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CAMP AND TRAIL
[Illustration: From a painting by Fernand Lungren
THE HOME OF THE "RED GODS"]
CAMP AND TRAIL
BY
STEWART EDWARD WHITE
_Author of "The Blazed Trail," "The Pass," etc._
_Frontispiece in color by Fernand Lungren
and many other illustrations
from photographs, etc._
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1911
Copyright, 1906, 1907, by
THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England.
_All rights reserved._
PREFACE
AFTER considerable weighing of the pros and cons I have decided to
include the names of firms where certain supplies may be bought. I
realize that this sort of free advertisement is eminently unjust to
other worthy houses handling the same lines of goods, but the case is
one of self-defense. In _The Forest_ I rashly offered to send to
inquirers the name of the firm making a certain kind of tent. At this
writing I have received and answered _over eleven hundred_ inquiries.
Since the publication of these papers in _The Outing Magazine_, I have
received hundreds of requests for information as to where this, that, or
the other thing may be had. I have tried to answer them all, but to do
so has been a tax on time I would not care to repeat. Therefore I shall
try in the following pages to give the reader all the practical
information I possess, even though, as stated, I may seem unduly to
advertise the certain few business houses with which I have had
satisfactory dealings. It is needless to remark that I am interested in
none of these firms, and have received no especial favors from them.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE WILDERNESS TRAVELER 3
II COMMON SENSE IN THE WILDERNESS 23
III PERSONAL EQUIPMENT 35
IV PERSONAL EQUIPMENT (_Continued_) 63
V CAMP OUTFIT 79
VI THE COOK OUTFIT 97
VII GRUB 115
VIII CAMP COOKERY 135
IX HORSE OUTFITS 149
X HORSE PACKS 169
XI HORSES, MULES, BURROS 203
XII CANOES 221
INDEX 233
ILLUSTRATIONS
The home of the Red Gods (_Frontispiece_)
OPPOSITE
PAGE
On the trail (from a painting by N. C. Wyeth) 16
The Author doing a little washing on his own account 32
"Mountain on mountain towering high, and a valley in
between" 48
One of the mishaps to be expected 64
"Bed in the bush with stars to see" 80
"We may live without friends, we may live without
books, but civilized man cannot live without
cooks" 104
When you quit the trail for a day's rest 120
In the heat of the day's struggle 144
Nearing a crest and in sight of game 160
A downward journey 176
In mid-day the shade of the pines is inviting 208
Getting ready for another day of it 224
CHAPTER I
THE WILDERNESS TRAVELER
[Sidenote: The First Qualification]
MANY people have asked me what, all things considered, is the most
valuable quality a wilderness traveler can possess. Always I have
replied unhesitatingly; for no matter how useful or desirable such
attributes as patience, courage, strength, endurance, good nature, and
ingenuity, may prove to be, undoubtedly a man with them but without the
sense of direction, is practically helpless in the wilds.
[Sidenote: The Sense of Direction]
A sense of direction, therefore, I should name as the prime requisite
for him who would become a true woodsman, depending on himself rather
than on guides. The faculty is largely developed, of course, by much
practice; but it must be inborn. Some men possess it; others do
not--just as some men have a mathematical bent while to others figures
are always a despair. It is a sort of extra, having nothing to do with
criterions of intelligence or mental development, like the repeater
movement in a watch. A highly educated or cultured man may lack it; the
roughest possess it. Some who have never been in the woods or mountains
acquire in the space of a vacation a fair facility at picking a way; and
I have met a few who have spent their lives on the prospect trail, and
who were still, and always would be, as helpless as the newest city
dweller. It is a gift, a talent. If you have its germ, you can become a
traveler of the wide and lonely places. If you have it not, you may as
well resign yourself to guides.
[Sidenote: The Sense of Direction]
The sense of direction in its simplest and most elementary phase, of
course, leads a man back to camp, or over a half-forgotten trail. The
tenderfoot finds his way by little landmarks, and an attempt to remember
details. A woodsman adds to this the general "lay" of the country, the
direction its streams ought to flow, the course the hills must take,
the dip of strata, the growth of trees. So if the tenderfoot forgets
whether he turns to right or left at a certain half-remembered burnt
stub, he is lost. But if at the same point the woodsman's memory fails
him, he turns unhesitatingly to the left, because he knows by all the
logic of nature's signboards that the way must be to the left. A good
mountaineer follows the half-obliterated trails as much by his knowledge
of where a trail _must_ go, as by the sparse indications that men have
passed that way. I have traveled all day in the Sierras over apparently
virgin country. Yet every few hours we would come on the traces of an
old trail. We were running in and out of it all day; and at night we
camped by it.
That is, as I have said, elementary. It has to do with a country over
which your woodsman has already traveled, or about which he knows
something. In the last analysis, however, it means something more.
The sense of direction will take a man through a country of which he
knows nothing whatever. He travels by the _feel_ of it, he will tell
you. This means that his experience subconsciously arranges certain
factors from which the sixth sense we are discussing draws certain
deductions. A mountaineer, for example, recognizes the altitude by the
vegetation. Knowing the altitude he knows also the country formation,
and so he can tell at once whether the canyon before him will narrow to
an impassable gorge, or remain open enough to admit of passage. This in
turn determines whether he shall choose the ravines or ridges in
crossing a certain divide, and exactly how he can descend on the other
side. The example is one of the simpler. A good man thus noses his way
through a difficult country with considerable accuracy where a
tenderfoot would become speedily lost.
[Sidenote: Thoroughness]
[Sidenote: Be Sure You Are Right]
But if a sense of direction is the prime requisite, thoroughness presses
it close. It is sometimes very difficult to command the necessary
patience. At the end of a hard day, with the almost moral certainty that
the objective point is just ahead, it is easy, fatally easy, when the
next dim blaze does not immediately appear, to say to oneself--"Oh, it's
near enough"--and to plunge ahead. And then, nine times out of ten, you
are in trouble. "I guess this is all right" has lost many a man; and the
haste too great to be sure--and then again sure--has had many fatal
results. If it is a trail, then be certain you see indications before
proceeding. Should they fail, then go back to the last indication and
start over again. If it is new country, then pick up every consideration
in your power, and balance them carefully before making the smallest
decision. And all the time keep figuring. Once having decided on a
route, do not let the matter there rest. As you proceed keep your eyes
and mind busy, weighing each bit of evidence. And if you become
suspicious that you are on the wrong tack, turn back unhesitatingly, no
matter how time presses.
A recent expedition with a fatal termination illustrates this point
completely. At first sight it may seem invidious to call attention to
the mistakes of a man who has laid down his life in payment for them.
But it seems to me that the chief value of such sad accidents--beyond
the lessons of courage, endurance, comradeship, devotion, and beautiful
faith--lies in the lesson and warning to those likely to fall into the
same blunders. I knew Hubbard, both at college and later, and admire and
like him. I am sure he would be the first to warn others from repeating
his error.
[Sidenote: Fatal Result of not Being Sure]
The expedition of which I speak started out with the purpose of
exploring Labrador. As the season is short some haste was necessary. The
party proceeded to the head of a certain lake into which they had been
told they would find a river flowing. They found a river, ascended it,
were conquered by the extreme difficulties of the stream, one of the
party perished, and the others came near to it.
As for the facts so far: The first thought to occur to a man entirely
accustomed to wilderness travel would be, is there perhaps another
stream? another river flowing into that lake? Encountering difficulties
he would become more and more uneasy as to that point, until at last he
would have detached a scout to make sure.
But mark this further: The party's informants had told Hubbard that he
would find the river easily navigable for eighteen miles. As a matter of
fact the expedition ran into shallows and rapids _within a half mile of
the lake_.
[Sidenote: What Should Have Been Done]
To a woodsman the answer would have stood out as plain as print. He
would have retraced his way, explored farther, found the right river,
and continued. But poor Hubbard was in a hurry, and moreover possessed
that optimistic temperament that so endeared him to all who knew him.
"They must have made a mistake in the distance. I guess this is all
right," said he, and pushed on against difficulties that eventually
killed him.
To a man accustomed to exploration such a mistake is inconceivable.
Labrador is not more dangerous than other wooded northern countries; not
so dangerous as the big mountains; much safer than the desert. A wrong
turn in any of these wildernesses may mean death. Forty men succumbed to
the desert last summer. Do not make that wrong turn. Be sure. Take
_nothing_ for granted--either that "they made a mistake in the
distance," or that "it's probably all right." One of the greatest of
American wilderness travelers knew this--as all wilderness travelers
must--and phrased it in an epigram that has become classic. "Be sure you
are right, and then go ahead," advised Daniel Boone.
[Sidenote: Alertness]
So you do not get lost--barring accidents--you are safe enough. But to
travel well you must add to your minor affairs the same quality,
slightly diluted, perhaps, that I have endeavored to describe above. In
this application it becomes thoroughness and smartness. A great many
people object while camping to keeping things in trim, to getting up in
the morning, to moving with expedition and precision. "Oh, what's the
use in being so particular!" they grumble, "this is supposed to be a
pleasure trip."
[Sidenote: Discipline]
Outside the fact that a certain amount of discipline brings efficiency,
there is no doubt that a slack camp means trouble sooner or later. Where
things are not picked up, something important will sooner or later be
lost or left behind. Where the beginning of the day's journey hangs
fire, sooner or later night will catch you in a very bad place indeed.
Where men get in the habit of slouching, physically and mentally, they
become in emergencies unable to summon presence of mind, and incapable
of swift, effective movements. The _morale_ is low; and exclusive of the
fact that such things are an annoyance to the spirit, they may in some
exceptional occasion give rise to serious trouble. Algernon is ten
minutes slow in packing his horse; and Algernon gets well cursed. He is
hurt as to the soul, and demands of himself aggrievedly how ten minutes
can be valued so high. It is not the ten minutes as a space of time, but
as a measure of incompetence. This pack train is ten minutes short of
what a pack train should be; and if the leader's mind is properly
constructed, he is proportionately annoyed.
Although not strictly germane to a discussion of equipments, I am
tempted to hold up a horrible example.
[Sidenote: A Horrible Example]
One evening we were all sitting around a big after-dinner fire at the
Forest Supervisor's summer camp in the mountains, when an outfit drifted
in and made camp a few hundred yards down stream. After an interval the
leader of the party came over and introduced himself.
[Sidenote: A Horrible Example]
He proved to be a youngish man, with curly hair, regular features, a
good physique, and eyes handsome, but set too close together. A blue
flannel shirt whose top button was unfastened, rolled back to show his
neck; a handkerchief was knotted below that; in all his external
appearance he leaned toward the foppish-picturesque. This was in itself
harmless enough. Shortly he began to tell us things. He confided that
his chief ambition was to rope a bear; he related adventures in the more
southern mountains; he stated that he intended to travel up through the
Minarets and over Agnew's Pass, and by way of Tuolumne. This was to
consume two weeks! Finally he became more personal. He told us how
President Roosevelt when on his Pacific Coast tour had spoken to him
personally.
"When the train started," said he, "I ran after it as hard as I could
with a lot of others, but I ran a lot faster and got ahead, so the
President spoke directly to me--not to the crowd, but to _me_!"
He left us suitably impressed. Next morning his camp was astir at five
o'clock--as was proper considering the strenuous programme he had
outlined. About seven our friend came over to get his animals, which he
had turned out in the Supervisor's pasture over night--ten animals in
another man's mountain pasture! We had a shooting match, and talked
Reserve matters for just one hour and twenty minutes. Then somebody
waked up.
"I wonder what's become of Jones; let's go see."
We went. Jones was standing dusty in the middle of the corral. In his
hand he held a short loop not over three feet across. This he whirled
forward and _overhand_. Occasionally he would cast it at a horse. Of
course the outraged and astounded animal was stricken about the knees,
whereupon he circulated the confines of the corral at speed.
[Sidenote: Jones and the Mule]
And the animals! At the moment of our arrival Jones was bestowing
attention on a dignified and gaunt mule some seventeen hands high. I
never saw such a giraffe. Two about the size of jackasses hovered near.
One horse's lower lip wabbled abjectly below a Roman nose.
We watched a few moments; then offered mildly to "help." Jones, somewhat
heated and cross, accepted. The first horse I roped I noticed was
barefoot. So were the others. And the route was over a rough granite and
snow country. Thus we formed a procession, each leading some sort of
equine freak. It was by now nearly nine o'clock.
Camp we found about half picked up. The other members of the party were
nice, well-meaning people, but absolutely inexperienced in the ways of
the wilderness. They had innocently intrusted themselves to Jones on the
strength of his self-made reputation; and now undoubtedly were taking
all this fuss and discomfit quite as part of "roughing it."
[Sidenote: Helping the Tenderfeet]
When we saw them we were stricken with pity and a kindly feeling which
Jones had failed to arouse, so we turned in to help them saddle up.
Jones was occupied with a small mule which he claimed was "bad." He
hitched said mule to a tree, then proceeded to elevate one hind leg by
means of a rope thrown over a limb. Why he did not simply blindfold the
animal no one could tell. We looked forward with some joy to the
throwing of the pack-hitches.
[Illustration: On the Trail]
[Sidenote: A Forest Fire]
But at this moment a Ranger dashed up with news of a forest fire over in
the Rock Creek country. The Rangers present immediately scattered for
their saddle horses, while I took a pack and went in search of supplies.
Shortly after one o'clock I was organized, and departed on the trail of
the Rangers. They had struck over the ridge, and down the other side of
the mountains. Their tracks were easy to follow, and once atop the
divide I could see the flames and smoke of the fire over the next
mountain system. Desiring to arrive before dark, I pushed ahead as
rapidly as possible. About half way down the mountain I made out dust
ahead.
"A messenger coming back for something," thought I.
In ten minutes I was stricken dumb to overtake the Jones party plodding
trustingly along in the tracks made by the Rangers.
"Well," I greeted them, "what are you doing over here? A little off your
beat, aren't you?"
The members of the party glanced at each other, while Jones turned a
dull red.
"Wrong trail, eh?" said he easily; "where does this one go to?"
[Sidenote: Jones and the Trail]
"Why, this isn't a trail!" I cried. "Can't you see it's just fresh
tracks made since morning? This will take you to the fire, and that's
about all. Your trail is miles to the north of here."
For the moment he was crushed. It was now too late to think of going
back; a short cut was impossible on account of the nature of the
country. Finally I gave him a direction which would cut another
trail--not where he had intended to go, but at least leading to horse
feed. Then I bade him farewell, and rode on to the fire.
[Sidenote: We Put Them Right]
Long after dark, when hunting for the place the boys had camped, I met
that deluded outfit moving supperless, homeless, lost, like ghosts in
the glow of the fire line. Jones was cross and snapped at me when I
asked him if he wasn't seeing a good deal of country. But I looked at
the tired faces of the other members of the party, and my heart
relented, and I headed them for a meadow.
"How far beyond is Squaw Dome?" asked Jones as he started.
"Sixteen miles--about," said I.
"About eight hours the way you and I travel, then," said he.
"About eight weeks the way you travel," amended a Ranger standing near.
Two days later a shakemaker came to help us fight fire.
"Oh, yes, they passed my place," said he. "I went out and tried to tell
him he was off'n the trail, but he waved me aside. 'We have our maps,'
says he, very lofty."
Twelve days subsequently I rode a day and a half to Jackass Meadow. They
told us the Jones party just passed! I wonder what became of them, and
how soon their barefooted horses got tender.
Now the tenderfoot one helps out, nor makes fun of, for he is merely
inexperienced and will learn. But this man is in the mountains every
summer. He likewise wishes to rope bears.
[Sidenote: An Object Lesson]
No better example could be instanced as to the value of camp alertness,
efficiency, the use of one's head, and the willingness to take advice. I
had with me at the time a younger brother whom I was putting through his
first paces; and Jones was to me invaluable as an object lesson.
The purpose of this chapter is not to tell you how to do things, but how
to go at them. If you can keep from getting lost, and if you can _keep
awake_, you will at least reach home safe. Other items of mental and
moral equipment you may need will come to you by natural development in
the environment to which the wild life brings you.