TO ALERT BAY
The morning of the 27th fulfilled the promise of the previous day. The
weather had at last broken, and it was in a dense wetting mist that
we crept north, bound for Alert Bay. We had no delay at the Seymour
Narrows, which can only be navigated at a certain state of the tide.
The whole force of the Pacific runs through these narrows--not more
than half-a-mile broad--and the eddies and whirlpools that are formed
are terrifying. There is one great rock in the middle of the passage--a
special source of danger.
I had visited these narrows in a steam launch from the hotel, and had
there seen the water at its worst--a wonderful sight; but the tide was
now suitable, and as the _Queen City_ passed through there was only a
strong current.
The best guides and hunters are always snapped up early in the season,
and before I left England, Mr. Bryan Williams had secured for me the
services of Cecil Smith--better known in the local sporting world as
"Cougar" Smith, from the number of cougars he had shot. As he lived
at Quatiaski Cove, immediately opposite the Willows Hotel, I had
frequently met him and discussed our plans together.
We had arranged to go from Alert Bay up the Nimquish River to the
Nimquish Lake, from which we were to strike in north-west to some
valleys in the interior where wapiti were reported as fairly plentiful.
Cecil Smith did not know the ground personally, but his brother
Eustace, who had been in that part of the country several times, was to
meet us at Alert Bay and act as head guide. Unfortunately for us, at
the last moment he was unable to come, and we had to find our way as
best we could in an unknown and unmapped country. I had to find a man
to replace Eustace Smith, and was fortunate in picking up Joe Thomson
at Campbell River, and two better men than Smith and Thomson I could
not have had.
Smith was to act as head hunter and guide and Thomson more particularly
look after the cooking and camp generally. Thomson came on board with
me and we picked up Smith at Quitiaski Cove at about 4 a.m.
Two other members of the party were even of more interest to me than
the men. They were "Dick" and "Nigger," the latter generally known as
"Satan." "Dick," who belonged to Smith, was a most adorable dog and
celebrated throughout Vancouver for treeing cougars; indeed, as Smith
himself acknowledged, he owed his reputation as a cougar hunter to
Dick, who did everything except the actual shooting. It was difficult
to say what Dick's breed was. He looked like a cross between a spaniel
and a retriever. He was one of the most fascinating dog characters I
have ever met. He adored his master, who returned his worship, but
ingratiated himself with every one; soon discovering that I had a warm
corner in my heart for all dogs, we at once became fast friends.
"Nigger," the property of Thomson, was a powerful, black, evil-looking
bull terrier, but like many of his kind his character belied his looks,
for he really was a soft-hearted, affectionate beast with a special
ability for making himself comfortable under any circumstances. Thomson
asserted that if there was no food, "Nigger" subsisted on berries, and
he was an adept at catching fish for himself in the river. He had had
some trouble with the authorities at Comox in a matter of sheep, and so
a temporary absence from his native town was desirable, and he became,
to his great joy, one of our party.
At 2 p.m. on the 27th we arrived at Alert Bay, which is situated on an
island opposite where the Nimquish River discharges itself into the
sea. Alert Bay is an important settlement of the Siwash Indians, and
the village possesses one of the most remarkable collections of Totem
Poles on the coast.
The question was, where to put up--hotels there were none. Mr.
Chambers, the local merchant, had in the most generous manner built
an annexe to his charming house, containing several bedrooms, but
they were all occupied. Fortunately, I had been introduced to Mr.
Halliday, the Alert Bay Indian Agent, at Campbell River, and he most
kindly offered me a shakedown on a sofa in his drawing-room, which I
gratefully accepted. I found Mr. Halliday was devoted to music, but
seldom could find an accompanist--while to accompany was a pleasure to
me, and we passed the evening going through many songs I had not heard
for years, which recalled the Old Country and days long gone by.
Eustace Smith met us here and gave a rough sketch map to his brother
Cecil, and indeed pointed out to us the peak on Vancouver Island under
which we were to camp, and which only looked about fifteen miles off as
the crow flies, and yet what difficulty we had afterwards to find our
way through the impenetrable forest!
[Illustration: "DICK"]
[Illustration: 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, baking
powder, 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 the _Queen 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 to last 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 first experience 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 the forest 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.
IN THE FOREST