Hunting Lore. 45 l 



and killing canvas-backs from behind blinds, with the help 

 of that fearless swimmer, the Chesapeake Bay dog. in 

 Californian mountains and valleys live the beautiful 

 plumed quails, and who does not know their cousin bob- 

 white, the bird of the farm, with his cheery voice and 

 friendly ways ? For pure fun, nothing can surpass a 

 night scramble through the woods after coon and possum. 



The salmon, whether near Puget Sound or the St. 

 Lawrence, is the royal fish ; his only rival is the giant of the 

 warm Gulf waters, the silver-mailed tarpon ; while along 

 the Atlantic coast the great striped bass likewise yields 

 fine sport to the men of rod and reel. Every hunter of 

 the mountains and the northern woods knows the many 

 kinds of spotted trout ; for the black bass he cares less ; 

 and least of all for the sluggish pickerel, and his big brother 

 of the Great Lakes, the muscallonge. 



Yet the sport yielded by rod and smooth-bore is really 

 less closely kin to the strong pleasures so beloved by the 

 hunter who trusts in horse and rifle than are certain other 

 outdoor pastimes, of the rougher and hardier kind. Such 

 a pastime is snow-shoeing, whether with webbed rackets, 

 in the vast northern forests, or with skees, on the bare 

 slopes of the Rockies. Such is mountaineering, especially 

 when joined with bold exploration of the unknown. 

 Most of our mountains are of rounded shape, and though 

 climbing them is often hard work, it is rarely difficult or 

 dangerous, save in bad weather, or after a snowfall. But 

 there are many of which this is not true ; the Tetons, for 

 instance, and various glacier-bearing peaks in the North- 

 west ; while the lofty, snow-clad ranges of British Colum- 



