176 WAPITI

snapped my last film at him. The light was perfect,
the sun being behind me and shining full on him, and I
felt sure that my aim with the camera had been excellent.
As I walked back across the river-bed my thoughts turned
to the wonderful photographs that were in store for me.
Alas! my inexperience and the excitement of the whole
thing had caused me to forget that the telescopic lens was
on. Of course the distance was far too close for it, and
they were a complete failure.

Hunting wapiti never appealed to me much. I have
only killed one in my life, and probably shall never kill
another. A man who wants a set of horns that will make
a magnificent trophy may be able to get a lot of pleasure
in seeking out an extra large bull, but after all, his success
will depend almost as much on his luck as his skill, at any
rate in this part of the continent. As far as the actual
hunting and stalking of this kind of game are concerned,
it seems to me that the only requisites are a knowledge
of their haunts and a very slight exercise of ordinary
hunting precautions. Of all game in this Province, with
the exception of mountain goats, there is none that is
so easy to approach as wapiti. During the ~ rutting”
season, when once you are in a part where there are any
number of them, it is almost too simple. At that time
the bulls not only betray their presence by calling frequently
in early morning and evening, but sometimes all day long.
In addition, they are far too engrossed in their love affairs
to bother much about anything else, and the cows are
only one degree more wary.

In the “ rutting”? season a young bull is always ready
to do a bit of fighting; a mature bull is a demon and
will fight a rival to a finish. The number of broken horn
points that some of the bulls have bear ample testimony
to the fierceness of their combats. Whether they lock
their horns during their fights, and so die, is doubtful.
I have never seen or heard of any being found in such
a state.