Jack the Young Canoeman: An Eastern Boy's Voyage in a Chinook Canoe

by George Bird Grinnell

"Yes," said Tom, "three young men who were here the moon before last. They hunt a great deal. They fire a good many shots. Not kill many animals."

The fireplace, the picket pins, and a shelter built of spruce boughs, showed that the people had been here for some time.

"Well," said Hugh, "let's camp right here. There is a good shelter for us in case it rains, as it looks likely to do now. Now, Tom, you and Baptiste get supper, will you, and son and I will take a little walk from the camp, and see what we can see."

The two started off, not toward the mountain but rather toward a large ravine which ran down from it. They had gone but a few hundred yards, when, as they were nearing the crest of a little ridge at the foot of an old moraine which ran down from the mountain, Hugh put out his hand and sank slowly down to the ground. Jack crouched beside him, and Hugh said: "There's a sheep just over the ridge; crawl up and kill it." Jack cautiously approached the ridge and looking over, saw not more than seventy-five yards away a sheep walking away toward the next ridge. The wind was right, and it was evident from the animal's actions that it had neither seen nor smelt the men. Her hips were toward him, and he did not wish to fire at her in that position for fear of spoiling the meat, so he waited. A moment later she walked over the ridge and out of sight, and Hugh and Jack followed. When they looked over the next ridge, they saw the sheep, broad-side toward them. The sun was low and glittered on Jack's front sight and troubled him a little; and he took aim two or three times without pulling the trigger. As it was, he shot a little too high, but the animal fell, and they hurried up to it. It was moderately fat, and Jack and Hugh carried the meat into the camp on their backs.

The next morning they were early afoot and climbed the mountain. They had gone hardly a mile from the camp when they found seven sheep feeding on a perfectly bare hillside where there was no cover whatever. It was useless to try to approach them, and as they were in the direction in which the two wanted to go, Hugh and Jack disregarded them, and presently the sheep ran off. Constantly climbing, they came nearer and nearer the top of the mountain. The grass began to give way to pebbles and stones, and the snow got deeper and deeper. Presently they reached the top of the mountain; and, crossing its narrow crest, looked down into a beautiful little glacial basin which contained a charming lake and meadow. Feeding in this meadow were twelve sheep, far, far below them, and quite out of reach. The wind was blowing fiercely across the mountain top and they crept down into a shelter behind some rocks and for some time sat there and watched the sheep. Soon after they were first seen, the animals went down to the border of the lake and drank, and then came up on to the meadow again and lay down. After a little while, some movement, or perhaps the glitter of some piece of metal about the men, startled the sheep. They rose and looked at them, and then walked off, and after a little while began to feed again. Later, when Jack and Hugh got up and climbed to the top of the mountain, the sheep, not much alarmed, moved slowly off and climbed up the mountain side into a deep icy gorge in which was a great mass of snow.

Jack and Hugh went on for some distance, looking down into one big cañon after another, but seeing nothing more, turned back to go to the camp. On the way back they came upon a flock of white-tailed ptarmigan of which there were about twenty-five. Jack had never killed one of these birds, and was anxious to have a full grown one in his hands.

"Is there any reason, Hugh," he asked, "why I should not kill one of these birds?"

"None at all, so far as I see," said Hugh. "The wind is blowing so hard that nothing ahead of us will be able to hear the firing. If you want to kill one, do so."

The wind was blowing a perfect gale and when Jack approached the pretty birds, they rose at some little distance, flew a few yards, and then alighted on a snow bank in which they at once scratched out shallow hollows where they crouched, more or less protected from the wind. The gale made it difficult for Jack to hold his gun steady and the first shot that he fired was a miss, for he overshot the bird. At the crack of the gun they all rose and flew a little farther away, and his next shot killed one. It was in almost full winter plumage, though there were others in the flock that had only partly changed from the black and tawny of summer to the white winter coat. Jack wanted to skin the bird, but the ball from his rifle had raked its back and torn off a great many feathers. Nevertheless he put it in his pocket so that at night he would have an opportunity to study it by the light of the fire.

On the way home the two men had a beautiful view from the top of the mountain, looking down into a most picturesque basin walled in on all sides by superb mountains and containing a beautiful lake. Between the tops of the mountains and the valley there were three benches or steps. The lake lay in the valley.