Produced by Linda M. Everhart, Blairstown, Missouri








WOODCRAFT
By E. H. KREPS

Published by
PELTRIES PUBLISHING CO.
Incorporated
71 W. 23d Street, New York

Copyright 1919 by
Peltries Publishing Co., Inc.

PREFACE.

Elmer H. Kreps was born in Union county, Pa., in 1880. At that time
large and small game of the various species common to Central
Pennsylvania was plentiful in the neighborhood of his home. From his
early boyhood he took a great interest in hunting and trapping. As he
grew older he visited various parts of the United States and Canada,
and being a keen observer, picked up a vast amount of information
about life in the woods and fields.

Mr. Kreps has written many articles on various subjects connected
with hunting and trapping and this little booklet is a collection of
Woodcraft articles from his pen. Mr. Kreps is an accomplished artist
as well as writer, and the illustrations in Woodcraft are reproduced
from his sketches.

We feel sure that this collection of articles will prove of value to
many men and boys who are interested in living in the woods and no
one will be more happy than Mr. Kreps if his work helps brighten the
life of trappers and hunters, in whom he is always interested.

  EDITOR FUR NEWS.



BUILDING THE HOME CAMP

The first camp I remember making, or remodeling, was an old lumber
camp, one side of which I partitioned off and floored. It was clean
and neat appearing, being made of boards, and was pleasant in warm
weather, but it was cold in winter, so I put up an extra inside wall
which I covered with building paper. Then I learned the value of a
double wall, with an air space between, a sort of neutral ground
where the warmth from the inside could meet the cold from without,
and the two fight out their differences. In this camp I had a brick
stove with a sheet iron top, and it worked like a charm.

But that was not really a wilderness camp, and while I realize that
in many of the trapping districts where it is necessary to camp,
there are often these deserted buildings to be found, those who trap
or hunt in such places are not the ones who must solve the real
problems of camp building. It is something altogether different when
we get far into the deep, silent forest, where the sound of the axe
has never yet been heard, and sawed lumber is as foreign as a linen
napkin in a trapper's shack. But the timber is there, and the trapper
has an ax and the skill and strength to use it, so nothing more is
really needed. Let us suppose we are going to build a log cabin for a
winter's trapping campaign. While an axe is the only tool necessary,
when two persons work together, a narrow crosscut saw is a great
labor-saver, and if it can be taken conveniently the trappers or camp
builders will find that it will more than pay for the trouble. Other
things very useful in this work are a hammer, an auger, a pocket
measuring tape, and a few nails, large, medium and small sizes. Then
to make a really pleasant camp a window of some kind must be
provided, and for this purpose there is nothing equal to glass.

Right here a question pops up before us. We are going on this trip
far back into the virgin forest, and the trail is long and rough; how
then can we transport an unwieldy crosscut saw and such fragile stuff
as glass? We will remove the handles from the saw and bind over the
tooth edge a grooved strip of wood. This makes it safe to carry, and
while still somewhat unhandy it is the best we can do, for we cannot
shorten its length. For the window, we will take only the glass--six
sheets of eight by ten or ten by fourteen size. Between each sheet we
place a piece of corrugated packing board, and the whole is packed in
a case, with more of the same material in top and bottom. This makes
a package which may be handled almost the same as any other
merchandise, and we can scarcely take into the woods anything that
will give greater return in comfort and satisfaction.

If we are going to have a stove in this cabin we will also require a
piece of tin or sheet iron about 18 inches square, to make a safe
stovepipe hole, but are we going to have a stove or a fireplace? Let
us consider this question now.

On first thought the fireplace seems the proper thing, for it can be
constructed in the woods where the camp is made, but a fireplace so
made may or may not be satisfactory. If we know the principles of
proper fireplace construction we can make one that will not smoke the
camp, will shed the proper amount of heat, and will not consume more
fuel than a well-behaved fireplace should, but if one of these
principles be violated, trouble is sure to result. Moreover, it is
difficult to make a neat and satisfactory fireplace without a hammer
for dressing the stones, and a tool of this kind will weigh as much
as a sheet iron stove, therefore it is almost as difficult to take
into the woods. Then there is one or two days' work, perhaps more, in
making the fireplace and chimney, with the added uncertainty of its
durability, for there are only a few kinds of stones that will stand
heat indefinitely without cracking. On the other hand the fireplace
renders the use of a lamp unnecessary, for it will throw out enough
light for all ordinary needs.

The good points of the stove are that it can be made by anybody in a
half day's time; it does not smoke the camp, does not black the
cooking utensils, gives the maximum amount of heat from the minimum
quantity of fuel, and will not give out or go bad unexpectedly in the
middle of the winter. If you leave it to me our camp will be equipped
with a sheet iron stove. While the stove itself is not now to be
considered, we must know before we commence to build what form of
heating and cooking apparatus will be installed.

Having decided on which part of the country is to be the centre of
operations, we look for a suitable site for our cabin. We find it
near a stream of clear water. Nearby is a stretch of burned land
covered thinly with second growth saplings, and near the edge of the
evergreen forest in which we will build our camp stands plenty of
dead timber, tamarack, white spruce, and a few pine stubs, all of
which will make excellent firewood. In the forest itself we find
straight spruce trees, both large and small, balsam, and a few white
birches, the loose bark of which will make the best kindling known.
Within three rods of the stream and 50 yards from the burn is a rise
of ground, high enough to be safe from the spring freshets, and of a
gravelly ground which is firm and dry. This is the spot on which we
will construct our cabin, for here we have good drainage, shelter
from the storms, water and wood near at hand, and material for the
construction of the camp right on the spot.

  [Illustration: CHART SHOWING LOCATION OF CAMP.]

The first thing to settle is the size of the proposed building. Ten
by fourteen feet, inside measurement, is a comfortable size for a
home cabin for two men. If it were to be used merely as a stopping
camp now and then it should be much smaller, for the small shack is
easier warmed and easier to build. I have used camps for this purpose
measuring only six and a half by eight feet, and found them plenty
large for occasional use only. But this cabin is to be our
headquarters, where we will store our supplies and spend the stormy
days, so we will make it ten by fourteen feet. There is just one spot
clear of trees where we can place a camp of this size, and we
commence here felling trees from which to make logs for the walls.
With the crosscut saw we can throw the straight spruce trees almost
anywhere we want them, and we drop them in places which will be
convenient and save much handling. As soon as a tree is cut we
measure it off and saw it into logs. These must be cut thirteen and
seventeen feet long, and as they will average a foot in diameter at
the stump there will be an allowance of three feet for walls and
overlap, or 18 inches at each end. We cut the trees as near the
ground as we can conveniently, and each tree makes two or three logs.
All tall trees standing near the camp site must be cut, and used if
possible, for there is always danger that a tree will blow over on
the camp some time, if within reach.

On the spot chosen for the camp we now place two of the long logs,
parallel with each other and exactly ten feet apart. We block them on
the outside so they cannot be moved easily out of position. Then we
place two of the short logs across the ends and in these we cut
half-round notches directly over the places where they rest on the
long logs, and almost half through each piece. After cutting these
notches we turn the logs notched side down, and these cuts, if they
have been properly done, fit snugly over the long logs, thus binding
the four pieces together and forming the first round of the walls.

  [Illustration: THE CORNER CONSTRUCTION.]

Before going farther now we must decide just where we are going to
have the doorway of our cabin. We will place it on the south side,
for we like to have the warm sun rays come in when the door is open,
and if placed on the north or west sides it admits too much cold. We
will place it near one end and then we can also put our window in the
same side. About two or three feet from the corner we will cut out a
section from the top of the log, making the cut four inches deep and
two and a half feet wide, the bottom being hewn smooth and the ends
sawed down square. Then we cut one of the balsam trees and saw a
section from the butt the length of the proposed doorway. This should
be not less than five feet, so we make it this length. Then we split
through the centre with the axe and a pair of wooden wedges, and hew
the two halves into two smooth planks. We also make a plank two and a
half feet long. When these planks are finished we stand the two long
ones upright in the place cut in the log and nail them firmly. We see
that they stand perfectly plumb and in line with one another, then we
nail the short plank across the top, thus completing our doorway. On
this side, as the walls are laid up, we saw each log off squarely at
the proper place and push it up against the door frame, fastening it
there by nailing through the plank. The notches are cut to such a
depth at the corners that the logs fit one against the other and this
leaves no large cracks to close.

To make our cabin comfortable it must have a floor and we have this
in mind as we work. Before building the wall higher we will lay our
sills for the floor, for it is difficult to get these cut to the
proper length and fitted in place after the walls are completed and
the timber must be brought in through the doorway. We cut three
straight logs about eight inches thick in the middle and 14 feet
long. These are bedded into the ground in the cabin, one along each
side wall and the other in the centre. They must be placed at an even
height and this is determined by means of a straight ten-foot pole,
which when placed across these logs should rest on each. If one of
them is too high in spots we dress these places down with the axe.

We will now leave the floors and proceed with building the walls.
Round by round the logs are notched and fitted into place, until the
walls have reached a height of about four feet. Then we make a window
boxing of planks and fasten it in the wall in the same way we did the
door frame. The ends of the logs are butted against the window frame
and fastened with large nails, driven through the planks into the
logs. But before making the window frame the size of the proposed
window must be determined, and this is done by measuring the width of
the glass and making the proper allowance for the sash. When the logs
are placed in the walls we try to select timbers of such a size that
one round of logs will come within about three inches of the top of
the window boxing, and the next log is cut out to fit down over this
window and the frame is nailed fast to this log. The same thing is
done when the top of the door frame is reached, and this gives a
greater degree of rigidity to the walls.

  [Illustration: THE GABLES.]

When the walls have been raised to a height of about six and a half
feet above the floor sills we commence work on the gables. These are
constructed by placing a full length log across the end, a shorter
one on top of this, continuing thus until high enough. This is best
done by setting a pole up in the end of the camp exactly in the
middle of the end wall, the top being just the height of the proposed
gable. From the top of this straight pole, poles are run down to each
corner and these give the slope of the gables, also of the roof. The
logs are then cut off on an incline at the ends to conform with the
line of this pole, and are fastened one on top of another by boring
holes and driving wooden pins into them. When both gables have been
raised to half their height we cut two 17-foot binding poles, each
six inches thick in the middle, and notch them into the logs of the
gables. These logs or poles not only give more stability to the
gables, but they also make a support for the roof, and are a nice
foundation for a loft on which to store articles after the camp is
finished. When the ends are brought up to within about eight inches
of the required height a stout, straight ridge pole of the same
length as the binding poles is placed on top, and notched lightly
into the top log.

Our camp is now ready for the roof, and what are we to use for this
most important part. I have no doubt that camp roofs have caused more
gray hairs for woodsmen than any of the other problems they have to
solve. If it were early summer when the bark could be peeled from
cedar and spruce trees we would have no trouble, but bark is not
available now. About the only style of roof that we can make now is
what is called a scoop roof, made from split logs. We must find a
straight-grained, free-splitting wood for this, and of the woods at
hand we find balsam the best, so we cut balsam trees about eight or
ten inches in diameter, and make logs from the butt of each, about
seven feet long, so that they will reach from the top of the
ridge-pole to the walls and extend a foot beyond. These we split
through the centre and hollow out each in a trough form, by cutting
notches in the flat side, without cutting the edges, and splitting
out the sections between. We place a layer of these the entire length
of the roof, hollow side up, and notch each in place so that it
cannot slip or rock. Between each set of these troughs we will place
a three-inch pole, and on top of the pole we place marsh moss. Then
we place over these poles a second layer of the troughs, hollow side
down, and over the ridge pole we place a large, full-length trough.
This latter we must make by hewing a log flat on one side and then
hollowing it out, for we cannot find a tree with such a straight
grain that we can split a 17-foot length without more or less of a
twist.

  [Illustration: THE ROOF.]

Before completing our roof, in fact when the first layer of scoops
are placed on, we must make provision for our stove pipe, for it must
have an outlet through the roof, and the location the stove is to
have in the cabin must be determined. A hole 12 or 14 inches square
is left in the roof, by using a few short scoops, and this hole is
covered with the sheet of tin we brought for the purpose, and a
slightly oblong hole is cut in this for the stove pipe. The edge of
this hole we turn up with the hammer, which makes it waterproof, and
when finished it is such a size that the pipe makes a snug fit. The
whole thing is so arranged that water cannot run under from the top,
but this is difficult to explain.

A roof like this causes a lot of work, in fact as much as the
remainder of the camp in some cases, but if carefully made it is a
good roof, warm and waterproof. It must be well mossed or snow will
sift in, and the lower ends of the troughs, from where they cross the
walls, should be cut deeper than the portion above. If this is not
done the ice which forms in the ends of these troughs will back the
water up until it runs over the edges and down the walls of the
cabin. It may even be necessary occasionally during the winter to
clean the snow off the lower edge of the roof and clip the ice from
the troughs with a hatchet. The steeper the roof the less trouble
there will be from this source.

With the roof completed our cabin becomes a real shelter and we can
camp inside at night. If necessary the flooring may be postponed for
a few days, but we may as well finish it at once, so we clean out the
chips and commence laying the floor. This we make of straight spruce
poles about four or five inches thick. In the end of the camp where
our beds are to be we leave them in their natural round state, merely
flattening them on the underside where they rest on the sills, to
make them fit and lie firmly in their places. But when the floor has
grown at this end to a width of about four feet we adopt a different
plan. We now hew the poles straight and smooth on one side their
entire length, and flatten the underside where they rest on the
sills, also straighten the sides so they fit up snugly against one
another. At the place where the stove is to be placed we leave an
opening of two and a half by four feet, and around this place we
fasten smooth pieces of wood about four inches thick, so that it
makes of the opening a sort of box. When our floor is completed we
nail down along each wall, a pole, which covers the ends of the floor
poles and holds them all firmly in place.

  [Illustration: THE DOOR.]

To complete our cabin now we need only a door, a window, and
something to close the cracks. For a door we split cedar or balsam
wood into planks, which we place on edge in notches cut in a log, and
hew down smoothly on both sides with the axe. Then we straighten the
edges and measuring our door frame carefully we fit the boards into
the opening, binding them all together by nailing across near each
end a narrow board. We also place a strip diagonally across the door
from near one corner to the opposite, to stiffen the door and prevent
warping. Hinges we make of wood, fasten them together with a single
large nail through each, and fasten the door to the wall. Then on the
outside we hew the ends of the logs until they are flush with the
edges of the door frame, and nail a flattened strip along both sides
of the doorway. This is not absolutely necessary, but it gives the
doorway a more finished appearance, and increases the rigidity of the
wall.

Our window sash also makes considerable work. For this we split soft,
dead cedar and hew it into three-inch strips. From these we make a
frame that will fit inside the window boxing, and make the strips of
this frame flush at the corners by cutting away half of each. Then at
the proper places we fit our lighter cross strips, sinking them into
the wood at the ends, and fastening with small nails. Grooves are
then cut in the strips and the frame itself to receive the sheets of
glass, which are put in place and fastened with tacks. The window is
then placed in the wall and secured by nailing narrow strips of wood
against it. As a window at its best is apt to admit a lot of cold air
it will pay well to spend some time at this work and make the window
fit snugly.

All that now remains to be done is to close the cracks between the
logs. Since our logs were of a uniform size and have been well
notched down there are no large cracks, and no blocking is needed.
The warmest chinking, outside of rags, which we do not have, is woods
moss. That found growing on rocks and logs is best, for it does not
dry out and shrink as much as marsh moss, and there is an abundance
of this near at hand. We gather a few bags of this moss and with a
piece of wood we drive it into the cracks all around the walls. We
also keep a small quantity of this moss in the cabin, for no matter
how firmly it is driven into the cracks it will shrink and become
loose after awhile, and this must be tightened and more moss driven
in.

Our little cabin is now complete. It has taken much hard work to
build it, but it is worth the effort for it is a comfortable,
home-like camp. The cold winter winds may howl through the forest and
the snow may fall to a depth of several feet, but here we can live as
comfortably as woodsmen can expect to live in the wilds.



FURNISHING THE HOME CAMP

A single day's work will do wonders towards making a cabin
comfortable. Sometimes through press of more important work, such as
getting out a line of traps while the season is yet young, the
trapper may well neglect these touches of comfort, and the simplest
of camp furnishings will answer until a stormy day keeps him indoors,
when he can make good use of his time in making camp furniture. A bed
and a stove or fireplace are the only absolutely necessary
furnishings to start with, if other work demands immediate attention.

But in our own case such neglect is not at all necessary. The
preceding chapter saw our cabin completed, that is the walls, roof
and floor, all that can really be called cabin, but much more work
will be required before it is really comfortable and ready for
occupancy. Providing the camp with suitable furniture and adding
conveniences and comfort is the next step, so while we have time and
there is nothing to hinder the work we will push it along.

Most important of all camp furnishings is the stove. Nothing else
adds so much to the cheerfulness and home-like aspect of a camp as a
properly enclosed, well behaved fire, which warms up the room,
enables us to cook our food indoors, and dispenses the gloom of night
by driving the darkness into the farthest corners. If the weather is
cold nothing in the camp is so indispensable.

For the lodge which we built in the preceding chapter we will make a
stove of sheet iron. I have made a number of camp stoves by riveting
together four sections of new, unbent stovepipe into a square sheet,
bending this into proper shape, fitting ends, and cutting holes for
cooking utensils and for the pipe. But for this camp we have secured
from a hardware store a pipe of sheet iron three feet wide by four
feet long. We now place this on the floor of the cabin and measure
off from each end 17 inches, then on each edge at the 17-inch mark we
make a three-inch cut. This we do by holding the sheet metal on a
block or flat topped stump, placing the corner of the axe on the
metal at the proper place, and striking on the head with a billet of
wood. Then we place a straight edged strip of wood across the end on
the 17-inch mark, and standing on this wood we pull the end of the
metal upward, bending it to a right angle. The other end is treated
the same way and this leaves the metal in the form of a box, three
feet long, 17 inches high, and 14 inches wide, open on top and at
both ends. Now we turn this upside down and in the top we cut two
seven-inch holes, as round as we can make them. These are to hold the
cooking utensils. Near one end we cut a small hole, not more than
three and a half inches in diameter. The edge of this hole we cut at
intervals all the way around, making straight, one-half inch cuts.
Then we turn these edges up, and we have a stovepipe hole, with a
collar to hold the pipe in place. We now close the rear end of the
stove by bending three inches of the sides into a right angle, the
same amount of the top being bent down. This is the purpose of the
three-inch cuts we made when we first commenced the work. Now we
rivet a piece of sheet-iron into this end, using for rivets the head
ends of wire nails. They must be cut short and riveted on the head of
an axe. Beneath the top of the stove, between the cooking holes we
rivet a folded strip of metal; this is to stiffen the top. Then we
turn in three inches of the front of the stove and rivet the corners
where they lap. This leaves an eight-inch opening in front over which
we will hinge a door. This door must have some kind of fastening, and
a simple little twist of wire working in a punch hole is easily
arranged and convenient. We can make a very crude stove of this if we
like, but we do not want that kind, so we take plenty of time and
turn out a satisfactory article.

Our stove is now completed except for the covers which are easily
made. We set it up in the box-shaped opening left in the floor and
fill around it with sand to a height of six inches, also fill the
inside to that height. While doing this we must see that the stove
stands perfectly level, and that the pipe hole is directly beneath
the hole in the roof. This makes a fireproof stove and the bed of
sand holds it rigidly in place. A draft is made beneath the door by
scraping away a little sand. The pipe is five-inch size and we fit it
with a damper for that is the way to regulate the draft and keep the
heat from going up the pipe.

  [Illustration: THE STOVE.]

Our stove completed and in working order we next turn our attention
to the bed, since it ranks second in importance. We set an upright
post four inches thick and three feet long against the sidewall about
five feet from the end of the room and nail it firmly in position.
Then at a height of about two feet from the floor we fasten to the
wall another four-inch piece, this extending in a horizontal position
from the post to the end wall. Then we set up a corner post at the
foot of the bed, placing it five feet from the end wall and nailing
the top securely to the roof binding pole. In line with this against
the end wall we set up another three-foot post and spike it solidly
to the logs of the wall. Then we cut notches in these two latter
posts two feet above the floor and into this we fit and nail fast a
four-inch cross strip. We now have the foundation for our bed and we
make the bottom of straight, smooth poles, nailed fast to the
horizontal ends. These poles must all be of about the same thickness
to make a satisfactory bed, otherwise some of them will bend or
spring while the stiff ones will not. If it were summer now we would
line this bunk with bark to keep the balsam needles from falling
through, but since we cannot get bark at this time of year we cannot
do this. We make the side and end of the bed by nailing poles against
the posts. Then we fill the bed with balsam boughs. These are the
ends of the branches and the heaviest stems are less than a
fourth-inch thick. We commence at the head and stand the boughs on
end at an angle, stems down. When entirely filled we have a soft and
fairly comfortable bed, of course not equal to the spring bed we have
at home, but then we are not expecting home comforts in the big
woods, and we are always tired enough to rest well in a bough bed.
For pillows we use grain bags in which we place our extra clothing.

This bed is at its best when freshly filled. Each night's use reduces
its softness, and the comfort decreases at a like rate. The only way
to keep a bough bed in good condition is to replace the bough filling
occasionally with fresh evergreens. When we kill some big game
animal, a deer or caribou, we will dry the skin and place it on our
bed, hair side up, for this will make the bed warmer and softer.

The table is next in order. Many trappers think a table too much of a
luxury and accordingly dispense with it, but a home camp is far from
complete without it and it is an easy piece of furniture to make. It
should be placed on the south side of the cabin before the window, so
that we can get the advantage of the light. We will stand up two
posts of the proper height about two feet from the wall and six feet
apart. These we secure in place by nailing them to the floor. From
the tops of these posts to the wall we place flattened pieces of wood
and secure them by nailing to the wall and to the posts. This is the
foundation or framework for our table. The top we will make of three
straight eight-inch logs hewn on one side to the center, and
flattened on the other side at the ends. When placed on the supports,
flat side up, and fastened by nailing at the ends, we have the table
completed. It is rough, but it answers our purpose as well as a more
finished one.

  [Illustration: CAMP FURNITURE.]

In front of the table we will place a bench. This we will make from a
hewn log, half round, and in the round side near each end we bore
holes for the legs. These are bored at such an angle that the legs
will stand about 20 inches apart at the base. The legs are made of
two-inch sticks whittled to fit the holes and driven in, the lower
ends being cut off afterwards at the proper length to make the bench
stand firmly, and at the right height. We will also make another
shorter bench which we will place by the side of the stove. Perhaps
when a stormy day comes we will make a couple of chairs, but for the
present at least these two benches will serve very well.

We cannot be long in the woods until we realize the need of some
means of securing our food where it will be inaccessible to woods
mice. These little creatures are a serious pest and can soon ruin a
bag of flour or a side of bacon if they are able to get at it. In an
effort to place my flour where they could not reach it I suspended it
from the ridgepole with a piece of codfish line, but the nimble mice
went up and down that cord like monkeys. Then I made a platform and
suspended it from the roof with four pieces of hay baling wire. On
this I placed my food; but even here I found it was not safe, for the
mice dropped onto the platform from the roof poles. The only way I
found that was perfectly satisfactory was to make a tight box with a
well fitted cover in which to keep the food supply. As a result I
made a food box for each camp.

We have now found that it is necessary to have some means of
preserving our food from the ravages of mice, and profiting by
experience we do not waste our time on theories, but set to work to
make a tight wooden box. If it were a time of the year when bark
would peel we would make a frame of poles and cover it with bark. But
this is impossible now, so we split boards from balsam and cedar and
hew them flat and smooth. For the ends we make these boards two feet
long and fasten them together by nailing strips across the ends of
the boards after they have been placed side by side with the edges
fitting one against another. The boards for the bottom and sides are
made three feet long and these we nail to the ends. The cover is
fitted to the top, but is not fastened.

Luxuries become necessities through use. The furnishings which we
have so far brought into our cabin may be considered as coming
properly under the heading of necessities. But there are many little
extra pieces that may be added which may be called luxuries at first,
but through use they become almost indispensable. On the walls we
will build shelves and we find them very useful places for storing
odds and ends. A small shelf is placed on the wall near the stove to
hold the lamp, and another similar shelf for the same purpose is
placed above the left end of the table. Then there are two or three
longer shelves placed in convenient locations. These shelves are all
made of hewn boards supported by stout pins driven into auger holes.

If we are not by this time too tired of making boards with an axe, we
will make a wooden tub in which to wash our clothes. Since we have a
saw this is not as difficult as it first appears. It is made square
with sloping sides. The boards must be carefully fitted and securely
nailed. Then, after we have made it as tight as possible by nailing
we will gather a small quantity of spruce gum and run it into the
cracks from the inside by means of a hot iron, in much the same way
that we would solder tin plate. A wash basin can be made in the same
way, but we have a tin basin in our outfit so we'll not need to make
one.

Behind the stove we nail a slender pole, horizontally, onto wooden
pins driven into auger holes, so that the pole is parallel with the
wall and about six or eight inches from it. On this pole we place our
socks and mitts to dry when we come in from the day's tramp. We hang
our coats on nails driven into the wall. Our snowshoes we suspend
from the roof with snare wire in the coolest part of the camp, so
that the mice cannot eat the filling or the heat make it brittle.

Perhaps you would be interested in our camp outfit, for it is adapted
to use in a camp of this kind. We have come into the woods for the
fall and winter, and while we will go out occasionally for supplies
of food, our outfit is supposed to be complete, and in it are all the
articles needed for an entire winter's stay in the wilds. The
following are the articles which we have brought with us as camp
outfit: Two rabbit skin blankets, two large all-wool blankets, one
large and one medium enameled kettle, two tea pails, one water pail,
one large frying pan and two small ones, with sockets for handles,
three enameled plates, two enameled cups, two table knives, two
forks, two table spoons, two tea spoons, one reflecting baker, one
wash basin, one small mirror, four towels, one alarm clock, one small
oil lamp (bottom portion of a railroad lantern), three small axes
with long handles, one cross-cut saw, one hand saw, two flat files,
two sharpening stones (pocket size), one auger, one hammer, assorted
nails, a dozen small bags for holding food, a small box of medicines,
and a repair kit, consisting of needles, thread, wax, scissors, awl
and small pliers.

The above is the actual camp outfit and does not include personal
belongings, such as guns, traps, toilet articles, compasses clothing,
snowshoes, etc., things which are used more on the trail than in
camp, and while necessary in our business cannot rightfully be
considered a part of the camp equipment. Even some of the articles
mentioned, for instance the two small frying pans, are more for use
on the trail than in the home cabin.

This, and the preceding chapter, describe what to my mind is an ideal
camp for two persons and a perfect equipment for same. The camp site
described could not be improved upon, and it is seldom that we find
all of the requirements in any one place, yet the description is that
of one of my own camp sites, and except for the size of camp and a
few details of furnishings and outfit, also describes one of my
cabins, one which I constructed and used while trapping in Canada.



OUTDOOR FOODS

That foods for outdoor men should differ from those eaten by people
who work indoors may appear strange to some of us, but it is a fact
that foods of the same class are not, as a rule, practical for both
outdoor and indoor consumption. The requirements of people who work
in the open air differ but little from those of the indoor workers,
but it is mainly the source of supply that necessitates a different
class of foods.

The indoor man lives in the midst of plenty. Almost anything his
appetite demands he may have.  The telephone makes it unnecessary for
him to go to the store to place his order and the delivery man brings
the goods to his back door. His better half or perhaps a hired cook,
prepares the food for him and he need not even worry about the time
required for cooking or the work necessary to prepare and place the
viands before him.

But with the outdoor man, by which I mean woodsman and others who are
employed outdoors and do their own cooking far from a base of
supplies, the conditions are altogether different. Perhaps the outer
has carried his food a long distance on his back or it may have been
brought to his camp in a boat or canoe, or by team over a long and
rough road, or even packed on horseback from 50 to 100 miles into the
rough mountains. In either case it was necessary for him to select
foods having certain qualities. In order to keep the bulk and weight
down to a reasonable level all bulky, heavy, watery foods had to be
eliminated. Such foods as would freeze in cold weather, decay, become
rancid, or otherwise spoil if kept a long time without special care,
had to be kept out of the list. Also such articles as do not contain
much nutriment must be avoided, as well as those which are apt to
prove harmful when used regularly. Not only that, but the entire
outfit of food must be "well balanced," that is, it must have about
the right proportions of the various food elements required by the
human body. Too much salt pork and other preserved foods, with too
little fresh food, may cause scurvy; various articles which are known
to be difficult of digestion may cause chronic dyspepsia, while many
constipating foods may in a different way lead to the same trouble.
In addition nothing should be taken which is difficult to transport
or apt to get broken and cause trouble while en route.

To sum it all up, the requirements in outdoor foods that are to be
taken some distance to camp are as follows: First, reasonably light
weight and small bulk; second, good keeping qualities; third, a high
per cent. of nutrition; fourth, balance and total absence of
injurious properties; fifth, adaptability to packing and
transportation requirements. We might add to this the quality of
being quickly and easily prepared, for, while this is not required in
all of the food, it is necessary for all outdoor men to have a number
of articles which may be prepared on short notice.

Breakfast in the woods is usually an early meal, in winter being
invariably eaten before daylight, and this requires either quickly
prepared foods or very early rising. Often, too, the woodsman comes
in from a tramp long after dark. He has had a long, hard journey,
perhaps having had only a lunch since daybreak, maybe not even that,
and the cold, along with the exertion, has given him a marvelous
appetite. On such occasions every minute that can be gained in
cooking a nourishing meal is that much to the good. But short-order
meals are not the thing for regular fare, for in time they will ruin
any stomach.

Considering the first requisite, light weight and little bulk, we may
include in our list as meeting these requirements, all kinds of dried
fruits, vegetables, and meats, tea, coffee and condensed foods. Fresh
vegetables and fruits are excluded from the list, for they are heavy
and bulky and fail also in the second requirement, for they freeze
easily in cold weather and sometimes do not keep well when it is
warm. To make up for the lack of fresh fruits and vegetables we must
take plenty of the dry kind, and it is also a good plan to have in
the outfit a bottle of vinegar or fruit juice--lime juice is an
excellent tonic for use in the woods and is a sure preventative of
scurvy.  Vegetables and fruit in tin or glass are also prohibitive
except in a small way, as, for instance, the fruit juice, vinegar,
pickles and condensed milk, all of which may be taken in small
quantities.  In general, however, canned goods should be avoided
unless the trip is made by wagon or other means that does not
prohibit taking heavy goods, in which case a quantity of food in tins
may be taken. Eggs and other ultra-perishable goods are strictly
prohibited. The taking of eggs and food in glass also violates
requisite number five, for all such articles require far more care in
handling than is practical on the bush trail.

Not only does the woodsman have to consider cooking and eating in
camp but he must think as well of the many days that he will spend on
the trail and there his food must be of the most condensed, light,
nutritious and otherwise perfect form. He must therefore take with
him to his home camp sufficient of this quality of food to fill his
needs when he makes his long trips away from camp over the trap line
or elsewhere, but always carrying with him his equipment and food for
the trip.

A man can depend to some extent on game and fish, but if he is going
far back into the wilderness where he cannot retreat in a day or two
to civilization and a source of food supply he should be very sure
that the game and fish are actually found in the place where he is
going, that such game and fish will be available at all seasons, and
that there will be no uncommon difficulty in securing it. Some kinds
of big game animals migrate periodically or spasmodically; fish are
sometimes hard to find in winter, and the hunting equipment may for
one reason or another go wrong. For instance, the capsizing of a
canoe may mean the loss of the only gun or all the ammunition in the
party, and even a broken gun mainspring may cause great hardship. Of
course a resourceful and expert woodsman would not starve even if
turned adrift in the forest without food or gun, but few care to make
the experiment or to risk going hungry. Therefore I advise taking
enough food, so that it will not be necessary to depend on game. If
there is game to be had it should, of course, be secured, for fresh
meat is a great relief from the everlasting bacon and bannock and it
tends to neutralize the constipating properties of such food. It is
possible for one to live indefinitely on fresh meat and fish alone if
forced to it; but the civilized appetite does not accept gracefully
any such radical departures from what has now become the natural line
of food. Moreover, the man who elects to live on game and fish alone
must of necessity go hungry for long periods, in fact may be forced
to face starvation when game is scarce and for one reason or another
difficult to secure. Therefore the woodsman should not attempt to
live wholly on fresh meat or to make so much allowance for game that
he will suffer from hunger if the game is not procurable. No such
sacrifice should be made merely to reduce the weight of the outfit.

Coming now to the matter of keeping qualities we find that any of the
evaporated, dried or condensed foods on the market meet all
requirements. Bacon, cured for winter use, may not remain in a
perfectly sweet condition, and it is well to make sure before
purchasing that the meat is well salted and smoked. Butter may become
strong unless the weather is cold, but I have found that first-class
creamery butter will keep nicely for a period of two and a half
months in fairly cold weather. For a longer trip canned butter should
be procured. It may be purchased in Canada from almost any grocer
located in an outfitting point. While potatoes and other fresh
vegetables are prohibited because of weight and bulk they are also
eliminated from the list because they freeze in cold weather. A
trapper must often be away from camp for a period of time varying
from a few days to a week or more and anything that can freeze will
surely do so in one night of "40 below" weather. As an exception to
this rule I advise taking a few onions, for in spite of their weight
they are a food worth considering. They freeze as readily as
potatoes, but if they are kept frozen until time for use it will not
hurt them in the least. There are many dishes that are greatly
improved by an onion flavor and I am very fond of this evil-smelling
vegetable when sliced and fried with steak. Ordinary canned goods
containing water are tabooed in cold weather, for they freeze and
burst the cans, besides falling short in the first requirement of
camp foods, namely, light weight.

Nutrition in foods is a quality which needs but little expenditure of
gray matter if one does not attempt to live a long period on an
unvaried line. By taking a variety of foods and changing the menu
frequently danger from lack of nutriment is reduced to the minimum.
Condensed and dried foods are invariably very nutritious. With fresh
meat occasionally the foods which I recommend will meet all
requirements in this particular.

What has been said on the subject of nutrition in camp foods will
suffice for the fourth requisite--perfect balance and lack of
injurious elements.  While I would not advise the use of one or two
articles of food as a steady diet the kind I name in the lists given
herewith, if used in the proportions given and a little fresh meat or
fish can be sandwiched in here and there, no bad results will follow.
On the other hand, if any of the articles, or especially a line of
articles like the dried fruits, are omitted, I would not be
responsible for the good health of the user.

Within the borders of civilization, and especially with those people
doing office work or following any indoor occupation which does not
require plenty of bodily exertion, constipation is a serious menace,
in fact I think it is the cause of many ills which are generally
attributed to other sources. In the woods it is somewhat different,
for the long tramps and other violent exercises tend to keep the
bowels open, but it is not so with all men, and especially with those
who hail from the city. Even the seasoned woodsman should not trifle
with anything of so serious a nature, for even to him chronic
constipation may come as the result of a steady diet of white flour
and other constipating foods. In the lists which I give the foods
most harmful in this way are wheat flour, especially when used in
baking powder bread, cheese, rice, beans and peas. The foods most
valuable for offsetting the bad effects of the above are the dried
fruits, especially prunes, and cornmeal. Fresh meat and onions act as
laxatives also, but too much of any of these foods may cause the
system to fortify itself against them and their good effects are
reduced greatly. Many kinds of food are difficult to digest; but it
should be remembered that all stomachs are not alike and what is
indigestible for one man is easily assimilated by another. The only
way to learn what foods are harmful and which ones are not is by
trying them, but this should be done and the results known before
going into the woods.

Tea and coffee are used extensively in the woods because they are
very refreshing to tired travelers. Tea is especially invigorating.
But both of these drinks, if used in excess, are harmful. Coffee
injures the nervous system directly, while indirectly it works on
other organs, and tea is injurious to the stomach, also the nerves.
Taken in reasonable amount these drinks will do no harm, but they
should never be used to the exclusion of water. The latter is the
natural drink and we cannot use too much.

The fifth requirement in camp foods is one that must not be
forgotten. On a long trip into the bush the outfit is sure to get a
certain amount of rough usage; a pack strap may give way or the
packer may stumble or slip and down goes the pack. With but few
exceptions, then, everything which will not stand a reasonable amount
of rough handling has no right to a place on the outer's list. The
exceptions are a few articles which when taken in small quantities
must be put up in glass and these few foods are pickles, vinegar and
others of similar nature. If any other less breakable container can
be found for these it is better to use it, but if these foods are in
bottle same must be carefully packed to prevent breakage. Eggs are
the most unsatisfactory of all foods for transportation into the
wilds, for they are easily broken, cannot be kept during cold weather
and spoil quickly when the weather is mild.

This is not an article on packing or otherwise transporting outfits
into the bush, but I wish to say this in regard to packing foods,
that all packages and containers should be as light as possible
consistent with strength and durability. Paper sacks are not the
proper thing, for they are so easily torn. It is by far the better
plan to have small duck or muslin bags for all dry foods. Nothing
should be taken if put up in wooden boxes or other containers having
sharp edges or corners, but all such articles should be removed and
placed in the cloth sacks. If this is impossible it is better to
eliminate such goods from the list.

To give a list of foods which are suitable for steady diet in the
wilds is easy, and it may be a perfect list, well balanced,
nourishing and having all the other desirable qualities, yet it may
not be satisfactory for general use. Individual tastes do not all
follow the same channels and there are no end of people who could
pick from any list of foods that I might give a number of articles
which they cannot eat or which are not received kindly by their
respective systems. Another thing is the difference in quantity of
food consumed by different men. While a life in the open air with
continuous physical exercise from before daylight until after dark
develops an appetite in any man, with some men their appetites seem
absolutely insatiable and they consume enormous quantities of food.
It is therefore difficult to give a list which may be taken as an
accurate guide and approximate quantities only can be given, these
being in the present time based on what I consider a normal
woodsman's appetite. Note in the following lists quantities intended
for one man one month's use and if the lists look good they may be
used for a basis on which to figure the amounts of food required for
the length of time.

List No. 1.--Twenty pounds wheat flour and ten pounds cornmeal, or 25
pounds wheat flour and five pounds cornmeal; one and a half pounds
best baking powder, free of alum; three pounds table salt (this is
more than necessary for food, but allows for preserving game); ten
pounds bacon or five pounds bacon and five pounds salt pork; one
pound lard or "Crisco" (this is seldom needed if all bacon grease is
saved and used for cooking); three pounds creamery or canned butter;
10 pounds beans, small or large, as preferred; four pounds split
peas; five pounds evaporated fruit, either apples, apricots or
peaches, assorted if desired; four pounds prunes; six pounds sugar
(seven pounds if used in tea and coffee); two pounds tea (black,
green or mixed) or three pounds ground coffee in airtight tins; one
bottle, about two pounds, sour pickles; four pounds evaporated,
unsweetened milk in small size tins; two pounds cheese; one ounce
black pepper. Eighty-seven and a half to 89 1/2 pounds total weight.

The foregoing is my standard list on which I have based many a
purchase of supplies, and while I vary quantities sometimes, and add
luxuries now and then, the list alone, just as given, makes an
excellent one for real woods trips.

In the following I have cut down the quantities of some articles and
added the equivalent in other goods, thus giving greater variety and
making a ration that is less apt to grow tiresome in time.

List No. 2.--Eighteen pounds wheat flour and five pounds cornmeal;
two pounds crackers or soda biscuits; one pound of best baking
powder; three pounds table salt; six pounds bacon and four pounds
salt pork; three and a half pounds creamery or canned butter; seven
pounds beans; three pounds split peas; five pounds evaporated fruits,
assorted as desired; four pounds prunes; eight pounds sugar; two
pounds tea or three pounds coffee, ground and in airtight tins;
two-pound bottle sour pickles; five pounds evaporated milk in small
tins; four pounds rice; one pound seeded raisins; two ounces
cinnamon; one ounce black pepper; two pounds cheese; five pounds
Bermuda onions. Ninety and a half pounds to 91 1/2 pounds total
weight.

I think the above list will be more generally satisfactory than the
first, but if the camper has preferences in regard to the kind of
food selected he may use these lists only as a basis on which to
figure. The weights given are net and do not include extra
containers. It will be noted that the total weight is nearly the same
in both; but the second allows for a more varied menu. I have added
to this one four pounds of rice. The raisins, with the additional
sugar and milk, are mainly for this dish. I have also added an extra
half-pound of butter, for it will be needed to make rice pudding. The
cinnamon is for use in apple sauce and on rice. By eliminating the
crackers and half the salt a couple of pounds of oatmeal and a brick
of maple sugar may be added, thereby again increasing the number of
items without additional weight and making a good wholesome breakfast
dish (oatmeal porridge), or one that can be prepared quickly, also
providing syrup for the pancakes--"white hopes," as one of my camping
companions called them.

Some of the above-named foods can be cooked satisfactorily only in
the permanent camp, while others are suitable for use in camp or on
the trail. When making long tramps away from my cabin and camping out
at night by the side of a fire I like to travel as lightly equipped
as possible without sacrificing comfort, therefore I carry very
little camp equipment and especially few cooking utensils. This
necessitates the use of very simple, easily prepared dishes.
Ordinarily I carry only the following foods: Flour mixed with the
proper amount of baking powder and salt; bacon, sliced and with the
rind removed; oatmeal, sugar, butter, tea, and a small sack
containing a few ounces of salt. The latter is for use in cooking
game killed during the day. It will be obvious then that if the
camper follows my plan he must base his quantities of these articles
on the proportion of time which he believes will be spent on the
trail or camping out. If the time so spent will be limited he can cut
down slightly on the amounts of these foods and add others more to
his liking if he wishes, but, on the other hand, if he expects to do
much camping out he must increase the quantity of such foods as can
be used on the trail.

Judging from my own experience it is easier to choose good camp foods
than to know which to use from the list for a meal and how to prepare
them. On stormy days, or when for any other reason the camper is
spending sufficient time at the main cabin, he can cook such foods as
beans, split peas, rice, game, salt pork and dried fruits, also can
make good use of the maple syrup and other luxuries. For short order
meals, as, for instance, when returning to camp long past meal time
and in a half famished condition, oatmeal porridge, bannock (baking
powder bread), bacon and tea or coffee will generally satisfy. Here,
for instance, is a good menu for a day when the hunter or trapper
wants to make a journey away from the main camp, returning late in
the afternoon. He rises early in the morning and prepares breakfast
of coffee, pancakes, maple syrup and bacon, or, perhaps, has fried
venison, moose or caribou steak. Immediately after breakfast he
places over the fire a kettle of beans with a piece of salt pork and
he boils this until he is ready to leave camp, which may be an hour
later. While the beans are cooking and he is waiting for daylight he
prepares the outfit which he will take with him for the day. His
lunch will be crackers, or if not too cold a piece of bannock, a few
slices of bacon, a small piece of cheese and tea. The bushman always
carries a small tea pail with him, if only a tin can fitted with a
wire bail. He returns about sunset and as soon as he has made a fire
he places over it the partly cooked pork and beans. By the time they
have finished cooking he has baked a bannock, stewed some fruit or
prunes, or made rice pudding. Thus he goes on day after day, varying
his menu as far as possible, as well as his methods of preparing the
foods.

In the lists which I have given I have purposely refrained from
naming the many prepared and condensed camp foods, because my
experience with most of them has been limited and many of them I have
never even tasted. I refer to such articles as desiccated vegetables,
dried eggs, milk powder, erbswurst, pemmican, saccarine, tea tablets,
soup tablets, etc.

Before closing I would like to say a few words in regard to game and
fish as food. While I do not advise making much allowance for them
when purchasing supplies the man who goes into the wilds to camp
should avail himself of any opportunity which offers to secure game
and fish for his use, but he should, of course, never kill more than
is needed, and unless driven to it by hunger should not kill
protected game out of season. If he kills more than he can use at the
time and the weather is too warm to keep it without curing he should
dry the meat and he will find it an excellent article for lunches and
when camping out. But what I wanted to get at is this, that many
animals which are seldom considered as fit for food and are generally
thrown away or used for bait are really fine food and by using them
there will be less need of violating the game laws. Among the animals
which are trapped and may be used for food are bears (when killed in
fall or winter), muskrats, raccoons, opossums and beavers. Woodchucks
are not bad eating if properly cooked, but they can only be secured
in summer. The porcupine is another animal which may be eaten,
although I cannot say that the meat is palatable. Many people in
Canada eat the flesh of lynx, but I draw the line on carnivorous
animals. I have tried it, in fact, I have eaten all the animals named
above.

My parting advice is to practice economy. The food which has been
transported over so many miles of rough trail by the hardest kind of
toil should never be wasted. The saving habit is a good one to grow
into and it can be practiced as well in the woods as in our own
homes.



FIRES FOR VARIOUS USES

Most fires to-day are started by means of matches, so, as a starting
place we will first consider the match. Insignificant little
stick--500 for five cents--yet that tiny match can start a fire that
would destroy a city or lay a hundred miles of forest in ruin! Many a
life has been saved by a match, and many millions, yes billions of
dollars worth of property has been destroyed by the same
insignificant little stick. It is on one hand one of the greatest
providers of comfort that science has produced, and on the other the
most powerful destroyer known to man. There are various kinds of
matches, each having properties peculiar to itself, but we will
compare only the most common kinds and judge them from the woodsman's
standpoint.

I believe the first matches to come into use were made of a sulfurous
compound and such matches are still used in large quantities in
Canada. They are generally considered superior to ordinary parlor
matches for woodsman's use, but I cannot see that they possess any
advantages whatever. They are just as difficult to light as parlor
matches, if not more so, just as easily blown out, and just as
susceptible to dampness. They are noiseless, which is in their favor,
but they throw off disagreeable fumes when lighted. They are reliable
matches for the woodsman, although I would take parlor matches in
preference.

We have also the little, so-called "safety" matches now so much used
by smokers. They are convenient for carrying and get their name from
their refusal to light when struck on any surface other than the side
of the box in which they are packed. But this very quality makes them
unfit to light a fire in a wind if one must hold in his hand the
match-box as well as the burning match, for he cannot "cup" his hands
perfectly. This is worth remembering, for out of doors, there is
nearly always enough wind to make trouble when building a fire.
Another fault of the safety match is its small size; it is apt to be
entirely consumed before the fire can be started. The parlor match
then is the match for the woodsman, and he should have a bountiful
supply when he turns his back on civilization.

The stock of matches should be kept in a waterproof case of some
kind. A screw top jar is very good if one has it in camp, but
glassware is not practical for camping trips and something less
fragile but equally waterproof should be found. I have a kodak tank
developing outfit, the metal tank of which is excellent for holding
matches. The cover locks on by a partial turn and is watertight,
while the tank holds enough matches for a whole winter's use.

Of course the woodsman will carry with him on his sojourns from camp
only a small quantity of matches and at least a few of them should
either be so treated as to render them impervious to water, or be
carried in a watertight box. It sometimes happens that the traveler
in the woods gets caught in a drenching rain, or he may fall into the
water, and unless some provision has been made for keeping the
matches dry there will be no more smokes or tea until he gets back to
camp. Sometimes more serious consequences may follow such negligence;
for instance, the traveler may break through the ice and without a
fire may freeze to death. Almost every outdoor man can recall
instances where dry matches would at least have added materially to
his comfort.

There are various ways of waterproofing matches. They may be dipped
in melted paraffine, which will keep them perfectly dry, and when the
protecting wax is removed they will be in first class condition.
Varnishes of one kind or another will serve the same purpose.

But a waterproof box is more reliable and convenient. There is one
match-box on the market that is very efficient. It is somewhat
difficult to open, especially when one's hands are cold, but for all
of that it is the best thing I know of, and as its contents are to be
used only in emergency cases the woodsman may be content with the box
as it is. I have seen match-boxes made from brass shotgun shells
which were practically waterproof if kept tightly closed, but
sometimes it is difficult to remove the cover. A small glass bottle
is also good for carrying matches and is frequently used for this
purpose.

  [Illustration: LIGHTING A MATCH IN THE WIND.]

It is an easy matter to light a match; but to start a fire is
something different, and to build a fire when the wind is blowing is
often difficult. Even the simple lighting of a pipe in the wind is
very uncertain with many smokers. I have seen men out in an exposed
place strike match after match in a vain endeavor to light a pipe.
Yet rightly done the trick is easy. It is all right to get behind a
tree if one is near; but it is not at all necessary. In all cases the
man should turn his face towards the wind and as soon as he strikes
the match, form a cup of his hands and thus shelter the burning
match. Then it is easy to thrust the bowl of the pipe into his hands
to the burning match. A fire can be started in the same way, but it
is a little more difficult and less certain. The kindling must be
properly arranged with the part to be lighted projecting towards the
breeze, and sufficiently separated from other objects, so that the
fire builder may enclose this part in the shelter of his hands, along
with the match, and thus protect the flame until the kindling is
fairly lighted. Often a sheet of bark dropped against the tiny flame
will protect it until it gathers strength. A dry surface on which to
strike a match is essential and the woodsman must use his knowledge
of suitable surfaces to help him out of his trouble. A pocket
match-box usually has one side roughened for this purpose. A very
practical idea is to sew a small strip of emery cloth on the inside
of the coat, the upper half being loose so that it folds down over
the other half and thus keeps the rough surface from contact with the
clothing. The back of a pocket-knife, the butt plate of a gun, or a
key may also be made to answer. Of natural surfaces the side of a
stone or the dry trunk of a tree may serve. But the most common
scheme is to utilize the trouser leg for striking matches and as long
as the clothing is dry it is certainly the most convenient surface
for this purpose.

When a match gets wet, if the head is not so much softened that it
rubs off the stick, there is hope. Rubbing the match through the hair
will dry it in an amazingly short time.

There is no right or wrong way to make a fire unless it is to be used
for some special purpose, in which case we must know how the fire is
to be used and build it accordingly. As a rule a cooking fire is
built differently from one that is designed merely to give warmth.
But we must always take into consideration the strength of the wind,
whether the fire is for boiling, baking or frying food, and whether a
quick or slow heat is wanted, for each and all call for a different
kind of fire. The variety of wood and its condition must also be
considered.

For most kinds of cooking only a small fire is required, in fact we
get better results from a small flame. But it is essential that we
have some arrangement whereby the cooking utensils will be held
steadily and securely. The most common practice is to place the
kettle or frying pan on top of the fuel, shifting the wood about
until the utensils set level. It is about the most unsatisfactory
method, outside of holding them by hand, and many a meal has been
upset into the fire simply because the cook would not take the
trouble to provide a suitable place to prepare the meal. The simplest
way of suspending a kettle over the fire is by hanging it from the
end of a stick which has been thrust into the ground at an angle of
about 20 degrees. In the woods of the north this method is used
generally for boiling. When the bushman stops for tea, which is
always the most essential and important part of his repast, he builds
a fire, then cuts a stick an inch or a little more in thickness and
about four feet long, and thrusts it into the ground in such a way
that when the tea-pail is suspended from the end it hangs at just the
right height above the fire. Only a small fire is required, but it
should give a clear, steady flame, for the water should be brought to
a boil quickly.

For frying, baking, etc., I find an arrangement of two small green
logs, flattened on top and bottom, and placed side by side about a
half foot apart, the most satisfactory thing for holding the utensils
securely. Between these logs a small fire is made, and there is no
danger of the food spilling into the fire, or the handles of the
utensils becoming so hot that they have to be moved with sticks. For
a single utensil, like a frying pan, I find two straight-sided stones
placed the right distance apart, fully as good as the logs, and only
a few embers from the camp fire will be needed for the cooking.

  [Illustration: FIRES FOR COOKING.]

Almost everybody who camps for the night builds a campfire, in fact,
without it a camp would seem far from complete, even though the night
is a warm one. Cooking, however, should be done over a smaller fire
placed nearby.

There are a lot of little helpful wrinkles regularly used by woodsmen
that can hardly be imparted to the green-hand because of their
number, their insignificance, and the fact that each must be adapted
to the prevailing condition, but they immediately brand the user as
an old hand at the game. They are simply the result of experience and
are used almost unconsciously. I refer to such things as the manner
of placing wood on the fire, handling embers, moving cooking
utensils, etc. It is the knowledge of how to do such little things as
this that makes the work of the expert look so easy and run along so
smoothly, while Mr. Amateur is having all kinds of trouble. There is
no way to acquire this knowledge except by long experience, or by
working in company with one who has "been there."

I know a way of building a very good combination heating and cooking
fire, which may be used during rainy weather more satisfactorily than
any other kind with which I am acquainted. Two small green logs about
five feet long, are placed side by side about 20 inches apart. Two
shorter logs are then placed across the ends and another five-foot
log laid lengthwise on top. The fire is built between the two bottom
logs and directly under the one which has been placed on top. Then
pieces of green wood are stood up against one side so that they rest
against the top and one of the bottom logs. This forms a roof over
the fire and the cooking is done over the open front, between the
logs. The roof burns away slowly on the under side and as the sticks
burn off they are added to the fire beneath and others placed on top
to keep the roof built up. This is a good style of fire to reflect
heat into the camp and is excellent for use with a metal baker.

  [Illustration: A FIRE FOR RAINY DAYS.]

The regulation method of building a fire for heating an open-camp is
to place it against a large green log, or against a ledge of rock, a
wall of stones built up artificially, or a pile of short green logs
resting against two stakes which have been driven at a slight
incline. The fire burns best when there are two short pieces of wood
placed crosswise on the ground on which the fuel may rest and leave
an opening for draft beneath. Green wood is best for holding fire;
but it must be mixed with good dry wood, or it will not burn well.
The selection of wood for the camp-fire is important. Standing dead
trees are always drier than those which have fallen, unless the
fallen trees are held up sufficiently above the ground to keep them
well dried. Wood cut on low, damp ground is not as good as that found
on higher places and usually pops and throw sparks into the blankets,
which make it objectionable.

Almost all kinds of dry, hard wood burn readily and throw off plenty
of heat. They also burn to embers and hard wood therefore should be
selected when a bed of live coals is needed. Of the soft wood dry
pine and cedar burn freely, but are consumed quickly, leave no embers
and make a lot of smoke. They are excellent wood for kindling and for
use in connection with green, hard wood. Green pine, cedar, fir and
tamarack burn slowly and require much dry wood to help keep them
burning. White birch is excellent for camp-fires; dry or green and
dry tamarack is one of the best of camp-fire woods.

There are various woods that answer well for kindling and the camper
must always find something that will be good for this purpose. Dry
white-pine and cedar shavings and splints light readily from the
match, but dead "fat" pine is much better. Pine knots, remaining
after the log has rotted away, when split are heavy and yellow with
dried pitch and if split into splinters will burn like oil. An old
pine log is often in the same condition, and if the camper can find
any wood of this kind he should take some to camp so that he will not
need to hunt about for a suitable wood for starting a fire. In the
north where there is little pine timber such kindling is scarce; but
nature has provided an excellent substitute in white-birch bark. The
loose bark hanging to the tree trunks contains an oil which causes it
to light readily from the match and burn with a bright flame and a
hissing noise. When traveling in the northern bush during cold
weather I frequently carried a bunch of birch bark in the top of my
pack, so that if I wanted to build a fire quickly I would not have to
hunt for kindling.

There is one more woodcraft trick that I think everybody who goes
into the woods should know. While the woodsman invariably carries an
axe with which to cut firewood, there may come a time when he has no
axe and is obliged to camp out over night. Then getting together
sufficient wood to keep fire over night is a real problem. Sometimes
he can find a place where one tree has fallen across another, or if
not, perhaps he can throw one over the other, and at the place where
they cross he should build his fire. Then when the logs burn through
he can move them and either keep shoving the ends into the fire as
they burn away, or perhaps cross the pieces again and burn them into
shorter and lighter pieces which can be handled readily.

In building any kind of a fire the camper should remember that flame
naturally moves upward, so that the wood should be lighted from
beneath. It is hard to get a fire started in any other way. He should
also remember that the wind drives the fire forward and should light
the wood under the windward side. The finest kindling should be
placed first, then finely split dry wood on top, coarser wood on top
of this, etc. The heavy wood should never rest too much on the
kindling or the latter will be crushed down into such a dense mass
that it will not burn and the wood must never be placed so that the
sticks fit closely together; a criss-cross style is much better.
These are all simple little rules and easy to remember, but it is
necessary to know them that camp-fire troubles may be avoided.



FIRE

The most common way of building a fire among savages who have not
adopted the ways of civilization is by means of a bow, spindle and
block.

This way of making fire has been exploited by writers on woodcraft
subjects; but the reader should not be deceived into the belief that
if he becomes lost in the woods and night coming on finds him without
matches, he can build a fire by this means. While any boy scout can
demonstrate the method and can produce fire in a very few minutes, he
can do so only by having prepared the necessary materials long in
advance. The wood must be as dry as wood can be made, and such wood
is never found in the forest. To get wood into the proper condition
for fire making by the friction method requires the selection first
of the proper kind of wood, and then a thorough drying indoors for
weeks or even months. Only certain kinds of woods are really good for
the purpose and among these kinds cedar, balsam and Cottonwood seem
to be the best. Spindle and block must be of the same kind of wood
and equally dry.

The materials needed for making a fire are the bow, spindle, block,
tinder, and a shell, a stone with a small cavity, or other similar
object which can be used as a bearing or cap on top of the spindle. A
mussel shell is the best natural object for the purpose, as it is
light and has a hollow side which is smooth and makes an excellent
bearing for the spindle end.

  [Illustration: USING THE BOW DRILL IN MAKING FIRE.]

The bow, about two feet long, may be made of hickory or any springy
wood, strung with a stout, hard laid twine. The spindle, of any of
the favorite woods, should be about sixteen inches long by
three-fourths or one inch in thickness. The top should be rounded and
the lower end shaped to a blunt, smooth point. It must be very dry.
The block should be an inch or a little more in thickness and of any
width and length found convenient, but it should be large enough to
be easily held down firmly with the knees when in the kneeling
position assumed when working the drill. It should be of the same
kind of wood as the spindle. The tinder may be any inflammable
material which can easily be fired from the burning dust, such as the
shredded inner bark of a cedar tree, very dry and fine, mixed with
shreds of white cotton cloth.

To use the outfit the operator cuts a V-shaped notch about
three-quarters of an inch deep in the edge of the block. On the flat
side of the block at the apex of the notch he then makes a small hole
with the point of a knife as a starting place for the spindle. Around
this notch he places a small quantity of the tinder. Then, giving the
string of the bow a turn around the spindle he kneels on the block,
places the point of the spindle on the mark at the point of the
notch, places the shell over the other end, and throwing his weight
upon the spindle he works the bow back and forth quickly and
steadily. The spindle, revolving rapidly, bores its way down into the
block, the dust which is worn from the block and spindle filtering
down through the notch among the dry tinder. An increasing heat
develops from the friction of the dry wood, and soon an odor of
scorching wood will be noticed; then a thin wisp of smoke arises from
the dust in the notch and this grows stronger, after awhile the
smoldering fire itself is visible in the dust which has accumulated
in the notch and about the base of the spindle. At this stage the
operator stops the drill and blows the fire into flame. All that is
necessary then is to place fine, dry twigs over the tinder and then
coarser wood, and this wonderful feat of building a fire without
matches is accomplished.

Matches are a comparatively recent invention. When this country was
first settled they were unknown and fires generally were made by
means of flint and steel. By striking glancing blows with a steel
object along the edge of a piece of flint, showers of sparks were
thrown into a little pile of tinder to be blown into a flame by the
fire-kindler. It is said that for an expert the trick was not at all
difficult, and that fire could be produced very quickly; but it is
obvious that very dry materials were necessary.

To the unfortunate who is cast away on a desert island, like the hero
of fiction, this latter method of fire making is the most promising,
for he usually has some steel object, even if only a pocket knife and
a piece of his coat lining picked into shreds may answer as tinder.
The difficulty will be in finding the flint; but that is easy in the
story.

  [Illustration: USING THE FLINT AND STEEL TO START A FIRE.]

But the easiest of all ways to make a fire without matches is by
means of a magnifying glass or other lens. A reading glass, if the
sun is bright, will produce a fire almost as quickly as it can be
made with a match, providing, of course, that it is used the right
way. In the absence of a reading glass, a watch or compass crystal,
an eye glass, the lens from a field glass or camera, or even a
bottle, may be used for concentrating the sun's rays onto a pile of
tinder and thus producing a fire. If you are skeptical as to the heat
caused by a concentrated light ray, just hold a reading glass a few
inches above your hand and turn the glass towards the sun so that a
tiny point of intense light is thrown onto your hand and you will be
surprised to see how quickly it will burn a blister. A pipe may be
lighted that way very easily, something that is worth knowing if one
happens to get caught in the woods without matches and with a
magnifying glass in his pocket.

  [Illustration: STARTING A FIRE WITH A MAGNIFYING GLASS.]

But he may not have a glass of any description and then--well here is
another way: A man traveling in the woods nearly always carries a gun
of some kind. Let him remove the bullet from a cartridge and
substitute a small bunch of dry tinder; shredded dry cotton cloth is
as good as anything, and loading this cartridge into the gun, fire it
into another small pile of tinder and blow the smoldering pile into a
flame.

The safest and most convenient way of all is, of course, to carry
matches, and to have a portion of them in a waterproof box. Matches
are cheap and a waterproof box will not bankrupt a woodsman. I
always, when in the woods, carry matches in a waterproof match box,
and I never use them except in emergency, carrying my regular supply
loose in a small pocket.

There was one time that I well remember when that box of dry matches
was to me about the most valuable thing in the world. That was the
time when I broke through the ice of a lake in the northern
wilderness, far from camp, and my clothes froze stiff before I had
gone a hundred paces. The dry matches enabled me to make a fire
quickly and dry my frozen clothes. What could I have done without the
waterproof match box?

Fire is as useful to the modern woodsman as it was to the prehistoric
man and in the far north it stands between him and death when King
Boreas reigns. But it can also do a world of mischief. Is it not
strange that the great forces which are so terribly destructive when
let loose in all their strength are the most beneficial and useful to
mankind? We could not exist more than a few days without water, yet
floods destroy each year millions of dollars worth of property and
thousands of lives. Electricity is, perhaps, the most useful power in
the world and we have grown so used to it that to give up its
comfort, which we derive in the form of light, power and heat, would
be an awful hardship, and yet electricity is the most dangerous and
deadly element known.

Fire also is so needful that we could no longer exist without it. It
alone can make our homes comfortable when the winter winds howl
without. Its heat is necessary for the preparation of the greater
portion of our food. Yet fire is a dangerous and destructive element,
and must be closely watched at all times to prevent it from breaking
out of bounds. From the harmless comforter of the home it becomes the
relentless destroyer.

The loss by fire would be reduced greatly if all persons would
observe a few simple rules and in the hope that some of the readers
may become just a little more careful in this respect I will give
these rules here:

(1) Use only "safety" matches. They will ignite only by friction on
the preparation found on the side of the box in which they are
purchased. If one of these matches falls on the floor it is harmless
since it cannot light accidentally and thus cause a fire. If they
fall into the hands of children they are also harmless as far as
starting a fire is concerned.

(2) Do not throw a lighted match onto the floor, or among rubbish.
Burned matches should always be placed somewhere where they cannot
possibly ignite anything in case a little fire still smolders in the
burned wood.

(3) Don't drop cigarettes or cigar ends into places where they can do
harm, and if there appears to be the least possible danger they
should be carefully extinguished. A pipe dumped into a waste basket
has many times started costly fires.

(4) Be sure that there is no woodwork so near the stove that it grows
scorching hot when the stove is overheated. Likewise make sure that
no rubbish is thrown near the stove or fireplace and that there is no
danger of fire dropping out onto the floor.

(5) Never leave the house with a fire burning in the stove, or
fireplace.

(6) Kerosene and similar substances should never be used for kindling
fires; their use is exceedingly dangerous. Gasoline especially is
very dangerous, not alone through the fact that it is very
inflammable but even more so from the fact that the fumes of gasoline
explode with great violence. It should never be used in a house where
there is a fire or a lighted lamp, and a fire should never be lighted
in a room where it has been used until the fumes are completely
cleared from the room.

Burning oil can be extinguished by smothering with woolen blankets,
or by throwing sand on it. Water merely spreads the fire.

While fires in settled communities do the most damage, a dry season
may see many destructive forest fires. Such conflagrations destroy
the forests and kill game and song birds, besides being a menace to
settlers. This country suffers great losses through forest fires,
many of which could be prevented by an observance of the rules
already given, especially those relating to smoking. Campers are also
responsible for many fires of this kind by failing to extinguish camp
fires, or by building them in places where rubbish abounds. A camp
fire should never be made except on a spot of clean ground and if
necessary a spot should be cleared before building the fire, digging
away the vegetable matter on the surface, if need be. Likewise the
camper should be certain that there is no danger from the fire
spreading before he leaves it.

Ordinarily he can feel sure of this only when he has completely
extinguished the fire by pouring water upon it.



BLANKETS

One of the first things to learn is that blankets, no matter how
good, are not "warm," they don't generate heat. Wrap a jar of water
in the warmest, thickest, softest woolen blanket you can find and
place it out of doors over night in a zero temperature and see what
you have in the morning. No, there is no warmth coming from the
blankets, but the warmth comes from the human body and the purpose of
the blanket is to retain this warmth, to prevent its escape. It must
therefore be a non-conductor of heat. And remember that there is no
such thing as cold, for what we call cold is merely an absence of
heat, and we call it cold for convenience.

Suppose you are sleeping, or attempting to sleep out of doors on a
night so cold that the trees pop like pistols. You are wrapped in a
pair of woolen blankets and it is only this wrapping that is between
you and the frosty, chilling air. But inside of those blankets your
body is giving out heat waves, the air on the inside becomes warm,
and you are comfortable. Suppose again that the blankets are not the
right kind, they will not retain heat, and as a consequence you
become cold. You sit up, replenish the fire and swear to yourself,
but you don't know why you can't keep warm. You say the cold gets
through your blankets and you firmly believe this. As a matter of
fact it is the heat that gets through, not the cold.

Outside of fur the best heat-retaining material used for blankets is
pure wool. A little cotton may do no noticeable harm, if properly
used in conjunction with the wool, but it certainly does no good, and
it really decreases the warmth of the blanket in direct proportion to
the quantity used, therefore I say the best blankets are made of pure
wool. And there is a difference in wool, too. Scotch wool is
generally admitted to be the finest produced.

It has always been my belief that wool loosely woven, so that it
forms a soft, thick cloth, is a better heat retainer than the same
quantity of wool tightly woven, so that it makes a thinner, tighter
and harder material. Anyway, I think the surface should be as woolly
as it is possible to make it.

Now it is not difficult to get together a quantity of blankets that
will keep a man warm on the coldest night, but the trouble will come
when he wants to transport them. I have slept out on nights when it
would have required a half-dozen or more of the heaviest woolen
blankets made to keep me near-comfortable, but a bed of this kind
would have made a pack that would discourage a bush Indian. No, you
can't carry with you enough woolen blankets to keep you comfortably
warm when traveling the northern trails in midwinter. Now think it
over and it will become obvious that either a man cannot be
comfortable in the woods during zero weather unless he has a way of
transporting his camp duffle other than by back-packing, or he must
find a lighter, warmer blanket than can be made of wool. The latter
is the solution.

Woolen blankets are good, in fact the best thing made, for camping in
spring, summer and fall. As long as the spirits do not go lower than
10 or 20 degrees above zero and a fire may be kept burning all night
a pair of Hudson Bay blankets are hard to beat. But when the
temperature falls lower the shivering spells preceding each
"fire-fixing" become too frequent and the cat-naps too short.

The blankets we buy for use on the bed are double, but for camp use
single blankets are preferable. They should be of generous size, for
a white man cannot sleep comfortably if he must draw his knees up
against his chin. What is more, the blankets should cover his head as
well as his feet, so they should be a foot and a half longer than the
user's height. They should also be wide--six feet will do, but
nothing less. With such blankets a man can lie on one-half and pull
the other half over him, and by suddenly elevating his pedal
extremities he can drop the lower edge of the blankets under them,
while the upper part can be drawn tightly around his head and
shoulders. Thus he can sleep in real comfort while the fire burns.

Never use a cotton blanket in the woods. Blankets made of cotton are
cold to the touch, and do not retain the heat of the body as well as
those made of wool. In addition to this they have the bad fault of
not being as nearly impervious to sparks as woolen blankets. Now a
man of the trail does not sleep with his feet towards the fire like
the pioneer scout of border fiction, but he lies by the side of the
fire, where he will get the benefit of its heat, and sometimes he
rolls closer than he should for safety.

This I learned from actual experience about the first time I ever
tried camping out. I believed firmly that I couldn't afford to buy
woolen blankets, so I used a pair made of cotton. I was sleeping by
the side of a fire and as it was quite cold I snuggled close. I awoke
to find a decidedly warm feeling about my knee, and on hasty
examination found a large section of one trouser leg burned away and
a hole in the blanket over a foot in diameter. I then decided that I
could afford woolen blankets and have stood by that decision ever
since.

One of the best blankets for camping purposes that I ever owned was a
square horse blanket, from which I removed the trimmings. Its thick
all-wool body and generous size made it ideal for camp use. The
Hudson's Bay blankets are excellent, being heavy and of large size.
Then there are many camp blankets of less note, most of which are
good. Really good, heavy, all-wool blankets of a size 72x84 inches
will cost from $5.00 to $10.00 each for single blankets, and twice
that much for the double kind, if you can get them. These single
blankets should weigh from four and a half to five pounds each. Color
is immaterial--if you fancy the bright scarlet kind buy it, for it
will give as good service as a gray one. But a white blanket is
almost sure to contain all good wool, for it is harder to conceal
shoddy stuff that is not dyed. White is not a good color for camping
purposes, but it is not a difficult task to dye a white blanket.

A woolen blanket is neither heavy, bulky, nor stiff. It is easily
folded to fit the pack, and when properly arranged it forms a pad
which protects the back of the packer from the corners of the cooking
utensils and the ever-gouging steel traps and other hardware. If the
packer has no pack cloth he can use the blanket for this purpose,
although it is none too good for the blanket. If it gets wet it is
easily dried without danger of burning, and if it does not get
thoroughly dry it is warmer still than a cotton blanket.

But when zero weather is to be contended with woolen blankets must
take a back seat for the Indian's kind, woven from strips of rabbit
fur. Nothing that I have ever found will equal or even approach in
warmth a rabbit skin blanket. One such blanket, weighing eight or ten
pounds, is all that a man requires for sleeping out of doors in a
temperature of 40 below zero. Yes, I know that it sounds far-fetched;
but a trial will convince the most skeptical. Many a morning I have
found my nose almost frozen when I awoke, but otherwise I was
perfectly comfortable; the reason being that my nose was the only
part of my anatomy not enveloped in the rabbit skin blanket. I
couldn't believe that it was so cold until I emerged from the folds
of the covering to kindle a fire. With one of these fur blankets I
have slept comfortably off and on during an entire winter north of
Lake Superior, in a cabin which had the cracks chinked on two sides
only, the other two sides having openings between the logs through
which I could put my hand, and I never had a fire at night.

These blankets are made by all northern Indian tribes. They are woven
from the skins of the snowshoe rabbit, or varying hare, cut into
strips for the purpose. The animals producing these skins are found
in almost incredible numbers in most of the wilder parts of Canada,
as well as in parts of the northern States. The blankets can be made
only in winter, when the fur is white and in good condition. The
rabbits are taken in snares, case skinned, and the skins are cut into
strips while green. This work is done by the squaws. The method is to
trim the open end of the skin, then starting at this end with a sharp
knife the entire skin is cut into a single strip about an inch wide
by holding it on the knee and cutting around and around. Each skin
will make a strip 10 or 12 feet long. As soon as it is cut the skin
rolls up like a cord, fur on all sides. These strips of green fur are
wound into a ball and placed out of doors, where they will freeze and
remain frozen, each day's accumulation being added to the ball until
a sufficient number have been secured to make a blanket. I cannot say
how many skins are required, but believe about 50 or 60, perhaps
more. Of course the number needed would depend partly on the size of
blanket desired.

  [Illustration: HOW THE RABBIT SKIN BLANKET IS MADE.]

Now when Mrs. Indian has secured enough skins to form the desired
blanket she makes a square frame of poles, about the size the
finished blanket is to be, and fastens around the inside a piece of
heavy twine. Then sewing the end of a fur strip to the cord at one of
the upper corners she weaves this strip across the end of the frame
by looping it around the cord in a succession of simple loops, using
her finger as a gauge to make the mesh a uniform size. When a gauge
reaches the end of the strip she sews on another and weaves it as
before. When she has made such a row of little loops all across the
top of the frame she passes the fur strip around the side cord a few
times and then starts another row backward, looping the strip into
the row of loops already formed. Thus she weaves the strips of fur
back and forth across the frame until the robe is finished. These
simple loops will not slip after the fur has become dry. The entire
blanket must be perfectly dry before it is removed from the frame,
and it must never be allowed to become wet. The skins are not tanned,
simply dried.

These blankets are usually wider at one end than at the other, so
that there will be sufficient width to wrap around the shoulders of
the user and yet no more material, bulk and weight than necessary. I
find it most satisfactory to double the blanket lengthwise and loop a
cord through the edges across the foot and a third of the way up the
side, thus fastening the edges firmly together and making it somewhat
like a sleeping bag. So made I do not get my feet uncovered at night,
and yet it is easy to get into and out of it. These blankets, or
robes as they are sometimes called, are so loosely woven that a man
can put his fingers through anywhere, yet for their weight they are
the warmest bedding I know of.

I believe an ordinary rabbit blanket will weigh about eight pounds.
It appears bulky, for with fur on both sides it is quite thick, but
it can be tied up into a fairly small package. I used to roll mine
into a package measuring about 10 inches in diameter by 20 inches in
length, and this could be placed in the bottom of a common packsack.
There it formed a soft pad for the back and the heavy articles were
thrown higher up in the pack, where the weight should be, if weight
is ever really needed in a pack.

I fancy I hear somebody asking how this species of bedding is to be
kept dry in rainy weather. If it is warm enough for rain a rabbit
robe is not needed--that is the time to use the woolen blanket. It
never rains during cold weather. In the north, where these fur
blankets are needed and used, the weather turns cold in November,
remaining so until March or April, and during this time it is
considered remarkable if it ever becomes warm enough to rain. I have
never had one of these blankets wet, except that nearly every morning
the fur on the outside will be more or less wet, presumably from the
moisture which it throws out to the surface. This is only on the
outside fur and will soon dry off if the blanket is hung where the
warmth from the fire can reach it.

The only fault I find with these fur blankets is that they are
continually shedding the hair, and rabbit hair is apt to appear in
the biscuits, and is certain to be sprinkled plentifully over the
clothing. This is not so objectionable to outdoor men, but it
prohibits the use of the article in the house.

Any trapper living in the northern forest should be able to make a
rabbit skin blanket for his own use. A few days setting and tending
snares will provide the necessary number of rabbits, and the weaving
of the blanket may be done on a cold day or in the evenings. I have
never made one, for I have been able to buy them from the Indians at
prices ranging from $6.00 to $10.00 each, and that is cheaper than I
could make one myself.

The camp bed that is generally unloaded on the unsuspecting tender
foot is some form of sleeping bag. There may be good sleeping bags
and it is possible that I am unduly prejudiced against this form of
camp bed, for I have given only two styles a real tryout, but I can
say emphatically that the kinds I used were no good. My first
sleeping bag was made of heavy canvas, inside of which was a separate
bag made of a blanket. It was very unsatisfactory, for in addition to
being exceedingly stiff and inconvenient for handling, getting into
and out of it, it was also a very poor protection against the cold.

The next investment along this line was one of the sheepskin-lined
bags advertised so much about 10 or 15 years ago. It was made of
heavy duck with a lining of sheepskin with the wool on. Inside of
this was a blanket bag and this was also fitted with a removable
drill sack, which could be washed. If weight and thickness were sure
indications of warmth this should have been all right for the polar
regions, for the complete outfit must have weighed 25 pounds. I found
it very little warmer than the bag with the blanket lining, and I was
not long in getting rid of it.

This is the extent of my experience with sleeping bags, but it is
sufficient to turn me against the entire family. As I said before
there may be good ones, but I am from Missouri. The plain, heavy,
all-wool blanket for me as long as the weather is not bitterly cold,
for when zero temperature comes I want a rabbit fur blanket if I am
to do much camping out. These are good enough for me until I find
something better, and I don't expect to find it. They have been with
me under the most trying conditions and have proved their worth.

What is needed by the trapper, or by anybody who finds occasion to
camp out, is something light with little bulk that will keep him as
warm and comfortable as he can hope to be under the circumstances.
This he finds in the articles recommended.

Other furs than that of the rabbit have been tried out for blankets,
but I am told that they are not as good. Lynx and wolf fur are
perhaps the best kinds, as they are long and dense, while the skin is
relatively light. But they are all heavier than rabbit fur, less warm
and much more costly.

A deer skin makes a nice spread for the top of the camp bed to sleep
on when the weather is cold, for it stops much of the cold air that
comes up through the bed from beneath and helps retain the heat
generated by the body of the occupant. The skin need not be tanned.

A man needs a night cap of some kind when sleeping out of doors. I
have slept quite comfortably when wearing a wool toque, and I have
also used the loose hood, which is worn by most northern bushmen to
keep the snow from getting inside of the clothing. Some men can get
along very well with an ordinary hat or cap.

In the bushman's outfit, as I see it, the blanket is second in
importance only to the ax. How can good, pure wool be used more
advantageously than in the form of a blanket, which will keep the
owner comfortable eight or nine hours out of each 24? The worth of a
blanket to the man of the woods can hardly be over-estimated. And
when its days of usefulness as a blanket are ended it will still
bring him much more comfort by being converted into mittens, hood,
and extra protection for the feet when the Frost King reigns.



THE WOODSMAN'S AX AND ITS USE

On the ax more than on anything else depends the comfort and success
of the northern forest traveler, whatever his calling. He may, to
lighten his load, discard all of the articles in his outfit which are
not absolutely essential, but never by any chance is the ax among
those cast aside, because this tool is the most necessary and the
most useful article used by the bushman. Not a day passes that the ax
is not put to strenuous use, and on the trap line nearly every hour
of the day finds the ax at work, smoothing the rough path of the
traveler and providing for his comfort and welfare.

How could the wilderness trapper exist without the aid of this most
useful tool? On it he must depend for his night's supply of firewood,
and when the weather is cold this means not only comfort, but life
itself, for the hardiest trapper could not long survive a temperature
of forty below without a good warm fire beside which to spread his
bed. With the ax he cuts poles for the frame work of his night's
camp; he uses it to blaze the trail that he may follow it again when
he goes the rounds to glean his harvest from the traps which he has
set; he uses it when making the sets themselves; for cutting the
drooping, snow-laden branches across his trail, and many minor uses
which cannot now be mentioned. When making a hard trip he may leave
his gun in camp, and may even travel and camp without blankets,
shelter or cooking utensils, but the ax must go with him on every
trip.

We are told that in early days the Indians paid fabulous prices for
the most simple and common tools, and it has been said that as much
as a hundred dollars in furs has been paid by an Indian hunter for an
ax. It seems like wholesale robbery, but the bargain had two
sides--two points of view. The Indian simply exchanged what was
practically worthless to him for what was of priceless value, and
from his point of view he drove as shrewd a bargain as did the
trader. When we leave civilization behind us values change, and
utilitarian worth counts more than intrinsic value, therefore, the ax
becomes more valuable than a whole season's catch of furs.

If any class of people need perfect goods it is the class who must
depend on these goods for their existence. The woodsman should have a
perfect gun, perfect traps, perfect camp equipment, the best food he
can buy, but above all a perfect ax. It should be of the finest
material and of the best temper, tough but not hard. When put to a
great strain steel will do one of two things--it will bend or it will
break. If of good quality, with the proper proportion of carbon, it
will stand an unusually severe test before it will do either, but
when it does give it should bend rather than break. Of this kind of
steel the trapper's ax should be made, and it should have a temper
which will enhance these good qualities. If the ax is tempered a
little too hard the edge will break when cutting into hard knots or
frozen wood, or when the frost has not been drawn from the edge
before using. When once the edge becomes dulled it is difficult to
sharpen, for the trapper of the great woods has no grindstone, and
must depend on file and whetstone to keep his cutting tools in
perfect condition. A hard ax cannot be filed, so that puts the taboo
on the ax with high temper.

I have emphasized the necessity for perfection in the trapper's ax,
and that you may realize the seriousness of this, I will repeat what
I said at the beginning of this article, that often the camper's life
depends on the ax and its ability to stand the woodsman's test. The
northern or western trapper frequently finds it necessary to make
long trips in terribly cold weather, camping out night after night.
Since the entire camp outfit and food supply must be carried on these
journeys the outfit taken must of necessity be meager. Only a single
blanket and a small, light canvas shelter can be taken and to sleep
without a fire under such conditions is out of the question. A good
hot fire must be kept going and such a fire will consume nearly half
a cord of wood during the long northern night. This must be cut into
lengths that can be handled and what would become of the camper if
his ax were to break before the night's wood was cut; he far from the
home camp, darkness at hand, and the temperature far below the zero
mark. Freezing to death could be the only possible outcome, unless he
could retrace his steps in the dark and travel all the long night. So
you see it will pay you to test your ax well before you take it into
the woods, and take only one that will stand the most severe trial,
even if you break a dozen axes before you get one that is
satisfactory.

What I have said of the material of the ax head applies with
equal force to the ax handle. It should be of sound, strong,
straight-grained, springy wood, for sometimes a broken ax handle is
as disastrous as a broken blade. I have never found a better wood for
ax handles than good second-growth hickory, but young white oak, the
sapwood, is almost as good.

Even if the temper and material of the ax and handle leave nothing to
be desired, if the ax is not of the right pattern, weight and length,
it will be unsatisfactory. Perhaps the most useful pattern for the
wilderness trapper is that having a long narrow blade, but this
should not be carried to the extreme, as a narrow blade is more
easily broken. The long blade is very useful when cutting holes into
the sides of trees for setting marten traps or in making deadfalls,
and for many similar uses about camp where the simplicity of the
outfit necessitates making of the ax a general utility tool. If made
extremely long and narrow, however, the consequent weakening and the
fact that a narrow blade is not so satisfactory for hewing and for
chopping in heavy wood more than offset the good qualities of the
long blade. The eye of the ax should be large, so that the handle may
be large in the eye of the ax and close by the head, and it should be
enlarged slightly at both edges. This will make it possible to wedge
the handle so that it will hold the head solidly, and it will leave
the handle if fitted well, thickest where the greatest strain comes,
close to the eye of the ax.

  [Illustration: THE WOODMAN'S PERFECT AX.]

In the shaping of an ax blade there are some rules that must be
remembered and adhered to if the maximum of efficiency is desired.
These same rules must be known to the user of the tool, for in the
grinding, a bad chopping ax may often be made better, while bad
grinding makes it worse. One of these rules, and the most important,
is to have the blade or bit thinnest on the "inside corner," which is
the end of the blade nearest to the user. The hasty conclusion would
be that if this corner were thinnest, the opposite side of the blade
should be thickest. This is wrong. The thickest part of the blade
should be two-thirds of the way across from the inside corner, the
place marked X in the drawing of what I call "the woodsman's perfect
ax." A blade so shaped will have the maximum chopping power, will
sink easily into the tree, will burst the chip well, and will not
bind in the wood.

I think it best that the ax head be made of wrought iron, split, and
a welded-in steel bit. This gives the maximum strength. The butt of
the ax might also be of steel, and would be more convenient for the
trapper if it had a claw for drawing trap staples. If the eye of the
ax is not tempered in the least the entire head may be made of steel
and will be almost, if not fully, as strong, while the making is
simplified.

You may wonder why a trapper need concern himself with the making of
the ax if he can buy it ready made, but if there is a trapper's
perfect ax made, I do not know of it. I know, however, that many
readers of this article have in their locality a blacksmith who is
fully capable of making such an ax to order.

For the northern forest and the western mountain district the ax that
I would recommend would weigh only about two pounds, handle not
included in the weight. Some of you may think this entirely too
light, but the northern Indians use axes of only one and a half
pounds, and find them heavy enough for practical purposes, while
light to carry on the trail. To make a light ax effective, however,
it must have a long handle. An ax like this should have a handle of
from thirty to thirty-four inches over all, and with such a tool you
will be surprised to see what heavy work can be done.

As said before, I do not know of a better wood for ax handles than
hickory. It is very strong and springy and it always stays smooth; as
cold to the touch as the ax head itself. It is difficult to get ax
handle wood when we reach the upper part of the northern tier of
states or Canada, for hickory is not found there. Hard maple is used
extensively for ax handles in these places; but it does not compare
well with hickory. About the only way to get a handle of the proper
length for the woodsman's ax is to remove the handle from a large ax
and work it over into the proper shape and thickness. The full size
single bit axes usually have clubs of handles and there is plenty of
wood on which to work.

Did you ever wonder why an ax handle is curved in an S shape? It is
made to fit the hands of the user without strain on the arms or
wrists, and this curved shape enables him to hold the ax more solidly
when striking a blow than could be done with a straight handle. The
handle should be quite thick and "hand-fitting" near the end where it
is grasped by the left hand (or right, according to whether the user
is right or left handed), but the other part should be shaped so the
hand can slide easily back and forth while chopping.

The handle should be fastened into the ax with a wedge, which in turn
is held in place by a screw. The wedge has a head so that when the
screw is removed it is easily pried out, and then if it is necessary
to remove the handle the ax can be driven into the top of a stump or
into a log, and the handle easily detached. Such wedges may be bought
from almost any hardware company.

This is my idea of what a woodsman's ax should be, and such a tool
weighing two pounds, with a well-shaped handle thirty or thirty-two
inches long from the end to the ax eye makes an efficient tool of
light weight and a great article for use on the trail or trap line. I
might say of it, as Davy Crockett said of his knife: "It will jump
higher, dive deeper, shave more hogs and stand more bending without
breaking than any other made."

As nearly all woodsmen are good axmen, it may seem superfluous to
give advice regarding the care of an ax, the way to grind it, and how
to use it, but this article is not intended for those who know, but
for these who do not, and are desirous to learn. By a reckless,
careless blow at a hemlock knot I have seen the entire bit broken off
an ax, while other axes of no better temper but properly ground and
well handled have gone through an entire season of "bark peeling"
without a nick of any consequence. I have seen axes ruined in a half
day's work cutting brush close to the ground, and have myself used an
ax day after day at the same kind of work without making a nick which
could not be whetted out in a few minutes with a small ax stone.

There is also a lot of danger in the careless use of an ax. I have
known of at least two men who have cut their heads by splitting wood
under a clothes line. The same thing may happen when working under a
tree with low, drooping branches. In the woods it will pay double to
make it a rule on every occasion to be sure that there is not even
the smallest twig in the way to catch the ax before you make a stroke
with it. Trim all brush away from around a tree before you commence
to cut it, and observe the same precautions when you cut it into
lengths or when lopping the branches. When cutting the fallen tree
into lengths, the common and most convenient way is to stand on the
log and chop it half way through between the feet, then turn and cut
the other side in the same way. Use double precaution when doing
this, for I have known of an ax being deflected and a nasty cut being
the result. It seems that the smallest branch or sprout can turn the
ax toward the foot of the chopper.

When chopping down timber the tree can nearly always be thrown either
of three ways--the way the tree inclines or to either side, but not
the opposite way from its inclination. In addition to the incline of
the tree, the influence of the wind and the weight of the branches
must be considered, and when all of these forces are brought to bear
the timber cutter must be well "onto his job" to know just how to cut
the tree to make it fall in the desired direction. A good chopper,
however, can throw the tree to any spot designated within the falling
zone almost every time. The wind is a great factor and must be
considered, especially when the breeze is strong or when the tree
appears to stand perfectly straight. A tree on a slope that appears
to be perpendicular will, in nearly every case, fall down hill if
free to fall as it wills, providing there is no contrary wind. If the
tree really stands perfectly upright and there is no wind, it will
fall best toward the side that has the most branches, or to the side
having the greatest weight. If allowance must be made, however, for
both wind and gravity, it is then the judgment of the chopper is put
to the test. If he can estimate accurately the power of each of these
forces, he can drop his tree exactly where he wants to, but how?

It is very simple. In cutting a tree a notch is cut on the side
toward which the tree is to fall. Remember that this notch should be
cut into the center of the tree, and when finished, should be exactly
at a right angle to the line on which the tree is to fall. A notch is
then cut on the opposite side, just a little higher on the tree, and
when this notch is cut in almost to the center the tree will fall. If
the tree is notched to fall the way it inclines and there is nothing
to prevent it going that way, the second notch should be cut exactly
parallel to the first. If, however, the tree leans a little to one
side, if there are more branches on that side, or if the wind blows
in that direction, the second cut should not be parallel with the
first, but should be farther from it on the side from which the wind
comes, so that there will be more wood to break on that side. In no
case should the notches entirely meet on the other side, for if they
do, should the tree be cut entirely off on one side, it will settle
farther over to that side. Just how near you dare cut it off on the
one side and how much you must hold on the opposite side can be
learned only from experience.

There are other little things that have a certain amount of
influence. For instance, if there is nothing to interfere, the tree
in falling will draw slightly toward the high side of the notch first
cut. Then, too, if the notch is not perfectly cut, if it is more
acute on one side than on the other, as the tree falls the top and
bottom of the notch will meet on one side before they do on the
other, and this is certain to swing the tree slightly toward the wide
or obtuse side of the notch. A heavy weight of branches, too, on one
side may cause the tree to roll slightly in falling.

For your own safety it is always best to get back a safe distance
from the tree when it starts to fall, because if it falls over a
rock, a log, or a little rise in the ground the butt of the tree will
kick and may lift your head off, which would be decidedly unpleasant.
If there are other trees in the way, look out for falling branches.

I have already told how to cut the tree in sections, but the branches
must be trimmed off before it can be cut up entirely. In trimming,
work from the butt toward the top, as the branches usually grow that
way, cut easier, and are not in the way while chopping. Hold the ax
rigidly when trimming, as the knots are likely to be hard and an ax
that is not held firmly may break or bend. Make it a rule to do no
more trimming than necessary on such woods as hemlock and fir, which
have very hard knots. Frozen wood is also likely to break the ax.

When splitting wood strike straight and don't try to spring the split
open by prying with the ax, for that is the easiest way I know to
break an ax handle. Usually it is easier and better to merely start
the split with the ax and finish opening it up with wooden wedges,
using the ax only to drive the wedges and to cut the contrary fibres.
Just how to split a block easiest can be learned only from
experience. Sometimes it is best to go right at a knot or the
toughest place, and sometimes you must attack the clearest place,
depending on circumstances. Ordinarily a piece of wood splits easiest
by starting the end of the block with the ax and following up with a
pair of wedges, using the ax to cut the binding splints.

Learn to cut close to the ground without striking the stones. It
requires care, that is all, but one careless stroke may mean a badly
damaged ax and an hour or more of hard work to make it sharp again.
Don't strike downward when cutting brush; grasp the shrub, if a small
one, with the left hand, and cut it by a single stroke, as
illustrated, using the ax with one hand only. If the shrub is a large
one, handle the ax with both hands and cut close to the ground,
making a strong, slashing blow.

Grinding an ax requires some care, but it is really quite easy and it
is surprising how many axmen will not attempt to grind an ax. I have
known many good choppers, working in log camps, who could not grind
an ax, or at least thought they could not.

As the ax comes from the store it usually has a decided bevel on the
edge, and the first grinding means considerable work, for this bevel
must be ground entirely away. Start well back on the blade and grind
it slightly rounding down to the edge, until the edge is clean and
even, then grind the other side in the same way. Some axmen maintain
that the ax cuts better, or to use the woodsman's expression, "draws"
better if in finishing the grinding the ax is given a wabbling
motion. Keep in mind what I said about the shape of the blade, and if
it is not already the proper form, try to improve it each time you
put it on the grindstone. After grinding, whet the edge thoroughly
with a fine whetstone until the scratched effect caused by grinding
has given place to a smooth surface and a clean keen edge. If you do
not whet it after grinding, the edge will crumble away and the ax
will cut "dead."

The first grinding will tell you whether the ax is hard or soft. You
can tell by the sound of it and by its grip on the grindstone. If it
is soft it cuts rapidly, grips the stone hard and gives a dull, dead
sound. If hard, it gives a ringing sound and the stone glides
smoothly under it, cutting slowly and wearing the steel bright.

The woodsman cannot take a grindstone into the woods and the best
substitute is a file. I always choose a flat mill file about eight
inches long. Always push the file from well back on the bit down to
the edge, and never from the edge towards the eye of the ax, or you
will be almost certain to cut your hands before you have finished.
After the filing, whet the ax until you have a smooth, sharp edge.

It will be evident that an ax that must be kept sharp with a file and
whetstone must not be too hard, for a file will not cut hard steel.
The axes sold by the Hudson's Bay Company to the Indian trappers are
very soft, so that they may be filed easily, and the Indian files
only on the edge, so that the ax soon has a bevel almost equal to a
chisel. The average Indian takes just about as much care of an ax as
a woman does of a butcher knife.

As the minister says, "Just one word more," and that is in regard to
carrying the ax on the trail. I have tried many ways, but do not find
anything more satisfactory than having a leather pouch to slip over
the head of the ax and tucking it head down in the pack. When drawing
a toboggan it is slipped under the binding cords. If I am carrying my
outfit and do not have a gun, I carry the ax in my hand, which is the
most satisfactory way on such occasions. The Indian thrusts his ax
through his sash, handle to the rear and blade down, but I never
fancied that way of carrying an ax.



SNOWSHOES--HOW TO MAKE THEM

My first efforts at snowshoe making came about through trying to
repair the broken filling of a pair of Indian made snowshoes. In
removing the winding from the toe cord I accidentally discovered the
place where the filling had been tied at the finish of the last
round. This filling was badly worn and I reasoned that if I could
remove it in the reverse order from that in which it had been strung
I would know how to weave the intricate web of a snowshoe. I tried it
out, successfully filling the old frames, and while it was far from
perfect work I had at least learned the secret of snowshoe weaving.

Removing the stringing from a pair of snowshoes, carefully noting
every turn, twist and loop, is the best way to learn how the filling
is strung, but not every person who has ambitions along this line has
a pair of snowshoes so much worn that he would care to risk removing
the rawhide strands. Clearly written instructions, supplemented with
working drawings, are the next best.

When a pair of snowshoes are to be made the first thing is to plan
the size, shape and general character of the shoes. The frames, or
bows, are the first step of the actual making.

Snowshoe frames are made of tough, light wood. Many kinds of wood are
used, and while I am not prepared to say positively which kind is
best I believe that young, straight grained white ash is about as
good a wood as can be found. But my experience has been mostly with
white birch, and my instructions for making the frames apply to the
use of this wood in particular, for it is peculiar in many ways, and
cannot be split and worked as freely as certain other kinds of wood.

To find a suitable tree for this purpose is sometimes difficult. I
once went into the bush a distance of seven miles to get a tree which
I had found, split it, and carried one half home. I surely earned
that wood, but I made from it a pair of frames which were so light
that old bushmen said I would break them on my first trip; however, I
used them all winter, then gave them to an old German who wore them
until the filling was completely gone, yet the frames were still
good.

The tree from which the frames are to be made should be not more than
eight inches in diameter, and one of six inches is better. It should
have drooping branches, and must have eight or ten feet of the trunk
straight and clean, free of limbs, and absolutely without a particle
of twist to the grain. Such trees may be found occasionally growing
along the edge of a swamp.

After the tree has been felled and a section of the proper length cut
off, a groove about one and a half inches deep is carefully cut the
entire length along one side, care being used not to strike hard, as
that would injure the wood. When the groove is finished a similar one
is cut on the opposite side. The stick should be split with wooden
wedges, and if it is properly done the split will follow the grooves.
The best half should then be chosen for the proposed snowshoe frames,
and this should be ripped lengthwise with a saw, or split, as
desired. Each of the pieces will make a frame or bow.

  [Illustration: MAKING A SNOWSHOE FRAME.]

One side of the stick is then cut and planed until it is perfectly
straight, and its face at a right angle to the bark side, or at least
it must be so in the middle, which forms the toe of the snowshoe, for
there should be nothing taken off the bark side, not even the bark,
until after the wood is bent into shape for the snowshoe frame. It is
best if the entire stick is worked out from the bark side, but the
wood may be planed straight at all parts except in the middle, where
the greatest strain comes. Then the third side of the stick is marked
off with a marking gauge and either cut or sawed to the mark. The
fourth side, the inside of the stick, which will be the inside of the
finished frame, is then cut down to the proper dimensions, but on
this side an even thickness is not maintained, the toe portion being
cut thinnest, with the heel--ends of the stick--coming next. For a
snowshoe of average size, say 44 inches in length and 14 inches wide,
the stick should measure eight and a half feet in length, one inch in
width, seven-eighths inch thick at the parts which will become the
middle of the shoe (B to C in figure one), one-half inch at A, and
about five-eighths inch at the ends.

Before anything more can be done with the wood a form for bending the
frames must be made. A convenient form is shown in figure two. For
steaming the wood properly it is necessary to have a steaming box,
which is merely a long case made of narrow boards, open at both ends.
The stick is placed in this case and the steam from a boiling tea
kettle turned in one end so that the hot steam travels the entire
length. The wood should be steamed thus an hour and then it is ready
for bending.

Figure two shows how the wood is bent and secured on the form. The
toe must be formed very carefully, bending only a little at first,
then releasing, then bending a little more, and so on until the wood
can be easily and safely bent to complete shape and secured by
nailing blocks to the form. The form should be made from two-inch
planks, so that it will accommodate the two frames. The wood is
allowed to dry thoroughly on the form before filling, and this will
require at least two weeks.

After the frames are dry they may be taken from the form, the tail
end of each fastened and the crossbars fitted into place. The ends
may be secured with a wood screw until after the frames have been
strung, but the screw should then be removed and the ends tied with
rawhide, through gimlet holes, the part between being counter sunk so
that the thongs will be protected from wear. This is shown in figure
four.

The crossbars are pieces of flat, strong wood, about one and a fourth
inches wide and nearly a half inch thick, with rounded edges. These
should be placed about 16 or 17 inches apart, measuring from center
to center, and so placed that when the frame is suspended on the
hands midway between these two sticks the tail will outweigh the toe
by just a few ounces. These cross-bars should be carefully mortised
into the frame as shown in the small diagram in center of figure
three.

  [Illustration: LOOP TO FASTEN THONGS TO THE FRAME.]

In both sides of the frame from D to E, also from F to G, gimlet
holes are bored through the bows from outside to inside at intervals
of two inches, or a little more, the holes being in pairs obliquely
placed, and countersunk between. Three holes are also bored through
each crossbar, as shown.

The frames are now ready for filling. Regarding material for filling,
for ordinary use, there is nothing equal to cowhide, a fairly heavy
skin. The green hide should be placed under running water for a week
or more, until the hair can be pulled out easily. The hair should
then be pulled, or scraped off, but care must be used that the grain
of the skin is not broken or scraped away. The hide should then be
thoroughly stretched and dried in an airy but shady place. When dry
it may be cut into strands. A whole hide will fill several pairs of
shoes. The portion along the back is best and this should be used for
filling the middle section. The lighter parts from the edges of the
skin will answer for stringing the heels and toes. All strands should
be cut length-wise of the skin, and full length. Their width will
depend on the thickness of the skin, the weight of filling desired in
the snowshoe, the general character of the snow in which they will be
used, and the size of mesh in the web. If cut while dry, then soaked,
stretched, and again allowed to dry, as they will be when strung into
the frames, it will be found that the length of the strands will be
increased greatly, while the thickness will be much decreased. It is
well to cut several trial widths, so that the proper weight of strand
may be determined. For a coarse webbed shoe the thongs, after being
stretched and dried, should be about five-sixteenths of an inch wide
for the middle portion of the shoe; for the ends an eighth inch is
sufficiently heavy. These strands of hide should all be soaked and
stretched thoroughly, allowed to dry while stretched, and then soaked
again just before using, and strung into the frames while wet.

  [Illustration: METHOD OF FILLING THE TOE SECTION.]

The ends are filled first and as I always commence with the toe I
will describe my method of stringing that part first. A strand of the
water-soaked rawhide is stretched tightly around the inside of the
toe portion through the little gimlet holes, as shown in figure five,
starting and finishing at one of the holes in the forward crossbar.
This thong is called the lanyard, and its purpose is to hold the
filling which is woven into the toe.

A small needle of very hard wood, or bone, is used for filling the
ends. I have shown in the drawing how the filling runs. Starting in
the lower left-hand corner it goes up to the part marked 1, passes
around the lanyard, twists back around itself about an inch and then
goes down to 2, there passing around the lanyard and again twisting
around itself, then around the lanyard at 3, a single twist, and then
across to 4, where it again turns around the lanyard, then twists
down around the first strand to the starting point, under the lanyard
at 5 and up to 6. From there the strand loops and twists the same as
in the first round, except that at the lower corners it loops back
around the first round, then twists around itself, then around the
lanyard, and on the same as before. This looping back of every second
round is continued until the filling extends across the entire
forward part of the toe, when it is discontinued, and each round is
made like the first. This looping back throws the filling alternately
from side to side.

The filling must be stretched in very tightly and must not be allowed
to slip. When one strand is used up another is joined on in the
manner shown. Care must be used to see that every round crosses the
others in the proper way, and all the twists must be made alike. The
amateur should keep these pictures before him for a guide.
Occasionally he should look his work over carefully, and if an error
is discovered the stringing should be removed and made right. It will
be necessary to straighten out the completed portions occasionally,
and for this purpose I use a round-pointed hardwood stick. The weave
will finish at the center of the crossbar.

  [Illustration: HOW THE HEEL SECTION IS STRUNG.]

The filling in the tail end or heel is very simple and is shown so
plainly in the diagram that I think a description superfluous. It
starts at the upper right-hand corner and finishes in the middle of
the crossbar. I again advise that great care be used to get the
twists and loops right, and to see that the thongs cross in the
proper way.

  [Illustration: FILLING THE MIDDLE OF THE SNOWSHOE.]

Filling the middle section is also more simple than it appears at
first glance, for it is practically a repetition of the system used
in the toe portion. The edges of the wood should be rounded slightly
to prevent them cutting the thongs. The Northern Indians wind this
part of the frame with a strip of cloth, to make a sort of cushion
for the tightly stretched thongs. This cloth winding serves its
purpose well, but in a country where wet snows are common its use is
not advised, for the cloth holds the dampness and causes the rawhide
to rot.

While the system of stringing this part may appear quite intricate it
is in reality simple, and it is the more elaborate arrangement of the
forward portion that makes this section appear so complicated. The
stout bunch of thongs shown in the drawing, known as the toe cord, is
strung in first, the rawhide strand being tightly stretched and
crossing the frame some four or five times, a loop being thrown
around the whole on the inside of the frame on both sides in the last
round. This should be so executed that the last loop will be on the
right-hand side. The thong then loops around this bunch of cords
again about an inch from the frame, from there being strung up around
the cross-bar, then twisting around itself back to the starting
point, from there passing down diagonally to the center of the rear
cross-bar, where it loops and twists again, then up to the upper
left-hand corner, where it twists up the same as on the opposite
side. From here it will be noted the thong runs down a short distance
and loops around the left side of the frame. The simple loop used for
this purpose is clearly shown in a small drawing. From this loop the
rawhide strand twists back about an inch, then runs straight across
the shoe to the right, where the loop is repeated. This completes the
first round of the filling. The second round starts in about the same
way as the first, goes up to the crossbar at the left of the first
round, twists back to the toe cord, from there to the rear crossbar,
then up to the left-hand corner. Here the system changes, for the
strand is run up and twisted around the toe cord and first round of
filling before it is looped to the frame. After looping it is brought
across to the right, where it again loops and twists, and then twists
around the toe cord and first round of filling exactly as on the
left, after which it is run down to the rear crossbar. In this way
the stringing continues, every second round twisting forward around
the preceding two. This binds the filling firmly and, it will be
noted, also alternates the successive rounds from side to side. When
the process of filling has progressed so far that there are four
twists around the forward crossbar, on each side, this twisting
should be stopped and the remainder of the forward portion left open,
for this is where the foot of the wearer works through when walking.
This open space should measure about four and a half inches in width,
and if it does not the filling must be shifted. In very coarse meshed
shoes three twists on each side will be all that can be given. An
extra turn around the toe cord should also be made on each of these
two twists of the filling, for considerable strain is thrown onto
this portion. From this point on, instead of running forward and
twisting around the crossbar, the filling simply twists around the
toe cord. But here care must be used to keep the filling smooth and
the toe cord flat, otherwise sore feet will result from wearing the
shoes. The weave finishes in the center of the toe cord and there the
end of the thong should be securely and neatly fastened. The last
touch is to wind a strand of rawhide about the twisted thongs on each
side of the foot opening and around the toe cord, to make these parts
smooth and protect them from wear.

In the drawings of the heel and toe sections it will be noted that I
have shown the web tied to the crossbars with twine. This is not a
permanent feature, for when the center of the shoe has been filled
these strings may be removed.

After making one pair of snowshoes the workman will undoubtedly see
wherein he can improve on the design of the shoe, on the style of
filling, or in the method of making. There are many labor-saving
devices and ways of handling the material that make the work easier.
But these the amateur snowshoe maker will learn in time and I believe
I have now given all the instructions necessary for those who want to
make their own snowshoes.



SNOWSHOES--HOW TO USE THEM

Snowshoes of one kind or another are used in all northern countries,
for they are a necessity to those who live in the snowy north, and
earn their living by outdoor work. Where or when they originated
would be hard to say, definitely, but since it is in America that
they have been perfected and were used by the Indians when this
country was first visited by white men, it seems reasonable that the
snowshoe is an invention of the early North American savages, and
probably was first used many thousands of years ago.

The snowshoe is copied from one of Mother Nature's many unpatented
inventions. She is the inventor of the snowshoe, for she gave this
gift to many of the northern animals, for instance the marten, the
snowshoe rabbit, and even the caribou. The marten and the rabbit have
large heavily furred feet, especially large and furry during the
winter, and because these feet cover a large area of snow in
proportion to the animals' weight, they support their owners where
animals unprovided with a "snowshoe" would sink, and would have great
difficulty in traveling. The caribou has a highly split foot of large
size; its spreads gives down under the animal's weight until the dew
claws also help in supporting it, and thus cover so much surface that
this big deer can walk on a snow crust that would not carry a man.

As a further illustration of nature's use of the snowshoe principle,
compare the foot of a Canada lynx with that of a bobcat or bay lynx.
The former animal, meant for an existence in the North and the high
altitudes where deep snows prevail, has a very large, furry paw that
supports the animal wonderfully on the loose snow, whereas the more
southern wildcat, a very closely related species, has a foot
relatively small and with shorter fur. The snowshoe therefore was
merely copied from nature by mankind and no doubt it was a study of
the natural animal snowshoe that gave the early-day savage the great
idea and set him to work on a scheme by which he could increase the
size of his feet in a convenient and practical manner, and thus be
able to walk on the snow instead of wading through it.

Whatever may have been the style of the first snowshoes or the
material used in them, the first white visitors to the American
continent found the Indians using snowshoes with frames of wood,
strung with rawhide, in fact, exactly the same as are being used
to-day. While the white men may have sought to improve on materials
and general form, it is certain that they could find nothing better
or even as good, for the Indians' snowshoe was adopted and is being
used in its original form to-day where serious use is required.
Snowshoes are often modified in form for the use of the white people
in and near the settlements, but for the rough, wild country the
Indians' snowshoes cannot be surpassed, unless it be in the selection
of materials and in workmanship.

  [Illustration: BEAR PAW SNOWSHOES.]

Everybody knows that snow is not always of the same nature. The
character of the snow depends on weather conditions. Cold weather
causes it to remain loose and fluffy; warm days and cold nights
settle the snow and form a crust, while during midday it becomes wet
and packy; wind following a snowstorm makes drifts of more or less
solidity. These are all very different conditions of snow and a
snowshoe that is perfect in form for one kind of travel or one kind
of snow cannot be perfect for another, although it may answer for all
kinds of use. In widely separated districts the prevailing weather
conditions may cause one or another condition of snow to predominate
the season through, and as a consequence the proper snowshoes to use
in any particular place are the ones adapted to the prevailing snow
conditions. Likewise the nature of the country with respect to
surface and vegetation greatly influence the styles of snowshoes.

The sporting goods catalogues show snowshoes of very different forms
and proportions, and the extreme conditions, not for general use. But
the catalogues seldom give any information on this subject that will
aid the tyro in selecting snowshoes adapted to his use, and if
uninformed on the subject he is all at sea.

Long, narrow snowshoes are used for fast travel in open, fairly level
country. In general, they are not good on rough ground, in brushy
districts, or where the snow does not fall to a good depth. If the
toes are turned up somewhat and more or less pointed they are better
for travel in loose, powdery snow. But the upturned toes render the
shoes worthless for hill climbing, as the frames will not take a grip
on the snow, while on hard trails or crusted snow, such as we
sometimes find on the frozen lakes, they make the wearer's feet sore
through lack of spring in the frames.

The most perfect type of snowshoes for general use is that shown in
figure five. It has the average dimensions and proportions, all
extremes being avoided. It measures about 44 inches in length by 14
inches in width at the widest place, and this is the proper size for
the average person and general conditions. A heavy man, if of average
height, or taller, can use larger shoes to advantage, while for a
smaller and lighter man slightly smaller snowshoes are better
adapted. The toe is round and flat. It slips easily through the
brush, takes a good grip on the hard snow of the hillsides and covers
enough snow to keep it up near the surface while the narrow heel cuts
down. The tail is short, which adapts the shoe better for turning in
brushy places and reduces liability of breakage when crossing logs.
The stringing, it will be noted, is heavy and coarse, which makes the
shoe better for damp, sticky snow. A fine mesh filling is all right
where the snow is always in a loose, dry condition, but when the snow
becomes packy it closes up on the web and makes continuous trouble.
The ends are filled with a finer material, for here the stringing is
subject to less strain.

  [Illustration: NORTHERN SNOWSHOES.]

The Indians of Canada frequently fill the heel and toe of their
snowshoes with fine twine instead of rawhide. This material wears
much better than would be expected, providing the snow is deep and
the snags well covered, as they are up there in winter. But a twine
filling is not nearly as good as rawhide and is used only because it
is a more convenient material.

Many kinds of raw skins are used for filling snowshoes, but there is
nothing better than cowhide. Horsehide is said to wear very well.
Calfskin is a good material for stringing light shoes, for use on
broken trails or for women and children. Moose and caribou skin are
much used in the North, but are not as durable as cowhide. Except
that the hair is removed from the hide it undergoes no other
preparation for snowshoe filling, no oiling nor tanning being
permissible.

In the frames also various kinds of wood are used, this depending
partly on the woods obtainable where the snowshoes are made. A tough,
light wood is required. White men usually make use of white ash, a
very good material for the purpose. Black ash is also used, but is a
poor wood for snowshoe frames. The Canadian Indians use white and
yellow birch, both very good if good judgment is used in selecting
the trees. In the far Northwest snowshoe frames are sometimes made of
spruce, while in the West service wood is frequently employed. There
are many other woods that will answer very well.

In the illustration are shown two patterns of long, narrow snowshoes.
One has a pointed, upturned toe, the frame being made in two pieces,
fastened together with rawhide at heel and toe. This style of shoe I
think originated in Northwestern Canada, anyway it is used there by
Indians and whites alike. Snowshoes of this pattern are usually made
five feet long and 12 inches wide. The toe curves up seven or eight
inches and the length from the toe cords on which the wearer's foot
rests to the point of the upturned toe must exceed the length from
the ball of his foot to his knee; if it is not so, the toe of the
snowshoe will strike his knee when he lifts his foot.

The other long pattern is a style used in Alaska and Yukon. It is so
shaped that it gives the maximum of surface covering qualities for a
shoe of that length and a practical width. The stringing is very open
and is put into the frame by a peculiar system, quite unlike that
used in other snowshoes. This is an excellent snowshoe for fast
travel in deep, loose snow.

  [Illustration: A SNOWSHOE OF STANDARD SHAPE.]

Very short snowshoes made without tails are known as the "bearpaw"
pattern. I have shown two of these. The one made without crossbars is
used by the Indians of Washington. It is a very simple, easily made
snowshoe, and is especially useful in the rough, brushy ground. It
works nicely in the mountains of Pennsylvania and is probably as good
for use in that place as in the Northwest. The other bearpaw shoe
illustrated is a style that originated in the Adirondack Mountains.
It was designed for the use of the spruce gum hunters, its short
length making it a perfect snowshoe for use in gumming, walking
around trees, turning and zigzagging here and there. This pattern is
one of the best for very brushy ground, where rocks and fallen trees
abound, and it is the best shape for use in the North when the first
snows come and the small underbrush, snags, rocks and logs are not
yet deeply buried. A pair of snowshoes like this may be carried in a
packsack if the trapper is making a journey over his line when the
first deep snow is due, and he will not then be caught without
snowshoes when a day's journey or two from camp. This has happened to
me, so I can now see the importance of carrying a pair of snowshoes
at that time.

Snowshoes of all types have an opening in the forward part of the
central section through which the wearer's toes move as he walks. At
the rear edge of this opening are the toe cords, a bunch of five or
six strands of rawhide, and when in use this part is beneath the ball
of the foot. A toe-strap passes over the foot at this point. There is
always some other form of fastening used, but this may be anything
from the Indian's hitch of soft caribou skin or lamp wicking to the
harness leather fastening of the white man, which buckles across the
instep and above the heel. In all cases the fastening must pass
around the foot above the heel, for it is this strap that supports
the weight of the snowshoe as the foot is lifted; it is moved forward
by the toe strap, and this piece also holds the foot in place on the
shoe.

The Indian's method of tying a snowshoe to the foot has some
advantages over the white man's harness fastening, but in other ways
it is imperfect. The principal advantage is that the fastening need
not be opened for removing the snowshoes or attaching it. I have used
snowshoes a week at a time without opening the knot. A simple twist
of the foot with bended knee will serve to free the snowshoe from the
foot and it is just as easily replaced. But it does not hold the shoe
as rigidly with respect to side motion as the strap and buckle
adopted by white men generally, and I think it is more likely to
cause soreness of the feet. The harness shown is one of the best
styles and is easily made and adjusted.

For snowshoeing in Northern districts, where the weather is cold all
through the winter and the snow remains in a loose, dry condition,
buckskin moccasins are the best footwear. By this I mean moccasins of
any kind of deerskin, tanned by the Indian method. Such moccasins are
not waterproof, but that makes little difference, for the dry snow
never makes wet feet. Buckskin is soft and light and if the moccasins
are large, plenty of warm, woolen socks may be worn. For spring wear,
when the snow is more or less damp, or for use anywhere when the snow
is in this condition, oil tanned moccasins or rubber overshoes may be
worn. Rubber is somewhat hard on the filling of the snowshoes, but if
this is heavy and of good material it will stand a lot of wear.
Ordinary rubber shoes should not be worn, however, without first
removing the heels.

When walking the entire snowshoe is never lifted clear of the snow;
the tail always drags. It is easy to learn to use them. I walked 12
miles the first day I tried snowshoeing. My greatest trouble was in
keeping one shoe clear of the other, but this is soon learned. There
may also be trouble in learning to turn, especially in brushy places,
and in attempting to cross logs. When crossing a log the foot itself
must be placed on the log and the next step must be of sufficient
length for the snowshoe to clear it, or the foot must be turned
sideways.

To get satisfactory service from a pair of snowshoes necessitates
proper care. The wearer should always avoid walking over snags, or
little hummocks, which are certain indications of objects barely
covered and which may injure the web of the shoes. Do not step on a
place which will support one or both ends of the shoe solidly unless
the middle portion is also thus supported, for if the frames do not
break the strain they will be weakened and will sooner or later take
on a curved shape. Never step down from a high place with all of your
weight on the snowshoes, for the strain on filling and frame is
great.

Snowshoes require care, not only while in use, but at other times as
well. Being strung with rawhide, this material is very susceptible to
heat and moisture. If the shoes are not dried thoroughly after
becoming damp or wet the stringing will rot, while if dried too
rapidly the filling becomes brittle and breaks when put to a strain.
In camp snowshoes should be suspended from the ceiling by a wire, for
mice will eat the filling if they can reach them. Shoes should be
watched closely also for worn strands and when a string looks
dangerously weak the shoe should be repaired at once.

It cannot be expected that after the most exhaustive book study the
novice will know enough about snowshoes to discriminate between the
ordinary bad and those without fault. But there are points that if
kept in mind will aid greatly in selecting snowshoes that will not
only be desirable, but also satisfactory in regard to size,
proportions and pattern. The extreme styles, as already pointed out,
are not for the use of the beginner, for his snowshoeing is generally
of the regulation kind. The snowshoes which he should buy, and which
he will find in stock with most dealers, are more or less on the
lines of the pattern shown in figure 5. The standard size, or about
14x44 inches, will answer well in nearly all cases. If the country is
not too rough and hilly they may have the toes turned up an inch or
two, but otherwise they should be flat, as shown. It matters little
whether the toe be round, square or quite pointed, but it should be
rather large in area while the heel end should be narrow. The long
tail usually found on stock snowshoes is a nuisance and may as a rule
be cut off to advantage, for usually the balance of the snowshoe is
improved by so doing.

A snowshoe should almost balance when suspended midway between the
two cross-bars, the tail end being just a little the heavier. Very
few stock snowshoes are so made, most of them being too heavy in the
rear.

When buying snowshoes examine the frames with care, for if they are
not made of good, straight grained wood they are apt to break. The
wood should be heaviest at the sides and thinnest at the toe. There
must be no knots, cuts or other defects. Sometimes in bending the
frames the makers split slivers loose and afterwards glue them down,
so look carefully for such places.

The filling should be clear and yellow. It should be of almost equal
thickness and there should be no splices close to the frame or in the
centre. See that the thongs are thoroughly stretched, for poorly
stretched filling is sure to stretch and sag the first time the shoes
are used on damp snow. If the thongs do not run perfectly straight
across the shoe, reject it, for this is a sure sign of poorly
stretched filling.

What are sold as first-class snowshoes bring prices ranging roughly
from five to ten dollars per pair. Good snowshoes cannot be made and
sold at less than five dollars, and if they are large or have much
work about them they cannot be made for this price. I do not find any
material difference between snowshoes of Indian make and those made
by white men. The very best snowshoes I have ever found being made
for sale are those made by a friend of mine living in the
Adirondacks. He uses the best of material throughout and the
stringing alone used in a pair of his best shoes will cost him as
much as the price at which ordinary snowshoes are sold. The best
possible snowshoes are not available to many readers of this article
unless they have learned to make them, in which case they can use as
much care and as good material as desired.



WINTER TRAVEL IN THE WOODS

What a change comes over the great forests of the North when winter
reigns and holds all nature in his icy grip. The fleecy mantle of
white covers hill and vale, stream and bush alike, bending to the
ground the lower branches of the spruces and hemlocks, smoothing over
the rough trails of the fall, and burying the logs, stumps and
underbrush from view until the following spring. The woods through
which we traveled with ease and comfort when the ground was bare now
has a forbidding appearance and it requires all the nerve we can
muster to attempt to penetrate the dense, snow-laden growth, where we
know that the first step will release a small avalanche of snow upon
us. The bended branches and smaller growths of the thickets give a
different appearance to the woods and distances seem shorter so that
we find it difficult to keep to the old course, and wise is the
trapper or other woods traveler who has blazed out his main trails
before the coming of the snow. In this winter woods it would seem
that only the wild creatures inhabiting it would be at home and
perfectly familiar with the changed surroundings.

But the seasoned woodsman does not hesitate to travel the winter
trail. If he is a trapper or spruce gummer the winter is his harvest
time. He feels little of the storms which in more exposed country
would keep one close indoors much of the time. On a still morning the
cold may be intense and on all sides will be heard pistol-like
reports from the freezing trees, but if he cannot keep warm by rapid
walking, he treads down a spot of snow, pulls some loose bark from a
white birch tree, places over it dead branches broken from the trunk
of a nearby evergreen and applies a lighted match to the oily birch
bark. In a few seconds he has a roaring fire by the side of which he
can rest and restore the chilled blood to its normal state. The
Northern frost gives no warning; it creeps cautiously through the
clothing and at once commences to freeze the flesh beneath and at
such times a fire cannot be lighted too quickly.

One cannot travel the snowy bush in comfort and safety unless he
wisely prepares for such travel, by wearing the proper clothing and
carrying with him the most suitable equipment. Clothing must be of
the correct weight; just heavy enough to keep the wearer warm while
traveling but no heavier, as bulky clothing is tiresome to one who
walks the trails. A long coat is bad for travel; it clings to the
legs and interferes with stepping over logs. The outer clothing
should be of a kind to which the snow will not cling, yet it must be
soft. Wind proof cloth is not needed, in fact a medium thick but
loosely woven cloth is warmer in the woods than smooth, closely woven
fabrics. The vest or waist coat is seldom worn in the forest, at
least not by woodsmen. Woolen clothing, always, is the choice.

What I know on this subject I have learned from actual experience,
and we are told that experience is the best teacher, but we could
often save ourselves much discomfort if we would profit by the advice
of others. However, knowledge acquired at the expense of time,
health, comfort and money is often less costly than ignorance. The
clothing and outfits I recommend are those I have found best for my
own use, but an article is most useful when properly used.

I consider the following the best dress for winter wear in the
timbered country of the North and so dressed a healthy man may travel
the wintry woods in comfort. Starting with underwear, I advise
wearing pure woolen goods, always, of medium weight, and all in one
piece. The soft, fine kind should be chosen.

THE WINTER TRAIL

Wool absorbs the perspiration and is reasonably warm when damp or
even wet. It never gets cold and uncomfortable like cotton underwear
does, the nap does not flatten down, and it keeps the skin warm and
induces a healthy circulation of the blood near the surface.

  [Illustration: THE WINTER TRAIL.]

Wear woolen socks for the same reasons; two or three pairs, as
required, and a pair of heavy knit wool stockings, knee length, over
them. This is too much for warm weather, but I am talking of clothing
for wear when it is cold. The amount of stockings required will
depend somewhat on the constitution of the man who wears them; for
one traveler can keep the feet warm with what would not be sufficient
for another. Do not at anytime wear more socks than necessary, and
wash them frequently, as it freshens the wool and makes them warmer.
A number of pairs of medium weight socks are better than one pair of
very heavy ones. They are easier washed, easier dried and more
comfortable. Many bushmen wind a strip of woolen blanket about the
foot, and this has the advantage of being cheaper than extra socks. I
wear both the socks and the long stockings on the outside of the
trousers, and the stockings should be held by a strap at the top.
Stretch out the toes of the socks and stockings a little before
putting the shoes or moccasins on over them and it will keep them
from binding the toes.

The only footwear for winter travel when the weather is cold,
especially for snowshoeing, is the buckskin moccasin. By "buckskin" I
mean Indian tanned moosehide, deer or caribou skin, or the white
man's asbestol cordovan horsehide, the latter being the best wearing
material, but not as soft and comfortable as the others. Caribou skin
moccasins are my preference for snowshoeing, and I like the Ojibway
pattern with pointed toe and cloth top; they are not as likely to
cause sore toes as the Sioux pattern (the regular factory made style)
and the cloth top is warm and holds the snowshoe strings better than
the buckskin top does.

Buckskin moccasins are not waterproof, in fact water will go through
them almost as readily as through cloth, but waterproof qualities are
not required in footwear for winter use in the North, as the snow
never becomes damp until spring, and all water, except the smooth
rapids, is well covered with ice. The only time when the traveler is
likely to get wet feet is when snowshoeing over the ice on the lakes;
then after a wind storm there is sure to be water under the snow on
the ice.

A medium weight gray woolen shirt suits me best for woods wear.
Trousers may be of almost any kind of strong, soft woolen material,
and should be roomy, but fit well at the waist. I prefer to wear a
belt rather than suspenders, but this is immaterial. If the snow
clings to the trousers behind the knees, when snowshoeing, wear light
overalls over them. I have never found anything better in coats than
those made of mackinaw cloth, such as lumbermen wear. I like the
plain colors best, blue black being my choice. All outside pockets
should be covered with flaps to keep the snow out. Mackinaw is a
soft, warm material and it will turn considerable rain. It has only
one objectionable feature--the snow will cling to it, especially
across one's back just above the pack sack, which the woodsman nearly
always has with him; the warmth coming through the cloth causes it to
collect the snow.

My choice of head dress is a good grade, long wool toque which can be
drawn down over the forehead and ears. Over this I sometimes wear a
sort of hood made of thin woolen cloth, which hangs down well over
the collar of the coat and ties under the chin. This hood is very
desirable, as it is a great protection from cold and snow. When
walking through a snow-laden evergreen bush there is a constant
shower of snow being released from the boughs and this hood keeps the
falling snow from getting inside of the clothing, which it surely
would do without this protection. It is also a shield against the
cold wind when crossing frozen lakes, where the toque alone would not
give sufficient protection. I steer clear of fur caps. They are too
warm for walking, and I think it best to have no covering over the
face, as any such arrangement will gather moisture from the breath
and cause freezing. Unless one is exposed to a severe wind, holding
the mittened hands against the face occasionally will prevent
freezing in the coldest weather, providing we do not have to face the
breeze.

The hands also need special protection from the cold and much could
be written on this subject. I know of nothing better than mittens,
not gloves, made of heavy woolen cloth, with a pair of cotton ones
drawn over them. They are easier dried than a single pair of heavy
ones; are easily made from old material, costing nothing, and are
warm. They should be loose enough to pull off quickly, and the tops
should come well up over the wrists inside the coat sleeves. Do not
buy gauntlet gloves for the woods; they collect dirt and snow
continually. No kind of leather gloves or mittens that I have ever
worn will keep my hands warm unless they are very heavily lined and
then they are stiff, so I prefer the cloth ones.

So much for cold weather clothing, but what shall we wear when the
sun commences to travel his northern trail and the grip of Jack Frost
weakens; when the snow melts during midday and our clothing seems
uncomfortably warm. At such times we can discard the heavy shirt and
substitute a lighter one; leave the overalls in camp and put the hood
in the pack or the coat pocket, and wear fewer socks, with oil-tanned
shoe pacs instead of buckskin moccasins. They are not as good for
snowshoeing, but are waterproof if kept well oiled. Rubber shoes wear
the filling of the snowshoe badly.

  [Illustration: THE INDIAN SNOWSHOE HITCH.]

While I have been speaking of clothing for wear in the timbered
districts of the Far North I realize that there are more of those who
read this living in a less frosty climate, but for all of the
Northern States this clothing is quite suitable and proper, with the
exception of the hood and moccasins. The former is seldom needed in
more open hardwood forest, and as snowshoes are not used much the
shoe pac and rubber shoe are the footwear most often seen. For
walking on bare ground or in shallow snow, both shoes have advantages
and faults. The rubbers are heavier than the pacs and more protection
to tender feet, but are more likely to tire the wearer, especially
since rubber clings so fondly to all brush and weeds with which it
comes in contact. But the pacs, while lighter and softer, will make
tender feet sore on the bottoms, and they slip in snow more than do
rubbers. My favorite rubber shoes for outdoor wear are those of ankle
height, fastening with a lace or with strap and buckle.

Snowshoes can hardly be considered wearing apparel. An Italian who
came over to Canada, when cold weather came, began to inquire about
clothing for wear in that climate. When he asked what kind of
footwear was best his informant told him that he thought snowshoes
were the best when the snow came. Having no idea what snowshoes were
he went to a store and asked to be shown some, and he was
considerably surprised when he saw what they were. Snowshoes,
however, are a part of the Northern woodsman's equipment, and a very
necessary part. They are offered in a number of patterns by sporting
goods dealers, and there are other styles made and used that are
seldom or never seen in stores. Some are good; others are better, but
each kind is good in some section of the country. It is not my object
to go into detail in describing snowshoes, but I feel that I must say
something about the patterns best adapted for use in the woods. They
should be of about the standard shape, either round or square toe, as
desired; for the average man, about 14 by 48 inches in size; frames
of good straight grained wood, with the crossbars mortised in without
weakening the bows. The tail should be fastened with rawhide,
counter-sunk, and not a screw or rivet; and the filling throughout
should be of good rawhide thoroughly stretched, rather fine and close
in the ends and coarse and open in the centers. The toe should be
large and quite broad, the tail narrow, and they should balance at a
point just a few inches behind the center of the space between the
crossbars. With such shoes you can travel fast on loose snow or hard;
they turn easily; the broad flat toe takes a good grip and makes hill
climbing easy, and it also stays nearly on the surface of the snow
while the narrow tail cuts down and as a consequence they lift easily
for the next step. If the filling is too close in the center the snow
will pack under the foot; if the toes are too small they cut down and
loose snow falls on top, making them heavy to lift; if the tail is
too heavy it is difficult to turn with them; if the toe is upturned
they slip on a crust or hard trail, make the feet sore, and are not
good for climbing hills. Unless you know just what you are doing it
is a good rule to avoid extreme styles.

If you are a "Down East" man you will undoubtedly select some kind
of snowshoe boot, harness, fastening or whatever you choose to
call it. Most of these give satisfaction, but I have used the Indians'
method mostly, the same being a tie or hitch with a piece of
five-eighth-inch lamp wick, about four feet long. The toe strap is
separate and is fastened by weaving the ends in and out of the
filling at the sides of the toe opening. The way of tying to the foot
is shown in the illustration more plainly than I can describe it.
Both strings are tied together above the heel, and when properly
adjusted it is not necessary to untie for putting the shoe on or
removing it from the foot; a simple twist will do it. I have used
snowshoes for a week or more without undoing the fastening, and it is
very nice in extreme cold weather to be able to put on or remove
shoes without baring the hands.

If you are simply traveling through the woods aimlessly, with no
intention of making future use of the trail, it makes little
difference how you go, but if you are a trapper and are breaking out
a trap line you will, of course, aim to strike the good places for
sets without walking farther than necessary, and you should make your
trail with a view of using it afterwards, avoiding steep ascents and
dense thickets. If possible, get over your trail the second time
before the packed snow hardens and the trail will be smoother. Blaze
your trail on trees and brush as you go along. I think it best to
mark the brush by cutting them half off and bending them away from
the trail. If you must mark trees, mark two sides and then you can
follow the marks either way, and you can also indicate the turns in
the path. My objection to marks on trees are that they cannot be seen
as plainly as cut brush, especially after a driving snowstorm, when
the snow clings to the trunks of trees, and that the drooping,
snow-laden branches often hide the spots just when you need to see
them most. A foot of fresh fallen snow may completely obliterate your
trail, but if it is well marked you can follow it still, and the
beaten bottom makes easier traveling, no difference how much snow has
fallen over it.

Breaking out fresh trails is hard work, and slow. You can break trail
away from camp six hours, and return over the broken trail in two. In
a snowy climate it is advisable, whenever possible, to travel each
permanent trail at least once in ten days to keep it in good
condition; but the trapper will want to get over the ground oftener
than that anyway.

As snowshoes are costly and their life depends much on the care they
receive I will give some rules covering this point that is always
well to observe. In breaking out a fresh trail avoid snags which show
through the snow or little protuberances which indicate snags beneath
the surface; also beware of places where the snow appears to be held
up by brush or sticks beneath. I once broke a new snowshoe frame by
stepping into a concealed hole; the whole trail dropped down and my
snowshoe caught on a snag of a nearby stump, breaking a section out
of the frame. It is the stringing, however, that is usually cut out
by the snags. Be careful also when crossing logs to see that the
shoes are not supported solidly at the ends while the middle is free
to go down; such treatment will either break the frames or bend and
strain them, and if they assume a curved shape they are unsightly and
tiring to the feet, also hard to use in hill climbing. I always like
to get started on the trail as early in the morning as possible, so
that I can travel a few miles before daylight, and I camp early in
the evening so I can get wood and make a comfortable camp before
dark. In the early spring, when the snow melts during the day and
clings to the snowshoes the only time one can travel is in the
morning until about ten o'clock, and late in the evening. At night,
if the moon shines, one can make good time, but through the day is
the best time for resting at this season. When the snow sticks, the
snowshoes get wet and heavy and damp snow packs on top and clings to
them, and when these troubles come it is best to cut wood, build a
good fire and camp by it until evening. Stand the snowshoes up in the
snow where the sunshine and the warm wind will dry them, make some
tea and eat your lunch, then roll into your blanket and rest until
the sun gets low, when you can resume your journey.

It is difficult traveling, at the best, and the strength of the
traveler is heavily taxed. Always he has the heavy pack and the
snowshoe trail seems endless. The home camp is ever a welcome sight.
It means greater comfort and usually a day of rest to wash and mend
the clothing, and admire the drying furs, the harvest of the traps.
There are days of awful cold, and the deep, loose snow seems almost
too much to endure; yet with all the hardships and privations there
is an unexplainable fascination connected with the free, wild life in
the woods and in tramping the winter trail.



TRAVELING IN THE PATHLESS WOODS

PART I.

Everybody admires the man who can travel in the woods without getting
lost. Such a man always commands respect among his less accomplished
associates. The sportsman never ceases to wonder at the ability of
his guide to find his way unfailingly through the dense bush, and the
white guide also admires and wonders at the Indian's accomplishments
in the same line. To the uninitiated the feats of the woodsman seem
like a sixth sense--instinct, they call it. But it is not instinct,
but simply the application of knowledge which comes to those who are
forced by circumstances to be observing in such matters. The man who
can take an outfit on his back and travel a month in the wilderness,
living without a particle of aid from his fellow men, is a woodsman,
and he possesses a knowledge of woodcraft which would make a better
world if it could be imparted to all mankind.

I was born and grew to manhood in one of the wildest and roughest
districts of Pennsylvania. Northeast from my home I could travel 30
miles without seeing a human habitation, and northward the wild,
uninhabited mountains reached a like distance, broken at one place
only by a narrow valley in which there were a few small farms. Little
by little I learned to know these mountains and the narrow valleys
between. There was not a stream within 10 or 15 miles where I had not
fished for trout and trapped for mink and 'coons, and I had hunted
every swamp and red brush flat for deer, bears and grouse. I knew
every place where blueberries grew in sufficient numbers to make the
gathering profitable, and often I wandered long distances merely for
the pleasure of mountain travel. I soon got the reputation of being
an accomplished woodsman, an honor which I did not deserve, for I
knew nothing whatever about travel in real wilderness. The long
mountains paralleling one another made it easy to get about without
losing the sense of direction, and I kept my compass points merely by
familiarity with the ground on which I traveled.

When at the age of 23 I went into the wilderness of Canada, I was up
against an entirely different proposition. Before me were hundreds of
miles of unbroken bush, spotted with lakes that at first looked all
alike to me, and cut by small streams which flowed about from lake to
lake in the most haphazard fashion imaginable. I had never traveled
with the sun as a guide and knew nothing regarding the use of a
compass, both of which are essential for wilderness travel.

  [Illustration: A COMPASS OF A PRACTICAL TYPE.]

My first move was to file on a piece of government land. The land
guide helped to locate me and while we were looking about I saw him
look at his compass, then he remarked that it was just noon and we
would make some tea. I was surprised to see him get the time of day
from a compass and asked him how he knew it was noon. "Because the
sun is directly south," he answered, "and it is in that position only
at noon." And then he explained to me how a compass could be used as
a watch, with fair accuracy, and how a watch could be made to answer
very well as a compass.

The woodsman told me that I could not travel in that country without
a compass, and I soon found that such was the case. I borrowed a
compass from a friend, a small, slip-cover instrument with a stop to
hold the needle stationary when not in use. But I found that the
slip-cover was inconvenient; dust got in at the stop opening and
hampered the movement of the needle; and finally the compass slipped
through a hole in my pocket and was lost. By these experiences I
learned that the most practical form of compass for a woodsman was an
open-face, watch-shaped instrument, without a stop, and with a ring
by which it could be fastened to the coat or vest like a watch. Such
an instrument does not have the long life of the finer stop compass,
but it costs only a dollar or thereabouts, and after a year or two of
use can be thrown away and a new one purchased. Of course, if a stop
compass can be found that has no outside opening to admit dust it is
better still.

An Indian seldom carries a compass, but he travels mainly by the "lay
of the land." He learns the country just as I learned the mountains
of Pennsylvania, and as a rule he has little idea of direction.
Sometimes he travels by sun, in fact the sun answers for both watch
and compass. But when the sun is invisible and the ground unfamiliar
he sometimes meets with trouble and "loses his wigwam." But he is
much less apt to get lost than a white man, under similar conditions,
for when he loses his bearings he doesn't lose his head, in fact he
doesn't consider it a serious matter at all. He simply makes camp and
the next day he travels on until he rights himself again. The Indian
also, when forced to it, uses means of getting his bearings which
only Indians and veteran woodsmen know how to use.

For my own part I travel mostly by the sun when on strange ground,
verifying my directions occasionally by reference to the compass. I
also study landmarks and make use of them constantly, for to travel
by compass alone is slow and difficult.

Comparatively few people who have never used a compass know how the
instrument works; indeed, I once knew a man who thought that the
needle pointed towards home when the owner lost his bearings. But it
doesn't do any such thing unless by chance the home lies north.

On the peninsula of Boothia Felix, which juts into the Arctic Sea
northwest of Hudson's Bay, is the magnetic north pole, and the needle
of the compass, when free to revolve, points to this particular part
of the earth. It does not point directly towards the magnetic pole in
all parts of the world, for the magnetic currents which converge
there do not flow in straight lines. In fact, there is an area in
Asia, where the compass needle is deflected and points to a smaller
local magnetic pole. But for bush travel all that is necessary is to
consider that the blue end of the compass needle points north, and to
call this point north always, the opposite direction, of course,
being south.

Perhaps I should not say that the needle always points north, for it
may lose its magnetism with age or the pivot on which it swings may
become dulled, or again the needle may be deflected by a metal object
being brought too near. If the needle behaves queerly, maybe you are
holding it too near your gun, or some metal object in your belt or
pocket may be attracting it. All objects of iron or steel become
magnetized to a certain extent and will attract the needle if brought
too near. But aside from such outside influence, and that of wear,
the compass is a perfectly reliable instrument. Sometimes it tells us
that the sun rises in the northwest, in which case we should believe
it without question, for if we go contrary to the teachings of the
instrument we will find that 99 times out of 100 the compass is right
and we are dead wrong. One of the greatest mistakes a man can make
when he gets turned around in the big timber is to doubt his compass,
but many people will take a chance on their very unreliable instinct
rather than to trust a perfectly trustworthy instrument which was
brought into the woods to serve them on just such occasions. But one
need never be in doubt, for if the needle swings freely and settles
down in the same position each time, he may be sure that the
instrument is all right.

By referring to the drawing, which shows a very common type of
compass, it will be noted that the dial is graduated in degrees, on
its outer edge, with the principal points marked with letters. These
letters mean north, east, south, west, northeast, southeast, etc. To
make the compass work perfectly it must be held level and steady
until the needle stops swinging, then the compass can be turned
easily, so that the blue end of the needle stands over the letter
"N." When this is done all the points of the compass are shown. The
only way a compass can be used is to show these directions, and, of
course, the user should know which way he wants to go. Usually a man
in the woods knows some familiar landmark; it may be a stream, a
lake, a mountain, or even the railroad which he left when he entered
the woods, and he will know whether he is north, south, east or west
of this landmark, so there is little excuse for getting completely
lost. But if he is so hopelessly muddled that he doesn't know for the
life of him whether he is in the Grand Canyon or a Canadian swamp the
compass will not help him very much. If he is traveling north of his
landmark he can return to it by going south, and the compass will
tell him quickly which direction is south.

  [Illustration: A ROUTE TRAVELED BY COMPASS.]

Suppose you have made a camp in the wilds and have set out to explore
the surrounding country. For the sake of illustration I have drawn a
map of some of my old-time hunting ground, showing the location of
one of my camps. The first move would be to learn the country in the
immediate vicinity of camp. The stream by the side of the camp flows
east and this would be the first with which to get acquainted. A trip
along the stream both ways from camp will serve to familiarize one
with the stream and nearby country, so that he would have a good
landmark, and he could hardly cross this stream knowing that it was
the same one which flows by the camp. He would also know, if he were
to reach this creek, whether the camp lay up stream or down. This
then would serve as a base from which to operate. We will say now
that he wishes to see some of the country north and northwest of
camp. He sees in the distance a high hill with a peculiar bunch of
trees on its summit. By referring to the compass he finds that the
position of this hill is a little east of north. Then facing in that
direction he notes that the sun is behind his right shoulder, for it
is morning and the sun is in the southeast. Replacing the compass in
his pocket he starts toward the tree-crowned hill which he has chosen
as an objective point. As long as the hill is in sight he has clear
sailing, but when the forest hides his landmark from view he keeps
traveling straight ahead, maintaining his same position with
reference to the sun. But the sun is also moving and he dare not go
far without again looking at the compass and noting the changed
position of the sun. This, you will see, is traveling by landmark, by
compass, and by sun, and it will be found a very practical way.

But a man cannot travel straight in the average wilderness country,
for nature imposes obstacles. Lakes, swamps, unfordable streams and
other natural obstructions force detours, all of which must be kept
in mind and a general straight course maintained.

Presuming that in spite of the unavoidable detours the traveler has
kept a reasonable straight course and has reached the high hill with
its peculiar clump of trees, he will know now that since his course
has been a little east of north his camp must be just that much west
of south from this hill. It would be an easy matter for him to
retrace his steps to camp if he wished to do so.

From the top of the hill the explorer studies the topography of the
surrounding country, and notes the lakes; the hollows, which indicate
water courses; the swamp and clump of evergreen bush. Perhaps he
sketches a map of what he sees, the details to be added as the
country is learned more thoroughly.

To the northwest he sees what appears to be a fairly large lake, and
as this looks interesting he sets out in that direction, traveling as
before, by sun, compass and marker. Sometimes he can pick a mark a
half mile distant and at other times he must be content to make use
of a dead tree standing a hundred yards or less away. But near or
far, they all serve the same purpose.

Having reached his objective he finds that what appeared to be a
large lake is in reality a chain of small lakes or ponds and he draws
them into his map.

Then he sets out down stream, noting that it flows in a southwesterly
direction, and occasionally he takes a compass bearing to make sure
that this course has not changed. After traveling about a mile he
decides to return to camp. By carefully considering the distance
traveled in each direction he concludes that he is now about two and
a half miles northwest of camp, therefore he must travel southeast,
so he starts in that direction. When about a quarter of a mile from
camp he recognizes the surroundings and changes his course a little
at the point marked by the arrow, and goes straight to camp.

In the same way the camper would explore the country for a few miles
east, west and south, and when he has become reasonably well
acquainted with this ground he is ready to push his explorations to
greater distance, knowing that he can without difficulty return to
familiar ground, and then easily find his camp, for he could not
cross the section of country with which he is now familiar without
recognizing it.



TRAVELING IN THE PATHLESS WOODS

Part II.

To travel in a straight line by compass, and to keep your bearings
regardless of how or where you go, is easy, if the rules I have given
are followed; but people do not always know these rules, or for one
reason or another they do not observe them. As a result they get
lost. What to do in such a case I can't tell; but one thing that
should not be done is to get frightened and travel desperately first
in one direction, then in another, always more or less in circles, as
men do when they wander aimlessly.

I am a firm believer in that "ounce of prevention" adage, for
prevention is better than cure every time. This policy has carried me
through hundreds of miles of wilderness without once getting lost. I
have never been lost, although many times I have lost my bearings for
awhile when traveling in company with somebody who was leading the
way, or when trying to travel in unfamiliar country without using the
methods I have been describing. I have never gone astray when using a
compass, or when traveling by any of the other ways I have mentioned.

A short time ago I was talking about bush travel with a friend and
after he had listened to my chatter for awhile he asked, "What would
you do if you were to get lost?" "I wouldn't get lost," I answered,
"for the rules I have been explaining to you are to prevent that and
will always do so if followed. I always follow them." "That sounds
all right," he argued, "but you know people do get lost sometimes and
I want to know what a man should do if he gets lost. You say that you
first get acquainted with the country near camp, then explore
farther, etc., but here now is something different. I go into the
woods to hunt deer, with a few fellows. We know nothing of the
country and are dependent on our guides. They have led us into camp
and we scarcely know how we came. Well, the next day, I set out to
look for game, alone, intending to hunt close to camp. I go first
this way and then that way, looking at the likely places, and after
awhile it dawns on me that I don't know which direction to go to
reach camp. In other words, I am lost. Now what should I do?" I will
confess that the question was too much for me. Having never been
lost, I had no experience of this kind from which to draw. I recalled
stories of people who were lost but couldn't think of anything that
would help a lost man find his way. There are many ways to find the
compass points, but when a man doesn't know what direction he wants
to travel, what good is there in knowing which is north and east?

I suggested to my friend that a man would surely always have some
point in mind with which he was acquainted and would know
approximately which direction this place lay. "If he does he isn't
lost," he replied. "And even if he knows that the railroad runs north
and that he is east of it, the railroad may be fifty or a hundred
miles away, while he may be only a mile or two from camp."

The only practical thing I could suggest was this: When a man
suddenly discovers that he has lost his bearings and doesn't know
which way to go to reach camp or familiar ground, he should above all
things avoid getting excited and "losing his head." It is not at all
a serious matter and if he will keep cool and use judgment he will
come out all right. First let him note carefully his surroundings so
he will know the place when he sees it again. Then he can set out in
what seems to be the most probable direction to familiar ground, but
he must travel in a straight line by the method I described in the
last chapter. After traveling a reasonable distance, if no familiar
ground is reached he should return to the starting point and try
another direction. If all this fails, the various points of the
compass having been tried, he should come back to the starting point
and camp there until his friends find him. I am presuming that he has
lost his bearings under the conditions named by my friend and that he
has companions some where not many miles distant. The campfire may
help his friends find him and if he fires his gun it may also do some
good. It is a very good plan to agree on some sort of a signal to use
in case some member of the party loses his way but I know this is
seldom done, for nobody cares to let his friends know that he feels
the remotest possibility of getting lost. I never leave camp without
having with me a good quantity of matches. I always carry a light ax
and if the weather is cold I put a blanket in my packsack. Thus, if
anything happens to prevent my getting back to camp I am reasonably
outfitted for camping out a night.

In my talk about travel by compass I have spoken of keeping direction
by the sun and thus doing away to a great extent with frequent
reference to the compass. Doubtless the reader has been wondering
what he should do on days when the sun is invisible. Fortunately
there are few such days unless it is during a rain when of course
very little traveling is done. But there are days when fog or clouds
obscure the sun for hours and then travel is slow because one must
make frequent reference to the compass. The only safe way is to
select some conspicuous object in the line of travel each time a
compass bearing is taken and to take a new bearing when this object
is reached. A dense fog is the worst possible condition for then not
only is the sun invisible but one cannot see far enough to choose
objective points. I seldom attempt to travel under such conditions
but when I do, if I make a half or three-quarters of a mile an hour,
providing I have no stream, lake shore or trail to follow, I consider
that I am getting along very well. Blinding rain or snow storms also
make travel very difficult. I have traveled in a heavy snowstorm by
making use of the wind as a guide, in conjunction with the compass.
The wind seldom changes during a steady rain or snow storm, and
anyway the compass would apprise the wayfarer of a change in the wind
before he had gone far out of his course.

  [Illustration: THE WATCH AS A COMPASS.]

There are ways of learning the directions without a compass which may
be used in case of emergency. First there is the sun. In theory it
rises in the east and sets in the west; but in reality it only
behaves so on or very near the equator. As we are in the northern
hemisphere the sun is of course south of the east and west line all
the time, and in winter it is farther south than in summer, because
the earth wabbles back and forth throughout the seasons and the
northern portion leans away from the path of the sun in winter. As a
consequence the sun rises somewhat south of the east in summer and
sets a little south of west. In winter it rises still farther south
and its path across the sky is always to the south of us. At noon it
is straight south. Thus it will be seen that if one knows
approximately the time of day he can easily figure out the compass
points. Directions by the sun can be learned with much greater
accuracy if one has a watch, for knowing the time of day exactly he
should know just how far the sun is from the zenith at that time and
thus easily locate the true south. Having found it he has but to face
in that direction and the north will then be behind him, the east on
his left and the west on his right side.

But there is a much better way of getting the compass directions by
means of a watch and it is done in this way. Holding the watch so
that the hour hand points to a line perpendicular to the sun, count
half way from this hour to twelve and this will be south; in other
words half way between the hour hand and the figure twelve is south.
Count forward from the hour hand to twelve in the forenoon, but in
the afternoon the south is half way between the hour hand and twelve,
counting back towards twelve. While I may not have made my point
clear I believe that the drawing will convey the idea more
distinctly. The time shown is 8 p. m. and with the hour hand pointed
towards the sun, south would be midway between 8 and 12 or in line
with the figure 10.

When the sun is invisible and no compass or other ordinary means of
locating directions is available it is advisable to stay in camp if
possible. But it is well to know means of finding directions under
such conditions for one never knows what may happen and a little
knowledge along this line can do no harm even if it is never used. We
sometimes read or hear from woodsmen of such means and usually they
are given as safe and reliable methods. But they should never be
taken too seriously. For instance we are told that moss grows only on
the north side of trees, while the larger branches are on the south
side. This is true in a general way but conditions have their effect
and the shelter of the other trees or nearby hills may reverse the
order more or less. But the fact that the sun's rays never directly
reach the north side of a tree encourages the growth of moss on that
side, while the almost constant sunshine by day, on the south side,
causes the sap to flow there more vigorously and thus gives a greater
growth to the branches on the south side. In prairie country the
prevailing wind, usually from the north, will give a permanent
incline to the grass, which may help one to locate directions.

It is seldom necessary to travel at night unless in the north when
the snow is soft during the day and travel is better at night. But
then the traveler usually has a snowshoe trail to follow or he will
have some other way of keeping his directions. If not he can travel
by the north star in the same way that he keeps his bearings by the
sun during the day. The difference is that the north star does not
move across the sky as does the sun, and it is always in the north.
To find this star first locate the group which constitute what is
commonly known as the dipper. The two stars forming the side of the
bowl farthest from the handle are in line with the north star and it
is above the open side or top of the dipper bowl.

  [Illustration: THE STAR THAT MARKS THE TRUE NORTH.]

I have remarked that a man traveling without guidance of any kind
always moves in a circle and I think the readers are all well
acquainted with this fact. I don't know why we do so, but one theory
is that one leg is longer than the other and naturally takes a longer
step. Others think the trouble is caused by one leg being stronger
than the other. But whatever the cause it is a fact that a man
wandering aimlessly in the woods will in a short time cross his own
trail. This fact was never brought home to me so forcibly as one time
when I tried to travel without a compass on a cloudy day. It was
early spring and I was traveling on snowshoes, so there was no danger
of getting lost, for I had my trail to follow back to camp. I was
trying to travel south and was setting a line of traps. I had
traveled quite a distance straight south as I supposed when I saw
before me a fresh snowshoe trail. I thought at once that some Indian
trapper must have invaded my trapping ground. I stepped into the
trail and was surprised to find that my snowshoes fitted perfectly
into the tracks; then the truth dawned upon me--I had been traveling
in a circle. Feeling very foolish I started forward again, resolved
to keep a straight course. I found the place where I had made the
first turn to the right and here I left the trail and started south
again. After traveling perhaps a half mile I again saw a fresh trail
ahead and knew at once that I had made another circle. Once more I
attempted to strike a straight course south and I traveled the
remainder of the way without completing a circle. When the time came
to return to camp I had just one trap left and I set it at the end of
the trail in a ravine which led down from a hillside. A few days
later when I went to look at the traps I climbed to the top of the
hill where I had set the last trap, a distance of about 100 yards,
and was very much surprised to see below me the lake on which my camp
was situated, and the cabin itself not more than a mile away.

To travel straight by that questionable sense known as instinct is
absolutely impossible, notwithstanding the stories we hear of
Indians, foresters and others who habitually travel this way.
Instinct is a very unreliable guide and something more tangible is
needed. So when you hear stories of a man who can go anywhere and
find his way without failure from one part of the woods to another,
it may be wise to pretend credulity, but you may be sure that the
story teller is either elaborating or his hero has a very thorough
knowledge of the woods and a very reliable, altogether scientific
method of keeping his bearings.

The surest way to get lost is to try to travel on strange ground
without any guidance whatever, and this is perhaps most easily
accomplished by letting some other person lead the way until you have
completely lost your bearings. It is a strange fact that few people
pay any attention to where they are going if somebody else leads the
way and this probably results in more cases of people losing their
bearings than all other things combined. I have lost all sense of
direction in a very short time by letting some other person lead the
way, and this in a farming community. Another easy way to get lost is
to follow a game trail, for in such cases the trail and the
probability of sighting the game so interests and completely fill
one's thoughts that he seldom gives any thought to directions or
distance traveled.

To sum up the whole matter of bush travel, one thing stands out as
being of the utmost importance and that is to keep the compass points
constantly in mind and at the same time have familiar ground from
which to start operations. With these two essentials there will be no
worry about getting lost to mar one's pleasure and he can travel
anywhere he chooses in the big woods.



PACKING

The outfit needed for packing camp equipment is, for each horse, a
pack saddle, woolen blankets, pack cinch, 35 or 40 feet of one-half
inch manila rope, another rope of the same size, 20 feet long, a pair
of alforjas, a pair of hobbles, and a bell to put on the horse when
it is turned out for the night.

A pack saddle consists of two crosses of hardwood, fastened to two
flat, round-end pieces of wood, and to this is attached breeching,
breast straps and one or two cinches, with the other necessary strap
work.

A good pack saddle is strong and well made, of good materials. The
leather is a peculiar kind that will not tighten when tied into
knots, for the cinch adjustments are usually tied instead of fastened
with buckles. When selecting a pack saddle be sure that the breeching
and breast straps are long enough for any horse on which the saddle
may be used, for the makers frequently try to economize by skimping
the rigging, so that they may sell at a lower price.

Be sure also that the saddle fits the horse reasonably well, or it
will cause trouble. Most of the pack horses used in the mountains are
more or less hollow backed, and the saddle base should not be too
long or it will rest on the ends only. On the other hand, if too
short it will not be so stable and will also hurt the horse. The
double cinch saddle, such as shown in the illustration, is by far the
best.

Alforjas are sacks to hang on the sides of the saddle, in which to
place all of the small articles of the outfit. They are made of very
heavy duck, leather bound, and have straps or loops of rope with
which to suspend them from the saddle forks. The proper size is about
24 inches wide, 18 inches high, and when opened out, nine inches
deep.

When packing an outfit the horse should be tied and the blanket
should be folded and placed on the horse's back. It should not be
less than four folds thick and should extend a little ahead and a
little behind the saddle base. It must also come down far enough on
the sides to form a pad for the alforjas and keep them from rubbing
and chafing the animal.

The saddle should then be placed on the folded blanket. Now, at this
point, if you want to be kind to the poor horse, grasp the blanket
between the two pieces of the saddle base and pull it up a little, so
that it is loose over the horse's back. This will allow the saddle to
settle down under the weight of the pack and not bind, which it is
sure to do if the blanket is not loosened a little as advised. Then
both cinches should be tightened, and the breeching and breast straps
properly adjusted.

The alforjas are then filled with the small articles of the camp
equipment and hung on the forks of the saddle. If the packer is at
all conscientious, as he should be, he will see that each sack is of
the same weight and that there are no hard or sharp objects so placed
that they will injure the animal. Articles which are too big to go
into the sacks are then placed on top, where they will rest firmly
and not hurt the horse, and the blankets and tent are folded and
spread over the top of saddle and alforjas.

  [Illustration: DOUBLE CINCH PACK SADDLE.]

At this stage commences what is generally considered the trick of
packing, tying the pack to the horse. There are many forms of pack
hitch in use and any of them may be learned quite easily by an
observing person, nevertheless tying a pack properly can scarcely be
done at the first attempt. The most popular of pack ties is what is
known as the diamond hitch and all things considered it is probably
the best on the list.

  [Illustration: PACK TIES.]

To throw the diamond hitch, proceed as follows: Having tied one end
of the long rope to the ring of the pack cinch, go to the near side
(left) of the horse and throw the cinch over the pack and horse, then
reach under the horse and pick up the cinch. The hooked end of the
cinch is now toward you. Draw back on the rope until you have all of
the slack and pull the rope down on the near side to the hook of the
cinch; double it here and give it a twist, as shown in Fig. 1, then
hook the loop to the cinch. Now double the free portion of the rope
and shove it through under the part marked by the arrow, from the
back, forming loop A, as shown in Fig. 2. Now give this loop a twist
as shown in Fig. 3, to bring the free portion of the rope down
farther towards the near side. Next grasp this rope at the place
marked by the arrow in Fig. 3, and draw up a part of the free rope
forming loop B, as shown in Fig. 4. All of this time you have been
keeping the rope that crosses the pack fairly tight. You now go to
the off side and pull loop A down over and under the pack, then come
back and put loop B under the pack on the near side. This will leave
the hitch as in Fig. 5 and it is ready for tightening. Commence first
by pulling the rope at A, then at B, C, D, E, F, G and H,
successively. The end of the rope H is then tied to the ring in the
pack cinch at the off side, and the diamond hitch is completed. The
ropes should all be quite tight, and if they grow loose after awhile
they should be tightened again.

  [Illustration: TYING A DIAMOND HITCH.]

There is another very simple way of tying a diamond hitch, which
though not quite like the one described in detail, is the same in
principle. It is shown very plainly in the three diagrams reproduced
here. As in the first method the rope and cinch are thrown across the
pack to the off side and the cinch is picked up from beneath the
horse, then the rope is drawn up and hooked to the cinch, but the
little twist is not put in the rope as in the first method. The free
portion of the rope is then thrown across the pack to the off side so
that it is parallel with and behind the first rope. Then double this
rope on the top of the pack and push it under the first rope from the
rear, as shown in Fig. 8. Now bring this loop back over and push it
through again, as in Fig. 9, forming the small loop A. Now take the
free end of the rope down under the pack on the near side, back and
up at the rear, through the loop A again. This is illustrated in Fig.
10. The free end of the rope then goes down under the pack from the
rear on the off side and fastens to the cinch ring. The rope is
tightened the same as in the other method. This hitch is as good as
the other and is more easily remembered, although not as easily tied
as the one first described.

Either of these pack ties may be managed easily by one man, but they
are tied more rapidly by two men, one standing on the off side and
the other on the near side, so that neither need walk around the
horse. Then there is the additional advantage in that the rope may be
drawn up tight and there is no danger that it will slip, as one or
the other of the men can be holding the rope all the time the pack is
being tied.

In addition to the pack ties described there is another hitch that
should be learned as it is useful for securing packages to the pack
saddle when alforjas are not used, also for holding packs to the
sides of the saddle while tying the diamond hitch. There are several
methods of fixing a sling rope and the mode I am going to describe is
illustrated in Fig. 7.

For this purpose the shorter length of rope is brought into use. It
is doubled in the middle and looped around the front forks of the
pack saddle, then one-half of the rope is taken to the near side and
the other is dropped on the off side. Taking either half of the rope,
you allow sufficient slack to hold the pack at the proper height then
bring the rope around the rear forks, then down to the centre of the
slack portion, where it is tied. The pack is then fixed in this loop
and the other side is arranged the same way. After both packs are
properly slung the ends of the rope are brought up on top and tied
together.

There are many forms of pack hitches other than those described,
although the diamond hitch is most used and more popular than any of
the others.

A pack horse should never be overloaded, and the animal cannot carry
as great a load as many people expect. Two hundred pounds is the
limit for any pack, and 150 is a more reasonable load. For long
journeys the pack, per horse, should not weigh this much. A hundred
or a 125 is all that should be allotted to any animal.

A pack train may consist of any number of pack animals, and if there
are enough riders in the party one man rides between each two pack
horses. I mean by that, one rider goes ahead leading a horse behind
him. That horse is followed by another rider, then another pack
horse, etc. If there are not enough men in the party for this, two
pack animals are placed between two riders. The men may lead the
horses if they are inclined to wander from the route, but ordinarily
this is not necessary, as the animals will keep in line. But if you
lead a pack horse do not grow tired of holding the rope and tie it to
the horn of the saddle. This is a dangerous practice and may result
in serious injury to the one who is so thoughtless, for the pack
horse may become frightened and bolt or may swing around, wrapping
the rope around the rider.

Pack horses are always more or less troublesome, and the man who uses
them should have a bountiful supply of patience. At night the animals
are hobbled, which means that their front feet are fastened together
with hobbles, so that they cannot travel fast or far. Too much
dependence should not be placed on these retarders, for Western
horses soon learn to travel quite rapidly when thus impeded, and will
sometimes set out for home while the master sleeps. A good practice
is to picket one or two horses in the best spots of pasture to be
found, and hobble the remaining animals. They are not so likely to
leave if this is done, and if they do, the picketed horses must
remain behind, which insures at least a mount with which to follow
the runaways. Also put a bell on each horse, as this will aid in
locating the animals in the morning.

Horse feed cannot be carried, and Western horses seldom get any food
except what they can find at night or while they are not in use, and
on the plains or in the mountains where vegetation is scanty they
sometimes do not get as much as they require. Under such
circumstances they should not be loaded too heavily, or traveled too
far in a day, and it may even be necessary, on a long journey to take
an occasional day of rest to allow the horses to recuperate.

  [Illustration: ANIMAL TRACKS]



END OF WOODCRAFT