e lake.

It stormed hard during the night with such heavy wind that we much
feared that we should be unable to cross the lake the next day. In the
morning, however, the wind had gone down, and we made an early
start. Just before reaching the mouth of the river we sighted game for
the first time. A cow moose with her calf were seen on the bank. They
stood idly watching our boats for a short time, and then slowly ambled
off into the brush.

Occasionally as the river had made some big bend we had been able to
sight the mountains which were to be our shooting grounds. Day by day
they had grown nearer and nearer, and finally, after one week of this
toilsome travel, we glided from the river to the crescent-shaped lake,
and they now rose close before us.

This range of hills with their rough and broken sides compares favorably
in grandeur with the finest of Alaskan scenery. Half way up their slopes
was a well defined timber line, and then came the stunted vegetation
which the autumn frosts had softened into velvet browns in deep contrast
to the occasional berry patches now tinged a brilliant crimson; and
beyond, the great bleak, open tablelands of thick moss sloped gently
upward to the mountain bases; and above all, the lofty peaks of dull
gray rock towered in graceful curves until lost in the mist. Great banks
of snow lay in many of the highest passes, and over all the landscape
the sun shone faintly through leaden and sombre storm clouds.

Such was my first near view of the Kenai Mountains, and, as I learned to
know them better, they seemed to grow more awe-inspiring and beautiful.

When we reached Kenai Lake, Blake and I decided that it would probably
be the wisest plan to divide things up into two separate shooting
outfits. We could then push over the hills in different directions
until we came upon the sheep. Each would then make his own shooting
camp, and our natives would carry out the heads we might shoot to our
united base of supplies on the lake, and pack back needed provisions.

At noon of August 22 Blake and outfit started for his shooting grounds
at the eastern end of the sheep range, and shortly after my outfit was
under way. My head man and the natives carried packs of some sixty
pounds, while I carried about fifty pounds besides my rifle, glasses,
and cartridges; even my dog Stereke had some thirty pounds of canned
goods in a pack saddle.

Our first march led up the mountain over a fairly steep trail, a