Strung 1924, Nine Mile Mt. 108. from which the snow had just melted. The old birds would gather seeds and they fly to the rocks where the young birds were perched and feed them. While hunting the latter I flushed a White-tailed Ptarmigan and killed her as she flew over a snow field. When I went to pick her up a young one flew off down the valley or set wings, and another followed which I shot. The two young were about the size of Old-White Quail and could fly very well; those yesterday were very young and could not fly at all. It seems a marvel to me that the Ptarmigan raise any young at all haunting the bare ridges the way they do. Found old Caribou tracks in a wet place, about two weeks old I should judge. They were about the size of a hiker with snowshoes on, and so deep I figured they must have been made just after the snow left the spot. Put up specimens all afternoon. My boots have gone to pieces so I'll have to hike 20 miles to town and buy a new pair. Damn!! Had Porepine meat for dinner and it was quite good, with no disagreeable or distinctive taste at all.