No time was lost in collecting the game. I stuffed the big pockets of my hunting coat with teal and brant. Legrand fastened them to the fringes of his jacket until he was almost covered with the dark bodies of brant and the beautifully colored teal. I warned Legrand to kill every bird he gathered, but he was careless in carrying out my suggestion. On the way back to the lodge I heard behind me a flutter of wings and several quacks and caught a glimpse of a duck disappearing in the fog. Legrand was standing in a state of stupefaction, staring in the direction the duck had flown. I could not help laughing. Needless to say he made sure of the rest.
Surfeited with abundance of game, the pastime soon palled on me. After several days’ sport I was ready to return to more comfortable quarters where the shooting was productive of smaller results, but more to my taste. Jacksnipe, which were quite plentiful, furnished an opportunity for skillful marksmanship, but the high standard of economy in using ammunition established for me by Legrand was shamefully lowered. Jacksnipe did not swarm before the muzzle of my gun, nor was one bagged in every shot. This kind of shooting is excellent for training the eye, and no sportsman need be chagrined at an occasional miss.
AN OUTING AT TWO-OCEAN PASS
“Roughing it” is an expression which we have long associated with various hardships undergone for the sake of sport. But modern enterprise has made that phrase a misnomer when taken in the sense in which it was formerly understood. A number of years’ experience in camping out and hunting in the West have convinced me that every reasonable comfort can be enjoyed without sacrificing the principal object which lies nearest the heart of a thorough sportsman—good hunting.
The last outing I had in the West, was in Wyoming, in the Jackson Hole country, and I realized then how thoroughly a guide, who enjoys the comforts of life himself and has the real love of sport, can contribute to the success of a hunting trip. A guide who likes to make himself comfortable will generally think of what is necessary for the comfort of those who engage his services.
THE TETON RANGE.
Early in October I started out from St. Anthony, Idaho, with my guide, Ed. Sheffield, on one of the most pleasurable and successful hunts I have undertaken. A couple of days’ drive and we reached Shives’ ranch, at which place we made up the pack outfit. A short rest at this spot while things were being got in readiness was very pleasant, as it gave me a chance to stretch my limbs and to admire the grand perspective, which no words can describe in a way that would bring the natural picture to the eye. The Teton peaks, covered with perpetual snow and dazzling bright, furnished an attraction which never palled on the mind, and they were ever visible from the plain but tidy ranch. Flocks of ducks frequented the ice cold stream near by.
The horses having been corralled during the day’s wait, everything was arranged for the morning start. The next day I rose bright and early to commence the final stage of the journey. When the last pack had been “cinched” and everything was in readiness, we began our journey to the hunting grounds. It was a long, monotonous ride—much of it through thick timber with no stop for lunch or rest, because the heavily laden beasts could not lie down with their packs on, and we did not care to delay them. At length, after crossing a rocky ravine and a swift-running stream and climbing a steep ascent, we arrived at Two-Ocean Pass. There we found an ideal spot to camp. In a short time everything was unpacked, and the two tents were pitched. The tired beasts that had borne the brunt of the work tumbled over and rubbed their backs in the dust and snorted with delight.