives the sensation of being scorched on one side and frozen on the other, does not appeal to the modern sportsman who disassociates sport from martyrdom.

Folding tables and chairs can be “packed” quite easily, and it is much pleasanter to sit in a chair and eat off of a table than to sit on a log trying to make a table of your knees, and occasionally converting your lap into a plate for your spilled victuals. A portable rubber bathtub, if one objects to jumping into cold water, satisfies the desire for cleanliness. With a fire in the stove one can take a bath as easily and comfortably in camp as at home. For thorough cleansing it is best for one to take a bath in a tent in warm water, but I strongly recommend to those who can stand it a plunge in cold water or being soused with a bucket or two every morning before dressing for the day. This stimulates the body and gets the system in fine condition.

For those who find it uncomfortable to sleep on the hard surface of the ground I would recommend a pneumatic mattress. An ample supply of canned stuff insures against the chance of bad cooking, because it requires little or no skill to prepare canned provisions, if the other food in camp is not particularly appetizing.

This article is not intended for the experienced hunter who has had plenty of experience of Western hunting; nor is it intended for the man who has his heart set upon roughing it in the sense that he desires to see how much he can go through and survive. A great deal of the advice given to people has been in the opposite direction, namely, to cut out as much as possible from their hunting outfit. I claim that the average person who desires sport with as little hardship as possible, except what is unavoidable, should be very careful about reducing his outfit too much. Most sportsmen are accustomed to the ordinary comforts and conveniences of life. It is perfect folly for such people to attempt in a short time to harden themselves to the frontier life so they may endure its hardships with the same indifference as the hunter or trapper who lives that way all the time. I have run across sportsmen who have had their hunting trips spoiled by attempting to rough it too much. If you are accustomed to living well and in comfort, it would be wise to recognize the fact that you are a “tenderfoot” and act accordingly. For the average sportsman the object of a hunting trip in the West is to obtain diversion and acquire health. All the roughing it one requires is the vigorous exercise, the fresh air, with an occasional dip in ice cold water, which is conducive to health; the rest of the hardship it is well to leave out as far as possible.

My experience has led me to add to a hunting outfit, the oftener I go out, rather than depleting it. The first time I really saw an up-to-date outfit was in 1902, when I engaged as my guide Edward Sheffield, of Idaho. I joked him about all the things he was taking along and called him a “tenderfoot.” He replied that “he had had all the roughing it he wanted in his time, and those who really knew what it was generally preferred a camp as comfortable as possible.” I experienced during that trip and a subsequent one I took next fall such comfort, combined with good sport, as I never had before.

I would advise taking an emergency medical case supplied with all the ordinary remedies. I have known the time when such a thing has proved extremely useful, and I have also known of sportsmen who have had their outing ruined through lack of some simple remedy.

AN ELK HUNT IN WYOMING

When I wrote to my old guide Edward Sheffield, I was somewhat apprehensive about the outlook for sport, because I had heard that the best part of the Jackson Hole Country had been included in the reserve set apart by the State of Wyoming, where sport with big game had been entirely interdicted.

I was advised, however, that this was not the fact, and pinning my faith to the good judgment of the guide, I made arrangements for a fall hunt. Before reaching the terminal of the railroad journey I chanced to meet some sportsmen who discussed the sport and commented on the conditions existing in Jackson’s Hole. The criticisms were by no means favorable, and various instances were cited of parties who had been disappointed in their expectations. My subsequent experience only served to convince me how dependent a sportsman has become upon the services of a good guide.

The trip from St. Anthony to Jackson was without incident worth relating, except at the start. The pack horses, which, during their stay in town, had fared handsomely on oats and hay and been well sheltered, did not look forward to a trip back into the bleak and sterile mountains with the same pleasure that I did; their refractory souls yearned for the comfortable quarters they were just leaving with the same tenacity that the children of Israel in the wilderness “longed for the fleshpots of Egypt,” but here the comparison ends, for they had not a guide who was meek and gentle like Moses.

About a mile from St. Anthony the whole bunch turned off on a side road and went back to their former quarters. After some delay they were finally got in line again, and with the aid of a couple of Mormons, who, for a consideration, agreed to help them for several miles, we got the pack train properly started, and after that had no further trouble with them.

The journey was a fairly long one, but it became more interesting as we drew away from civilization and got closer to the place where we intended to make permanent camp. After the first day we passed the wide monotonous stretch of sage brush flats which lies between St. Anthony and Victor; after that the landscape grew more mountainous and wooded. The country became very picturesque as we proceeded; every mountain presented a view which was a panorama; every opening in the timber seemed a natural frame for an entrancing picture; the atmosphere so clear and bracing gave fine definition to objects in view; the winding river rushed fretting and foaming between the rocks in the valley below; large clumps of spruces clustered upon the mountain sides, and the rough crags were powdered with snow and sometimes glistening with rills which coursed down their rugged surfaces. After traveling along the Gros Ventre River for a considerable distance we at last came in view of Mt. Leidy, superbly situated between two rows of mountains on either side of a pleasant valley, at the head of which that peak stands. The ground was covered with a few inches of snow--enough to make good hunting. We made an early camp and had plenty of time to get everything arranged before it became dark. The location was ideal; plenty of timber nearby; a fine stream of clear, cold water, and good grazing for the horses. It was quite important to have a good range for the stock, because there were eleven pack horses and three riding horses--fourteen in all. To take care of these required the services of a horse wrangler. I had three men, my regular guide, Edward Sheffield; Charles Herdick, a Wyoming guide, and Marcus Imo, who cooked and turned his hand to anything else that had to be attended to.

The day being young when we arrived, I employed it in making a short hunting scout. Charles Herdick went with me, and I soon discovered how much my wind had deteriorated since I had last been out, for in the meantime I had lived a life of comparative ease. The general elevation in this section ranges from 7,000 to 10,000 feet, and it takes a few days to accustom your lungs to the rarified atmosphere. When one is not taking any vigorous exercise the climate feels exhilarating and inspires one with the belief that he is able to perform any kind of feat; a few minutes of real strenuous exercise and this delusion is destroyed. I soon discovered that Herdick was a good hand at mountain climbing, being wonderfully supple and possessed of the best pair of lungs of anyone I ever knew.

We finally caught sight of a small bunch of elk at a considerable distance. As they were moving over a crest of a hill it became necessary to travel with speed to get near enough for a shot, if by chance there should be a good head in the bunch. The elk had not seen us, but were moving and might get out of range. Completely exhausted I finally gained the summit of a hill overlooking the herd, which had halted. An old bull stood in the quaking aspens, not over sixty yards away. A glance at the head, and I saw that I had had my pains for nothing. I watched the animals for a few moments, and they seemed to me like old acquaintances, for it had been three years since I last hunted this kind of game. I do not believe they were as pleased to see me as I was to see them. They soon started to run directly from us in the direction of camp, which was quite near. My guide, Edward Sheffield, told me afterward that they came very near, and he was afraid they would run through camp. He gravely warned me against the danger of driving a large bunch of “Uncle Sam’s cattle” in that direction.

It was a pleasure after this little excitement to drop into a comfortable camp and find everything nicely arranged and a good meal provided. My quarters were supplied with every convenience that could be expected by one who travels with a pack outfit. It may, perhaps, interest those who have had no practical experience in Western hunting to know what can be furnished. We had folding chairs, a folding table, two tents, and in each a portable sheet-iron stove with a couple of lengths of pipe to take off the smoke. I had a pneumatic mattress to save my tired flesh from the hard ground, and whatever else was required which horses could pack in. When I was tired of hunting I could rest a day or so and read novels in a comfortable tent, no matter how cold the weather. This does not seem like roughing it. The frontiersman of former days would have thought such comfort with a hunting outfit impossible. Modern progress, however, has caused most of the inconveniences of camp life to disappear as if by magic. Would that its magic influence could restock the wilderness with the great herds of wild animals that have vanished.

The following day I went out with the guide to try my luck. We had not traveled more than two miles before discovering a small herd of elk. We circled around them sufficiently to size them up, but could find no heads worth picking out. Our course was then changed, and we hunted toward a high mountain north of Mt. Leidy. From this point we obtained a fine view of the surrounding country, which I carefully swept with my Seitz glasses in quest of game. Far off on a distant ridge we finally saw some elk slowly moving out of the timber into the open. Their brown shapes showed very distinctly against the snow-covered hills, but, although there was a considerable number in view, no good antlers were visible. My strong glasses proved of very great service to me. With them I could ascertain plainly what otherwise I would have had to guess at, and they saved me many a long excursion over rough country to determine the value of a set of antlers. My guide was quite as anxious as myself that I should not have any trophies unworthy of a sportsman’s ambition. The law allows one only two heads, and it is necessary to take great pains to avoid making mistakes. I made up my mind that I would go back empty-handed rather than pack out antlers which would reflect discredit upon my skill. The guide was particularly anxious that I should obtain specimens which would do no injury to his reputation. I think I must have passed unfavorable judgment upon twenty-five or thirty heads--for which the guide was mainly responsible--before I finally secured my trophies. Any number of bulls presented themselves, some of them quite easy marks, only to be snubbed and turned down. Paris, in passing judgment upon the goddesses to determine which was the most beautiful, could not have been more critical or discriminating than the guide. I doubt if the unsuccessful rivals of the bulls I finally chose as worthy specimens were seriously disappointed.

To illustrate the ease with which I could have secured my legal allowance of two bulls, to say nothing of cows, I will cite a few instances of the opportunities I had. On one occasion I was going through the timber where I heard a number of elk. The guide called my attention to a bull lying on the ground not sixty yards away, partly concealed by the spruce brush. He was facing directly toward us, his front feet folded under his body and his nose close to the ground. We stood quite still and surveyed him carefully, sizing up the head, which had twelve points, but not large nor heavy at the base. The glasses were brought into service to make a more critical examination. A couple of minutes we stood discussing him, when finally he gave a brief snort, which sounded like an expression of disgust at our impertinence, and then jumped up and loped out of sight.