Memoirs of Orange Jacobs

by Orange Jacobs

This noble game seems to love the Coast Range of mountains, and there exists in large herds and numbers. This is especially true of the Olympic Range. If this kingly game-animal is to be saved from utter annihilation, stringent laws must not only be enacted for his protection and preservation, but must also be vigorously enforced.

Heretofore, they have been slaughtered in large numbers for their hides, their horns and their teeth; while their carcasses have been left where the life-struggle ended, to be devoured by the wolf, cougar, lynx or wild-cat.

While the mountains bordering on the Ocean seem to be preferred by this antlered monarch, yet he may be found in considerable numbers on the Cascade Range, especially on its timber-slope and in the dense forests on its foothills.

I have killed quite a number of these noble animals, but never, under any circumstances, where I could not make uses of the carcass. I never had, or experienced any joy arising from the mere love of slaughter. With gun in hand, with hunter's blood in your veins, and noble game within easy range, it requires a high degree of moral courage to refuse to manipulate the trigger of your trusty rifle. With carniverous, or dangerous animals it is different; slaughter becomes a virtue and not a vice.

The habitat of the mountain sheep, or goat is on and around the barren peaks and ranges of the higher formation of mountains. He is a wary animal, hard to approach and difficult of shot. He is always so located that a single bound puts him out of sight. If perchance, you could make an effective shot as he leaps from narrow bench, to narrow bench, down the rocky and steep side of the mountain, of what use would he be to you?

I have succeeded in killing but one. I have hunted the mountain districts where they are plentiful, and I had determined to kill one if possible. I hunted slowly, cautiously and stealthily. I frequently caught sight of them leaping down the mountain side. At last I aroused one from his couch and shot him on his first jump. He rolled down the mountain-side a short distance, but with some difficulty I dragged him to the top of the ridge. His meat was sweet, juicy and delicious, greatly relished by all the party. I had, had glory enough, and never specially hunted them again.

The black, brown and cinnamon bear are natives of Washington, and their numbers are in the order given. A bear is a semi-carniverous animal; he lives on fish, berries, succulent and saccharine roots, larva, honey, and is especially found of pork. He appeases his appetite for fish by a nocturnal visitation of the rivers in which the salmon run, especially in the salmon season; he roams through the woods in the berry season and feeds on the toothsome food present in the forest. He unearths the yellow-jacket's scanty storehouse of honey, and consumes it and the larvae of the nest; he invades the farmer's domain and carries off some of his most promising porkers. The habitat of the brown, and cinnamon bear is the mountains and their foothills. They are not often seen unless you invade their solitary domain. I am not prepared to say what is their principal food, but suppose it to be the same as their kinsman the black bear.

The cougar is a native of this State and can be found where dense thickets and dark forests exist. He is a sly, skulking and treacherous animal, mostly nocturnal in his destructive visitations. I have often gone on a brief hunting-trip into the foothills of the mountains when they were slightly covered with snow, and a dense fog would settle down, obscuring all landmarks; but, in obedience to a safe rule, have retraced my steps to the foot of the hills on my return home. On several of these occasions I have found that a cougar had come upon my trail shortly after I had entered the hills, and had stealthily and continuously followed me up to within seven, or eight rods of the point of my return. When I commenced my return, he, no doubt, leaped off into the covering brush, and, although sharply looked for by me, the dense fog and the thick brush hid him from my view.

The cougar is strictly a carniverous animal. His principal food is the deer; and it is said that he requires two a month for his subsistence. That he is a good feeder is evident from the fact that he is always sleek and in excellent condition. He has a great love for the meat of the colt, and is consequently a terror to breeders in that line. He is not a hater of veal or pork, but does not prefer the latter.

He is generally considered a dangerous animal, and numerous are the stories told of fortunate escapes from his ferocity. Many of these stories have no foundation other than the surrounding darkness, the rustling of the leaves, or the twigs by the wind, and a lively imagination. While some of these narrations have an element of truth in them, they are generally greatly exaggerated. But let me be understood that when he is pressed by hunger and famished for want of food, I do consider the cougar a dangerous animal. Few, however, are the reliable accounts of his attacks on the lonely traveler in the woods, even under such conditions. Two instances have occurred since my residence in the Puget Sound Basin, which, from my acquaintance with the parties, I am willing to vouch for. A friend temporarily stopping at Mukilteo desired to go to Snohomish City, a distance on an air-line of about six miles; there were two routes—one, by steamer or canoe, of full twice that distance; the other by trail almost directly through a dense forest. Being an expert woodsman, he chose the latter route. He was unarmed, and had not even a pocket knife. He spoke of his defenseless condition on the eve of his departure, but he feared no danger. He had proceeded about a mile-and-a-half on his journey when, in a dense fir and cedar forest, he met a cougar in the trail. The animal commenced stealthily to crawl towards him after the manner of the cat approaching his prey, purring as he came. My friend made a loud outcry, but this did not interrupt the cougar's slow and stealthy approach. It would have been more than useless to run—so he braced himself for the final spring. When the animal came near he stood sideways to the brute; and when the cougar made a spring, he presented his left arm and the cougar seized it midway between the wrist and the elbow, and pushed him hard to throw him off his feet, but failed. Being a strong and muscular man, and his right arm being free, he struck the cougar on the nose, a hard blow with his clenched fist. The cougar, however, kept his hold. Summoning up all his energy, he struck the second blow on the nose of his enemy, and while it drew blood the cougar still held on. Satisfied of the insufficiency of such a mode of defense, and casting his eyes about him, he saw a portion of a cedar limb standing upright in the brush several feet from him—the limb being about two inches in diameter and three feet in length—and he suffered the cougar to push him in the direction of the limb. Having obtained it, he struck the cougar a powerful blow across his face, and, although the cougar winced some, the effect was for the animal to sink his teeth deeper into the imprisoned arm. My friend concentrated all of his energy and struck a second blow with his club. This blow was temporarily stunning and effective. The cougar released his hold on the bleeding arm and, dazed somewhat, disappeared in the surrounding forest. My friend retraced his steps to Mukilteo, now a suburb of the busy and prosperous City of Everett.