American Big Game in Its Haunts - Various
Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25
The five sheep which we had seen the evening before were still in view
from our camp. One bunch of three lay in a commanding position on an
open hillside, and were unapproachable, but the other two had left the
main mountain range and were feeding on one of the outlying foothills.
These offered an excellent chance, and Hunter and I started in their
direction.
Nothing so thoroughly wets one as passing through thick underbrush which
is ladened with raindrops, and we were both soon drenched, but we were
now quite used to this discomfort, and had expected it.
After coming out above timber, we reached the belt of alders through
which we were working upward, when one of the sheep appeared upon the
rugged sky-line some half mile above us. The glasses showed that he was
a young ram with a head not worth shooting, but as his mate followed, we
could see at a glance that his horns made the full turn, and were well
up to the standard that I had set.
The smaller one soon wandered down the hill to our left, but the old
fellow was more wary, and kept to the rocky summit. We gradually worked
nearer and nearer as his head was turned, or as he slowly fed behind
some rocks. In this way we had almost reached a dip in the hillside
which would hide us from view until I could approach near enough for a
shot, when the ram suddenly appeared on the sky-line above. We both
crouched to the ground and kept perfectly still, while he stood in bold
relief against the clouds intently gazing in all directions. For almost
a half hour he never moved, except to slowly turn his head. It was
evident that he was restless, and missed his young companion which had
wandered away. Then he gradually moved off and sank behind a rock, and
as Hunter and I had seen his hindquarters disappear last, we knew he was
lying down, for a sheep goes down on his front knees first. This was
our chance, and we hastened to take advantage of it. In fact, Hunter had
crossed the last open and I was half way over, when the ram suddenly
appeared again on the crest of the hill, and by his side was his young
companion. Again I dropped to the ground, while the sheep gazed down at
me. I was almost tempted to take the shot, for the distance was now not
over 400 yards, and I had killed several sheep at this range. But hoping
that they had not made me out, I kept perfectly still. I could see
Hunter crouching behind a bush a short distance ahead, and soon he
beckoned. I now looked up only to find that the sheep had vanished.
As I was wearing a dark green shooting suit, I do not think they quite
made me out, but their suspicions were aroused, and they headed for the
main range of mountains. In order to reach this they would be obliged to
cross nearly half a mile of open tableland. We hastened after them, and
soon saw the rams, as we had expected, heading for the other hills. We
yet hoped to stalk them when they had reached the level, for they had
not been greatly alarmed, and were going leisurely along, now and again
stopping to munch some of their favorite black moss from the rocks. On
reaching the last hill they seemed to change their minds, for after
gazing in all directions they lay down in an absolutely unapproachable
position.
Hunter and I were caught on a bald hillside exposed to a biting north
wind, with no chance of a nearer approach without being seen. Finally,
as a last resort, we determined upon a drive.
While I lay perfectly still, Hunter advanced boldly across the open in a
big circle, getting between the hill and the main range. When the rams'
attention was fixed on him, I cautiously worked back and around, taking
up a position which commanded the ridge over which the sheep had just
gone. When Hunter had got between them and the other mountains, he began
to approach. The rams now sprang to their feet, and evidently fully
realized their dangerous position. They came, as we had expected, to
the other end of the range from where I had taken my stand, but seemed
reluctant to go back further on the isolated foothills.
It was too far for an accurate shot, and I waited, hoping for a better
chance. As Hunter now worked up over the summit, the sheep broke back
below him, and in another second would have had a clear field across the
flat to the main range. Running up as quickly as the nature of the
ground would permit, I lessened the distance some fifty yards, and, just
as they were about to disappear from view, I fired twice, carefully
aiming at the larger sheep, which I knew to be the big ram.
There was a strong wind blowing, and accurate shooting at such a long
distance was out of the question, so I must regard it as an
exceptionally lucky shot which broke his leg.
Hunter now signaled me to continue around the hill, and I soon came upon
the old fellow lying down. I seated myself well within range, intending
to catch my breath before shooting, when he suddenly sprang to his feet
and bounded down the hill. I fired and missed, and started in pursuit.
Although a sheep with a broken leg finds it hard to go up hill over
rough ground, it is surprising how fast they can go down hill or across
the open.
When this ram came to the base of the mountain he started in a straight
line across the tableland, and led me a long chase before I ran him down
and shot him. He carried quite a pretty head, measuring 13-1/2 inches
around the butts and 32 inches along the curve.
I had now reached the limit I had set on sheep, and although I saw some
later, I did not go after them.
It stormed hard all that night, and we woke the next morning to another
wet and dismal day. I, therefore, determined to remain in camp, and was
mending my much-worn knickerbockers by the fire when a moose was sighted
on the mountain above timber, making for the thick belt of alders. He
was soon hidden from view, and as we could not see that he passed
through any of the open patches lower down, we hoped that he had chosen
this secure retreat to lay up in.
The rain was coming down in torrents, but the bull carried a large and
massive pair of antlers, and as I did not want to allow a chance to go
by, Hunter and I were soon in pursuit. We circled well around in order
to get the wind, and then forced our way through the heavy underbrush
for some hours until we finally came to the belt of alders where we had
last seen him. I now climbed a tree at the edge of the timber, hoping
that from a lofty position I should be able to locate him, but met with
no success.
It was now my intention to take a stand upon the hillside above timber,
hoping that the moose would show himself toward evening, but in our wet
clothes we were soon too chilled to remain inactive. As a last resort,
Hunter forced his way back into the alders, while I kept in the open
above. After going some distance my man turned to the right for the
purpose of driving him out in my direction, but our hard and
disagreeable hunt was to no purpose, and we returned to camp just before
dark, having passed a wetter and more uncomfortable day than any yet.
Both Hunter and I thought this was the same bull which we had twice seen
before, as he carried rather an unusual head, and had come from the same
direction and to the same place.
The next day it rained even harder, and the clouds were so low that we
could not see the mountain side, and therefore had no temptation to
leave camp. My patience was by this time nearly exhausted, for the
continual rain was very depressing, and detracted much from the pleasure
of being in such a grand game country.
About noon I was sitting before the fire when Lawroshka went to the
lake, only some ten steps away, for a pail of water. Here he saw a bull
moose standing on the other side. He beckoned to me, and I seized my
rifle and cautiously approached the native. The moose offered an easy
shot at 250 yards, and my first bullet rolled him over. His head was
disappointing, but it is often difficult to tell the size of a moose's
antlers when they are half hidden in the trees.
We woke next morning to the usual dismal surroundings, and remained in
camp all that day. Late that afternoon the fog lifted and we saw the
same large moose in his accustomed place among the alders, but it was
too late in the day to try for him.
That night the wind veered to the west, and just as I was about to turn
in, the rain stopped and a few stars shone faintly in the heavens. The
weather had been so constantly bad that even these signs failed to cheer
me, and I had decided that we would break camp the next day no matter
what the conditions might be. But the morning (September 22) opened
bright and clear, with the first good frost in two weeks. We were most
anxious for a cold snap, for the leaves were still thick upon the trees,
which made it next to impossible to sec game in the woods at any
distance.
After breakfast we shouldered our packs and were soon on the march,
expecting to reach our permanent quarters in the moose range before
noon, and have the afternoon to hunt. Bright days had been so rare with
us that we meant to make the most of this one.
The heavy rains had flooded the woods, and the deep worn game trails
that we followed were half full of water, while the open meadows and
tundra that we occasionally crossed were but little better than
miniature lakes. We had made about half of our march and my pack had
just begun to grow doubly heavy from constant floundering around in the
mire, when we came out into a long and narrow meadow. There were a few
dwarf spruce at our end, but the rest of the small opening was free of
underbrush.
Hunter was leading and I was close behind with Stereke at heel, while
the native was a few steps further back. I had noticed my dog a short
time before sniffing the air, and was therefore keeping a constant watch
on all sides, hoping that we might come upon game, but little expecting
it, when suddenly I caught sight of a large bull moose standing in the
middle of the opening. He was about 300 yards away, and almost directly
down wind. I do not see how he could have failed to get our scent, and
he must have been indifferent to us rather than alarmed.
My first thought was of Stereke. I knew that he would break at the sight
of game, and realized for the hundredth time my mistake in bringing a
bear dog into the moose range. Quickly giving him to the native to hold,
I dropped my pack and was instantly working my way toward the moose. I
had got to within rather less than 200 yards when I saw the moose turn
his head and look in my direction. A nearer approach was impossible, so
I gave him at once two shots, and at the second he fell.
My dog, having bitten himself free from the native, made for the moose,
and savagely attacked his haunches. Seeing that the bull was trying to
regain his feet, I gave him another shot, and running up drove off the
dog.
Now, for the first time, I had a good chance to see my trophy. I knew
that it was a good head, but hardly expected such large and massive
antlers. They were malformed and turned in, or the spread would have
been considerably larger, but even then they went over sixty inches,
with forty-four well defined points. I am quite sure that this was the
same bull that we had seen so often among the alders, and which I had
twice before unsuccessfully stalked.
Our march was delayed until we skinned out the head, cleaned the scalp,
and hung the meat in some near-by trees for future use. It was therefore
late that afternoon when we reached our new camp. We now settled
ourselves comfortably, for we meant to stay in these quarters for the
remainder of the hunt.
The next week my friend Blake joined me, and we scoured the country
around this camp most diligently, but with no further success. Daily we
came upon cows and small bulls, but it seemed as if all the large males
had left the neighborhood. Stamp holes and unmistakable signs of the
rutting season were found everywhere, but with the most careful hunting
I was unable to get another shot.
There were a few bull moose in the dense woods, but not a sufficient
number to warrant the hope of my getting another head such as I had
already shot. At this time of the year moose are such restless animals,
and are so constantly on the move that it is not difficult to
distinguish their presence.
I had now hunted this entire range most thoroughly, and was reluctantly
forced to the conclusion that there were not sufficient signs to warrant
my remaining another month. I talked the matter over with my friend, and
told him that if he cared to wait until the next monthly steamer we
could combine our forces and start into a new country which we knew was
good; but Blake did not want to delay his departure so long, and as he
now decided to return to the coast, I made up my mind to go out with
him, take the steamer to Seattle, and thence go to British Columbia,
where I would finish my long hunt by a trip after Rocky Mountain sheep.
Shortly after this we broke camp and started back to Cook Inlet, which
we reached October 2. A few days later the steamer arrived, and that
same night I was on my way from Alaska.
Unfortunately, my hunting for the year was over, for on my arrival at
Seattle I found that I had been too much pulled down by the hard work
upon the hills to make it wise for me to go into British Columbia.[7]
[Transcriber's Note: Footnote numbered in the text, but no associated
text.]
_Jas. H. Kidder_.
The Kadiak Bear and his Home
In 1901 the opportunity came to me to make a trip to the island which
the Kadiak bear inhabits, and to become slightly acquainted with this
largest of all carnivora. My companion was A. W. Merriam, of Milton,
Mass.
We were under great obligations to Dr. C. Hart Merriam, of the
Biological Survey, Washington, who, before we left home, gave us
valuable information about the large game of Alaska. He told us of
investigations which might prove of scientific value, and helped us to
place our trip on a much broader base than a mere shooting expedition.
One of the pleasantest features of such a trip was to see how freely
information came in from all sides from those who could help in rounding
out our work.
In order to find the Alaskan bears in their best pelage one must be on
the ground in April, and this made it necessary for us to sail from
Seattle April 1, on the Pacific Steam Whaling Company's boat,
Excelsior. Seattle proved a very good outfitting place, and before
sailing we had safely stowed away below, in waterproof canvas bags, the
provisions necessary to last us three months, in the most condensed and
evaporated form.
Most of our fellow passengers were miners. One of them interested me
particularly. He was a Finn, one of the pioneer white hunters in the
Aleutian country, and his drawn face and stooping shoulders told the
tale of trails too long and packs too heavy. I passed much time with
him, and learned a good deal about the habits of the big, brown, barren
bear, and his methods of fighting when hard pressed.
Our first Alaskan port was Hunter's Bay, Prince of Wales Island,
interesting because here is Clincon, one of the old settlements of the
Haida Indians, famed for their wonderful totem poles, which tell in
striking symbolic language the family histories of the tribe. There were
many good faces among these people, and we asked ourselves and others
the puzzling question, are they Aztecs, New Zealanders, or Japanese in
origin? Among these people families with the same totem pole may not
intermarry. An old man, the special wood carver of the tribe, does
wonderful work.
An offshoot of the tribe inhabits Annette Island, under the kindly
governorship of an old priest named Duncan. At first he founded his
colony on the mainland, in British territory, but was there so hampered
by religious rules that, with almost all his followers, he moved to
Annette, where he is still beloved by the natives, to whom he has taught
right living and many valuable arts of civilization.
We kept the inland route until Icy Straits took us away from Glacier
Bay, and out into the open ocean. Early the next morning Yakutat came
into view, and our boat was quickly surrounded by canoes filled with
Indians, their wives, and woven baskets. These natives, supposed to
belong to the Tlinkits, were distinctly less advanced than the Haida
Indians.
In Yakutat we thought we were lucky in buying three Siwash bear dogs,
but were not long in discovering our mistake. One of the dogs was so
fierce we had to shoot him. Another was wild and ran away at the first
opportunity, and the "last of the Siwash," though found wanting in every
hunting instinct, had a kindly disposition and staid with us. We could
not bring ourselves to the shooting point. Finally we found a Creole,
who kept a store in a remote village on Kadiak Island, willing to take
him off our hands.
The sight of the massive snow face of Mt. St. Elias, rising 18,002 feet
above the immense stretches of the Malaspina glacier, called to mind the
successful Abruzzi expedition, which reached the top of this mountain a
few years ago. Looking at the rough sides of the grand old mountain,
more impressive than any snow peak in Europe, one unconsciously plans an
attack, as the climbing instinct is aroused.
Abruzzi has taken Mt. St. Elias out of the field of the mountain climber
looking for new peaks, but a glance at the map shows us Mt. Logan,
19,000 feet, backing up Mt. St. Elias from the north, and Mt. McKinley,
20,000 feet, the highest known peak we have, placed nearer the center of
the big peninsula. These should now claim the attention of some good
mountaineer, with time and money at his command. They demand both.
We did not fail to inquire at Yakutat about that rare animal, the blue
or St. Elias bear, and were told that two or three skins were secured
every year. I was later much disappointed in being unable to return to
this coast early enough in the year to look up this bear, which has
never been killed by a white man, and as its skull has never been
brought in by the Indians, it remains practically unknown.
The island of Kayak, the next calling place for boats, played a very
important part in the early history of Alaska. This is the first land
that Bering sighted, and where he landed after the memorable voyage of
his two boats, the St. Peter and St. Paul, from Kamtschatka.
The early Russian adventurers of this part of the world have, it seems,
been lost sight of, and have not had justice done them. The names of the
Dane Bering, the Russians Shelikoff and Baranoff, should mean to us
something more than the name of a sea, strait or island. A man who
fitted out his expedition in Moscow, carried much of the building
material for his two boats across Siberia to the rough shores of
Kamtschatka, and sailed boldly eastward, deserves our warmest
admiration. Bering never reached home. He died on the return voyage,
and was buried on the small island of the Commander group which bears
his name. The story of the expedition is one of extreme hardship and of
splendid Russian courage.
At Orca we were transferred to the Newport, with Captain Moore in
command, and, as on the Excelsior, everything was done for our comfort.
We looked with envious eyes on Montague Island as we passed it in Prince
William Sound, for we were told that the natives avoid fishing and
shooting here, claiming that the big Montague brown bear are larger and
fiercer than any others.
Our boat made a brief call at Homer, in Cook Inlet, one of the starting
points for the famous Kenai shooting grounds. This inlet was named for
the renowned voyager, who hoped that it would furnish a water passage
for him to Hudson's Bay.
The trees stop at Cook Inlet, there being only a few on the western
shore. To the south the wooded line intersects the Kadiak group of
islands, and we find the northeastern part of Kadiak, as well as the
whole of Wood and Afognak, except the central portion of the last, well
covered with spruce.
The absence of forests makes it often possible to see for miles over the
country, and explains why the Barren Grounds of Alaska offer such
wonderful opportunities for bear hunting. There are bears all along the
southern coast of the peninsula, but in the timber there, as elsewhere,
the bears have all the best of it.
On leaving Cook Inlet, we kept a southerly course through the gloomy
Barren Islands which mark the eastern boundary of the much-dreaded
Shelikoff Straits, and early one morning passed Afognak, and made Wood
Island landing, where we were most hospitably received by the North
American Fur Company's people. Wood Island, about 1-1/2 miles from Kadiak,
is small and well covered with spruce. It has some two hundred people,
for the most part natives, and under Russian rule was used for a huge
ice-storing plant. Kadiak Island, 100 miles by 30, is thickly studded
with mountains, and extremely picturesque, with the white covering of
early spring, as we found it, or when green with heavy grass dotted with
wild flowers in July.
[Illustration: ST. PAUL, KADIAK ISLAND.]
The Kadiak group looks as if it might have fallen out of Cook Inlet, and
one of the native legends tells us that once the Kadiak Islands were so
near the Alaskan shore that a mammoth sea otter, while trying to swim
through the narrow straits, got wedged between the rocks, and his
tremendous struggles to free himself pushed the islands out into their
present position. The sea otter and bear have always been most
intimately connected with the lives of the Kadiakers, and have exercised
a more important influence on their characters than any of their
surroundings except the sea. It is no wonder, then, that the natives
endowed these animals with a strength and size which easily takes them
into the realm of mythology. The sea otter being nearly extinct, the
bear is now made to shoulder all the large stories, and, strong as he
is, this is no light burden.
The Kadiak coast line is roughly broken by deep bays, running inland
from a half mile to fifteen or twenty miles. Some are broad, others
narrow, but all are walled in by serrated, mountainous sides, much
resembling the fjords of Norway. The highest peaks are about 4,000
feet.
The portions of Kadiak Island uncovered by spruce and the barren lands
of the mainland, are not absolutely devoid of trees or bushes. Often
there is a considerable growth of cottonwood trees along the bottom
lands of the streams, and large patches of alder bushes are common, so
that when the leaves are well out, one's view of the bottoms and lower
hillsides is much obscured. The snowfall must be heavy on the upper
reaches of the mountains, as there are great white patches to be seen
well into the summer time. The climate is not what one would expect,
unless he should look at the map, and note the warm Kuro Siwo (Japan
current) sweeping along the southern Alaskan coast. Zero weather is
uncommon, and except for the great rainfall the island is a very
comfortable place of existence; existence, because that is the limit
reached by most of the people. The few connected with the mission and
the two fur companies are necessarily busy people, the latter especially
so on steamer days, but a deep, unbroken peacefulness permeates the
island and its people; it is a place so apart that outside happenings
awaken but little interest, and time is not weighed in the balance. Some
of the rare old Kadiak repose seems to have come down to the present
people from the time when Lisiansky first visited the island and found
the natives sitting on their mud houses, or on the shore, gazing into
space, with apparent satisfaction.
[Illustration: SUNSET IN ENGLISH BAY, KADIAK.]
On the other hand, if there is any sailing, fishing or shooting to be
done, you will find the Kadiakers keen enough, and in trying situations
they will command your respect, and will quite reverse your impression
of them, gathered in the village life. The Eskimo inhabitants of the old
times are gone, and the population is now made up of Russians, Creoles
(part Russian and part Aleut), and a handful of Americans.
The natives are good-natured but not prepossessing in looks or
cleanly. They live in dwellings kept very hot, and both men and women
injure themselves by immoderate indulgence in the banya, a small Turkish
bath, often attached to the barabaras, or native huts. It is made like a
small barabara, except there is no smoke hole, has a similar frame, is
thatched with straw, and can be made air-tight. The necessary steam is
furnished by pouring water on stones previously heated very hot.
The women are frail and many die of consumption. When once sick, they
appear to have no physical or mental resistance. They must be
attractive, however, as there is a considerable population of white men
here who have taken native wives. From a condition of comparative
wealth, eight or ten years ago, when fur was plenty and money came
easily, and was as promptly spent on all sorts of unnecessary luxuries,
these people are now rapidly coming down to salmon, codfish and
potatoes. When a native wants anything, he will sell whatever he owns
for it, even to his rifle or wife. They almost all belong to the Greek
Church, the Russians, when we bought Alaska, having reserved the right
to keep their priests in the country.