THE most successful, and, in a great manyways the most pleasant, hunting trip in my experience was taken last April, when, after many months of expectation, I started for Rio Blanco County. The weather had been most unpropitious for days, and, after sundry postponements, I gave up waiting for the sun in disgust, and decided to brave both the elements and the evil prophecies of my friends.
A NUMBER of years ago, I was a true Western Colorado cowboy. I was born and raised at Pueblo, Colo. In the beginning I ran away from home and went on to one of the largest stock ranches in the western part of the state. My father being an old hunter, I had often gone after antelope with him, and always longed to kill one alone, but while with him I never did.
SLEEP, weary huntsman, and rest Soft on your fragrant fir bed; The night winds sing low Where the tall reed-harps grow And the night owl keeps watch overhead; Sleep, while the whispering breeze Moans through the pines on the hill; The stars dance and gleam On the murmuring stream, And the woodland’s dear voices are still.
H. GOULD WEBB WESTERN history, in its entirety, reads like a romance. From the time the pioneer with gun and oxteam first braved the dangers of the trackless deserts— the midnight raids of the bloodthirsty savage, the winter onslaughts of the beasts of prey, and the frightful barrenness of the land itself—to the civilization of to-day which sees the arid wastes transformed into fertile farm and pasture lands, the upland hills and covers, where often lay in wait the painted redskin, pregnant with their game-bird life, and the mountain fortresses, once the undisputed playground of the swarms of bear, lion, goat and sheep, resounding with the hum of mining, commercial and agricultural industry, the history of the West is as enchanting as any volume of Oriental life.
CLASPING cool hands fair, Shade and Silence move In majesty serene throughout the place : Queens of the realm of leaffringed solitude, Envelop they with soft and quiet dreams Their lovers—kings—the mighty Redwood trees, Who tower majestic—glorious over all.
SPEAKING of big fish," began Bliffkins, musingly,"recalls to mind an experience of my own. I was fishing the headwaters of the Bow one day when whizz! went myline with a twenty-two-pound rainbow trout fast to the end of it. I tugged with might and main, but the big fellow surged back with all the force of his fifty-six pounds, and my pole snapped.
THE fishing season opened here in Oregon on April 1st,one of the balmiest days of the spring. All nature was a-bloom, and sweet incense perfumed the air. The trout felt the inspiration and rose to the fly greedily. I was stopping on that date at a small summer hotel on the Wilson River, in the Coast Range Mountains, about sixty miles from Portland and twenty-four miles from Tellamook City.
THAT year I was traveling for a New York house. A trip to Leadville would close up the summer’s business and give the longed-for leisure to recover from the weariness of the season’s work among the widely scattered mountain towns, as well as the opportunity for a sojourn at home with my family, whom I had not seen for several months.
TWO ranchers of Eastern Oregon, Jeff C. and Tom H., are ardent anglers and enthusiastic hunters. They live on adjoining ranches in Malheur County, and nearly every season they spend a week or two in whipping the trout streams and hunting over the sage-brush and alkali plains of that part of the state.
THE winds are wild in Wa-sha-kie Glen; The coyotes bark on the crested cliffs; The air is alive with the souls of men, Who guard the way to the rawbone riffs. “Shick-shock! Shum-a-num ! Shoal-e-role!” Carve me a calabash; deal me a dole; I’ll kneel all night by the magic spring, And thrumb my bow while the wild-cats sing ! A mother in mourning, a maiden in tears,
The subject of giving an indication of the coloring of the composition in a photograph is skilfully treated in the following extract from a paper entitled “Color,” read by G. A. Storey, A.R.A., before the Camera Club, London: “In order to learn the art of coloring, we must have a kind of grammar of color, we must look upon it as a sort of language, with its Letters, its Words, its Sentences, and its Song.
TO THE fisherman who adheres to the only sportive phase of this most gentlemanly art—fly fishing—it is a great sight to sit in the observation car of a Colorado Southern train going up the South Platte River from Denver and watch the hundreds of artists with rods and flies who bedeck the banks of that popular stream from the time the train enters the canon at South Platte Station until it bids it a fond adieu at Webster and scampers up famous old Kenosha Hill, to flirt with the headwaters of the Blue and the Arkansas on the way to Leadville.
THE advance of new ideas which ushers in the Twentieth Century may well cause one to pause and meditate on the familiar assertion that “no well-balanced mind can doubt the possibility of anything.” Year by year and day by day the ever-active mind is evolving new ideas, and practically applying them to man’s betterment.
From whatever standpoint one may choose to view the growth of outdoor sports in this country during the past thirty years, there is one thing very apparent to even the most casual observer, and that is the marked benefit to be derived from healthful exercise out-of-doors.
Game Commissioner Johnson of Colorado was interviewed during the past month by a representative of OUTDOOR LIFE regarding his views on the present game law of this state, when the following questions (practically the same as those embraced in the “Game Law Coupon” published in every number of the magazine) were asked and answered: Do you endorse the present law? Not entirely.
The effectiveness of the 30-30 carbine as an all-around rifle has been proven of late in many ways. It has remained for the shooters of the Pacififc Coast to clearly demonstrate its usefulness, and Mr. Paul Becker, of the Columbia Pistol and Rifle Club, of San Francisco, Cal., is the first man in that part of the country to bring out the 30-30 carbine as an allaround target and hunting rifle.
The Olympic Gun Club shot live birds and the San Francisco Gun Club inanimate targets to-day on the Ingleside grounds, the occasion being their fifth monthly contest. A feature of the inanimate shoot given by the ’Frisco club was the mixed matches.