BUTE INLET
Bute Inlet is the most remarkable as well as the most beautiful of the
larger fiords of the British Columbia coast. Its great length and the
height of the mountains that wall it in make it unequalled. Nowhere at
the sea-level can such stupendous mountains be seen so near at hand,
nor such sublime views be had.
At its mouth the Inlet is only about a mile in width, and in its widest
portion it is not more than two and a half miles. At the entrance, the
hills are not especially high or rugged, but rise from the water in a
series of rounded undulations. Densely wooded to their summits, they
roll away in smooth green waves to the higher more distant mountains
of the interior. No sharp pinnacles of granite nor dark frowning
precipices interrupt the green of the forests. The dome-shaped hills
come into view one after another, always smooth and ever green. The
scene is one of quiet picturesque beauty. A little farther up the
inlet the scenery changes. The shores rise more abruptly from the
water's edge, but though the mountains increase in height the soft
green foliage of firs and cedars still rises toward the summits in an
unbroken sweep. Then masses of rock lift themselves above the timber
line, glittering in the sunlight as though studded with jewels, or when
shadowed by clouds frowning down cold, black, and forbidding. Soon
patches of snow begin to appear on the mountains; at first visible only
as narrow white lines nestling in the deeper ravines, but farther along
large snow banks came into view and before long extensive snow fields
are seen, glittering white on the summits, or even down among the green
of the mountain sides.
The canoe started early and a fair wind enabled them to set the sail
and to sit back at ease all through the long day and view undisturbedly
the enchanting scenery which they were passing.
Jack had often heard his uncle describe a trip that he had made to
Norway, and his journey up some of the fiords of that rock-bound coast.
As he now watched the shore and the mountains of Bute Inlet slip by,
these descriptions were constantly brought to his mind. Scarcely less
impressive than the wonderful cliffs and mountains that he was seeing,
were the beautiful streams, fed by the melting of the perpetual snow
high upon the hills. These streams plunged over the precipices in
beautiful falls and cascades. Long before the water reached the rocks
below, it was broken up into finest spray; and a white veil of mist
waved to and fro before the black rocks, in fantastic and ever changing
shapes.
Here the mountains had become much higher than any they had approached
before. Instead of peaks from twenty-five hundred to four thousand
feet in height, they were close to those that reached an altitude of
six or eight thousand feet. One of these was Mt. Powell, a naked peak
stretching up like a pyramid, more than six thousand feet high; and
farther on there were others still higher. The first of the glaciers
was seen just to the north of Fawn Bluff, and was recognized by Hugh,
who called out to Jack: "There, son, there's a chunk of ice. Don't you
see how it shines, blue in the sunlight, just like one of the glaciers
that we got sight of in the Piegan country?"
"So it is, Hugh. I recognize it. My! Don't I wish we could get up close
to it; but it's awful high on the mountains and terribly thick timber
below it."
"Yes," said Hugh, "I reckon it would be quite a climb to get up there."
"How different these mountains are," said Jack, "from our Rockies. They
rise so much more steeply; but like the Rockies, there is a big cliff
of wall rock on the top of each one of them."
"Yes," said Hugh, "in the mountains that we see from the plains the
slope is more gradual; first foot hills, and then a long timber slope,
and then lastly the rocky peaks that rise above the timber line. But
here there are no foot-hills, and there are no gradual rising slopes
between us and the main peaks. A man's eye doesn't get a chance to
adapt itself to the highest hills by measuring the gentler slopes
that are nearer to him. Here the mountains rise either in a continual
slope or else in a series of cut walls, one above the other, to the
straight up peaks. I don't believe the distance on foot to one of these
mountains is more than twice the mountain's height. I don't believe
many people that have not been here have had a chance to stand at the
sea-level and look straight up to a snow peak right above them as high
as these are. That is what makes these mountains seem so high and so
wonderful."
A few moments later the canoe rounded a point and a long reach of the
inlet was exposed to view.
"There," said Fannin, "look off to the right! There's something that I
don't think many people have seen."
"My! I guess not!" exclaimed Jack.
Off to the right was a tall mountain whose summit was hidden, but which
seemed to end in a long horizontal crest crowned by a wavy covering of
palest blue, the lower end of a great glacier. It could be conjectured
that, running down from some very high point, this river of ice reached
the top of this mighty precipice, and little by little was pushed over,
breaking off in huge masses, which, from time to time, fell over the
cliff and down into the hidden recesses at its foot, where possibly
another smaller glacier made up of these icy fragments ran, for a
little way, down the valley.
"Look at those little grassy spots scattered here and there along the
mountain side," said Fannin; "how are those for goat pastures? How
bright those little meadows are by contrast with the dark foliage of
the forest, the gray of the rocks, and the white of the snow banks.
Those must be great feeding places for the goats, and there, I guess,
they are never bothered except by the eagles that try to catch the
kids. Surely there they must be safe from everything except enemies
that can fly. Except for the goats and the wood-chucks, I don't believe
there are any living things up there but birds. I'll bet there are lots
of ptarmigan up there, brown in summer and white in winter. The little
mother bird scratches out a hollow in the turf and moss near some
fringe of willows, and lays her brown spotted eggs there, which by this
time are hatched. The young are queer, downy little chicks, buff in
color, and streaked here and there with brown. You would hardly think
it possible that they could stand the cold winds, the fogs, the rain,
and the snows that they must be exposed to."
"Did you ever find a nest, Mr. Fannin?" asked Jack.
"Yes," said Fannin, "when we crossed the mountains on our way from
the East, nearly twenty years ago, I found the nest of a white-tailed
ptarmigan high up on the range, but I have never seen a nest of these
black-tailed ptarmigan, such as we killed up on the head of the North
Arm. Once or twice, though, I have come across a mother with her young
ones, and I tell you the mother is a plucky bird. If you catch one of
the young birds she will come back and attack you and make a pretty
good fight. I have had one come up to my very feet and then fly
against my legs, pecking at my overalls and rapping my legs with her
wings, trying to frighten me into letting the young one go; and, of
course, I always did it after I had finished looking at it."
"I don't suppose there's much game up here," said Hugh to Fannin,
"except these goats that live high up in the mountains. It seems too
cold and damp here for anything like deer."
"Well," said Fannin, "I don't know much about that. I, myself, have
never been here before, and Bute Inlet is as strange to me and just as
beautiful as it is to you."
While all this talk was going on the canoe, pushed along by a good
wind, had been hurrying up the inlet. They passed one great gorge
between two mountains, so nearly straight that, as they looked up
at it, they could see on the mountain's crest a great glacier; and,
pouring out beneath it, a thundering torrent, which rushed down the
gorge toward the inlet. From beneath the blue mountains of ice a tiny
white thread ran down the slope, constantly increasing in size, its
volume swollen by a hundred lesser streams which joined it on its
way. Always a torrent, and always milky white, it swept on, sometimes
running along an even slope, at others leaping down precipices a
hundred feet high, now undermining a thick crust of soil green with
spruces, again burrowing beneath snowdrifts which almost filled the
gorge. Long before they came to it they heard the roar of its fall; and
as they passed its mouth they could not hear the words that one called
to the other. The rush of this great mass of water Jack thought enough
to frighten one.
When they reached the mouth of the Homalko River, at the head of the
inlet, the sun had disappeared and the great walls of rock about them
cast dark shadows. The peaks of the mountains were still touched by
the sun, and the snow took on a rosy tint; and even the black granite
walls were lightened and softened by a ruddy glow. But over the snow
fields, on the high mountains, the rock walls and peaks cast strange,
long shadows. As the sun sank lower and lower these shapes seemed to
lengthen and to march along as if alive. Slowly this glow faded, until
only the highest peaks were touched by it; and then, one by one, as
they grew dull, twilight, with stealthy footstep, cast shadows that
softened and blended the harsher outlines of the scene.
At the mouth of the Homalko River began a couple of miles of long, hard
pulling against its hurrying current. At last, however, after winding
through wide meadows and among clumps of willows, they saw before
them an open spot, and presently the houses of the Indian village
appeared, standing close to the border of the timbered stream. Soon
they had landed close to the houses, transferred their load to their
shelter, and lifted the canoe up onto the meadow. The day had been
one of excitement, if not of continued effort, and all were tired and
hungry. Moreover, as soon as the river had been entered, vast swarms of
mosquitoes attacked them and made life miserable. Happily, the insects
did not enter the Siwash house that they had appropriated, but any one
who ventured out of doors was at once attacked. That night the party
went to bed with little delay, hoping to spend the next two or three
days in an investigation of the mountains that walled in the narrow
river valley on both sides.
When Jack awoke next morning he saw that it was daylight,--gray dawn,
as he thought,--and he turned over and settled himself for another nap,
to await Charlie's announcement that breakfast was nearly ready. A
little later some movement awakened him, and when he opened his eyes
he saw Fannin standing by the fire already dressed.
Jack asked: "Is it time to turn out, Mr. Fannin?"
But Mr. Fannin, with an expression of much disgust on his usually
cheerful countenance, answered briefly: "You can sleep all day, if you
want to."
"What do you mean?" said Jack, in some astonishment.
"Mean?" replied Fannin; "why, it's raining, and you can't see across
the river."
Jack hardly understood what this meant, but as he got up to dress he
heard the heavy patter of rain on the building, and when he looked out
of doors he saw that the valley was full of a white fog, almost thick
enough to be cut with a knife. Nothing could be seen of the surrounding
mountains, the mist hid everything except a few yards of muddy water
by the house, and the lower branches of the forest behind it. It was
useless to venture out of doors, because nothing could be seen. It
would have been folly to attempt to climb the mountains in such a fog.
The rain continued all day long, and the white men sat around the fire
and smoked and talked and grumbled. The Indians had a better time.
Immediately after breakfast they returned to their blankets and went to
sleep. After lunch they slept again until dinner was ready, and after
dinner they went to bed for the night. Every little while one of the
white men would go to the door in the hope that he might see some sign
of fair weather, but none greeted him.
The second day at the Indian village was like the first; it rained
all day long, and this was followed by a third day of downpour. There
seemed no prospect that the rain would ever stop. Fresh provisions had
given out, and the party was once more reduced to bread and bacon.
The fourth morning it was still raining, and, after consultation,
it was determined that the bow of the canoe should be turned down
the Inlet and that they should seek fairer weather on the more open
water of the Gulf. To all hands it was a disappointment to go away
without seeing something of the mountains they had so much admired at
a distance. But the flight of time and the scarcity of provisions made
it seem necessary to proceed on their way. Accordingly, on the morning
of the fourth day the canoe was loaded and the travellers clad in oil
skins and rubber coats, headed down the Homalko River. The rain still
fell with the steady persistent pour of the last few days, the mountain
sides were veiled with a thick mist, and the party had only the
memories of the wonderful beauties of the sail up the inlet to console
them, as they swung their paddles on the return journey. The mountain
climbing, the exploration of the glaciers, the views of the towering
snow-clad heights, and the hunting of the sure-footed goats--these
pleasures must all be abandoned. So they paddled down the Inlet through
the fog, with nothing to see and with nothing to do but to paddle.
During the next two days the weather continued bad, with wind and rain.
The party camped at Clipper Point on Bute Inlet and at Deceit Bay on
Redonda Island. On the third day, near White Island, a heavy gale
sprang up, blowing from the quarter toward which the canoe was headed,
and the paddlers not only were unable to paddle against it, but could
not even hold their own. It was therefore necessary to land, unload
the canoe, and take it up on the beach out of reach of the waves,
and to wait until the wind went down. Fresh meat was still needed,
and Hugh, Jack, and Fannin started out to see whether they could get
anything. The country was a pleasant one to hunt in, and consisted of
open ridges with bushy ravines between, and a little scattering timber
on the ridges. Deer and bear signs were plentiful, and Jack was much
interested in noticing the great size of the stones turned over by the
bears in their search for worms, bugs, and ant eggs. One large piece of
granite, lately turned out of its bed by a bear, was not less than two
feet in any direction, and so heavy that Jack could not stir it.
Jack was walking quietly along a ridge, watching on either side of him,
when a small buck that he had passed unseen, ran out of the brush and
half way up the slope of the ravine, and stopped to look back. It was a
fatal error, for a moment later Jack's ball pierced his heart. Like all
the deer here, this one was small. Jack remembered his struggle with a
previous deer, and only attempted to carry half of it into camp. When
he got there he sent one of the Indians for the remainder.
Hugh had also killed a small deer, which he had brought into camp; and
so, for the present, all anxiety about fresh meat was at an end.
They had a good dinner that night. After it was over, they lounged in
much comfort around the crackling blaze, for the rain had gone with the
gales that had blown, and the night was fair and cool.
"Hugh," said Jack, "you must have seen bears feeding often, and I wish
you would tell me how they do it. Of course I've seen places where they
have torn logs to pieces, and turned over stones; and the other day I
saw that black bear gathering berries up on the river at the head of
the North Arm, but that's the only bear that I've seen feeding. I wish
you'd tell me how you've seen bears act when they were feeding."
"Well," said Hugh, as he pushed down the fire in his pipe with the
end of his forefinger, "that's asking me to tell you a good deal.
I've happened to see bears feeding a number of times; but, of course,
usually I was more interested in killing the bear than I was in seeing
how it gathered its grub, and when the time came for a good shot, I
fired."
"Yes," said Jack, "that is natural and I suppose that is just what I
would have done; but I can't help wondering how the bears, which are
such big, strong fellows, living as everybody says, on berries, mice,
beetles, and ants, ever get enough to eat to keep themselves alive; and
yet, as I understand it, they always go into their holes fat, in the
Autumn."
"So they do, so they do," assented Hugh.
"Well," said Jack, "tell me, then, how do they keep themselves alive?"
"That's hard to tell," said Hugh. "Of course, on the plains, as long
as there are buffalo, the bears get a plenty. There are always buffalo
dying of old age, being mired in the quicksand, drowned in the rivers,
blinded by fire, or killed by the wolves; and the bears, being great
travellers, come across these carcases all the time, and feed on them.
Then, of course, they catch buffalo sometimes, by crawling on them
through the brush; and at other times, by hiding near a buffalo trail
and grabbing an animal that goes past. You've surely heard Wolf Eagle
tell about the big fight that he saw once up in the Piegan country,
between a buffalo bull and a bear, and if you have, you will remember
that the bull killed the bear."
"Yes," said Jack, "I think I heard of that, but don't know that the
story was ever told me in detail; what was it?"
"Why, the way Wolf Eagle tells it, he was cached down near a little
creek waiting for a bunch of buffalo to come to the water, so that he
might kill one. They came on, strung out one after another, and had got
nearly down to the edge of the water when, as they were passing under a
cut bank, a bear that was lying on the ledge of this bank jumped down
on the leading heifer and caught her around the neck. Of course, the
buffalo all scattered, and the bear was trying to bite the heifer and
kill her, and she was trying to get away. In a minute, however, a big
bull came charging down the trail, and butted the bear, knocking him
down and making him let go the heifer. Then there was a big fight, and
one which scared the Indian a whole lot, so much that he did not dare
to show himself, as he would have had to, to get away. The bull kept
charging the bear, and every time he struck him fairly he knocked him
down; and every time the bull charged, the bear struck at him and tried
to catch him by the head and to hold him, but this he could not do.
They fought there for quite a little time, both of them fierce, and
both of them quick as lightning. After a while, the bear had had all
the fight that he wanted, and tried to get away, but the bull wouldn't
have it. He kept knocking him down and goring him, until at last he
had killed him. Even after the bear was dead, the bull would charge
the carcase, and stick his horns in it and lift it off the ground.
The Indian said that the bull was a sight: that he didn't have any
skin on his head and shoulders, but that he was mad clear through, and
seemed to be looking around for something else to fight. Wolf Eagle was
almighty glad when at last the bull went off and joined the band."
"That's a mighty good story, Hugh," said Jack. "I guess in those old
days, bears killed a good deal of game, didn't they?"
"I expect likely they did," said Hugh. "I know that whenever you hear
any story about anything a bear has done, the Indians speak of his
killing something. You remember Old White Calf Robe? You must have seen
him in the camp. He was there two years ago at the medicine lodge. I
remember him there, distinctly."
"No," said Jack, "I don't think I do remember him."
"Well," said Hugh, "he tells a story about being carried home by a
bear, one time, many years ago, after he had been wounded in war. I
don't doubt but that the old man believes that he is telling the plain
truth, just as it happened; but in that story, he travelled along with
a bear and a wolf, and I know that he says that the bear killed an elk
for him to eat, and I think the wolf killed something for him, too, but
I can't be sure.
"But of course," Hugh went on, "bears don't get very much meat.
Certainly they don't live on meat, by any means. When they first come
out in the spring, they generally travel pretty high up on the bare
ridges, and live largely on the fresh green grass that starts early
on the hillsides. They are always on the watch for mice and ground
squirrels, and they dig out a good many wood-chucks, but I fancy
their main food is grass. Then, a little later, roots start up which
they like to gather,--pomme-blanche, camas, and a whole slew of other
plants,--and that carries them along pretty well until the berry time.
In the early summer I have seen them in little mountain parks, digging
out mice or ground squirrels. A bear will see where a mouse or ground
squirrel has a run close to the surface of the ground, and if his nose
or any other sense tells him that it is inhabited, he will quickly run
his paw along the tunnel, digging it up, and if the animal happens to
be there, throwing it out on the surface of the earth. Then it is fun
to see a big bear that will weigh three or four hundred pounds, and
maybe twice as much, dancing around and striking the ground with his
paws to try to kill the little animal that is dodging about, trying to
get away. You'd never think how mighty active a bear can be under those
circumstances.
"When berry time comes the bears spend a great deal of time around the
sarvis berry patches, the plum thickets, and the choke-cherry groves;
and every now and then a number of Indian women gathering berries,
will run across one, and the women will get scared half to death, and
light out for camp. Once in a long time an Indian gathering berries
will suddenly come on a bear, and the bear will kill him; or, perhaps,
sometimes an old bear that is mean will lay for an Indian, and kill him
just for fun.
"The Indians say that when the sarvis berries are ripe, bears will ride
down the taller bushes, pressing the stems down under their breasts,
and walking along them with their forelegs on either side of the stem.
I never saw them do it, but I've seen plenty of places where the bushes
have been ridden down in this way, and had bear hair stuck to them. I
once saw a mother and some cubs picking huckleberries high up in the
mountains during fall. They walked about from one bush to another, and
seemed to be picking the berries one by one, though I was so far away
that I couldn't tell much about it.
"It's fun to see them turn over stones, and they're mighty cute about
it, too. Now, if you or I have occasion to turn over a stone, the
chances are we'll stoop over it, take hold of it by its farther edge,
and pull it over toward us, and of course, unless we straddle it or
watch it pretty close, we're likely to drop it on our toes; but a bear
always turns a stone over not toward himself, but to one side. He gets
his hind feet well under him, braces one fore foot, and then with the
other fore foot turns over the stone, swinging it out from him to one
side, and after he has finished the motion, he drops his head into the
bed where the stone lay and gobbles up whatever insects are there.
Sometimes he makes a claw or two with one foot into the bed, perhaps
to turn up the ground to see whether there are some insects below the
surface, or to see if there may be the hole of some little animal
passing close beneath the stone."
"That's mighty interesting, Hugh," said Jack, "and I am greatly obliged
to you for telling us about it. Now, Mr. Fannin, have you seen much of
the way bears of this country feed?"
"No," said Fannin, "I have not. You see in this country we don't have
a chance to see very far. It's all covered with timber, and it's only
once in a while, in such a situation as we got to the other day when we
were goat hunting, that we have an opportunity to see any considerable
distance. So, really, all that I know about the feeding of bears is
what I have discovered from cutting them open and seeing the contents
of their stomachs. I told you the other day about how the bears
sometimes came in and carried off hogs for us."
"Yes," said Jack, "I remember that, of course. Hugh," he went on,
"where are bears most plenty back in our country?"
"Well," said Hugh, "there are a good many bears along the Missouri
River, and in the low outlying ranges like the Moccasin, Judith, Snowy,
and Belt mountains, but I think the places where they are the plentiest
is along the foot of the Big Horn Range. You take it in the early
summer, there's a terrible lot of bears to be found there."
"And which are the most plentiful, the black or the grizzly?" asked
Jack.
"Why," said Hugh, "there's no comparison. The grizzlies outnumber the
blacks about three to one, I should say. Black bears in that country
are mighty scarce."
"And in this country," said Fannin, "you can say the same of the
grizzly."