a little under a hundred yards. The old ram fell to my first bullet, and
I allowed the smaller one to go and grow up, and I hope offer good sport
to some persevering sportsman five years hence.
While Hunter climbed down and skinned out the heads I turned in pursuit
of the one which I had first fired at, for we both thought he had been
hit, having seen hair fly. I soon located him in the distance, but he
showed no signs of a bad wound, and as his head was small I was truly
glad that my shot had only grazed him. Both the rams which I killed
carried excellent heads with unbroken points, and we were safely back in
camp with the trophies shortly after two o'clock that afternoon--an easy
and a pleasant day.
The larger ram measured 13-1/4 inches around the base of the horns, and
37-7/8 inches along the outer curves. These were the longest horns of
the _Ovis dalli_ that I killed. The other ram measured 13 inches
around the horns and 34-1/2 inches along the outer curve.
[Illustration: MY BEST HEAD]
While we were having tea that afternoon, we chanced to look up on the
hills, and there, near the crest of the ridge, was one of the small rams
from the bunch we had stalked that morning. He offered a very easy
chance had I wanted his head. It is worthy of note that these sheep
seem to have no fear of the smell of blood or dead comrades, and on
several occasions I have observed them near the carcass of some ram
which I had shot.
The next day opened perceptibly cooler, and the angry clouds overhead
told us to beware of a coming storm. As I now had seven heads, five of
which were very handsome trophies, I concluded to take Hunter's advice
and leave the high hills.
Our sheep shooting for the year was now practically over. Had the
weather been fine it would have been an ideal trip; but with the
exception of the third and thirteenth of September every day passed upon
the mountains was not only disagreeable, but with conditions so
unfavorable that it had been almost impossible to stalk our game
properly, for when I had been once wet to the skin the cold wind from
the glaciers soon chilled me to such a degree that I was unable to
remain quietly in one place and allow the game to get in a favorable
position for a stalk. I had been obliged to keep constantly going, and
this frequently meant shooting at long range. With the exception of the
rams shot on the eleventh and thirteenth of September, I had killed
nothing under three hundred yards. Therefore much of the sport in
making a careful and proper stalk had been lost.
My success with the white sheep had come only with the hardest kind of
work, but I now had five really fine heads--which I later increased to
six, my limit. I was quite satisfied with the measurements of these
horns along the curve, but had hoped to have shot at least one which
would tape over 14 inches around the butts, although this would be
extreme, for the horns of the white sheep do not grow so large as the
common Rocky Mountain variety. They are also much lighter in color. I
believe that large and perfect heads will be most difficult to find a
few years hence in this section, and the sportsman who has ambitions in
this direction would do well not to delay his trip too long; for this
range of hills is not over large, and unless these sheep have some
protection, it is only a question of time before they will be almost
entirely killed off.
V.
HUNTING THE GIANT MOOSE
On September 17 we packed up and moved down the lake several miles,
where we made another base of supplies, for we were now going upon the
moose range.
The rutting season of the moose begins on the Kenai Peninsula about the
15th of September, and lasts, roughly speaking, for one month. At this
time the bulls come from the remote places where they have passed the
summer and seek the cows, and the country which they now roam is
generally the high tablelands which lie at the base of the mountains
just below the timber line. We had timed our hunt to be in the moose
range during this season, for then the bulls are bold, and not so
difficult to find.
Bull moose differ from the rest of the deer family in not getting
together a big band of cows, but pair off. The female remains with the
bull only a short time, and then slips away, and then the bulls roam the
forest in search of other partners. They are now very fearless, and if
they come upon a female accompanied by another bull, fight gallantly to
get possession of her. Their sense of smell is rather dulled at this
time, for I have often seen their tracks following the trail which my
native was constantly traveling.
The calves are born in May or June, and are weaned during the rutting
season, for the bulls are very apt to drive them away from their
mothers.
The antlers are hardly out of the velvet before the rutting season
begins. They are then a light yellowish color, but are later stained
dark brown by constant rubbing and scraping against bushes and tree
trunks.
The moose of Alaska undoubtedly carry heads far grander than those found
in the East. In fact, the antlers of the Kenai Peninsula moose equal, if
they do not exceed in size, those from any other part of the world, and
it was my ambition to kill by still-hunting a good example of one of
these.
Calling moose I have never looked upon as true sport, unless the hunter
does his own calling, and I am glad to see that many feel in the same
way about this mode of hunting.
After we had made our base of supplies on the shore of the lake, we
shouldered our packs and climbed up through the forest for several
hours, until we came to the shore of a small lake, where we made
camp. The scrubby woods were very thick, and extended up the sides of
the mountains for some distance; then came a broad belt of thick alders,
and beyond that the high open tablelands, which rolled back to the base
of the sheep hills. In all directions deep game trails, traveled by the
moose for many years, wound through the forest.
In the afternoon my man and I took our first hunt. Fresh tracks were
seen in the much-used runways, which were often worn two feet deep by
constant travel. Late in the afternoon I saw five sheep feeding on some
low hills at no great distance, and as there were no lambs among the
lot, we supposed that this was a band of rams, but we had not time to
reach them before dark.
We were just about to return to camp when Hunter saw glistening in the
sun among the thick alders, just above the timber line, the massive
antlers of a moose. There was no time to be lost if we meant to come up
with him, and so my man and I raced the entire way through the woods,
and then up the steep ascent, but failed to reach him.
When I started on this hunt I had a thorough understanding with Hunter
and my native that no one was to carry a rifle but myself, for I was
determined not to allow my natives to molest the game. Indians do not
like to wander through the forests without a gun, and my native had
lately borrowed a rifle from one of Blake's men, but I insisted upon his
leaving it at our base of supplies.
That afternoon, as Hunter and I started from camp, we sent the native
back to the lake to bring us more provisions. He told us that he had no
sooner reached the shore than he had heard a splash in the water near
him, and looking up had seen a large moose swimming across to a neck of
land at no great distance. He described this moose as at times being
completely submerged by the weight of his antlers, and said that he had
apparently great difficulty in swimming.
This temptation was too great for Lawroshka, and, as his rifle was at
hand, he pushed off in the boat, and coming up close to the moose, shot
him just as he was leaving the water. He offered to give me the head,
and seemed greatly surprised when I refused it, and told him I did not
wish to bring out any trophies which I had not shot myself. I was sorry
to learn that some men who have hunted in this region did not hesitate
to class among their trophies the heads which had been shot by their
men.
I went to sleep that night with the expectation of a fair day and good
sport on the morrow, but woke next morning to find it raining
hard. Since reaching our hunting grounds on the 22d of August, we had
had only five pleasant days, and three of these were used up in marching
from one camp to another. It was now raining so hard that I determined
not to hunt, and turned in among my blankets with my pipe, but after a
time this failed to satisfy me, and by 11 o'clock Hunter and I decided
that even a thorough wetting was preferable to doing nothing.
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.