Sport in Vancouver and Newfoundland. Sir John Godfrey Rogers
Horse-radish. Roast Pork. Apple Sauce. Roast Mutton. Jelly. Salad. Sliced Beets. Fish Salad. Vegetables. Boiled Mashed Potatoes. Green Peas. Dessert. Snow Pudding. Peach Pie. Apple Pie. Stewed Rhubarb.
The drawback to the hotel was the logging camp in the neighbourhood.
The bar of the hotel was about fifty yards from the hotel itself, in a separate building, and on Saturday night many of the loggers came dropping in to waste the earnings of the week. Drunkenness on these occasions was far too common, and till the small hours of the morning the sound of revelry from the bar was not conducive to a good night's rest.
Some of the characters who frequented the bar were weird in the extreme, and when fairly "full"—as the local expression was—the hotel was not inviolate to them. One who particularly interested me might have been taken out of one of Fenimore Cooper's novels. My acquaintance with him was made on the hotel verandah. With a friendly feeling born of much whisky, he placed his arm on my shoulder, and assured me that although if he had his rights he would be a Lord, he did not disdain the acquaintanceship of a commoner like myself; in fact, that he had seldom seen a man to whom he had taken such a fancy, or with whom he would more willingly tramp the woods, if I would only give him the pleasure of my company in his trapper's hut some few miles inland. His suggestion that our friendship should be cemented by an adjournment to the bar did not meet with the ready acceptance he expected, which evidently disappointed him, for he could not grasp the fact that any one living could refuse a drink.
Poor "Lord B.," as he was called, was only his own enemy. As I always addressed him "My Lord," which he took quite seriously, we became quite pals.
A trapper and prospector by profession, he had a fair education, and when sober was a shrewd man of the local world, which confined itself to prospecting for minerals and cruising timber claims.
Persistently drunk for two or three days at a time, he would suddenly sober down, put a pack on his back which few men could carry, and disappear into the woods to his lonely log cabin, only to return in a few days ready for a fresh spree. At least, this was his life while I stayed at the hotel, for in one month he appeared three times.
No doubt during the winter, when occupied with his traps, he could neither afford the time nor the money for an hotel visit.
He was wizened in appearance and lightly built, but as hard as nails. Dishevelled to look at when on the spree, as soon as it was all over he became a different character, appearing in neat, clean clothes, and full of reminiscences of backwoods life. He was always a subject of interest to me, and, poor fellow, like many others on the west coast, only his own enemy.
Another frequenter of the bar had been on the Variety stage in London, and his step-dancing when fairly primed with whisky was something to see and remember.
We were a pleasant party at the hotel. Some came only for the fishing, some en route for Alaska or elsewhere on the Mainland for the coming shooting season, others returning from sporting expeditions in far lands.
We had J. G. Millais, the well-known naturalist and author of the most charming book ever written on Newfoundland, bound for Alaska in search of record moose and caribou.
Colonel Atherton, who, starting from India, had recently crossed Central Asia and obtained some splendid trophies, the photographs of which made us all envious.
F. Grey Griswold from New York, of tarpon fame, come to try his luck with the tyee salmon, and good luck it was, which such a good sportsman deserved.
Mr. Daggett, an enthusiastic angler from Salt Lake City, who took plaster casts of his fish, and was apparently an old habitué of the hotel.
Powell and a young undergraduate friend Stern, also bound for Alaska, just starting on the glorious life of sport, with little experience—that was to come—but who with the tyee salmon were as good as any of us, and whose keenness spoke well for the future.
It was curious that in such a small community three of us, the Colonel, Millais and I, had fished in Iceland, and many interesting chats we had about the sport in that fascinating island.
As the sun went down, the boats began to come in, and all interest was concentrated on the beach, where the fish were brought to be weighed on the very inaccurate steelyard set up on a shaky tripod by the hotel proprietor.
Any one reading Sir Richard Musgrave's article in the Field, would be led to believe that the fishing was in the Campbell River itself.
Whatever it may have been in his time, the river is now practically useless from the fisherman's point of view. This is due to the logging camp in the vicinity, for the river for about a mile from its mouth is practically blocked with great rafts of enormous logs. The logs are discharged into the river with a roar and a crash, enough to frighten every fish out of the water; the rafts when formed are towed down to Vancouver.
The river no doubt was a fine one till the logging business was established, and it is possible that late in the autumn fish may run up to spawn—but during the entire month of August, I personally never saw a salmon of any kind in the river itself.
Flowing out of the Campbell lake a few miles away, its course is very rapid, and it falls into the sea about one and a half miles north of the hotel.
The falls, impassable for fish, can be visited in a long day's walk from the hotel. The distance is not great, but the impenetrable character of the Vancouver forest makes the walk a very fatiguing one. It is most regrettable that no track has been cleared along the banks, to enable the water to be fished and to give access to the falls, which I am told are very beautiful.
I endeavoured to reach them by the river, but spent most of the day up to my waist in water, hauling my boat through the rapids, and then only got half-way and saw no fish.
Below the falls, there is a fine deep pool in which Mr. Layard, who described his trip in the Field, states he saw the great tyee salmon "in droves." He does not say at what time of the year he visited the falls or whether the logging camp then existed. It must have been late in the season, for he describes the swarms of duck and wild geese, the seals that were a perfect plague, the sea-lions that were seen several times, and the bear, panther (cougar), deer and willow grouse in the immediate vicinity of the hotel.
I can only give my personal experiences during the month of August.
Forgetting that the shooting season did not begin till September 1st, I took with me 300 cartridges and never fired a shot, nor did I see anything to shoot at. A few duck were occasionally seen flying down the Straits between Vancouver and Valdez Island, but the seals, sea-lions and other game described by Mr. Layard were conspicuous by their absence in the month of August. No doubt later on, in September and October, different conditions may prevail, but August is the month par excellence for the fisherman and he may leave his gun behind.
The tide runs up the river for about 800 yards from the mouth, where there was some water free from logs and rafts. Some good sport with the cut-throat trout was to be had, more especially at spring tides.
My best catch was fourteen weighing 16½ lb.
The water was intensely clear; careful wading, long casting and very fine tackle were necessary to obtain any sport.
The cut-throat trout appeared to me to resemble the sea trout in its habits, hanging about the mouth of the river and running up with the tide, many falling back on the turn of the tide, but a certain number running up and remaining in the upper reaches.
The largest I killed, 5 lb., was immediately in front of the hotel, in the sea itself, one and a half miles from the river, and he took a spoon intended for a tyee salmon.
They were most sporting fish and were excellent eating, differing in this respect from the salmon. I only regretted I did not give more time to them, but we all suffered from the same disease, that desire to get the 70 lb. fish, or at least something bigger than any yet brought to the gaff.
I started with the best intentions, and talked over with Mr. Williams at Vancouver