the appearance of artificial light. Birds are often attracted by it,
while animals, dazed by the strangeness of the sight and the glare,
seem to lose at times all power of motion. Whether it is because of
curiosity or on account of the judgment becoming paralyzed through
excessive fear, artificial light of great intensity seems to deprive
a wild animal of his usual cunning and alertness. Wildfowl, such as
ducks and geese, are notably affected in the same way. “Firelighting,”
which it is well known, involves the destruction of so many thousands
of game birds every year, fairly illustrates and proves the foregoing
statement. Insects seem strangely attracted by artificial lights and
frequently pay for their temerity with their lives. What impression
artificial light makes upon wild animals it is hard to state. Sportsmen
know how easily a deer can be taken at a disadvantage by “jacking,”
but this does not account for one entering the lighted circle of a
camp-fire. Instances of wild animals being approached when stupefied by
the presence of artificial light are plentiful, but I have never known
before of any animal actually invading a camp and standing in front of
the fire.
When we had exhausted comment upon the unusual incident, which was the
absorbing theme for conversation for the balance of the evening, a good
night’s sleep came as relaxation from the exercise of the day.
The morning broke bright and clear and quite cold. Breakfast was
soon bolted down. An abomination which Aleck called a pancake was
the principal article of our repast. This dish compensated by its
size and quantity for what it lacked in other respects. Even Jake,
whose digestion might excite the envy of an ostrich, hesitated before
tackling a second one. Aleck, seeing his uncertain look, asked him
whether he would have another pancake.
“Only a small piece about the size of your foot,” Jake replied.
Having saddled the horses the guide took a course which led along a
rocky defile for a considerable distance. While looking up at the red
sandstone cliffs, which overhung us, and admiring the contrast their
rugged outlines furnished against the clear blue of the sky, I saw a
large bald-headed eagle perched upon a commanding eminence. His figure
was sharply defined in the clear atmosphere, and although I knew he
was quite a distance off, I was somewhat surprised when the guide
computed the range at 300 yards at least. I reined up my horse and
threw the lines over his head. As Jake saw me alight to take aim, a
sort of weary expression came over his face. He was evidently thinking
of the coyotes. After carefully sighting the bird and gauging the range
according to the estimate I had received, I fired. For several seconds
the wings fluttered, as the eagle strove to balance himself on his
perch, and then he collapsed in a lifeless mass, a few feet below.
[Illustration: A GLIMPSE OF ROCKY MOUNTAIN SCENERY.]
Having watched the lifeless shape a few seconds, I reloaded the rifle
without betraying any signs of emotion or uttering a word. Although
my eyes were turned in a different direction, I felt conscious of a
penetrating gaze which seemed to go through me like an X-ray and read
my inmost thought. Turning to mount my horse, I met the wide-open eyes
of Jake staring at me in astonishment. Neither of us said a word for
some time, but Jake was thinking, wondering whether it was an accident
or a fair exhibition of my skill. The only data he had to work on in
drawing his conclusions was the previous bad marksmanship in shooting
at the coyotes, and the telling recent shot at the eagle, which I
seemed to regard as a matter of course, but I acted the same way when I
missed the coyotes.
Jake displayed the same resourcefulness that a curious woman will
sometimes exercise upon receiving a letter: first she looks at the
post-mark, then at the handwriting of the address and, after exhausting
all the pros and cons to determine what the contents of the letter
are, finally strikes upon a happy idea--she opens the letter and reads
it. After Jake had thoroughly turned the incident over in his mind
he finally remarked, in a tone pitched between an exclamation and an
interrogation point: “I guess you were surprised when you fetched
that bird down?” My presence of mind did not leave me; I gave Jake
good advice about marksmanship and shooting in general. He thanked
me and said he hoped I would give him some points about guiding and
outfitting, as he was trying to learn the business.
Game being rather scarce in this section we concluded to move camp
and try our luck in the Jackson’s Hole country. For a short time I
made headquarters near a ranch on Jackson’s Lake. This body of water
is situated quite close to the Grand Tetons, which tower thousands of
feet above its surface. The crest of these great formations, like a
mighty arm stretching a curtain over the western sky, receives the rays
of the morning sun long before they reach the narrow valley below. It
is interesting and beautiful to see the golden light slowly creeping
down the slopes of these great mountains, until at last the sun, having
climbed well into the sky, suddenly pours its golden flood of light in
one immense deluge into the lake. The transition is startling.
The trout in the lake grow to a very large size and are very gamy.
There are a few hot springs in this locality which, however, do not
affect the temperature of the water, which is very cold the year
round. The lake derives its main supply from the melting snows of the
surrounding mountains.
I concluded to enjoy a morning’s sport fishing, and for that purpose
secured a boat from the ranchman who threw in his services as well. We
poled up the outlet, which was a very clear and swift stream. The trout
swarmed under the boat at times in great numbers and many of them of
considerable size. Flocks of wild ducks and geese, winging their way to
their feeding grounds, broke the stillness of the early morning, for
it was before daybreak that we started, when the stars were beginning
to pale in the sky. The trout made their presence quite noticeable,
frequently disturbing the surface of the water, and sometimes a big
one would stir up an awful commotion. I soon had a seven-pound trout
securely hooked, which I landed as soon as I was able to do so, because
I wanted a change of diet.
Although I had been in camp for a couple of weeks I had been unable to
get a shot at an elk, and had only seen one making its way through the
thick timber. The snow had not fallen as yet, and the ground was very
dry, which made hunting difficult. It was a welcome sight one morning
to look out of my tent and see the ground covered with snow, and it is,
moreover, surprising to notice what a difference it makes in hunting. I
had not traveled more than two miles from camp on foot when I heard a
long, loud whistle--a most pleasing sound. I directed my steps in the
direction whence it came, and was rewarded by catching a glimpse of
half a dozen elk disappearing through an opening in the timber. They
were not going fast, and I do not believe they saw me.
I followed them as quickly and carefully as I could until I came to
the edge of a steep descent, and saw the bunch in the valley below.
In the herd there was a fine bull who seemed proud of his authority,
and occasionally whistled and bugled his challenge to any possible
rival disposed to dispute his lordship over the cows he had assembled
around him, which by this time had considerably increased in numbers.
The distance seemed too great to hazard a shot, and I thought I would
circle around on the higher elevations to secure a closer range and
better position. Although unfrightened, the elk began to move off with
a gentle ambling gait which seems slow, but if one tries to keep up
with it in a rough mountainous country he will find his energy pretty
well taxed. I soon lost sight of the game and stopped partly because I
was almost exhausted and also to locate the herd, if it were possible
to hear it.
At first I thought I heard the hoof beats on the ground, but presently
recognized that it was the action of my heart, which was beating so
forcibly that I could distinctly hear it. The high elevation and the
vigorous exercise often produce that effect upon one who is not used
to the climate. Other sportsmen have had a similar experience. After
pursuing my course some distance along the side of a steep hill my
attention was suddenly arrested by the sound of breaking branches in
the spruce nearby. I had not long to wait before a spike-horned elk
stepped out in front of me not more than twenty-five or thirty yards
off. The large brown eyes were looking straight at me with a mildness
and apparent absence of fear, which removed all thought of slaughter
from my mind, although at that time I had never killed an elk.
The poor quality of the head as a trophy determined my action. After
gazing a few seconds I turned my steps in the direction I thought the
herd had taken its course. A long, shrill whistle, ending in a squeal,
blended with a bray like a donkey, soon informed me of the whereabouts
of the bull I was seeking. Climbing over the crest of the hill I
finally caught sight of the old bull in the valley with a bunch of cow
elk collected around him, which had increased by this time to about
twenty-five or thirty. The bull frequently threw his head up, giving
vent to his peculiar call, which was answered now and then by several
other bulls on the surrounding hills, none of which seemed willing to
venture near him. I watched this spectacle for some time, endeavoring
to get near enough to obtain a good shot.
Being alone and unaccustomed to the country I was unable to gauge
the distance correctly. When finally I stopped at the nearest point
I could reach to secure a fair shot (I was using on that occasion a
.45-90 Winchester, not one of the modern high-power guns with a flat
trajectory), I fired at the bull without effect and saw the whole
bunch of cow elk come together in a solid mass and ascend the slope of
the neighboring mountain. The cow elk acted as though panic-stricken,
all striving to get as near the center of the bunch as possible while
ascending the slope and interfering considerably with the movements
of one another in so doing. The bull remained behind until the cows
had gained a considerable start, and then followed them up the
mountain. When I examined the distance from the spot where I stood
when I fired at the bull to the point where he was located, I found it
over 400 yards. Being unaccustomed to gauging distance at that time,
I underestimated the range. The atmosphere is so clear that objects
obtain a much clearer definition and seem at times nearer than they
really are. A mistake in underestimating distance made a greater
difference with the old .45-90 than it would with modern high power
rifles. I returned to camp burning with a desire to secure a good
trophy.
The next day I went out with Jake. We separated, agreeing to meet at
a certain place, which, through some misunderstanding, we failed to
accomplish. I soon ran upon the tracks of a big bull elk, which led
directly up the steep side of a mountain. This I climbed for about six
hundred feet with some trouble, when I noticed that the tracks had
begun to turn and tended downward. I continued to follow them until
they brought me again to the foot of the mountain, within about thirty
feet of the point where I first started to trace them up. I finally ran
across my guide again, and it was not long before his keen eyes picked
out an elk at a distance of about two hundred and fifty yards, just
visible among some spruce trees. It was a cow elk, and I was indisposed
to shoot it, but being reminded of the condition of the larder I
concluded to try my luck. The crack of the rifle was followed by the
disappearance of the animal in the timber, and I thought I had missed,
but was reassured to the contrary, and when I reached the spot where
the elk had stood I saw a few traces of blood, which shortly led to a
brown form lying among the green spruce trees--the elk was stone dead.
Standing over Jake, who was engaged in dressing the elk, I asked him
if he thought I ought to smash the rifle over a rock. Looking up from
his dirty work, besmeared with perspiration and gore, he replied with a
grin, “Not when she throws lead like that.”
My time was drawing to a close, and although I had abundant
opportunities to kill animals with inferior heads, that kind of sport
did not satisfy me, and I left them to die a natural death, unless some
tooth hunter has cut their existence short.
The final day passed without result, and I had to leave for a later
period a more successful hunt for trophies.
The last night around the camp-fire Jake made entertaining by relating
to me some of his personal experiences. The following story was told me
as absolutely true: The guide had struck the trail of a mountain lion,
which he followed with his pack of dogs to a tree where the trail
ended. Naturally he expected to find the lion in the tree. Much to his
surprise there was no lion in the tree, and no tracks of a lion leading
away from the tree. The only tracks discernible were the tracks of an
elk. Finally a bloodhound in the pack started off on the elk tracks.
This seemed very strange, because the dogs had been thoroughly broken
from following anything except lions and bobcats. The guide tried to
call the dog back, but he continued to follow the elk tracks, and the
rest of the pack joined in the pursuit. Following the tracks about a
quarter of a mile, there appeared in the snow signs of a struggle, and
then an impression upon the ground of a large animal which the elk had
evidently unseated. The lion’s tracks were distinctly visible from this
point for a considerable distance, until he took refuge in a pinyon
tree.
It was plain that the mountain lion had jumped upon the back of a
passing elk and had stolen a free ride, which he enjoyed until his
saddle horse dismounted him. “That shows what a wonderfully intelligent
animal a dog is,” said Jake; “just to think that they should have
reasoned it out that the lion had ridden off on the elk, when I was
puzzled myself to find out what had become of him.”
[Illustration: PACK HORSES ROUNDED UP FOR THE RETURN.]
“Do you suppose,” chimed in Aleck, “that the dogs showed intelligence
because they knew more than you did?”
BLOODLESS SPORT
There has developed in recent years a sentiment which has declared
itself strongly in opposition to taking animal life for the sake
of sport. The camera has been recommended as a substitute for the
death-dealing firearm. A great many people have discussed this subject
without possessing a clear idea of what constitutes real sport.
To obtain a better understanding of the subject we may classify those
who hunt for the purpose of destroying wild life under three divisions:
sportsmen, market hunters and butchers. The last expression I have
employed in a peculiar sense as indicating a very objectionable class
in itself. By a process of elimination one may arrive at the true
conception of a sportsman after first grasping the meaning of the term
market hunter and butcher, and then disabusing the mind of both of
those conceptions. The term butcher is applicable to whomever engages
in the wanton and wasteful destruction of animal life with no idea of
utilizing the remains. To the mind of such persons a sportsman’s goal
is a slaughter pen. The game butcher recognizes no rules, but prides
himself on the amount of havoc he can produce in a flock of birds
or a herd of wild animals, and speaks with glee of the quantity of
game he has destroyed. The market hunter, as the name implies, is out
for business. The rules of sport do not interest him; it is merely a
question of dollars and cents; he kills when it pays to kill, and tries
to make certain every shot, regarding any advantage he can take as
perfectly legitimate. The worst qualities of the butcher and the market
hunter combine in the person who hunts elk for the purpose of securing
the teeth, allowing the antlers and carcass to remain unused. The sins
of these two classes are indiscriminately laid on the shoulders of the
sportsman by people who have a misty idea about real sport.
The desire to kill is instinctive, and, refined under civilizing
influences, produces the sportsman. The mere love of killing for the
sake of doing so soon palled on people who had any conception of sport.
The true theory of sport, whether in playing games or in hunting,
necessarily involves the idea of a contest or trial of skill wherein
there is a certain element of chance. The rapid destruction of game,
consequent upon the easy mastery of nature by man, led in quite early
times to the establishment of game preserves and the enactment of laws
for the preservation of game. The killing of game developed into a
pastime, and rules regulating its enjoyment readily grew out of this
method of recreation. In other words it came to be regarded as a sport
or game wherein the hunted had rights or privileges which had to be
respected the same as those of a contestant in any other game; the
huntsman must exercise his ingenuity and sometimes his daring and
endurance against the cunning and desperation of the wild beast. It is
obvious from the foregoing explanation that no sportsman countenances
killing, except for a purpose, and prefers to give the game a chance to
exercise its cleverness and adroitness in making good its escape; if
it fails, it has been outwitted. The observance of game laws for the
preservation of game find no stronger advocates anywhere than among
sportsmen, and it is to their interest to prevent the extermination of
wild life, because if that should take place their pastime would be
gone.
There are a number of enlightened people, however, who distinctly
disapprove of a sportsman’s favorite amusement and regard hunting and
killing game for recreation as altogether wrong. An examination into
this state of feeling with a view of ascertaining whether it is based
upon a clearly defined reason, or is merely a capricious sentiment,
may be instructive. All animal life in one way or another exists or is
sacrificed for the benefit of humanity. No one can reasonably combat
this assertion. By the very instinct of his being, man assumes to have
an unquestioned right to subject the lower order of created life to
his use. This assertion of his authority dates from the beginning when
the fiat was delivered--“Let him have dominion over the fish of the
sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that
moveth upon the face of the earth!” In what way shall this authority
be exercised? Human necessity or convenience alone has determined that
question without the brute creation being considered. The beast that
is reduced to servitude, and compelled to work the balance of his
existence, finds no advocate for his emancipation; no protest is made
against the wholesale slaughter of cattle to supply the meat market.
But when the sportsman goes forth to exercise his skill, allowing the
hunted prey a chance for its life and freedom, the sentimentalist,
who is generally someone who never took pleasure in that form of
amusement, throws up his hands and exclaims, “How brutal!” It is easy
to discriminate against a practice in which one does not participate.
Self-denial, when you deny yourself nothing, is an easy and convenient
morality. The brute creation is sacrificed for man’s enjoyment, and it
is useless to offer capricious objections to a form of sacrifice which
pleases another and which does not happen to appeal to one’s own idea
of pleasure.
There is a great deal of inconsistency displayed by many who deprecate
hunting with a rifle or shotgun, as the case may be. Cruelty to
animals seems to include birds and quadrupeds, but not fish. I have
heard people who are fond of angling expatiate upon the wickedness of
destroying animal life; yet they saw no harm in catching fish with a
light rod and play their quarry for a long time.
The huntsman endeavors to kill his game as soon as possible; he does
not prolong its agony for his amusement. No protests are made against
fishing as a sport so far as I have observed. The reason for this is
not hard to discover. The fish is a cold-blooded creature to whom the
heart does not seem to go out in sympathy to any extent; the slimy
scales do not invite the contact of the fingers like the warm fur of
a deer or the soft down of a duck; there is nothing in its “yellow
orbs” to excite sentimental regard; it is not an object one would pet
or fondle like a spotted fawn; wanting in qualities which appeal to
the fancy, no plea is set up in its behalf. In further evidence of the
inconsistency in question I have heard ladies almost melt with emotion
while deprecating the destruction of animal life by the sportsman, who
yet seem little affected by the recital of the lingering death agony of
the poor creatures caught in traps to furnish the furs which minister
to female vanity.
The universal custom of sacrificing animal life in some form or another
makes it impossible for one to condemn the sportsman’s method of
destroying it without the charge of inconsistency. Once concede that
the right to take the life of dumb creatures exists, and the individual
must decide in what way that right shall be exercised, with the
limitations which civilization places upon the exercise of all natural
rights.
WESTERN CAMP LIFE
We read of the big game which once frequented the Western part of the
United States in such large numbers; yet in traveling over that section
in a Pullman it is surprising that we seldom see any evidence of it.
Leaving the line of the railway and settlement, the monotony of the
sterile plain covered with sagebrush is unrelieved by signs of animal
life, except horses and cattle and occasionally herds of sheep. The old
life has passed and the new has hardly developed sufficiently to supply
its place.
Here and there may be found spots which excite the ardor of sportsmen,
but they are generally inaccessible except through the agency of a
competent guide. The great herds of buffalo which once swept over
the plains in such vast numbers as to endanger the life of the
pioneer, have disappeared entirely; the elk have almost vanished and
their annual migrations have ceased to be a terror to the ranchman,
who fenced in his hay to protect it from the famished herds. Even the
smaller game has greatly diminished.
[Illustration: MOUNTAIN CLIMBING.
When the ascent is steep and slippery, one is aided by holding on to a
horse’s tail.]
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.