IN THE FOREST

"DICK"

TOTEM POLES, ALERT BAY[To face page 80.

The morning of the 28th was spent in sorting out the kit we could take with us, which, as packing was our only means of transport, had to be cut down to nothing. Mine consisted of two flannel shirts, one change of underclothing, two pairs of socks, one sweater, one spare pair of boots, a few handkerchiefs, sponge, soap and towel. One Hudson Bay blanket, for it was not yet cold in the woods, and one waterproof ground sheet in which the pack was made up, completed my outfit. The men had a single fly to sleep under. My tent, which Mr. Williams had kindly ordered for me in Vancouver, was of the lean-to pattern, made with a flap which let down in front in bad weather, completely closing the tent. Being made of so-called silk, it weighed only five pounds. It measured 7 feet × 6 feet, was about 7 feet high in front and sloped back to about 2 feet high behind. It was most comfortable so long as one slept on the ground, but was not high enough behind to take even a small camp bedstead. It was quite waterproof, but should a spark from the fire fall on it, a hole was burnt rapidly. I understand that the following renders the silk almost fire-proof—

Dissolve half-a-pound of powdered alum in a bucket of soft boiling water. In another bucket half-a-pound sugar of lead; when dissolved and clear, pour first the alum solution, then the sugar of lead, into another vessel; after several hours pour off the water, letting any thick sediment remain, and soak the tent, kneading it well: wring out and hang up to dry.

Camp furniture I had none. A tin plate, knife, fork and spoon for each man; a nest of cooking pots which Thomson provided, a small tin basin in which we washed and which also served to mix our bread, and lastly the invaluable portable tin baker which will roast or bake anything. It was strange that the Hudson Bay Stores at Vancouver could not provide light cooking utensils suitable for packing. They had excellent blankets, waterproof sheets and the larger articles of camp equipment, but light cooking utensils there were none. Mr. Williams took infinite trouble to get a nest of cooking pots made for me, but on their arrival at Campbell River they were found impossible owing to their weight, so I made them a present to Smith.

We fitted out as regards provisions at Mr. Chambers' Store: the usual articles of food—bacon, pork, beans, tea, sugar, flour, bakingpowder, oatmeal, dried apples and peaches, a couple of tins of meat, a couple of tins of jam—one of which only sufficed for a meal—some butter as a great treat, and a few potatoes and onions on which I insisted.

No liquor could be purchased in Alert Bay; the sale was prohibited on account of the Indian Settlement. Fortunately, I had secured two bottles of rum from theQueen City, or otherwise I should have fared badly—as it was, I had to be content with about a dessertspoonful of rum each night before turning in. It is said that the Indians will do anything for liquor, and once they get hold of any, drink without any self-restraint. At Campbell River I had more than once seen an Indian lying on the side of the road hopelessly drunk and insensible. It is therefore a wise provision that the sale of liquor should be prohibited at Alert Bay. The settlement was full of Indians and their squaws, and a very unattractive lot the squaws were. Once having seen them, it was difficult to believe in the immorality with which they are credited. These Siwashes seemed a degraded race, and one heard of men who deliberately took their wives to logging camps to live on their earnings.

The provisions we laid in were supposed tolast three men for twenty days, and I was assured we would be helped out with game, an occasional deer, ruffled grouse and plenty of fish once we got into the forest.

A man cannot carry a pack weighing more than eighty pounds in the country we had to traverse, and, having cut down everything to the absolute necessaries of life, we still had to make double trips to get our stuff into camp, wasting a day each time.

We got away in the afternoon and crossed the Straits to the mouth of the Nimquish River in an Indian canoe. About a mile up the river was the comfortable log house of B. Lansdown, a settler. We were lucky enough to find him at home and he agreed to be the third man of our party. At first the idea was that he should help to pack in about three marches to where we proposed to make a permanent camp, and then return; but subsequent events compelled us to keep him the whole time. He was a fourth mouth to feed and at all times had a most excellent appetite.

Having arranged with two Siwash Indians to take us up to the lake, a distance of about seven miles, the following morning, we accepted Lansdown's invitation to put up at his house, where we were most hospitably entertained.

After some food at 5 o'clock I had my firstexperience of a Vancouver forest. A cougar had been killing cattle in the immediate neighbourhood, and Smith's and Dick's services were requisitioned to bring him to book.

Crossing the river, we were soon in the densest and most impenetrable undergrowth I ever attempted to crawl through. We were shown the spot where the last kill had taken place, and though we spent till dusk scrambling over and under fallen trees and through a tangle of undergrowth, unable to see five yards ahead, Dick could find no trace of the cougar. It had been raining in the morning, so we were all wet to the skin, as forcing our way through the undergrowth was like taking a shower bath. Hunting the cougar is, in my opinion, unworthy of the name of sport. Success depends on having a good dog to follow up the cougar by scent and to drive him up a tree, when the hunter comes up and pots him. Why such a powerful animal—for he is as big as a panther—should be such a coward, I cannot understand. I never heard while on the coast of a single case where the cougar attacked a man. The dog he sometimes goes for, and Dick had been once severely mauled.

I confess my first attempt at hunting in the Vancouver forest was most disappointing, as I had formed no idea of the nature of theforest we were to hunt in. Several people at the Campbell River Hotel had asked me if I knew what I was "up against" in deciding to try for a wapiti. Some, including my men, took a brighter view, and assured me that the dense undergrowth was only on the coast, and that as one got inland the forest became more open. Had I known what I was really "up against," I think I would have turned back, for never have I endured greater discomfort.

The morning of the 29th was fine and the river was looking lovely in the brilliant sunshine.

Just before the Indians with their canoes arrived, a doe deer came down on to the shingle across the river. As we required meat, neither sex nor season was taken into consideration. My rifle was not ready, so Smith had a shot at about 120 yards and missed. I then had a try and missed the deer, which stood without moving, but with a second shot I brought her down. In a moment "Nigger" was into the river and across worrying the carcass—what for I could not understand, for the poor beast was stone dead. It was lucky we secured this meat, for it was the last we saw for many days; but we afterwards regretted our generosity in leaving half the carcass behind as a present to our host's family.

On the arrival of the big Siwash canoe, with two Indians to pole, we loaded up our kit and at last were off on our trip. Smith went onthrough the forest on the chance of seeing any game, when he was to communicate with me. Lansdown and Thomson went up in Lansdown's canoe, but spent most of their time in the water hauling it over the many rapids. My Indians were splendid boatmen and poled up all but one of the rapids. The river has a considerable fall from the lake, and heavy rapids and miniature cataracts alternate with deep pools—an ideal fishing water.

Without stopping to fish, I trailed a small Tacomah spoon behind the canoe and got twelve cut-throat trout, weighing 9 lb., by the time we entered the lake.

The scenery, as pure river scenery, was superb the whole way, the banks being clothed with dense forest through which the river rushed and tumbled on its short course to the sea. It reminded me very much of the scenery on the Kippewa River in Eastern Canada. The river opened out as we approached the lake, and the scenery as we entered the lake was, if possible, more beautiful than that we had passed through.

To the south extended the Nimquish Lake as far as the eye could see. The perennial snow of the Vancouver Mountains formed an impressive background, while a dense forest clothed the sides of the steep hills, which insome places fell almost perpendicularly down to the lake. The evening was lovely, the lake without a ripple, mountain and forest reflected as in a mirror. The whole scene gave a feeling of peace which can only be found in communion with nature.

Camp and dinner took our thoughts away in a more practical direction, and leaving Smith and Thomson to pitch camp, Lansdown and I started for the lake end of the river to secure a few more trout for the pot.

There was the most extraordinary collection of driftwood on the beach—colossal trees lying packed across one another, showing how high the lake must rise when the torrents descend from the precipitous mountains.

On our return, we found Smith and Thomson had pitched camp in the forest near the lake, but the ground was sodden and covered with a thick moss. No drier spot could be found, so we had to make the best of it. The mosquitoes were troublesome till sunset, when they disappeared. I had the same experience during the entire trip. Very often unbearable the hour before sunset, they disappeared as night closed in, and I never had occasion to use a mosquito curtain. The nights were cold, which perhaps accounted for it.

I could not help contrasting the camp and its arrangements with my camping experience in Eastern Canada, some seven years before.There we had ideal camping grounds, on the bank of some river or lake, dry sandy soil, a fairly open forest with undergrowth only in parts, and lovely views from the tent door over rushing river or placid lake. I had French Canadians for companions and guides and they have a perfect genius for making comfortable and even luxurious camps; unlimited supplies, for we travelled with two canoes, and most of our way was over lakes or rivers with short portages; a comfortable tent, and if we were to camp for two or three days, my men soon ran up a dining-table and bench under a birch bark shelter. The table was always laid with a clean napkin, and an excellent dinner of soup, fish, stuffed ruffled grouse, deliciously cooked, was served. We had plenty of knives, forks, plates and drinking cups—in fact, all the comfort which two canoes allow.

Here, we had only once a decent camp, and that was on Lake Keogh. The edges of the lake were generally swamps and piled up with driftwood. Our camps had to be pitched in the forest, a short distance from the shore of the lake, or on the bank of the river on the most level bit of land we could find. The ground was always sodden, and a few branches of damp hemlock with a waterproof sheetspread over them was my bed. We each had a tin plate, cup, knife, fork and spoon. We all ate together, sitting on the damp ground in front of the camp fire. Lastly, the comforting tot of whisky at or after dinner had to be abandoned, for we had only two bottles of rum in case of illness.

THE HEAD OF NIMQUISH LAKE

DRIFTWOOD ON THE BEACH OF LAKE NIMQUISH,"DICK" IN THE FOREGROUND[To face page 92.

At the first camp we fared quite luxuriously, for we had the venison we had brought along and the trout I had caughten route—but later on, the daily fare of bacon and beans became, to say the least, monotonous. In one thing we were lucky: Thomson baked the most delicious bread; so we were certain of good bread and tea.

The morning of the 30th broke fine and we got away about 8.30 a.m., but before long the rain came down and we plodded along through the forest for some seven hours, during which we did not cover much more than three miles.

The undergrowth was nearly everywhere dense, consisting of wine-berries and that curse of the forest, the thorny devil-club. The trees rose from one to two hundred feet in height over our heads. Windfalls of timber were numerous, adding to the difficulty of the march.

Of animal life we could see nothing. Deermarks were plentiful, and in the early morning before starting we heard the melancholy howling of two wolves. Game might have been in abundance, but what was the good when it was impossible to see more than a few yards ahead. I began to have serious misgivings as to what stalking a wapiti would be like in such a country. The wapiti country was, however, far away and we had still to get there.

About 4 o'clock we pitched camp, if possible on a worse ground than that of the day before.

Packs for two men had been left behind to be brought on next day, which meant that I had to remain in camp on the 31st with nothing to do, for there was neither game nor fish in the neighbourhood. Smith went on to find the way for next day's march, and the other two men went back to bring up the loads left behind. They turned up about 7 p.m. Smith got back in the afternoon, having found Kitsewa River, which was to be our objective the next day.

About 5 p.m. the rain came down in torrents and continued all night. Fortunately my little tent was quite waterproof. One great advantage of a camp in the forest is that there is no wind to drive the rain through the tent. I doubt whether my tent would have keptout such rain if the camp had been in the open.

September 1st. The rain stopped about 5 a.m. but the trees and undergrowth were dripping and a bad wet march was before us.

Getting away about 8.30 a.m.—it was always difficult to get the men to make an earlier start—we were soon wet to the skin. Smith, having got the compass bearings of the river, tried to find a better route than that he had taken the day before; but towards the end of the march we hit on a very bad windfall on the slope of a steep hill. Giant trees lay in a dense tangle, over, under and across which we had to make our way. It was timber crawling at its worst, and the trunks of the trees being covered with damp, slippery moss made the going really dangerous at times. Unfortunately I was wearing a pair of strong shooting boots with Scafe's patent rubber studs instead of nails. They had no hold on the slippery trunks of the trees we had to cross; the result was a bad fall and a sprained knee which caused me great pain and discomfort for the rest of the trip. I shall never forget the end of that march, for my knee kept giving way, and I stumbled and tumbled about till I was covered with bruises.

We made the Kitsewa River after six hours'march, and as the rain again set in, we camped at a disused trapper's hut on a high bank overlooking the river. The river here was about thirty yards broad and full of humpbacked salmon, but apparently no trout. We had seen many tracks of deer, wolves and one cougar on the march, but the undergrowth was so dense that shooting was impossible.

September 2nd. The men had again to go back to bring up the packs left behind. These double journeys were most annoying, and yet I do not see how they could have been avoided. We certainly only had the bare necessaries of life—more packers would have meant more mouths to feed and more provisions to carry—yet each double journey meant a lost day.

My knee was so swollen and painful I could not move from the tent, so Smith decided to go on and hunt for the Keogh Lake—where his brother Eustace had on a previous trip left the material for a rough raft; where the Keogh Lake was, he was not quite certain, but it had to be found.

Left alone in camp I could not help thinking what would have happened had I broken my leg. Putting the question to the men they said, "Oh! it would have been all right—we would have packed in food to you." In fact I would have had to lie in my tent till Irecovered or died, for it is impossible to move a sick or injured man through the Vancouver forest. With nothing to read and obliged to lie on my back, the day was long in passing, and I find the following entry in my diary: "Knee very painful, am quite unable to walk and miserable at the idea that my entire trip may be spoiled and that I may have to turn back. Am black and blue with bruises from the many falls I had yesterday after I injured my knee."

Smith had succeeded in getting one willow grouse, shooting it with a pistol, but he missed two others close to the camp. The men returned about 4 o'clock, having made good time, as we had blazed our track of yesterday. Smith got in about 7 p.m., utterly exhausted, and having failed to find Lake Keogh.

Here was a man, certainly one of the best woodsmen in the island, defeated by the difficulties of the Vancouver forest. It must be remembered the northern portions of the Island are unsurveyed, so marching was all compass work. There had probably been some slight error in the bearings given him by his brother, but the fact remained, that Keogh Lake had still to be hunted for.

Dick had found a cougar and Smith shot him—a fine specimen of a male. Smith'sappearance with the skin fastened over his shoulder was certainly dramatic, rendered more so by his throwing himself on the ground in a state of utter exhaustion. Here the rum came in useful, and after a good tot and some food, he was quite himself again. I think he felt bitterly that he had failed to find the lake, but he had done his best, and no man can do more.

September 3rd. My knee was still painful and I was quite unfit to march. It was useless to start without knowing where we were going, so after consultation we decided that Smith and Thomson should go ahead and try to find the lake. As it turned out Smith had gone too far east the previous day.

Lansdown and "Nigger" remained in camp, but Dick, who must have been pretty tired after yesterday's work, refused to leave his master.

Cutting a strong stick—my daily companion for the rest of the trip—I hobbled down to the river to try and get some fish for ourselves and the dogs.

There were shoals of humpbacked salmon in the pools, but they were hideous to look at, as the spawning season was coming on. They would not look at a fly or minnow, so I had resort to the worst form of poaching: "sniggering."I soon had five on the bank and could as easily have had fifty. To us the fish were quite uneatable, but the dogs thoroughly enjoyed them. I could see no sign of trout of any size or in any number. I only caught one tiny cut-throat. Dead humpbacks were lying in all the pools, and along the banks of the river; there were tracks of a big bear close to camp and many deer tracks, but the dense undergrowth destroyed any chance of a shot.

Returning to camp about 6 p.m. I set out for a grassy hollow, fairly open and close to the river where Lansdown said deer were certain to come out to feed in the evening. I stood the mosquitoes for about five minutes when I had to retire ignominiously, as they were simply in clouds.

Night fell and there was no sign of Smith or Thomson. Fortunately the weather had been quite perfect and a bivouac in the woods would be no great hardship.

"Nigger" was a source of continual amusement to me that day. He was a dog of great character and had become much attached to me. He liked the camp fire and never was so happy as when sitting on his haunches as close as he could get to it and blinking with intense joy. His master, I fear, often drove him away, but he always crept back a few minutes after.He loved, too, to crawl under the fly of my tent and curl up for the night at the foot of my blanket.

I spent a portion of the day cleaning and skinning the paws of the cougar, and as I finished each paw, threw it away some distance from the camp. "Nigger" carefully watched my proceedings, and when he thought I was not looking, slunk away and had soon retrieved each paw, and carefully buried it for future use. Poor beast! I expect he had experienced many a hungry day and instinct had taught him to make provision for the future.

September 4th. Smith and Thomson had not returned, which meant another wasted day. Here we were the sixth day out from the lake, but we had only made two marches and were not yet in our hunting ground. Eustace Smith had said it was only a two or three days' march at the outside—but he probably travelled alone, very light, and knew his way. The two men turned up about 3 p.m., pretty well tired out, as they had been walking all the day before and from 6 o'clock in the morning. They reported the country ahead very bad going, but they had found a river which must have had its source in the Keogh Lake; the lake itself they had not reached. I had caught about a dozen salmon parr, sohad a poor fry as an addition to the never varying menu of bacon and beans.

September 5th. We did not yet get away till 9.30, as the men were tired after their two days' tramp. We followed the bed of the Kitsewa River, crossing and recrossing the stream several times, which was very tiring. Fortunately the water was only above our knees, but a slip with his pack gave Lansdown a real ducking. Though the going was bad over rough boulders, still it was a relief after the struggle through the undergrowth of the forest. The packs were heavy, as we were now packing everything, so our progress was somewhat slow. We had cachéd some provisions in the trapper's hut and had got through six days' supplies, still the packs were as heavy as the men could well manage and a rest every fifteen minutes was necessary.

Leaving the river after about two miles, we again struck some bad country, and at 4 p.m. arrived at the stream supposed to flow out of Lake Keogh. The men were pretty well done from the extra heavy packs, so a halt was decided on and we pitched camp as best as could on the side of a precipitous hill. My knee was very painful; marching was anything but a pleasure and I was glad of an early rest.

Smith went ahead and came back reportingthe lake only half-a-mile away, so it was a pity we had not gone on a little further. He had also seen the track of a big bull wapiti and a fresh bear track, which news cheered us all up.

September 6th. Starting early we were soon on the shore of the lake—a lovely sheet of water about two miles long, surrounded by steep forest-clad hills a few hundred feet high. The growth round the shore was so thick, and the rocks in parts so precipitous, we decided it would save time to build a raft to get to the end of the lake. We found some logs with which Eustace Smith had made a raft and soon put them together, and had a rough raft on which we paddled slowly to the north end of the lake.

We pitched camp on the first decent camping ground we had found. The men were in shelter under an enormous cedar-tree, of great age and quite hollow in the middle. My tent was pitched on an open bit of ground running out to the lake, over which I had a beautiful view.

Misfortune was still to pursue us—Smith had had a bad fall two days before, but did not attach much importance to it. He now felt very ill and complained of great pain and tenderness in his side. On examining him, it appeared to me that one of his ribs wascracked if not broken. He was not a very strong man physically, though as hard as nails. All we could do was to foment his side with one of our flannel shirts and let him lie in his blankets near the fire, which had been lit at the base of the cedar-tree.

There were some open glades at the end of the lake and the country looked more gamelike. I went out in the afternoon to have a look round. The country was more open and I found a two-day-old track of a big bull, so game was in the neighbourhood—there were also fresh bear tracks and bear droppings close to camp.

I returned to try for a dish of trout while Thomson went out to lie in wait for deer coming out to feed at sunset—a form of sport I did not appreciate.

The question of food was now becoming serious, as the men had calculated on plenty of deer and grouse, and we had had no fresh meat since the deer I shot the day we started up the Nimquish River. Fishing from the shore and from our raft I caught six cut-throat trout, the largest about half-a-pound, with the fly. The lake was very deep and peaty—no doubt there were bigger fish in it, but they would not rise freely; it was late in the season and possibly my flies were not big enough.

Thomson returned, having wounded a deer—I don't think he was a crack shot, but like all the men I met on the coast, very fond of loosing off. He also reported having met a bear which he missed clean, but doubt was expressed in camp as to the bear.

September 7th. The rain was coming down in torrents and the camp most uncomfortable, while to move on was impossible, as Smith was feverish and in considerable pain, quite unfit to carry a pack. I had, therefore, most reluctantly to decide to remain where we were.

Thomson took "Nigger" out to find the wounded deer and returned in the evening successful. The deer was a young doe. There was great joy in camp at the prospect of a meat meal at last, for we had had no fresh meat since August 29th.

During the night we had an alarm. The men had pitched their fly under a very old cedar-tree and the camp fire was lit against the tree, which was hollow. About midnight there was a sound of an explosion and a roar of flames. Jumping out of bed, a most extraordinary sight presented itself; the entire tree was in flames from the base to the summit. The fire had evidently crept up the hollow trunk till the whole tree was ablaze.

Pulling down the fly, the men saved everythingfrom being burnt, but morning found the tree still a roaring pillar of fire.

In Eastern Canada in the fall of the year such an occurrence might have set the whole country ablaze and resulted in one of those tracts of burnt country called "brulés" so common through that country. While on the Campbell River we heard of great forest fires taking place on the Mainland, but in the north of Vancouver Island I saw no sign of a burnt forest, for it was too saturated to burn.

September 8th. We got away in fine weather through the most open country we had yet met. Our objective was a lake about three miles away, for having found Keogh Lake, Eustace Smith's rough-sketch map now came in useful.

The country looked more promising for game, for we came across many well-beaten wapiti tracks and at least two fresh tracks of good bulls.

We got into camp fairly early and selected the most level piece of ground to be found some twenty yards from the lake; the edge of the lake itself was swampy.

The lake was about a mile long by a quarter of a mile broad. It was the first of a chain of lakes connected by a narrow stream with a rough rocky bed running to the west. The sides were clothed with dense forest and the tops of the surrounding hills were even now covered with snow.

The view in the morning was most beautiful —the mist floating up the forest-clad ravinesto the distant hill-tops all reflected in the glassy surface of the lake. At sunset it was equally lovely.

This lake we called No. 1, as we understood the chain consisted of three lakes extending westward down the valley which was to be our future hunting ground.

Smith suggested he should go out, look quietly round, examine the country and search for fresh tracks, so that we could begin our regular hunting the next day.

Being now in the game country I had given strict orders that no one was to shoot at anything, but to come back and report what he had seen—I was therefore somewhat astounded to hear a single shot at no great distance as I was catching a dish of trout for dinner.

Smith soon came back looking very dejected. He said he had come on fresh tracks of a good bull, and in following them up saw something brown in the undergrowth which he thought was a small deer, and as we wanted meat in camp he took a snapshot at it, and then found it was the bull and he feared he had wounded it.

I had to accept this story, improbable as it was, for there was no mistaking a great bull wapiti for a small deer.

THE VANCOUVER FOREST, SHOWING UNDERGROWTH THROUGH WHICH WE HAD TO MAKE OUR WAY

LAKE NO. 1[To face page 110.

What was done was done, and there was no use making a fuss. If I were making such atrip again, I would ask the men to leave their rifles behind, for they cannot resist shooting at anything that comes their way.

He had come back at once to tell me, and begged of me to go out with him and take up the track, which was only about a mile away.

The rain was again falling and we had only a couple of hours of daylight, but still I decided to see for myself the tracks and ascertain, if possible, whether the bull had been wounded and where. Taking Thomson with us, we started and were soon as usual wet through.

We found the spot where Smith had come on the bull and fired. There were a few traces of blood, but they were all high up on the bushes, and from the pace the wapiti was travelling, it was evident he was none the worse for the light bullet of Smith's Winchester rifle.

We followed the track till dusk and had a weary tramp back to camp in the dark.

I had again ricked my knee and was in considerable pain. Everything seemed to have gone wrong, first my accident, then Smith's, and now a wounded wapiti that we might never find.

The prospect of the morrow's work with a swollen and painful knee was not very cheering,and I think we were all rather sad when we turned in that night.

September 9th. It had rained all night and was still pelting when we started. I had to walk with a stick and was unable to carry my own rifle.

In a couple of hours we came to the spot where we had left the track the previous evening.

Smith was a fine tracker, I have seldom seen a better.

The bull was going strong and well. We soon came to where he had rested for the night, but there was no pool of blood, so the wound was evidently not serious. In the early morning he had fed down the valley. After about three hours' tracking we came on to the shore of another lake (Lake No. 2), and thought the bull had taken to the water—to the edge of which he had gone down through heavy swampy ground covered with coarse grass. Taking a cast round, we found, however, that he had turned right back and gone up the valley we had just come down, but on the other side of the river connecting the two lakes.

Following up the track we suddenly heard a crash right ahead, but I could see nothing. Smith dashed on and I heard a shout at the top of his voice, "Come on, Sir John. Quick!"It was all very well "come on quick," but with a bad knee, getting through a mass of fallen timber up a fairly steep though fortunately short hill was no easy matter. How I did it I cannot even now understand, but the pain in the knee was forgotten, my stick thrown away, the rifle, which was of course loaded, snatched out of Thomson's hand, and I found myself on the crest of the hill looking down into a valley overgrown with dense salmon-berry through which some great beast was crashing his way.

I am quite blind without a telescope sight and there was no time to fix it. I could just make out the tips of the bull's horns moving quickly through the undergrowth. I could only guess where the body was, but fortunately the body of a wapiti is a pretty big mark. Taking a snapshot as I would at a snipe I heard the welcome thud of the bullet. The bull stood for a moment, which gave me time for a second shot, on which I saw the great antlers sink out of sight in the undergrowth and I knew that the trophy I had come so far to obtain was mine.

I confess to an anxious moment as to what the head would turn out to be. The tracks were those of a big bull, but I had only seen the tips of the horn; the spread looked good, butwhether he was a six or a sixteen points I could not say.

Going down to where he lay we found him stone dead, a good thirteen-pointer, which the men naturally declared to be above the average. Somehow, I was disappointed, as I expected a bigger head, but after all getting him at all was a pure chance, and having now experienced what hunting the wapiti in these dense forests meant, I was, I think, on the whole very lucky. He looked an enormous beast as he lay. What his weight was I could not guess, but he must have stood about sixteen hands at the shoulder. It took the three of us all we could do to turn him over to examine the wounds.

Both of my shots were fatal. We found that Smith's bullet had inflicted a flesh wound high up in the rump, and would have done no harm.

Wet to the skin, but happy, I got under a giant cedar which gave shelter from the heavy rain, and lighting a big fire, stripped to the skin to dry my soaking clothes, while the men were removing the head and getting some meat. We soon had wapiti steaks frizzling on the fire, and a brew of hot tea made us all comfortable and happy.

The worst of the whole business was thewaste of meat and the impossibility of taking away the splendid skin. The head alone was one man's load and to carry out a green skin was quite impossible.

Packing as much of the meat as we could carry, we made for the camp.

The creek flowing down the valley was coming down in heavy spate and we had to cross and recross it many times—no easy matter—before we got home.

September 10th. It was still raining. Smith was feeling pretty bad, his side causing him much pain, and he was, I think, beginning to feel anxious about himself. My knee was anything but comfortable. Neither of us were up to another day in the forest, so I spent my day fishing and caught about forty small cut-throat trout, the biggest about 3 oz. I saw one fish about 2 lb. throw himself in the lake, but he would not rise when I put a fly over him; it was possibly too late in the season. This lake had practically never been fished, and I was much disappointed to find that the sport was so poor.

Lansdown had gone back to bring up a small pack left at Keogh Lake. He returned in the evening, reporting that he had come face to face with a ten-pointer bull who simply looked at him and walked away.

Such is luck. Happily he had not a rifle, or most certainly he would have loosed off.

September 11th. Our future plans had now to be discussed and decided on.

Instead of two or three days' march, we had owing to a chapter of accidents taken ten days to get into the wapiti country. Provisions were running short. Smith was practicallyhors de combatand feeling worse every day, and yet viewing the fact that we were now in the wapiti country, and by spending another few days we might reasonably expect to get another bull, I was extremely unwilling to turn back.

On the other hand, further exposure in the vile weather we were experiencing might have resulted in Smith's serious illness. Not liking to assume the responsibility, I left it to him. He reluctantly decided for home. I feel sure he was even more disappointed than I was, for he was a keen sportsman, but in his present condition he was quite unfit to carry a pack, while serious illness might have resulted from exposure to pouring rain. The decision was the only one that could be come to, so there was no use in repining.

We accordingly sent Thomson and Lansdown back to Keogh Lake with the wapiti head and one pack. Smith and I started out on our lastchance of finding another wapiti.

It was for a wonder a lovely morning, and I felt bitterly the hard luck which had pursued us all the way, and which now compelled us to turn back just as we had reached a game country. We went up a fine valley running from the east of the lake—the most open forest we had yet come to. It was timbered with magnificent spruce-trees, some of which I should say were at least 180 feet in height. There was but little undergrowth, it was the first ideal hunting ground we had struck. We worked all the morning without finding anything but two-day-old tracks. After lunch we suddenly came on quite fresh tracks of a good bull, possibly the one Lansdown had seen the day before.

Taking up the tracks, we followed steadily on and must have come close enough to disturb him, though we neither heard nor saw anything. We came, however, on the spot where he had been lying down and had jumped up and gone off at a gallop.

We tracked that bull till dusk and never came up with him. Fortunately he took us down the valley to the lake where we were camped, and we got home at nightfall.

PACKING OUT[To face page 121.

September 12th was a lovely crisp morning with a touch of frost in the air. The lake was looking perfect as we turned our backs on it, leaving the game country and all the chances of another wapiti behind. It was hard luck and I think we were all more or less depressed.

We made a good march down the Spruce valley till we struck Keogh Lake in the early afternoon. This was the route by which we should have come in, as it was fairly open, more so than any other portion of the forest we had gone through. The timber was very fine. A small creek ran down the valley, and along it there were many beaver dams.

Beavers are still protected by law throughout the island. We saw a large one swimming across Keogh Lake when in camp on our way in, and at night more than once heard the curious noise the beaver makes striking the water with his tail as he dives when frightened.Needless to say, regardless of all game laws, the men had several shots at the beaver without doing him any harm.

Arriving at our old camp at Keogh Lake we found the cedar still smouldering. Having made a new raft we reached camp at the south end of the lake, just as the sky clouded up, evidently preparing for another downpour.

The shores of the Lake were swampy and it was with difficulty we found a place to camp. It rained that night as if it had never rained before.

Lansdown now jacked up and I find the following note in my diary:—

"Smith still ill and Lansdown now sick and very sorry for himself—query, too much wapiti meat—we are a sorry crew, but my knee is free from pain for the first time since the accident occurred."

In all the discomforts I was to be "up against," none of my friends had mentioned the possibility of bad weather in September.

August at the Campbell River had been simply an ideal climate, but from August 30th to September 26th, it had rained fifteen days out of the twenty-eight, and by rain I don't mean showers, which were common and did not count, but a steady downpour which lasted all day, and made marching through theundergrowth, alike on fine or wet days, like going under a continual shower bath.

September 13th. It was still raining heavily and the men were not very keen on starting. Carrying a pack in wet weather is hard work and apt to chafe the back. On the other hand, I had no prospect of more sport and did not care to pay my men 13½ dollars a day that they should rest in camp till the weather cleared. I determined, therefore, to move on, but it was noon before I could get a move on the men, and it required some determination to effect this. It was certainly a miserable march, steady rain the whole time. About 3 o'clock the men gave up and said they could pack no further in such weather.

We had struck the Kitsewa, which was rushing down in heavy flood, so camped on its bank.

Thomson was now feeling seedy, and every one was out of sorts and a bit out of temper at the vile weather.

September 14th. The river was down about a foot but still very full. After crossing and recrossing it about ten times and getting wet through, we arrived at our old camp at the trapper's hut about 1 p.m.; a short but fatiguing march owing to the state of the river. We had intended pushing on further after our midday meal, but once more torrential rainshad set in and we decided to remain where we were for the day.

The river was now simply alive with humpbacked salmon and dozens were lying dead on the banks. Bear marks were numerous, but the dense undergrowth rendered any chance of seeing one remote. "Nigger" was revelling in his pursuit of fish and repeatedly dashed into the shallows which were boiling with salmon struggling up stream, bringing out a fish each time, one must have been about six pounds. On the march "Dick" had come on the fresh track of two wolves and promptly started after them. He gave us some anxiety for the half-hour he was away, for with all his pluck, he would have had a poor chance if he had come up with them. I suppose it was the deserted hut which recalled to Lansdown's mind a grim tale of a trapper's fate.

The man had started out from civilization on his usual winter expedition. Spring came and he failed to return, but this did not cause any anxiety as trappers lead a nomadic life, and it was thought he might have pushed further than he intended or found some specially good hunting ground. Two years passed and his existence had been practically forgotten, when a party cruising the woods for timber came on a log hut in a lonely part ofthe forest. Inside they found a man's skeleton lying on the little shelf which constituted the bed. By the side was a rifle and the bony hand still grasped a twig attached to the trigger, a shattered skull told the rest of the tale.

On a bench beside the bed were the tin plates, a cup and the mouldy remains of what once had been food.

What a tragedy! One could picture illness coming on and the struggle against it. Too weak to pack out, he eventually had to take to bed—at first possibly able to get up and cook a little food while provisions lasted—then his strength gradually declined, the lonely nights thinking of the inevitable end, and then the final decision possibly hastened by hearing the howling of wolves round the log cabin.

After all, his best friend was his rifle and that was close to hand. Who can blame him for the decision he had the courage to carry out?

Lansdown was one of the men sent out to bury the remains.

September 15th. The morning was fine and we got away about 8.30. Thomson announced that the provisions had practically run out—no more flour or sugar and we were two days from the lake. We had actually left some flour and other provisions behind inorder to lighten the packs.

Improvidence seems to characterize these men of the west. So long as provisions are plentiful there is no thought of the future.

Three spoonfuls of sugar will be put in a cup of tea and a two-pound tin of jam will disappear at a meal—treated as if it were stewed fruit, but the future is forgotten.

To-day the poor dogs had no food at all. We ourselves did not fare brilliantly, but a short march on the morrow should bring us to the Nimquish Lake. We might indeed with an effort have made it in the day.

September 16th. A two hours' march took us to the lake and our last meal was taken on its shores. It was neither luxurious nor plentiful—a few crusts of yesterday's bread fried in some bacon fat which remained on the pan, and a cup of weak tea, for tea too had run out.

I hunted for and found a portion of the skin of the deer I had shot on the first day in and which I had thrown into the lake.

"Dick" and "Nigger" devoured it ravenously. Poor doggies, they had been two days without a meal. More faithful or longsuffering companions a man never had. They seemed to understand we could not give them what we had not, and while they looked at us eating with anxious eyes, when no scraps were thrownthey resigned themselves to hunger and curled up to sleep.

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