... terrible severe traveling, climbing over rocks and through tangled forests of pine, aspen, and other varieties of timber.... Abandoned one horse.... We were too near the mountains to get a full view, but above us rose the huge masses of glistening granites too steep to retain much snow.... On the opposite shore are extensive Beaver swamps, and great areas of marsh, now frozen.[2] The trout bite well, and we have a good supply. Ate our last flour today. Starr cooked one of the fine otter killed the day before. The flesh was nice looking. It was very fat and tempting. Baked in a Dutch oven and fragrant with proper dressing we anticipated a feast, were helped bountifully and started with voracious appetites. The first mouthful went down, but did not remain. It came up without a struggle. Only Starr could hold it. The taste was delicately fishy, and not revolting at all, but the human stomach is evidently not intended for use as an Otter trap. Like Banquo’s ghost, “It will not down.” We did not try Otter again. November 25th. Laid over, giving the stock a rest and repaired boat. Warren kept us well supplied with trout, which were in fine condition. In the afternoon my attention was called to an object moving in the lake. It proved to be a deer, swimming from the large island across to the opposite shore of the little bay. We had just finished with the little boat, and catching up the big rifle, while the others pushed off, Starr and Applegate rowed (me) out to intercept the deer. It saw us coming and turning to the left reached the shore about three hundred yards away, where it stopped, shivering on the bank. We stopped and let the boat settle to steadiness and I fired. The deer was badly hit, and stood still. I fired again, and it fell into the water dead. It was the first game we had killed for a long time and came in the nick of time. After dragging it into the boat we found the two bullet holes about three inches apart and the last one had gone through the heart of the animal.