Jack the Young Trapper: An Eastern Boy's Fur Hunting in the Rocky Mountains

by George Bird Grinnell

They rode over to the skinning place, and from that looked down on the bear trap. It was sprung, but when they went down, there was nothing in it. The beaver which had served as bait, however, was gone, and a considerable part of the old bear was eaten. There were fresh tracks and other sign all about, showing that several bears had been in the pen during the night.

"It's those durned cubs," said Hugh. "They come in here and pull at the bait and spring the trap and then get scared and run away, and later the bigger bears come down and eat the bait. I don't know that we'll do anything more with this trap, and, any way, it won't pay to set it just as we're going away. If we were going to be near enough so that we could come down here every day and look at it, it would be different; but it's quite a long ride up to the pass, and if we're going to hunt, we won't feel much like riding down here."

Before they had finished skinning the beaver, the Cliffords had come up the hill, and after the work was over Hugh and Jack took them down to the bear trap and explained the situation. Then Hugh proposed that they should all pack up and start up the stream for the pass, and before noon the pack train, now more than doubled in numbers, was climbing toward the summit.

It was a delightful ride through the green timber, with frequent glimpses of the brawling stream, which grew constantly smaller, steeper, and more noisy. Hugh led the way, followed by a couple of horses, and the strangers rode among the pack animals, each with one or more of the horses in front of him. Jack brought up the rear, having been told to do so by Hugh, and kept watch of the trail and of the animals ahead of him. Hugh had thought that they might reach the pass before night, but in this he was mistaken. The sun had already disappeared behind the overshadowing mountains when they reached a little level opening in the timber, and here Hugh turned aside and declared that they would camp. Just as he was about to swing himself out of the saddle, a white-tailed deer walked out from a bunch of willows along the stream and stood looking curiously at the strange visitors, and Hugh, slipping a cartridge into his gun, shot at it, and it fell. It proved to be a yearling doe, and was in good order. Before Hugh had returned with the meat and the hide, camp had been made, the tents were up, and the fires going and the horses short picketed on the grass. There were many hands, and the work went quickly.

The night was cold, and all hands were early astir and clustered about the fire. There was frost on the grass, on the willows, and on the horses' manes. The ropes were frozen, and there was a skim of ice over the quiet water of the pool in front of the camp. As the sun rose, however, everything warmed up; the frost melted, the high grass and willow bushes began to drip with moisture, and the ropes to dry; and, after the sun had been shining for an hour or two, the horses were packed and the train started out again.

It was interesting to Jack and to the English boy to notice in the shaded spots how the beautiful summer flowers, that they had so much admired the day before, were wilted and cut down by the frost, but in the open spaces where the sun shone on them the flowers seemed to speedily recover and once more held up their heads. As the train proceeded, the valley became more narrow and rough, and the impetuous force of the stream, which was now only a brook, increased. Sometimes it fell down in a sheer cascade for ten or fifteen feet, and at such points the trail left the stream and wound about in the timber, zig-zagging up the hill until the ascent was overcome, when it returned near to the water's edge. Some of the slopes were steep and some seemed dangerous, places where a misstep by the horse might throw the rider down forty or fifty feet into the stream below. One or two of the horses, whose packs, though light, were bulky and stood up high above the saddle, looked, as they climbed the steep places, as if they must be overbalanced by their load and fall backward.

To Mr. Clifford and his son this method of traveling was absolutely novel and at first really alarming. Neither said anything, however, but watched Hugh and Jack. They saw that these two rode along unconcernedly, and from this inferred that the danger was more apparent than real.

At last the valley through which they were traveling became a mere gorge, and at length, after climbing a few hundred feet up a very steep slope, they found themselves at the edge of the large timber. The view here was something to make even Jack catch his breath, accustomed as he was to mountain scenery. Before them lay a gently rising alpine meadow, intersected by ravines, in which a few stunted spruces flourished, and then above this was a wide amphitheater surrounded on all sides by rugged and towering rock summits. The floor of the amphitheater sloped smoothly down to a brook which flowed through its midst, and this brook came from a lake lying far above among the snow fields, from which, in turn, it drew its waters. Along the brook were low willows for a little distance, and then the altitude proved too much for them, and only grass grew. On the left-hand side, for several thousand feet above them, rose bare rocks streaked with vertical lines of red and yellow, while off to the south was the pass, showing as a deep sag two or three thousand feet below the general crest of the mountains, and up to this sag the amphitheater which they were entering rose with a gradual ascent. On the south and west side of the pass the mountains rose to a great height, terminating in a confused mass of rocks, from which three slender pinnacles towered toward the sky. The open meadow which they were now crossing was carpeted with soft, green grass, and with an astonishing profusion of flowers, red, yellow, blue, purple; columbines, harebells, asters, and a multitude of other flowers grew here, or higher up, close to and even among the snow banks. It was a wild-flower garden such as perhaps few people except those who have traveled in the high mountains have ever seen.

As they climbed higher and approached the pass, the ascent became steeper, and presently a cool breeze swept down the mountain side, showing that they were nearing the pass. A few hundred feet more of climbing and they reached the summit, where they halted to rest and look down on the lower land before and behind them. In front, to the south and east, they could see a great part of Middle Park and of the rugged and broken mountains which surrounded it. Almost at their feet a little lake nestled in the mountains. A few hundred feet below, the north fork of Grand River takes its rise and flows down through the narrow, wooded gorge, whose length they saw as far as the plains of Middle Park. High above, to the right, in a saddle, was a huge snowdrift, whose melting waters flowed from one extremity into the stream they had been ascending, and so on into the North Platte, and into the Missouri River; while from the other end another stream leaped out to join Grand River, which after a long course joins the Green to form that mighty stream of the West, the Colorado River, and so to reach the Pacific.

Looking backward the whole course of the Michigan lay before them, and away beyond it the gray sagebrush flats of North Park, with here and there a little lake gleaming in the sun like a bit of burnished silver.